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 percy@atlas.webo.dg.com or jpercy@clariion.com.
Thanks for reading!
John Percy
NOTE: Sorry this took so long. Holidays and all, you know. Throw in job
deadlines, a second job, and relatives from hell, and you get delays. Most
of you know what I'm talking about. Those who don't, count your blessings.
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Revelations - Chapter 11
By
John Percy
The next day I decide to visit Grey at the infirmary. I've already read
the morning report about her condition, and I know she's stable, but I go
anyways. Mostly, it's to make sure whoever made up the report isn't lying,
or that some other injuries happened 'accidentally' overnight. I wouldn't put
it past Alex and his gang. Besides, I have a little surprise for her.
The infirmary in the Pens is somewhat primitive compared to the hosiptals
of a few decades ago, but it is relatively well supplied by today's standards.
Also, we have McCoy as a chief medical officer; though he would rather gut a
patient for spare body parts than operate, he does know his biology. Which is
more than I can say for most places.
That being said, most of the troopers avoid this place like the plague if
they get sick or hurt. Only the most dire cases would come here, out of
desperation. Or because they are important enough to warrant the care. Case
in point - Ms. Jean Grey.
I enter the infirmary, and it is, as I suspected, deserted. Except for
Grey, of course, and another surprise: I just happen to catch McCoy in the
infirmary as well, sitting at a desk at the near end of the room. He's
keeping an eye on her, I guess. His prize specimen.
As I walk up to McCoy, the animal-like mutant is busily checking a
clipboard full of papers. He notices my approach and looks up, smiling that
leering, toothy, insane grin of his. "Well, Prelate Cyclops! What brings
your bright countenance down into my Stygian abode?"
I nod in Grey's direction. "Just checking up on your resident guest
patient." I emphasize those last two words. "How's she doing?"
McCoy chuckles at some unsaid joke, and consults his notes. "Hmmm. It
appears our deceased comrades did some significant, though temporary, damage to
Ms. Grey here. A torn mediocardal ligament. Fractured occipital lobe.
Contusions of the upper and lower radial metacarpals..."
"English, McCoy. English."
McCoy hrumphs, as though chastising a lower life form. "In simple terms,
Prelate, she has a few torn muscles and ligaments, numerous bruises, cuts, and
scrapes, and worst of all, a slight fracture on the skull around her right
eye."
I frown. "Is that serious?"
"Not really. The fracture is too small to warrant any surgery to fix, and
the rest is normal first aid. She is, however, quite exhausted." McCoy
scribbles a few more notes on his clipboard. "I have also taken the
opportunity to take a few specimens for my research."
"Excuse me?"
McCoy raises an eyebrow. "Research, Prelate? You know, my primary job?
What I'm paid to do?" He shakes his head at me as if reproaching a small
child, chuckling.
I glower at him, and step close enough to glare down at McCoy nose to nose.
"I'd stop doing that right now, if I were you." I growl.
McCoy's eyes furrow, his mouth turns into a frown, and he says, "But,
Prelate, surely you can appreciate..."
I jab a finger into his clipboard. "I can appreciate you following my
orders, McCoy. And I'd also consider my frame of mind, especially after what's
happened."
McCoy sighs, and nods. "Of course, Prelate. She can go whenever she feels
able."
"Good. Now, get out."
McCoy, being the smart kind, leaves, mumbling something about scientific
loss. I'm left alone with Grey, who has been resting throughout our little
conversation. She either didn't notice me enter, or is just ignoring me. A
little part of me hopes it isn't the latter.
Taking a deep breath, I start to walk down the aisle, my boots clomping on
the floor quite loudly in the empty ward. Grey turns her head in the direction
of the noise, obviously awake, and she rolls her eyes slightly. I guess she
just didn't hear me enter.
I pull up a nearby stool and sit down next to her bed. She glances at me
for a second, and then looks away. Frowning, I try to sound casual. "How are
you feeling?"
She sighs, then says, "Better, no thanks to your stooges."
"They aren't my 'stooges', Grey." I say, exasperated. "I mean, they were
EMF troopers, but they're under the command of security. I'm not responsible
..."
"Save it Summers. Look, what do you want from me? Thanks for not letting
those two scum kill me? Thanks for saving the damsel in distress? Why didn't
you just let them kill me, it'd save you and McCoy the trouble later."
"Now just a minute!" I growl, "I didn't set you up, and I don't want you
killed. You probably know just as well I as do who's responsible for that.
You also heard Mr. Sinister, and if you and your X-men know anything about me,
you'd know I take my duties very seriously."
"I guess so," she says, grudgingly. "But I also you know you're capable
of stopping the likes of those two easily. Why did you kill them?"
I fold my arms across my chest. "I didn't want to kill them, Grey, but
Meltdown and Leland were dangerous people. Meltdown, especially, I've had
problems in the past with, and she has had several warnings. She went too far,
this time." I take a deep breath. "Look, I did what I had to do to survive,
to win. It was either me or them, and, well, you know how it turned out. I
didn't enjoy it, but I'm a soldier, Ms. Grey. I did what I had to do. Just
like you." She hesitates for a moment, then nods, as if accepting what
happened as unavoidable and necessary. I breathe in silent relief.
We sit there for another few moments in awkward silence. I fidget, for
some reason. Finally, I say, "Look, if it means anything, I'm sorry this
happened. What were you doing down in the Kennel, anyways?"
Grey sighs. "I was giving food to some of the prisoners there. Caring
for some of the sick and injured that you and your troopers casually ignore."
"Food? Medicine? But you had no access to those things, beyond what we
gave you."
"Oh, that's perfectly right." She chuckled lightly. "But your boys aren't
too thorough in their obvious surveillance of me. I stockpiled as much as I
could of what you gave me. And I actually stole some other supplies. Your
'perfect' soldiers either were too stupid to notice, to arrogant, or to afraid
to report it."
It's probably a good combination of the three.
"Whenever I could, I took what I had, and tried to ease the suffering of
those poor people in your cages. It wasn't a lot, and it wasn't enough. But
it was all I could do, and more than your soldiers would."
I shake my head slightly. She is taking a big risk doing things like that.
If any of the guards had caught her... well, it wouldn't have been pretty.
"I'd stop doing that, if I were you. If any of the guards catch you doing
stuff like that, I might not get there in time to save you."
She narrows her eyes at me. "Maybe." She pauses, then says, "So, what's
my diagnosis? Does that butcher McCoy plan to do exploratory surgery, in the
name of his unholy science?"
I fold my arms, ignoring that last part, and say, "McCoy says that besides
a few bruises, cuts, and a slight fracture on your eye bone, you're fine. You
can go back to your quarters when you feel able."
Grey starts to try and sit up, but grimaces and lays back down. "Maybe
tomorrow."
I shrug. "You can stay here as long as you like."
She barks a short laugh. "Stay in McCoy's dungeon? No thanks. I'll crawl
out of here, if I have to."
I chuckle along with her, mostly because I feel the same way. "Listen, I
don't want something like this to happen again, so I have something for you."
I dig a small cylinder, about the size of a finger, from my utility belt.
"This is a small locator beacon. It's set on a frequency that only I know, and
is in particular set up to be received by my visor. No one else can intercept
this signal, and no one else knows I am giving this to you. If you ever get
into trouble here again, just press the button on top, and I'll be there in
only a few moments. Ok?" I hold the small device out to her. If Alex found
out that I gave the 'prisoner' an electronic device, especially some kind of
transmitter, he'd go ballistic.
Hesitatingly, she takes it. "Thank you." Gazing at it a moment, she sighs
reluctantly. "Look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, and I do appreciate you
saving me from those two. I'm not completely helpless, but with this damn
collar on, I was no match for those two. But you've got to understand..."
I hold up a hand, cutting her off. "I understand."
She gives me a little smile for the first time she's been here, and
examines the cylinder for a bit. "Those two finding me wasn't just a
coincidence, was it? I remember Sinister's orders, and what they said to you.
What gives?"
I shrug. "Beyond the fact that you're the enemy? A traitor? Havok wants
you dead. A little promise of promotion, privileges, and most of the soldiers
around here would cut their own mother's throat."
"But not you. You saved me."
I try to look non-committal. "Like I said, I take my duties and orders
more seriously. Unfortunately, in this case, I failed. I was only lucky to
get to you when I did." I fail to mention that I was tipped off.
She stares at me, as if studying my face to see if I'm lying or not.
After a few seconds, she seems to relax. I guess she believes me.
We sit there in silence for a few more moments, and as she looks at me,
she must notice something, because she asks, "You don't like what happens
here, do you?"
Her question almost shocks me off the stool I'm sitting on. For a second,
I check to see if her inhibitor collar is still operating, but the operational
light is still on, so it must be.
She chuckles. "Don't look so surprised. It doesn't take telepathy to read
what's in your face."
Am I that readable? God, I hope not. And is what she's saying true? I
don't like what happens between Alex and I, or the way some of the procedures
occur here at the Pens, but does it go deeper than that? Do I hate what is
happening here? Am I doubting the mission of the Pens, of the Ascendancy?
I don't know.
I stammer, "Well, uh, if you mean what happened with you, no, I don't like
what's happened, but..."
She frowns at me. "You know very well what I'm talking about. Why can't
you admit it?"
I'm suddenly very uncomfortable. Security has hidden mikes almost
everywhere, and if I'm not careful, Alex could accuse me of being a traitor.
"Quiet, Grey. Not here, and not now."
But she doesn't quit. "You know what goes on here is wrong, Prelate!
Experimenting on innocents, killing humans. This war never should have
happened. If it hadn't been for Apocalypse and his zealots, mutants and humans
might have worked out their problems, might have reached a peace. Even now,
it might not be too late!"
I say nothing. How can I?
She looks at me and tries to sit up painfully. "I know about you, Prelate.
You're right, you are a soldier. You're not like most of Apocalypse's cronies.
They're cruel, hateful racists. They'd eat their own babies if commanded to.
But you, you're different. I don't know how, or why, but you are." She gasps
a bit at the pain as she settles back in the bed. "Look, I really am grateful
for what you did, but you've got to understand; I will continue to do what I
can to stop Apocalypse and his kind. I don't want to hurt anyone, or kill,
but I'll do what I have to save lives and end this war."
When I don't answer for a few minutes, she frowns at me, and then slowly
and painfully rolls over. "We all have to live with the choices we've made in
the past, and the ones we make in the present. I can live with my choices,
Prelate. Can you?"
Again, I don't answer, and when she doesn't say anything for a few minutes,
I start to stand. She just doesn't understand. What does she expect me to
do? Just get up, walk over to Alex and the rest, and say 'Ok, let every one
of the prisoners free'? Lead a revolt, take over the Pens, topple Apocalypse?
Why not just ask me to travel back in time and alter the future?
I sigh, and since it's apparent Grey doesn't want to talk to me anymore, I
turn to leave and say, "When you're ready to leave, have them call me, and
I'll escort you to your quarters."
After waiting for a few minutes for a response, and getting none, I leave
the infirmary. Part of me is angry with her for expecting the impossible, for
wanting something that just can't be done.
The other part knows she's right.
**** **** ****
I go through the rest of the day mechanically doing my duties. I can't
get the image of Grey laying on the ground bleeding, or of her sitting in the
infirmary, out of my mind. Not too many of the EMF troopers notice, which is
usual, since most of them only care about themselves.
Why does she risk her neck for people she doesn't know? And not just
strangers, but people who aren't worth anything, who are hardly more than
animals? Is it misguided sympathy? Misplaced kindness? Wasted effort?
Something tells me Jean Grey isn't a misguided, wasteful fool.
These kinds of thoughts wander around my head all day, and I get nothing
done. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I head back to my quarters
and try to catch up on some paperwork. I flip through the day's reports, not
really reading them. I give up after awhile, and decide to just fall asleep
on my couch. Somehow, it's not as comfortable as I remember.
I eventually end up wandering around my quarters; I can't sleep. I get
some food from my kitchen, but I just pick at it and don't eat. I finally
decide to just go for a walk.
I wander aimlessly in the middle of the night around the Pens. The night
shift guards look at me curiously, but it's not uncommon for high ranking
officials to spring surprise inspections, or to check out operations in the
middle of the night. So no one bothers me much when they see I'm not
inspecting or checking things out. And since I'm just thinking and wandering,
I really don't notice anyone anyways.
Sometime later in the night I find myself in the Kennel; I'm not really
sure how I got here. It's quiet, but some prisoners are still awake. As I
walk around, I can see that they are awake from either pain, loneliness, or
hopelessness. They are beyond hope, beyond life.
I don't know why I never noticed before. Maybe it was the mission. Maybe
it was the cause. Maybe I was blinded by my own zeal. Maybe it was the idea
that I was accomplishing something I thought my Father would approve of.
Maybe I just didn't even care. Before, they were just things, statistics,
commodities. Now, I'm actually looking at them. Seeing them for what they
really are. They're not creatures, not things. They are people like me,
people I've personally thrown into hell. All in the name of duty. It didn't
matter to who they were, or what they've done. All that mattered was my job,
my responsibility, my duty.
Here, down in the depths of hell, amid a holocaust of broken shells, dead
souls, and wasted lives, I finally see the truth.
Jean Grey is right; I'm no different from them, they're no different from
me. They only difference is that they are prisoners, treated like garbage,
and I'm considered an elite, special. I've been wrong all these years. It
doesn't matter that I was born into it, or that I was raised that way. No one
made me do the things I've done in the past. Only I'm responsible for my
life. Only I can change what I've become.
I shake my head and begin to slowly walk back to my quarters. Knowing
you've got to change your life is one thing, figuring out how to do it is
another. Especially when doing it could get you killed. I want to do
something, anything, to try and make up for the things I've done, but what can
one man do? I might be able to save one, maybe a few of those poor bastards,
but all I'll do is end up getting myself killed. But I just can't stand by
anymore and do nothing. I've got to do something.
I think about this long and hard as I walk back to my quarters. By the
time I get there, I'm still not sure of what I'll be able to do to help the
prisoners in the Pens, but I do know what I have to do first.
I'm going to get Jean Grey out of this hell, somehow, and back to her
friends.
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