Chapter 23: Hitting the Fan
“We gotta help Remy!”
“How are we getting to New Orleans, Rogue? I saw the Blackbird take off when I came in-”
“There’s new ones. Kurt called these somethin’ like a Mark 3. Ain’t as big, but they’re a ton faster.”
From their spot outside of Mystique’s car, they saw two planes ascend from the mansion and into the night sky. The red haired woman glanced at her daughter. “How many of these Mark 3s does Xavier have?”
Crestfallen, Rogue’s shoulders slumped. “Two.”
Irene, you devil. Use whatever means possible to help Gambit but stay in New York? And from a murderous Vargas? While Mystique herself wouldn’t go very far for the crafty Cajun, her daughter--if her frantic pacing, repeated dialing on the cell phone, and free flowing tears were any indication--would go to the ends of the world for him. Young love... made Mystique feel nostalgic.
Now, however, she felt a good deal pissed off since it was her daughter’s young love being destroyed by an insane fanatic, the same fanatic Irene insisted be saved from an early death so he could “challenge” the X-Men and provide Rogue with a scenario to use her powers to the fullest.
Vargas. Raven Darkholme never liked the man, and if he didn’t serve a purpose in Irene’s plans, she would’ve left him to his demise years ago.
Oh Irene, did you need this madman to give our daughter her final exam on her mutant powers? Mystique said it then and she said it a million times since, people like him--mutant or human--were only trouble. Sure, Irene had this grand future in mind, this scheme which would give Rogue the best life possible, but was he necessary? What was she thinking? Was she out of her mind or-
Mystique’s eyes widened. “Have you ever used your powers on a telepath?”
“Once. Scott had me ‘sorb the Professor when Mastermind struck.”
The metamorph grabbed her daughter’s hand and sprinted back in the direction of the mansion.
“Mama! Whatcha doin’?”
“Saving your Cajun. Think about it: we can use Cerebra to amplify Xavier’s powers and stop Vargas.”
Hearing those words, Rogue slung her mother onto her shoulder and flew top speed into the mansion, down past the medlabs, and smack into the X-Men’s most jealously guarded piece of technology. A series of numbers got punched onto the keypad, and the adamantium reinforced door slid away.
Cerebra lay here like a slumbering behemoth. Every inch of it alien in design, the sterile metal environment weighed down on all its occupants. The walls held an otherworldly sheen and the air inside smelled stale, the personality driven from the room by unfathomable science. The infamous cap, the headpiece, the key to this awesome machine, rested on a pedestal, aloof from the rest of the instruments. A large hologram displayed global happenings by itself, tracking mutant movement and analyzing potential threats.
As the door closed, Rogue set Mystique down and took in her surroundings. She’d been here before, but never to use this beast, never to control its awesome knowledge. Even Mystique gaped at the sight, but she snapped out of it quickly.
“Do you know how to work this thing?”
“No,” said a voice which didn’t belong to either Mystique or Rogue, “And you’re not going to learn how if I’ve got something to say about it.”
Guns drawn, Forge stepped out from behind a pylon. His attention focused on Mystique, but he kept a tab on Rogue as well, tracking both women like target practice.
“Forge,” the red haired woman snarled, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
“Give me one good reason why I’m shouldn’t punch a hole in your goddamn head, Mystique.”
Rogue settled herself between the two. “She’s with me, Forge. Put those things away.”
He glanced from daughter to mother. Standard operating procedure called for him to stand down and reanalyze the situation. His logical side told him to listen to Rogue and put aside personal differences with Mystique. Unfortunately, Forge’s seldom seen impulsiveness snatched the driver’s seat.
“That’s not a good reason.”
The futuristic gun boomed like a cannon, its projectile harmlessly gazing Rogue’s shoulder and clipping the side of Mystique’s neck.
Blood. So much blood and all of it in slow motion Rogue turned and saw blood fountaining out of Mystique. Those yellow eyes bulged in hurt and surprise while the body fell to its knees. They had their differences; they had their fights; they were also mother and daughter. Rage erupted from the deepest recesses of Rogue’s heart, and instinctively, she creamed Forge so hard he made a Forge-shaped impression in the opposing wall. The man managed a small, pitiful, mental cry to the Professor before blacking out.
Blood. So much blood. Rogue ripped her sweater into tatters to put pressure on the wound. After a second, those yellow eyes cleared and Mystique weakly curled up the sides of her mouth.
“’s ok,” she murmured, patting her daughter’s blood soaked hands.
“It ain’t ok. Why’d Forge do that?”
Many reasons, not least of which included Mystique manipulating his affections and trying to kill him on more than one occasion. Too bad the man remained a terrible marksman when it mattered, never seeming to finish the enemy when need be. How many times had Fitzroy and other enemies escaped because he only clipped them? If the inventor stopped to ask himself, he’d find himself shamefully inadequate. So, the gunshot looked worse than it felt, but that’s not to say it felt good in any way, shape, or form. Forge might’ve been a terrible shot, but he wasn’t blind.
Suddenly, the mansion shook, but neither woman paid much attention. They had more important business.
“The Cajun,” moaned Mystique as her version of a healing factor kicked in.
The brunette stared long and hard at the Cerebra helm, but when her gaze returned to her hurt mother, she shook her head.
“Go,” Mystique hissed.
“No.”
“I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Ah can’t. Not when you’re like this.”
Another tremor snaked through the mansion, and this one put both women on alert.
“Hurry!”
Nodding reluctantly, Rogue made a beeline to the helm and dug up her template of the Professor. Knowledge inundated her mind as her DNA realigned to allow for the massive output of psychic energies. The complex setup before her deciphered itself, the buttons and status signs all making more sense. She logged in with Xavier’s password and waited for the system to prompt her for the next action.
Which didn’t happen.
That’s when it dawned on her: Cerebra needed fixing and that’s why Forge was down here at this odd hour on this odd day. Too bad this odd day was about to get a whole lot odder.
“Warning,” said the Cerebra intercom as an alarm blared, “Mansion defenses breached. Entering lock-down mode.”
Incited by the unexpected klaxon, Mystique shambled to her feet and leaned against a piece of equipment for support. “What’s happening?”
Rogue’s stolen telepathy told her all she needed to know.
“Magneto’s here.”
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- To be continued...
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