Guido and Jamie had returned in the smart ship to LA. Trish Tilby would be announcing that Lila Cheney, world famous rock diva had come down with a case of strep throat that she left too long ...which in turn became pneumonia, thus explaining the cancellation of her concert dates under doctor's orders.
Jubilee had left a note in the kitchen saying she was bringing a basket of goodies to somebody's mother -- and that the big bad wolf was nothing to a girl who could go 'paf.'
Jean and Scott were upstairs, resting. Scott had, it appeared, made a complete triumph over the virus. That left him only his injuries to recover from.
Warren had gone downstairs, in a better mood than when he left the mansion previously. Joseph noted it was without Betsy.
Maggot said he and the girls had to get off and grab 'kos.' Whatever that was.
Marrow lay in the infirmary, sadly, growing more infirm by the moment.
Lila herself had Sam Guthrie for moral support, and the two were enduring their condition the best they were able.
Bobby and Logan had gone into the city on some mission. For Thomas. Who looked about as distressed as he could possibly look.
Joseph could do nothing with or for anyone. He was helpless. The great Mutant Master of Magnetism (Apparent), helpless. The frustration made him want to scream. He'd followed Rogue to England, and the temptation to follow her to Genosha was like his own magnetism -- a force inside him. But I could make things worse...I just wish there was something I could do!
Joseph contented himself with watching Thomas, making sure the man didn't let the illness of his child, and the unknown state of his other child sink him into despair.
Jubilee came home. She was tired, sweaty, dirty, and in a foul mood, but she was home. "Dibs on the bathtub! Go if you gotta go now, 'cause I expect to be in there a long-ass time!"
Bobby came home, with Thomas' daughter in his arms, blissfully asleep, looking like a freckled angel. She woke long enough to smile blearily at Thomas, before dropping back to sleep, smiling. Thomas cried, and finally Joseph was able to do something -- congratulating Thomas.
There was one more thing Joseph could do -- wait.
Warren folded his wings and walked downstairs to see how the victims of the virus were doing, since Jeannie and Scotty had retired early. Warren was feeling full of life -- like he could share this life force of his -- this life force that might run out on him in a second or in a century. Perhaps he could cheer someone up.
Lila was asleep, but Sam awake, holding her protectively.
"Hey, Sam."
"Hey, Warren. They back yet?"
"Afraid not. Joseph is wearing a hole in the floor upstairs. How you holdin' up, kid?" Warren smiled at him, blue eyes holding genuine concern.
"Just a li'l bit scared, Warren, sir. Lila'n me -- we're mutant lepers now. If they're not successful, we're gonna spend the rest of our lives here." Sam looked down at Lila. Not that spendin' my whole life with Lila'd be so bad, but she needs her freedom. Bein' trapped in a bubble'd kill her.
Warren nodded. "I can see how that might feel. We'll manage somehow, Sam. We always do. The X-Men have pulled miracles out of our trick bag more times than you can count. Just ask Jeannie." He put a hand up to the plastic tenting. "Hang in there, Sam."
Sam placed his hand up against the plastic opposite Warren's.
A tiny voice from behind Warren caught his attention, and he turned. "Huh? I thought everyone else was g--" His words died in his throat as his gaze fell upon the pitiful creature in the other quarantine enclosure. Dear God.
She was bleeding from her eyes...from the cheekbones that grew beyond her face. From her rib cage. Her sheets were crusted with seeped blood. She was pathetic. And calling him. "...Angel...? You've come to take me to Heaven? That's the only reason you'd come back to this place of death where even upworlders suffer, right? You're too beautiful to walk amid such horror otherwise."
Warren's heart was filled with sympathy and sorrow for the kid in the bed. "Oh, hon, no." He shook his head slowly. "I'm not here to take you to Heaven. You're gonna survive this. You're going to endure. And when we find the cure, you're going to get better. What's your name?" He had abandoned Sam and gravitated over to the poor suffering girl who looked at him with such hope in her eyes.
"My name...is Sarah." Marrow rarely introduced herself by her given name, but it seemed improper to speak her name of hate around the Angel.
"I'm Warren." He pulled up a chair, finally remembering to flash Sam an apologetic smile. "You want to go flying when you're well?"
Sarah's eyes widened, and she nodded, smiling. "In my dreams, I fly with you," she wheezed.
"And in your waking hours, you'll fly when you're well," Warren insisted. "In fact, I'll take you flying when you're well, and that's a promise. So you must get well, you hear me?"
Sarah smiled, and nodded. "If you believe in me, then I will believe." If hate cannot sustain my life, then maybe hope can. I know he could never love an ugly like me -- but still, he is kind and does not sneer at me. That may be enough.
"If all else fails, Remy, we may yet be successful in procuring passage home. Pipeline is still in Genosha."
"An' you trus' him?" Remy asked Storm as they proceeded carefully down the hall with Split Second. The latter's temporal manipulations would keep them off the security cameras, but anyone who ran up on them in person would know they didn't belong. "Isn' he de one who have dis cute tend'cy to send folks wit'out deir clothes?"
"You got any other suggestions, gorgeous?" Split Second asked. "We don't find the thingie, we may have to get ready for a serious ...extended vacation, if skunk-top's borrowed juice didn't last the full hour."
"Non. We will go home. Dis I swear." Remy felt a cold trickle of sweat down his back. Nice talk, Remy. Now just be true to dat word an' get dese people outta here. If dat mean Pipeline, den we use Pipeline.
Madmartigan, being a psi, noticed when the local psionic background noise in the complex adjusted. He heard the Dark Beast smirk at his counterpart. They're here. He heard the mutates stir restlessly. He flipped on the monitors in his office and saw the Dark Beast look up in surprise as the door fell in on his two guards. He smiled as the other Beast and Rogue strode in with a woman he didn't recognize. Success, he thought, tears of relief welling in his eyes.
"Very resourceful."
Blackout turned and felt the audible click as the last of his borrowed time ran out. "Hello, Sinister." His voice, to his surprise, held no fear. Only resignation. "So it comes to this." Sinister was the only telepath capable of getting past Madmartigan's personal psionic shields; he was also the only non-mutate telepath on the island. It only stood to reason that he would be able to slip past Madmartigan's shields and divine the truth.
Sinister arced a brow and regarded Blackout with his usual icy, clinical gaze. Madmartigan stood straight, fearless. "Fascinating. No fear reaction. Your heart rate is unchanged. Your respiration remains constant. Yet in your thoughts, clearly, you have no illusions that you will survive this encounter."
Madmartigan shrugged. "You don't cross --you-- and live," he said evenly. "If I were truly in your thrall, I wouldn't have crossed you, ergo your control over me and the situation is imperfect. You brook no imperfections in your experiments unless it's as a control." He paced back and forth, tone conversational as if he were lecturing a college class. "I was meant to serve another purpose, and I have betrayed that purpose. Anytime you're ready."
"You have a sharp wit and a finely honed intellect. It is almost a shame to have to destroy you," Sinister conceded.
"However," he added, "You are correct. Sinister does not permit treachery."
A hand shot out, grasping for Blackout's throat. Only when the black-gloved fingers closed around his windpipe and began crushing it did Madmartigan display any fear. By then, of course, it was too late. Sinister extended another finger and punched it through the traitorous psi's skull between his eyes.
Finally...it's over, was Michael Madmartigan's grateful, final thought. Then the life left him and he became nothing more than a lifeless slab of meat hanging from the prong with which Sinister had impaled his brain.
Sinister wiped his finger clean of bloody grey matter, then turned to activate the tesseract. "Tiresome," he said to himself as if in thought, then stepped over the body and toward the portal. "Let the Dark Beast fend for himself -- if he can." He cast one last glance toward Madmartigan's monitor where a most interesting scene was unfolding.
White fangs. Snarling and gnashing, clenched in rage and hate.
Blue fur, bristled in anger and fury. More of the same, tinged with a nastier, darker grey, also bristled in the same emotion.
Red blood, fountaining and splashing with each pass of claws between one Beast and the other.
Oh, shit. "EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT!" Cecelia shouted. All this blood flyin's gonna turn this place into an instant hotzone as communicable as the Dark Beast Strain is! "Do you people wanna die? I said get movin'!" Cecelia had adopted her drill commander's voice and there was no disputing that. "The virus is live, and anybody who gets blood on 'em is gonna contract it! Rogue, pull the door closed behind you!"
"But what about you, 'Celia?" Rogue asked, eyes having subsided to green with a ring of red around them. "You'll be trapped in here!"
"I'm not leavin' without the anti-virus," Cecelia shouted back. Nor am I leavin' without McCoy. "And the force field will protect me!" Imagine that: it turned out to be not so useless after all.
Rogue opened her mouth to protest and Cecelia merely pointed silently, glaring in that Intimidating Doctor gaze that had cowed patients into using their respective bedpans, medicines, or therapy treatments. "Clear the hall, too, 'cause I'm gonna have to burn this place once I get the anti-virus to kill the DB strain." And pray I can extend my force-field to McCoy... She looked around for the two combatants, and her heart stopped in her throat.
Dios mio, they're trying to kill each other. Cecelia unconsciously crossed herself as she hadn't done since she was a little girl in church, then went back to her frantic search. I know you're doin' this to buy me time, McCoy -- just don't get dead doin' it. Her fingers flew across the keyboard; she was so concentrated upon her task that she forgot to be disgusted about 'the spandex thing.'
As for McCoy -- at least the one who had come to be endeared to the heart of the frightened Cecelia Reyes -- he now had, on some subconscous level -- a better understanding of what drove his teammate Wolverine into berserker rages. Sometimes you just get pushed too far, that still-rational part of his mind mused wonderingly, even as he fought for his life against his counterpart. My life was going well for a change, and now this. This doppelganger of myself couldn't be content with imprisoning me and masquerading as me amongst my family and friends. No; he had to do this. He might well have cost me my life... and quite possibly the woman I was beginning to love...and who might--just might--have loved me as well!
The other Dr. Henry McCoy was, to coin a phrase, on the ropes. I have underestimated him, he realized as the claws raked above his eyes, causing blood to run into his eyes. He squinted against the pain, and sliced back with the claws of his feet, opening a deep gash in his double's belly. He had only a moment or two to relish the depth of the blow, the satisfying stench of blood and entrails.
The blue Beast bellowed in pain, and rage, then returned the blow in kind, laying the grey Beast's hamstrings open with a double backhanded swipe of his claws. I do believe he means to kill me. With that realization, the grey-furred Beast's attitude of smug amusement changed -- to genuine fear.
Deep blow. I won't be able to remain standing long. But if I don't end this now, Cecelia's next -- and I won't allow him to harm her! Hank concentrated past the searing pain of his mangled belly. It was only years of training in the Danger Room that had kept his intestines from spilling out onto the floor. But his opponent was half-crippled on the floor. But only half. A hamstrung Beast is a Beast who walks on his hands.
The grey-furred beast loped on his foreknuckles, trying to put some space between himself and his opponent. Why isn't he falling? His guts should be all over the tile! The fear grew, mushrooming with the knowledge that he had nowhere to go since the room had been sealed off. When did that happen? He kept the other McCoy at bay briefly with ragged slashes of his claws; he'd sunk teeth into the other's bicep more than once At least I'm vaccinated against my strain of the virus.. . but no matter how many times the Dark Beast struck, the blue-furred McCoy continued his approach. There was a wild light in the other's eyes, a hungry lust for his blood.
"No, no, don't!" the Dark Beast pleaded, as his back came up against a cold, steel wall. "I'll promise you anything!"
"Oh, really?" Hank growled, voice barely even human. "Let's hear your promises." His smile had no humor.
"I promise you the cure! I promise you enhanced strength! I promise you anything! Anything you want!"
"I want back the part of my life you stole, you bastard."
The Dark Beast felt Hank's hand pin him by the chest to the wall. He saw the claws come down, but felt nothing. Mercy? he thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside him somewhere. Fool... Then he realized he could feel pain again. His hands came up to his neck, and found his life's blood flowing from the deep gash there. The Beast had rent open his throat. Good show. There's a little of me in you yet. And then there were no thoughts left; the Dark Beast toppled over, blood spreading across the pristine tile floor of the lab.
Hank watched his other self fall. Done. You're safe, 'Celia...get the cure to the others. Between the disease and my injuries, I'm done as well. His knees buckled, now that there was no fight left in him; no reason to fight. He turned to look at her one more time, but she was racing toward a refrigerated container --her back was to him. "Goodbye, then, Doctor Reyes," he whispered, too soft to carry. "It's been a pleasure to work with you."
Remy clutched his skull, and went down without so much as a word.
"REMY!" chorused Storm and Split Second, both racing to his side. Storm, of course, carried on gale-force winds, reached him first, and swept him up into her arms, blue eyes wide and worried.
The Cajun bled from the nose, and his eyes were bright, feverish with pain. "It okay, Stormy," he whispered. "It's just de last echo of Blackout. He dead. Somebody kill him....he glad to go, sorry for what he done." A wry, sad smile tugged at the corner of the Cajun's lips. "Seem I felt it on accounta de download in my head. An' felt it worse 'cause I know where de man comin' from. Let's move, get de hell outta here." He looked like hell, truth be told. Blackout's death agonies had been -- just that, agony.
"STORM!"
Ororo looked up, blinking back tears, as her name was called. "Who--?"
Rogue came barrelling down the hall, sending Genoshan soldiers scattering before her as she straight-armed them out of her way. "Thank God ah found ya! Ya gotta come quick! 'Celia's barricaded herself, Hank, an' the ol' nasty Beast in the lab! There's blood ev'rywhere! Th' virus's gonna spread all over G'nosha - ah got no way t'seal the door off!"
"We cannot permit the anti-virus to be destroyed at any cost," Storm answered, standing and helping Remy to his feet as she did. Split Second stepped under his arm so Storm could lift into the air. "Split Second's powers may avail us here. Go ahead of me, airlift her into the room so she can prevent the spread of the virus. I will call the lightning and burn it once we are safely away with the anti-virus.
Rogue nodded, lifting Split Second by the armpits, leaving Remy to fend for himself. "Sorry," she said curtly, then was back streaking the way she had come, Storm behind her.
Remy followed, weak from the pain of having shared the death of Blackout. There was no way he was as fast as either woman, but they hadn't ventured far. No way I keep up. But I can still do some good 'fore we get de fuck outta here. He swung over the railing on the catwalk and landed, silent as a cat despite his diminished state, on the lower level. Madmartigan had given him one more thing with his death-sending: an intimate knowledge of the Citadel. He knew where the prisoners were kept -- and that there was another mutant held there as one of the Dark Beast's guinea pigs. Nobody deserves dat.
Unfortunately, when Remy arrived, he found he was too late. Whoever the mutant kid had been, he had chosen to end his own life rather than be a Judas goat to his own people. He had, it would appear, killed himself with his own nail file, slitting his wrists "the correct way" from wrists to elbows inside the forearm.
"Flights o' angels, mon ami," he said reverently to the corpse, and picked it up to carry it back with him for a decent burial.
BAM! was Cecelia's only triumphant thought as she managed to winnow out the sequence to open the hidden store of anti-virus. Then, DAMN! , followed close by a string of invective in Spanish as she found she could not open it. Okay -- you've come this far, girlfriend, you're not gonna punk out now. She clasped her fists together in a double fist, concentrated, and swung. The bio-plasmodic field sprang up as she'd hoped, flickering blue-white to protect her, then moving up the spectrum to yellow-orange as she used it offensively--and intentionally--for the first time.
Ignore the pain, go for the gain, she told herself, swinging at the lock repeatedly. As she'd hoped, the force field was suffiiciently strong to dent the metal -- it wasn't armor, just aluminum or something gracias, Dios! equally soft. The handle came loose with a shrill metallic CLANG, revealing 24 vials labelled "antivirus."
Cecelia blinked back the tears of relief that sprang to her eyes, and reached for one of the sterilized needles. She turned, "Hank, I --"
Merciful God.
Both Beasts were down. Both. Cecelia activated her cope mechanism, locking her emotions behind a wall of formality and professionalism. She took the pulse of the first Beast she reached, the dark one. No pulse. Dead. She didn't spare him a thought, rushing to the other. The pulse was there. Thin, thready, weak, but there.
"You....get...it...?"
Cecelia nodded, blinking frantically to stem the tide of tears that threatened anew as she turned Hank over and saw the deep slash in his belly. "I got it, baby," she murmured. "And you're first. You're not gonna die on me. You hear me? You're not gonna fuckin' die on me!" She'd lost patients before, and she said this to every one of them -- but Cecelia had never meant it as much as she did now.
The needle got the air bubbles knocked free, and was turned point-down to inject the antivirus into Hank's bloodstream. Hank smiled at her, but it was a distant, dreamy smile.
There. One problem solved. Now to patch him up. Cecelia turned to glance around. But no -- there were no tools in this lab besides the needles. Nothing to staunch the flow of blood with. "NO!" she screamed, defiant.
"Cavalry's here!" Rogue's voice followed closely on the sound of the lab door being knocked off again. "You get it?"
"I g-got it," Cecelia answered, gesturing at the vials beside her. "McCoy's got his dose, but he's down. Dying..."
"Pfaugh, dying," Split Second smirked, and skidded to a stop before the fallen Beast, as Rogue swung her free. "Nobody dies on my watch!" There was a burst of blue from her hands, and McCoy froze, caught halfway between one labored breath and the next. "There. Can we go now?"
"Yeah," Rogue grinned, relieved, "Soon's Storm does cleanup." They'd run up on amazingly little opposition, and love-taps from Rogue had felled a good twenty Genoshan security ops.
"And as soon as Remy is with us again," Storm added, balling lightning in both fists and letting it burn into the blood puddling the floor.
"Remy wit' you," came the Cajun's voice, weak. He sank to his knees, the teenage boy still in his arms, then fell. "Mos'ly, an'way."
Dis been way too easy, Remy had thought, heading back toward the lab where Storm and the others had gone. That, of course, had been when his luck had run out.
"Halt!" the rookie guard had cried, voice shaking. Remy's hands had been full of dead noble sacrifice; no way to charge up anything and throw it to cover a hasty retreat, unless he left the dead kid to rot here, without his family ever knowing what had become of him. Remy had merely smiled at the young Genoshan, said, "Look. You know you don' wan' kill nobody. Jus' let me go give dis kid a decen' burial, an' I get outta you hair."
It had nearly worked. Remy had turned and was walking away when the rookie shot hit him in the back. It wasn't a crippling shot, but it was bleeding freely; Kymellian skinsuits were not known for their armored properties.
The walk back to the lab had been painful, but Remy had promised his silent companion that he would get a decent burial, so he did not abandon the kid.
"Aw, fuck, LeBeau, can't leave you alone for a damn minute!" Split Second had her left hand to her head, a sure sign that her powers were starting to tax her. Behind her, Hank McCoy glowed a luminous blue, caught in a temporal freeze.
"Chere, non!" Remy protested, still cuddling the dead kid to his chest. But Mickey didn't listen. A blue softball-sized sphere of energy hit him between the eyes and he froze, caught between a breath and his next protest.
"That's it for me," Split Second moaned, sinking to her own knees as the room burst into flame around them. "Let's please go?"
"Rogue?" Storm inquired. "Have you any of Lila's ability left in you, or has that time period expired?"
Rogue took brief mental inventory; it hadn't quite been an hour. Despite the seconds seeming to stretch out forever, it had been maybe forty minutes, all told. Ah still got it.
"Ah got it," she said with a triumphant smile. "We are," she crowed in an unconscious imitation of Lila, " ...outta here! "
With that, they vanished, anti-virus safely in Cecelia's arms, under Rogue's borrowed teleport, leaving the Dark Beast's lab to burn and destroy the remnants of the DB strain, protecting Genosha from an outburst.
Or