Scribe,
Here's chapter 13 of AoA Revelations. Sorry about the delay (again!).
If you could, could you post it to a.c.f.f.? My admin doesn't do the
newsgroups, for some oddball reason (yet we have total internet access -
weird). I'd appreciate it.
again, thanks for the wonderful support of archiving my story. If no
one else appreciates it, I do, very, very much. Thanks.
Best regards to you and yours,
John
P.s. File attached.
All known X-men characters in this story are copyrighted by Marvel Comics.
No permission was obtained, but no profit is to be made from this story. It
is purely for my personal enjoyment and those of its readers. All other
characters, concepts, plots, theories, technology not seen in Marvel Comics
belong to me.
Please don't distribute this without asking me; I probably won't mind if
you did, as long as it wasn't altered in any way. I'd just like to know where
it's going.
Please, enjoy this story, and send me your comments, be they good or
bad, to jpercy@clariion.com.
Thanks for reading!
John Percy
NOTE: Again, I'm really, really sorry this has taken so long. Life can
really get complicated, can't it? Please tell me what you think.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Revelations - Chapter 13
By
John Percy
I wander in darkness, blackness. Terror grips my heart, but I don't know
why. Suddenly, I'm in a graveyard that seems to go on for miles, dark and
foreboding, covered in a thin mist and fog. I don't know how I got here, or
why, or where even here is. I look in all directions, and even with my
visor's magnification capabilities, there doesn't seem to be any end to this
land of the dead.
I check my comlink, but all I get is static. Sighing, I can see only one
option to follow: I pick a random direction and start to walk, hoping to find
some way out of this bleak landscape.
I walk for what seems for hours, but I don't seem to get anywhere. The
scenery never changes; headstones, gnarled trees, and the occasional scrub
bush are my only companions. That, and the unearthly silence.
I stop when I think I hear some crumbling sound behind me. Turning, I
survey the landscape, but don't see anything. And it would be hard to miss
anything, as empty as this land is.
I'm about to turn around and start walking when I pause; I notice a small
mound of dirt that I don't think was there before. Frowning, I walk up and
examine it.
I nearly shriek when a human hand, rotten with worms and decay, thrusts out
of the pile and swipes at my ankle. Stumbling back, I watch in horror as a
corpse leverages itself out of the dirt and begins to shamble towards me,
claw-like hands outstretched.
It begins to moan, its voice cluttered with bugs and dirt. "Murderer...."
With a cry of disgust, I unleash an optic blast, cutting the cadaver in
two. Its upper torso lands with a disgusting plop, rights itself, then begins
to claw its way along the ground towards me again, moaning.
"Murderer...."
Suddenly, I hear numerous crumbling sounds, and all around me, ghastly
visages of the dead begin to rise and move towards me, all moaning the same
word.
"Murderer...."
Surrounded, terrified, I stumble back; there is no escape. More and more
of the dead rise to join the undead ranks around me. I blast those closest to
me, but more corpses just replace them. Soon, I'm screaming, unleashing optic
blast after blast, but there are so many, so many.
Soon, I'm overwhelmed by clawing hands, maggot infested arms, decayed
teeth. I lash out like a wild beast, but my mind begins to join my screaming
voice, as the light of day becomes blocked by the mass of undead bodies.
The last thing I see is a zombie above me, more decayed and rotten than
the rest. Encrusted with worms and maggots, it's unmistakable. It points a
half eaten finger at me, repeating the same word that the other corpses do.
"Murderer...."
Jean Grey.
******** *********
I jerk awake in darkness, breathing hard and covered in sweat.
A strong hand holds me down to the bed I am laying in. "Easy Scott!
Scott, can you hear me?" I recognize the voice immediately: Father.
Gasping, I stammer, "What... where..."
"You're in the medical ward. Lay back, my son."
Breathing heavily, I let my Father's strong hands push me back into the
bed. "Can't see... lights?"
I hear him sigh, something I haven't heard him do in many, many years.
"The lights are on, Scott. You ... were injured. Can you tell me what
happened?"
"Yes, Scott, what happened?" Alex. Even when I can't see him, I know
he's scowling.
I sigh and reach gingerly up to my face, feeling a bandage that's around
my eyes and left side of my face. I've got to think up of some excuse quickly
as to why I was in that area at that time of night. "I wasn't able to sleep,
and decided to just patrol the complex. I was in the corridor near Grey's
quarters when I was jumped."
I can almost see my Father nod solemnly. "From the look of your injury,
and from the evidence I collected in the area, it had to be Weapon-X."
I nod, then wince at the slight pain in my head. "Yeah. Came out of
nowhere. He was fast, so damn fast, I barely avoided being killed..."
Alex hrumphs. "He defeated you."
I scowl. "I don't remember what happened. Considering I'm still alive,
I'd say I didn't lose too bad."
"True." McCoy's voice. He must be sitting somewhere nearby. "Our
beserker friend is not known for leaving his opponents alive. Or in one piece.
To see the Prelate alive, not to mention mostly in one piece, is a testament
to his survival skills."
Mostly in one piece? My hand strays up to my face. "What..."
My Father's strong hand takes mine and gently pulling it away from my face.
"You survived, my son. That is enough. You still have one eye with which to
see. McCoy?"
My mind goes numb. Eye. Not Eyes.
I barely hear McCoy's clinical diagnosis. "Unfortunately, Weapon-X's
adamantium claws left little of the eye itself intact. Fortunately, the
Prelate must have jerked his head away in time, avoiding heavy damage to the
occipital lobe and cheek bone, else he may have had some damage to the brain,
or even have bled to death."
I feel his heavy, hairy claw poke at my face, and I jerk it away slightly.
"Other than the loss of the eye itself, the damage was easily repaired. As far
as I can tell, your optical power is still intact within the other eye, though
it is interesting to note that without the eye, your optic nerve cannot
properly...."
My Father's strong voice interrupts the Beast. "Enough. Let us let him
rest." He gives my shoulder a slight squeeze. "Sleep, my son. Recover, and
rejoin us in your place."
Another reassuring squeeze on my shoulder, and I hear them all walk away.
I reach up and feel the bandage around my head, the left side of my face.
Underneath, an empty socket; part of me gone.
I clench my fist. It sounds like I did get a shot in on that animal, but
it's far from over. If it takes as long as I live, I'll find him, and I'll
even the score, somehow. I don't care if he's Grey's lover, or friend, or
even if we're now on the same side.
Now, it's personal.
Leaning back, I think dark thoughts of revenge as sleep overtakes me,
leading me into the land of my nightmares once again....
******** ********
Over the next few days I recover easily enough. As McCoy said, it's only
one eye, and I still have another. Instead, I have three parallel, diagonal
scars where the one should be, continuing both above and below the socket.
McCoy could remove them easily enough with plastic surgery, but I told him
no. They're reminders, now. Reminders of what I used to be, and what I have
to do. I can never forget that.
Besides, scars like these will inspire fear in the troops, help me keep
them in line. There's nothing like a bold symbol of survival.
Once the Beast cleared me for duty, all I needed is a new visor. Father,
being the scientific genius that he is, built a new one to replace the
destroyed one.
It's really impressive, I've got to admit. Similar to the old one, but
distinctive in its own way. Made of some gold colored metal alloy, it covers
my face much like the old one. Instead of the ruby quartz appeture going the
whole way across though, the left side is solid metal; the right side has an
eye-like opening of ruby quartz crystal. It incorporates a com-link like the
old model, and has the same multitude of scanning and targeting modes.
Somehow, it even compensates for my lost eye; my vision isn't impaired. It's
as if I still have two eyes; no loss of depth perception, range, or acuity.
Father must have installed something special in this visor; maybe some kind
of sensor suite that somehow ties into my damaged optic nerve.
The best part of this new visor is that it looks terrifying, like some
kind of mythological cyclopean visage. I tried one of my best scowls in a
mirror, and almost scared myself. This is going to absolutely terrify anyone
else. I should have had Father redesign it a long time ago.
I leave my uniform as it is, but after looking in the mirror a bit, I
decide to take my hair out of its customary ponytail, and pull part of it over
my scars. Not enough to cover it entirely, but just enough to make it not only
terror inspiring, but mysterious as well.
One last check of myself and my equipment, and I judge myself ready to get
back to work.
I've got prisoners to free.
******** ********
I head back towards command central, with the aim of accessing the prisoner
database to find an ideal candidate for the next escape attempt. I shouldn't
have any difficulty, as I've been out of the loop for a little while and can
use catching up with the work I've missed as an excuse.
I arrive at central command to find Alex monitoring his security operations
and everything else pretty much going as usual. He gives me his usual
welcoming sneer. "Welcome back, brother."
I sigh. "Status report?"
Alex turns and folds his arms across his chest. "Operations are normal.
My new and increased security measures are almost complete."
"Good." After Weapon-X got in almost undetected, Alex initiated an
expansion and improvement of the security forces and measures throughout the
complex. How could I argue? I even suggested some ideas that were
incorporated into the final plan. Problem is, it'll make my new objective even
more difficult than before. I'm going to have to improve my plan somehow.
I walk over to a free terminal, and punch up all the reports from the past
couple of days, going through the motions of catching up on paperwork. After
a few hours, I begin to go through the prisoner files, looking for the best
possible candidate for the next escape attempt. While browsing, Alex came
and looked over my shoulder, asking what I was doing. My excuse of
researching for other possible security holes seemed to satisfy him, but he
had a strange look on his face when he walked away.
Another hour of searching leads to success, and I find the next escapee.
******** ********
A few days later, I decide that it's going to be impossible to totally
avoid all the new security systems that Alex has installed. Eventually, I'll
be caught, either on the sensors or in person. Still, I have access to the
patrol schedules and routes, and I know where all the systems are placed, so I
should be able to avoid any face to face confrontations. Hopefully.
Avoiding the sensors is another matter. So, I decide to go and 'acquire'
an item that may be able to hide my identity, at least, from electronic eyes:
a field scrambler. It's designed to scramble image viewers and other sensors.
While they'll still detected whoever is using one, they won't be able to see
who it is.
But I just can't walk into supply and take one. It's in a secured area
that usually has a guard, though he really plays the part of a clerk. Not a
huge obstacle, but I don't want anyone to be able to trace a missing field
scrambler back to me.
Fortunately, it's not a high security storage area, and the guard is
usually the only one there. Once I take care of him, I can get whatever I
want. I can't just outright kill him, though, or even hurt him; at least, not
with him knowing it was me who did it.
Approaching the storage area, I peek around the last corner. As I had
hoped, there is only one guard, absent-mindedly checking his inventory files
and other clerical type stuff. Smiling slightly to myself, I pull a straw-like
object from one of my utility belt pouches.
I take a deep breath, put one end of the straw to my lips, and line up a
shot on the guard. The straw is actually a small blow-gun, one of my own
design. Small, silent, and inconspicuous, it can fire any number of tiny
darts, each containing any kind of substance. Right now, it's loaded with a
special crystal dart made of a quick acting, though harmless, sedative. In
addition, the crystal melts in warm temperatures. Warm as, say, the human
body. The dart hits the target, pierces the skin, and almost instantly melts,
delivering its payload into the targets' bloodstream. Silent, effective, and
almost totally undetectable.
I carefully line up my shot, waiting for the guard to sit still for a
second. Finally, he sits down for a moment, and I forcefully expel my entire
breath in one violent burst. A second later, the guard swats at his neck, as
if shooing away a bug.
Apparently satisfied he got the culprit, he goes back to his work. A few
moments later, his head begins to sway slightly and he drops his paperwork.
The next moment, his head falls to his desk and he's out like a light.
I've only got a few minutes, so I run forward past the now comatose guard
and into the storeroom itself. From the looks of it, this guard is an anomaly
in the EMF: he's organized. I find the field scrambler exactly where it
should be and tuck it into one of my belt pouches. As I leave the storeroom,
the guard begins to make some moaning sounds, but by the time he's conscious,
I'm gone. Most likely, he'll think he just nodded off for a few moments.
He may be organized, but I don't think he's going to report a missing
item from his inventory. Not at the risk of incurring Alex's wrath. At least,
I hope so. In either case, I can't worry about that.
I've got a mission to complete.
**** **** ****
I let a few days pass before the next break out attempt, to see if any
trouble arises because of the missing scrambler. I hear nothing, and see no
reports of it being stolen; looks like I'm home free with that.
According to the patrol schedule, I've got about a 15 minute window in
which to get the prisoner out and down into the sewers. It should be plenty
of time, given no complications.
I still have the supplies I was going to give to Grey, in addition to some
other small survival items. Hopefully, it'll be enough to get the prisoner
out. It'll have to be.
Upon reflection, I decide to take my combat knife with me. Normally, I
don't wear it, but if the prisoner doesn't believe me and resists, I'll either
have to silence or kill them. I hope it doesn't come to the latter, but if
it means sacrificing one so that many could possibly escape, I'll do it without
hesitation, quickly and cleanly. It's more than they would've gotten from
anyone else around here, at least.
Everything packed, I check my watch. The Guthries have patrol tonight.
I've been watching their patrol habits, and the two hillbillies aren't what
you'd call sticklers for details; they typically run their patrol route fast.
Seeing it's time, I activate my field scrambler and throw a cloak on and head
out. If I time it right, I should get 15 to 20 minutes before the Guthries
return to get into the sewer system. Once we're in there, we can take our
time. I'll just have to time my return trip so I don't run into them again.
I take a long route to the Pens to try and avoid the sensors and any stray
troopers. A few times I have to hide in the shadows, but no one notices me.
As I get close to the cells, I pause, confirming that I'm alone. It's
showtime.
I quickly move up to one of the larger cells, containing perhaps 15, 20
prisoners. They all seem asleep, but I've no doubt some of them are dead.
Hopefully, the prisoner I picked isn't among them.
I pull out an old fashioned electronic lock-pick, and slap it onto the
gate lock controls. Normally, it takes a bit of time for the little electronic
gadget to figure out the proper sequence of signal codes to disable the lock,
but since I know what those signals are, it opens it in a second. I use it
because I want to leave as little a trail as possible.
A second later, the gate lock disengages, and I retrieve the lock pick.
Quietly pushing open the door, I step through and begin to look for my target.
It shouldn't be too hard; she's distinctive looking, if anything.
In a few moments, I find her huddled in a corner. Looking down at her,
she's just as described in the report: a metamorph, with distinctive canine
characteristics. In layman's terms, a werewolf. The Beast has been working
on altering her genetic code to make the transformation halfway between human
form and wolf permanent, heightening her senses, and increasing her strength
and stamina, supposedly as a blueprint for a new breed of Infinite scout.
It looks like she's been through hell; the Beast must have completed the
first stage of his experiment. I hope she's as strong as his reports say,
because she's going to need it to get out of here.
I'm surprised when she stirs and tiredly looks up at me, blinking. Her
heightened senses, I guess. "Rahne Sinclair?"
She literally cowers at my feet, scared half out of her mind. She probably
thinks I'm here either to take her to another of the Beasts 'sessions', or
rape or kick her around a bit. I soften the look on my face and kneel, slowly
holding my hand out to her.
"Come on, I'm getting you out of here."
She blinks at me, unbelievingly. I don't blame her. She stammers at me,
"But... but... yer..."
I nod, slowly. "I know. I know you're scared and you're hurt. But I'm
going to get you out of here, to people who'll protect you." I look at her
with what I hope is a look of complete truth. "Come with me if you want to
live."
She hesitates, still unsure. "But..."
This is taking too long. If I can't get her to go now, I'll have to kill
her, to protect myself and the other prisoners. "Please, there's not much
time. Trust me."
She glances around her, and then back at me, and I can see she's made up
her mind. Slowly, she reaches up and takes my hand. I pull her up, and hold
her close to me, within the folds of my cloak. "Quietly now. Just let me
lead you out."
We quickly exit the cell, and I lock the gate behind me. I glance both
ways down the corridor, scanning with my visor. No signs of the patrol.
"Come on, this way." I lead her down the corridor, looking for the grate that
leads to the sewers.
A few moments later, I find it, and after deactivating the hidden sensor I
know is there, lift it out of the floor and quietly put it down. "Down we
go." She gives me a frightened look, but lets me help her down into the hole.
I quickly follow, landing in the muck of the sewer. Carefully, I replace the
grate, making sure that it doesn't look like its been moved.
I turn and look at her. "Rest for a moment. Here, eat this." I pull out
one of the survival energy bars, which she looks at suspiciously. "Would I go
through all this trouble just to poison you? Take it."
She looks at me a moment, then takes it and greedily eats it down. As
with most of the prisoners, she's malnourished, and shows it. I give her the
canteen, and she washes it down with some water.
"Ok? We've got to move. Come on, this way." I grip her shoulders, trying
to hold some of her weight, and lead her down the corridor. We walk for a
while, and I keep a look out with my visor for traps, cameras, or other
sensors. I pull out the small map display of the sewer system I downloaded
from the main computer, and consult it for the way out. Without it, we'd be
lost.
About an hour or so later after winding through the maze-like sewer system,
we finally make it to the exit point without much trouble. I jump out of the
sewer onto the ground below and help her down. She looks around her at the
surrounding wilderness with a dazed look, almost as if she can't believe she
is actually out.
I hand her the pack. "Alright, take this. It's got some food, water, and
some other stuff." I pull out the small wrap from the pack. "Put this on,
and keep it over your face. In the pack is a map, it shows the where the
closest known rebel enclave is. At least, where I think it is. They move
enough to make it difficult to pin them down."
She looks at me, then at the pack, and then back at me again, dumbfounded.
"But... I cannae make it on me own..."
I put my hands on her shoulders. "I can't go with you. I've got to try
and get others like you out, too. At least, for as long as I can." I give her
shoulder what I hope is a confident squeeze. "You're strong; I know it, and
you know it. You can make it, if you try. Do you understand?"
She visibly gulps and nods her head quietly. "Aye."
I nod, and step back. "If you do make it, tell then what I'm trying to do.
Tell them.... they've got a friend in here."
She nods again, turns, and starts to walk away. I hop back up into the
sewer opening and watch her walk off into the distance. I hope she makes it.
I turn back into the sewers for the long walk back.
There's a lot of work to be done.
******************************************************************************
Author's Afterward
Well, here we are at the end. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much
as I have writing it. I know, it seemed like it took forever - my next story
I'm considering writing it all before posting it - but I hope, I think it was
worth it. I'm sorry it too so long to write. The closer and closer I got to
the end, the harder it seemed to, well, end it.
One thing I am pleased about is that I am seeing more (though not a lot)
stories based on the Age of Apocalypse. It surprises me that there aren't
more: it's such a rich environment for new stories. Not much previous history
to hinder you, old characters with new attitudes, new characters. It should
be a writers dream. Perhaps its just too dark of a world to write about.
Then again, maybe its because the whole world blew up in the end.
Anyways, I hope that if you have some comment, or wish to talk, that you
would please email me at jpercy@clariion.com. I'd be happy to discuss the Age
of Apocalypse, theories, or even the current storyline. Just don't ask me to
discuss the current artists (Jean Grey in anime style SUCKS!) - my opinion
won't change on that.
As always, I wish you and yours the best in all you do.
Keep the faith!
John
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