Old Friends HF
By BobbiTodd
Hotwire
Daemon
BobbiTodd
I had a name a long time ago, but I've used so many since then I'm not quite sure which one is mine. Doesn't matter. In my line of work names change every few days. My nickname is the only thing that's constant and it's not one I give out to people I don't trust. Not many people have it.
When I was young and the world still looked rosy I memorized Juliet’s soliloquy. Funny with all the things I've learned and forgotten since then I can still remember every word.
I guess I've got a penchant for Shakespeare. Anyway, the part that's relevant is "What's in a name. That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So Romeo would were he not Romeo called ...." Oops.... sorry. Old habits die hard. I wanted to be an actress back then. I was going to be a movie star.
Well, I'm not in movies but I can't argue that I get to act my little heart out.
The point is does my name really matter? Who I am doesn't change no matter what you call me. It changes with my mood but not my name... Then again.... I pick my names to suit my mood for the most part.
Never gave up my love of Shakespeare either. Especially the tragedies. Hamlet, Othello, Julius Caesar.
Here I am in Rome and I can't help but wish I had some time for sightseeing. Playing the tourist for a while sure would be fun. I could even swing down to Venice and search for a Merchant. Instead, I'm calling myself Portia. Seemed like a name Bill the Bard was sort of fond of. Seemed appropriate for this gig too. Though I had to throw McDuff in as a surname.
The work I do isn't easy and it doesn't pay as much as it should, really. It pays enough to make life interesting, but I never said I was in it for the money. I get what I want out of this life. For the most part at least.
I can't shake this feeling though.... Something's got me edgy lately. If I was Spiderman I'd say my senses are all tingly.. but I hate spiders. It's more like a .... *sigh* I have no idea what it's like. I just know something's up. My nerves are jumping, my skin feels like there’s electricity in the air making my hair stand on end. I've learned to trust my instincts and they're screaming at me to be on guard. No worries about that. I always am... ever since... *sigh* Well, ever since I left home I guess.
That was a lifetime ago. I hardly ever think about my old life anymore. Wasn't a great childhood but I've seen a lot worse. I got out early and went off to find my own way. I was young and naive and I thought I really could be a movie star. I was good, I knew that. I could sing and dance and act well enough to make a living. But, it's all about luck in that business. Hell, it's all about luck in this life. Plans change, we adapt. That's what separates us from the dinosaurs right? Our ability to adapt.
So here I am, in Rome. So much history here. They say all roads lead to Rome. I guess back in the day that was true. I can't help but wonder, though, the way I'm feeling today..... if maybe the road that lead me here is a one way street. Dead end, you know? The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me it just might be my road ends here.
Oh well. In this business you never know when it's gonna end. Every day you wake up is another day you've got. A day to fear dying, or a day to enjoy living. Which one you choose is up to you. For me, it depends on the day....
Some days I'm still that little girl that believes in dreams. Other days I'm all cynic, hard edged and tough. Nobody can get close enough to hurt me again. Most of the time I'm just business. The best part about this business is I can be myself and nobody expects me to be anything at all. They don't know me from Eve, so they don't expect consistency. Suits me fine. I get the job done and get out. No complications, no ties, no pain.
You might say it sounds lonely. Maybe you’d be right. But in my experience we live this life alone. We die alone. People will just let you down. Hell, I used to have a dog. That was the closest I’ve ever been to a long term relationship. Lasted eight years. Better than most marriages I’ve seen. In the end though, the dog died. Nothing lasts forever.
Yeah, I guess it’s lonely. But it’s better to be lonely when you’re alone than when you’re not. Nobody to count on but myself. Nobody to worry about. All in all, my life suits me. Or it has.
------------
CiCi ran her hand timidly over the hood of the car. Her car. Daemon had given it to her that day, with strict orders that she was to go anywhere she wanted, and do whatever she wanted. She’d driven before, of course. She even had a valid international driver’s license. Her former … employer, she decided after a moment, though in truth “owner” was much closer to his actual role in her life, Frank Massey had required that she run errands for him from time to time, as well as entertaining his prospective clients. She’d run errands for Samantha Wolfe, Echo, her current employer, as well.
The sleek silver vehicle was a triumph of engineering, combining speed, power, and comfort in one compact package. It was capable of seating five with ease, its four doors providing access to the plush interior.
“It looks like an ordinary car,” the Grey King had assured her, “but it’s got enough power to get you out of any trouble you might get into. Now, go on. Get out of here. Enjoy yourself.” For the second time in as many days, CiCi had found herself on the verge of tears. She vaguely recalled running into Scrib and Siren on her way to the garage, but she couldn’t remember anything of their conversation. She was aware that Daemon was preparing to take the team on a mission, but her absence wouldn’t matter. She was a liability more often than not, especially in combat situations.
She opened the door and climbed in. She put the key in the ignition and started the car. It fairly trembled with contained power and impatience as she adjusted the seat and mirrors meticulously. She fastened her seatbelt and, at last, reached for the gearshift.
With one foot firmly on the brake, and the other on the clutch, she realized that she had no idea about where to go. She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Surely there was something in Rome worth looking at. She put the car in gear and backed out of the space. She was surprised to see her name on the wall in front of the parking spot where her car had been. Daemon had thought of everything. She even had a guaranteed parking place.
She was smiling as she pulled out of the garage.
“Hey, Bobbi! Nice wheels. New?” the guard at the gate to the Inner Wall asked as she pulled up to the shack.
“Yes. It was a birthday present.”
“Cool,” he said as he opened the gates for her. “You named ‘er yet?” A couple of the other guards on duty smiled at CiCi. She stiffened at the sight of the Psi, but knew he was only doing his job. After spending almost twenty years under Frank Massey’s control, she couldn’t help but be a little nervous around any telepath.
“Am I supposed to?” she answered belatedly.
“Nah. Some people do, some don’t. All depends on the person. Just that you strike me as the kind that would, you know?” CiCi smiled at him.
“Well, maybe I will name her then. Any suggestions?”
“Nope. She’s your car. You get to name her. Now, don’t forget the tide schedule. If it’s in, you’ll have to take the ferry to get back.”
“Thanks, Harry. I’ll remember.”
“Have fun!” he shouted after her as she pulled away.
She quickly drove the length of the road, past the automated defenses, and to the outer gate. It opened automatically, though she had slowed out of reflex. She smiled as she glanced at the new Grey Companion Unit on her right wrist. It was a handy device, combining communicator and locator into one unit, as well as causing the gate to permit her passage.
When she reached the outskirts of Rome, she realized that she still had no idea where she was going. The freedom implied by her lack of destination suddenly left her giddy and she had to pull over. She hadn’t been truly free since her parents’ death thirty-five years earlier. She wasn’t really sure how free she was now, but certainly more than she’d been with Massey. She shuddered and leaned back in her seat, her eyes closed, to try and banish the memories once more. Echo had been very good to her, but she’d still felt a little like a pet. She just couldn’t see herself as an equal. Especially to a strong woman like Echo.
------------
The phone vibrated silently, notifying Victor Creed of an incoming call. He’d ordered the unit without the ring function. A sudden noise, at just the wrong time, could be … terribly inconvenient. This didn’t happen to be one of those times.
“Yeah,” he said into the instrument that looked like a toy in his hand.
“Mr. Creed, our informant tells us that the meet is set for today.” The voice gave him the address and time of the appointment.
“Right,” he said, before he disconnected. Damn, he thought to himself. Don’t think I can get there by then. But even if I do miss ‘em, I’ll be able ta track ‘em by their scents. He took the fax from his pocket and looked at the grainy photo one more time. The woman in it was going by the name of Portia McDuff. Where the hell did she get that name? he wondered. Even if the quality of the picture had been better, he’d have been hard pressed to identify her. Her face was turned away from the camera, almost as if she had sensed the photographer’s presence. Her long dark hair hung down her back. All he could really see was the curve of her jaw, and the delicate lines of her throat.
Normally, he’d have refused the job. After all, he wasn’t real comfortable working for “The Good Guys”, and the Italian Secret Service usually tried to fit that category. But then he’d gotten the photo. Something about it triggered long buried memories. Not quite enough to let him know who she was, or what she had been to him, but he felt like he should know her. He’d always hated his Swiss cheese memory, though he’d never let it get to him the way the Runt did. He’d taken the job, just to get close to the woman. If he could get his hands on the weapons, he’d consider it a bonus.
He climbed into his red convertible and started the engine. As it roared to life, he looked at the picture one more time before stuffing it into his pocket. The woman would tell him whatever he wanted to know. He’d see to it.
Old Friends - Part One
by BobbiTodd & Hotwire
CiCi jumped at a sharp rap on her car window. A policeman stood there, impatiently tapping his nightstick on the palm of his other hand. She rolled the window down with the push of a button.
“Sì, signore?” Yes, sir? she asked.
“Lei stanno bene, mancare?” Are you all right, miss?
“Sì. Ho sentito appena malato e ha avuto bisogno di fermare per un momento.” She hoped he would accept her explanation. She had, indeed, felt sick.
“Lei non può parcheggiare qui.” he said, pointing to the yellow paint on the curb.
“Andrò adesso,” I will go now, she told him. He nodded and waited until she had pulled back out into traffic. Then he shook his head. Young women, these days, he thought. Always so flighty. At least her eyes had been clear. He’d been afraid she was having a bad reaction to some drug or other. She reminded him a little of his wife, Marta, though Marta had never looked so intimidated. Poor child was as skittish as a mouse in a houseful of cats. He’d have been very surprised to find that CiCi was nearly ten years his senior.
-----
This gig didn’t seem too complicated going in. Still doesn’t really. Yeah the weapons being shipped are a little different. If they weren’t they wouldn’t need me. Rumour has it they’re alien and the original owners may not be too thrilled when they find them gone. As luck would have it, they’re a little complicated electronically. That’s where I come in. Nobody can simplify electronics quite the way I can.
The trick is to get my hands on them first. I’ve made the proper inquiries, and despite the fact that a French terrorist group already has dibs on them, the people selling them are smart enough to entertain other offers. As long as I can convince them my “boss” has enough money to pay for them I can get a good look at them. That’s all I need – a single demonstration and I can do the rest.
The hardest part was setting up this meeting, but I’m careful and I’m a damn good actress. Nobody better. So the meeting is set. I wait a few minutes, like I always do, partly to keep ‘em waiting and not seem too anxious, and partly to make sure it’s not a set up. Can never be sure of course, but I check out the building and there’s nobody watching it. I don’t see anyone come or go, which means either my contact is already inside or he’s gonna be later than me. Best get this show on the road….
I cross the street and open the door, cringing as it creaks. Why do the doors always creak? I think they plan it that way so they can’t be surprised - I would. There are a few steps down that I take slow to let my eyes adjust to the dark. The shades I wear help – they look basic enough but they're specially designed to adapt quickly. I guess they adapt faster than anyone expects because I catch a glimpse of a guy ducking behind a crate…. I knew it was a set up but I was at least hoping to get my hands on the weapons before I have to retreat. Sloppy work on their part. Makes me think it’s not only a set up but that it’s the local officials – nobody on the wrong side of the law is likely to be that bad at this sort of thing.
I'm careful not to be too surefooted right off the mark, pausing and holding the railing so nobody can tell my vision's adjusted already. Hate for them to catch on that I've twigged to them already. First I need to see the weapons... Have to time this perfectly, too.
"Miss Portia."
I shield my eyes as I peer into the darkness. Careful not to over dramatize, despite my inclinations.
"Pierre?"
"Oui, ici."
Despite being a Canuck, my French is not fluent. He knows it, but he also knows I can translate that much.
I make like my eyes finally adjusted and smile at him. I keep my head down, hair covering as much of my face as I can. Despite the disguise, I know that if the cops catch a good enough glimpse of me I'm screwed. I still haven't decided if Pierre set me up or is unaware of the onlookers. Or what possible motive he could have to turn me in - no matter who I am.
Cops can't be paying enough to risk pissing me off. My “reputation” preceded me. Or Portia McDuff’s did at least. I made sure of that.
These Frenchmen are all the same. So very predictable. As he kisses my hand I watch him closely. He'll glance at the crates if he knows he's being watched. He'll flirt a little more outrageously. He lingers over the kiss and I smile. The dumb fuck. He still thinks there's more to this than business AND he doesn't have a clue the officials are on to him.
I sigh. Although it's out of frustration I disguise it enough to stroke his ego.
"You ‘ave such lovely eyes, why do you ‘ide them so?"
"Hangover."
It's a lie, but he won't know that. Yeah, I drank a lot last night, but I don't do hangovers. He buys it of course. Arrogant ass thinks I'm such a delicate flower. I almost chuckle at that.
"You should ‘ave accepted my offer to escort you. I would not ‘ave let such ‘arm come to you."
Yeah, whatever. Like his offer was really to escort me, or like getting drunk was the greater evil.
"Business first, Pierre. You know my rules."
"Oui, mademoiselle. Business first."
"Speaking of which." I nod toward the crate beside him. "Is that the merchandise?"
"Oui."
He turns to the crate and I take a good look at it. It's a basic wooden crate, just like hundreds you'd find in other warehouses around town. I can't make heads or tails of the printing on it, but most of the printing I've seen over here is all Greek to me anyway…. Actually a lot of it is Greek. On the side of the box is an attachment that's barely noticeable. It’s small and triangular. No… more like pyramid shaped. As inconspicuous and foreign as it is, though, I recognize what it is and suddenly everything makes a bit more sense. He pries the lid off and pulls out a weapon. I hold my breath for a second, unsure if this is the moment of truth. I’m ready to act if our "audience" makes its move. They don’t.
At first I think there’s been a mistake because what Pierre is holding looks more like an ornament than a weapon… like something you’d see on display. It’s shaped like an ankh, with only slight variations. Most noticeable is the shape of what must be the barrel of the weapon, or the base of the ankh, it’s more curved than linear. As though the female body was in fact the model for its design. If the loop is the head, the crossbar is the arms then below that it’s slim for a fraction like a waist then curves out into hips and slims down again briefly before the base. As he turns the weapon over I see that the loop at the top is tilted up at an angle, as though the head is leaning forward. Suddenly the image of an angel praying comes to mind. There’s a blue jewel, like a sapphire only more brilliant, set into the center of the crossbar. It looks like the heart of the angel. Just below the stone is an opening that I guess is for the grip. It should look out of place, like a hole in the stomach of the angel but somehow it doesn’t.
The weapon is a dark gold colour and seems to shimmer in and of itself, the way mother of pearl does. It’s more than just reflecting light though, as if whatever it’s made of has a light of its own. There are etchings on it that remind me of the hieroglyphics I saw on the artifacts at the King Tut exhibit at a museum once.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. It’s breathtaking in its design alone but everything about the weapon is functional. Whatever it’s made of has an electronic signature that’s not only unique but also incredibly attractive. I can read electrical currents the way psychics read auras (or are supposed to). Most metal can conduct electricity, this metal – if I can even call it a metal – this fabric seems to do more than conduct it, I’m trying to decide if the jewel stores it or actually converts the energy as Pierre holds it out for me to see.
I know better but I can’t help myself, I reach out to touch it. Pierre doesn’t react fast enough to stop me and for an instant I can feel the flow into me…. It’s foreign but it’s incredible for more than that. I feel energy, like electricity… but this is more… it feels so powerful, so complete…. Like it’s pure somehow, as though it completes me. I yank my hand away as Pierre pulls the weapon out of reach, scolding me as he does so.
"Tsk, tsk, Miss Portia. You know better zan to touch ze merchandise wiz’out payment in kind." His free hand reaches out and strokes my cheek and he doesn’t disguise the innuendo. It’s a blatant come on. His fingers trace their way down my cheek and then trail down to cup my jaw, tilting my face towards his. For a second all I can think about is that weapon and how it felt to my touch. How much of me would he expect to touch to let me hold it again? I repress the shudder at the thought, wondering what this gun is made of, that just touching it, would make me contemplate such things.
"I’m sorry… I’ve never seen anything quite like it."
"Zey are different, but zhere are more where zese came from," he nods toward the crate
"Where did they come from?" I ask breathlessly, letting him believe what he will.
He pulls my face closer with that sleazy look running down the length of me. I know he expects to be paid for the information, but fortunately he doesn’t need much in the way of payment. I lean toward him, pretending innocence as my silk jacket drops open. I know the game. I wore a tank top underneath it tight enough and low cut enough to pay the debt and still leave something to the imagination. First rule of survival I ever learned. Know your enemy. One thing I can always count on is that giving guys like Pierre a glimpse of cleavage will generally get me what I want. Depending, of course, on how much I want.
"Pharaoh." His breath is hot on my neck as he whispers his answer. The lust he doesn’t even try to conceal. I hold my breath to keep from gagging, glancing surreptitiously toward the surrounding boxes. As hoped the second man can be seen in the shadows. He had initially been trying to hear Pierre’s whisper. Instead he’s been distracted, trying to get a better look. Men are such pigs sometimes. That’s two intruders. I memorize their electrical impulse signatures the way animals can memorize scents. I haven’t been able to locate any others in the building but I can’t be sure the alien technology isn’t scrambling my senses. I check out the pyramid shaped device attached to the crate of weapons. If I’ve got it figured right there’ll be another one on the far side and a third on Pierre somewhere. My backup plan takes shape while the Frenchman is ogling me.
I hold the pose long enough for Pierre to get an eyeful. When his eyes finally return to my face I smile coyly at him in thanks, playing along. His fingers leave my jaw and trail down my neck past my collarbone and continue slowly down. I stroke his arm with one hand and brush against his wandering fingers as I clutch my chest, portraying breathless admiration for his masculinity or some such nonsense that I’m quite sure he’ll buy. It distracts him enough that he doesn’t notice how I’ve blocked his paw from reaching its target. The entire exchange takes less than a minute, but the taste it leaves in my mouth will take a lot longer to get rid of. Sometimes I hate this job.
I straighten up and my manner is once again all business. He doesn’t try to hide the disappointment, of course. I’m not even surprised that a guy this ugly thinks he’s going to get laid because of the power of his weapons. As guns go, the one he’s holding is smaller than average and I can’t help but wonder if it matches the size of his own um… weapon.
Sometimes I crack myself up.
"How do you use it?" I have to stifle a chuckle at my little joke.
Now ain’t the time for it.
---
CiCi decided to find a café and get something cool to drink. She knew she’d have to pay extra for ice but, right now, she didn’t mind. Another first for her, she had plenty of money, though it had never seemed real before now.
She carefully parked the car in the best place she could “find”. She was behind a café, but the spaces weren’t marked for the use of the employees. She looked around, spotting several other parking places on the street, but this was definitely the “best” spot. She shrugged and got out, locking the car behind her. She touched it once, almost reverently, before walking around the building to the entrance of the café. She took a table by the street and ordered a soft drink. The awning over the tables offered customers relief from the glaring sun. The waiter accepted the handful of lira she offered when he returned with the bottled beverage and a glass half filled with ice. She smiled at him and he smiled back. She’d given him a large tip for remembering the ice.
End Part One
Part Two
I pretend to listen attentively while Pierre explains how the weapon works, but I’m also thinking ahead, planning escape routes, considering the options. I catch sight of another pyramid shaped device on the floor behind him. I move slightly, edging slowly closer to the crate of weapons until I can reach what I've decided is one of three or four transport field generators. They will all operate on the same frequency probably activated by a remote he carries. While he's busy explaining about the weapon I slap an electronic trace on the crate and let my hand slide over the transport device registering the frequency it will operate on.
He drones on about how it’s an energy based weapon and I nod as he confirms my theory that the jewel converts electrical energy. The crossbar is hollow and he slides what looks like just a metal rod inside it. The battery pack, he says, needs a special device to recharge it if using an earthly power source. I suspect I can circumvent that myself but figure it’s all part of his sales deal. The recharger probably costs as much as the whole crate of weapons. There’s always a catch.
He uses techno-jargon to try to impress me. He fails.
“…non-conductive ergonomic material wiz neuro-electric sensors interwoven….”
He means the fabric that works as a thin layer of padding to keep his hand from getting fried when he fires the thing. The neuro-electric sensors sound cool though. Sort of reminds me of me.
See, I’m a mutant. I can “read”, manipulate and conduct electricity. Lots of applications for a power like that, and I’ve been working on a few new ones too. Still, an energy based weapon that has a neuro-electric trigger is right up my alley.
I can tell he’s gone into “sales speech mode” and really has no clue what anything he’s saying actually means. He knows how it works, he just doesn’t know why. That’s good enough for me. I learned a lot about the weapon when I touched it and felt its energy signature. I learned some more when Pierre touched me and I could “read” the electrical impulses being sent to his brain. Every individual has a slightly different frequency their brain operates on, and now I know his. It’s not quite the same as the physical signature, like the cops behinds the crates. I can read their presence but not the impulses going to their brain. The trick is translating Pierre’s “impulses” into thoughts. Basically, reading his mind. I learn a lot that way. As soon as he fires the weapon I’ll know how it works. I’ll also be able to anticipate his movements. It will take less than a second but it’s that split second that I came all this way for. The rest is unimportant.
I listen anyway, so as not to tip my hand of course.
When I figure he’s done his schpiel, I speak up.
“So how do you shoot the thing?” I ask. Cut to the chase, already….
He launches into another bit about the neuro-electric impulses and the sensors and the nerve endings in his skin making contact. Basically, he means, you just think it.
Cool.
He points it and as he “thinks it” I read the impulse sent to his brain. Then I read the weapon itself as it converts the energy from the rod into a blast. I'm so entranced by the symmetry of it that I fail to notice where he's pointing the damn thing. Straight at the crate that one of our intruders is crouched behind.
The crate is gone in an instant and Pierre gasps as he realizes the deal's been compromised. He fires off a second blast as the guy dives behind another crate. Pierre taps his wristwatch, to trigger the transport sequence, I figure. I stifle a chuckle at his expression when nothing happens. He looks at the weapon in his hand, logically assuming it's somehow interfering with the signal. Logical assumption, but wrong. He tosses the ankh aside, clearly aiming for the crate of Pharaohan weapons. He taps his watch a second time and I grab the weapon out of mid-air as it hurtles towards its mates.
He can see the transport field initiate between two of the three devices and turns toward me, no doubt expecting to see the field complete. Instead, he sees me holding the discarded merchandise. He steps toward me, shouting in French, as I finally allow the third device to complete the sequence.
“Au Revoir, ” I smile and wave as I step back, careful to avoid the transport field. I have no idea where he’s going, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be welcome there for long.
In an instant the crate and Pierre are gone, unknowingly taking my tracer with them. Just in case he doesn’t contact me to get his weapon back. I know it’s not the last I’ll see of Pierre.
In the meantime, I have some local officials to deal with. They don’t seem the type to ask questions first, so I engage the weapon and fire at a harmless target to cover my escape. I take the stairs two at a time and am opening the door as they fire at me. The gunshot sounds strange echoing in the warehouse after the relatively silent discharge of the alien weapon I’ve just liberated
The sun is shining brightly and again the shades help me adapt. I’m down the street before they reach the door. My senses are always sharp when I’m working. Adrenaline will do that… but today it’s more…. I feel more alive. Even with cops on my tail and a botched job, I feel happy. I squeeze the weapon, absorbing its energy one more time before making sure the safety is on. I tuck it into the waistband at the back of my pants, and pull the jacket back down over it.
---
CiCi sipped her drink while watching the people walk past on the sidewalk. She rarely met anyone’s gaze, and when she did, she immediately turned away. Suddenly a familiar figure caught her eye. She thought, at first, that it was Echo. The woman had the same general body shape, and her movements copied those of her friend down to the smallest detail. The way she pushed her long, dark hair back, the way she straightened her sunglasses, all reminded CiCi of the Grey Advisor. But on a closer look, the woman was clearly not Samantha.
CiCi gasped and nearly dropped her glass when she suddenly recognized the woman. She was one of Samantha’s daughters, the one they had never been able to find again. The one she’d known even before meeting Echo. The one that had changed her life. According to Xavier’s files, as well as Massey’s, she had dropped out of sight almost fifteen years earlier. But here she was.
CiCi frowned. There was something in the way the woman was moving that made the little secretary think something was wrong. So she looked for the problem. Quickly, she spotted several men who seemed to be searching for someone. None of them looked happy. She decided she had to help.
She glanced around the little café, and made some hasty decisions, most based upon her ability to “find” a way out for her friend’s lost child. She picked up her car keys from where she had placed them on the small table, and summoned the waiter. Eager for a further tip, he was quick to respond.
“Hold my table, please,” she told him. “I’ve an errand to run, and my … cousin will be here any minute. And would you bring me another drink, please?” She handed the smiling man another handful of Lira as she rose.
“Yes,” he said. “I will hold your table,” he picked up the empty bottle, leaving the glass, with its remaining ice, on the table. “Your cousin, she looks like what?”
“Oh, yes, of course. She has long brown hair, and usually wears sunglasses. She’s about my height, but thinner. Wait, I think I may have a picture.” CiCi reached into her purse and pulled out a snapshot of Echo, Scrib, Mystikal, and herself. She pointed at Echo. “This is my cousin. I’ll be right back. It’s a surprise, so don’t tell her I’m here, all right?” The man nodded, and she slipped into the shadows near the restrooms, watching as she put the photo away. She had to be sure the woman would enter the café.
---
The café at the end of the block should provide a suitable distraction to lose these guys. I doubt they were looking for me specifically, but just in case I’ve got to disappear quick. I’d scoped out the place the day before so I know there’s a back way out right near the bathroom. Which is a perfect place to lose the disguise.
---
CiCi waited until the woman stepped into the shade between the tables. The waiter escorted her to the secretary’s table. She sat down, surreptitiously watching the crowd going past. CiCi smiled and went to her car. She took a business card from her purse and paused for a moment, wondering how to address her note. She scribbled quickly and stuck the business card, with the keys, into the small space near the exposed wiring under the dash by the steering wheel. She pulled the braid from her hair and cut the sleeves from her shirt using her small pocketknife. The appearance was a little ragged, but it was the best she could do. The other woman was wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt in the same cool white as the blouse that CiCi has just ruined, their long brown hair was nearly the same length, and CiCi was only a little shorter than the hunted woman. She just hoped what she planned would work.
---
As I walk through the entrance things get kinda strange. The waiter smiles at me as though he knows me and asks me to follow him. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself just yet, so I glance back over my shoulder quickly to make sure the guys are far enough behind. Actually, if they see me, all the better. The waiter holds a chair out for me at a table that already has a drink sitting on it…. Perfect! I figure. A case of mistaken identity is just what I need right now. I sit down and quietly slip the weapon into my purse, slide my jacket off and drape it over the chair. I count to twenty then make my way to the ladies room. Too bad, I was enjoying being a brunette. I look wistfully at the wig as I toss it in the trash. It wasn’t cheap either, but you know what they say: Blondes have more fun. Not that you could tell by me. I quickly wash the makeup off my face and run my fingers through my hair, fluffing it back up a bit… It’s a mess but what do I care? I lose the slacks and leave on the shorts I wore under them. It was a bit hot for layers but you do what you gotta do. I unzip my purse all the way, dump out the contents, grab the inside and pull. It’s reversible, with a built in belt that wraps around my waist. I stuff the outside back in, throw my junk inside and there’s even room for my latest acquisition. Voila, as Pierre would say, instant fanny pack. A moment after walking into the washroom, I step outside, looking more like a poor college student than the world weary acquisitions specialist I’d been portraying. Just another role. All the world’s a stage after all.
---
CiCi got out of the car and closed the door, being careful to leave it unlocked. Standing, she pulled her blouse tight, and gathered the extra cloth into folds at her back. She tucked the tail of the shirt into her faded jeans to keep the blouse snug against the contours of her body. She returned to the café, walking around the end of the building again, just as the waiter delivered her drink to the once more empty table. CiCi resisted looking around. The woman had left her jacket on the chair. Even better.
CiCi walked over and picked up the jacket, pulling it on. The silk was soft against her skin. It was tight, but it fit well enough for what she had planned, and it served to cover the ragged edges of the sleeves on her blouse. One of the men entered the open café, squinting in the dimness of the sunshade. CiCi ducked, turning obviously away from him. She was aware of the other men approaching from the other entrance.
---
I duck out the back and feel a twinge of guilt as I look back. They took the bait and are closing in on the poor gal that's now sitting at the table I'd been mistakenly guided to. She won't know what hit her. Shouldn't take her too long to straighten out the mess though, she doesn’t look all that much like me. Oh well, the confusion should buy me a few minutes and she'll have a great story to tell about her trip to Rome. Funny but I can tell somehow, just looking at her, that she's not a local.
---
The three men exchanged a glance, then closed in on CiCi. She watched them through lowered lashes as they cautiously approached. One of the pair, coming up from behind her, drew a gun. CiCi froze. She wondered what it was that the other woman had done that had these men so jumpy.
“Get up, Portia. Slowly,” the other man said while the first kept his gun pointed at her. She did as she was ordered, careful not to move too quickly, and to keep her hands in plain view. While many other members of the Grey Court had abilities and powers that would help them in this situation, “finding” things wasn’t one of them. And she was far from bullet proof.
“Put your hands on your head!” The man with the gun was much more nervous than the other, something that did nothing to set CiCi’s mind at ease. She carefully put her hands up. The first man stepped up to her, grabbed her left wrist and twisted it down and behind her, spinning her roughly to face the table. He snapped the bracelet of a pair of handcuffs around her wrist, then yanked her right arm down to join her left.
“Qui! Che lei fanno?” the waiter demanded. What are you doing?
“La polizia,” the third man said, taking a wallet out of his pocket and showing the man his identification. The waiter, puzzled, backed away, still holding the new bottle of soda.
Once the handcuffs were secure, the man, who still held her arm, shoved CiCi down, so that she lay half across the table, knocking her glass to the ground. It shattered, and she shivered, hoping it wasn’t a foretelling of her fate. He searched her thoroughly, then dumped her purse out on the table, stirring the contents unhappily. The photo fluttered, unnoticed, to the ground. Yanking her to her feet he snarled.
“It’s not here. Get a team to conduct a search. And call Waller, tell him we got her and need the car.” The third man, finished with the waiter, took a cell phone from his pocket and made the necessary calls. CiCi followed the conversation easily. Since moving to Rome, she’d practiced her Italian until she was fluent in the language.
---
There's not a lot of parking in downtown Rome, but the lot closest to the café looks promising. I scan the cars quickly letting my hand casually pass over the hoods of the most likely ones. I usually look for one that's still warm knowing its likely the driver will be a while yet. That gives me more time to use the car before it's reported stolen.
One of the cars near the café catches my attention. It's in a perfect location, sheltered yet handy to the exit. The car doesn't look like anything special. Late model sedan that's nice enough and all… but it's got a funky signature… Like the weapon in my bag. There's all the normal electrical frequencies but there's enough of whatever it is that gives off this other signal that it attracts me to it. I figure the car is somehow connected to the weapons. I should be more cautious and steer clear of it, but I can't. It's reassuring somehow, and for some reason I can't explain I trust it.
It's even unlocked, inviting me inside. Logic tells me to find another car. This one has to be a trap. But my gut tells me different. I haven't stayed alive this long by ignoring my intuition. There's a time for logic and a time for instinct. I hop in the car and touch the steering column. In less than a second the gentle purr of the engine greets me. As I pull out of the spot, I check the café to see how much trouble I've left behind and can't quite believe my eyes. The damn fools are handcuffing the doppelganger I've left in my place. She's just standing there letting them, too.
---
Creed looked around the empty warehouse. The reek of expended gunpowder masked any lingering traces of his quarry that might have been present. There was an odd electrical smell, too. Almost like ozone. Almost, but not quite. He'd never smelled anything like it.
He finally sorted out four distinct scents, and only one of them was female. It was tantalizingly familiar, like the fuzzy photograph. He shook his head sharply, suppressing the desire to sneeze, and followed the fading trail up the steps and back out into the alley. His car was parked at the curb in front of the building, but his quarry had fled on foot. To be able to follow her, he would have to use the same method of locomotion.
Creed followed the woman's scent down the street, having more and more difficulty staying on the trail as he went. Her track was criss-crossed by dozens of other pedestrians and vehicles. He finally lost it at a street side café. Patrons at the café were chatting excitedly, and one of the waiters was cleaning up some broken glass. Creed paused long enough to overhear some of the remarks, and quickly realized that Portia had been captured by the government agents who'd hired him.
Being cheated of his quarry was one of many things that Victor Creed couldn't allow. He moved back toward his car with a purposeful stride, scattering other walkers before him like quail. He jumped into the vehicle, started it, and roared out into traffic, ignoring the squeal of brakes and the blaring of horns, intent upon his destination. They would have taken her to their headquarters, and he was determined to get there before they finished questioning her. He had his own inquiries for the woman.
End Part 2
Part 3
In just a few minutes a black car pulled up in front of the café. A small crowd had gathered, gawking at the men and their captive. One man continued to hold her arm, while the second kept the gun pointed at her. The third man opened the back door and CiCi was shoved inside. The man with the gun climbed in after her, and the man who had been giving orders went around and got in on the other side. After closing the back door, the third man got in the front seat, and the car moved out into traffic. The driver never even glanced at her.
CiCi tried to relax into the situation. She hadn’t resisted, of course. She didn’t want them to know they had the wrong woman. At least not yet. “I hope Echo isn’t too disappointed in me,” she thought as they drove in silence. “Maybe she’ll think the embarrassment to the Court is worth it when she finds out about her daughter.”
-----
Damn damn damn. This is turning into one of those days that makes me think I should have just stayed in bed. Pierre is gone, along with the weapons, and I have a small window of opportunity to track him before the merchandise makes it to the street. I’ve got people chasing me that I managed to ditch but in doing so I inadvertently set up someone else. Now she’s being arrested and treated not too gently by the looks of it. Logic and protocol says forget about her and get on with the job. Conscience says otherwise. I pull into an alley and let the car idle while watching the action unfold at the café.
It might give me a better clue as to who these guys are and why they’re after me too. Or that I’m just smack-dab in the middle of a bigger mess than I’d planned on. Before long they’re on their way and I hang back a few car lengths letting them lead the way.
-----
As they drove through Rome, CiCi tried to see the city. After all, she was supposed to be sightseeing. To her disappointment, they pulled into an underground parking garage after just a few minutes. A guard, behind apparently bulletproof glass, opened a gate and let them in. The noise of the gate closing behind them sounded frighteningly final to CiCi.
-----
Doesn’t take long till they get where they’re going. I wait. Not quite sure if I should bust in and get her out or wait and see what happens. I have no idea who she is or why she hasn’t said anything. Something about her though… reminds me of a long, long time ago.
I was just a kid back then, my home life wasn’t picture perfect or anything but at least I knew who I was and where I belonged. Or thought I did anyway. It was a quiet suburban town I lived in, just outside of Toronto. Nothing much ever happened there that was newsworthy. The world was a safe place, or so we believed. Then one day on my way home from school it all changed. I was thirteen at the time, thought I knew everything like all teenagers do. Found out just how wrong I was soon enough. It happened so fast, I’m still not really clear on it, but a car pulled up beside me. Black limo type car. Door opens and a guy gets out. I barely catch a glimpse of his long blonde hair and take a step backwards. I remember my books slipping out of my hands and can still hear the thud as they hit the ground. The guy was huge and I guess I froze midstep. Next thing I know I’m face down on the back seat of the car. Scared shitless I was too. The guy’s huge hand was none too gentle on my back keeping me there. Then without warning the car pulled away. I never even got a backwards glance as we drove off. My books, abandoned on the sidewalk, my school in the distance and my home only a few blocks away. Never saw any of them again.
I found out later that the police investigated my disappearance for a while. Maybe I ended up as a face on a milk carton too, I don’t know. My parents were dead before I could risk contacting them. I knew better than to chance going to their funerals too. I don’t think they knew I wasn’t theirs. Don’t think they could have.
Took me a long time to piece it together. Figure out who was behind it all and why, but I did, eventually. As scary as the guy that grabbed me was, the man that hired him was ten times worse. They locked me in a cell, more like a cage really. Kept me like an animal for a few weeks, running tests and injecting me with stuff. I figured out later that it was hormones. I was a young 14, a year or more from puberty, probably. They were impatient. Seems in order for whatever it was they wanted from me to be available I had to hit adolescence. At first I thought they gave me my powers somehow, but I know better now. The power, the mutancy, was there all along. It just needed the hormones released as I approached adulthood to activate it. Something else was supposed to happen that they did care about, related to the power I guess, but it wasn’t guaranteed. Anyway, they pumped me full of hormones and waited for them to kick in.
I can still smile over that. They may have messed up my life but at least they never got the chance to find out if I had what they were looking for. The man responsible never did get his satisfaction. Frank Massey. A name I won’t forget. Evilest son of a bitch you’ll ever meet. Twisted up inside and rotting from his soul out. His brain was a sick place to live. Guess his body caught up eventually and it killed him.
I spent years trying to prove he was responsible for a killing spree that lasted twenty years. It ended suddenly a few years back… when he died. Over forty women missing, most of them prostitutes, a few bodies found but not many. The crimes were largely ignored by the police because society doesn’t seem to care what happens to prostitutes, or even suspected prostitutes. Some of them no older than I was when he … grabbed me. I might have ended up like the rest of them, if I hadn’t had some help along the way.
I know what he did with them, what he wanted them for. Ironic really. He tried to rape them and failed. Couldn’t get it up actually. Thought I’d been given a reprieve at the time. He kept calling me Sarah. I think I must look a lot like her, except she’s brunette. That’d be why he dyed my hair. Didn’t like me as a blonde. Wanted me to look like the only woman he ever desired. His own sister, my mother I guess. Sick bastard. He cried like a baby. Forced me to sit there with his head in my lap, singing him lullabies. He was a mutant too, a telepath… could make people do things…
Memories I’d thought were long gone, are suddenly bubbling back to the surface. I try to brush them aside and instead focus on the vehicle I’ve uh… borrowed. It’s brand-spanking new from the look of it. I track the funky energy signature to a special device that must be centered in the engine but has a control inside the car. The car has enough bells and whistles without that going on but that clinches it. The signature that I find so appealing has to be alien. Pierre said the weapons were from Pharaoh. I’ve heard enough rumours in my line of work about aliens among us and even whispers about a planet called Pharaoh. Never saw enough proof to buy the whole theory though. Now, I’m starting to believe. This weapon is not of earth. The frequencies are all wrong… Well, more like all right actually… Perfect somehow.
I check the glove box for papers and I can’t help but smile.
“Well, I’ll be damned…”
The address on the registration is familiar. Seems Ms. Todd here lives in the same mansion as an old friend of mine.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I think.
-----
They stopped the car and ordered CiCi out. The driver drove off as soon as the doors slammed. As they started walking toward an elevator only a few yards away, the man who had done all the talking grabbed her arm as if she would try to run, and hustled her to the elevator. She looked up at him in disgust. She was frightened, but not stupid. There was nowhere to go in the sealed parking garage. He was just establishing his territory as her captor.
He shoved her into the elevator, and she stumbled against the wall. This, she could understand. Knowing she was dealing with a bully was somehow less frightening. Though her chances of surviving were actually reduced, she knew how to take physical abuse. She’d had plenty of practice. And a bully was even easier, you just gave them whatever they wanted, and when they were tired of playing, sometimes they’d stop hurting you.
The bully followed her into the elevator, resuming his hold on her upper arm. CiCi knew she would have bruises from his grip. His lackeys entered the car and flanked the door, one of them pressing a button. The elevator began to descend. CiCi shuddered. She really didn’t care for closed in places, and an underground cell held no appeal for her. For a moment she considered hitting the panic button on the GCU, but she had to make sure Echo’s daughter had enough time to get completely clear of whatever trouble she was in.
The elevator came to a stop. CiCi had no idea how deep they were. There was only one button below the parking garage level, but they had traveled for what seemed a long time.
The door opened, and the man yanked her arm, pulling her out of the elevator and into a long hallway. He led her to the far end, where one of the other men opened a door with a small window in it. Inside was a table and several heavy chairs. He roughly propelled her into one of them, her back to the door, then bent over her, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. She leaned back as far as her bound arms would allow.
“You will tell me what I want to know about the weapons, Portia. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s entirely up to you.” CiCi decided he’d watched too many old spy movies.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she answered him honestly. He slapped her, bloodying her lip. One of the other men stepped forward.
“Sir,…..” he said tentatively.
“Shut up, Hansson. I’m not waiting for that Merc to get what we need from her.”
The man with the gun took her purse from the third man and dug her driver’s license out of it. He handed it to the Bully, as she’d dubbed him since he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself.
“Bobbi Alyn Todd,” he read. “Not very imaginative, are you?” She just looked at him. Her name was her name. What did he expect her to do about it? “Where is the gun, Portia?” he asked, his voice dripping with sweetness.
“I told you, I don’t…,” she flinched as he drew back for another blow. A phone on the wall next to the door rang, interrupting him. Hansson answered it before it could ring a second time. He placed the receiver against his ear, but didn’t say anything for a few moments. The Bully continued to glare at her.
“Yes, sir,” the man with the phone said finally, then replaced the handset in the cradle. “He’s here, sir.”
-----
Another car pulls up to the building and I watch as the man driving it gets out. His long legs uncoil and he springs to his feet like a tiger ready to pounce. He’s huge. Tall and muscular and incredibly dangerous looking. His long blonde hair adds to the mystique. I feel a cold hand wrap around my heart as his head cocks to one side. I duck as he turns to survey his surroundings. My head bumps the steering column as I try to avoid detection, thankful that I hadn’t accidentally hit the horn in my haste to retreat. I bite back the cursing, afraid to make a sound.
I listen, as intently as I can and hear his footsteps moving toward the building. As I sigh my relief something catches my eye. I look up at the underside of the panel and a set of keys are hanging there. Why anyone would keep a spare set of keys inside the car makes no sense at all. Won’t help in the least if you lock yourself out. I reach up cautiously and as I touch the keys they fall into my hand… along with a business card.
It’s a quality card, professionally printed on quality stock. Simple design, isn’t overflowing with information.
JAZ Entertainment Inc.
Bobbi Todd
Research Assistant
The address matches the registration and now I have a phone number to go with it. I flip the card over in my hand and freeze.
“Damn damn triple damn”
-----
“Damn,” the Bully mumbled. “I thought we’d have more time.” He straightened from his threatening position, and tugged at his suit coat sleeves, covering the shirt cuffs. “Watch her,” he snarled before leaving the room. Hansson and the other man exchanged an uneasy glance. CiCi wasn’t sure if it was because of her, their boss, or the impending arrival of the “Merc”. She sighed and shifted, to wipe the blood from her mouth on her shoulder. The gunman jumped and reached for his gun, shouting at her.
“Don’t move!” She froze, staring at him, then slowly relaxed when she was fairly sure he wouldn’t shoot her.
“Jeez, Franco, relax. I really don’t think she’s a threat,” Hansson told him.
“That’s not what Pacetti said. She’s supposed to be one bad-ass bitch.”
“Franco, just look at her. She looks like a librarian, for god’s sake.”
“Role camouflage.” Hansson shook his head and gave up. CiCi almost smiled. In a way, she was a librarian.
-----
What the hell is going on here. Too many coincidences colliding into each other. The world seems to be spinning me into a vortex of information that all points to a single solution. The woman inside that building, that let herself get arrested in my place, knew what she was doing all along. This is her car, it has to be and she knows who I am. Who I really am. How the hell anyone could know my name… my given name no less. Not even my bosses know that. Why would she help me… a perfect stranger…. Unless….
It’s her. I should have known… I should have recognized her. Though to be fair it was over fifteen years ago when I saw her last. Didn’t even remember her name. It would explain what he’s doing here though.
Only question is, how much do they know about me and what I’m doing here.
-----
Victor Creed followed the smug little agent down the long hallway in the basement.
“So you see, Mr. Creed, I doubt we’ll be needing your services after all,” Pacetti said as they approached a door at the end of the corridor. Creed’s nostrils flared as he picked up a familiar scent. It took him a moment to place it. Bobbi?
He stepped in front of Pacetti and peered through the window into the small room, to confirm his suspicion. The he grinned.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You think she is Portia?” He laughed as he opened the door.
Startled to hear the familiar sound in such an unpleasant circumstance, CiCi quickly got up, turning to face the door as she rose. Franco, still jumpy despite Hansson’s reassurances, leaped forward, drawing his gun. CiCi turned toward him, already realizing her mistake. She cringed, instinctively closing her eyes, but made no move to avoid the blow as he struck the side of her head with the heavy firearm.
Franco used enough force that he knocked the small woman from her feet. As he struggled with the safety catch on his weapon, Hansson moved toward him, intending to stop him from doing anything else stupid. Creed got there first.
With an inarticulate snarl, Creed seized Franco by the throat, slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster-coated sheetrock.
“Better watch what yer doin’, pal,” he growled. “Lady’s a friend o’ mine.” Pacetti stared, his mouth hanging open, as Franco’s face quickly turned purple. He would never have thought that such a big man could move so fast. Franco’s gun dropped to the floor with a heavy metallic thud as he clawed at the hand that was quickly strangling him.
Hansson turned to CiCi, the only victim he could see in the room. She was sprawled on her back on the floor, in front of the chair she had occupied during the brief interrogation. She was propped up on one elbow, shaking her head to clear it. There was blood running down the side of her face. He knelt beside her, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. She looked past him at the tableau.
“No!” she shouted. “Vic, no! He was ….” she sagged as Hansson supported her. “He was only trying … to do his job.” Hansson helped her up and gently into the chair. “Vic, please.” The big mercenary shook his head as he turned to look at her. Then he sighed and dropped Franco. The man fell to the floor, gasping and clutching his throat.
“Never could deny you anything, babe. What the hell’s goin’ on here, anyway?” he demanded, turning his attention to the astounded Pacetti. Hansson pressed his handkerchief against the bloody wound at CiCi’s temple, offering his superior no backing.
Pacetti pulled himself up to his full height, and said haughtily,
“As you are well aware, we are in the process of intercepting a shipment of very special weapons. A terrorist group had already … bid on the guns, when Miss Portia, here, entered the equation. It seems she has sufficient pull that the supplier granted her a private audience to see the weapons demonstrated.” Creed pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, his arms draped on the armrests. He watched Pacetti impassively, and unimpressed. Pacetti cleared his throat.
“During this demonstration, our cover was … compromised. Miss Portia,” he gestured towards CiCi, “took possession of one of the weapons, firing at myself and my men, before fleeing. The supplier and the rest of the weapons disappeared. We pursued, and apprehended, Portia.” He nodded his head, confident that his tale had answered any questions Creed might pose.
The mercenary stood, then stepped between Pacetti and CiCi, looming over the other man by several inches.
“Describe the frail at the demonstration,” he said with a smile.
“I beg your pardon?” Pacetti obviously wanted to move away from the bigger man, but resisted the temptation to step back.
“The woman you saw at the warehouse, describe her.” Pacetti unconsciously leaned a little to the side, trying to see CiCi. Creed shifted his position to match, his smile growing slightly.
“Uh,” Pacetti blinked, then evoking his recall training, pictured the scene from the warehouse. He wanted to close his eyes, but the mercenary’s proximity made him nervous. “White female, between five foot two and five foot six, mid-twenties. Long brown hair, wearing a light colored jacket, white tank top, and light colored slacks. No eye color, she was wearing sunglasses.” Creed looked over his shoulder at CiCi, then, grinning down at Pacetti, stepped aside.
Pacetti looked at CiCi, really looked at her. There was no way her loose white blouse could be mistaken for a tank top, and while her jeans were faded, they were obviously jeans, not slacks. And she barely stood five foot two.
“But…” Pacetti began, stammering. “At the café, she tried to duck when I looked at her.”
Creed shrugged.
“Some broad’re shy.” He put his arm around Pacetti’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. “What ya got here, pal, is a clear case of false arrest. Stirred in with a little police brutality. What’d’ya think, doll?” he said to CiCi. “Wanna press charges against yer buddy here? An’ his pal?” CiCi looked up at him.
“No, I just … want to get out of here,” she answered timidly.
“I think that can be arranged, don’t you?” Creed released Pacetti, who stood there, speechless. CiCi got to her feet unsteadily. Hansson, unbidden, released her from the handcuffs. He gave her his bloody handkerchief.
“Keep it,” he said. “It’s still bleeding a little.” She smiled at him, and pressed the cloth against her temple, gathering the scattered contents of her purse with one hand. Franco had gotten to his feet, but made no move to either retrieve his weapon or block CiCi’s path as she moved toward the door. Creed followed her. Before he went through the open door, he turned to look at Pacetti.
“I’ll find Portia for you. Just stay the hell out of my way,” Creed said quietly. He didn’t see the look of determination that crossed CiCi’s features at his words. If Echo’s daughter was indeed Portia, CiCi would do her best to keep Creed off her trail. He was too good, and CiCi didn’t want him anywhere near the young woman.
CiCi and Creed entered the elevator and Creed pushed the button for the ground level. CiCi continued to keep pressure on the wound at her temple as the small room lifted them the many yards to the surface. As the doors opened, Creed spoke to her.
“How the hell did you get mixed up with those losers, doll?” CiCi shrugged.
“Wrong place at the wrong time, I guess. From what Pacetti was saying, I look at lot like the woman they were chasing.”
“Yeah. Funny about that. Don’t you usually wear your hair up?”
“I’m trying to change my image.”
“Nice jacket, too. Had it long?” Uh oh, CiCi thought. The silk jacket wouldn’t have her scent on it. It would smell of Portia.
“No. I borrowed it this morning.” The trick with dealing with someone of Victor’s particular talents lay in stating the absolute truth. He would be able to tell if she were to lie to him.
“Mmmm,” was his only response.
They walked past several armed guards, though none of them tried to stop them, or even looked twice at CiCi’s bloodied countenance. Apparently, roughing up a prisoner wasn’t that big a deal here. CiCi didn’t think she liked that one bit.
“My car’s out front. Can I give ya a lift somewhere?” He chuckled. “Like maybe a hospital?”
“No, thank you, Victor. I just … want to go home.” She couldn’t wait to tell Echo about her daughter. Then CiCi suddenly realized she’d have to explain to Daemon what had happened to her car. Her brand new car. She swayed and Victor caught her arm.
“I think maybe I’d better give you that ride, after all.” He steered her to the bright red convertible parked directly in front of the building, and helped her in. Anyone who knew Victor Creed would have been astonished at the gentleness with which he handled the small woman.
“Thank you, Victor.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“What’re you doin’ in Rome, anyway?” he asked her.
“My … boss transferred our offices out here a few months ago. I came along.”
“Now that Massey’s dead, who’re ya working for?”
“I work for JAZ Entertainment. Our headquarters is out at the Citadel.”
“That where yer livin’?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I’ll run ya out there, then get back ta work.” He looked over at her as he pulled out into traffic. “Don’t supposed you’d do a little search fer me, would ya?”
“To find Portia? No, I won’t.”
“Didn’t think so, but it was worth a try.” CiCi wasn’t aware of the woman watching the car as they pulled away from the building. Victor saw her though, and kept track of the little silver car that moved into traffic behind them, even when the woman dropped back nearly a block. A real pro, he thought. He glanced at CiCi, wondering how the mousy little secretary had gotten tangled up in such a dangerous web.
-----
They walk out together as if underscoring what I’m thinking. She’s leaning on him and obviously hurt. I cringe as I realize they beat her instead of me. What did they want with me and who are they that they can treat civilians like this and get away with it. Do they know what they’ve gotten themselves into? Do they know who he is and what he’s capable of?
I don’t believe in coincidence. This is all happening for a reason, it has to be. What the reason is may take a while to figure out, but I will.
My head starts to hurt trying to put all the pieces together but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a mystery I can’t solve. Like a jigsaw puzzle…. I get obsessed. Like a dog with a bone. Won’t quit till I have it all worked out.
He opens the door for her and I almost envy the tenderness he shows her. He’s not a nice guy, I’ve known that for as long as I can remember, but he’s so gentle with her. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like….
I focus on the task at hand and follow them as they drive away, careful to stay a few car lengths back. I turn on the radio finally, desperate for something to help calm my rapidly fraying nerves. He dodges in and out of traffic like a Formula One driver… but every now and then he slows down and just seems content to let me catch up a bit. I’m sure he’s on to me but I can’t give up now. In for a penny in for a pound.
End Part 3
Part 4
As Creed drove skillfully through the traffic, CiCi remembered the first time they met. She’d been working for Massey for about a year, and was so cowed, she did whatever he ordered without question. He never physically punished her, but then Frank Massey was a powerful telepath and didn’t need to. He could cause extreme pain with but a thought. He’d begun using her to entertain his clients shortly after she started working for the firm and had been identified as a mutant during a routine drug screening blood test.
-----
Creed sauntered into the reception area outside Massey’s office with the grace of a panther. He sat on the edge of CiCi’s desk, looming over her.
“I’ve got an appointment, doll,” he told her. She looked up, meeting his ice blue eyes for only a moment before turning away.
“Mr. Massey is expecting you, sir, but has been delayed. He instructed me to ask you to wait and to see to your needs if you agree to do so.” He reached out and caught her chin with one hand, turning her to face him once more.
“See ta my needs?” he asked, leering at her.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, her voice a barely audible whisper. She could feel her heart pounding frantically in her chest, and it seemed as if all the air had been sucked from the room. She couldn’t catch her breath.
The intercom buzzed just then, interrupting what might have proven to be an interesting … encounter. Creed laughed as she jumped and shakily answered the intercom, sending him in for his appointment with Mr. Massey.
-----
CiCi sighed and Creed glanced at her questioningly. She shrugged.
“Just remembering.” Creed grinned.
“Yeah, we had a lot of good times, didn’t we? Whatever happened?”
Frank Massey CiCi thought bitterly. And a certain fourteen-year-old girl, that had desperately needed their help. She suppressed the memories. After all, Victor didn’t share them. Not anymore.
“Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”
-----
I figure out where they’re going before they get there. I can see the Citadel looming in the distance and pull onto a side street, letting him think he’s lost me. Not sure if he’ll double back to find me or not but I won’t be here long enough. I ditch the car and find another one to “borrow”. Don’t have far to take it but I can’t risk using hers any longer. She should be able to find it here soon enough. I take some side roads and end up with a decent view of the Citadel and the causeway. Just in time too, from the look of things.
-----
As Creed turned onto the causeway, leading out to the Citadel, he glanced in the mirror. The little silver car, still several vehicles back, turned off. He couldn’t see anything of the driver, except for a glint of golden hair. Whoever she was, she knew she’d be spotted if she followed him out onto the sparsely populated roadway. He looked over at the woman in the seat next to him. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, and completely unaware that they had been followed. He shook his head. He liked the gal, but she sure wouldn’t last long in this business. He’d do what he could to get her out of it, and keep her out of it.
-----
“Mr. Strong?” the guard’s voice on the GCU was uncertain.
“Yes?” Daemon answered shortly, irritated at the interruption.
“Sir, we may have a problem.”
“Define problem.”
“Ms. Todd is returning to the Citadel in the company of a man our computers have identified as Victor Creed, aka Sabretooth.”
“What?!?”
“Yes, sir. She appears to have been injured, but Mathers, the Psi on duty, indicates that she’s not currently in distress.”
“She’s with that psycho, but she’s not in distress. I find that hard to believe.” As he spoke, Daemon typed commands into his keyboard, alerting his team to the emergency. They began to respond immediately, converging on the guard station at the entrance to the causeway. He moved quickly to join them.
“This is Mathers, sir. Ms. Todd’s pretty hard to get a read on, sometimes. She just kinda … blends into the background.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty good at that. Clear the station. We’ll deal with Creed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Daemon rounded a corner and nearly collided with Echo, who was accompanied by her dog, MaHeeGun. Together, the three of them moved toward the main doors. Echo threw an enquiring look at him.
“Looks like Creed’s got CiCi,” Daemon told her. Echo’s smooth stride faltered as all the color fled from her face. Daemon caught her arm, stopping them both.
“Ah, shit. You’ve got a history with Creed, don’t you?” Echo nodded, her anguish plain. “Stay here,” Daemon ordered. “The rest of us can handle this.” He turned and strode away from her, pausing only long enough to glance back at his Advisor. “We’ll get her back. She’ll be fine.” Then he was gone.
Echo knew she couldn’t risk allowing Creed to see her. There was no way of knowing what subconscious commands her brother had planted in the big mutant’s mind. She sank to her knees beside her dog, putting her arms around him and burying her face in his ruff for a moment.
“Protect CiCi,” she whispered into his sharply pointed ear as she released him. He huffed once and ran after Daemon.
CiCi looked up as they neared the guard station at the end of the Causeway. She sat up in the seat as she realized that there were no guards to be seen. She glanced at her GCU, only to find a tiny red light shining on it.
“Oh, no,” she murmured.
“What’s the matter, doll?” Creed asked, always alert for trouble.
“Oh. Oh! Victor, stop the car! Please, stop the car!” Creed stomped on the brake pedal and the car screamed to a halt, throwing them both against the seatbelts. CiCi fought with the latch for a second, before getting it to release. She opened the door and scrambled out, looking around frantically. Creed stood on the other side of the car, his posture deceptively at ease, but she had known him for years. He was tightly coiled, ready to attack in any direction, his flared nostrils seeking a hint of whatever had upset his passenger. He turned toward the open gate even as Daemon, wielding his sword Anubis, shimmered into view, stalking purposefully toward the much larger man. CiCi gasped as the rest of the team appeared from various directions. Scrib and Mystikal settled silently to earth behind Creed’s car. Daemon had ordered the Court to stay out of the big man’s reach, and out of Daemon’s way. Their primary mission was to take any chance offered to get CiCi clear. Tracy shuddered as her feet touched the ground. Shannon had loaned her enough of her abilities that she was able to approach from above, but Scrib wasn’t entirely sure she liked flying. It was something she’d have to get used to.
“Let her go, Creed, and maybe we won’t have to find out how much damage your healing factor can really take.”
“Let her go? Who?” Creed’s confusion seemed to be genuine, but Daemon couldn’t take the chance. MaHeeGun ran past the Grey King, determined to follow his mistress’ command to protect his friend. CiCi dashed around the front of the car to stand, shivering, between Daemon and Creed. The dog stood beside her indecisively. He couldn’t detect any threat to the woman. Creed growled, and the dog’s hackles rose as he turned to face the blonde mutant.
Scrib took a half step forward, intending to reduce the air pressure around the man and subdue him through a simple lack of oxygen. She liked CiCi and didn’t want to allow her to be injured. Creed was starting to turn toward her when Marvel Girl’s voice whispered inside her head.
“Back off, Scrib, and keep a pressure wall between you and Creed. You are in more danger from him than CiCi is. Don’t let him catch your scent.” Scrib, puzzled, did as she was told.
“Mr. Strong, wait, please.” CiCi placed a hand on MaHeeGun’s back, as much for her own comfort as to calm the determined animal.
Creed turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
“This yer boss, doll?”
“Get over here, CiCi. We’ll take care of this,” Daemon ordered as the rest of the members of the Grey Court surrounded Creed, careful to keep their distance until the secretary was safe. Loki stood slightly behind Daemon, and to his left. The jokester was all business, his outline seemed to shift slightly as he considered the best form for the coming engagement.
“Get outta the way, doll,” Creed snarled, always ready for a fight, even if he didn’t know why he was fighting.
“I … I can’t,” CiCi said, looking from one man to the other. “This is my fault. Please. Victor didn’t do anything, Mr. Strong. Please, listen to me!” Daemon moved forward, heedless of her words. CiCi backed away before him, until she bumped into Creed. He stooped and put an arm around her waist. The Grey Court tensed.
“Bad idea, babe,” he said quietly into her ear. “Yer liable ta get hurt.” He picked her up and swung her out of the way, leaving only MaHeeGun between the two men. The dog barked sharply as CiCi scrambled to regain her position, Mystikal just missing in her telekinetic grab for the smaller woman.
“Damn it, stop!” she shouted, standing back to back with the big animal, defiantly blocking both men. The other members of the Court froze. They’d never heard CiCi raise her voice, much less use profanity. It just wasn’t in her nature.
Daemon finally looked at her.
“Please,” she said, nearly in tears. “He just gave me a ride. That’s all. He’s my friend.”
“Your friend?” Daemon’s voice was incredulous.
“Yes, sir.” Daemon’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Creed.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” CiCi flinched.
“No, sir,” she whispered. “I’ve known Victor for twen… fifteen years.”
“Ya know, babe,” Creed put in, his posture relaxed in marked contrast to Daemon’s tightly wound stance. “You don’t have ta kiss his ass. You can hang out at my place anytime ya want.” Daemon’s eyes flashed with anger and he took a step forward. CiCi blocked his way, her eyes pleading. He glared down and her and she cowered before him.
Daemon suddenly realized that she expected him to hit her, which did nothing for his already frayed temper.
“Get him,” he snarled at her through gritted teeth, his sword still held at ready, “off my rock.”
“Ye.. yes, sir.” Her shoulders still hunched against the expected blow which would never fall, the timid woman backed away from Daemon, unconsciously reaching behind her, seeking reassurance from the man that should have been a mortal enemy. And Creed gave her that reassurance, closing his massive hand gently around her much smaller one. She turned toward him as Scrib and Mystikal moved from behind his car, clearing the path to the causeway.
Creed pulled CiCi against him, and she clung to him shakily for a moment. Daemon had difficulty restraining himself. He still wanted to take the man apart for invading his domain, and threatening the safety of his people.
“I’m sorry, Victor, but you’ll have to leave now,” CiCi said, unable to meet Creed’s eyes.
“Come with me,” he said simply. She looked up at him in surprise.
“Now?” she asked.
“Sure, doll. We can blow this place, go anywhere you want.” The tiny flutter of hope in her chest died aborning as he continued. “Soon’s I find Portia, I’m done here anyway.” Her shoulders slumped once more.
“I can’t, Victor.”
“Suit yerself,” he said coldly, releasing her abruptly. She stumbled away from him as he climbed into his car, it’s engine still humming, and dropped the transmission into reverse. He twisted the wheel, spinning the car nearly on it’s axis.
“Be seein’ ya, babe,” Creed called over his shoulder. CiCi stood, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, and watched him drive away.
Tracy and Shannon moved toward her but stopped at Daemon’s abrupt order.
“Scrib, Mystikal, get back to the Citadel. The rest of you, too. Your response time was unacceptable. Danger room drills for the rest of your free period. Move!” Grumbling quietly, and with some resentful glances at CiCi, they complied.
CiCi stood motionless, watching until Creed was out of sight. When she turned, dejected, she found Daemon waiting for her. His hooded eyes did nothing to conceal his anger.
He stood with his feet spread and his hands behind his back. She made no move to go past him, knowing that she deserved whatever he chose to do to her.
“Do you have any idea,” he said coldly, “just how stupid it was to bring him here?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Strong, I didn’t think…” she began.
“No, you didn’t think,” he interrupted, closing the small distance between them with a determined stride. It took every ounce of his self-control not to grab the silly bitch and shake some sense into her. “I want you to think now,” he continued. “I want you to picture what would have happened if the guards hadn’t recognized Creed, and Echo had come running to find out what had happened to you.” CiCi paled. She knew of the controls Echo’s brother had implanted in the minds of his operatives. Creed would have attacked Echo as soon as he had seen her.
“And what about Scrib? If Echo hadn’t warned Marvel Girl soon enough, he’d have caught her scent. Wonder how similar Scrib’s and Echo’s scents are, anyway? And if it would have mattered if he’d killed the wrong one. Would you think then?” Despite his best intentions, Daemon found that he held the woman by her arms. Her eyes were filled with horror.
Satisfied that he’d made his point, he released her.
“You are usually one of the most sensible people at the Citadel. What the hell happened?” Turning on his heel without waiting for an answer, Daemon stormed off, returning to the Citadel to make sure his people were training as he’d ordered. He’d probably join them, just to let off some steam.
CiCi sank to the ground behind him, and hid her face in her hands. MaHeeGun, ignored by both people even though he’d tried to shove himself between them, licked her hand. Sobbing, she threw her arms around him.
“Oh, MaHeeGun, what have I done?” She clung to the dog for a moment, then sat up, letting him go. MaHeeGun whined. “Go to Samantha, boy. Go on.” She walked through the still open gates as the guards returned in response to Daemon’s summons. They watched her, bemused, as she walked slowly across the grounds to the entrance nearest her quarters.
-----
The first thing I notice, after they stop the car and get out, is the dog. Beautiful creature he is. Looks like a wolf…. Husky maybe… but his signature is wrong. It’s not a dog’s frequency… at first I think maybe he’s really a shapeshifter, but I can generally spot them, they have a certain fluctuation in their frequency, his is constant and steady… stronger than a man’s. Except that man… whoever he is, he just seems to appear out of thin air and I gasp as I recognize his signature. It matches the weapon and the one in the car. He must be Pharaohan. He’s an attractive, if at the moment incredibly angry, black man. He carries himself with strength and confidence. The sword in his hand shimmers with energy. More than that though, he resonates the same energy. The same frequency that I found so appealing in the weapon, he has in a much larger quantity. Whoever he is, I will know him. There is no doubt in my mind. I must know him. I watch as others surround the two. They are apparently her team mates concerned for her well being. I smile sardonically at that. In any other situation they’d be right to fear Creed, but he is no threat to this CiCi. Never has been, never will be. He’s not in love with her, but he does feel protective of her, he cares about her. Not as much as she cares about him, though. Love’s a bitch sometimes ain’t it?
Like I said, I can read people like that. It’s not telepathy, it’s physical. You can tell a lot about how a person feels by simply their posture, their body language. Their electrical output tells me even more and I’ve learned to comprehend them as effectively as most people read the other physical clues. Yeah, he cares about her alright.
And he has slept with her. I shudder at the thought. Can’t imagine him being a terribly considerate lover.
I briefly identify the other signatures present so I can remember them if I need to. There is a shapeshifter there and a couple of telepaths I guess. One signature confuses me though. Two of them flew in behind the car, as though cutting off their escape. Standard procedure no doubt. One of them has the most striking silver hair I’ve ever seen. The other is blonde. At first her signature matches the silver-haired girl’s, but then it changes and I figure it wasn’t really hers at all. For an instant I see something familiar in hers…. Like home maybe… Then it’s gone and I figure it must have been my imagination. I ignore her then and concentrate instead on the obvious leader of the team. The Pharaohan. I just watch, transfixed, as he moves. The electricity… the fire… that emanates from him takes an almost tangible form. I reach for the weapon in my bag and hold it tightly, unconsciously tuning myself to his energy sequences.
Then it’s over. The problem resolved. The team disperses. Creed drives off and the woman that caused all the commotion stands, head hung low while her boss… the incredible Pharaohan man, apparently chews her out then storms away. She sits down and hugs the gorgeous wolf-like creature before turning to walk through the gates. She looks, just once, over her shoulder at the car in the distance. The agony in that single glance is palpable. Then she, too, is gone.
In that instant, I regret my decision. I regret coming here to Rome. I regret meeting up with Pierre. I regret setting her up so that I could escape. I regret following her to the cop shop and seeing Creed again. I regret following them to the citadel. I regret causing her the pain that she’s obviously in. Not just the physical pain caused by the cuts and bruises but the pain in her soul. As the gates close behind her, I remember the weapon in my hand. The reason that I came here in the first place. Slowly, I realize once again that there was never really any other choice for me. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Her pain was inevitable, as is mine. The man…. The Pharaohan man I have yet to meet. That is the future and it will come in time, but first I have a mission to fulfill. There will be time in the future to talk to her, to explain, to apologize, to find out what she knows. Time to investigate this Pharaohan electricity more closely. I smile at the hidden meaning in that thought.
Business first. Time to track down Pierre and those ever so sexy weapons he’s selling.
-----
End Part 4
Old Friends
Part 5
By
Hotwire and Bobbi Todd
Echo caught Daemon as he slammed open the massive doors at the main entrance to the Citadel.
“Where’s CiCi?” she asked. “How was she hurt?” Daemon recognized several different voices in Echo’s question. He glared at her and she stepped back in surprise.
“I didn’t ask,” he answered shortly and started to move past her.
“Where is she?” she persisted. He was too angry with CiCi to realize that the woman had used her own voice, something that took an extreme effort for Echo.
“Still out on the causeway for all I care,” he snarled over his shoulder.
Echo stared after him, shocked. She had grown used to his temper, but this was different. He’d never been so rude to her before. She had to find CiCi.
The heavy doors were slowly swinging closed as Echo slipped out between them. MaHeeGun trotted up to her, tail wagging, and tongue hanging out happily.
“Where’s CiCi, boy?” she asked, running her fingers through his thick fur. He pulled his tongue in and closed his mouth, furrowing his brow quizzically. Echo smiled.
“I send you to her, she sends you to me, right?’ The dog huffed in response. He rarely barked. “I’ll find her myself, then. You go play.” The dog snorted. Echo smiled again and patted him absently. Somehow, she knew the dog understood what she had said, and was letting her know he had more important things to do than “play”. She didn’t know when she had begun understanding animals. It was something that had happened gradually until it just was.
MaHeeGun snorted again and began his self-appointed rounds. He had a lot of territory to cover before the sun went down.
-----
Echo tapped the GCU, requesting CiCi’s current location. A tiny map popped up on the screen, quickly zooming in on the Citadel itself, then onto CiCi’s rooms, close to her own. She cleared the screen and walked around the outside of the building. Sometimes it was faster than trying to go through.
-----
As Creed drove away, he was all business again. The woman he left shattered once more, already forgotten as he concentrated on the reason for visiting Rome. He was hired to find the weapons, but he really came to find the woman. Something in her face, in the picture he was faxed, in her eyes maybe. She's familiar and he needs to know why. He's lived with scrambled memories for decades now, and for the most part he doesn't care. He's a creature of instinct. Sensation is all that matters. Whatever feels good.
Every now and then, though, something happens or someone comes along. Something stirs in the beast. Like seeing Bobbi again. He regretted asking her to come with him almost immediately. He wasn't even sure why he'd suggest such a thing. He didn't need no dame tagging along and getting in his way. She's a good enough fuck, but a bit too timid for his tastes. Besides, he's never suffered a shortage of willing companions, or unwilling ones for that matter. When he wanted it particularly rough.
He'd been watching the car following them closely enough when it pulled off that he could backtrack and find the now abandoned vehicle in short order. He left his car running as he got out to search for more information on this mystery woman. He opened the car door and recognized the new car scent immediately. He sniffed once for the scent of his prey and found it. He leaned across and opened the glove box to check for registration. Not likely a professional would be that sloppy, and the car was probably stolen, but he'd check anyway.
He was only mildly surprised to discover the car actually belonged to Bobbi. Buried under the almost overpowering smell of the car itself was the faintest trace of her scent. Somehow she was involved in this thing. His eyes narrowed as he considered the facts. She knew who this Portia McDuff really was and while she didn't outright lie to him she was hiding something.
He didn't like that. Not even a little bit.
-----
I've got a fix on the weapons but I can't risk showing up "out of character." I also don't want to draw too much attention to myself or leave clues behind. Portia McDuff is a brunette. I can't risk being traced back to the hotel so I pull into a parking lot near a department store. I pause before I enter to short circuit the security cameras. Better safe than sorry. I try not to smile as I approach the wig department. I can hear the maintenance staff being called to the security office. To see what's wrong with the cameras no doubt. I'm finding it easier and easier to understand Italian. I really should take the time to learn some foreign languages completely.
“Posso aiutarlo?” Can I help you?
The saleslady is very attentive. No doubt more because I look like a potential thief than a potential sale.
"Si, grazie."
Her hair colour is almost exactly the right shade. I smile my warmest smile and touch her arm. Fortunately such a gesture won't cause concern in Europe. They are much more touchy feely than North Americans are on the whole. I only need a few seconds worth of contact to get what I need.
Once I’ve got her frequency, I don’t need to maintain physical contact, and I can understand her as easily as if she were speaking English.
“Your hair is such a beautiful colour,” I tell her. “And I was just wondering how I would look as a brunette. Do you have something I could see?” My face is starting to ache with the effort of keeping the smile in place while I reach for control of the woman. I can’t leave any trace of my purchase when I’m finished here.
“You can get your hair dyed in our beauty department,” she says snootily.
“No, I don’t want anything that permanent, in case he… I mean, in case I don’t like it.” Let her think I’m doing this for a man. In a way, I guess I am.
“A wig?” she responds. “All right. Long or short?” she asks with a smile, her eyes going a little glassy as I “hot-wire” the pathways in her brain just a tiny bit.
“About this long.” I say, holding my hand behind me and turning to show her, allowing my eyes to sweep the area for any other witnesses. So far, so good. No one else is in sight, and the light is still out on the camera. I feel the pressure of time slipping away, though.
“Yes, I think I have something you would like.” She looks right at me, but I’ll make her forget what she’s seen. I could make her see something else, say an older woman, trying to recapture her youth through the wig. It’s a useful talent, but it takes way too much effort to be practical in the field. Hence the need for a disguise.
She turns to a cabinet behind the counter and removes a wig from the wig head. It’s perfect.
I take it from her and turn the big mirror so I can see what I’m doing. My reflection startles me. My hair is loose, forming a blonde mane about my face, and my eyes are as blue as …. as Creed’s. I shudder. I hope my eyes are never as cold as his.
I push my hair back and pull the wig on, tucking the stray blonde strands up under it. It’ll do.
“I’ll take it,” I tell the saleswoman and she rings it up. I pay cash for the thing and give her a little jolt as I accept my change, just enough to erase the last couple of minutes from her memory, and to freeze her in place for a few seconds. I head for the door, cool and calm as can be. I look back as I reach the door and she’s standing at the counter, a puzzled look on her face as she holds the empty wig head and looks at the cash register. She doesn’t remember me at all.
And that’s just the way I like it.
-----
CiCi walked quickly into her room, picking up speed and peeling off the too tight jacket as she went. She dropped it into the small Pharaohan cleaner Daemon’s people had provided shortly after she and Echo had moved in. It was guaranteed to remove bloodstains. She just hoped the machine would finish its job in the few minutes it would take her to get ready. She wanted to return it when she found Echo’s daughter. Her ruined blouse she dropped in a trash can on her way to her bedroom for more practical clothing. She exchanged the faded jeans for darker, looser pants.
She stepped into the bathroom long enough to rinse the dried blood from her face and torso, hissing in pain as the water stung the torn flesh. The bleeding had finally stopped, but the wound on her temple was ugly, and her lower lip was noticeably swollen.
Echo reached CiCi’s room a short time after her assistant. She knocked on the partially open door, but there was no response. She could hear water running at the far end of the suite, so she went in, confident that she would be welcome.
She echoed the knock at the open bedroom door just as the water shut off and CiCi came out of the bathroom. The secretary jumped, startled, then smiled, more self assured with Echo than with anyone else.
“What happened?” Echo asked as CiCi went to the closet and took a dark, long sleeved shirt from a hanger and began to put it on, the cloth quickly concealing the livid bruise on her arm. She just shrugged. Echo moved forward and caught CiCi’s chin, turning her head so that she could examine the head wound.
“Stitches,” she said simply.
“I don’t have time.” CiCi bent and retrieved a pair of black boots from a shoe rack in the closet.
“Going somewhere?” CiCi looked up at her and smiled.
“She’s here, Samantha. She’s in Rome.”
“She,” Echo repeated. CiCi was used to hearing her own voice from Echo.
“Janet.” Echo reeled, and CiCi dropped the boots to steady her. “She’s alive, and she’s here, but I’ve got to go to her. I’ve got to protect her.”
“Daemon…” Echo began. CiCi shook her head.
“Then I’d have to protect Victor. He’s looking for her, too.” Echo almost laughed at the thought of tiny woman protecting Creed from the Grey King. She quickly sobered when she realized this scenario had already played out once today. The nature of her old enemy, and the idea that he was after her child, caused all remnants of humor to flee.
“I’m going with you.”
“It’s too dangerous, Samantha.” Echo looked stubborn. “I don’t think Victor will hurt her.” Echo stared at her assistant with disbelief. The entire situation was surreal.
“How can you think that? Especially after what he did to you?” CiCi looked puzzled for a moment.
“You mean this?” she asked, gesturing to her temple. “He didn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Then who did? And why wouldn’t he hurt you? Or Janet?” Her feelings of unreality were growing worse. She needed explanations, and quickly. CiCi sat down on the perfectly made bed and pulled Echo down beside her with a sigh.
“I don’t have time for the long version, Samantha. If I can, I’ll tell you that one later.” She paused, and cleared her throat nervously. “I was arrested after I drove into Rome. They’re the ones that … hurt me. They were asking questions I couldn’t answer.”
“About the Court?” Echo asked.
“No. And if Victor hadn’t come in when he did, this would have been a lot worse.” Echo couldn’t verbalize her questions any longer. None of this made any sense.
“They thought I was Janet,” CiCi added at last.
“Janet … Creed … why?” CiCi reached for her dropped boots, and began to pull them on before she answered.
“They were asking me about weapons. I think that’s why Victor is looking for her, too. They might even have hired him.” She finished putting on her other boot while Echo waited.
“Victor won’t hurt me because we’ve been … friends for a very long time.”
“Friends?” Echo was astonished when CiCi blushed.
“More than friends, actually. We shared a bed, on and off, for almost fifteen years.”
Echo was literally speechless. Her best friend was telling her that she had been sleeping with her worst enemy. And hadn’t said a word about it before this.
“He’s helped Janet before. I don’t think he’ll hurt her this time.”
“Before? Why???” CiCi had difficulty meeting Echo’s eyes. “Why?” the blue-eyed woman repeated in her own voice. CiCi looked up at her.
“He’s her father.”
CiCi stood up and put her hand on Echo’s shoulder. Echo resisted the urge to shake her off with difficulty. “I’m sorry,” the smaller woman said, then suddenly applied pressure to a specific point between Echo’s shoulder and neck, knocking her out almost instantly. She caught her friend’s limp form, and shifted her further onto the bed. She took a moment to make sure she would be comfortable when she regained consciousness, which should be about an hour, even for Echo. CiCi turned on a small radio, tuned to Echo’s favorite station, and left the bedroom.
CiCi checked the cleaner and was relieved to find the cycle complete, and the jacket clean and dry, with no evidence of the bloodstains which had formerly marred its sleek surface. She left her suite, closing the door behind her without a backwards glance.
End Part 5
Old Friends Part 6
By
Hotwire and BobbiTodd
CiCi quickly made her way to the garage. After a few minutes of searching, she put her hand on the hood of Daemon’s car, a sleek, black, Lamborghini Diablo.
“I can’t make it much worse than it already is,” she murmured as she opened the door and climbed in. The car was the least likely to be missed, as Daemon rarely drove it anymore. He’d used it almost exclusively for when he and Sharon had gone out for “a night on the town”. It hadn’t been used in over a month. She quickly found the over-ride code on the computerized console, and started the vehicle. She boldly drove the stolen car to the security gate. The guard waved and opened the gate for her. She waved back as she went through.
As she drove across the causeway, she tried to plan her course of action, and decide what to say to Echo. She couldn’t look for Janet directly. She had a block against that particular search. A block that went back fifteen years. She had to find the woman before Creed, though. She looked too much like her mother, and Victor didn’t remember being her father. She had to get there first, to make sure he remembered. She sighed and decided that she would think of something.
In the meantime, she would tackle the more difficult task of explaining herself to Samantha. She dearly loved her employer, and hated to do anything that would hurt her, but it was already too late to avoid that. She regretted not being able to have this conversation face to face.
CiCi touched a button on the GCU and began to speak.
“Grey Companion Unit. Program.” The unit chirped in acknowledgement. “Record for time delay transmission. Time, one hour. Recipient, code name Echo. Begin recording.”
“Samantha, there was a lot of information missing from Janet’s file. It was missing because I removed it. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I just didn’t want Frank Massey to ever get his hands on her again. I wasn’t disobeying when I couldn’t find her for you either. You know I can’t disobey. Mr. Massey saw to that. I … I just couldn’t find her. And it cost me.” She shuddered.
“I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sorry. There are so many things I need to tell you, and I doubt I’ll ever have the chance again, so I have to get this right.”
“The first time I met Victor, I’d only worked for Mr. Massey for about a year. I’d been his personal secretary for six months, and was expected to perform as … as …” CiCi was having a hard time getting around the words. “I guess you’d say entertainment, for any of Mr. Massey’s clients or guests that took even the slightest interest in me. When Victor walked into Mr. Massey’s office, he scared the hell out of me. There was just something about him that screamed danger. But he was there on business, and didn’t have time to look at me twice. And I wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful.”
“Mr. Massey sent one of his clients over that night. The guy was … slimy. He just …” she sighed. “Anyway, Mr. Massey sent Victor after him, to kill him. And me, too I guess. He interrupted us and just … tore his throat out. There was blood … everywhere. I was terrified, but at the same time I was glad that the nightmare I’d been living was over.”
“Obviously he didn’t kill me, and I still don’t really know why. When the client finally quit twitching, Victor dropped him and turned to look at me. I couldn’t move. I just sat there, with my arms around my knees, while he reached for me.”
“He put one hand on my throat and slowly pulled me to my feet. I remember feeling his claws on the back of my neck. He laughed when I shivered, and he ran his eyes over my body. I remember exactly what he said. ‘Not bad, doll.’ Then he leaned forward and kissed me, and he whispered in my ear, ‘Tell yer boss I don’t do freebies.’ And he let me go. He wrapped the body in the bedspread, threw it over his shoulder, and walked out. I didn’t know what else to do, so I … I cleaned up the mess. I took a shower just like I was washing off dirt, instead of blood, and went to bed in the spare bedroom. I didn’t sleep in the master bedroom anyway. That bed was …for work.”
“The next day Mr. Massey was furious. He’d expected Victor to get rid of me, but there I was. After a while, I guess he decided that maybe it wasn’t such a bad arrangement after all.”
“He sort of … gave me to Victor. Anytime he was in town, I was exclusively his. He was always gentle with me, Samantha. He never hurt me. Which is more than I can say for some of the men Mr. Massey sent over. One of them gave me a black eye the day before Victor got back in town. He was … very angry.”
“I don’t know exactly what he did, but there weren’t any more visitors after that.”
“Please don’t misunderstand, I know Victor is nothing like Logan, but, to me … he was the closest I had to a Knight in Shining Armor. Stop recording.”
CiCi paused, trying to decide if what she’d just recorded was relevant. She doubted that Echo could forgive her for her relationship with Creed, but she had felt the need to try and explain. In the end, she left it in.
“Grey Companion Unit, resume recording. Janet was Mr. Massey’s first attempt at recreating you. He selected Victor as the father solely because of how much it would hurt you to share a child with him. What he didn’t know was that she was the one that could have saved him.”
“Victor brought her in. He didn’t know who she was, just some kid that Mr. Massey wanted. All he cared about was how much money he got for the snatch. I’m sorry, Samantha. I didn’t know anything about the program until Victor told me about Janet. Bragging, really. Who was I going to tell, after all? Mr. Massey had already had her for several weeks.”
“I got into Mr. Massey’s private files the next day. I read about you. And Logan. But I swear I didn’t know about Frank Junior, or I’d have … done something.” Tears were streaming down CiCi’s cheeks, but she tried to keep the emotion out of her voice. She knew tears were a sign of weakness, of vulnerability, but only if someone saw you cry.
“At that time, there were already eleven children. They were all tested regularly for whatever it was that Mr. Massey needed. Janet’s results were the most promising, so he ordered her brought in.”
“They had been running tests, taking tissue samples, and giving her injections. The child was terrified. I was afraid of what else they might do to her, and I knew I had to get her out of there.”
“I couldn’t get into the facility where they were holding her, so I had her moved to a room she could get out of, even if I didn’t know how.”
“I went to the bank and took money out of Mr. Massey’s petty cash account, and waited outside the door she’d have to use.”
“Oh, Samantha, it broke my heart to see her. She came running out that door like the devil himself was chasing her. I guess she wasn’t really wrong, was she?”
“I grabbed her and she fought like a wild thing. She wasn’t hearing me, and she hit me with some sort of electric charge, but it was pretty weak and I was able to hold on to her. When she finally stopped fighting me enough to listen, I grabbed her hand and we ran.”
“Once we were a couple of blocks away, I slowed us to a walk. Running, we were too conspicuous.”
“She wanted to know who I was. I her told her my name, but that was all. She wasn’t happy, but she accepted it. I was afraid she’d panic if I told her I worked for Massey.”
“I gave her the ID card I’d had made, using the picture from her file. I’d added a few years to make things easier. I was going to take her to the airport and put her on a plane.”
“I don’t know what I thought would happen then. Deep down in my soul, I still believed in happy endings, even after being under Mr. Massey’s thumb for five years. I thought things would be all right.”
“I hailed a cab and we were just about to climb in when someone grabbed my wrist. It was Victor, and he had hold of Janet with his other hand.”
CiCi shuddered as she remembered.
“Goin’ somewhere?” he growled. Janet didn’t make a sound, she just started twisting and trying to free herself. The cab driver took one look at Creed and decided to mind his own business.
“Victor, let her go, please. Bobbi slipped her body between Creed and the struggling girl. He looked down at her and she fought against her instinct to cower. Creed hadn’t turned such a cold look on her in years.
“I went to a lotta trouble ta bring her in, doll. Why should I let her go now?”
“She’s just a little girl, Victor. What chance does she have with Mr. Massey?”
“What do I care?” he asked, but he loosened his grip on the girl. Bobbi put her hand on his arm and ran it down to his hand where he still held Janet.
“You know what kind of man he is, the games he likes to play. Do you really want to subject her to that?”
“What difference does it make ta me?” he asked, but allowed her to gently pull his hand from Janet’s arm. The girl scrambled into the taxi and Bobbi handed her the bag she’d carried while waiting for her. It was filled with nearly a quarter of a million dollars of Massey’s money. Bobbi closed the taxi door and turned back to Creed.
“It may make no difference to you, but it will make all the difference to her.” She looked up at the big man. “And it may mean something to you as well.” She paused and he waiting, silent. “She’s your daughter, Victor.” His eyes shifted to the girl in the car, disbelieving.
“Who’s her Ma?” he asked.
“A woman named Sarah. Mr. Massey had her put in prison.” He shook his head.
“I don’t remember any Sarah.”
“You didn’t ask my name the first time, either.”
He looked from the girl to the woman in front of him and sighed.
“Massey ain’t gonna be happy.” She threw her arms around him.
“Thank you, Victor!” He held her for a moment, but his eyes were locked on those of the child in the car. He released Bobbi and she turned to the cab. Janet reluctantly slid over and rolled down the window.
Bobbi reached in and stroked her hair.
“Listen to me, sweetie,” she said quietly, with a glance for the driver. “You aren’t Janet any more. You can’t go home again, not ever. Don’t even try to call or Frank Massey will have you again. You’ve got enough money to go anywhere and do anything you want. But you’ll have to be careful.”
“I’m not stupid, lady.”
“I know you aren’t, honey. Just remember what I said. I’ll do everything I can to take care of you here.” Bobbi straightened and tapped on the front passenger window. She hoped the partition between the front and back seats had prevented the driver from listening to too much of their conversation. The man rolled the window down and looked at her expectantly.
“International Airport, please.”
“Who’s paying?” he demanded. Bobbi reached for her purse, but Victor handed the driver a fifty dollar bill. He leaned down and looked in the window.
“Don’t give her any grief, pal. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The cab pulled away.
Bobbi put her arms around Victor and watched the vehicle disappear into traffic. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” she asked.
“No tellin’.”
“What do we do now?”
“Ya got me, babe. I’m usually on the retrieval end o’ these things.”
“Did he already send you to find her?”
“Nah, I was just in the neighborhood and happened ta see you. You almost got away clean.”
“As long as she gets away.”
“Victor let her go, Samantha,” CiCi resumed. “He even paid for her taxi.”
CiCi pulled off the causeway and turned the sleek vehicle toward the ferry dock. She quickly parked the car, then closed her eyes, remembering the events that followed the rescue.
She’d gone back to her office and methodically destroyed all the data on Janet. She didn’t just erase the files, but copied over the disc space as well. Otherwise, she knew, it would be short work for Massey’s people to recover the information. No one had missed the girl yet, but she knew it would just be a matter of time. She’d closed down her computer at the normal time and had gone back to the apartment Massey provided. He wrote off the cost as “entertainment expenses” every year on his taxes. Victor had joined her there a few hours later.
“Has he missed her yet?” Bobbi asked from the circle of Victor’s arms. He laughed.
“You could say that, doll. Place looked like a goddamned ant’s nest.”
“Has he asked you to look for her?”
“Not yet.” He looked down at her and shook his head. “But he will, you know. I’m the best he’s got.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Try ta find her, what else?”
“Victor, you can’t!”
“Don’t start with me, babe. The brat don’t mean nothin’ ta me. I’ve prob’ly got two dozen bastards runnin’ around. One, more or less, don’t make any difference to me.”
“But…”
“Drop it! If she’s smart enough, she’ll make. If she ain’t, she deserves whatever she gets.”
“She’s just a little girl.”
“I said drop it.” He pushed her away roughly. “And cut out the fuckin’ water works. Tears ain’t nothin’ but a sign o’ weakness, an’ weakness’ll get ya killed.” He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Bobbi stopped her tears with difficulty. She’d hoped that he would refuse to search for the girl, but now she realized how foolish that thought had been. It was the last time she let anyone see her cry.
Victor returned much later, and he was furious. He smashed the door to the apartment, splintering it on its hinges, and stood, looming in the doorway, glaring around the living room. His eyes settled quickly on Bobbi, where she cowered, frozen, on the couch.
“You meddling little bitch,” he snarled, crossing the room with two strides. “You helped her, didn’t you?” He slapped the coffee table aside, grabbed a handful of her long hair and yanked her off the couch. She stared up into his ice blue eyes, too frightened to speak. “Didn’t you?!?” he repeated, shaking her viciously. “You and your boyfriend here, you stole her from me!” He threw her to the floor and kicked her in the ribs.
Trying to crawl away from him, holding her side and feeling blood trickle down her neck from her torn scalp, Bobbi realized that, while this was Victor’s body, the inhabitant was Frank Massey. She whimpered with terror as he grabbed her collar, his claws cutting into her back and shoulders. He threw her across the room, slamming her into the wall. He was on her again in a second, clutching the front of her flimsy nightgown, holding her so that her feet dangled inches from the floor as he screamed at her.
“Sarah is mine, you fucking whore! Mine! And nobody is gonna take her away from me, least of all you and this psychopathic Neanderthal! Now, where is she!”
“I don’t know!” Bobbi cried, trying to loosen his chokingly tight grip on the twisted cloth. She was terrified and confused. Sarah? She thought he was looking for Janet. He threw her into the wall again.
“Liar,” he snarled, crouching over her, one knee on the floor beside her hip, the other foot near her elbow on the other side. “You will tell me where she is. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging to tell me.” He curled one massive hand into a fist and drove it into her face. She felt her nose break, the blood choking her. His next blow smashed her jaw. Reflexively, she put up her arm to block his next strike. He broke her it with no effort. She couldn’t even scream as he shattered her cheekbone. Even if she’d been able to speak, she still wouldn’t have told him anything. She felt him tearing into her mind, looking for the girl’s whereabouts, but it was information she simply didn’t have. He wasn’t asking the right questions.
She was barely conscious when he tore the nightgown from her body. Awareness faded in and out as he raped her. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her, was Frank Massey laughing as he plunged Victor’s hand into her belly, then released his hold on the other man’s mind, permitting him to come to himself looking into her eyes. The horror in the mercenary’s eyes was the only thing that allowed her to cling to life long enough for him to get her to a hospital.
CiCi jumped when the GCU chirped to remind her that it was still in record mode. She knew, now, that Sarah was Samantha. Frank Massey had been so obsessed with his sister that he had begun to see all of her daughters as being the same person as his Sarah. CiCi drew a shuddering breath before continuing.
“After Mr. Massey found out that I’d helped Janet, I spent the next three months in the hospital. When I got out….” her voice failed her for a moment. She cleared her throat before she could continue. “When I got out, Mr. Massey had … erased me from Victor’s mind. He didn’t remember me at all. I was just another … toy to him. But, while I was in the hospital, I … I guess you’d say I made Janet mine. That way he could never make me find her.” CiCi got out of the car and, making sure to press the proper sequence on the pad, took the GCU off her wrist. “I’ll make sure she’s all right this time, Samantha. I know how important she is to you. End recording.” She put the GCU on the seat of the car and closed the door.
After making arrangements to have the car shipped back to the Citadel on the ferry, which would be running as soon as the tide was fully in, CiCi turned to the task at hand. How to find a woman she was literally incapable of using her talent to locate.
-----
Creed snarled silently as he stood in front of the department store. The rain had begun to fall, washing away the faint trail he’d been following. His only lead now was Bobbi’s car, and it was a long shot at best.
-----
Echo woke with a start. She knew instantly that she was alone in CiCi’s rooms. The only sounds were caused by the small radio, playing on the nightstand, and her own breathing. She glanced at the GCU she carried and noted that she’d been unconscious for about forty five minutes. She quickly tapped a request into the GCU, demanding the location of the treacherous little secretary.
After what seemed an interminable delay, the words “No Signal” flashed across the tiny screen. Echo wanted to scream with frustration. She stuffed the useless unit into her pocket and stormed from the room, slamming the door open in an unconscious imitation of Daemon. She accessed the security system though CiCi’s computer and manually searched the Citadel and surrounding grounds for the other woman. She didn’t really believe that CiCi was still on “The Rock”, as Daemon called it, but she had to start somewhere.
After completing the tedious search without result, she hacked into the local constabulary computer system, looking for any reports that might give her a clue to the locations of Sabretooth, CiCi, or her daughter, the mysterious Janet. She found nothing.
Frustrated, she left CiCi’s suite. She couldn’t see her GCU, blinking notice of an incoming message, as it had been for over two hours.
-----
End Part 6
Old Friends Part 7
By
Daemon, and BobbiTodd, Coordinated by Hotwire
CiCi was exhausted and dizzy. Her head ached from trying to search for someone she could not find. She suspected she also had a mild concussion from her encounter with the local law enforcement.
She finally decided to find her car, and try to track Janet from there. She was certain the younger woman had taken it. Why else would she have been led to hide it behind the café?
The car hadn’t been hers long enough to make it difficult to find, even in the pouring rain which had begun not long after she’d entered the city. The streets were deserted, making the night eerily quiet. The faint sounds made by her soft-soled boots were swallowed up by the emptiness.
-----
Scrib and Loki hit the dusty ground hard, the force of a nearby explosion having sent them flying backwards. Siren swooped in on leathery wings in the form of a huge dragon and destroyed one of the gun turrets with a powerful blow from her tail. Mystikal joined the regrouping mutants, offering protection from the onslaught of weapon's fire with a TK shield.
The plan was to form on their fallen teammates and renew the attack once they were safe. It wouldn't happen. A sudden shock caused both Mysty and Siren to fall to the ground, now unprotected as their powers were abruptly canceled out. The four mutants looked up to find themselves surrounded by heavily armoured human guards, each one a powerful mechanical behemoth wrapped securely in their robotic exo-suits. With a flash of light, they fired their proton cannons simultaneously.
"Bang," Daemon's voice called from the observation and control room. "You're all dead."
The solid light projections of the Danger Room, frozen in time at the final moments of the simulation, finally dissolved. Loki helped Siren stand as Scrib lifted Mysty from the floor, all of them groaning in pain and fatigue.
For three hours they had run continuous Citadel scenarios - some in which they had to defend the grounds against a variety of opponents, and some where they were the attackers testing the limits of the defense systems.
While the team could see the utility in running both scenarios, they couldn't help but think the latter was designed for the sole purpose of tormenting them. Scrib herself knew the system was designed to be capable of withstanding attacks by beings of far greater power than the four of them.
Repeatedly asking them to do what seemed to be the impossible was nothing short of torture.
Marvel Girl came to stand near Daemon in the control room having been ordered out of the assault force running the scenario. Her Phoenix abilities would have proven too much of an asset and lessened the effectiveness of the training, Daemon had surmised. "And that would be death number eleven. I think we've proven the defense grid and taught them their lesson by now Daemon. Or do you want to go for the even dozen?"
Daemon gave her a sideways glance but didn't bother to answer verbally. The Grey Queen had nothing to do with his foul mood. No need to take it out on her.
"OK people," he said through the intercom, "show's over. Get some rest."
"Their response time today was only off by 28 seconds," Jean said as they watched the team file out. "You didn't have to come down on them so hard."
"You know as well as I do how much damage can be done in 28 seconds."
Jean sighed, nodded and left the room as well. Her Queenly duties awaited her attention in her office. After she had gone, Daemon took to his palm-sized Pharaohan computer where he mused over the list of possible threats to security and checked more off as capable of being neutralized by the defenses. Loading another file onto the screen, his eyes narrowed as he read names off of another list - Darkheart, Black Vein, Illuminati, Toc-Ra, Hellgoat. It continued on and on naming people and organizations Daemon was set to begin exterminating. Though he was no longer the Lord Protector of the Galaxy, he would use every resource available to him to wipe such evil from the face of the earth.
So intent was his gaze at the computer that he barely noticed the doors to the Danger Room slide open once again. Glancing through the observation window, he saw Echo stride into the room. Her figure was boldly outlined by the skin-tight suit she wore. Daemon, drinking in the sight of her, wondered idly if he had scheduled a training session with her and forgotten, but realized that there were no activities slotted for this time today. Probably coming in here to dance again, he thought.
"Computer," she said finally, "load template designate: CiCi."
Daemon raised an eyebrow and turned his full attention to the happenings below as the holographic projection of the small woman appeared in front of Echo. The Grey Advisor paced back and forth in front of the petite Scribe, her posture that of a caged wolf. Something had apparently upset her very much. Daemon wondered just how much Sabretooth's presence had gotten to her. He already knew that she liked to dance to relieve tension and work through her pains and frustrations. But this time, Echo seemed much too ready for a real fight. It seems this last incident had pushed her past the breaking point.
"Computer," Echo spoke again, her voice growing agitated. Daemon realized she was using her own voice to operate the computer. "Download complete hand-to-hand combat database into CiCi template. Increase hostility level by 12."
"What?" Daemon gasped aloud. Was she about to do what he thought she was about to do? But before he could even complete the thought, Echo had already engaged a mean and greatly enhanced CiCi. The battle was fierce but the fighting was unimpressive by Daemon's standards. While Echo's ability to hold her own against an opponent with billions and billions of bytes worth of fighting prowess was a beautiful display, she was showing him nothing he hadn't seen of her before.
Echo blocked a spinning backhand and dodged a quick roundhouse, countering with a scissor kick and using a backflip to get out of the way as CiCi hit the floor.
Daemon believed the match was over and perhaps the deadly brunette had had enough. He was surprised when Echo ordered the computer to remove safety protocols and add a second opponent - this time, by the name of Victor Creed.
Daemon stood as the large feral mutant appeared and quickly joined the fray. Was she out of her mind? Echo answered the unheard question emphatically, by delivering a strike to Sabretooth's throat and kicking CiCi in the face simultaneously in an aerial spin maneuver that had an almost gymnastic quality to it. Daemon blinked as he continued to watch. She was a phenomenon, mixing and matching fighting styles, dance moves and acrobatic finesse into a deadly art that may very well have earned it's own name in another time or place. Creed lunged with his claws, managing to graze Echo's abdomen as she spun in a pirouette and dislodged a vertebrae in his neck with a back-knuckle strike. Creed went down. Even with the slight injury, she hadn't slowed at all, catching the charging CiCi in a Judo-style armlock. Spinning the petite fighter around her back as though she were her partner at swing dance, Echo used CiCi like a weapon, slamming the just risen Creed in the stomach with the smaller woman’s feet. CiCi finally broke loose and came after her with several Karate punches that Echo responded to with similar Karate expertise. She dodged more attacks using Shaolin Serpent style Kung Fu and struck with just as much deadly speed as the reptilian namesake. As Sabretooth and CiCi closed in on her, Echo slipped into true dance/fighting form with Brazilian Capoeira, going into a handstand with legs outstretched , spinning like a helicopter in a series of kicks. CiCi was knocked off her feet, but Sabretooth wasn't fooled. Diving from overhead to avoid her legs, he barely missed another strike with his claws as Echo rolled back onto her feet. She charged immediately back into the thick of it, going toe-to-toe with Creed.
Daemon caught himself staring with jaw agape as she continued to display an ability few, if any, fighters have ever managed, to combine styles so seamlessly. While Daemon himself was capable of putting together the many forms of fighting he had learned over the years, like pearls on a string, Echo displayed the uncanny ability to weave and interlock the similar components of each style until it was a continuous tapestry rather than a linear row. He had never seen her like this, the fire in her eyes craving more combat. She was insatiable.
And even as Echo held her ground with Creed and with CiCi finally returning to the conflict, she requested a third fighter - Wolverine. Daemon, though now thoroughly dazzled by Echo's abilities, was just about ready to cancel the program as the holographic Logan made his way towards the battle. But it didn't matter. Wolverine's one concern, once he had caught the scent, was killing Sabretooth, so the two attacked each other and ignored Echo. Now with only the single sparring partner she had started with, Echo let out a frustrated sigh and deactivated the program herself. Seeing the disappointment on her face as she turned to leave, Daemon rushed down to intercept her.
The doors slid open and Echo was startled to see Daemon standing on the other side. "Daemon," she greeted him emotionlessly.
"I see you've been training," he said, flicking one of the loose hairs that had come out of her ponytail. "I hope you're not leaving now. I was looking for a good workout."
Echo's smile was her answer.
Daemon stepped further into the room, closer to the Grey Advisor.
"Don't worry," he said with a grin. "I'll go easy."
"Funny," she responded. "I was going to say the same thing."
The doors closed behind them.
-----
Creed waited near Bobbi’s car with the patience of a cat. He was nearly invisible standing in a doorway in the alley. He turned his collar up against the rain and thought about what he would do to the woman when he saw her next. He’d teach her that it wasn’t wise to interfere with him. Then he’d persuade her to find Portia.
-----
CiCi found her car with ease. Janet had left it just inside the mouth of an alley not far from the entrance to the causeway. She leaned on the hood for a moment, shivering in her soaked clothing. Now that she was here, she really didn’t know how to go about finding Echo’s daughter. She sighed and resisted shaking her head. That just made the dizziness worse.
As she reached for the door handle, she decided to look for Creed. It always hurt her to find him, because it meant that he was not hers in any way. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, bracing herself. Victor was …. Oh, crap, she thought, turning to face him.
-----
End Part 7
Old Friends
by BobbiTodd, Hotwire & Daemon
Part 8
Sparring is a lot like making love. The more skilled and passionate the other party, the better it is. Assuming, of course, that you can keep up with them. When two people can push each other to greater heights it becomes more than just a physical thing. You can anticipate your partner's next move and counter with one of your own. As surprised as Daemon had been watching Echo take on Sabertooth and a tactically advantaged and hostile CiCi. He was more impressed facing her one on one. She was angry, there was no doubt about it. He'd never seen this fire in her eyes. He'd known about her enhanced strength of course, but had never before felt it.
She had finally found an opponent she didn't have to hold back on. An opponent she knew was next to invulnerable. More so than Logan himself. An opponent whose temper rivaled berserker rages she'd witnessed in the past, but was more coldly calculating than Wolverine would ever be. Not a holographic projection that, despite the advanced programming, still ultimately operated like a computer with no creativity. They were much too predictable. This time she had a flesh and blood target that could take everything she dished out and give as good as he got.
Every move was matched in a new and unpredictable way. Neither knew what to expect next, but each consistently managed to meet the challenge and raise the stakes. They didn't even notice at which point in the battle their moods changed. By that time the adrenaline flowed freely.
For his part, Daemon was thoroughly enjoying himself. Despite her feminine frame and beautiful features, she was a worthy adversary. He hadn't had a workout of this caliber in a long time. In fact, his training had never been tested this far. She was by far the superior martial artist, more flexible and agile than he. His strength was much greater than hers, but it could be used against him as well. Even with his lightning fast reflexes she kept him off balance by mixing and matching styles. His greatest advantage in this match was his stamina.
He patiently waited, knowing the right moment would come, prepared to deliver the coup de gras. The match built in intensity and speed. The emotions of the day that lead to it had fled, replaced by the beauty of the moment. Her fluid grace and his confident strength complemented each other as they danced a deadly duet.
They both knew when it was drawing to an end. Physically and emotionally spent and yet exhilarated, they battled. Daemon caught Echo off guard for the first time since the match began. He twisted while she was still in mid air. He used her own force against her as she had been doing with him. Suddenly she was pinned beneath him. For an instant they were both breathless from the impact. Then he shifted so that she wasn't bearing his full weight. He looked down at her in triumph, reveling in the victory.
"I prefer being on top," he quipped staring down at her.
For just a split second he could see it. The flash in her eyes… of something. Was it fear? Or concern at the blatantly sexual reference. He kicked himself as he remembered what he knew of her past. Perhaps it stirred a painful memory. He would never know. It wasn't likely she'd ever explain what she had felt.
Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Her right leg slid out from under him and wrapped around him even as she pushed against him with her left hip. Her lower half twisted and pinned him to the ground. Their torsos followed and before he knew what was happening, Echo was on top. She smiled silently as she saw the startled expression cross his face. It was transient, replaced by a look of respect.
She rose to her feet in a single graceful motion, then leaned down and offered him her hand. He took it. The gesture was ripe with meaning. Conveying their mutual respect and admiration for each other, of both their expertise and their individual physical assets. Perhaps acknowledging an attraction between them, but also that it would go forever unexplored. Ultimately, the gesture was one of trust and unspoken apology. On his part, for causing her fleeting fear and on hers for allowing him to see it.
-----
I leave the department store and start looking for a new car to borrow. I usually change cars whenever I make a stop. Keeps me from getting caught. The problem with department store parking lots is that they're very open and you never know how long someone is going to be shopping. This mall is patrolled by security too. I decide it's a nice day for a walk. There'll be another car not far away that I can expropriate for a time. I check the beacon from the tracer and stroll off in the direction of my target, the weapons. Funny, I could probably find them without the trace. I can feel their signature almost calling out to me.
As I walk, my mind regurgitates the events of the day and the memories that have been stirred. Seeing Bobbi and Creed again takes me back to the events so long ago. I was just a child then, really, a scared helpless girl. Nothing I'd ever experienced had prepared me for what happened back then, but somehow…. Somehow I survived.
I was sure they meant to kill me. I mean, who kidnaps someone off the street and subjects them to all sorts of testing and ….stuff… and then just lets them go? Well, Frank Massey was a twisted freak of nature. I had no doubt that when he was done with me, I was dead. Not long after he'd wept like a baby in my lap, calling me "my Sarah", I had a new visitor. He was introduced to me as Frank Jr., Massey's son. That never quite sat right with me, but I kept quiet. The first few visits were almost pleasant. He wasn't much older than me and I could tell he was terrified of his father. I think he hated him too. As time went on though, he started to change. Then one day, he was like a different person. It didn't take me long to figure out why. Massey Sr. had tried to get into my head, and for a while he'd succeeded. I shut him down somehow, though. That made him angry but at the same time he seemed to be pleased. I doubt his son was ever able to keep him out of his head. I know he didn't want to do those things… but he did. I guess his father made him.
After… well after he was done with me … they took me for more tests. When they brought me back they put me in a different cell. I was relieved, really. I didn't want to have to go back there and face that… room again. It surprised me though. It didn't seem like the sort of thing that Massey would do. It was almost considerate.
I felt different. After everything I'd been through I was probably in shock, but it was more than that. I realized later that it was that day that my powers surfaced. Whether it was the trauma I suffered or the hormones they'd been giving me finally kicking, or even just finally hitting puberty…. I don't know for sure. I just know how I felt and what happened next.
I was tingling all over, nauseous and shaking. I remember thinking they must have infected me with some horrible disease because I felt hot and cold at the same time. I tried to get comfortable in my new "room" but I just couldn't. I was antsy, I guess you'd call it. The cell, while it was still a prison, was nicer than the one I'd been in before. There were no windows, of course, and the overhead light started flickering. There was a chair with a lamp beside it. I was afraid of the dark, still am really, so I moved to turn the lamp on. The light flickered again and then went out. I think I gasped as I reached for where I thought the lamp would be. I guess I knocked it or something because I could feel it slipping away.
That was when it happened. It was like a floodgate opening. Everything I'd endured, the fear and the hopelessness, the pain and shame and loss and… aloneness I felt, all came rushing over me. Standing in the darkness with the only light source about to smash to the ground, I reached out. Not physically but mentally. I just wanted light. There was no other thought really…. Just "please, make this darkness go away, give me light". As I thought it, I felt it. All the tingling I felt seemed to focus inside of me. The thought turned to more and the power flowed through me. The light came on and I could see the lamp falling. I was frantic, half insane, I guess, and I just wanted light. I must have drawn more power to myself and forced it into the lamp. The bulb exploded before it even hit the ground. The overhead light flickered on again and then grew brighter and brighter.
I had what I have since described as a moment of absolute clarity. I knew. I didn't question how, or why or what. I just knew. I saw the door. The bulb overhead blew too, but I could feel the power still running through me. I ran for the door. There was a panel beside it and my hand found it, instinctively… reaching out to the electricity that flowed through the wall into that panel. With a mental plea from me, the electronic lock released. I was trembling as the door slid open, holding my breath in case there was a guard … or worse… waiting for me. There wasn't. I ran and the lights lead the way. I had only one thought then, that outside I'd find light and… life. I didn't want to die in the dark, I wanted to live in the light… So I ran. I knew that if I didn't, Frank Massey would be my future. Every day for as long as he let me live. I would be his. I ran from him and I ran from his son and I ran from the tests and the treatments and the drugs… I ran from the fear and the darkness and the pain. I ran… for my life.
I burst through the doors and I breathed in the fresh air of hope. I don't know how long they had kept me inside that building. I'd lost track of time early on. However long it was, it was long enough that being outside again… well, it was amazing. I knew I wasn't safe yet… but the feel of sunshine and openness, just being outdoors… I felt revived… and overwhelmed. The sunlight was blinding and the noise was deafening. When she grabbed me…
I snap back to the present when I feel the lightning coursing through me. At first I just enjoy the sensation. Then I realize it's pissing rain and I'm soaking wet on a street in downtown Rome. I look around to make sure nobody saw me get struck by lightning and just stand there smiling. I got lucky. I'm never this careless, but the memories of that day distracted me enough…. I focus again and make sure not to attract more lightning. Whenever my emotions get carried away I have a tendency to draw electricity to me. If I'm not paying attention, that is. It's not usually a big problem, but in a situation like this it could attract some attention. I can't afford to tip my hand.
Unfortunately the jolt from the lightning has my senses on overdrive and I can't take the chance of trying to hotwire a car now, either. It takes a lot of concentration during a thunderstorm to use just enough electricity to start an engine. Too much and I fry the battery. Learned that the hard way. Left a few burning cars in my wake that I hope were well insured. The effects of being struck by lightning can help me in a lot of other ways... and some aren't at all work related, but it does complicate my mission. For now it's best I don't try to use my power. Should wear off in an hour or so. I just hope it's not too late.
-----
"Knew you'd show up sooner or later, doll," Creed said, covering the distance between them in one stride. He pushed CiCi against the car and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She couldn't suppress the tiny squeak of pain that escaped her lips. "You oughtta know better n' ta play with the big boys, babe. You can't complete." He looked down at her, the anger in his eyes unmistakable. "Now, you gonna tell me where Portia is?"
"No, Victor."
"I could … convince you ta tell me."
"Frank Massey couldn't make me tell him where she was. Why do you think you can?"
"You weren't already lookin' for her then."
"If you don't know where she is, then she's safe, and I don't need to find her."
"Not necessarily. The runner she's dealin' with is known fer double dealin'. Sell the weapons, then shoot the buyer in the back, an' sell 'em again. Double yer money real quick that way. 'Course ya don't get much repeat business, but it works if yer in it fer the fast buck." He could tell by the look on her face that she was worried again.
"Victor, I can't find her."
"Then find the weapons," he told her. He pulled her away from the car and opened the door. "Get in." She obeyed, sliding over to make room for him to get in the driver's seat. He had to adjust it all the way back before he could join her.
"I'll help you," she told him, reaching under the passenger seat to retrieve the keys that Echo’s daughter had left. She'd kept the business card, though. "But you have to listen to me first."
"I don't hafta do nothing, doll."
"No, you don't. But I'm asking you to." She handed him the keys and he started the car, turning the heater on when he noticed her shivering. He waited. She explained as best she could, telling him who Portia was, and what she was to him. And how he'd helped her the first time, so many years before.
"Mr. Massey took your memories, Victor, as punishment."
"Never did like that bastard," he said. "Now find the weapons."
"I have to know what I'm looking for."
"They're supposed ta be from a place call Pharaoh." CiCi looked at him sharply as he continued. "Hand guns, from the sound of it." She nodded and took a deep breath, willing the dizziness away.
---
They walked out of the Danger Room together, a distinctive glow in their faces. It was not so much the glistening layer of perspiration on Echo’s skin, nor the residual energy trickling through Daemon’s pores, but more like a radiance of satisfaction.
“Was it good for you?” Daemon asked.
“Good work out,” Echo said with Mysty’s voice.
They stood silently just outside the doors for a minute, neither knowing exactly what to do next. A number of things crossed Daemon’s mind. Sharon was in town exploring, so he wouldn’t see her for at least another hour or so. Most, if not all, of his daily rounds had been made already and his sparring match with Echo could easily count as today’s work out. There was always more to do, of course, but at this moment, he really didn’t feel like going back to work.
“So...” Daemon said, letting a light sigh fill the gap between his words. “What do you do to relax around here?”
“Follow,” he heard his own voice say through Echo’s mouth.
Daemon wondered if he’d ever get used to hearing himself that way. They walked silently through the empty hallways making their way to the Great Lawn. The other members of the court were, no doubt, hiding in the far recesses of the Citadel. None of them wanted to come face to face with Daemon, at least until morning. They needn't have feared him. The workout had done the trick and he was feeling almost peaceful.
When they reached the doors leading outside, Daemon instinctively reached around Echo to open it. She smiled and walked through it, appreciating the gesture. She stopped short when she saw the lightning in the distance. Daemon had to react quickly to keep from bumping into her. She stepped forward lifting her face expecting to feel the rain. Surprised by its absence she opened her eyes and saw clear sky above her. The storm was centered in the mainland and the island on which they stood was dry.
It wasn’t long before their feet were treading steadily on the carpet-like covering of green grass on the Great Lawn’s slight slope. Above them, a huge sky revealed a thousand stars twinkling in the black night. They both stared up as they walked, admiring its beauty.
“Beautiful stars,” Echo said in Scrib’s voice.
“I miss them,” Daemon remarked with more emotion than Echo had ever heard from him.
Echo raised an eyebrow with curiousity.
“I’ll never forget the first time I took to space as Ra,” he continued. “I was only fourteen - hadn’t even flown on an airplane before - and here I had become this power house able to defy gravity. The stars are breathtaking up close.”
Daemon closed his eyes as memories washed over him.
“Red giants and white dwarfs, black holes in their absolute darkness...gas nebulas like otherworldly clouds... I can hardly describe what it feels like to literally touch the stars. I guess the only thing that would come close to that feeling is true love.”
When Daemon opened his eyes again, he saw Echo staring at him quizzically.
He let a thin smile streak across his face for a fleeting moment. “That was really cheesy and mushy wasn’t it,” he chuckled. “Sharon says I’m just a big softy underneath all the leather.”
“Mushy,” Echo repeated with a smile.
“Very few know that about me. Not that it’s apparent or anything, but I have emotions just like everyone else. I just prefer not to wear them on my sleeve.”
“Emotions,” Echo nodded, appearing to agree.
“Right. I’m capable of love just as much as the next, even if it makes me feel so vulnerable.”
“Love. Vulnerable. Explain,” she echoed all in Daemon’s voice.
He was almost oblivious to it now, as though it was natural - like having a conversation with his conscience. They came to the edge of the west outer wall looking across the sea to the almost invisible barrier between black sky and black water.
“Yeah, vulnerable,” Daemon replied. “Doesn’t matter how impenetrable my hide is, my heart isn’t equipped that way. Maybe that’s why I tend to hold back so much, even from Sharon.”
Echo raised an eyebrow wondering what he meant. “Sharon.”
“Don’t misunderstand. I do love her - very much. But...” He sighed.
“But.”
“But it's... incomplete somehow. Not sure I can explain it. Not sure if that’s even the right word.”
Daemon drew his gaze from the water to see Echo staring at him again, this time with a solemn expression. He could only stare back as he realized he’d said too much. She put her hand on his shoulder, but he abruptly turned away, back to face the mansion.
“We should get back. Plenty of stuff to do,” he said, all business in his tone.
She nodded. “Stuff to do.”
As they started back, Daemon broke the awkward silence that followed their conversation. “I see now why you preferred the position of Advisor.”
Echo grinned.
-----
End Part 8
Old Friends
Part 9
by
HotWire
and
BobbiTodd
Some days I hate my job.
What started out as a beautiful day has quickly turned to shit. A few hours ago, the sun was shining. It was hot enough when I abandoned the slacks I'd been wearing. I was comfortable in shorts and a tank top. Now the temperature has dropped about ten degrees and it's pissing rain. I'm soaked to the bone, facing demons from the past and hungry to boot. What I want right now more than anything is a long hot bath and a decent meal.
I still have to get these stupid weapons back…. scratch that… not stupid weapons. Actually the day hasn't been a total write off, not yet anyway. The weapons are just inside that building. I can feel them calling out to me. I tracked them to this warehouse, over an hour ago.
Unfortunately, the weapons have company, besides Pierre that is. I'm not sure if they're his associates, more cops or clients looking to finalize the deal. So I hide in the rain, waiting and listening. I've got a wicked headache brewing from trying to focus and not use my powers. As much as I love a good thunderstorm, this one is royally pissing me off.
It'd be easier watching from a distance, somewhere warm and dry preferably, but I need to keep watch in case Pierre decides to transport out again. Nice trick really. Pierre transported from one warehouse to another, only a few blocks from where he started. That was how he got in without being seen too, he transported in. Those weapons are not slipping out of my grasp this time. I wait and I watch and I listen.
As it turns out Pierre's "guests" are the buyers. Thankfully, they leave without making the sale final. I think Pierre seemed just a little too eager, so they decided to stall. Either for a better price, if the heat is on, or to make sure it isn't, I guess.
I should be celebrating by now, weapons retrieved, warm and dry in my hotel… or better yet on that private yacht my boss promised as a bonus. Instead I'm formulating a plan to get in and get out quickly and quietly. The wig I have on is a lot cheaper than the one I started out with today. Which means soaking wet it feels like crap stuck to my head and smells kind of like wet dog. I try not to imagine exactly what this wig is made of and instead think about the nice hot bath I'm going to take while I scrub my scalp clean again.
I scope out the surroundings and decide to improvise. The warehouse is laid out a bit differently than the other and I circle around behind it to find the best way in. There's a side door, probably for employees to come and go as opposed to deliveries. It's locked and alarmed. I smile. I short out the alarm system before I open the door. I love these electronic locking systems. Pierre's talking on his cell phone. Perfect opportunity to find out where he got the weapons. If I could understand whatever language it is he's speaking that is. I love cell phones too. I can track both sides of a conversation, just takes me a while to learn the language. Too long for it to help this time but I can always figure it out later. I should remember the whole conversation for a day or so. I have a sinking feeling that it's not an earth language that he's speaking, though. I have a few seconds to check out the warehouse before he turns around. I smile and wave as he jumps, obviously startled by the intrusion. He drops the phone and I make sure the call is disconnected by interrupting the signal. It's okay for me to eavesdrop but I've got a bit of a double standard going here. So sue me.
"Boo," I say.
"Miss Portia…" he stumbles.
"Pierre. You set me up. You left me to take the heat. I thought you were a gentleman. You rat fink double-crosser you." I let myself sound as pissed off as I feel right now too.
He looks guilty. Like I just caught him with his pants down. He recovers quickly though. Gotta give credit where it's due. It's about then that he notices I'm soaking wet. I regret leaving the jacket at that café. Men are so predictable sometimes.
"You 'ave taken one of ze weapons. I would say zat we are even."
I doubt he even notices that I'm holding the weapon. He's too fascinated with the wet tank top I'm wearing.
"You mean this one?" I point it at him and his eyes actually manage to unglue themselves from my chest. I pull back the anger in my voice and sound stone cold. "Just consider it a sample. Besides, you betrayed me. This doesn't begin to make us even."
"It eez of no use to you. 'and it over and I weel reconsidair your offair."
"My offer is no longer on the table, Monsieur Pierre. I don't need to buy your weapons now. I'm just going to take them."
"Zey are no use wizout ze converter,” he replies. He sounds calm but I can tell he's scared. "You can not recharge zem wizout it." He glances at the crate and realizes that may not be the right argument. Tips me that the converter in question is inside that crate. The idiot. He changes the words but not the song.
"Only I can program zem to work for anozer human. Zey are utterly useless to anyone besides moi." He's pretty sure of that actually. "Zat weapon you're holding is no more dangerous zan a toy gun in your hands right now. I can make it more. For a price."
"You think?" I retort
"I know." He smiles then. Overconfident.
Gotcha
"You don't know Jack," I respond as I fire the weapon. I use the mildest setting. Just want to knock him out, not kill the jerk.
The look on his face as the blast hits him is priceless. He's startled, scared, impressed and pissed all at the same time.
"Now we're even."
As he falls to the ground, the other door bursts open. I figure it's reinforcements warned by the disconnected phone call. I’m wrong. It's Creed, followed closely by Bobbi Todd.
Shit!. This day just keeps getting better and better.
Bobbi's hanging on to him for dear life. Trying to keep him from killing me, I guess.
"No, Victor, wait! Remember who she is!" she says.
Creed stops for a split second to sniff the air. For my scent no doubt. He looks confused for a moment. It's then that I am suddenly thankful for the rain, and the cheap wig. Smelling like a wet dog is suddenly the best thing to happen to me all day. It buys me a few seconds at least. I use them to my advantage. Bobbi tries to get between us, but he shoves her aside.
I raise the weapon and fire at his knees. I just don't have the heart to take him out yet. I mean, I may not like the guy but he is still my father. He at least deserves a chance.
He stumbles for a second but keeps coming towards me. I figure I've got three seconds before he's in the transport field too. I make sure I'm inside it completely then I send out a signal to activate the sequence. It takes me a full second to modify the target location. I'm not about to end up jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Fortunately every location on earth has it's own signature, sort of longitude and latitude but in frequencies. I'm not sure how much distance this device can cover so I pick one close enough to get me to safety without taxing it too much.
Just as I'm about to finish the sequence, the door behind me opens. Must be the reinforcements after all. I turn to shoot and get one shot off as they return fire. If they had these Pharaohan weapons it wouldn't be a problem, but it's a plain old gun, with plain old bullets. I'm hit. I hear the thud of the bullet as its trajectory ends in the shelving behind me. My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it… and it's on fire. I can't breath. I stumble back towards the crate of weapons and in the same instant Creed catches me. He fires at the guys in the doorway and I manage to get another blast away myself before I finish the transport sequence. Keeps the guys away from us long enough to get out of here, but I've now got Creed and Ms. Todd keeping me company as we travel. I'll have him to contend with yet, and I'm not in much shape to do it.
That's the last thought I have before I lose consciousness.
---
Have you ever faced death before? It's a weird feeling. They say your whole life flashes before your eyes. I can't say that's entirely true. I see my family … well, the people I thought were my family. The folks that raised me anyway, and their son - my brother. Glimpses of memories really. The way dreams are sometimes. The tears in Mom's eyes when I made her breakfast in bed for her birthday. Dad teaching me how to throw and catch a football, like one of the guys. Christmas morning watching my baby brother's eyes light up. Then the not so happy memories follow. The fights my parents used to have when they were drinking. My parents started fighting a lot after Dad lost his job with the advertising firm. My brother and I huddled in the den trying to pretend we weren't terrified. I was the big sister, I had to protect him. I had to be the strong one, even if I didn't feel strong. He needed me to be brave for him and so I was. I'd sing quietly to him trying to drown out the noise of the fighting. He liked that. He'd hum along with me. He had a great ear. Funny, in so many ways we were alike. So much like brother and sister. Yet we weren't even really related. He was their child but I wasn't. I was a fake. A big practical joke played on them. My parents weren't the best parents in the world, I know that. But they were a far cry from the worst too. They did the best they could. They deserved better than they got.
I barely remember them anymore, but I guess deep inside they're still part of me. I never had a chance to say goodbye. To tell them I was sorry. They died because of me. My poor little baby brother too. His body was burned beyond recognition. I saw the story in the newspaper. I remember reading it like it had happened to strangers while a part of me was dying on the inside.
Then they're gone and the rest of my life happens all over again. I relive getting grabbed by Creed. Relive being locked up, poked and prodded. Tested and experimented on. I relive Massey and his twisted games. I can hear him taunting me, whispering to me and then finally, crying. Then it changes and it's his son. It's like looking at a broken mirror somehow. Bits and pieces of it. I can tell he doesn't want to hurt me. I can see him try to fight against it. Against the monster he's becoming. Then he does hurt me. He hits me and grabs me and claws at my clothes. I can hear my screams as I fight against him but his grip is so tight. It's like the weight of the world is holding me down. I can feel his hands on my bare flesh, his lips, his teeth. Then there's pain. So much pain. I know that I'm dying. I scream once more and it seems to echo around me.
----
Creed caught the woman as she fell, the cheap wig slipping from her head as he fired at their assailants. CiCi crouched beside the crate of weapons as the world shimmered and then dissolved around them, solidifying once more into an unfamiliar office.
The woman in his arms screamed once, then went limp. Victor lowered her form to the plush carpet as CiCi straightened from her hiding place. He looked down at the motionless figure, his face expressionless.
"Sorry, doll," he said, reaching for the rain soaked wig, lying on the carpet beside them. "With a wound like that, I think she's had it." CiCi gasped and knelt beside the other woman. Blood from the gunshot wound had already soaked her white tank top.
"No," CiCi moaned. She tried for a moment to stop the flow of blood, but quickly realized there was no point. Her heart had stopped, and the blood no longer pulsed from the wound.
Victor looked down at the dead woman, his face reflecting his puzzlement.
"Damn, she looked so familiar..." CiCi glanced up at him before looking frantically around the room. The office was large and plush, but she didn't see so much as a first aid kit.
Creed pulled the lid off the crate, ignoring both women, and lifted out one of the weapons. He knew he couldn’t help Portia, daughter or not, and life went on. Exposed by the removal of the weapon was a metal disc, about the size of a coffee can, only not so thick. In the center was a large blue gem. There were five equally spaced holes in the top, around the gem. Curious, he picked it up. CiCi snatched it out of his hand.
"What the...?" She turned the odd unit over in her hands, the metal sleek and smooth to her touch. "What the hell are you doing?" Creed demanded.
"This will help her."
"How is that gonna help her? How is anything gonna help her? She's dead as a doornail, babe."
"I don't know!" she sobbed. "Shut up and let me look!" He stared at her in surprise. She sank down next to the motionless body, still turning the alien device over and over in her hands. Creed shook his head, and went back to examining the weapon.
CiCi’s seeking fingers finally located a tiny seam in the side of the device she held. When she pushed it, a panel slipped aside and a flexible cable, ending in two prongs, extended. It wasn’t quite the same as an electrical plug, but it was close enough to give her an idea. She reached under the desk and grabbed the power strip located there. Heedless of what she might be unplugging, she yanked all the cords loose and jammed the prongs of the device into an outlet. The blue gem began to glow, pulsing slightly as it converted the earthly current into a form usable by the Pharaohan equipment for which it was designed. Creed looked on curiously.
Still on her hands and knees, CiCi scrambled across the carpeting, carrying the device and trailing the power strip behind her. She put the rounded box on the floor next to the injured woman’s body. CiCi gently placed the young woman’s hand on top of the device, her palm resting directly on the blue gem.
The device hummed, and sparked suddenly, the small blue jolt striking both women. CiCi cried out in pain, her back arching. Creed knocked the apparatus away from her, and from her patient. Unnoticed, Portia began to breathe once more.
"What are you doing?" CiCi demanded, scrambling after the piece of equipment.
"I could ask you the same thing," Creed snarled.
"I'm trying to help her!"
"Give it up! She ain't coming back from the dead!" Truthfully not far from death's door, Portia reached up and touched his arm.
----
For an instant I can see myself, here and now, lying on the ground. Creed and Bobbi standing over me.
They're fighting. I must be dead, looking down on them or something. I want to stop them from fighting. Tell them it's okay. I can't. So I stop them the only way I can think of. I stop Creed. I'm back inside my body and my hand grasps his arm and they both stop talking and turn to look at me. I reach out with my mind and send a signal down a certain neural pathway. It's a little trick I picked up from a Star Trek battle with the Borg. Sleep.
"Sleep," I mutter before the darkness swallows me once more. The visions return.
---
Creed slumps to the floor, unconscious. For an instant CiCi is terrified, believing that Victor is dead. Then she sees his chest rise and fall in the all too familiar pattern of his breathing during sleep.
To see the blonde giant, her protector in the past, felled by this tiny woman so close to death herself amazes her. She smiles for a moment as though proud, and then the direness of the situation moves her to action. CiCi quickly resumes her position next to the injured woman, placing her lifeless hand once more over the alien gem. The spark comes more quickly this time. And stronger as well. CiCi is caught in the backlash.
Portia's body begins to glow. Her heart beats more strongly as the seconds past. The room fills with lightning and the smell of burning flesh. None of the occupants is aware.
----
The darkness gives way to light. Fluid, changing light. The images in my mind flash before me like dancers illuminated by a strobe light. The time I spent, as a teenager, working with the circus, learning to fly on the trapeze and trick ride on horses. Faces and places pass before me, each one gone just as I recognize it. The lights get brighter and more colourful and the images fade before it. I've heard people talk about near death experiences and they talk about the light. This light isn't what I'd imagined, it's more like…. It's electrical. I realize suddenly that electricity is flowing into me. Like the first time, the feeling is new, and yet this time it's familiar too. It gives me life and I welcome it. I don't even try to keep from drawing it to me. I want it, I need it… I long for it. Faster and faster it comes and I ride on the wave as it grows inside of me. It bursts forth like an orgasm of sensation in my very being and for a moment all I care about is the pleasure it brings.
Then I am once again aware of my surroundings. My senses return and I’m overwhelmed with the scent of burnt hair and … skin. My eyes open and I see the damage I have wreaked. The woman had saved me and paid the price. Her hands are badly burned, almost melted, really. Her heart has stopped, her skin is ashen. I reach out to help her and cringe as the already fading heat from her body tells me just how hot her flesh must have been.
I curse at myself for letting myself get carried away. It only takes a moment to restart her heart. I'm like a walking crash cart I guess. I look around and realize the lights are dim, indicating the generator has kicked in. A quick glance outside confirms it. I feel a sick sensation gnawing at the pit of my stomach as I comprehend just what I've done. The entire city is cast into darkness. Sunset faded into twilight while I fed on the power this city was generating. My appetite too insatiable for the transformers and circuits to maintain.
Starting her heart was the easy part. She needs help and she needs it fast. I've got Creed and the weapons to take care of yet. My cell phone is fried. I reach for the phone on the desk, praying that the phone lines weren't affected. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear the dial tone and steady myself as I dial. I hear the familiar reply on the other end of the line.
"Boss, it's me. I've got the weapons, but I've got a little problem. Friend of yours, I think. Her name is Bobbi Todd… yep that's her. Well, she and uh… Sabertooth… sort of tagged along and I've got them both here in your office. She's in bad shape, I… I guess she got between me and a power source… she saved my life, boss. I've got her heart started again but she's burned up pretty bad. You got any friends nearby that could help?…. Yeah, I figured as much…. Nah, he's out cold right now. I can handle him till the cavalry arrives."
I've gotta give the man credit. He took the news a lot better than I thought. Inviting Creed to his private office, under most circumstances, would have cost me… guess he cares more about his people than he lets on. Or needs them more. At least he trusts me that if I say I can handle Creed then I can handle Creed. I hang up and scan the room. There's a weapon in Creed's hand. I crouch beside him, knowing by his energy field that he's still asleep and not just faking. He's not a threat as long as I don't startle him. Even asleep, I imagine, the man would just as soon rip my throat out as scratch his nose. I carefully send a signal to relax his grip and gently remove the weapon. Then I toss it into the crate and turn to check on my victim again. That's when I notice Bobbi's holding something, the converter no doubt. Dang fool plugged it in and held it while I fed from it. I pull the plug on it and toss it into the crate, then check that the weapon I have is still functioning. This Pharaohan technology is amazing, the converter and weapon just survived a power surge that no surge protector on earth could have held back. I wonder if the boss is gonna deduct the cost of his equipment from my pay. Not if he knows what's good for him, I guess. I do still have the weapons after all. Might just decide to keep them and make things really complicated.
"You better be worth it, kid."
Creed's fast. Just as I'm realizing he's awake, he's moving. I'm ready to block when he strikes but the assault never comes. I turn and see him cradling Bobbi like an old flame he's just found again. Suddenly everything comes into focus for me and I realize something.
“I doubt it,” I tell him. “I ain’t worth much.”
"She seemed ta think you were worth dying fer."
"She's not gonna die. Help is on the way. Listen, I can't stick around, but I…. I… "
I don't know what to say next. There's a moment of awkward silence. That's really rare with me actually. I can always talk. But this day, this whole day has gotten to me. I'm standing here, alive when I should be dead, and this woman that just keeps helping me for no good reason almost died in my place. My genetic father is holding her and doesn't even recognize the emotions he's feeling. That asshole Massey rewired his brain and he doesn't remember anything. I can change that. A bit of it anyway. I know Creed's reputation, following his exploits has become something of a hobby of mine ever since I learned I've got his genes. Not the best part of me I guess. I struggle with that temper too. He can't afford to feel too much, so this is going to be tricky. I can't give him back all the memories, I can't make him love Bobbi even if he used to. But I can fix it so he can love. Help him to recognize it when, and if, it comes again.
His eyes narrow as he sizes me up. I don't know if he can feel what I'm doing inside. It's not like telepathy, it's just neural pathways being freed and reopened, some being shifted slightly. A minor adjustment but it takes concentration. I could do irreparable damage to someone's brain if I'm not careful. I can't change his basic nature, but I can give back a little bit of what Massey took, at least.
He shakes his head, just a bit confused and I can see something change in his eyes. They're still ice blue but not quite as cold.
"What do you think, Pop? Am I worth it?"
"You know?"
"Yeah, I know you're half of my gene pool. Don't worry, I'm not looking for anything. You helped me once, a long, long time ago. I just thought I'd return the favour. Now we're even and all bets are off."
"Not quite, kid."
For a second, I'm almost worried.
"You owe me fifty bucks for the cab fare."
I laugh and he does too. I open up the pouch I'm wearing and pull out a hundred.
"Canadian even. It's not worth as much as it was back then so here it is with interest."
The whole scene is surreal. I'm leaning against the desk with a weapon pointed at him. He's sitting on the floor holding Bobbi in his arms. And we're laughing. I think maybe insanity does run in my family after all.
There is so much I'd like to say right now, but there isn't time and I seriously doubt this man would care anyway. Even if I wanted him to.
'Tell Bobbi that I'm sorry and I've done what I can to help."
"Hey, kid… "
"Hotwire, you can call me Hotwire."
"Hotwire it is. And, uh… listen kid. I probably have a lot of brats running around this world. And I don't much care, but you done good. You ever need anything, you just ask okay? As long as it ain't a conflict with one o' my interests, o' course."
"Of course."
Somehow I manage to smile at him, and he smiles back. For a minute I can see what Bobbi must have seen in him all along.
The room shimmers, and a … tunnel opens up in the air. Three people step through it. I can see another place… or something behind them, but the passage closes up before I can make out any details. There are two girls, both a fair bit younger than me, one with gorgeous red hair and the other one with strikingly silver hair, I recognize from earlier. And a guy, the one that brought them I guess. From the energy fields I'd say he's a teleporter. They stare at me for a second as though they know me and then realize that they don't. I get that a lot. The girls look around, and seem to realize where they are. The redhead sees Bobbi and crouches down to help her. They watch Creed suspiciously, not taking any chances after the incident I witnessed just a few hours ago.
"Tell Hawkeye I'm sorry about the bloodstains on his carpet."
I turn to look at the man I can finally admit is my father, "Don't come after me, and don't give them a hard time. They're just here to help."
He nods briefly. I know he could kill the three of them before they knew it was coming. I also know he won't. Not today at least.
I activate the transport sequence and leave them to clean up the mess. A second later, the weapons and I are safely inside my hotel suite.
Some days I love my job.
End Part 9
Old Friends
Part 10
By
HotWire
and
BobbiTodd
with the much appreciated assistance of
Echo
Echo and Daemon walked silently, across the Great Lawn, each lost in their own thoughts.
A clap of thunder broke the silence. Echo had heard the thunder rolling in the distance but this one was louder. At first it seemed closer, as though the storm was moving in now. Without thinking both Daemon and Echo turned to look over their shoulders. They froze at the sight that met them. The storm wasn't getting closer, it was localizing and growing in intensity. Lightning strikes came in increasingly rapid succession until they came one on top of another. They appeared to be sharing a common focal point.
They watched in awe at the unnatural display of nature's majesty. Suddenly the lightning stopped and an instant later the city block it had been focused on grew dark. Then, like one domino toppling another, grid by electrical grid the city went black. There was a popping sound that reached Echo's sensitive ears and then the fire. A transformer, strained under the effort, burst into flames. The orange glow cast an eerie light in an otherwise pitch black city.
Echo exhaled quietly, one word on her lips, spoken so softly that Daemon thought it but a sigh.
"Janet," her heart cried as only the heart of a mother can cry. For her child.
She knew Tracy was safely ensconced in the Citadel behind her. Her other children were scattered on various continents thousands of miles away but with watchful eyes nearby. Her eldest however, the one child she had yet to see, was out there somewhere in Rome, now thrust into total darkness. Echo was never a woman to believe in coincidence. Things happen for a reason. Sabertooth showed up in Rome the same day Janet did. This blackout was no coincidence. Something told Sam that her daughter was smack in the middle of this. She feared for her safety.
Daemon watched the events with detached interest, formulating hypotheses for the suspicious occurrences. He tapped several buttons on his GCU before turning back to the Citadel. He decided that he would need to connect to the satellite systems to diagnose the situation. With electricity out in Rome he was cut off from his usual sources. As he strode confidently away, Echo suddenly remembered her own GCU. She had shut it off and stuffed it in her pocket in anger after recovering from CiCi's unprecedented attack. She pulled it out, turned it on and was greeted with a flashing light indicating a message waiting. She checked the time stamp of the message and cursed herself for letting her temper dictate her actions.
"You coming?" Daemon asked.
Echo followed, knowing the message would have to wait. She suspected it was from CiCi and she wanted privacy to hear the secretary's explanation. She had no doubt that Bobbi would explain, and that she would believe she had done what was necessary. How she'd explain an alliance with the enemy, a man as ruthless and cruel as Victor Creed, how she'd explain knocking her employer, and friend, unconscious instead of telling her where to find her daughter. How she could possibly explain having kept her past encounter with Echo's eldest child a secret all these years…. That would take some doing. Echo needed time. Time to listen, time to think, time to deal with her own emotions.
She needed information first. Information Daemon himself might stumble upon while tracking the source of the city wide blackout. Echo sighed, as she turned back for one last glance at the darkened city, hoping against hope that the darkness was not an omen of her daughter's fate.
----
Creed watched as Portia’s figure shimmered and disappeared in the transport field, along with the shipment of weapons. He sighed and looked down at the motionless woman in his arms. This was turning out to be an expensive mission, no matter which way you looked at it.
The gorgeous redhead ignored him as she ministered to her injured teammate. The silver-haired beauty watched him closely, no doubt expecting him to attack. He’d surprised even himself this time, though. He had no desire to spill any of their blood. At least, not at the moment. The young man who had accompanied the women fidgeted uneasily on the other side of the room. He obviously wanted to be elsewhere.
The redhead sighed, shaking her head.
"I’ve done about all I can do. We need to get her back to … uh …" she glanced warily at Creed. "Back home," she finished.
The silver haired girl spoke up.
"Omen River can get us back there the same way he got us here." Red shook her head again.
"No good. She’s got neurological damage. You know how his wormholes can screw you up if you’re not prepared. It might kill her." Creed growled and all three young people jumped.
Creed might not be able to understand the mindset that allowed Bobbi to sacrifice herself for another, but he damned well wasn’t going to let someone else kill her through carelessness.
"You’d better be fer findin’ another way. An’ make it fast," he snarled.
The young people jumped again as their watches simultaneously chirped. The silver-haired girl pressed a button on the unit.
"Mystikal," was all she said.
"Daemon," came the response. Anyone with less acute hearing than Creed would not have been able to hear it. "Report." Creed recognized the voice as that of the man on the causeway.
"Blackfire, Omen River, and Chercheur present. One casualty, one …" she glanced at Creed, "ally. No hostilities."
"Landing in two. Omen River handling the evac?"
"Blackfire says no." There was a long silence from the communicator.
"Who’s our ally?"
"Uh …" Mystikal tried to think of a delicate way to inform Daemon of Creed’s presence. There really wasn’t one. "Creed is here with us. CiCi’s hurt pretty bad, boss. Burns and neurological damage." They could almost hear Daemon grinding his teeth over the silent airwaves. A few seconds later they heard their aircraft set down on the helo-pad above their heads. Almost immediately they heard the outer door splinter. Omen River quickly unlocked and opened the office door. Hawkeye was going to be upset enough about the state of his office. There was no need to add additional damage if it could be avoided.
Daemon stalked through the door and stood glaring at Creed. The bigger man rose to his full height, still cradling the unconscious woman in his arms. Loki sidled into the room behind Daemon like a ghost. Byron followed him quietly, taking her position near the door. Omen River, Mystikal and Blackfire silently joined Loki and Byron, flanking their King. Marvel Girl, Maul, Siren, Martin Blank, and Scrib had remained at the Citadel, in case the blackout was a ruse. Marvel Girl maintained contact between the two teams.
"I’m not on yer fuckin’ rock, kid, so mind yer manners. Portia said you people could help Bobbi, so I’m willin’ ta let ya take her."
"You couldn’t stop us."
"Maybe not, but it’d sure as hell cost ya. Problem is, it’d cost her, too."
Daemon locked eyes with the mercenary. CiCi remained eerily still in Creed’s arms.
After a long, tense moment, Loki stepped forward, gliding between the two fiery tempered and deadly men. Creed reluctantly released CiCi to his care and then, without speaking another word, Creed turned and strode past the member of the Grey Court and out of the office.
-----
The cockpit of the chopper, parked hastily on the roof of Hawkeye's office building, was eerily quiet.
Echo sat alone, reaching for the sounds around her. Tuning in to noises from inside the building and from the street below, absorbing every nuance. Sirens blared throughout the city. Echo waited while her teammates carried out their mission. It was not a position she was accustomed to. Even as protective as Logan had been, he'd never made her stay behind. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and he knew it. Daemon knew it too, now. However, CiCi was hurt and extracting her had to be the top priority. They couldn't afford to waste time on Creed. There was no doubt that Creed would take the opportunity to try to kill Echo. The programming was too deep. She didn't even argue when Daemon gave the order. The team was surprised. Even knowing her history, they expected at least a token argument. None of them realized of course, that Echo had another reason to wait quietly on the heli-pad. She watched the team walk away then tapped a button on her GCU. Bobbi's voice filled the air.
"Samantha, there was a lot of information missing from Janet’s file. It was missing because I removed it. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I just didn’t want Frank Massey to ever get his hands on her again. I wasn’t disobeying when I couldn’t find her for you either. You know I can’t disobey. Mr. Massey saw to that. I … I just couldn’t find her. And it cost me."
"I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sorry. There are so many things I need to tell you, and I doubt I’ll ever have the chance again, so I have to get this right."
The anger Echo had felt, that drove her to the Danger Room, had been released in the workout. It threatened to rise up in her again but she forced it to submit to her will until she had the whole story. Then she could decide calmly and rationally, what to do about this Judas.
"The first time I met Victor, I’d only worked for Mr. Massey for about a year. I’d been his personal secretary for six months, and was expected to perform as … as … I guess you’d say entertainment, for any of Mr. Massey’s clients or guests that took even the slightest interest in me. When Victor walked into Mr. Massey’s office, he scared the hell out of me. There was just something about him that screamed danger. But he was there on business, and didn’t have time to look at me twice. And I wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful."
"Mr. Massey sent one of his clients over that night. The guy was … slimy. He just … Anyway, Mr. Massey sent Victor after him, to kill him. And me, too I guess. He interrupted us and just … tore his throat out. There was blood … everywhere. I was terrified, but at the same time I was glad that the nightmare I’d been living was over."
"Obviously he didn’t kill me, and I still don’t really know why. When the client finally quit twitching, Victor dropped him and turned to look at me. I couldn’t move. I just sat there, with my arms around my knees, while he reached for me."
"He put one hand on my throat and slowly pulled me to my feet. I remember feeling his claws on the back of my neck. He laughed when I shivered, and he ran his eyes over my body. I remember exactly what he said. ‘Not bad, doll.’ Then he leaned forward and kissed me, and he whispered in my ear, ‘Tell yer boss I don’t do freebies.’ And he let me go. He wrapped the body in the bedspread, threw it over his shoulder, and walked out. I didn’t know what else to do, so I … I cleaned up the mess. I took a shower just like I was washing off dirt, instead of blood, and went to bed in the spare bedroom. I didn’t sleep in the master bedroom anyway. That bed was …for work."
Through the years Sam had slowly realized the full nature of Bobbi's "employment" with Frank Massey. It had surprised her that even a man as coldly calculating as her brother would expect his own secretary to act as a prostitute. The knowledge had sickened Echo, again underscoring how truly evil the man was. It had also explained CiCi's state of mind and how little self esteem the woman had. Echo had tried to help her regain some of that. It made the betrayal now that much more unbearable.
"The next day Mr. Massey was furious. He’d expected Victor to get rid of me, but there I was. After a while, I guess he decided that maybe it wasn’t such a bad arrangement after all."
"He sort of … gave me to Victor. Anytime he was in town, I was exclusively his. He was always gentle with me, Samantha. He never hurt me. Which is more than I can say for some of the men Mr. Massey sent over. One of them gave me a black eye the day before Victor got back in town. He was … very angry."
"I don’t know exactly what he did, but there weren’t any more visitors after that."
"Please don’t misunderstand, I know Victor is nothing like Logan, but, to me … he was the closest I had to a Knight in Shining Armor."
Echo balked at the thought of anyone considering Creed in such a way.
"Janet was Mr. Massey’s first attempt at recreating you. He selected Victor as the father solely because of how much it would hurt you to share a child with him. What he didn’t know was that she was the one that could have saved him."
The irony of that brought a curl to Echo's lips as a smirk began to form. It was replaced with the thought that if Frank had known the first child he had "engineered" could have continued providing the life extending substance that he sought, the others may never have come into existence. The young woman that waited at the Citadel, unaware of her true parentage would never have been required. Echo sighed at the thought of never having had the pleasure of knowing her daughter Tracy, or little Sarah, or Alison or having heard young Vic's recordings. Her musings were interrupted as CiCi continued.
"Victor brought her in. He didn’t know who she was, just some kid that Mr. Massey wanted. All he cared about was how much money he got for the snatch. I’m sorry, Samantha. I didn’t know anything about the program until Victor told me about Janet. Bragging, really. Who was I going to tell, after all? Mr. Massey had already had her for several weeks."
"I got into Mr. Massey’s private files the next day. I read about you. And Logan. But I swear I didn’t know about Frank Junior, or I’d have … done something."
Echo could hear the tears CiCi was struggling to fight back. The emotion just below the surface and threatening to engulf her. Echo's heart started to break as the reality of it all sank in. The hopelessness of the situation. Listening to the pain in her friend's voice, Sam found her anger slipping away, being replaced with compassion. To her credit, Bobbi managed to continue.
"At that time, there were already eleven children. They were all tested regularly for whatever it was that Mr. Massey needed. Janet’s results were the most promising, so he ordered her brought in."
"They had been running tests, taking tissue samples, and giving her injections. I was afraid of what else they might do to her, and I knew I had to get her out of there."
"I couldn’t get into the facility where they were holding her, so I had her moved to a room she could get out of, even if I didn’t know how."
"I went to the bank and took money out of Mr. Massey’s petty cash account, and waited outside the door she’d have to use."
"Oh, Samantha, it broke my heart to see her. She came running out that door like the devil himself was chasing her. I guess she wasn’t really wrong, was she?"
Echo shuddered at the fullness of that truth. Even her teammate Byron, the goddess of Hell herself, was goodness and light compared to Frank Massey.
"I grabbed her and she fought like a wild thing. She wasn’t hearing me, and she hit me with some sort of electric charge, but it was pretty weak and I was able to hold on to her. When she finally stopped fighting me enough to listen, I grabbed her hand and we ran."
"Once we were a couple of blocks away, I slowed us to a walk. Running, we were too conspicuous."
"She wanted to know who I was. I her told her my name, but that was all. She wasn’t happy, but she accepted it. I was afraid she’d panic if I told her I worked for Massey."
"I gave her the ID card I’d had made, using the picture from her file. I’d added a few years to make things easier. I was going to take her to the airport and put her on a plane."
"I don’t know what I thought would happen then. Deep down in my soul, I still believed in happy endings, even after being under Mr. Massey’s thumb for five years. I thought things would be all right."
"I hailed a cab and we were just about to climb in when someone grabbed my wrist. It was Victor, and he had hold of Janet with his other hand."
There was a long pause on the recording. Echo waited, knowing that if it had ended there the dead air would have been trimmed automatically. She tried to imagine the scene Bobbi was replaying in her mind. She considered the story CiCi had finally explained and began to understand the motivation behind her behaviour. Bobbi had done what she could to help a total stranger, risking life and limb. She could picture the secretary begging Creed to spare the child. She could picture the girl, her daughter, terrified of the giant. What she couldn't imagine was what came next.
"Victor let her go, Samantha," CiCi resumed. "He even paid for her taxi."
What could possibly convince the animal called Sabretooth to show compassion for anyone? Had he truly been in love with CiCi? Had she told him that he was in fact the girl's father? Echo would have to get more answers. If Creed knew about Janet, he might know about the others. Did he know that he had a son out there too?
"After Mr. Massey found out that I’d helped Janet, I spent the next three months in the hospital. When I got out…." her voice failed her for a moment. She cleared her throat before she could continue. "When I got out, Mr. Massey had … erased me from Victor’s mind. He didn’t remember me at all. I was just another … toy to him. But, while I was in the hospital, I … I guess you’d say I made Janet mine. That way he could never make me find her." There was a pause, and the quality of the recording changed slightly. Evidently CiCi had removed the GCU. "I’ll make sure she’s all right this time, Samantha. I know how important she is to you."
Echo had realized long ago that her closest friend would have known Creed. It had just never occurred to her that she'd be in love with him. The knowledge would make her more cautious of the woman, colour her perceptions, but it wouldn't change her affection for her. She had paid dearly for that love. Sam was no stranger to the pain of that herself. Having someone you love forget you ever existed, forget the love you shared, was not something she would wish on anyone. Frank Massey continued to haunt his sister, refusing to let go even after death. The monster her baby brother had become continued to surprise her, even after all the years and all the horror stories. She knew he used people, even Victor Creed, as pawns to help him gain control. She had long ago accepted the responsibility for all the lives he had ruined in her name. Sabretooth had become an enemy because of Frank. He had been the enemy for so long she had almost forgotten that he had once been a friend. The twisted mercenary he became was in no small part a result of the machinations of a man she herself had kept alive. A man she had held in her arms as a baby. A man she had sung lullabies to, a man that she was responsible for. The sins of the father, the sins of the brother. All now rested on her. She alone was left to repair the irreparable.
The woman who had long since ceased to be Sarah Massey sat in silence, a lone tear tracing its way down her cheek. A single tear that held the heartache of more than a hundred years. For the brother that she lost by trying to save him. For the husband and son he had killed. For the son she should have shared with Logan. For the love he had ripped away. For the lives ruined because of her brother's obsession. And now, finally, for the man called Victor Creed, who if not for her might have been…..
She looked up at the sound of the footsteps, in the distance, but near enough to stir her. She saw him as he left. Creed stopped once and looked back at the building. Echo held her breath waiting for him to spot her scent. He didn’t. As he turned and stalked away, his entire demeanor screamed of something…. Something Echo never thought she would see in this man. Regret.
End Part 10
Old Friends
By
Hotwire
Daemon
and
BobbiTodd
Part 11
CiCi woke slowly. Her first awareness was of an undefined sense of loss, of failure. Then the pain began. She opened her eyes and sought a focal point on the ceiling, trying to control her breathing. The pain subsided slowly.
She tried to remember what had happened, what she had done to displease Mr. Massey this time. Then she remembered that he was dead and she sighed in relief.
“Ms. Todd?” The man’s voice startled CiCi, and she turned toward the sound. The speaker moved into her line of sight. He was a young man, with longish blonde hair. He smiled down at CiCi where she lay. “Welcome back,” he said. “We’ve been worried about you.” He spoke with a slight accent that CiCi couldn’t quite place. “I’m Darnel, and I’ll take care of anything you need. Are you in pain?”
“Some.” CiCi was surprised by the sound of her voice. It was weak, and the single word had been slurred.
“Would you like something for it?”
“No. Not now.” She looked around the room. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You are in the Citadel medical facilities. As for what happened, we aren’t really sure, though you’ve received some fairly deep burns on your hands. Ms. Stokes did what she could for you, but you’re still pretty badly blistered. The doctors ran some tests, but they were mostly inconclusive. They think you may have had a severe electrical shock. Do you remember anything?”
CiCi started to say no, then she did remember. Trying to find Echo’s daughter, desperately trying to keep Victor from hurting the young woman, the gunshots, the blood. The knowledge that she had failed. Echo’s daughter was dead.
CiCi’s damaged synapses, triggered by the memories and the emotional devastation they brought, began to fire almost randomly. CiCi suffered a seizure, and everything went black.
****
CiCi’s return to awareness was just as slow as before. The same sense of loss haunted her, but the pain was less. She opened her eyes to find Darnel looking at her anxiously.
“Where am I?” she murmured almost sleepily.
“You’re at the Citadel. You’re safe here.” Darnel looked toward the door as someone entered the room.
“How is she?” CiCi recognized the voice as belonging to her employer, Echo. She smiled. Samantha had been working hard to use her own voice, though it was always a strain to do so. Then CiCi remembered. She tried to sit up, hissing in pain as she attempted to support herself with her burned hands.
“I don’t know.” Darnel said over his shoulder, pushing CiCi back down. “She had a seizure. The doctor’s on her way.”
“Samantha, I’m so sorry,” CiCi said, ignoring Darnel’s attempts to quiet her. “I tried. I tried to save her. There was so much blood,” she sobbed.
“Save her?” Samantha said, puzzled.
“Janet,” CiCi answered. “I was afraid Victor would hurt her, then the other guys showed up and they…” CiCi began to tremble. “They shot…shot her, and … and…” Another seizure claimed her and the room went dark once more.
****
CiCi felt vaguely disconnected. She opened her eyes and sighed.
“Ms. Todd?” She focused sleepily on the speaker. “Can you hear me?” The dark-haired woman had a no-nonsense air about her as she examined CiCi’s eyes, shining a bright light first into one pupil, then the other.
“Where am I?” CiCi asked.
“That’s the third time she’s asked that.” CiCi turned her head slightly to see a blonde man standing beside the woman.
“Short term memory loss is to be expected. You are at the Citadel, Ms. Todd. You are safe here, but you must remain calm.”
“Not worried about her own safety.” CiCi turned again and saw Echo. The memories flooded back again.
“Samantha! I….”
“She’s fine. You saved her. She’s fine, CiCi, listen to me. She’s fine.”
“She’s….fine?” CiCi began to relax.
“Yes.”
“But…”
“She’s fine. I’ll explain later. You rest now.”
“She’s fine….” CiCi’s voice trailed off and she drifted into sleep.
****
Echo was ready for her when CiCi next woke.
“You are at the Citadel. Janet is fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“She was covered with blood, but it must not o’ been hers, ‘cause she was fine. Couldn’t get inside her head, though. Weird interference.” Echo said, using Mystikal’s voice and words.
CiCi sighed.
“Good.” She looked up at Echo. “Um, what happened?”
Echo smiled. “Not sure,” she said. She looked toward the partially open door then grinned at CiCi. Standing, she put her hands behind her back.
“Report.” Daemon’s voice startled CiCi. Shifting her body posture and position, Echo continued, this time as Blackfire. As Echo repeated the meeting for CiCi, she remembered her conversation with Daemon afterwards.
The rest of the team left the room after the debriefing, leaving Echo with Daemon as he paced back and forth looking at his GCU.
"Problem?" Sam echoed Mysty.
"This woman that they say was there with Creed and Bobbi...she seems to be at the focal point of all of this and we know nothing about her."
Echo squirmed a bit, wondering how, and even if, to tell him of Bobbi’s revelations.
"The readings from the GCUs are sketchy, but there are definitely some conclusions we can draw from them. Bio-scans of the area registered Creed and Bobbi immediately since they're in the database, but it had trouble getting a reading at all on our mystery woman due to some electrical interference that I'm not sure about. What it DID pin down though, is that her DNA is anomalous for a human, making her some sort of superhuman – and I'd bet on mutancy above all else. Then there were the readings taken when she teleported. Again, the GCUs were processing a lot data at the time and only got a glimpse of what was going on before she disappeared. By all accounting, the teleportation was technological and not mutant power related...BUT, there are more of these strange electrical impulse readings that occurred just prior to the teleportation. Add that to the fact that Bobbi was electrocuted at the epicenter of a citywide blackout and I'd bet my Pharaohan butt that she's got electrical powers. Not the kind where she generates electricity mind you, though I'm sure her body is capable of conducting more than her fair share. No, I think this is a genuine technopath."
"Huh?" Samantha said, echoing Scrib.
"In the purest sense of it, her powers would affect electrical potentials, making her capable of directing the flow of electricity however she pleases. With so much technology dependent upon electrical signals traveling this way or that way, her powers would give her the ability to communicate with, and control, technology almost in the same ways telepaths can communicate with and control minds by manipulating psionic energy. If I'm right, it would explain the electrostatic interference with the bio-scan, as well as the strange energy readings before the teleport. I'm still not clear on what happened with Bobbi, but I'm sure we'll be able to fill in the blanks when she's recovered."
“I’ll go check on her,” Echo interjected, wanting a chance to speak privately with CiCi. Daemon nodded.
As Echo left his office, Daemon wondered exactly what he was going to do with the mutinous little secretary.
CiCi was fighting back the tears, of laughter this time, as she listened to Echo recounting the details of the past few days in her own inimitable fashion. Not only was she echoing the other team members but she was imitating them as well. When she managed to scrunch her pretty little face into Daemon's trademarked scowl - that was the last straw for CiCi ... the two women broke into hysterics....
When they were at last able to control their mirth, CiCi’s smile slipped away.
“And Mr. Strong? He’s pretty angry, isn’t he?”
"When she comes to, tell her I'll be in shortly...." CiCi paled, failing to hear the concern buried in the roughness of Daemon’s echoed voice.
“I’m sorry, Samantha, I’ll leave as soon as I can.” Before Echo could explain, Daemon walked in. CiCi gasped and shrank in on herself as the gruff Grey King stalked to her bedside. Echo bristled, ready to defend her friend, even after the apparent betrayal.
“Here,” he said abruptly, dropping her GCU on the bed. “The maintenance people brought it to me. You must have … forgotten it, when you … borrowed my car.” Wide-eyed but still cringing, CiCi reached for the GCU. She flinched when she tried to closer her burned fingers around it. Scowling, he took it from her and fastened it around her arm, above the bandages.
“I want a full report,” he said, folding his hands behind him, and looking at her expectantly, exactly as Echo had mimicked a few minutes earlier. CiCi tried to speak, but nothing came out except a faint squeak.
“I'm sure we'll be able to fill in the blanks when she's recovered,” Echo said, repeating Daemon’s words back to him. He glared at her, but Echo stood her ground calmly. She recognized the warning signs. If CiCi wasn’t calmed, and quickly, she’d have another seizure, and they’d have to start all over again. Darnel, assigned to CiCi for as long as she needed him, chose that moment to enter. Daemon snarled at him.
“Right,” the aide said, drawing the word out. “Visiting hours are over, Mr. Strong, Ms. Wolfe. Ms. Todd needs her rest.”
“I need information from her,” Daemon objected as the other man stepped past him to a control panel next to the bed.
“Is it a matter of life and death?” Darnel asked, his finger poised above a small black button.
“No, but…” The aide pressed the button.
“Then you’ll have to come back later. She’s going to sleep now. The Doctor ordered a sedative, to try and alleviate the seizures.”
“Seizures? What the fuck??”
“Ms. Todd needs her rest,” Samantha echoed, taking Daemon’s arm and steering him toward the door.
“God damn it,” he said as they left the room. “I’m supposed to be in charge here, and no one can be bothered to update me on the condition of one of my people?”
“Fill in the blanks,” Echo said, using Daemon’s voice once more. She glanced over her shoulder at CiCi, as the secretary drifted off under the influence of the powerful drugs.
****
Loki stepped quietly into CiCi’s darkened room. Darnel looked up from the magazine he was reading by the light of a small lamp.
“How’s she doing?” Loki asked, keeping his voice low.
“As well as can be expected. She’s pretty heavily sedated.”
CiCi murmured in her sleep and both men turned toward her.
“What’s she saying?” Loki asked. Darnel shrugged.
“She keeps talking to someone named Victor.” Loki nodded in understanding. When CiCi had put herself between Daemon and Creed, he’d realized the meek little secretary had a past she’d never talked about. And that she loved the crazy mercenary. He wondered for a moment what it would be like to have someone look at him the way she’d looked at Creed. He shook his head to clear away the vision. He couldn’t afford such distractions.
“Victor!” CiCi abruptly cried, sitting bolt upright in the bed. Darnel moved to one side of her, and Loki to the other. Almost without thinking, the Grey Assassin shifted into a likeness of Sabretooth, as he’d seen him last. Darnel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he checked CiCi’s vital signs on the readouts next to the bed.
“Easy, babe,” Loki intoned, his voice deeper and more harsh than normal. CiCi looked up at him, puzzled.
“Victor?” She sighed as Loki pushed her gently back. “Oh. Loki.” She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jacob. That was kind of you.”
“What gave me away?” the shapeshifter asked, genuinely puzzled, as he changed again, resuming his normal appearance. She shook her head.
“Victor would…would never…He just wouldn’t be here. That’s all.” She looked away, but not before he had seen the hurt in her eyes. She sighed again, before drifting to sleep once more.
Loki watched her sleep for a moment, then turned to Darnel.
“You takin’ care of her?”
“Yeah, twelve on, twelve off, as long as she needs me. My partner covers the other shift.”
“Good. Let me know if she needs anything.”
“Will do.” The Assassin slipped from the room.
****
The Mediterranean sun is hot. Hotter than the North American sun anyway. The crew reminded me of that each morning. After a week on the yacht, my own private yacht (don't think I'll ever get tired of saying that - or thinking it as the case may be) it was down to a routine.
"Don't forget your sunscreen, ma'am," they'd say.
"Don't call me ma'am," I'd say. Then I'd put on the show. Personally, I think the crew planned their day around it. (It wasn't a big crew. Just a handful of men. The Captain and First Mate - I called them Skipper and Gilligan - a Chef and two deck-hands that did the dirty work. Didn't matter what other responsibilities they had, somehow they always managed to be on deck when I rose in the morning. Officially it was for "inspection", but we all knew it wasn't me inspecting them.
I smiled my little smile as I massaged the oil into my legs. I always started with the legs, then moved up from there. By the time I finished my abs I could almost hear them panting expectantly. I had to struggle to keep a straight face while I poured the oil onto my chest. I waited, letting it lick its way down, letting the guys anticipate it, before I start to smooth the sunscreen across what some would say is my best feature. I guess at heart I'm an exhibitionist. Though I stopped short of tanning nude. The bikinis I chose were all different styles and colours but none were terribly modest. The crew didn't seem to mind and we never ran aground. No harm, no foul.
They wouldn't serve my coffee until I was fully oiled, but the coffee always tasted that much better. Then breakfast would follow on deck. The Captain or First Mate would join me if I felt like company. I admit it, I like the effect I have on men. Most times anyway. Sometimes it could be a little scary. Wrong kind of guy, wrong place and you'd have a recipe for … well, disaster. The crew was harmless though. They would have treated me like the Queen of Sheba no matter how I looked. They'd always keep their distance too. Still, it was awfully nice to see the appreciation they couldn't hide. So we had our fun and played our little games. I am, for all intents and purposes, their boss after all.
Wow. That's a kicker eh? I'm a boss. Thanks to the man I call boss. Have done for as long as long as I've known him too. Even though he isn't really. Guess he was for a while, when he owned the circus where he discovered me. He'd won it in a poker game and didn't plan to keep it long, but he was curious about the freaks that live the circus life, I think. So he stopped by and watched us work.
I was practicing the trapeze that morning. I loved flying, but I had a greater love than that. Just couldn't get them to let me use it in the show. The Spanish Web. If you've ever seen it you know what I mean, if you haven't you've missed one of the most beautiful displays of the human form you'd ever see. Basically it's just a rope, a rope that I'd climb up and twist around me and spin on. Like ballet in midair. The rope was my partner in a pas de deus that took place thirty feet in the air. I'd practice it in my spare time knowing that one day they'd realize people would pay to see it.
When the man known as Hawkeye showed up that day, he saw it. He knew. He was the first person that could appreciate it, could appreciate me as the woman I'd grown into. The others in the circus had known me since I stumbled across them, alone and afraid. I was barely thirteen at the time, but thanks to the ID Bobbi fixed for me and the hormones Frank Massey hit me with, I looked older. Old enough to be on my own, a runaway of course, but old enough that they took me in without calling the authorities. They were good people. They could tell I'd been hurt, terrified even, and they didn't press. They just offered me a safe place, a makeshift family, in exchange for hard work.
Anyway, the thing about family, makeshift or otherwise, is that to them, you're always a kid. They won't let you grow up. They don't see the changes. I was already, physically, a young woman when I joined them, but three years later… three years and a lot of hard, physical work later, I had crossed the threshold from child/woman to woman. The Spanish Web is not an act for children. It takes a full grown woman to give it shape - her shape. My circus family had been protecting me for so long, they couldn't see it. He could though.
I remember looking down and seeing him standing there. I knew he'd come to laugh at the freaks working in the circus. To take a look at his "investment" before he sold it. It all changed though. I looked down and saw him watching me. He was transfixed, mesmerized, as I had been the first time I'd seen it performed. I fed on that. By the time I was done he wasn't alone. The others had joined him, watching me as though for the first time. No longer humouring me, but finally accepting it. That night I performed the Spanish Web for the first time. Still had to fly of course. Wouldn't have given that up anyway. Two loves, two passions. I was lucky to do both. Damn lucky.
Every kid dreams of running away and joining the circus. I had no family to run from, but I was running none-the-less.
"Excuse me, ma'am," the voice brought be back to the present. The first mate, holding a cell phone.
"It's Mr. Hawkeye, ma'am," he explained, "for you, that is."
"Thanks Gilligan," I told him with a smile as I took the phone. He smiled back, having become accustomed to the nickname.
"Hey boss. How's it hanging?"
"It stands on guard for thee."
I smiled at the familiar reply, a line from the anthem, Oh Canada and his own little tribute to my nationality. I sighed realizing just how long I'd been away and how much I missed it. The smile faded, replaced by concern as I cut to the chase.
"How is she?"
"Burns are starting to heal, but the doctors say the neurological damage is permanent. She'll need physiotherapy and hopefully the seizures will stop in time. CiCi will never recover fully but they say she's damn lucky to survive getting struck by lightning. Fortunately the cleaners got the blood stains out of my carpet."
"Struck by lightning eh? That's the official diagnosis?" I choked back the guilt, knowing Hawkeye hadn't called to make me feel bad, or to help me feel better for that matter. Emotions have never been his concern, mine or anyone else's.
"I'm not about to set the record straight. It's true enough. Now about those weapons…"
I'd been cruising around for the last week, enjoying the sun and relaxing but also waiting. Waiting for the call to deliver the weapons I had grown fond of having around.
"Where and when, boss?" He didn't need to know I'd miss them. Nobody's business but my own.
"The Citadel and now. Just dock there. Someone will be there to help you offload."
"Consider it done." I disconnected wondering just who it was that would be there to help, trying to decide if I should dress for the occasion or not.
"Tell Skipper to take us in, Gilligan. We're docking at Alcatraz."
We had never strayed too far from the Citadel, and had tagged it with the nickname days ago. We were always far enough away that we wouldn't be deemed a threat but close enough to get there within the hour. I went down to my cabin to dress, opting for modesty. With any luck I'd get a chance to talk to Bobbi… and apologize for hurting her.
End Part 11
Old Friends – Part 12
More than a week had passed, but CiCi was still in the Infirmary. Her burns were healing nicely, and the doctor seemed to think that skin grafts would be unnecessary. The seizures, however, continued to occur, sometimes without warning or apparent cause. Even more distressing for CiCi was the fact that she couldn’t “find” things anymore. Trying inevitably triggered another seizure. Her usefulness to the team seemed to be at an end.
CiCi sighed. The aide was at her side instantly. She flinched away from him.
“I’m fine, Darnel,” she told him. “I’m just tired of doing nothing.”
“I could turn the television back on for you.”
“I’d rather have something to read.”
“You know what the doctor said. It takes too much concentration to read, and you are likely to have another attack.”
“All right, all right.” She sighed again. “I think I’ll take a shower.”
“I’ll get it started for you.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the bathroom was steam filled from the shower. Darnel made no move to leave the small room.
“I am capable of bathing myself, now.”
“And if you have a seizure while you’re in here?”
“If I have a seizure, then I will need you. Not before.” She was beginning to feel smothered by Darnel and his partner, Erik. They never left her alone. She knew the rest of the team…she halted the thought. “The team”, not “the rest of”. She was no longer part of the team. She’d effectively cut herself from them when she’d agreed to help Victor find Janet. She’d been surprised that they had brought her back to the Citadel for treatment. Echo had been in to see her a few times, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before. The others…. Well, they were all too busy with assignments to come by. She hadn’t seen any of them for several days. At least she hadn’t had to face Mr. Strong yet.
Darnel reluctantly agreed to wait outside the door.
--------
The yacht slips quietly into place beside the pier of the Citadel. The water lapping against the hull makes me smile. Sometimes I think I was meant to live on water, or near it anyway. I take just a second to admire the view. Ocean behind me and lush grounds ahead. The Citadel itself is just how I always pictured a medieval castle would look. Majestic and beautiful but foreboding and intimidating too.
As I step down from the yacht, one of the men sent to greet me offers his hand. I accept it with a knowing smile watching his expression as the shock passes between us. People dismiss it readily enough as static, but I always get a "charge" out of it. It's a natural byproduct of my powers and I've learned to use it to my advantage. That moment of contact is all I need to recognize the electrical signature of his brainwaves. That pretty much puts me in control. The second man reaches out to help me off the dock and I can't help but notice the heightened activity in a portion of his brain. Common enough among men. At least heterosexual men. This one is a particularly sexual man. Probably a real jerk too. Goes with the extra testosterone in my experience. I can work with it though.
My crewmen carefully lower the crate to the two Citadel staff and I have to release my breath slowly. I've grown quite attached to that crate and I'm loath to part with it. All part of the job though. Still, once this mission is complete I'm taking some time off.
I nod to my guys as they cast a concerned look toward me. I guess they're starting to feel a bit protective and are worried about letting me wander off with these two goons. Nothing to worry about of course, but they don't know that. I wish I could let them tour the grounds, but the fewer people we meet, the better. I can handle the ones I come across but we can't trust all the staff. I'm quite sure that bossman has a few enemies lurking in the shadows. All that attitude of his was bound to piss off more than a few of his staff before his sudden departure. Not everyone understands the man like I do. Heck even I'm not sure I've got him totally figured and I know exactly how his brain works.
The goons lead me into the bowels of the Citadel, trying to pretend the crate isn't heavy. Accelerated impulses tell me different. I do what I can to help by routing some extra signals to the muscles. Same way I keep this body of mine so toned. Electronic muscle stimulation. It's all the rage these days and I don't need any equipment to do it. The men stop, finally, outside the Armory. It's locked of course, with state of the art security. Which suits me just fine. I touch the titanium reinforced door, running my hand slowly down the smooth surface. The metal is cool beneath my fingers but in my mind it's almost the same as caressing a man; His abdomen actually, slowly working my way down, knowing what I'll find. It feels warm and then hot as I release the pressure that's built up. I sigh contentedly as the latch releases and the door pops open.
We step inside. The men are nervous as they glance at the security cameras. Daemon, apparently, inspires a great deal of fear in even these men that are loyal to Hawkeye. From what I read in them, the current King of the Grey Court is passionate about security and especially his weapons. Won't he be surprised? I smirk at the thought of the man smoldering in anger and then perplexed by the break in to deliver instead of steal. I find the special compartment where he keeps his prized possessions, his own personal arsenal, and set about releasing the locks.
It takes a long moment but soon the men are placing the crate inside. I block the doorway just enough that they brush past me as they finish. I could manipulate their memories from a distance but I'm lazy. It's so much easier when I have skin to skin contact. Besides, while my "job" may be done here, I'm not. Not yet. There is still one more assignment for me to complete before I can sail off into the sunset.
The men wander off in a daze, their short term memories scrambled and with only a burning hunger in their guts to steer them to the kitchen. Of course when they get there they may find they are not nearly as hungry as they thought they were. That's the price they pay for thinking I'm less than what I am. It could have been worse though. Guys that annoy me end up certain they've contracted some horrible illness. They swear up and down they are pissing purple fire for weeks after ticking me off.
I laugh out loud as I slip the card out of my pocket and onto the crate. Bossman wants to be sure that Daemon knows who is responsible for the return of his weapons shipment. I figure a sense of humour about it adds my own personal touch.
Compliments of your friendly neighbourhood…..
……… Hawkeye
The smile fades as I leave the lock- up, ensuring both doors are locked behind me. I follow the trail of the video signal and soon there is no evidence that I've ever been here. Now for my last piece of business. It's personal. No charge… Maybe I should rephrase that… no payment required. I suspect there will be a fair amount of "charge" required. I've got the layout of the building and the location of my target from the addled brains of the goons Hawkeye assigned to help me. I don't think I did any permanent damage to them but I know he doesn't care either way. He wouldn't have sent me anyone that wasn't expendable. Cold and heartless some would call him. Mostly, they'd be right.
----
MaHeeGun padded into the room in Medical. Darnel smiled and the animal had to remind himself that the human meant nothing hostile by baring his teeth. Darnel was unsurprised by the dog’s presence. He’d been a regular visitor since CiCi was injured, both with and without his mistress. CiCi was always glad to see him.
“Sorry, boy,” the man said. “She’s in the shower.” MaHeeGun looked at the closed door and whined. “I know. I don’t like leaving her alone either, but she can be very stubborn.” The dog allowed the man to pat him lightly on the back before stretching out in front of the bathroom door.
A few minutes later the water shut off. MaHeeGun didn’t move from his station. He knew the crippled female would take some time to finish grooming. A sudden clatter from behind the closed door brought both man and dog to their feet.
“Ms. Todd?” Darnell asked as he moved quickly toward the door.
“I’m fine, Darnell.” The woman’s voice was muffled. “I just dropped my comb. And please call me CiCi.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” The short answer masked much of the frustration CiCi felt at being unable to care for herself. Even with the burns healing, her hands simply didn’t work properly.
She clumsily retrieved the comb and turned on the hair dryer, fortunately a wall mounted unit, and went back to trying to tame her long hair.
Darnel returned to his chair. If he waited by the door until she was finished, CiCi would accuse him of hovering. Which he was, but that was beside the point. He liked his patient, and wanted to take care of her.
----
I'm actually nervous. It's been a while since I've tried anything like this on anyone. A lot is riding on my success. My peace of mind not the least of it. Delaying my departure can't be good either. I really should be back on the yacht and heading for open seas by now. I steady my own nervous system and slowly exhale. That's better. Confidence is again my companion. Piece of cake.
I open the door and walk down the hall.
----
MaHeeGun lifted his head and looked toward the door to the corridor. Darnel followed his gaze. In the doorway stood a lovely blonde woman. She smiled, stepped into the room, and extended her hand to the nurse.
MaHeeGun watched as the woman entered the room and spoke to Darnel. She had an interesting scent about her. She smelled like a thunderstorm, though the skies were clear.
Darnel smiled and MaHeeGun heard the man’s heart rate increase. Evidently Darnel found the female attractive. Their hands touched and the smell of lightening increased. Darnel’s smile faltered, then the man sank back into the chair from which he had just risen. He closed his eyes, to all appearance deeply asleep, but in actuality it was something deeper than that. He would not rouse easily.
The woman paused a moment before moving to the open door. She closed it quietly and turned toward the bathroom where CiCi still struggled with the comb. MaHeeGun growled at her.
----
Only one guard to take out and that's accomplished quickly. Then I see the dog. That beautiful creature. I take the moment to reassure him, I really don't want to upset him. The shock that passes between us surprises me. While it's common among humans, I generally experience it to a lesser degree among animals. This one is different. This animal is different. He looks like a wolf, but he's so much more. His signature seems to coexist. As though there is a being resident in the body of the animal and yet existing somewhere else at the same time. The frequency is different than I've ever seen. Incomplete in that it isn't all present and yet more complicated than even a human.
"You aren't an ordinary dog, are you boy?" I state the obvious. Somehow I know that he thinks of himself as "Wolf" or the equivalent in some language.
Perhaps he is indeed Wolf. The Wolf, ancient and eternal. Spirit and flesh.
I'm so caught up in him, contemplating stories I'd heard that might explain his existence, that I don't sense her until she's staring at me. It's bad.
Her brainwaves are all wrong.
----
“Hi,” HotWire said, straightening from where she’d been talking to MaHeeGun. “Bobbi, right?” MaHeeGun whined as CiCi’s aura suddenly … shifted. He moved quickly to her side, leaning into her legs, urging her to a chair or the bed. Sometimes it was really inconvenient having a form that was incapable of human speech. She didn’t respond to him.
Frustration over being unable to do such a mundane task as comb her own hair, combined with the shock of seeing HotWire, triggered another seizure.
----
"What have I done?" I ask myself as she starts convulsing. No time to wonder, I've got to fix it. I lead her to the bed and get to work.
First matters first. I stop the impulses that are causing the seizure and... Wolf... seems to relax a bit after that. Good thing too, if he decided I was a threat I don't think I could defend myself against him. Now to rewire Bobbi's brain. Some of the pathways are fried and haven't been able to reroute the signals. I can't repair the damage but I can guide the electrons to find a new way of accomplishing their tasks. The human brain has billions of neural pathways that are never even used. Lots of them die off but there are plenty more that we could be using. I earned a Masters degree in neuro-science by understanding that. Use it too. My brain functions at a higher level than average. Much higher. Too bad I couldn't accept the Pulitzer for my work though. Seeing as how the person that won it didn't exist. On to the next challenge, she was.
I go about undoing the damage I've caused to this woman whose only crime was trying to help me. Not once, but twice now.
Then something strange happens.
End Part 12
Old Friends - Chapter 13Written by BobbiToddAnd Hotwire ----- I feel a strange tingling come over me and with it, a memory. I have very few real friends, a necessity of my existence. There was a time, when I was with the circus, that I had more. One friend in particular, mysterious in so many ways. He was masquerading as a fortune teller slash mystic at the time. We were both naturally cautious but for some reason he took a shine to me. He was skilled in several martial arts and he shared his training with me. He said I was the best pupil he'd ever had. Should be, considering how I learn. I just had to "experience" him doing a move once, and I could copy it exactly. My electronic memory. I read his brain to see which signals got sent to which muscles and I did the same. Once I've done it once, the pathway is established and the muscle memory is stored. It's the same way I learn everything. Actually it's pretty much the way a computer stores information on its hard drive and just as effective. At any rate, he took a marked interest in me and taught me as much as he could. I always figured he was more scam artist than "psychic" but I was never sure. He was a bastard to most people, actually. Seemed to enjoy it, too. He couldn't fool me though. Nobody ever can. I admired him. Not many people I can say that about. It wasn't simply because he never put a move on me either, despite how much he wanted to. He could have taken advantage of the situation. He didn't. Instead he looked out for me. Some bastard, eh? Of course I guess the people he tore apart for trying to hurt me might see it differently. I could defend myself well enough and he knew it, but he demanded vengeance. Actually, I think he thrived on it. Then one day he came and told me he was leaving. Not in words, but I knew. He took my head in his hands and kissed me on the forehead. I'll never forget what he did next. It was the strangest thing ever. He closed his eyes and started chanting. The weirdest sensation came over me too. I figured it was something in his brainwaves that was making me lightheaded, but I couldn't be sure. He told me he'd made it so, in his own way, he'd always keep me safe. Like he'd always be looking out for me. I smiled, wondering how a man who knew so much about me could really think I believed he was a mystic… a sorcerer. The look in his eyes though….. Now I can't help but wonder. Maybe he had placed some sort of spell on me… a spell of protection. I sense something coming, something bad, and it's definitely mystical. I'm still not finished rewiring Bobbi when I feel its approach. I need her help. I wanted to spare her the trauma of consciousness but I need her aware. I've got her fixed up enough that she'll find a safe place for us. I trigger her "wake up" and try to explain as quickly as possible. I know we don't have much time. Fortunately I'm still tied in to her neural pathways so I can explain without words. ---- Martin Blank was in charge. As the only currently active Grey Court member not part of Daemon's assault force against Darkheart (see Darkness before the Dawn) he was left with the responsibility of maintaining and defending the Citadel. He reveled in the power while fearing the repercussions should he err in any way. As usual, he sat at his computer terminal. He had been running diagnostics on the Citadel's systems and repairing the damage caused by the latest computer virus. He muttered to himself something about Marvel Girl and emails between her and Khalid Hunter from the White Court. Fortunately the damage was minimal but he wanted to double-check every system and subsystem, just in case. The sudden peak in electrical output concerned him. The grid in question contained the Armory, Danger Room and some stasis storage compartments. He checked the footage recorded by the security cameras and noticed a glitch. His palms started to sweat as he scanned the video output from the surrounding areas. His fingers moved like lightning as he checked in with the security room. They hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary but had noticed the lights flicker. They had attributed it to a power surge which was a common enough occurrence with a building full of mutants. Except there were very few mutants present at the time. Split screen display showed him all the areas of the Citadel that were of the greatest concern. An image caught his eye but before he could focus on it, it was gone. Just a glimpse of a figure that he dismissed as imagination. A figure he recognized as Echo's but since he knew full well she was nowhere near the Citadel he deduced his fascination with her was once again causing his mind to play tricks on him. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Too much time staring at computer screens and too many nights spent dreaming about the object of his infatuation, had been causing him some trouble. Daemon had already warned him to get his obsession for her under control… or else. Hallucinations of this magnitude would not go undetected by the Psych staff employed to monitor the "yet to be tested" members of the Court. They had already been watching him closely for signs of instability as his apparent age began to return to normal. His adolescent infatuation with the older woman had not abated, but grown in intensity. The automatic scan of all independent systems in the Citadel completed with a beep. Every door that should be locked was locked and every camera was functioning. Except for one outside of Bobbi Todd's suite. Before he could run a diagnostic it was working again. He turned his attention to the exterior sensors and noticed a potential problem by the pier. A quick check of the security camera and the deliveries scheduled for the day explained that one. Fresh swordfish was being delivered. The boat at the dock was a fishing boat and it was probably the ship's sonar equipment that had interfered with sensors momentarily. Having explained all the inconsistencies to his own satisfaction he leaned back in his chair and tried to recall the image he'd conjured of Echo. He could have sworn this time she was blonde… he didn't usually imagine her with anything but her long flowing dark hair. He smiled as he imagined her with only her hair to cover her… Suddenly his GCU beeped. He replied to the incoming message but got no response. Like picking up the phone to hear only the dial tone. An incoming message that never came could not be a good sign. He buzzed Daemon to no avail. Then Echo, MG, Scrib, Mysty, Loki, Sunlit, Siren… all no response. He zoomed in to satellite imagery of their location in Nicaragua and couldn't believe his eyes. Apparently some form of madness was sweeping the world, starting with his teammates. Bloodlust was pitting friend against friend, brother against brother. People were fighting on the streets, using whatever was handy as weapons. Comrades were falling left and right. He followed the wave's course and knew he didn't have much time until the destruction hit. He searched for a means to protect the Citadel and himself. His fingers typed in a command. He prayed it wouldn't last long as he gave his final instructions. ----- CiCi was confused when she woke, but determined. Still linked to Hotwire through the neural rewiring, she instinctively knew what to do. She went into find mode, grabbing "Portia" by the hand and darting out the door, she didn't even spare the unconscious Darnel a second glance. MaHeeGun followed close behind them. They were barely down the hall when Erik showed up to replace Darnel according to schedule. He stood between the ladies and the door and CiCi was not going to take the time to even ask him to step aside let alone explain what she was doing. She didn't have a second to spare. So she formed a fist and hit him with all her might knocking him down and out, for the count. Not very pretty but fast and effective. The two women burst through the door and ran with alarming speed, enhanced by Hotwire's electronic manipulation of their muscles. CiCi stopped suddenly and Hotwire almost lost the connection, having only a split second to adjust to the electronic impulse to stop. Then the Grey Scribe reached out and moved a moldering wall tapestry aside. Reaching behind it she pressed what seemed to be a stone, like any other in the wall, and a hidden door opened. They didn't waste any time thinking about how it opened or where it led either. At that moment alarms started to sound around the Citadel. The fortress was going into lockdown. CiCi recognized the pattern of the alarm as Code Epsilon. A custom designed neural neutralizer would be released in less than .5 seconds. The personal shield function of her GCU would activate to protect her from the epidermally absorbed gas. She was suddenly grateful that Daemon had returned the unit to her wrist ordering her to keep it on at all times. She had only to think it and Hotwire understood. As the GCU's force field was automatically initiated, Hotwire manipulated it to encompass both of them and MaHeeGun. The GCU itself could only sustain a personal shield for ten seconds under normal circumstances. Stretched around two people and a dog, the field would cause the unit to burn out in much less than that. The knockout gas would be effective for exactly 9.5 seconds, though its effects would last up to six hours. They couldn't get far enough into the hidden corridor to evade the gas entirely. So Hotwire drew on the power of her ever present weapon, tucked into a holster strapped against her thigh, using its stored Pharaohan energy to charge the Pharaohan technology of the GCU for the time required. She ran the power through the unit itself but half a second before the gas dissipated the GCU burned out. She had overloaded it. She tried to reinforce the energy field directly but it faltered for an instant. The shield started to fail. MaHeeGun being furthest away from it was no longer protected within its confines and dropped unconscious, at the threshold of the hidden passage. Around the Citadel, staff fell like grain to a scythe, under the blanket of sleep, induced by the fast acting sedative. The security guards that continued to follow SOP, despite the absence of authority figures they feared, had their standard issue helmets in place when their uniforms went to airtight mode. The others didn't and, in some cases, it saved their lives. Only a few moments later, with the Citadel eerily quiet, the wave… the Crimson Dawn… struck. --- Martin Blank initiated Code Epsilon. His personal force field activated, the alarm sounded and the synthetic gas was released within half a second. He smiled as he watched the monitors. Twelve inch thick blast doors slid across entranceways both interior and exterior. All sensitive areas of the Grey Court Headquarters were now protected. The Citadel's exterior force field fired up to block any intrusion. He had effectively neutralized the staff of the Citadel and quite possibly saved them from the madness that would otherwise have caused them to destroy each other and possibly the building itself. He made one error though. He thought the force field would protect him from more than just the gas. It didn't. The wave swept across the Citadel grounds and throughout the building. Every soul that it touched was affected. As he sat, smiling at the footage from the security cameras, it hit. In his mind's eye he again saw the image of Echo. His smile twisted with his thoughts. The obsession grew, fueled by the rage of the Crimson Dawn. It convinced him that it WAS her he had seen just moments earlier and that the others were trying to keep them apart. He believed that she loved him but it was Daemon and the others, jealous of his superior intellect and his non-mutancy, that stood between them. He knew she was somewhere within the confines of the now locked down Citadel and he was determined to find her. He scanned security cameras to no avail, and then started looking through the footage recorded before the wave hit. He found her finally, being dragged by CiCi who was obviously insane. He saw CiCi punch Erik, her own nurse, and knew he had to rescue Echo from this madwoman. He tried to locate them by their GCU signals but Echo's still registered her in Nicaragua, a deception no doubt perpetrated by Daemon. CiCi's GCU didn't register at all, somehow she had "found" a way to evade him. He fumed. There was no more trace of them in security footage anywhere, so he was forced to resort to more conventional means. He searched on foot. On his travels he saw unconscious bodies strewn everywhere, any of the staff that had in any way offended him, he shot, enjoying the emotion his cold blooded murders stirred in him. Other bodies he stepped over. Or on. He came across some security guards fighting with each other and considered joining the fray, but the rage brewing inside of him could not be so easily quenched. He would no longer be denied the object of his desire. Before this day was done he would know Echo. He would take her as his own and show her just what the others had kept her from. Then he would destroy them all. ---- There are planes of existence, even within a single dimension. Latitude and longitude cannot explain the shift of the Magnetic Poles, nor the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle. There are places where spiritual planes meet. Nexus where mystic forces collide, creating pockets of power that increase exponentially the effectiveness of the spells cast within them. Such a nexus exists within the Citadel. It is an ancient building. One that dates back to times long past when Kings ruled with Sorcerers to guide them. It was not just an impressive location but also a strategic one. Easy to defend and difficult to attack. Chosen not only for its physical assets but spiritual ones as well. Through the centuries, many mystics had come and gone, each casting their own spells and curses on the land. This fortress had been home, long ago, to one of the greatest Mages of all time. He had cast enchantments on the island protecting it from the effects of evil. CiCi lead Hotwire through a maze of corridors and stairways, up and up to the safest place she could "find". The repairs in that section of the Citadel had not yet been completed. It was a restricted area into which all other entrances were locked and barred until its safety had been restored. The stairs were cracked and crumbling in spots, yet CiCi managed to place each step in the best spot. Hotwire followed in her wake knowing that even the slightest misstep could send her tumbling back down the staircase to her doom. They stumbled through the entrance to the tower, trembling and out of breath. Birds scattered, frightened by their sudden appearance. The women dropped to the ground and huddled together, as though seeking shelter from a storm. CiCi had found possibly the only safe place in all the world. Alone, it would not have been sufficient. Combined with the spell, cast a decade ago on her companion, and the residue from spells cast centuries past, it was enough. Just enough. As the insanity swept the world, electronic signals sent by brainwaves, radio waves and television signals screamed at a fever pitch. To the mind of an electropath the noise it created was unbearable. Hotwire fought against the pain it caused and focused instead on CiCi's "thoughts", keeping the older woman from sharing in the agony the world was suffering. Manipulating, as best she could, the impulses for calming hormones and endorphines to be released. Hotwire taxed her powers to the limit maintaining the neural connection to CiCi and thus keeping the enchantment protecting her as well. With no way of knowing how long the storm would last, they waited. Not knowing what destruction it would leave in its wake, they waited. They couldn't be sure it would ever pass, yet they waited. They held on to the faith CiCi had in her friends to overcome even this. They waited. ---- HotwireThe Grey Page
Old Friends
By Hotwire and BobbiTodd
Part 14
He found the dog first. He had never particularly liked the animal, but he was Echo’s and she seemed to care about him.
“Let sleeping dogs lay,” he quoted. He stepped over the wolf-like animal, careful not to rouse him. He wasn’t sure how long the gas would affect the beast. It was absorbed through skin, and with three distinct layers of fur to protect him, MaHeeGun couldn’t have absorbed the full dosage. If he woke up and interfered, he’d kill him, but otherwise he didn’t want to have to explain to his beloved what had happened to the mutt.
Beyond the dog lay secret passages that none of the Court members had told him about. They must have used them to sneak around and conspire against him. He’d make them pay. None of the passages were well lit so he stumbled down corridor after corridor, each leading him nowhere. He was beginning to feel like a mouse in a maze. He sneezed, the dust in the air, combined with the smell of must, aggravating his sinuses. Suddenly he saw what he hadn’t before. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. He returned to the main passage once again, his heart pounding in his chest.
He crouched and examined the floor, finding the footprints where the dust had recently been disturbed. He would follow them and they would take him to his love.
“It won’t be long now, precious,” he whispered. The sound of the word echoed in the hallways, making him smile at the image it evoked. He’d never understood Gollum before. Now, it was all very clear. The little Hobbit had only wanted what was his.
“Preciousssssssssssssssss. Where are you Preciousssssssss?”
---
CiCi fingers wiggled and it surprised her, as though feeling them for the first time. Her companion had explained, or more accurately, conveyed, how she had adjusted the neural pathways and cured the seizures. Her fine motor skills had returned and she truly felt well for the first time since saving the life of Echo’s eldest daughter just over a week ago. She had been able to use her powers to find again and should be rejoicing at her miraculous recovery. Instead, she sat in the center of the tower room, her back against the woman that she knew as Janet, Portia, Hotwire. They leaned against each other, silent and reflective. CiCi knew that “Hotwire” was still inside her head. It was her thought that had sent the impulse to Bobbi’s fingers, causing them to move in response. CiCi then sent the same impulse herself and her digits responded. She was relearning the skills she had always taken for granted. She would have learned quickly enough on her own, of course, but they had the time and desperately needed the distraction.
Hotwire was concentrating in a way she hadn’t done in a long time. It was a stretch to control such fine motor skills in someone else and if the circumstances had been different she’d have relished the opportunity. A spell she had never believed in now actively protected them from whatever darkness lay beyond its field of influence. She could sense the evil that was trying to invade their minds and souls. Its tentacles struggled without ceasing to find a way to touch them. As perhaps the only two living souls unaffected, they remained just out of its reach. Still, Hotwire was constantly aware of its assault.
In order to protect CiCi, a woman that had given her own life to save her, Hotwire maintained their neural connection and used what energy she could find to bolster the mystical spell. She had to fight all the while against the screaming electronic signals flying towards her from the thoughts of others. It was taking its toll on her. The game they were playing was wearing thin.
CiCi could tell that her newfound friend was in distress and searched for a way to help. Sitting still, and keeping her own thoughts calm in the midst of a world filled with madness, was the only solution she yet been able to find. She continued to search for a more active cure. In the end, the cure was even more passive. CiCi dozed off. With the change in the pattern of Bobbi’s brainwaves, Hotwire relaxed slightly. There were still a few pathways she had to redirect. They were the most sensitive and she couldn’t proceed without alarming CiCi. The smaller woman had such a fierce aversion to anything resembling an order, she’d have fought a sleep compulsion, undoing the good Hotwire had managed so far, so her doze was a great relief for them both.
She set about finding healthy neurons for the still stunted signals in CiCi’s brain. It had been easy to sense how much her willing victim had relied on her ability to “find” and so she had helped her to use it. The fix was temporary however. Without developing new pathways the gift would be lost. Hotwire knew that, in time, the woman’s brain would either redirect the signals or stop sending them altogether. They had needed the mutant ability to get them to safety so Bobbi’s brain had found a detour to send the signal through. The effort, though successful, had collapsed the hastily constructed road.
Hotwire had been loath to let CiCi know that her just restored powers were gone again. Instead she convinced CiCi that she could “find” and trusted that if she failed to build a suitable path, the brain in question could. If CiCi felt it was impossible then it might well be. What she needed most of all was motivation, a reason to find. And the belief that she could.
Concentrating on the delicate workings of the human electrical system, Hotwire became oblivious to her surroundings. To an outside observer she’d have appeared catatonic. Her eyes were open but her pupils would not have responded to light. In order to complete the myriad tasks she was juggling, she had suspended some of her own brain’s functions. As though cutting all power but life support. Her brainwaves would have belied the catatonia though, showing, instead, increased activity.
---
Martin Blank was insane, with the same madness that had the world by the throat and was currently choking the life out of it. He welcomed it. Slowly, he followed the trail of footprints up the stairway. Somewhere in his thoughts he acknowledged the awareness of his destination, the tower room that had seemed so far above him from the ground.
He crept as stealthily as he could up the stairway. He could almost smell her now. She was near. The last few steps he rushed and caused a stone to break free. He stumbled and nearly fell, but caught his balance and hastily grasped the stone column that supported the ceiling. He scurried up the remaining stairs, more and more like the creature he’d been quoting.
The noise announced his arrival and stirred CiCi from her slumber. She jumped to her feet quickly taking in her environment and adjusting to the events of the day. Martin stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, facing her. She saw the madness in his eyes as he glanced away from her to the woman still huddled on the floor.
“Echo!” he cried. “What have they done to you?”
“That’s not…” CiCi started to explain. “Martin? Martin, listen to me….” Her voice was deceivingly calm.
He ignored her and pushed past her roughly, knocking the Scribe to the ground. He grasped the woman he thought was Echo and wrenched her to her feet.
For an instant, it almost shook Hotwire free. She almost let go of the shield cast by the spell. CiCi was so far away, maintaining the connection was increasingly difficult. The work she’d almost finished would have to wait. It was all she could do to hold on; to still maintain the spell’s integrity while defending her own sanity from the onslaught of insane electrons that attacked like a sonic scream.
CiCi watched in horror as the young man, a trusted teammate until just moments earlier, grabbed Hotwire, the woman he apparently thought was Echo and dragged her to her feet. He displayed a strength she had never before witnessed in him as he brought her to himself.
“At last,” he mumbled, ignoring CiCi as she got to her feet. He kissed Hotwire passionately, one hand now tangled in her hair, to all appearances unaware of her lack of response. He ran his free hand down the length of her body, frowning when his fingers encountered the straps of the holster holding the Pharaohan weapon to her thigh. CiCi moved up behind him, not sure how to stop what he obviously intended.
“Martin,” she said quietly. He turned with a snarl, Hotwire still locked, oblivious, in his embrace. CiCi, her eyes wide, barely managed to dodge as he retrieved and fired the machine pistol he wore on a strap across his shoulder. She dove into the stairwell as he followed her movements with the deadly hail of lead. She tumbled, out of control, nearly to the bottom of the staircase. Martin did not follow.
Hotwire jerked violently in Marty’s grasp, desperately trying to maintain her contact with CiCi, but feeling every thump and bruise as the other woman fell. She knew that to abruptly sever such a connection would be extremely painful to both of them, and possibly fatal to CiCi. She shuddered as Martin lowered her to the ground, intent on getting what he had climbed so far to obtain.
----
CiCi finally skidded to a halt. She covered her head as bits of stone, torn loose during her descent, showered down around her. She slowly got to her feet, feeling the first stirrings of anger, deep in her soul. The Grey Scribe was too far away from Hotwire, now. The spell no longer protected her. She began the grim task of climbing the crumbling stairs once more.
----
Martin pushed Hotwire’s skirt up, exposing the holster on her thigh. He unfastened it, and tossed the weapon aside.
“You won’t need that anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on,” he said, his hands beginning to explore her curves. Hotwire shivered, her awareness beginning to return, as she remembered other, equally unwelcome, hands on her body. She tried to take control of his body, as she’d done so easily with others, but she found herself blocked. She couldn’t do it. Her connection with Bobbi was becoming more garbled as well, almost like static interference. The other woman was growing closer, but the connection was getting worse, not better.
Martin kissed his darling Echo, pinning her to the floor with his weight. She moved beneath him and he moaned with pleasure, sliding his hands between them and up under her blouse. She shifted, moving her legs. He lifted himself off of her, to gain better access … and one powerfully driven knee connected with the most sensitive part of his anatomy. He roared with pain and outrage, rolling off of her. When she tried to scramble away from him, he caught her by one ankle. She tripped and fell. He was on her at once.
“You little bitch!” he snarled. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he slammed her face into the stone floor. Stunned, she felt her connection with Bobbi slip away. She felt the older woman stagger in the stairwell, and hoped she’d been able to do enough. She tried again to connect with the madman on her back, but she was simply too exhausted. She felt the barrel of a gun against the back of her head.
----
CiCi staggered against the wall as the final thread connecting her to Hotwire, and to sanity, snapped. The anger built step by step as she climbed. She reached the tower room. Martin was sitting on Hotwire, one hand twisted in her hair, forcing her face into the stone floor. He pulled back the hammer on the old fashioned pistol he’d carried with him, the barrel hard against the back of the woman’s head.
“You won’t tease anybody else, I promise you that!”
CiCi hit him with a flying tackle, knocking the gun out of his hand. She was madder than she had ever been in her life.
“I gave up everything to keep her alive! There is no way I’m going to let you kill her!” The pair rolled across the floor of the tower room. Hotwire slowly sat up, wiping blood from her forehead where the rough stone had cut her. She felt disconnected from the events surrounding her. She could still feel the wave of evil pummeling her, trying to break through the spell her friend had cast all those years ago. The nexus CiCi had brought them to seemed to be failing as well.
Martin, physically stronger than the slight Scribe, came out on top. He punched her once, twice, three times, and she stopped struggling. His face still twisted in a snarl, he reached down and drew a knife out of his boot. Looking over at the passive Hotwire, he said,
“Don’t worry, dear, you’re next.” CiCi’s eyes flashed and she bucked, throwing him off. Blood streaming from her nose, she got to her feet.
“I told you, nobody is going to hurt my girl!” Hotwire was only a little surprised at the vehemence in the other woman’s voice.
Martin lunged at CiCi, and she narrowly avoided the descending blade. Swinging wildly with both hands, the knife cutting the air with a sharp sound, Martin managed to grab a handful of CiCi’s hair. He dragged her toward him, intending to end the fight, and return his attention to the nearly comatose blonde, sitting with her back to the wall, watching them struggle against one another. None of them expected the flash of furry fury that appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and knocked Martin from his feet.
MaHeeGun snarled and snapped as Martin tried to use the dagger on the him, the dog’s powerful jaws closed on the man’s arm with a sickening crunch. Martin screamed and staggered to his feet, shoving desperately at MaHeeGun with his good hand. CiCi, exhausted, crawled over to the wall, her hand encountering the discarded Pharaohan pistol, and closed about it.
With a savage kick, Martin heaved MaHeeGun away from him, and into the tower room. Suddenly remembering the machine pistol, he grinned wickedly, grabbed the weapon, and brought it to bear on the women and the dog.
“I’ve got you, my pretty,” he said, reverting to yet another classic favorite. “And your little dog, too!” He started to pull the trigger, but CiCi was faster. She blasted the wall beside him, sending shards of stone into his back and legs. Screaming, Martin spun away from this new attack. The ancient tower floor crumbled, spilling him through the now gaping hole. Desperately, he clung to the edge with both hands. CiCi dropped the pistol and scurried across the floor. Laying flat on the disintegrating surface, she reached out to him, but the madness had too strong a hold on her teammate. Rather than taking her hand, accepting her assistance, he once again tried to fire the weapon. His injured arm could not support his weight and he fell. CiCi watched as he tumbled down the side of the tower. He struck a protruding Gargoyle, but the weakened structure gave way, the head of the statue tumbling behind him. Glaring at her, even as he fell, he tried again to kill her.
His body impacted the courtyard with a sickening sound, the detached head of the statue landing, with unerring accuracy, atop his own. CiCi looked down on him sadly, her anger gone as quickly as it had arrived. The Gargoyle glared up at her where Martin’s own sweet gaze would never again be seen.
CiCi turned and slid cautiously away from the opening in the floor and wall. Hotwire still sat, her back to the stone, MaHeeGun’s head now resting in her lap. The Scribe crawled painfully over to them. She checked the cut on Hotwire’s forehead, wiping the blood and dirt away with her shirttail.
“It’s over,” Hotwire said simply.
“I know. I saw him fall.”
“No, I mean, whatever it was, that hit us, that hit him. It’s over.”
CiCi sighed, and sat next to Hotwire, her back thumping against the wall.
“Just a few more seconds, then, and I might not have had to kill him.”
Hotwire, exhausted, drained, had no answer. After a few minutes of heartbreaking silence, the secret agent began to talk.
“You sent me to the airport. Told me to go anywhere I wanted. To start a new life. Let me tell you what I did.” She could feel the heartache in the woman next to her as if it were a tangible thing. She wanted her to know what her sacrifices had succeeding in accomplishing.
They talked together for a long time, before either had the strength or will to make the long decent into the Citadel. Portia looked with horror on the smoking remains of her yacht, her crew dead, unprotected by the gas released in the Citadel itself. She’d grown fond of those men, even if they were predictably male.
CiCi lead her to the garage, and gave her the keys to the little silver car that had started the whole adventure, and sent her on her way. The Scribe then began the task of locating the wounded members of the staff, and getting them to Medical before the rest of the Grey Court began to straggle in, bloodied but not beaten.
End Part 14
Old Friends *HF*
Written by
Hotwire
Daemon
BobbiTodd
I’m tired. I’m cranky. I just want to go home…except I don’t have one. I’d been planning on moving onto the yacht full time. I’ve been living in hotel rooms and on the road for too long. Forever it seems.
// May I help you Ma’am?// [translated from Italian]
“I’d like a ticket to Canada…. Next flight to Toronto, please.”
Home. I miss it, but I’m not sure what it is I miss.
//We have a seat in first class on a flight leaving within the hour.//
“First Class? I’ll take it.” I smile.
I hand him the credit card and my fake id.
//Thank you Ms….//
“McDuff… Portia McDuff.”
Last flight I’ll take as her for a while. Wish I’d got to see Venice but now I’m really not in the mood. Portia’s gonna retire for a bit. I might too. Find a little house in the suburbs and maybe start a garden. Get a dog.
Make a home.
I guess that’s what’s been gnawing at me. I don’t have a home, but that’s where I want to be right now. So I go back to the only place I ever did call home.
I left the car with a valet and gave him instructions and a fair amount of cash, with a promise of more when he delivered. Hopefully the note I gave him will find its way into the right hands and they’ll keep my promise for me. The car at least, will once again find its way home.
I can’t help but wonder why I feel like I’m leaving mine behind. It’s not the destruction of my yacht. That wasn’t home yet. They say that home is where your heart is. My heart has always remained in my native land. Despite the length of time I’ve been away.
My mission is done. The boss is satisfied but I’m not; too much destruction, too high a price. I still feel the weapon strapped to my thigh. Whatever it’s made of didn’t set off the metal detectors. Wouldn’t have mattered. I was ready to interrupt the signal before the alarm sounded. Still, I can’t help but marvel at the technology that created it. Feeling the pulse of it next to my skin reminds me of that man I had only caught a glimpse of. Daemon, they call him. I know the weapons are his and I wonder if he’ll notice that one missing gun. If he does, would he come looking for it, send someone else or just write it off as a loss?
I stare out the window as the plane takes off. As we ascend, I see the lights of the city below us. Then we turn and I can see the island, the Citadel I had just left behind. The stars form a breathtaking backdrop. I wonder what direction Pharaoh is and if I could see it from here.
Home. Whatever it is, it’s out there somewhere; Canada, the Citadel, the stars, the earth stretching out beneath us. Somewhere, someone…
I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
-----
The Mediterranean wind made his leather trench coat flap about his legs. Standing on the highest point in the Citadel, Daemon surveyed what had become his domain as King of the Grey Hellfire Court. Examining the stonework that had broken away where Martin Blank fell to his death, Daemon was made painfully aware of how that domain had been violated. Turning on his heels, he made his way back down the winding hidden stairway and back into the main corridor of the mansion. Two guards snapped to attention as he passed, to which Daemon only nodded in response.
As he rounded the bend leading towards the Inner Circle offices, he stopped to lean against the wall, a grimace of pain cracking the stone facade he had been wearing since returning from Nicaragua. Reaching under his simple black shirt, he felt the moist layer of his own blood that had soaked through the bandage he had fashioned for himself. The worst of the injuries inflicted on him by Darkheart was not healing as fast as he had hoped. Ra’s internal struggle against the mystical effects of the Crimson Wave had saved him from the madness, but at a dramatic cost to his powers, and very likely his health in general. Given the amount of blood he estimated he had lost since the fight, Daemon probably needed a doctor. But he would be damned if he let anyone know of the true nature of his condition.
He wiped the blood from his hand on a handkerchief and stuffed it into his coat pocket, buttoning it up to cover the dark stain on his shirt. It wasn’t readily apparent, but he wouldn’t take any chances of someone asking questions. Taking out his Pharaohan palm computer, he continued his assessment of the situation at the Citadel.
Cici’s debriefing on what had transpired while he and his strike team were away only gave him part of the story. But it was enough to know that serious measures would have to be taken. While Martin’s initiation of lockdown and the release of the stun gas probably saved many of the mansion guard’s lives, those unaffected had done significant damage. Six were reported dead and dozens wounded in firefights that left sections of the large house looking like a war zone. While most everything could be fixed, the lives lost were irreplaceable and worst of all, impossible to take measure to prevent. The Crimson Wave was a force for which there was little defense. The mystical shields afforded by the Circles of Jurai surrounding the Citadel managed to slow the Wave’s progression, but nothing stopped it - though Cici neglected to report or explain HER condition during the Wave. In any case, the only thing that could be done to address those issues was to notify families, and begin reconstruction.
Of particular interest in all this was that secret passage. While the tower was slated for work to upgrade it to the same level as the rest of the house, it was not thought to be of immediate concern. As unlikely a scenario as it was, someone could possibly have landed on the tower from above to gain access to the house. Daemon thought he had temporarily solved that problem by barring the one known entrance and placing 24-hour security there. The hidden entrance hadn’t even shown up on initial scans when the first refurbishment was in progress. This lack of intelligence troubled Daemon to no end. Jotting on the small screen of his palm computer with the stylus, he made a note to have Cici to find every hidden area of the Citadel. It would be tedious, but it was necessary. Loose ends were Daemon’s worse nightmare in terms of security - which brought him at last to the Armory.
The investigation into all of Martin Blank's activities had not only turned up some questionable usage of Court resources, but also uncovered a most striking image of a woman that strongly resembled Echo - present in only two frames of video surveillance footage time stamped just before the Crimson Wave hit.
As Daemon stepped up to the large kythranium adamantite door leading to his personal cache of weapons, something caught his attention. He sniffed the air, honing in with his enhanced senses. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about it...
Unlocking the multi-phased security system, he walked into the expansive room. While everything seemed to be in its place, he was surprised to see a new crate in the middle of the floor. The insignia on the side was from a Pharaohan weapons dealer he often purchased from. Lifting the top, he was again caught by that distinctive scent, now mixed with the familiar smell of Pharaoh that clung to the ankh-shaped hand guns. He closed his eyes as he breathed in deeper. It had an electric quality to it, like ozone, but much more pleasant - a thunderstorm perhaps. But even then that was an incomplete description as a feminine scent dominated the fragrance. Though he couldn’t remember ever tasting something so sweet, it felt so familiar. Perhaps it was the smell of the Pharaohan desert - the smell of home - that gave him this feeling. But Earth had been his home even longer than Pharaoh and never evoked that emotion. He breathed in deeply again, feeling the warm embrace - almost like love, a complete and total love.
Finally, he took a look at the merchandise. It was a shipment that had been reported lost to raiders some time ago. Daemon caught sight of a note left in the crate and smirked after reading it. Maybe Hawkeye had something to do with getting his weapons back, but this certainly wasn’t his handiwork. His scent was nowhere to be found - only that of this female thunderstorm, perhaps even that woman from the video. As he folded the note and put it in his pocket, he noticed some empty space at the top. A weapon, a power clip and a converter were missing. Daemon smiled. So, his good Samaritan had taken a finder’s fee. That was fair enough. But he would rather have had the chance to meet this person face-to-face. No matter. The vargacite, or sunstone, used in the weapon gave off a distinctive energy signature that he could track anywhere in the world. Perhaps he’d pay a visit one day.
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CiCi looked up from her computer terminal as Daemon stalked into the area outside his office. She dropped her eyes immediately and the Grey King almost growled in frustration. He expected deference, but groveling irritated him, and the woman was patently terrified of him.
“CiCi, I need you to search the Citadel for any more hidden passages and secret rooms.”
“Already done, sir,” she answered quietly. “The layout is on your desk, along with…” she paused. “Um, everything else you need.” Daemon raised an eyebrow, but was interrupted before he could question her. Erik, CiCi’s alternate nurse while she was … incapacitated, stood in the doorway. His nose had been broken, and both his eyes were badly swollen, but with so many of the staff with worse injuries, he’d gone back to work within minutes of recovering from the effects of the gas.
“Excuse me, Mr. Strong. The doctor requested that I check in on Ms. Todd.”
“Everything going all right with the wounded?” Daemon asked, carefully ignoring his own injuries.
“Yes, sir. Everyone else should make it, though some will be a while recovering.”
“Very good.” The Grey King went on into his own office, closing the door slowly behind him.
“How are you doing?” he overheard Erik ask.
“I’m okay,” there was a pause. Daemon was about to let the door latch when CiCi continued. “Erik, I’m … sorry about your nose.” The big nurse laughed.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Considering what went on with the folks that were awake, I think you did me a favor. Hell of a right cross you’ve got there, too.” The door closed, cutting off the rest of the conversation.
Daemon shook his head as he crossed the room, his hand absently resting on his blood soaked shirt. He sat down at his desk and pulled the blueprint of the Citadel toward him. He froze when he saw the first aid kit revealed on the tabletop, along with a change of clothes.
How did…??? He glowered at the unwanted, but necessary, items on his desk. Well, it probably didn’t matter anyway. She’d already proven she could keep her mouth shut. A little too tightly at times, but shut just the same. Grimly, he began the task of changing the makeshift bandaging over his wounds.
CiCi went back to her computer and Erik returned to his duties in Medical. She absently touched the blue crystal dragon sitting patiently on top of her monitor and sighed. She had to talk to Echo about Janet. She couldn’t tell her new friend where her old friend had gone, but maybe she could tell her enough to ease the pain. She’d have to tell Daemon exactly what had happened to Martin, too. He probably believed the young man’s death had been either an accident, or a result of the effects of the Wave, when it had been neither.
She looked around the office, not really seeing it, and realized that she had started to think of the Citadel as home. She wondered if she’d be allowed to stay after everything she had done. She sighed again, and went back to work, looking for whatever the Grey Court might need in the immediate future.
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One person’s search for home seemed to have come to an end, while others were only just beginning to realize what it was they were searching for.