Their approach was stealthy, needlessly so. Like the carnage at the prison block where Magneto was detained, the lab was in a state of chaos. Policemen were scattered about the place - shot, burnt, and crushed. The lab burned, the ceaseless bleating of emergency vehicles knelled in the distance, crying out their approach. The X-Men parked the Blackbird on the helipad on the roof of the lab and upon exiting the black streamlined jet a nervous wind gusted.
The choking smell of smoke, chemicals and burnt flesh engulfed them. Dust could be seen in the air, clouding, debris littering the roof. Scott strode forward to the edge of the roof, and looking down, his heart twisted.
Bodies, about twenty in all. Who knew how many people were inside, at the mercy of the madmen responsible for this. He set his jaw in resolve, turning around and pointing to the sky whilst staring dead ahead at Ororo.
"Storm," he muttered quietly, "Do something about the fire, will you?"
She nodded, slinking forward silently, arms rising. Her eyes flickered to life, glowing that eerie white, tendrils of electricity licking from her fingertips and pupils.
Cyclops and Jean stepped back, Hank joining them with a careful gait. He had a first aid kit in his huge clawed hands, and as the rain began to spatter down in large heavy droplets, he touched Jean's arm. She looked to him, then to Cyclops.
"Come on," she said.
The upper levels of the place were largely deserted. The stench of spilt chemicals choked them at every turn, and seeing as they were amongst offices rather than laboratories, it did not bode well for what was taking place in the sub-levels. Cyclops looked to Hank.
"Beast - I want you to check these upper levels and make sure there are no injured."
"Yes sir," he replied, loping off down the hall in a swift and elegant gait. Scott looked to Jean.
"Doesn't look good..."
"There's nobody here," she said. "It could be worse."
He knew what she meant. There could be dead here, scattered in the hallway and outside. Thankfully this strike had been made at night, when minimal staff were present. Certainly no office or administrative personnel would be here at this time. A stiff icy breeze fluttered Cyclops' fringe, and turning he saw his platinum haired team mate approach.
"It should last a while," Storm said, referring to the rain. "Enough to douse the flames."
"Good work, Storm."
Cyclops motioned them on down the hall, at the end of which was an unassuming looking elevator. The closer to the elevator they got, the more choking were the smells of burning and chemicals. Cyclops pursed his lips grimly, pressing the button to the elevator. No light lit up on the console, and pressing his ear to the door, he could hear no motion inside.
"There have to be emergency stairs somewhere..." said Jean.
"It'll take too long," said Scott. With a grunt of effort, he dug his fingers between the closed door, gnashing his teeth. He puffed, turning his head to Jean. "A little help?"
Jean nodded, and stepping forward she wedged her fingers in the door. Storm chipped in, doing her own grunt-work, and after a moment they all gave a collective growl of triumph as the stubborn doors gave way. Scott clapped his gloved hands together.
"Right... let's see what's going on here..." He stuck his head in the doorway, and gazed down the shaft. "Huh... the car is at the bottom... " Cyclops hung from the doorway, grabbing the cable. He pulled at it, shook it about, then shook his head with a dark frown. "Cable's severed. I'll bet you they cut the power to it as well."
"They were expecting an aerial defense," Jean said.
"Makes sense," said Storm. "Police, emergency services... us."
Scott looked to Storm slowly. "Yeah... but very few people know about us."
"I know," Storm replied levelly.
Looking back into the shaft, Cyclops grabbed the cable and sighed. "I guess now's a good as time as any to brush up on my rapelling skills."
Jean grabbed his arm. "Scott - that's dangerous - we can find the stairs."
"No time," Cyclops replied. He gave his fiance a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. If I slip or fall, you can catch me."
Jean sighed, closing her eyes and cradling her face a moment. "Fine... But I can't lower myself down with telekinesis and keep a tabs on you at the same time..."
Scott nodded. "That's why you and Storm are going down first."
"Ladies first eh?" said Storm, moving forward with a liquid gait. Jean shrugged, patting her comrade's shoulder as they stepped on the edge of the floor.
"Don't ever let it be said that I wasn't the sensible one," Jean said to Scott with a pointed stare before preparing herself for her controlled fall.
"Never," Scott grinned.
Jean stepped off the edge of the floor, her hair fluttering up as she dropped. She let herself free fall for a level or two, and smoothly she slowed, feet tip-toeing, ready to land on the roof of the unattached car. As her feet touched the ground, air began to whip around her. Glancing up, she stepped to the wall of the shaft, holding onto a half-embedded beam. Above her, Storm began to lower herself down, the gusts of wind whipping her cape and hair about, supporting the woman's slender frame in the descent. It took the Weather Goddess slightly longer to make it down.
Cyclops grabbed the cable, and after flexing his gloved hands in preparation, he swung from the open door frame, bouncing off the opposite wall and letting himself skid down. He could feel an invisible force push at his body from underneath, and glancing below he could just see Jean, lifting a hand. He kept kicking at the wall, the noisy whirr of the cable slipping through his hands filling his ears. It took him little time to make it down and upon landing on the roof of the felled car with a loud bang he looked to Jean.
"Thanks for the help."
Jean gave a slip of a smile, all she could spare for the situation.
"Right..." Cyclops put his hands on his narrow hips, looking under his feet. "Lets see if this thing has got a way in..." He knelt, feeling around in the dim light, and his hands struck a lever door handle. He pursed his lips, taking a hold of it. "Well you know what they say..." Storm lifted a brow expectantly. Scott spotted it and shrugged. "Open sesame."
With that he yanked at the handle, the under-used mechanism giving a violent screech in protest. Cyke grunted, lifting the heavy hatch, and throwing it back he coughed.
Smoke, chemical vapours and dust billowed from the hole. He winced through it, covering his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. With his other hand he waved and pointed at the hole.
"Storm..."
He didn't have to say anything else; Storm knew the drill. With a little dip of concentration in her coffee-toned brow, her eyes flickered to their glowing white. Her hair lifted, whipped about her face, and a sudden gust of wind blasted down the shaft. Right down the hole.
Jean grabbed a small black comm-link from her belt and activated it. "Hank, you there?"
"Affirmative," the little comm-link relayed.
"Found anyone?"
"Not as yet," he said. "It seems to be deserted, and I find no evidence that anyone has been here in the offices for some time."
"Then get down here," she said. "There may be injured down here, and by the concentration of these fumes you can depend on there being some cases of asphyxia."
"On my way."
Jean shut off the comm and shoved it back in her belt, trying to control her hair as it fluttered in her face. Scott waved to Storm, and the gust died down swiftly.
"Let's hope that airs out some of the fumes."
"It should," Storm said, "If there's open vents or airways."
Cyclops nodded, and after a moment of considering the danger, he crouched down over the hole to listen. It was quiet... too quiet. He looked to Jean, pointing down the hole.
"You sense anything down there?"
Jean frowned, closing her eyes. They darted about under their lids, her lips pursing, and she let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't get a hold on anything specific. I don't know if it's unconscious people or people far away ... it's almost as if someone's scrambling my senses."
Storm's features grew stony as these words left Jean's mouth. "Then we should proceed with extreme caution."
"Agreed," said Scott. "Caution or not - we gotta go down there. Are we ready?"
Jean and Storm nodded, and Cyclops gathered up his legs underneath him. "Then let's go."
He leapt down the hole, landing with a swift thud on the bottom of the lift car. He put his fingers to his visor, turning his blast up a touch. Something was very wrong around here and he knew it.
He didn't have to be psychic like Jean to sense the tension around him, to feel the palpable aggression in the air.
The place was a mess. Test tubes and microscope parts littered the floor. Papers were scattered about, creating a strange layer of white over everything. Dust slipped from the odd ceiling crack, and security lights in the ceiling flashed frantically. The smell of chemicals was rife and the trail of destruction led from this large lab to more down a corridor. Cyclops turned, looking to Jean and Storm as they crawled down the hole.
"Doesn't look like anyone's about," he said, his voice heavy with deliberation to those that knew him. He was speaking in double meanings, a type of communication he taught to his X-Men initiates. While he said that it didn't look as if anyone was about, he was augmenting the fact that it was only in appearance that the place was deserted. Stay alert, his words really said. We might not be alone.
The women caught up to him, staying close, eyes darting about with caution. Jean's were drawn to the papers that lay on the desk nearby, and as her comrades crept on, she let herself read the documents littered about like worthless trash.
Her hazel eyes widened as they skimmed the pages, and she fancied that perhaps she was shaking at that moment.
Cyclops needed to go on, down the main corridor of the laboratory level, but only Storm was behind him. Jean was lagging. He turned about, a dent of a frown in his young brow.
"Jean," he said, "Stay close."
She nodded, her face pale, and with a quivering hand, she clutched the papers she held close to her chest. Cyclops frowned.
"What is that?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then stuffed the papers into her uniform. "We have to take these to the Professor," she said, voice wavering.
"What are they?"
"We have-" She closed her eyes, then shook her head. "If they're doing what I think they're doing here... well, let's just say there's plenty of reason for mutants to destroy this building."
Cyclops frowned. "Jean... what are you saying?"
Jean opened her mouth to speak again, but a strange gust of wind blasted past her. It was the slightest flash of green that zipped by, one that nearly bowled her over. She glanced about, frowning. Storm looked about also, the static electricity in the room peaking with her concealed readiness. Cyclops gulped, balling his fists. Something was definitely not right. They were most certainly not alone. The only thing that worried him was that someone here could scramble Jean's abilities to sense others. That meant power, of the mind-altering kind.
The green zipped about them again, this time a low male giggle accompanying it.
"They seek him here, they seek him there..." The voice was cold, female. It sent chills down their spines. It was followed with a delicate but cutting laugh.
Cyclops grit his teeth. "You're not gonna out-psych us with childish games!" he called. "Come out and face us, or leave. It's your choice!"
"Hmmm," The voice was smooth now. "I choose... to play."
The green flash swept past knocking over Jean and Storm in the process. The women sprawled on the floor, coughing as if they'd had the wind knocked out of them. Okay, Scott thought. Now I'm mad.
"I hope you don't mind an additional piece in this game, then?"
The deep well-spoken voice was music to Scott's ears. Glancing behind him, he saw Beast lope forward deftly, purpose in his clear blue eyes.
"Beast," he said, "That's quite a sense of timing you've got there..."
"Thank you," Hank replied, "How many?"
"No idea," droned Scott darkly.
"One hundred?" said the woman's voice once more. "One? Who can say?"
The green flashes and gusts of air came to a flurrying stop in front of Cyclops.
Icey blue eyes. Familiar features. Impish grin. And then a set of knuckles upside his jaw. It was too fast for Cyclops to understand what was going on before the strike hit him. He sprung back, bent over, nursing his jaw. He sprawled over just in time to see Jean clutch her skull, wincing in agony.
"Jean!!"
She cried out, shaking her head, tears streaming down her wrought features.
"Poor Lady of the Red Locks," came that voice again, "Her mind is racing, racing, racing. No match for mine, now..."
Hands threw Cyclops back to the floor, and he could feel punches pound him, faster than imaginable.
"Fight Jean!!" he cried, "FIGHT!"
Jean crumpled to the floor, anguished cries ripping through her body. Storm raced on, searching the rooms for the source of her comrade's agony, and Beast struggled with the ghost of dark green atop of Cyclops, only managing to get himself hurt in the process.
As Cyclops felt blackness struggle to claim him, he knew that they wouldn't be alone for long. He had to hang on, just till help got here. It would get here, because if Jean's mind was feeling the torment it seemed to, then Cerebro would certainly pick it up. Xavier would send the cavalry.
"Snap."
The thump that resonated throughout the brushed steel table echoed off the walls of the television screening room. It also caused Logan to pull back his hand and wag it with a wince.
"Careful Kid!" he pouted, "You whack one hell of a punch now, remember?"
Rogue smirked. "Aw, now since when were you such a pussy-cat?"
Logan scowled and fingered the few cards he had remaining in this childish game Rogue insisted upon playing. They'd been sitting in this room for what seemed like hours, truth be told, it'd only been one at the most. The walls were lined with television screens, each one tuned in to all the different major news networks. Logan kept half an eye on them as they went. So far, it was repeats of Joanie Loves Chachi and Cheers, but he knew that the media wouldn't be able to ignore the shit that would be going down at that lab for much longer.
"You awake in there?"
Logan looked up and nodded. "Yeah, just worrying."
Rogue's features softened, and she nodded. "Yeah, me too." She sighed, throwing down the cards. "I hate waiting like this."
Logan just nodded at that, spreading his cards in his hands. "Genetics lab..."
"Huh?"
He looked up to meet the confused look on Rogue's face, and shrugged. "Genetics lab. It's an odd thing for a bunch of mutant terrorists to break into."
Rogue snorted darkly. "Not really, not if they've been doing some anti-mutant experiments there."
Logan's hazel eyes grew sharp. "See, that's the thing. Your clever terrorist wouldn't risk themselves for an 'if' situation. They know something we don't."
Rogue gazed at the cards in her hands. With a decisive shrug, she looked back to Logan. "I guess we're going to find out what they're so eager to get their hands on then, won't we?"
He nodded back at her, but not without looking harried. He didn't want Rogue to be a part of that 'we,' but by the way his hand had been throbbing from the last slap she'd given him, he had a feeling she might just be okay this time around. He'd damned well make sure of it either way. Rogue was still shuffling the cards in her hands, and she looked up to smile at him. The smile paused on her face, her eyes gleaming, staring straight past him.
"Oh mah God..."
Logan turned about, his whole body tensing at the sight that shocked Rogue. Fire, dead bodies, upturned police cars... Rogue had jumped to her feet by this time, and her stance wavered along with her balance, her hands gripping the table.
"I think we're bein' called to duty..."
Logan nodded, and grabbing Rogue he raced out the door, the Professor's words echoing in their minds.
//I've lost Jean's thoughts. They need you now.//
Grey. It was all he could see as pain pattered all over his body in broad splashing strokes. It had become so fast and furious that it was beyond identifying it as the individual strikes of a person and their fist. Shifting pain is what it was now. The grunts and howls of his comrade Beast were above him, and he could feel his body hair spiking gently in his skin. The crackle and hiss of electricity played in the room, but poor Storm couldn't *see* her adversary. He was too fast.
Jean grit her teeth, crouched in a ball, fingers digging into her hair, into her skin, fighting invisible tendrils of energy that tickled and writhed on her brain. They were pure noise, painful and blinding, like a thousand minds inflicted onto hers.
Her thoughts were a mantra now... Leave me alone... leave me alone!
The same elegant voice spoke to her and her alone. It was cold and crystal, this voice, like ice. It said she wasn't strong enough, that she wasn't strong enough when she was fourteen and shut in her room with the voices and she wasn't strong enough now. Never would be, never.
"What are you thinking, Jean?" she said coolly. "You're not a leader. You're not a doctor. You're a freak, wrapped in leather and toting your little tinker toys that bleep. You can't even stop me from reading your petty little mind like a book! Oh, that's right, you make things move. You call it telekinesis. Any real master of the mind calls it child's play."
Jean let out a breathy sob. "No.... leave... me..."
Storm glanced down to Jean as she began to form a fog. "Jean..."
The telekinetic didn't even glance to her comrade. Her eyes were clamped shut, head cradled in her shaking hands.
Storm concentrated on making the low fog she had started, hoping that it would reveal the tracks of their invisible attacker.
"Weather witch..."
She ignored the voice, focusing on her task at hand to save her teammates.
"Did they call you that? Or did they call you Goddess?" It was a thickly accented voice, female, gentle and silky but with a vicious edge of derision. "I will call you nothing," the voice said, "Because that is all you are to me. I will not allow you to bring harm to my comrade."
"You will have to stop me!" Storm said, brows drawn as the fog began to swirl around Cyclops, something running above him, back and forth.
The tendrils of electricity that danced around her eyes, heralding the use of her abilities, suddenly snapped and waned. She tensed, fighting to keep her mind on the fog. A tight pain gripped her, lifted her, spoiled her skin with crawling fire. It settled in her stomach and shuddered ill and shock through her organs. She whimpered, and as her head grew limp on her neck, she looked to the corridor she had checked a moment ago. Someone was there now.
The woman was decked in dark, gel-like red pleather, the high-necked sleeveless zipped up top matched by pants of the same make, tight enough for personal appeal and yet loose enough for combat. Not that this woman seemed to really need the liberty of movement. As her blood-red cloak billowed around her, the scarf tied around her head keeping long curled dark hair from her painfully pretty face, her hands were alight with balls of energy. The energy danced and grew, waned and expanded. It licked out at Storm and tormented her body.
Storm pressed her lips together, closing her eyes and summoning her powers with the very depths of her being. Winds comply...winds rush and fall...
The woman in red frowned as a small gust of wind pushed at her. "You're not being difficult are you, Weather Witch?"
Storm said nothing, her eyes glowing their eerie white.
With a bursting roar and rush, wind blasted into the room from the elevator shaft, the doors buckling and tumbling into the room. One door fluttered past her, narrowly missing the woman in red.
"Scarlet!"
The voice was a man's and suddenly in front of the woman was the green ghost. It wasn't a ghost, however. He was very human, young and fit, silver hair wild on his head. He glanced at Storm, glaring at her as if she were the very devil. He gnashed his teeth, and abruptly disappeared.
Barely a second later Storm felt her legs being kicked from under her.
"Sweet Jesus, this place is a mess."
Her words echoed his thoughts as they both climbed off of the motorcycle haphazardly parked on the lawn nearby the sieged genetics lab. The contours of the front of the squat, seemingly innocent office building were blinking blue and red in the light of hordes of police cars. Logan ticked a nostril, wincing a little at the results.
"Chemicals," he said, "And small fires... stay close, Kid."
Rogue nodded silently, ruffling her hair after pulling off her helmet. Their approach was one from the small brush that surrounded the lab, keeping low and watchful of the police cars. Television vans were also parked akimbo, gutted and smoking. All in all, the vehicles were empty, and the place was eerily void of moving people. Logan let himself stalk in the lead, and finding a locked emergency exit, he unleashed a claw and quickly gutted the steel mechanism. It made a harsh crunch that Rogue flinched at. Logan touched her arm reassuringly before kicking open the door.
Smoke billowed out, and the chemical smell grew stronger. Rogue coughed, covering her mouth. Logan looked up the stairwell, then down.
"Well... follow the reek of burning formaldehyde, I guess," he mumbled.
He knew they thought he was unconscious, because the beatings had stopped. For a moment, he took advantage of this. He could hear Jean whimpering still, and the whoosh and grunting of Storm battling the strange woman 'Scarlet' mingled with that of Beast's struggles with the fast man in dark green. He closed his eyes, letting his mind grow strong, making an effort of directing his thoughts towards his wife to be.
Hear me, Jean... don't let them hurt you... be strong!
Jean still writhed, no difference in her behaviour visible.
"Big blue man!" nattered the dark green ghost, "Strong, sure, but too slow, too slow!"
He had to do something; this was getting ridiculous. With a grunt, he rolled over. Pain lashed out all over his body. Ow, he thought. That was not a smart thing to do. Slowly, he dragged his arms underneath his body, and with a tremendous effort he pushed himself up off the floor.
The green streaks around Beast stopped, the tall limber man in green eyeing Cyclops with intrigue. The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Oh, back for another round eh?" His voice was accented thickly like the woman called Scarlet, and his eyes gleamed. As Cyclops crouched a little, catching his breath, he laughed. "Going to fry me with your terrible laser beams?"
Cyke looked up and deftly touched his visor. A beam shot out, blasting the green man in the chest and batting him away across the room, over the cowering Beast's head.
"Kick your ass with concussive energy, actually," Cyclops muttered darkly.
At that moment the emergency exit door rattled and burst open, just in time to make way for the flying man. Logan and Rogue ducked the hurtling body, eyes wide in alarm.
Logan looked from the door to Cyclops, a questioning wince on his features.
"One down," Cyke cried over the furor around him, turning to Jean. His hair was whipped about by the frenzy of forces being creating by the dueling women floating in the air. Chunks of ice and spatters of rain hurled themselves at the scarlet woman, and glowering orbs of energy glowed and clung to the Weather Goddess' frame. Rogue ran forward, glancing at the women then at Jean.
"What's wrong with Jean?!" she cried.
"Dunno!" he called back, kneeling next to his fiancée. "Telepathic onslaught, I think!"
The sound of twisting steel rattled the building, and the room shook. Logan sank to the ground suddenly, covering his ears and howling in agony. Rogue's eyes widened.
"Logan!"
He shook his head, clutching it, sweat breaking out on his skin. Okay Rogue, she thought. Freaking out isn't going to help anybody. She clenched her jaw, decision seizing her.
"Somethin's comin'," she said to Cyke. "And this all don't add up."
Cyke looked around himself and nodded. "This is a distraction."
Rogue glanced to him. "Permission to break up?"
Cyclops pressed his lips together in hesitance, but after looking quickly to a pain-stricken Logan, nodded. "Hurry back if you don't find anything."
Rogue nodded and ran.
He turned, looking to Scarlet. Perhaps he could do something about the energy-spouting woman. He sharpened the focus of his beam just slightly, and scooting down along the wall for a good shot, Cyclops let it fly. The beam hit a ripple of energy, slid around it and blasted a hole in the ceiling. Pulling Jean from the hubbub to underneath the safety of a desk, he growled under his breath. The last time he'd seen an energy field have that effect was when he took a shot... at Magneto. Rogue was right. Something wasn't right here at all.
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