X-MEN : 103

“Recruitment, Part IV”

by Stephen R. Sobotka Jr. (SSobotkaJr) 2006/2008 ©

DISCLAIMER : This work is a fan fiction, based on characters and situations from the MARVEL Comics Series “X-MEN”. All Characters within -- with exception to the ones created by the author -- are the ™ and Copyright of said licensees, and are used here without their permission. This is done without intent to gain payment or money of any kind. Please Do Not Sue.

AUTHOR’S NOTE : This is my take on the X-Men Universe . . . be aware, there are some major changes and differences ahead.

Enjoy! - SRS

oooOOOooo

RECRUITMENT, PART IV

oooOOOooo

The Swamp Men’s Club in Natchez,
Natchitoches Parrish, Louisiana. . . .

Standing at the end of the stage, Mr. Clean-Cut glared over the barrel of a heavy automatic pistol. “I don’t know who you are . . . but I came for the girl, and I will take her no matter what the cost is.” He cocked the action back, grinning wickedly. “Even if that cost is your life, mutant scum!”

Frozen in fear, the girl -- Marie -- stared at the crumpled body of Logan. “Oh no . . . no, no!” Galvanizing herself, she started to scramble backwards towards the edge of the stage, only to shriek when her attacker whipped his hand around and snagged her by her long auburn hair.

“I’ve come too far to lose you now, girl!” Mr. Clean-Cut snarled, turning Marie to face him as she squirmed against his grip. “Now, either come willingly . . . or I’ll make you come with me!”

“No! Please!” Marie begged. “Just, j-just . . . let, me go!”

Before her attacker could reply, he was shocked to feel a set of heavy fingertips tapping him on the shoulder. Turning his face around, he only got a brief look at the hairy knuckles of the fist thrown at his face, before the sheer force of it pitched him over the side of the stage. Landing heavily, Mr. Clean-Cut lost his hold on the heavy pistol and slid down onto the beer-stained floor with a groan.

Wincing in pain, Marie tried to back away from the stage’s edge, only to come against a pair of slightly-unsteady legs. Looking up, she gasped at the sight before her. “What!?”

Groaning, Logan twisted his head briefly, hissing when he felt the embedded slugs in his arm and ribs pop out of the rapidly-closing holes in his flesh. “Damn, that smarts!” He looked down at Marie with concern. “You hurt?”

She numbly shook her head. “B-but . . . you were dead?!”

“I got better.” Logan grunted, extending his arm towards Marie as he looked around briefly. “This ain’t safe fer th’ both o’ us, girl . . . c’mon!” When she hesitated, he said more forcefully, “Come on! Do ya wanna wait fer him t’get back up again?”

Marie shot a glance at Mr. Clean-Cut -- who was slowly getting his wits and his sense of balance back -- before she told Logan, “Ah, don’ wanna stick around with him, but . . . how can Ah trust ya, mister?”

“Your call, kid, but you need to chose, an’ fast!” Taking her by the front of her vest, he jerked her to the side, lunging forwards to meet Mr. Clean-Cut, just as the goon was rising to climb back onto the stage again. With a savage motion, Logan kicked the man in his face; snapping his head around with the full force of the blow. A second before Mr. Clean-Cut toppled backwards, Logan got a brief look at his face . . . and was surprised when the pale flesh ripple over with a deep, cerulean-shaded patch before it returned to its former state.

“What the hell-?”

Logan! Can you hear me?

“Yeah . . . yeah! I hear ya, Chuck!” Logan gasped, trying to focus on Charles’s mental communication, even as he wondered about what he’d seen.

The situation is bad for you in there! A fire has started near the entrance . . . spreading too fast for you to leave that way! You must get the girl out, and quickly!

Gotcha! Staring around, Logan saw there were no practical exits through windows or any doors that he could and couldn’t see. Looking at Marie, he asked, “We got trouble, kid . . . fire’s blockin’ the front. Any other exits here?”

Marie quickly pointed towards the beaded curtain at the back of the stage. “Back there. Stairs, to the upper floor!”

Chuck, might have a way out on th’ roof. Get th’ girls t’swing the ‘Bird over here! Getting Marie to stand, Logan pushed her ahead of him along the stage. “Let’s get movin’, kid.”

Marie stopped in front of the curtain, seeing him stop in mid-stride. “What?”

Logan shoved her through the curtain. “Just keep goin’ up . . . I’m right behind ya.” As he glanced back, wincing a bit as more of the flames began to move along the long walls, he suddenly realized . . . their attacker wasn’t where he’d fallen!

A second later, something smashed into his back, pitching him forwards onto the landing just behind the stage. Logan tried to scramble to his feet, but then a large hand clamped over his head and drove him face-first into the unyielding wood floor. A scream filled his ears -- the girl, Marie -- punctuated with the sound of cartilage being savaged as the hand slammed his head repeatedly into the floor.

Bloodied, Logan was finally jerked upright, his senses reeling from the impacts, and the smell of blood in his banged-up nose. Before his eyes, the image of Marie -- crouched against the stairs, several steps above him -- swam in a haze of light and smoke. Before he could say or do anything, another hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing down until his airway was restricted down to a wheeze.

“You ain’t goin’ no where . . . boy!”

Logan’s mind snapped into sudden, crystal-clear focus as he recognized that voice. “C-c-c . . . Cr-Creed!”

A second later, the grinning face of Victor Creed loomed large in his peripheral vision. “Aww, you remember me?” A sudden jerk slammed Logan’s face back down into the floor, making Marie squeak with terror, before he was lifted back up to eye-level with the blond-haired man. “Good . . . ‘cause I’m the last thing you will ever see in this life, boy!”

At that, Logan twisted just enough to allow his arm to drop back, before his adamantium claws flashed down from between his knuckles, stabbing into the thick flesh of Creed’s thigh. A bellow of pain filled his ears, but he ignored it as he felt Creed let go of his neck, giving him the chance to head butt the taller man and follow it up with several fast, hard jabs to his rib cage. Before Creed could get his own breath back, Logan cuffed him across the chops, then lowered his shoulder to spear the big man in the breadbasket; the force of his text-book tackle sending Creed flying back through the remains of the beaded curtain, into the club proper.

Coughing, Logan shook off the onset of cobwebs in his head, before he lurched towards the stairs, nearly colliding with the still-cowering Marie. “Move, girl!”

“B-but-!?”

“Gowan!” Logan grabbed her by the back of her vest and shoved her up the stairs, crowding in behind her to make her hurry along.

Together, they staggered onto the upper floor, emerging into what was clearly the working-girl’s dressing room -- from the tall, narrow wall lockers, narrow vanities and lighted mirrors and a few battered couches all along the walls. At one end of the room, a wide window faced out into the nighttime air . . . barred with sturdy-looking metal bars.

“Ah, hell! Joey put up th’ security bars today!” Marie cried. “We can’t get out that way!”

From below, Logan heard the menacing growl coming up the stairwell. “We’re goin’ out, one way or ‘nother, kid,” he said, shoving her towards the window. “Go . . . this dance ain’t over just yet!” Turning around, he snapped out his other set of ‘claws’ and set himself before the dressing room doorway.

“But how am Ah gonna-?”

“Just get over there, Marie,” Logan snarled. “I’ll worry ‘bout th’ damned window!”

A second later, Creed’s tall form loomed in the doorway, grinning like a shark with blood in the water. “You need to worry about me, boy,” he said, his tone rumbling as he let the words drift off with a snarl.

Raising his clenched fists, Logan angled them so the twin sets of his blades were set to meet an oncoming charge. “Why worry about somethin’ I can handle, easy?”

Creed’s eyes flashed with anger. “’Cause when I tear your heart out . . . I’m gonna have some real fun with that lil’ slip you’re tryin’ to save.” His smile curled upwards at the gasp that came from Marie. “Oh, yeah . . . think she’ll bleed for me, boy? Like Red did . . . for you?”

Logan didn’t rise to the bait. “You gonna talk ‘bout it, or dance, chum?”

Creed snarled, then launched himself at Logan. For several heartbeats, there was nothing Marie could see but the fury of arms flailing, growling, flashing claws and the sound of tearing cloth. Then, with a sudden clubbing blow, Logan drove Creed to the floor and followed it up with a savage kick that sent him cart-wheeling into the ruin of one of the vanities.

As Creed floundered amid the chunks of particle board, several tongues of flame suddenly curled around the entrance of the dressing room, followed by a growing curl of dark smoke.

“Mister!? The fire’s comin’-!” Marie called out, seeing Logan stagger after the delivery of that kick. When he turned around, she could see the front of his shirt was torn, with several bloody marks that were quickly healing underneath. “Oh, my God!”

“M’okay . . . just stand back!” He made his way over towards the girl, shaking his head as he tried to clear it. Chuck! Where’s Moira an’ that flamin’ jet!?

We’re coming alongside the upper floor . . . near where you are now. Charles’ thoughts came through; the urgency making Logan grimace as his head started to throb. Do you-?

Just open th’ access ramp! With that, Logan jerked Marie to the side. “Cover yer eyes!” he warned, barely giving Marie time to shield her face before he slashed in a backhanded motion towards the window. His blades shattered the window in a flurry of shattered glass, splintered wood and metal, as a couple of follow-up swipes cleared a wide opening in the middle of it.

Stepping up close, he glanced out to look for a ledge or something to stand on . . . but all he could see was the flat surface of the outside wall. “Hell!” A moment later, the high-pitched whine of engines sounded from overhead, making both him and Marie look up as the dark form of Xavier’s jet descended from the night sky.

“What th-?” Marie started to ask, only to shriek as something grabbed her, yanking her backwards into the room.

Logan spun back around, glaring as he spied Creed -- standing amid a backdrop of growing flames behind him -- holding onto the back of Marie’s vest as she tried to break free. “Kid!” He started to move towards them, but the sight of Creed’s hand flashing upwards to put the tips of his claws at Marie’s neck stopped him cold.

“You ain’t gettin’ away . . . not that easily, boy.” Creed flicked a glance at Marie, who was frozen with fear. “Now . . . tell yer friend in that fancy flytrap out there to back off, or I’ll bleed this lil slip, real good and slow for you both to watch!”

Chuck! I ain’t got a lot of options here, Logan said in his mind.

The fire does not give you any options. Charles replied. Be ready. I will deal with your attacker.

How-? Logan stopped himself, suddenly getting the notion of what Charles was planning. You’d better hit ‘im hard and fast, Chuck . . . we won’t get a do-over on this! Raising his hands, he slowly retracted his claws.

Seeing this, Creed chuckled. “Givin’ up, huh? Well, looks like you lose . . . and I’m going to love making you suff-URK!?” Creed’s dark humor was suddenly interrupted, as his head snapped backwards like it had been struck, his whole body stiffening as he shuddered from an assault that wasn’t physical!

With a sudden lunge, Logan darted forwards and slapped Creed’s hand clear from Marie, before he wrapped one arm around the girl’s waist and pulled her clear of the now-stricken blond man. “Hold onta me, girl!” With that, Logan kicked Creed in the chest to knock him backwards again, using the momentum as fuel to launch himself back towards the hole he made in the window.

Together, he and Marie sailed out into the air; her scream echoing across the swampland . . . ending as they landed with a heavy THUMP! against the lower edge of the side access ramp on the Blackbird.

Standing there with a safety strap around her middle, Moira was quick to reach down and grab onto Logan’s jacket to help haul him up into the jet. “C’mon, don’t let go!”

Pushing Marie ahead of him, Logan levered himself up the ramp. “Get her inside, Moira . . . an’ let’s get outta here!”

“Aye, mon,” Moira said, helping the girl slip inside the entrance. “Charles, we’ve got them. Take us up, now!”
.

oooOOOooo

.
Moments after the Blackbird had rocketed away into the skies, the flames that had been spreading throughout the club boiled out through the roof; quickly consuming the remaining structure. Those patrons and staff that could get out had either fled the scene or were watching from safety.

Crawling away from the conflagration, unseen in the shadows cast by a towering cypress, a battered form that looked like Victor Creed slowly rose to their feet . . . only to pause and turn back to view the entire scene with disgust.

“Blast it,” they hissed, just before their face rippled like cloth . . . melting away from the cruel, hard features into those of a softer, feminine face with cerulean skin. “I lost her . . . he won’t be pleased, but . . . I won’t fail to find her again. As for her rescuer, well . . . he will learn the price for his interference!”

With that, the woman scowled and melted into the shadows, vanishing from the sight of the burning club . . . .
.

oooOOOooo

Outside the Theatinerkirche,
Munich, Germany, Several Hours Later . . . .

.
Stepping out of the taxi, Tessa and Henry gave little notice to the cool weather surrounding them as they looked up at the edifice of the massive Baroque church. Turning back to speak to the driver, Tessa paid for their fare, while Henry offered a hand to the third member of their company . . . who, while warmly dressed, was clearly out of her element in the cold, European afternoon.

“Sweet, Goddess!” Ororo Munroe wrapped her arms around herself, her breath misting as she huffed. “Even the days I spend near Kilmanjaro were never as cold as this!”

Henry smiled. “For once, I agree. This climate isn’t the most hospitable, even for someone like myself.”

Ororo blinked. “But, shouldn’t you be comfortable? After all . . . ?” She nodded down to his arm, indicating his blue fur.

“Ah, even before I acquired this permanent fur-coat, I never was keen on being out in the cold.” Henry looked up at the imposing sight of the old Gothic church, before he asked Tessa, “For now, are we in the right location?”

“Affirmative,” Tessa said. “There has been a multitude of reports, of sightings along this entire city area of someone that could fit the description of our contact. All of them have been well within sight of this building.”

Ororo swept her eyes over the tall building. “What is this place, Sage?”

“A church,” Henry said. “Clearly in the style of the St. Kajetan Basilica.” He looked at Ororo and nodded. “The style of Italianate High Baroque had a major influence on Southern German architecture . . . a magnificent structure, indeed.”

“So, this . . . mutant you seek,” Ororo asked, “is to be found inside?”

“Perhaps,” Tessa said at length. “We will not know unless we look.” She motioned towards the entrance doors. “Come. We shouldn’t linger on the street . . . especially where our friend here is concerned.”

Henry chuckled in a self-deprecatory manner. “I do stand out like a sore thumb, after all.”

oooOOOooo

Once inside, it was clear that the old building was empty for the day. Though signs of recent visitors lingered, the interior of the was dimly lit by a few stray sconces.

Reaching the interior foyer, the trio made a cursory inspection for any other exits, but found them all locked. Tessa then led the way further inside the church’s spacious main room; which was lined with pews, forming a wide aisle that lead up to the main altar at the back of the hall.

Henry looked upwards and around -- seeing nothing but a few stray beams of light seeping through cracks in the old, darkened stained-glass panels. “I don’t see where someone would even think of living in a place like this,” he said softly.

“When one is pushed, there is much that a human being will do, just to survive,” Ororo said. Looking back at Tessa, she asked, “Are you certain the person we seek-?”

“He is here,” Tessa said, her tone neutral, yet her eyes ablaze as she peered towards the dais at the head of the room. “He has been watching us, as well.”

Suddenly, a low, growling voice shouted out from the shadows: "Raus hier! Du bist in diesem Haus nicht wilkommen!"

Turning about, Henry and Ororo looked around quickly for the source of the voice. “Who is there?” the African goddess called out.

“The mutant we are seeking, I’m thinking,” Henry said. “Tessa, can you pinpoint him?”

Tessa frowned. “He’s . . . no, he’s moved!” Her gaze shot upwards, to where the eaves of the church formed a vast pocket of shadows and hiding spaces. “There!” She pointed towards a stone arch, then . . . with a deeper frown, she pointed towards one of the support columns. “No, he’s there!”

“How can a person move so quickly?” Ororo asked. Turning this way and that, as Tessa kept turning and looking in several directions, one after the next.

“I am uncertain . . . yet-!” Tessa paused, holding up her hands to signal the others to be silent. Straining, she cocked her head . . . and her eyes widened. “Henry, can you use your other senses now? Just listen,” Tessa prompted.

Henry nodded, tilting his own head towards the ceiling and the shadows. Suddenly, he stiffened. “I hear . . . something! Displaced air, I think!”

Tessa nodded. “The sound comes, just before the mutant’s presence shifts to a new position.” She looked at Henry pointedly.

“A teleporter, perhaps?” Henry rubbed his chin, humming briefly. “Fascinating!”

Suddenly, the voice called out again, “Vorsicht... hier lauert ein Daemon. Es wäre besser, sofort zu verschwinden!”

“What is this . . . person saying?” Ororo asked Tessa.

“I speak German fluently . . . though, his manners are somewhat ‘rough’,” Tessa admitted. “He’s trying to warn us away. A ‘demon’ lives here, so he says.”

“A ‘demon’!?” Ororo’s blue eyes went wide with shock.

“I find that claim, very unlikely,” Henry said, trying to soothe the African woman. He tried to peer into the dark parts of the church’s cloisters. “Though, whomever this person is, he is using this old basilica to good effect . . . it’s hard to track his movements, and he’s certainly projecting the proper-.”

“He’s not that hard to track,” Tessa said coolly. “Not for even a telepath of my limited scope.” She glanced upwards, then frowned. “However we waste time just letting him bounce around us. We need to act.”

Ororo nodded. “What do you suggest we do?”

"Haut ab!” the voice shouted harshly. “Dies ist die letzte Warnung!”

Tessa looked at Henry, then motioned towards the ceiling. “Henry, can you put yourself in an optimal position to catch our teleporter?” She turned and pointed to one of the larger support columns halfway down the length of the room. “There.”

Henry nodded. “With ease!”

“Ororo,” Tessa said, turning back to the African goddess. “Can you generate a strong wind in this space? One powerful enough to force our contact out of the shadows?”

Nodding, the chocolate-skinned woman said, “Tell me when to begin.”

“Start now, but focus the current so the building remains undamaged . . . relatively speaking,” Tessa said.

As Henry moved off to find a clear place to launch himself up to the heights, Ororo nodded and raised her arms, her eyes turning from cerulean to opaque-white as she focused her mutancy into the enclosed space around them. From nothing, she made the air begin to shift and move; growing from a slow breeze to a forceful current that swirled around the arches and stone supports in seconds.

High above the trio, the darkness continued to hide their elusive target . . . until Ororo intensified the wind and made it colder. In due course, the stonework began to frost over with a rime of quick-building ice.

Below, Tessa watched intently, while holding up one hand to warn Henry -- who had already found his position on the column nearby. “Steady . . . he’s not moving now, but he’ll want to move soon,” she said, calling out over the rising howl of the wind. “Ororo, make it colder!”

Nodding, the African ‘goddess’ was visibly straining to make sure her windstorm was not out of her control. Above, the air began to become peppered with flakes of ice, as the air turned frigid as it swirled over and around the supports.

Suddenly, Tessa shouted, “He’s teleporting!”

Above them, there was the sound of a sudden cry of alarm -- and a flurry of movement -- as something as dark as the shadows suddenly fell from the top of an archway; plummeting down towards the stony floor of the church.

“Henry!”

With a leap, Henry vaulted into the air and neatly intercepted the tumbling form, grabbing it in a combination arm and leg-lock. Riding the now-struggling figure downwards, Henry tried to turn so he’d take the brunt of the fall.

Both Tessa and Ororo started to react . . . but then both Henry and his captive vanished with a sudden implosion of acrid air and smoke.

“Sweet mercy!” Ororo let the winds die as she started to step towards the point where her new friend had vanished, but Tessa held her back with one hand.

“Wait,” she cautioned. Just then, another loud bamf!-sound echoed from just behind them, but before they could turn around, several more implosions went off -- coming from random points in the air around them.

“What is happening?” Ororo asked, turning in place to follow the sounds.

“Our teleporter is trying to shake Henry lose,” Tessa said. “I surmise it’s a tactic they picked up, learning to adapt to their mutancy.”

Ultimately, one finalbamf! heralding the sudden appearance of the two struggling mutants as they landed on the floor, just a few feet in front of Tessa and Ororo. Pinned under Henry’s weight, the stranger squirmed but didn’t budge the larger man an inch as the two women stepped up to aid their companion.

“Can he-?” Ororo asked.

“No, I sense he’s exhausted himself,” Tessa said. “Henry, are you-?

“Never fear, Tessa . . . but thank God,” Henry said, the strain clearly heard in his voice. “That was . . . an incredible . . . experience!” He looked down at the stranger in his grip. “I do believe . . . he’s done teleporting . . . for now.”

“Then,” Tessa said as she glared down at the fallen pair. “We can find out who this is . . . Kannst du mich verstehen?” she asked, speaking to the figure in Henry’s grip.

The stranger’s head, hidden inside a deep hood, turned to stare at Tessa and Ororo. “Gnade!” he said, his voice now much meeker in tone. “Bitte, tu mir nichts!"

Tessa shook her head. “Sprichst du Englisch? Do you understand, we will not harm you?”

The stranger paused, then nodded slowly, “Ja . . . yes, I do understand.”

Sighing, Tessa knelt down and asked in a gentler tone, “What is your name, please?”

There was the sound of a thick swallow, before the stranger replied. “Kurt . . . my name ist Kurt,” he said haltingly. “Kurt Wagner.”

“Kurt, you will not be harmed . . . but do not attempt to flee. My name is Tessa, and these people are Ororo and Henry.” She nodded to her companions in turn. “We’ve traveled a long way, to find you.”

Stiffening, the smaller man peered intently at them all. “You . . . came, to find me?Vas-?”

“Because we understand what you have, your abilities, have set you apart from the rest of humanity.” Tessa nodded, and motioned for Henry to help Kurt back to his feet.

“Ah, I see . . . yet, I do not understand?” as they rose back up, Kurt turned his hooded face back to look at Henry. “Was, your friend here, also afflicted as I was?”

Tessa and Henry shared a questioning look. “Forgive me, but, what affliction-?” Henry asked.

“An affliction, that makes a man look . . . like you, and me?!” With that Kurt reached up and lowered the hood from his face.

Gasping softly, Ororo looked at the young German man and murmured, “Sweet Goddess!”

“Oh, my stars and garters!” Henry blinked, taking in the dark, blue-furred face and bright yellow eyes staring back at him.

Kurt nodded, reaching up to briefly touch the pointed, elfin ears sticking through the dark hair tumbling down from his head. “You see, I was born this way . . . they said, I vas a demon, which is why my mother abandoned me.” He looked over at Tessa and Ororo, and made a weak smile. “When I saw your friend up close . . . I assumed he too had been cursed, like me.”

“No, Kurt,” Tessa said. “You are not cursed. What has happened to you -- your appearance, your abilities -- are all connected to something that happened to you, on a genetic level. It’s called mutancy, and, by that definition, that makes you a mutant . . . like us.”

Kurt blinked, and stared at them all once more. “A . . . m-mutant?”

“It is why I was able to prevent you from teleporting away,” Tessa explained. “As well as how Ororo, was able to manipulate the winds to knock you down from the ceiling.”

Ororo nodded. “Forgive me, Kurt, I did not mean to hurt you in the process.”

“Nien, frauline,” Kurt said. “You did not . . . injure me.” He added with a half-smile, “Though, you did surprise me. This all . . . surprises me, all of you, and-.”

“What happened to us all, at the time we discovered our mutancy was a shock to each of us,” Tessa said simply. “Yet, I and Henry were able to find someone that could help us control our abilities, and use them to better ourselves.”

Kurt cocked his head. “Someone? Someone that . . . did not fear you, for being different?”

“No, this person . . . a man named Charles Xavier, showed us how our mutancy gives us a higher purpose,” Henry said. “He’s the reason why we came to find you, so that you might benefit from his knowledge and learn to use your gifts as well.”
.

To Be Continued...