The anterior wheels of the Blackbird whined and locked into place, the entire lower supports shifting in preparation for the vertical landing. Cyclops flipped the hover toggles into their lower thrusts...the jet shuddered once, then the engines hissed and rumbled as she came to a smooth bump on the level, grassy ground of the clearing. The engines did their characterisitic hum, vibrating louder for a second, then Cyclops switched off the manual flaps and the entire jet grumbled into a ready halt.
The landing lights came up automatically inside the cockpit. Ororo was up and out of her seat restaints the second the jet came to rest, shoving past Rogue and Jean as she hurried to the side hatch. She slammed the palm of her hand against the hatch release, the hiss of air from the hydraulics wisping her hair back from her face as the door lowered slowly out into the night. At first there was nothing to see...just the bent and broken stalks of wild grass waving gently in the breeze...then the crunching sound of running footsteps could be heard, followed a split second later by Forge's stumbling, sprinting figure rushing out of the darkness into the light spilling forth from the hatchway.
"Forge!" Jean shouted joyously behind her. Forge looked up, his dirty, weary face splitting in a relieved grin as he ran up the gangway to the hatch opening. Ororo reached out, Jean and Scott coming up behind, and a multitude of helping hands grabbed for him, assisting Forge into the relative safety of the Blackbird's hold. Forge's breath came harshly, strong arms supporting him as he collapsed into a waiting seat.
"I've never been...so damn glad...to see you guys..." he panted.
"Where's Logan?" Ororo interrupted.
He fixed his black eyes on hers, his expression pained. "Back at...the outpost."
"Why isn't he with you?!"
"I couldn't bring him with me. I had to leave him...and we have to go back..."
"You left him?!" Ororo grabbed Forge's shoulders, shaking him in her panic. "But you've seen him? He's alive?"
"Y-yes...he's alive," Forge stammered. "Or, he was..."
"Was?!"
"Easy, Storm...give the guy a minute," Cyclops ordered gently. He pulled Ororo's hands free of Forge's shoulders and gently interposed his body between them. "Catch your breath, Forge, then tell us what happened. We need to know exactly what's going on before we burst in there."
"I'm okay...just a little winded," Forge said, keeping a nervous eye on Ororo. "We do need to go back immediately. Logan is still in there, and he's hurt..."
Ororo looked as if she might faint, or kill him...or both. "I think he'll be all right for the moment...at least, they won't kill him," Forge continued hurriedly. "Not yet. But we have to hurry, before they do something else to him."
"Like what, Forge?" Cyclops asked.
Forge cast a worried glance at Ororo, wishing desperately that he didn't have to say this in front of her. "They're doing...oh God..."
"What are they doing, Forge?"
He buried his face in his hands, shame making him flush painfully. "They're torturing him...to see how much damage his body, and his healing factor, can stand. Santrock, the...the...officer in charge of this operation, wants to use the knowledge he gleans from Logan to assist in some kind of genetic engineering."
"Oh my God," Jean breathed, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. A funereal hush came over the cockpit...Rogue looked frightened, but Ororo...oh God, Ororo. Her face had turned a ghastly, chalky gray. Her lips lost all their color and she stared at Forge with unbelieving, shell-shocked eyes. Cyclops flicked his eyes to her...steady on, Storm, he thought...then back again at Forge.
"Why do they want you?" Cyclops asked.
Forge's face paled almost as much as Ororo's, and he licked his lips nervously. "Because...oh, God, this is hard to say." He stared at his hands in misery. "I helped them capture Logan," he continued, detesting every word as it fell out of his mouth. "I wrote the dossier on him...on all of you. It was supposed to remain confidential..."
"You did what?!" Ororo shoved Cyclops out of the way, grabbing Forge by the shirt with astounding strength and slamming his head against the seat behind him.
"Ororo! I..." Forge stammered.
"They're torturing him...because of you they're torturing him...!" Her eyes clouded over, her lips pulled back in a snarl of grief and rage that was absolutely terrifying. Remy, who was standing close to the back of the seat, stumbled back in alarm as her eyes turned white...a wind sprang up in the narrow cockpit, buffeting the hair around her face wildly...
"Not like that, Storm!" Cyclops shouted. He fought against the suddenly building wind, catching hold of Ororo around the waist and slinging her back into the pilot's chair. The sudden impact startled her enough that she lost her focused rage, the wind dying down as abruptly as it had begun...leaving Rogue, Remy and Jean goggling after her with saucer-eyes.
Forge stared after Ororo with a stricken expression. "I'm sorry...so sorry, Ororo," he said. "I didn't know...I swear, it wasn't supposed to be like this. I thought Santrock had military sanction, but he doesn't..."
"Shut up!" Cyclops roared, the abrupt flash of his anger startling Forge into silence. Jean lifted her gaze to Cyclops in amazement.
"Scott," she began gently. "Let's just calm down..."
Cyclops ignored her, staring down Forge from behind his visor...then suddenly he turned back to Ororo and placed his hands on her shoulders. "'Ro, listen to me," he said, his voice gentle but commanding.
"They're torturing him," she repeated, as if saying the words over and over would make it somehow not true.
Cyclops shook her a little. "Ororo? I need you to hold it together, okay? If we want to get Logan out alive, you have to think rationally...there is no option."
Ororo stared at him, breathing hard. He's right, Ororo...losing it won't save Logan, she thought, her heart breaking inside of her. She shuddered, nodding once, barely feeling Cyclops as he squeezed her shoulders gently.
"All right, Forge," Cyclops said, turning back to the Cheyenne with a hard expression. "Can you get us back inside the outpost?"
"Yes," Forge replied softly.
"Good. How many soldiers...or mercenaries, or whatever they are...will we have to contend with?"
"Close to fifty, at least."
Cyclops digested this, his head lowered in thought, then he raised his head slowly and fixed his visored eyes on Rogue and Remy, cowering in their seats as far away from Forge as possible. "I guess we have no choice," he said slowly. "You two will have to come with us...we'll need your help. Do you think you can do this without getting yourself killed?"
Rogue and Remy exchanged glances. Rogue swallowed hard...this wasn't like she thought it would be at all, but now...well, dammit, Logan needed them, right? "Ah'm in," she said bravely, hoping her voice didn't shake too much.
"Remy in, too, mon ami," the Cajun added.
The tense silence was broken by a buzz, static and a sharp spark of electricity from Forge's blasted arm. Cyclops eyed it critically. "Jean, take Remy and Rogue to the rear hold and see if you can find them uniforms that fit," he ordered. "Storm?"
"Yes, Cyclops," Ororo said, fighting to keep her voice calm.
"Can you take Forge to the medlab and see about bandaging up those exposed circuits? We don't need him shocking anyone."
Ororo lifted her head and stared at Forge, undisguised hatred in her dark eyes, but she nodded once and stood up. "Come on," she said, her calm voice covering the rage she felt inside her. "There should be something we can use back there." She strode past Forge haughtily, allowing her anger to bolster the paralyzing fear she felt for Logan as she entered the medlab, Forge following her slowly.
She reached over and flicked on the overhead lights, filling the small space with pale, clean light. "Sit there," she snapped, pointing at the gurney in the middle of the lab. Forge obeyed without a word, cradling his injured, spitting prosthetic in his lap.
In the cockpit, Cyclops could be heard on the comlink, radioing the professor back at the mansion with news of what was transpiring. Ororo flung open one of the lockers where the medical supplies were kept, rummaging through the shelves until she found two rolls of stretchy bandage. She brought these to the gurney, snatching them free of their plastic wraps and unraveling them with quick, angry jerks.
"Ororo," Forge began gently.
"Don't," Ororo hissed. She stopped long enough to meet his eyes, the fury and pain there startling him into silence. "You have no idea what you've done...none at all."
"You're wrong," Forge replied, his face lined with guilt and weariness. "I know exactly what I've done...and I can never expect you to forgive me. I know."
She glared at him. You will not cry! she ordered herself sternly...but angry tears began to form in her eyes anyway. "Did you help them?" she asked bitterly, knowing it wasn't true but helpless to stop herself. "Did you help them torture Logan?"
"No! Oh, God...'Ro, I tried to help him escape." His eyes pleaded with hers as she lowered her head, biting her lips in an effort to keep the tears at bay. "Ororo, I swear. We almost got away, but...he...he was hurt too badly. I..." Forge's face crumpled, his heart breaking as Ororo's tears finally came, her hands covering her face like a forsaken child. "Oh, God...I don't know what to say. But he saved my life, 'Ro. He covered my escape."
"Why should I believe you?" she asked, her voice muffled behind her hands and choked with sobs. "Why should I believe anything you say?"
"I..." Forge looked about helplessly, wondering what he could say that would comfort Ororo and make her trust him. Then inspiration struck..."'Ro, I know about the proposal. How could I know about that if Logan didn't tell me?"
She stiffened, her head snapping up like a startled doe. "You...you know about that?"
"Yes." He reached out then, taking Ororo by the upper arms, and this time she didn't pull away. "He had a ring, a ring he says he meant to give to you. And...and he told me you said no, or something along those lines."
"I..." Ororo stared at him, her eyes reflecting so clearly her naked need to believe him, to know that Logan was still alive...and then she seemed to crumple before his eyes. Forge reached out swiftly and pulled her into his arms, and she came willingly, burying her face in his shirt as she sobbed out her heartache. Forge closed his eyes tightly, his head resting against hers as he tried to ignore the pain in his own heart. She's not mine anymore, he thought, his throat feeling tight...but some part deep inside him that was a good, decent man felt the tiniest bit happy. She loves him...and...and he loves her. Of that, I'm very certain...
Forgive me, Ororo...I never meant to cause you pain...
"Why?" he said aloud, reaching up with his uninjured hand and stroking the soft silkiness of her white hair.
Her voice was hollow-sounding, empty. "Why what?"
"Why did you say no?" he asked softly.
Ororo didn't answer at first...she sniffled and wiped the tears away from her cheeks, keeping her face in his chest and carefully averted from his gaze. "Well," she said finally. "There's really no easy way to say this..."
"What?"
She laughed, shortly and without humor. "I'm pregnant, Forge. With Logan's child."
Forge's heart stopped. If you ever doubted...there's your proof. She's lost to you, he thought...then he locked the pain away carefully, burying it in the dark place inside his heart where all painful things must go. Ororo lifted her head to look up at him. "I..." he began...then he swallowed hard and gave her a gentle smile. "Congratulations...but, I...I don't understand. Why did you say no?"
"Because I didn't want that...not if he felt obligated," Ororo said. "I thought...Logan told me once that he would never ask me to marry him, and then when he did, I thought...I thought he knew. That the only reason he was asking me was because he knew I was carrying his child, and he felt it would be the right thing to do."
Forge's face softened, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Ororo Munroe," he said, a touch of laughter in his voice. "I always said that damnable pride of yours would get you into trouble someday."
"What do you mean?" she asked, that same pride making her recoil a bit.
"Did you ever tell Logan you were pregnant?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. 'Ro, sweetheart...he doesn't know." Forge smiled at her, the own pain in his heart lessening a little...maybe because, for once, he was going to do the right thing. "I can promise you that...if he had known, he would have said something. He wouldn't have given up so easily." Forge took her hands and squeezed them gently. "Logan doesn't know."
She choked back a small sob. "Scott said the same thing," she said. "And now it's too late."
"It's not too late," Forge gently admonished her. He reached forward, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a tender hand. "We'll get him back, 'Ro...I promise. And you'll be able to tell him."
At that moment, Cyclops popped his head through the medlab door. "Are you guys ready?" he asked.
"Almost." Ororo hastily wiped the last of her tears away, then she took the length of bandage and began wrapping it swiftly around Forge's arm, effectively binding away the exposed circuits and their tiny, fitful sparks. Cyclops watched her ministrations, then when all was ready he nodded and stepped away from the door, Forge and Ororo following quickly behind.
Jean, Rogue, and Remy were ready and waiting by the open hatchway, the latter two looking both nervous and impressive in their borrowed uniforms. Rogue's was a little big for her, but they looked good, and Ororo couldn't help a small smile when they met her eyes...Rogue blushing shyly, and Remy positively glowing with suppressed excitement.
"All right, people," Cyclops said. He adjusted his gloves, tightening the slick black leather between his fingers. "Rogue, Remy...you're to stick close to one of the adult team members at all times. Jean, on the way in, I need you to be trying for a telepathic contact with Logan." He turned to Forge, giving him a hard stare. "Forge, we're going to have to trust you to lead us in...but don't think I've forgotten your hand in all this."
Forge nodded, suddenly very, very tired. "I understand, Cyclops."
"I vouch for him," Ororo said suddenly. Cyclops' brow furrowed slightly, and he regarded her in surprised silence for some seconds...then he nodded once.
"I trust your judgement, Storm...for now. We really don't have much choice," he said. With a last look around, he set his jaw and added, "All right then...let's go."
One after the other, they filed out of the jet and down the narrow gangway to the pitch-black clearing below. Forge set off across the grass, the rest of them coming after in a loosely-knit group as he pushed a path for them through the close, dark branches of the trees on either side. A few short yards, and through the quivering leaves could be seen the lights of the compound, casting moving shadows over their apprehensive faces as they crunched as silently as they could through the empty woods.
Forge pressed on a little farther, then stopped at the edge of the trees and turned back to face Cyclops, coming up just behind. He pointed at the compound, slowly becoming visible just ahead. "They're on high alert," he whispered to Cyclops as he came close enough to hear. "There weren't any lights on when I initially got out."
"Are they expecting trouble from us?" Cyclops whispered back. The others crowded up behind them in a loose circle, listening anxiously.
"The X-Men in particular?" Forge frowned, pondering this. "No, I don't think so. But they know I've escaped...and I'm not sure if they're expecting me to return."
"Is there a less-guarded way that we might get in?" Cyclops asked.
Forge shook his head. "No. The only chance we have is surprise...but we'll still have to effect an ambush through the main entrance. They'll have all the access routes closely guarded." He smiled bitterly. "After all, Santrock won't want to take the chance of losing his prize again."
"Well, then through the front door it is," Cyclops said. He stared at the silent compound for a moment longer, obviously thinking...then he turned to the others decisively. "All right, gather around, guys," he said. "I think I have a plan."
***
Joe Neddings, paid Private First Class in Santrock's weekend militia army, lit his cigarette with sure hands cupped against the breezy night. He inhaled deeply, leaning back against the entryway doors, his automatic rifle dangling carelessly from the shoulder strap hooked over his arm.
His partner, Ernie, glanced over. "Got another one?" he asked.
"Fucking mooch," Joe said goodnaturedly. He pulled his battered pack from his breast pocket and tossed it across the yard, nodding when Ernie caught it deftly. He yawned then, his cigarette dangling from where it stuck to his lower lip.
"God-awful night, eh?" Ernie said.
"Yeah. I could sleep damn near forever." He squinted, staring from the security-lit yard, past the cinderblock wall markers to the night-covered trees beyond. "You know Charlie was one of the guys that mutie sliced up?"
"I know," Ernie replied soberly. He scowled a little. "I can't believe Santrock left the bastard alive. I'd have wasted his sorry ass."
"Believe me, when Santrock gets done with him, he'll wish he was dead," Joe replied, a nasty grin on his pock-marked face. He inhaled deeply, blew out the smoke and spat on the ground, then scratched his crotch aimlessly. The wind picked up a little, and he shivered. "Jesus, it's getting cold."
"I was thinking the same thing. I..." Ernie stopped suddenly, his heavy brow puckering in confusion. "Hey, Joe," he said, pointing toward the woods. "What in the hell is that shit?!"
Joe never had time to answer. The freshening breeze picked up unnaturally...then in mere seconds it began to howl, sweeping through the narrow yard with all the ferocity of a mini-hurricane. Joe could feel the skin on his face being stretched back...he staggered, fighting to maintain his balance and remain upright, the wind battering him to his knees. He fumbled for his machine-gun, dimly aware that Ernie was being blown against the door, screaming like a girl in his panic. "It's muties! Muties, Joe!" he shrieked.
Thunder clapped overhead, sounding like Death himself coming to call, and Joe pried his eyes open against the gale long enough to see twin bolts of lightening come crackling down. They hit the security lights almost simultaneously, shattering them spectacularly and filling the yard with shadow as they hissed and sparked, glass falling like rain.
"Now!" Cyclops shouted.
Remy and Forge leaped down from the roof, landing solidly behind the unsuspecting guards. Their stunning blows were practically synchronized...with barely a groan between them, Joe and Ernie sagged to the ground, knocked unconscious and down for the count. As if that was the cue, the wind suddenly abated, the thunder grumbling briefly before fading out with the dispelling clouds overhead.
Ororo stepped out of the shadows, her eyes fading from solid white to their normal, soft brown. Jean, Cyclops, and Rogue hurried out of the darkness as well, in time to see a grinning Remy clap a hand to Ororo's shoulder.
"Dat was tres cool, Stormy," he said.
She lifted a perfect eyebrow. "Stormy?"
Forge crouched and snatched the soldiers' guns from them, tossing them into the darkness. He also noted that they each had police-issue handcuffs on their belts...he took the opportunity to relieve them of the restraints, clapping them securely on their limp wrists.
"What do we do now, mon ami?" Remy asked.
"This way." Cyclops walked to the double steel doors that marked the entrance to the compound. "There's a security keypad, Forge," he called over his shoulder. "Do you have the access codes?"
Forge stood up and joined him at the doors. "Let's see if it's still usable," he muttered. His fingers tapped out the sequence of numbers...the display hummed, then clicked...then gave a short, annoying bray as it rejected his access code. "I'm not surprised," Forge said ruefully. "Santrock's not as stupid as I had hoped."
"It doesn't matter. Get ready, everyone," Cyclops said.
"Ready."
"Ready."
Cyclops spun the dial on his visor...and blasted. The optic beam exploded into the door, bursting it inward with a scream of twisted metal as the doors were wrenched off their hinges and shrapneled into the room beyond. Dust flew up from the floor as the steel remains crashed to the tile. Roughly a dozen soldiers...some obviously at post, others apparently just milling through...looked up in shock, belatedly scrambling for their weapons as the X-Men poured through the doorway.
"Mutants!" The shout went up...and the battle began.
***
Santrock, oblivious to the commotion going on two levels above him, shook his head in mock sadness as he regarded the wreck of a man hanging before him. "I'm really not going to ask you again, my friend," he said. "What..does Forge...know?"
Some sort of chuffing sound came from Logan's throat, his tattered and bloodied lips moving soundlessly. He couldn't have answered if he had wanted to, but that knowledge did nothing to abate Santrock's closely controlled rage. He flicked his iron-gray eyes to the grinning skinhead waiting beside Logan, and nodded once...the punk slapped his fist into his open hand joyfully, relishing the solid weight of the brass knuckles he wore...then he turned back to Logan to finish what he started.
Santrock turned away, only his eyes betraying his anger, casually dismissing the sound of the punk kid's handiwork...the cracks and wet punches that sounded like someone taking a ballbat to a slab of meat. Damn that Indian, he mused...thiswhole operation was in danger of going to hell in a handbasket, and all because some damn bleeding heart mutant like Forge didn't have the foresight or intelligence to see what he was on the brink of discovering. Logan was a goldmine! A wealth of biological information, just waiting to be harvested!
There was a ghastly, bubbling moan behind him, and he turned carelessly and glanced at what was left of that goldmine. Logan hung limply, crucified on the massive oak pilings that supported the ceilings on that level...the kid giving him the workover had stepped back for a break, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a blood-splattered shirtsleeve. Logan's head hung forward, his hair hanging in bloodied clumps and partially obscuring the swollen eyes, the torn and hanging skin of his cheeks, the steady stream of dark blood that dripped from his slack mouth onto the already crimson floor. Interesting. Apparently, Logan's healing factor had its limits...he could only stand so much abuse, of a certain magnitude, before needing the opportunity to heal. Massive damage could not be instantly repaired...what a shame. Santrock eyed the blood on the floor, noting its color...and he lifted a hand to stay the kid before he went back to his work. "That's enough," he told him. Santrock wasn't a doctor, but he had seen enough injuries to know that blood that dark was dangerous. Something vital had been messed up inside Logan. Time to lay off and let him heal a little.
"But he didn't tell ya nuttin'," the punk protested. "C'mon, man...just a little more!"
"I said, that's enough. I'll call you in the morning, and we'll see how he's doing," Santrock said. The skinhead scowled dejectedly and slouched out of the room, his untied bootlaces leaving thin tracks in the puddled blood. Santrock watched him go, then turned back to Logan.
"You still with us?" he asked conversationally.
No answer. Santrock watched critically as a fresh stream of blood ran from the Bowie knife pinning Logan's right arm to the pilings, then he shrugged. "Just don't die on me, asshole," he muttered. "We've got lots left to do."
With that, he turned and left the room, whistling to himself.
***
Two levels above, Rogue took a flying leap and smacked to the ground in a bone-crushing belly-flop, sliding on her stomach behind an overturned card table. Oh God oh God why am I here what can I DO??? her mind screamed, and she wrapped her arms around her head, the scream in her mind bursting forth and becoming drowned in the howling, raging tempest all around her.
Storm had exploded, all the fear and rage and despair she'd been locking away blasting out of her with all the fury of hell. Rogue had watched her soar up into the rafters, buoyed by her winds as a small thunderstorm came raging out of nowhere, and now she squeezed her hands hard over her ears as another ear-shattering crash of lightning slammed through the crumbling room. Red light flashed...Cyclops' optic beams blasting the enemy left and right...she was deaf from the rapid fire of the machine-guns, and the terrifying screams of the dying...I just want to go home! she thought wildly.
"Chere!"
Rogue snapped her head up, her terrified eyes seeing Remy as he crawled to her across the floor. "Oh, Remy! Thank God!" she cried, flinging herself at him and throwing her arms around his neck.
"Easy, chere," Remy said, hugging her tightly. "C'mon...we can crawl to de door! Remember de plan!"
The plan...she and Remy were supposed to wait until the others had secured a diversion, then they were supposed to follow Forge down into the compound to find Logan. "Oh God, Remy...Ah can't," she stammered, terror making her shake all over. "Ah've got no weapons...Ah'll only be in the way..."
"Dere ain't no time for dis, Marie!" Remy said. A barrage of gunfire swept the wall behind them...Remy winced, then scooped up a broken mug lying nearby and charged it. It glowed with the familiar, ghostly pink fire...he rose up, tossing it into the melee, then ducked back as it exploded with a roar. It gave him precious seconds to duck out from cover and snatch a discarded machine-gun, its stock still tacky and bloodied from its previous, unfortunate owner. "Here!" Remy said, shoving the rifle into Rogue's gloved hands. "Use dis!"
"Ah don't know how, Remy..."
"Den you better learn quick, chere! C'mon!"
Rogue barely had time to grab the gun in her shaking hands. Remy grabbed her and yanked her out from behind the table, dragging her along as they crouched and ran across the raging gauntlet. Storm's lightning bolts were crashing everywhere...men were screaming, caught and burning...Cyclops blasting away as Jean kept up the confusion with a whirling dervish of lethal, levitated shrapnel. Oh God oh God Ah'm gonna die...
Remy suddenly stopped. "Get down!" he shouted.
Rogue screamed in a panic, dropping to the rubble-strewn floor as a soldier reared up a few short yards in front of them. He lifted an automatic, training it on them...and then a hail of deadly fire shrieked over their heads. Remy cried out, and Rogue looked back up, just in time to see a small gout of blood splash up from Remy's arm.
Remy! Without thinking, she lifted herself and sat back on her haunches, slamming the butt of the maching-gun she carried into the pit of her shoulder...and she squeezed the trigger. The machine roared to life in her hands, slamming her backwards on her rear as it spewed forth its bullets at the soldier ahead of them. The thought of the young girl being armed and dangerous must have never crossed his mind...before he could react, the gun's fire had removed half his face. Rogue screamed in revulsion, nearly dropping the gun...but then Remy was on his feet again, gamely biting back his pain as he dragged Rogue across the no-man's-land remaining and into the safety of a doorway on the far side.
"Farther in!" someone said. Rogue felt a strong hand grab her gloved wrist, and she was dragged stumbling into the dark corridor beyond the shattered doorframe. They turned a corner...the sounds of the battle instantly grew faint, and her breath exploded out of her painfully. She'd been holding it the entire time.
They stopped. Rustling in the dark...then a familiar voice whispered close by. "LeBeau, are you okay?" Forge asked.
"Oui, mon ami...jus' nicked, I t'ink," Remy replied, sounding pale and exhausted.
"Rogue?"
"Ah'm...Ah'm fine," she panted.
"Good. Then let's go...quick, now."
Rogue felt Forge's hand grab hers, and she fumbled in the dark for Remy's, the three of them moving quickly and as cautiously as possible into the waiting dark.
***
"Major Santrock!" The voice was panicky, crackling over the comlink on Santrock's belt with a manic intensity. "Come in, sir! Please!"
Irritated at the interruption of his thoughts, Santrock halted in the middle of the third level hall and thumbed the open line toggle on his receiver. "This is Santrock," he snapped. "What is it?"
"We're under attack, sir!" came the reply. "Forge...and a bunch of mutants! They've already taken the main entrance..."
"What in the fuck are you talking about, soldier?" Santrock asked. So soon? Forge? It couldn't be... "What mutants?"
"Forge, sir! And the other ones...the ones he wrote about in his report..."
"God dammit!" Santrock bellowed. That damn Indian...he should have known. He should have known Forge would be trouble. "Now you listen to me...contain those mutants, all of them, including Forge...do you hear me?! Contain those mutants!!!"
"I...we'll try, sir..."
"No! You will not try. You will do it, do you understand?!"
"Y-yes, sir..."
Santrock snarled angrily and broke into a run for the stairs. He had to get to the ground floor. Now.
***
A deafening silence fell over the first floor entrance area, broken only by the crunching sound of Cyclops' and Jean's boots as they walked cautiously through the wreckage, and the soft sound of Ororo's feet hitting the floor as her winds gently deposited her on the ground.
"There they are," Cyclops said. Through the settling dust and debris he could make out another set of steel doors on the far side of the room, slightly to the right of where Forge and the two younger ones had disappeared in search of Logan. He stepped carefully over the sprawled, mangled body of a soldier, his serious expression deepening at the sight. So much death...
"Did they make it?" Ororo asked, searching the far, shadowy doorway for some sign of the others.
"Let's hope so," Cyclops replied. "Come on...we have to find those files and destroy them."
"Where should we..." Jean began...then a sudden, loud clanging silenced her and stopped them in their tracks.
"The doors!" Ororo cried.
One after the other, hidden metal doors clanged out of the walls, sealing off the exits from the room. Cyclops immediately spun the dial on his visor and blasted the closest door...and the beam instantly ricocheted back into the room, causing them to scramble hastily out of the way as it crackled past and slammed into the wall behind them, exploding the cinder block in a shower of paint and rubble. "What in the...?" Cyclops said.
Ororo glanced about wildly, trying to think fast. "Cyclops, quick!" she shouted. "Blast the wall! Get us out of here!"
***
Forge's head snapped up as the clanging of the air lock doors rang out from the darkness ahead. There was an answering clang behind them, making Rogue jump and cling to his hand in terror.
"Oh no..." he murmured. He stumbled forward, his free hand outstretched...and his heart dropping into his shoes when his fingers met cold steel. "They've activated the shield doors," he said. "They overrode my program."
"Shield doors?" Remy questioned nervously.
"This was a missile silo once...it housed nuclear weapons," Forge replied. He gently freed his hand from Rogue's panicky grip and began feeling around in the dark, fumbling for a switch, a release lever...anything. "They had shield doors on every level, in between major corridors and rooms," he added. "Just in case there was a leak or a meltdown...they could seal off the affected area quickly."
"So we're trapped?" Rogue asked, her voice quavering.
Forge's face hardened. "I had the shield door program in moratorium, so it couldn't accidentally be tripped while we were using the outpost. " He seemed stunned. "They overrode my program," he repeated.
C'est la vie, Remy thought. "Can Rogue shoot us out?" he asked in exasperation.
"No. The doors are sealed against stuff like that, but..." He suddenly stopped, then shot out a hand and grabbed Remy by the wrist. "Come here, kid! I saw you up there, in the ambush...what's your mutation?"
Remy stumbled forward awkwardly. "Remy charge t'ings, mon ami. Den he blow dem up."
"The door! Can you charge something that big?"
"Of course," Remy said.
"Then do it!" Forge said, hustling Remy closer to the doors. "And hurry. I don't know what Santrock has planned, but I've a feeling we haven't much time."
***
Santrock's muscles were taut and fairly humming with suppressed rage. He was standing in the nerve center of his outpost, a small, tidy room that housed the main computer banks of the entire operation. Two of his best operatives were at the controls, having successfully hacked into Forge's program...why he'd ever trusted Forge to handle the computer programs was beyond him, but at least these two brainiacs had broken the code. Smith, the scientist in charge of the Wolverine project, was standing behind him, clutching his precious notes to his chest with a worried expression on his face.
"The doors are secure, sir," one of the hackers announced.
"Good. Where are those explosives?" he muttered angrily. He thumbed the open line on his comlink. "Lieutenant, what's taking so long? Have you gotten those remote mines in position yet?" he barked.
"Almost, sir. We have the first level finished," came the static-filled reply.
"Hurry up, damn you...before that Cyclops freak figures out he can blast through the wall!"
"We're ready when you are," the hacker called.
Santrock turned to Smith. "Get two of my men and go collect Wolverine. He should be safe where he is, but I don't want to take any chances."
"Where do you want me to take him, sir?"
"Take him to the first level bunkers in the north wing...you'll be safe there when we detonate the mines."
"Yes, sir," Smith said hastily. He hurried out, motioning to two of the soldiers, who left their post and followed him at a quick jog.
***
It was dark...everything was darkness and pain and the stink of blood. Logan opened his swollen, battered eyelids a fraction, his superb eyesight bringing the dark room into focus, and he licked his healing lips, tasting the salty blood there. He stumbled a little, getting his feet under him, then slowly rose to a standing position, his feet squelching in the pooled blood on the floor. He groaned at the movement...the flesh around the knife blades pinning him to the columns was screaming with the slightest movement...he clenched his teeth, steeling himself...one, two, three...Logan ripped his right arm free, the flesh and muscles tearing as it pulled loose from the knife. A ragged, bellowing snarl erupted out of his chest...he swayed there, his left arm still pinned as he bit back another groan, his freshly torn and bleeding limb cradled against his chest.
He could feel himself healing...but not quickly enough. Still, it was a start...and a better one than a few hours ago. Maybe it was a second wind. Maybe his healing factor had finally had enough of this shit and decided to play catch-up. Logan didn't care...all he knew was that he was alone, and barely fucking breathing...and if he wanted to get out of here, he'd better get a move on and start saving himself. With his expression set, he reached across, curling his fingers firmly around the haft of the knife protruding from his left arm...and pulled.
"Unnnh..." he grunted. The knife came free, bringing a spurt of dark blood with it, and he tossed it to the floor, where it clattered and slid, leaving a trail of crimson across the dirty tile. The flow of blood slowed gradually to a slow trickle. It was healing...albeit much slower than he liked. It didn't matter, though...slow or not, he was healing. And that meant only one thing...he was getting the fuck out of here.
Limping, bright rips of pain shooting through his body with every step, Logan began to slowly drag himself to the door.
***
"Smith! Did you get Logan?" Santrock barked. "Smith!"
No answer. "Smith!!!" Santrock screamed into the mike, spittle flying, his face apoplectic with rage. He should have been there by now. Where in the hell was that pansy-assed scientist?!
"Sir! The mutant has blasted through the wall!" one of the operatives shouted, holding one cup of a headset to his ear as he listened and frantically punched out commands on his keyboard. "The explosives are set, sir! We have to bring it down!"
Santrock hesitated. Would Smith have had time to get him out? He couldn't lose the Wolverine...he was so close!
"Sir!"
"Detonate the explosives," Santrock said. You better have gotten him out, Smith, he promised silently. Or I'll kill you myself.
"Detonate all mines," the operative said...and the chain reaction began.
***
Santrock's men had moved with rapid-fire efficiency, placing remote-detonated mines on strategic columns below the first level as soon as the shout went up that they were under attack. Bring 'em down, Santrock had ordered. Bury them, every one.
The first of the mines went off below the main entrance hall, exploding and ripping apart the concrete and steel of the floor and blasting it into the air as easily as water. Cyclops leaped through the hole he had shot through the wall, reeling as another explosion followed, reaching through the door and frantically grabbing for Jean. Another explosion...the ceiling supports crumpled, sending huge chunks of plaster and steel beams crashing to the floor. The tile rippled, throwing Ororo to her knees...Jean shrieked and stumbled forward, Cyclops grabbing her hands and pulling her to safety.
"Storm!" he shouted.
Ororo looked up, saw him reaching for her at what seemed an impossible distance...and then the floor exploded, the entire first level collapsing in on itself in a avalanche of smoke and crumbling stone. She clawed frantically at the air...then the floor swallowed her, sucking her down into the depths before she even had a chance to scream.
***
"Hurry, Remy!"
The door was fairly humming, its steel glowing with eerie, rosy light as Remy's hands pumped them full of energy. An exploding roar rose up behind them...Forge looked back anxiously, then flicked his eyes to the kid...would he be able to do it?
"Get back!" Remy shouted. He let go of the door and dove backwards, shoving Rogue and Forge back the way they came. They all hit the floor, Remy partially covering them with his body...the doors' humming grew louder, louder...then it exploded, bits of metal screaming over their heads as it sailed down both lengths of the corridor.
Another explosion behind them shattered the air. The floor lurched underneath them...Rogue screamed, and Forge scrambled to his feet quickly, yanking Remy upright then shoving Rogue at him forcefully. "Go! Through the door!" he shouted.
Remy caught Rogue's hand and pulled her forward, the two of them fighting to keep their balance as the floor bucked and heaved beneath their feet. Forge stumbled once, then scrambled after them. Santrock! he thought. The bastard's blowing up the first level! He's going to bury us!
Another explosion...Forge leapt forward, shoving Rogue into Remy's startled embrace and tumbling both of them through the open door. The floor fell away beneath him...he grabbed for something, anything...then the ceiling came crashing down on him as the hall collapsed in on itself.
***
Even in the blind space of the outpost's control center, the explosions were deafening. Santrock barked for the operatives to patch through to the security cameras...and they did, just in time to see the first level collapse, then the second, the third...accordian-like, they fell in on themselves like a vertical game of dominoes. True to its structure, only the inner portion collapsed...leaving the north and south wings of the complex intact above the smoking ruin that had been the missile silo.
"Perfect!" Santrock crowed. The operatives cheered and high-fived, just as Santrock's comlink crackled into life. Santrock grinned and clicked over. "This better be you, Smith," he said. "And you better have some good news for me."
"I...I'm sorry, sir," Smith replied nervously, obviously shaken.
A rock of foreboding settled in Santrock's stomach. "What?" he hissed.
"He...he's not here, sir," Smith quavered. "The mutant has escaped..."
"But that's impossible... he was half-dead when I left him, minutes ago!"
"His...his healing factor, sir..."
"I know about his goddamned healing factor!" he barked. "Where the fuck is he? And where the fuck are you?"
"In the third level corridor, sir. The...the explosion...the guards are gone, sir. They disappeared when the floor collapsed. Then..." Smith suddenly stammered into silence, then, "I...oh God! No! No no no no no noooooooo......!!!!"
Santrock and the operatives listened, stunned, as Smith began to scream, shrieking in pain or terror, his voice rising and rising and ending in a high-pitched, gurgling shriek before cutting off abruptly. The comlink went dead...but not before Santrock heard a chilling sound...metal on metal, the distinctive ring of adamantium claws as they were being sheathed.
Tense silence followed. Santrock stared at the comlink in his shaking fist, the operatives watching him with frightened expressions. They all jumped as the comlink abruptly crackled back into life...Santrock staring at it as if it were a snake.
"Santrock." The voice coming over the open line was low, even...a malevolent snarl rumbling just below its surface. Santrock felt a chill go up his spine...he tried to make his fingers shut off the connection, but they were too frozen to move. "Don't bother answering," Logan's dark, terrifying voice continued. "I know you're there, Santrock. And I'm coming for you."
The comlink went dead. Santrock stared at it, trembling all over, then he threw it into the corner with a bellow of rage mixed with fear. The operatives huddled away from him, staring at him with terrified eyes.
Santrock spun on them, his face nearly purple with anger. "Get me Lieutenant Myers!" he barked.
"W-what do you want me to tell him?" the operative asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he plugged into the communications system.
"Tell him Wolverine is loose and in the missile silo...and to go get him, now!" Santrock shouted. "Do it!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Santrock balled up his fists in impotent rage, then turned and lumbered through the door. Weapons...he'd need a gun, or...or...something. Then he was going down there himself. No threatened Robert Santrock and got away with it.
Not even the Wolverine.
***
Logan laughed weakly, tossing Smith's comlink to the side as he weaved and staggered to his feet. Smith's shredded body was lying twisted and mangled on the floor, and Logan stumbled over it without a second look, the manic rage that had surged through him, giving him the strength to exact his revenge on Smith, fading as rapidly as it had come.
Metal groaned over his head...he looked out over the low drop that had once been levels one through five of the missile silo, now a smoking heap of broken concrete and twisted steel, open to the sky above that was just beginning to show the first streaks of dawn. The corridor had been completely blocked...he would have to work his way back the way he had come, but no matter. He didn't know where in the hell he was anyway.
Stripping off his jacket (cursing silently as he eyed the slits the knife blades had made in the sleeves), he peeled off the shredded, filthy t-shirt he'd been wearing and slung it to the ground. He inspected himself as well as he could...the explosion, while surprising the hell out of him, had also clogged his eyes with concrete dust...everything seemed to be healing the way it was supposed to, or at least as well as could be expected...it was just too damn slow. There was still something very wrong inside him...when he moved, he could feel something scraping together, parts of his innards shifting around in a way that obviously wasn't normal, and felt pretty damn unpleasant, too. And then there was the chill...he was shaking all over, from fever or infection he wasn't sure, but the way his vision kept swimming was probably a bad sign. At least the knife wounds on his arms had healed, though...they'd been a bitch. Every time he unsheathed his claws was an agony.
There was a whimper from the thing that had once been scientist Smith. Logan lifted an eyebrow, pulling his battered leather jacket back on and zipping it over his bare chest as he watched Smith begin to move. The scientist lifted his head, blood pumping sluggishly from his broken nose, and began to scream as he looked down at what remained of his torso. Logan had done his work well...Smith continued to shriek, his fluttering hands desperately trying to remake his belly.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Logan asked coldly, his own pain forgotten for the moment. He crouched down beside Smith. "It's not much fun being on the other end of the stick."
Smith's eyes rolled wetly and he screamed again. Logan let him beg with his eyes for just a second longer...then with a swift movement he unsheathed his claws and stabbed them into Smith's neck, silencing the scream for good. He waited until he was sure Smith was dead, then he sheathed his claws once more. "That's more mercy than you showed me, you gutless bastard," he muttered. He stood up, weaving a little. "I must be getting soft."
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