Rapport
AN: Noooooooo….darn author's block left me! Too…many…story ideas…*a flying white monkey, Larry the Rabid-Psychotic-Straitjacket-Sporting-Monkey, streaks across that strange universal room author's dwell in* Must…resist…okay, Larry? Back in the pen. In you go. Let's go back to my little padded white room, where we can rip up all the plastic-covered Styrofoam we want.
Ignore that, will you? 'Kay. HEY, PEOPLE, GUESS WHAT!!!!!! ICY WROTE ANOTHER STORY!!! YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!! AH-HUH!!! IT'S CALLED "NEWS" AND IF YOU DON'T READ IT OR "RUMORS"…GO AWAY!!!!! There. Got that out of my system…
HEY BANDIT!!! If you got the verification e-mail from www.fanfiction.ws, to restart your authors thing, you should have been able to access your file. If not, I do not recommend sending the people-in-charge a nasty e-mail…just keep trying to get it!
WARNING I: X-Men Evolution fanfiction, semi-prologue to "Lifeline".
WARNING II: Angst.
WARNING III: Kurt/Kitty, Spyke/OC.
WARNING IV: Watch out for Larry and any of my muses. They're all considered highly dangerous. Thank-you.
Dedication: Everyone! Chiefly, **THE LORD ALMIGHTY, GOD**!
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone featured inside. But, heck, I sure wish I did…I like Spyke…don't know why, but I do. Okay, I lied. I own the Lovinsky family. (Hey, people who read "Angel/Chapter Third" and remember Sirena Lovinsky…that's her family. She's about twenty in "A/C3", eleven in this fanfic.)
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Softly sleeping in their bed, Dimitri smiled lovingly at his angelic wife, her soft ivory skin and long, silky black hair, as well as her cheekbones, displaying her Oriental heritage. "G'night, love," he whispered gently, brushing the side of her cheek with his thumb. Kyoko stirred in her sleep, sighing blissfully as he quietly left the room, shutting the door soundlessly.
Briskly walking down the hallway, he paused at his daughter's door, pushing open the door more than a mere crack. A cheery Superman nightlight brightened her room, scattered legendary icons such as Batman and Robin dotting her walls and the floor. Action figures lay poised for battle, an Impulse doll left holding a Joker figurine in a headlock. Chuckling and shaking his head ruefully, he wondered on the strange twist of fate that had given him a daughter so much like a boy. Tiptoeing to her bedside, pushing back a lock of her curly, dark brown hair. Clutched in her arm was a stuffed animal, not unlike Artemis from that show she watched…
"Sweetie," he whispered, "Daddy's going on another trip. I'm going to get rid of the bad-men, okay?" She shifted slightly, unconsciously placing her thumb in her mouth. Half-smiling, he patted her head and silently left.
"What does this guy EAT?" Spyke grunted, gingerly tapping a rapidly forming combination-bump-and-bruise on the side of his forehead. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated on his skeleton…vicious, deadly spine-like protrusions exploded from his chocolate-colored skin, turning him into a bizarre weapon.
In front of him, an immense figure-whether it was formed from body fat or muscle, Spyke was unsure-roared his anger, lifting a handy Excursion and aiming at the much smaller, much weaker mutant. "Uh-oh…" Spyke muttered, eyes widening. This was going to hurt…
Without warning, a bubble of blazing white light exploded down on them, blinding both Spyke and the boy he assumed was the Blob. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Spyke tried to peer through the burning helicopter-light.
"This is Officer Dimitri Lovinsky. You are unauthorized muties-" Spyke and the Blob both growled at the distasteful word; "and are surrounded. You are both under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you." Well, the African-American thought ironically, at least they're reading us our rights.
An enraged roar rumbled behind Spyke and he whirled around, a curse tumbling from his lips. Still unable to see, Spyke cried out a "No!" too late, the grinding sound of metal crushing metal ringing in his ears.
"Gas them, now!"
A strange black smoke was ejected from an unseen tube underneath the helicopter, clinging to the two mutants, slipping into their nostrils. Gagging and choking, losing consciousness, Spyke fell to his hands and knees, his namesake spikes retreating back into his skin. Dizzily, his arms gave way and he lapsed onto the ground, crying and struggling to breathe. God, please, help me! he cried, an infernal, hellish darkness descending over him.
And then there was silence.
"I'm unable to sense Evan anywhere," Professor Xavier said worriedly and Ororo started, an expression of fear and desperation flickering across her white eyes. "Elf," Logan stated matter-of-factly and Kurt switched his attention from Xavier to the brutish man, "We need you to locate ol' Spyke." Giving him the patented-devil-may-care smirk, Kurt saluted and teleported out, already dressed in his Nightcrawler uniform.
"Gee, Kurt," the blue-furred mutant mumbled sarcastically, "wasn't *that* a bright idea?" Swinging himself from a tree branch to midair, he teleported to the ground, running. Grumbling grouchily, he leapt up, vanishing in a curious, two-dimensional cloud of smoke rippling out from a center of light. Reforming in an open space in the park, he froze his motions. Something didn't feel right. Not right at all. A cracking sound, not at all unlike a boot snapping a twig, twitched his nerves and he jumped a little, turning around slowly.
That was his first mistake.
A blow rang the back of his head, causing him to gasp in pain, clutching the back of his head with his eerie hands. Closing his eyes, not looking where he was stepping, he brushed his foot against an almost invisible sensor, setting it off. From capsule-like devices wired to each other and sensors wired to sensors, black gases pooled out, swarming around Nightcrawler and his attackers. A primal instinct ordered him calmly to stop breathing, but his panicked state destroyed that shard of wisdom. Inhaling deeply and frantically, trying to find his assaulters, he pulled in the smog substance. Instantly, his lungs felt like they were on fire and an intense, unbelievable pain engulfed his mind and body. Screaming, he faintly heard gunshots and then deeper, biting pain tore into his shoulder and back. Crying and whimpering, he curled up into a fetal position.
A mocking voice broke through the pain, "Looks like the gas only works on mutants." Xavier…Kitty…Gott, I need help, he wept. "Oh, the widdle fweak is cwying," another voice jeered and his eyes barely read the nametag sewn into the first man's uniform. D. Lovinsky…
SNIKT.
In a flash, a terrifying millisecond, Dimitri's assistant found himself pinned against a tree, three blades pressing against his throat and jugular, three more pricking his gut. Two cold, merciless eyes burned through his skull, and the man lost control of his bladder. "Hello," the bladed-man growled, "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced. My name is Wolverine, but you can all me Executioner." The officer squeezed his shut, barely breathing for fear of impaling himself. "We mutants travel in packs. Did you know that?" The man rasped a no, closing his eyes tightly, tears slowly slipping out from under his eyelids.
Dimitri pointed his hand-pistol at Wolverine, but a lightning bolt ripped it from his hands, sending it spiraling and melted to the grass. Turning a hate-filled gaze at a floating African-American woman above him, white hair floating about her beautiful, placid face, Dimitri sneered. ~Go from this place. You should go home.~ "Yes," the Russian-American said foggily, "I should go home…"
The man turned and slowly trudged out of the clearing, toward the vicinity his car lay in. Terrified, his associate opened his mouth, then snapped it shut at the cold glare from Wolverine. ~Let him go, Logan. I will…assist him on returning to his home.~ Wolverine grudgingly sheathed his claws, letting the man fall to the ground, clutching his throat and wheezing for air.
Cyclops leaned down beside the quivering body of Nightcrawler, gently lifting him up. Blood had stained the uniform badly, a head-injury minor in comparison to the horrible gunshot wounds. Thanking Xavier's wisdom in not allowing Kitty to come, Cyclops turned to Jean, who had been backing up Xavier's words. At the pained look on her face, Cyclops' assumption was certified. It wasn't good.
"Daddy, Daddy!" Sirena cried, tugging on his shirt. "Why are the people locked up?" she asked innocently and Dimitri once again thought over his decision to show her the facility. "They're bad people," he said softly and she wrinkled her eyebrows together.
"Oh."
Releasing the hold she had on her father's hand, the eleven-year old girl stopped, silently waiting until her father had turned a corner, unaware of her absence. Looking to her left, she saw a boy, a teenager with creamy chocolate skin, shackled to the wall of his cell. Three walls of cold, harsh metal titanium, a fourth wall made of glass for viewers and scientists to study. His eyes were closed, his breathing irregular, crimson blood dripping from a gash in his left calf. Tears pricked her eyes painfully.
Slowly walking forward until she pressed her forehead against the glass, she gazed at him, a tear rolling down her cheek, its progress slow and faltering. It hurt to see him, limp and broken, unusual fluorescent yellow hair matted with blood, obviously from another. Sirena did not know his name, but her heart longed to clean his wound and to tell him he would be all right. Words rose up from her throat, brokenly tumbling from her mouth. A lullaby filled the corridors, its melody soothing and heartfelt as the child sang the song her mother had taught her.
Locked in his cell, Evan felt his eyes flutter open, the pain drifting into a dull ache. Pulling at the chains holding him tight, he sighed, turning his head to the side. A tiny girl with Oriental features was watching him with sorrowful eyes, her lips moving in a familiar way. A soft, almost mute, sound reached his straining ears.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird," the girl was singing, a cheek glistening brightly. A trembling smile hovered on his face and Evan slowly began to join in.
"And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring." Stopping, he wondered if…just maybe…
Focusing on his 'talent,' he could hear as well as feel the brown spines tearing from his flesh. A resistant creaking sound came from the shackles and after a moment of straining, the metal twisted and broke off his wrists and ankles. Falling to the ground, he hissed at the searing pain shooting sharply up his leg. Glancing up at the girl, who had paused in her singing, he motioned for her to move out of the way of the glass. Nodding, dumbfounded and awed by his threatening appearance, she did so.
Standing on his feet, wincing at the hurt in his calf, he walked backwards until he felt the back of his cell pressing against his back. Grinding his teeth together, he charged forward, willing the spines and spikes to enlargen.
The glass shattered, splintering and crashing to the hard floor, skidding over the frictionless surface. Startled, Sirena watched the older boy fall to his knees, gasping and swaying. Around her, she heard the sounds of other captives following his lead, utilizing their abilities to shatter the glass. Ignoring the sharp edges underneath her sneakers, she raced forward, holding his shoulders and lifting him up with a grunt. "Come on, I need to get you out," she whispered urgently. "No," he mumbled, voice slurring. "I need t'..t' resht…"
"Allow me." Glancing up, Sirena's mouth formed an 'o' at the huge teenager in front of her, a blonde Mohawk decorating his head. "I'll take him back t' where he's suppose' t' be," he told her carefully and she smiled. "Okay. Be careful, though."
The boy nodded, lifting the now-unconscious body of Spyke in his large, hammish hands. The stampede of escaping mutants soon covered both teenagers and Sirena waited patiently for her father to return.
When he did, she told him nothing, but she kept a smile in her soul.
Sucking in air through clenched teeth, Evan gave Jean an evil eye, stubbornly fighting the urge to scream as she tightly wrapped his bloody calf. "There," she finally informed him, prodding his hip with her pen. "Now come on, I need to go tend to my other patient." Grumbling, Evan slid off the cot, hobbling out of the room with the aid of a crutch.
Once in the hall, alone, Evan smiled gently. "Hey, God, thanks for the help. And, if you see the girl, tell her Spyke said thanks."
A hollow beeping sound echoed hauntingly throughout the sterilized room, adding to the dreadful atmosphere. A monitor hooked up next to Kurt announced emotionlessly the steadiness of his heartbeat, offering no comfort to the heart-broken form of Katherine Pryde.
End AN: Only…um…well, it was short! *grins* Anyway, I need to go post info in the Digimon section because I've forgotten my li'l contest I held there…** Heheh…okay, people….
READ:
"LIFELINE" by ME, just so you understand this
"RUMORS" and "NEWS" by ICY
"EINE ROMANZE FUR NIGHTCRAWLER" by SOLITAIRE
"PHOBIA" by PEREGRINE
"EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER" by NITESHAYDE
ANYTHING by BANDIT, NIGHTCRAWLER'SGURL, and KRISSY
There. That about does it. Ja ne!
Read, weep, flame.
Love ya!
PallaPlease.
AN: Noooooooo….darn author's block left me! Too…many…story ideas…*a flying white monkey, Larry the Rabid-Psychotic-Straitjacket-Sporting-Monkey, streaks across that strange universal room author's dwell in* Must…resist…okay, Larry? Back in the pen. In you go. Let's go back to my little padded white room, where we can rip up all the plastic-covered Styrofoam we want.
Ignore that, will you? 'Kay. HEY, PEOPLE, GUESS WHAT!!!!!! ICY WROTE ANOTHER STORY!!! YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!! AH-HUH!!! IT'S CALLED "NEWS" AND IF YOU DON'T READ IT OR "RUMORS"…GO AWAY!!!!! There. Got that out of my system…
HEY BANDIT!!! If you got the verification e-mail from www.fanfiction.ws, to restart your authors thing, you should have been able to access your file. If not, I do not recommend sending the people-in-charge a nasty e-mail…just keep trying to get it!
WARNING I: X-Men Evolution fanfiction, semi-prologue to "Lifeline".
WARNING II: Angst.
WARNING III: Kurt/Kitty, Spyke/OC.
WARNING IV: Watch out for Larry and any of my muses. They're all considered highly dangerous. Thank-you.
Dedication: Everyone! Chiefly, **THE LORD ALMIGHTY, GOD**!
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone featured inside. But, heck, I sure wish I did…I like Spyke…don't know why, but I do. Okay, I lied. I own the Lovinsky family. (Hey, people who read "Angel/Chapter Third" and remember Sirena Lovinsky…that's her family. She's about twenty in "A/C3", eleven in this fanfic.)
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Softly sleeping in their bed, Dimitri smiled lovingly at his angelic wife, her soft ivory skin and long, silky black hair, as well as her cheekbones, displaying her Oriental heritage. "G'night, love," he whispered gently, brushing the side of her cheek with his thumb. Kyoko stirred in her sleep, sighing blissfully as he quietly left the room, shutting the door soundlessly.
Briskly walking down the hallway, he paused at his daughter's door, pushing open the door more than a mere crack. A cheery Superman nightlight brightened her room, scattered legendary icons such as Batman and Robin dotting her walls and the floor. Action figures lay poised for battle, an Impulse doll left holding a Joker figurine in a headlock. Chuckling and shaking his head ruefully, he wondered on the strange twist of fate that had given him a daughter so much like a boy. Tiptoeing to her bedside, pushing back a lock of her curly, dark brown hair. Clutched in her arm was a stuffed animal, not unlike Artemis from that show she watched…
"Sweetie," he whispered, "Daddy's going on another trip. I'm going to get rid of the bad-men, okay?" She shifted slightly, unconsciously placing her thumb in her mouth. Half-smiling, he patted her head and silently left.
"What does this guy EAT?" Spyke grunted, gingerly tapping a rapidly forming combination-bump-and-bruise on the side of his forehead. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated on his skeleton…vicious, deadly spine-like protrusions exploded from his chocolate-colored skin, turning him into a bizarre weapon.
In front of him, an immense figure-whether it was formed from body fat or muscle, Spyke was unsure-roared his anger, lifting a handy Excursion and aiming at the much smaller, much weaker mutant. "Uh-oh…" Spyke muttered, eyes widening. This was going to hurt…
Without warning, a bubble of blazing white light exploded down on them, blinding both Spyke and the boy he assumed was the Blob. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Spyke tried to peer through the burning helicopter-light.
"This is Officer Dimitri Lovinsky. You are unauthorized muties-" Spyke and the Blob both growled at the distasteful word; "and are surrounded. You are both under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you." Well, the African-American thought ironically, at least they're reading us our rights.
An enraged roar rumbled behind Spyke and he whirled around, a curse tumbling from his lips. Still unable to see, Spyke cried out a "No!" too late, the grinding sound of metal crushing metal ringing in his ears.
"Gas them, now!"
A strange black smoke was ejected from an unseen tube underneath the helicopter, clinging to the two mutants, slipping into their nostrils. Gagging and choking, losing consciousness, Spyke fell to his hands and knees, his namesake spikes retreating back into his skin. Dizzily, his arms gave way and he lapsed onto the ground, crying and struggling to breathe. God, please, help me! he cried, an infernal, hellish darkness descending over him.
And then there was silence.
"I'm unable to sense Evan anywhere," Professor Xavier said worriedly and Ororo started, an expression of fear and desperation flickering across her white eyes. "Elf," Logan stated matter-of-factly and Kurt switched his attention from Xavier to the brutish man, "We need you to locate ol' Spyke." Giving him the patented-devil-may-care smirk, Kurt saluted and teleported out, already dressed in his Nightcrawler uniform.
"Gee, Kurt," the blue-furred mutant mumbled sarcastically, "wasn't *that* a bright idea?" Swinging himself from a tree branch to midair, he teleported to the ground, running. Grumbling grouchily, he leapt up, vanishing in a curious, two-dimensional cloud of smoke rippling out from a center of light. Reforming in an open space in the park, he froze his motions. Something didn't feel right. Not right at all. A cracking sound, not at all unlike a boot snapping a twig, twitched his nerves and he jumped a little, turning around slowly.
That was his first mistake.
A blow rang the back of his head, causing him to gasp in pain, clutching the back of his head with his eerie hands. Closing his eyes, not looking where he was stepping, he brushed his foot against an almost invisible sensor, setting it off. From capsule-like devices wired to each other and sensors wired to sensors, black gases pooled out, swarming around Nightcrawler and his attackers. A primal instinct ordered him calmly to stop breathing, but his panicked state destroyed that shard of wisdom. Inhaling deeply and frantically, trying to find his assaulters, he pulled in the smog substance. Instantly, his lungs felt like they were on fire and an intense, unbelievable pain engulfed his mind and body. Screaming, he faintly heard gunshots and then deeper, biting pain tore into his shoulder and back. Crying and whimpering, he curled up into a fetal position.
A mocking voice broke through the pain, "Looks like the gas only works on mutants." Xavier…Kitty…Gott, I need help, he wept. "Oh, the widdle fweak is cwying," another voice jeered and his eyes barely read the nametag sewn into the first man's uniform. D. Lovinsky…
SNIKT.
In a flash, a terrifying millisecond, Dimitri's assistant found himself pinned against a tree, three blades pressing against his throat and jugular, three more pricking his gut. Two cold, merciless eyes burned through his skull, and the man lost control of his bladder. "Hello," the bladed-man growled, "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced. My name is Wolverine, but you can all me Executioner." The officer squeezed his shut, barely breathing for fear of impaling himself. "We mutants travel in packs. Did you know that?" The man rasped a no, closing his eyes tightly, tears slowly slipping out from under his eyelids.
Dimitri pointed his hand-pistol at Wolverine, but a lightning bolt ripped it from his hands, sending it spiraling and melted to the grass. Turning a hate-filled gaze at a floating African-American woman above him, white hair floating about her beautiful, placid face, Dimitri sneered. ~Go from this place. You should go home.~ "Yes," the Russian-American said foggily, "I should go home…"
The man turned and slowly trudged out of the clearing, toward the vicinity his car lay in. Terrified, his associate opened his mouth, then snapped it shut at the cold glare from Wolverine. ~Let him go, Logan. I will…assist him on returning to his home.~ Wolverine grudgingly sheathed his claws, letting the man fall to the ground, clutching his throat and wheezing for air.
Cyclops leaned down beside the quivering body of Nightcrawler, gently lifting him up. Blood had stained the uniform badly, a head-injury minor in comparison to the horrible gunshot wounds. Thanking Xavier's wisdom in not allowing Kitty to come, Cyclops turned to Jean, who had been backing up Xavier's words. At the pained look on her face, Cyclops' assumption was certified. It wasn't good.
"Daddy, Daddy!" Sirena cried, tugging on his shirt. "Why are the people locked up?" she asked innocently and Dimitri once again thought over his decision to show her the facility. "They're bad people," he said softly and she wrinkled her eyebrows together.
"Oh."
Releasing the hold she had on her father's hand, the eleven-year old girl stopped, silently waiting until her father had turned a corner, unaware of her absence. Looking to her left, she saw a boy, a teenager with creamy chocolate skin, shackled to the wall of his cell. Three walls of cold, harsh metal titanium, a fourth wall made of glass for viewers and scientists to study. His eyes were closed, his breathing irregular, crimson blood dripping from a gash in his left calf. Tears pricked her eyes painfully.
Slowly walking forward until she pressed her forehead against the glass, she gazed at him, a tear rolling down her cheek, its progress slow and faltering. It hurt to see him, limp and broken, unusual fluorescent yellow hair matted with blood, obviously from another. Sirena did not know his name, but her heart longed to clean his wound and to tell him he would be all right. Words rose up from her throat, brokenly tumbling from her mouth. A lullaby filled the corridors, its melody soothing and heartfelt as the child sang the song her mother had taught her.
Locked in his cell, Evan felt his eyes flutter open, the pain drifting into a dull ache. Pulling at the chains holding him tight, he sighed, turning his head to the side. A tiny girl with Oriental features was watching him with sorrowful eyes, her lips moving in a familiar way. A soft, almost mute, sound reached his straining ears.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird," the girl was singing, a cheek glistening brightly. A trembling smile hovered on his face and Evan slowly began to join in.
"And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring." Stopping, he wondered if…just maybe…
Focusing on his 'talent,' he could hear as well as feel the brown spines tearing from his flesh. A resistant creaking sound came from the shackles and after a moment of straining, the metal twisted and broke off his wrists and ankles. Falling to the ground, he hissed at the searing pain shooting sharply up his leg. Glancing up at the girl, who had paused in her singing, he motioned for her to move out of the way of the glass. Nodding, dumbfounded and awed by his threatening appearance, she did so.
Standing on his feet, wincing at the hurt in his calf, he walked backwards until he felt the back of his cell pressing against his back. Grinding his teeth together, he charged forward, willing the spines and spikes to enlargen.
The glass shattered, splintering and crashing to the hard floor, skidding over the frictionless surface. Startled, Sirena watched the older boy fall to his knees, gasping and swaying. Around her, she heard the sounds of other captives following his lead, utilizing their abilities to shatter the glass. Ignoring the sharp edges underneath her sneakers, she raced forward, holding his shoulders and lifting him up with a grunt. "Come on, I need to get you out," she whispered urgently. "No," he mumbled, voice slurring. "I need t'..t' resht…"
"Allow me." Glancing up, Sirena's mouth formed an 'o' at the huge teenager in front of her, a blonde Mohawk decorating his head. "I'll take him back t' where he's suppose' t' be," he told her carefully and she smiled. "Okay. Be careful, though."
The boy nodded, lifting the now-unconscious body of Spyke in his large, hammish hands. The stampede of escaping mutants soon covered both teenagers and Sirena waited patiently for her father to return.
When he did, she told him nothing, but she kept a smile in her soul.
Sucking in air through clenched teeth, Evan gave Jean an evil eye, stubbornly fighting the urge to scream as she tightly wrapped his bloody calf. "There," she finally informed him, prodding his hip with her pen. "Now come on, I need to go tend to my other patient." Grumbling, Evan slid off the cot, hobbling out of the room with the aid of a crutch.
Once in the hall, alone, Evan smiled gently. "Hey, God, thanks for the help. And, if you see the girl, tell her Spyke said thanks."
A hollow beeping sound echoed hauntingly throughout the sterilized room, adding to the dreadful atmosphere. A monitor hooked up next to Kurt announced emotionlessly the steadiness of his heartbeat, offering no comfort to the heart-broken form of Katherine Pryde.
End AN: Only…um…well, it was short! *grins* Anyway, I need to go post info in the Digimon section because I've forgotten my li'l contest I held there…** Heheh…okay, people….
READ:
"LIFELINE" by ME, just so you understand this
"RUMORS" and "NEWS" by ICY
"EINE ROMANZE FUR NIGHTCRAWLER" by SOLITAIRE
"PHOBIA" by PEREGRINE
"EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER" by NITESHAYDE
ANYTHING by BANDIT, NIGHTCRAWLER'SGURL, and KRISSY
There. That about does it. Ja ne!
Read, weep, flame.
Love ya!
PallaPlease.