Most Dangerous Game: Pillage the Village

[x-cannonball.livejournal.com]

In the Blackbird, the team prepares for whatever they might find on the island and hopes Sam is still okay.



This was yet another one of those times he was glad that he'd put in so much work improving the afterburners back in the fall. Charles is still going to have a larger jet-fuel bill this month... "I want us ready to deploy as soon as we're on the ground," he said, loudly enough for the rest of the team to hear him clearly despite the fact that he didn't look around from the controls. "Seriously, as soon as the engines have stopped."

Marie nodded from her seat in the co-pilot's chair, tension coursing through her body. It was the second time they'd had to take the Blackbird out this year to rescue another teammember and there were still nine long months left in 2007. "We'll be ready. Just need Sam to hold out 'till we make it there."

Kurt nodded, agreeing with Garrison in hopes of reassuring Marie - and because it made sense, of course. "If this is to make money, as it seems it is at least partly, they will not want it to end too soon." That didn't necessarily mean much good for Sam, of course, but he'd likely stay alive and fighting that bit longer.

"Rogue, Sunfire, I want you both airborne as soon as we land," Scott said. "We need scouts, more than anything else."

Shiro rechecked the connections of his mini-solar panels and nodded. Just what he was thinking. "Open the hatch before we land and we can just jump out. It will be like Youra, but without having to mess with parachutes or hive-mind soldiers. Just a mad television producer." Much safer in some ways, but just as dangerous as others.

"Let us hope not quite like Youra", Kurt said, mostly to himself. "Where are we to land, again?"

"The first spot we see on that damn Caribbean island that has enough space to fit the 'Bird," Marie said, ready for them to be their already. She didn't quite have the same reverence for the name Youra as most of the others, having been on her hiatus when the team had gone through that experience, but she had read the file and knew what it meant to the others.

"I'd prefer less of the 'falling to the death' method of getting on to the island." Kane pointed out, leaning forward in his seat. "What's the plan on the ground while the flyers are scouting ahead? There's some support buildings. Target those first?"

"It depends on what they see. We need to find Sam, first and foremost. Everyone and everything else is a secondary target," Scott said. "This is a rescue mission."

"And if we find this Kraven first?" asked Shiro. "From what I saw, he seemed particularly . . . psychotic. He is unlikely to let us find Cannonball so easily. And I would expect him to have a number of anti-flight defenses, so even Rogue and I could encounter some difficulties."

Marie frowned. The problem of going up against someone who'd been hunting mutants was that Shiro's point was true - they really didn't know what kind of defense to expect. Luckily for her, if she got shot down she could bounce back up - the same couldn't be said for Shiro. "We'll have to be careful. But Ah doubt he's dealt with a team of trained mutants before, so hopefully he'll be underestimating us."

"Always plan for the worst," Scott muttered, more to himself than to his team, "and don't hope for anything... that way you're never unpleasantly surprised." It had the feel of a very personal mantra. The Blackbird started to descend, clouds flashing by the canopy. "Rogue, Sunfire - invulnerable goes first. Don't engage Kraven if you see him unless you also see Cannonball in immediate danger. Dominion, Nightcrawler, secure the area around the Blackbird as soon as we're down. We'll work from there."


---

As dawn breaks over the village, Sam tries to find a way to rescue the villagers, but comes across something of a surprise, and then a final showdown with Kraven.



Dawn broke over the village of the Arenques Rojos, the first light of
the day illuminating a few people wandering about on various tasks. As
the sun began to creep up over the horizon, it also shone on Sam
Guthrie, belly down on a hilltop watching the activity and trying to
find the most likely place to bury a bomb. The rude huts were
definitely out, as they were small and looked like they might fall
over in a stiff breeze. The ampitheater in the center of the village,
on the other hand, looked large enough to hold the entire population.
Sam frowned, trying to come up with a course of action, whether it
made more sense to try and evacuate the village or somehow disable the
bomb.

The villagers, clad in simple cloth breeches, carted buckets of water
and stacks of straw back and forth in the village, mending the
thatched roofs of their huts and occasionally chasing a goat or pig
across the city square. From the distance Sam was observing from, it
wasn't easy to tell if the majority of the villagers were very short
adults or very tall children - they seemed to alternate between work
and play as they went about their business.

Sam seriously doubted any of the villagers would speak English, and
the sight of a strange tall white man appearing suddenly might do more
harm then good. So he ignited his blast field and rocketed straight
up in a parabola, going higher than the fifty foot "ceiling" that Mojo
had imposed on him, and slammed down into the center of the
ampitheater at just under the speed of sound, praying that the
underground shockwave from his impact would render the controls of
Mojo's bomb inoperable.

After the echoes of the impact faded and the dust settled, a number of
the Arenques Rojos could be seen at the edge of the ampitheater, about
a half-dozen brave ones slowly picking their way down to where Sam was
emerging from the crater he'd made.

"...hola?" One of them ventured, a wide-faced youth who appeared to be
the bravest among them. "Senor? Speak the Ingles, si? Have big crash,
is okay?"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief for a number of factors. First, that he
hadn't set the bomb off himself with his desperate stunt. Second,
that Mojo hadn't set off the bomb yet, so maybe it had worked. And
third, somebody in the village spoke at least a little bit of English,
so he might be able to communicate.

"Yes, Ah speak English," he enunciated clearly. "Ah'm American.
Somebody had put a bomb under your village, but Ah think Ah broke it
so it won't blow up." He hoped and prayed devoutly that this was the
case. Otherwise, with his blast field off, if Mojo triggered the
bomb, he'd likely not have time to realize he was wrong before being
incinerated with the rest of the village.

The villagers massed behind their de facto leader, muttering in
high-pitched Spanish. The one who'd spoken to Sam motioned for them to
be quiet. "Ah, si. Okay, yanqui, bomb go boom, big boom, si?"
He laughed, and motioned again to the villagers, who joined him in a
raucous cheer.

Shaking his head, the young tribesman walked up to Sam, clapping the
much taller man on the arm. "Is okay, yanqui, we cool. Show you
party, si? Big boom party!"

The last thing Sam expected was for the tiny villager to suddenly yank
on his arm, throwing him off balance. Or for the little guy to follow
up with a soccer kick right to the crotch.

The leather pants of the X-Men uniform were reinforced against just
such an eventuality, but the sheer force of the move, coupled with its
unexpectedness, sent Sam staggering backward. "What in the Sam Hill
was that?" he gasped.

"Welcome to the jungle, yanqui," the little man quipped before
sprinting forward, dropping into a two-footed kick to Sam's shins. The
impact was enough to send the X-Man off balance as two other small
villagers, barely into their teens, leaped from the front row of the
ampitheater, landing on his back and dropping him face-down into the
dust. In seconds, at least a dozen small tribesmen were swarming over
Sam like a group of army ants, kicking and punching at breakneck
speed.

At the bottom of the pile, Sam was left with the sinking feeling that
he'd been set up. The best way to hunt, after all, was to lay out
bait that your prey couldn't resist. And to someone like Sam, the
thought of innocent villagers held hostage was pretty irresistible.

Beneath the swarm of ersatz "villagers", Sam managed to gather his
feet under him. Then, with its customary loud backfire, he ignited
his blast field. But instead of keeping it close to his body and
using it to take off from the ground, he gritted his teeth and sent it
thrusting violently outward in an omnidirectional blast wave,
scattering his attackers like chaff.

Rising to his feet in the center of a circle of scorched ground, he
clenched his fists and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his
mouth. "Y'all're gonna pay for that," he drawled coldly.

Amidst the floored villagers rolling around, holding their bruised
heads and limbs, one figure stood tall. A twang sounded, and an
elaborately feathered arrow stuck into the dirt by Sam's feet.

Across the ampitheater floor, Kraven the Hunter smiled again. "At
last, my worthy prey," he hissed loudly, "the hunt ends here in this
arena of combat. You have proven worthy prey, surviving this far
through a night of terror in the Hunter's Hunting Grounds. And so in
respect of the laws of the jungle, Kraven the Hunter chooses to face
his respected prey in single... mortal... combat. To the death!"

The villagers gave moaning cheers as they shuffled away from the two,
earning a frustrated glance from Kraven. "Let these simple people bear
witness to the fate of all prey that cross the path of the alpha male,
the king of the jungle, the head lion of the pride! Kraven! The
Hunter!" Rearing back his head, the swarthy hunter let loose a
yodeling war cry as he unsheathed two vicious-looking hatchets from
his belt and stepped to face Sam.

"Y'all have no concept of just how ridiculous ya sound, do ya?" Sam
asked, shaking his head. He looked from side to side, watching the
villagers like a hawk to make sure none of them was going to attack
again. Then, as Kraven darted forward, Sam took a quick step and
launched himself at the other man, his blast field sheathing his body.
The pair closed in the blink of an eye, and Sam body checked the
hunter to the ground before extinguishing his blast field and landing
nimbly at the far edge of the ampitheater.

Tucking his knees to his chest, Kraven kicked his feet out, regaining
his footing in a smooth kip-up. Dramatically, he sheathed the axes and
clapped slowly.

"Well done, Tennessee, well done. Kraven the Hunter applauds
you, well done! Look at you, standing over there all high and
mighty, 'ha-yuck ha-yuck ha-yuck'. But believe this - " Taking
a low crouch, Kraven brought those sharp axes to bear again, " - you
have awoken a sleeping bear, and the bear is hungry for blood. Before
the sun sets on the Hunter's Hunting Grounds, your head will be a
trophy in my lodge."

Sam shook his head and spat to one side in derision. "-Kentucky-
would like ta remind Kraven the Hunter of a couple things. One, that
the derivation of his name means 'cowardly and weak-willed'. Two, m'
head ain't gonna be hangin' nowhere 'ceptin' m' shoulders tonight."
He grinned ferally to match Kraven. "An three, Ah only said 'ha-yuck'
the once."

Kraven spluttered in anger. "I... you... the Hunter says... shut
up! ARGH!" Raising both hatchets over his head and bellowing
loudly, Kraven charged across the sand towards Sam.

Crossing his arms at the elbow to form a V over his head, Sam stepped
in and brought his blast field up just as Kraven was about to strike.
Catching both hatchets against his arms, he slid his forearms down to
his wrists and snapped them apart, sending singed lumps of metal and
wood spinning away to either side. Following his forward motion, he
cracked his head down across the bridge of Kraven's nose. As Kraven
staggered to one knee, Sam let his blast field dissipate. "No more
weapons, no more powers," he said. "Just you 'n me."

"...motherfucker..." Kraven whispered, looking down at his own
blood staining the sand. "I'm going to rip out your tongue,
haystacks," he hissed in a barely-audible voice, obviously meant to
escape the ubiquitous cameras and microphones.

Kraven lunged, and despite his bravado and obviously for-the-camera
posturing, the Hunter was no slouch at combat. Ducking under one of
Sam's arms, he shot his near arm across the mutant's chest and over
his other shoulder, lifting the tall Kentuckian off the ground and
falling forward, slamming Sam into the dust on his back.

"What, no snappy comeback?" Sam grunted as he wriggled his arm free
and elbowed Kraven sharply in the temple. As the arm around his torso
loosened, Sam scissored his legs, rolling free and to his knees. "No
'Kraven the Hunter says blah blah blah'?" he taunted as he sprang to
his feet.

In response, Kraven scooped up a handful of sand, throwing it towards
Sam's eyes and diving in a tackle for his waist. As Sam twisted his
hips to avoid the attack, he lowered his stance, driving one elbow
sharply into the back of Kraven's neck, the other pushing at the
larger man's hips to send him flying through the air to land flat on
his back on the sand.

Another kip-up, less graceful this time, and Kraven was on his feet
again, glaring over his shoulder at Sam. "Kraven the Hunter says this,
dog: die." Sweeping his hand over the elaborate harness
strapped across his chest, he snapped his arm forward, a small pistol
clenched in his fist.

The bark of Kraven's pistol was drowned in the roar of Sam's blast
field. Kraven emptied the clip uselessly into Sam's blast field, and
the Kentuckian shook his head. "Forgot about that, did ya?" he asked
before stepping forward, putting all his strength behind a haymaker to
Kraven's jaw. "An' -stay- down," he instructed the stunned hunter as
he sprawled in the dust.

Kraven lifted his head, then closed his eyes and slumped to the
ground. A rumbling came from the assembled villagers, not of applause,
but of dozens of feet pounding as they fled the ampitheater. Across
from where Sam stood, a stone wall flickered, displaying a holographic
image of Mojo's smiley-face avatar.

"Well, well, well. Mister Cannonball. Let's give it up for the Human
Rocket, our NEW champion! What did I tell you, huh? It's a rush, isn't
it? You can't say you didn't enjoy that, my boy! The spectacle, the
grandeur, the majesty of man versus jungle, man versus man, even man
versus self - it's everything people want to see. And let me tell you,
they saw this in droves! Once word of mouth got out that you'd
survived over an hour, buyrates went through the roof! You're going to
make the both of us very rich men, Mister Cannonball."

Sam raised his head and chuckled as the very familiar whine of
afterburners disengaging sounded over the village. "Ah'm
thinkin'...not."

As the Blackbird zoomed overhead, the smiley-face hologram flickered,
shifting into a scowl. "Oh, Mister Cannonball, you do have the sense
of dramatic timing. However, I'm going to have to, er, rescind our
offer and would LOVE to see you at a later juncture, but I believe
this is my cue to exit... stage left, even."

The hologram winked out, leaving just the dusty stone wall in its
place, and the sounds of the Blackbird landing in the distance.


---

Shiro, Kurt, and Scott take the 'Arenques Rojos' into custody after Sam tells them what exactly is going on.



"It is generally considered bad form to napalm a village full of people, even if they are co-conspirators in a kidnapping and attempted murder?" Shiro asked, though his tone made it unclear whether or not he was joking. Mostly he was, but with Sam safe and sound, he was more than happy to offer a well-deserved beating to the island's "innocent residents." The thought of putting the fear of god, so to speak, in these people was far too entertaining to pass up, and a wicked grin was visible beneath his fiery mantle.

Scott saw the grin, and to him, it didn't look at all like a grin of relief. "Corral them," he said over the coms, and his tone made it very clear that he wasn't joking, "but carefully." He wasn't risking any more 'surprises'. "Regular rules regarding use of force."

"Understood", Kurt returned. "I think I would rather like to see all of them stand trial, myself."

Shiro's face fell but he nodded and extinguished his fire form. "Jaa, do we just walk up and order them to line up to apprehend them?"

"No," Scott said forcefully, if quietly, "you line them up. I want all of them, so get airborne and keep an eye out."

The Blackbird had arrived so quickly on the heels of Sam's victory over Kraven that only the swiftest of the "Arenques Rojos" had made it to the edge of the jungle and into the undergrowth. The rest looked over their shoulders at the imposing sight of the large supersonic jet, and the fiery corona of energy surrounding Shiro. A few of the more timid slowed to a halt and raised their hands in surrender, the rest lit out even more quickly for the tree line.

Kurt couldn't stop them all... but what he could do, and did, was teleport to a spot between them and the tree line, then begin a series of rapid jumps back and forth. Hopefully, it would confuse them enough to think they had more than one man blocking their escape.

Scott went for the more direct approach. He was coming in at a right angle to some of those running for the trees, so he blasted the group between them and the tree line, plowing a significant furrow in the ground. Most of them fell over each other in their attempts to stop as fast as possible.

"Cyclops, there are a dozen trying to flee behind you," said Shiro from his vantage point in the sky. "And there is another group about three hunded meters to your left, Nightcrawler."

Three hundred metres to his left was easy enough to add in to the line of his defence, especially since Scott had cleared a large part of it. He was wearing his best demonic grin when he allowed the would-be fugitives to see him, in the interests of scaring them back.

"STOP!" Scott roared at the fleeing group. No response, and he gritted his teeth and let off eleven, precisely calculated low-power blasts that knocked each of them down in turn, like bowling pins. Some stirred groggily. Others didn't.

"That's most of . . . fuck." Someone actually had made it to the jungle edge. Pulling in his fire, Shiro raced down towards him. The supposed villager made it into the trees, and Shiro followed. He had to calm down his aura to keep from igniting the jungle, but keep it up enough to protect him from all the branches he was flying through. "No escape for you, yarou."

Scott, corralling a last couple of villagers - neither of whom seemed willing to chance getting blasted in the back of the head like their compatriots - looked up at Shiro's words over the coms, then glanced over at Kurt. "I think that's everyone," he said.

Kurt had a large group of thoroughly cowed and disoriented villagers lined up in front of him, now, some of them nursing bruises. He glanced back and nodded. "Time to take them back."


---

Garrison and Marie head for Mojo's bunker, where he's holed up and transmitting. They run across some flunkies before seeing the man himself.



The heart of Mojo's operations and transmissions on the small Carribean island was clearly the bunker that lay in a small clearing not far from the "island village" where the X-Men had found Sam fighting Kraven the Hunter and the "Arenques Rojos". A commercial-grade satellite transmission dish perched on top of the bunker, along with a small helipad. The jungle was cleared for about a hundred yards in every direction, and video cameras covered every approach. After all, you could never have enough stock footage.

"Knock knock, anybody home?" Marie sing-songed as she ripped the bunker door off its hinges. There was no point in trying to surprise the people inside - the people inside had been watching them even before they'd reached the heavily surveillanced area surrounding the bunker. Casually tossing the door away, it flew in the direction of the satellite dish as Marie descended into the bunker.

"Very subtle, Beullah." Kane muttered, coming up behind her. He pulled his retractable baton out, feeling more comfortable with the extra reach. The stairs were a natural bottleneck, but advancing behind the little invulnerable girl muted that danger somewhat.

"Not like they didn't already know we were coming," she tossed over her shoulder, before making sure her focus was on where she was going and who might be in her way. It didn't take long for there to be something to focus on and a hint of a grin crossed her face. She'd been bottling up too much since watching the video of Sam and it was going to feel good to finally have someone to punish.

The stairs opened up into a wider area, which looked like it doubled as broadcast center and living quarters. The room was opulent to the point of gaudiness, as Mojo clearly enjoyed surrounding himself with the trappings of wealth. Gold fittings for the lights in the room, plush Berber carpeting, and a pair of brunette, athletic-looking women, obviously sisters, almost similar enough to pssibly be twins.

"This area is Mr. Mojo's private qurters," the older of the two said coldly as Marie and Garrison entered. "We're going to have to ask you to leave." From the way the younger was rolling her shoulders as she removed the jacket to her impeccably-tailored pantsuit, the pair were bodyguards, and ready to back that suggestion up with force.

"Huh. Rented Olson twin thugs. Didn't see that one coming." Kane said, already edging slightly away from Marie to give them both combat space. He wasn't too worried yet. From the looks of them, they were physical based mutants, like himself. "So, what do you think, Rogue? Go, grab a coffee and wait for the Bobbsey's here to arrange us an appointment? By the way, not to seem unprofessional, but when Mojo starts branching out into twin incest pornography, can you drop me a quick e-mail? I've got this hirsute friend who just can't seem to keep his hands on his credit card, and you know, it's his birthday coming up, eh?"

"Coffee? Why Dominion, are you tryin' to ask me out on the job? For shame," Marie said sweetly, advancing on one of the twins and throwing a right cross at her jaw. "An' while trying to get porn for your 'friend.' That's just low."

"Ever known me to be anything else?" Garrison shifted right, the burnette moving with him. "So, if it doesn't work out with my NASCAR loving teammate, how about we catch a movie?"

The woman lashed out, super fast, and Garrison ducked barely in time to avoid having his head taken off his shoulders, despite his speed and the reflex chip. "Or we can go straight to the foreplay too." With a flick of his wrist, the baton snapped out to the full length, and he brought a viperfast strike to her torso. She blocked with her forearm, but he could see the wince as she did so. At this range and speed, the graphite baton hit with the kinetic force per square inch of a truck going 80mph.

The wince and a shaking of the affected arm was the only reaction Garrison got, where most non-mutants would have been cradling their shattered forearm and screaming in pain. The one that Marie had hit with the right cross rocked back on her heels, then grinned and launched one of her own at Rogue, hard enough that she was able to feel it in her jaw.

Of course, feeling it and hurting from it were two different things. Marie grinned back at the woman before throwing another couple of punches at her guard, felling the woman quickly. She glanced over at her teammate, affecting a bored look, though her lips were twitching in amusement. "You two would make a cute couple. The FBI agent and the evil crony, Ah smell a romance novel in the making."

Kane ignored her, avoiding getting brained by a kick. He backpedaled, letting the woman chase him long enough to pivot and drop to one knee, lashing out with a blow to the inside of her ankle. The joint bent under the weight, and he followed up, punching hard onto the other knee, forcing into into an unnatural shape with the break.

With the sisters out of the way, Marie and Garrison were clear to the next room, where a slightly older, but just as attractive, secretary type was speaking urgently through a telephone handset and casting nervous glances at the door off to her side. As Marie stepped to the doorway, the woman threw her hand up and forward at her, and a series of bright flashes and sharp bangs filled the room, similar to the effect of several concussion grenades detonating. Their effect was magnified by the small space, and the woman took the opportunity to flee through the door.

Marie's eyes rolled up in the back of her head as the flashing lights caused a strobe effect, overwhelming her visual cortex. Rogue stumbled a step forward before crashing sideways into the nearby wall. With her legs twitching, Marie rolled sideways, knocking a file cabinet on top of her.

"What the fuck?" Kane paused in the open doorway. He hadn't seen anything happen, just left dealing with Rogue suddenly pitching sideways into the wall. Her legs twitched like she'd been brained, and all that he could see of her eyes were the whites where they had rolled up into her head. He cupped the back of her neck, trying to get her to focus. Whatever had been done to her had been strong enough to put her down hard and keep her there.

The entire tableau played out on the security camera feed in Mojo's office. Spiral stood behind her boss, dutifully wiping an industrial strength degaussing magnet over tape backups and computer hard drives.

"We're... recording this... footage?" the wheezing voice came from behind the large screens. Spiral nodded, kicking over the last server case and watching sparks fly. Thin breaths of laughter rattled over the sound of strikes and crashes from outside the opulently-lacquered double doors.

Just as the doors burst open, Spiral stepped behind the large monitors, placing a hand on her employer's shoulder, her other hand reaching for a compact submachine gun holstered at her waist. Mojo's administrative assistant stumbled in, small globes of light shining around her panicked face.

"Sir? I don't think these are the feds!" she panted, glancing over her shoulder at Garrison.

Hidden from view behind his massive array of flat-screen monitors, Mojo made a tsk'ing noise, shaking his head. Small glimpses of yellowed, jaundiced skin could be seen between the monitors, and the sound of an oxygen tank could be heard over the crackle of short-circuiting computers.

"Ah well," he wheezed, taking Spiral's hand in his own. "As the great entertainer said, you can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time. But I much rather prefer this one, Suzette my dear. There's a sucker born every minute. Your severance check is in the desk."

Garrison entered the room just in time to hear Mojo's raspy wheeze saying "Now, Spiral?" and witness the swirling light of the same teleportation signature that had abducted Sam scarcely a day before.

Any response from Suzette was cut off as she found herself slammed down to the desk by her neck. Garrison didn't say anything as he held he there with one arm, the other pulling her hands behind her back and securing them together with plastic zipties. The thick zipties were often referred to as 'Newfie handcuffs' by the Mounties, but they had the advantage of being both strong and light, which was why Kane carried them. The woman secured, he left her sitting by the desk as he went back to where Marie lay. She wasn't showing the same twitching effects as before, leaving him hoping that whatever had happened to her was only temporary.

"Marie, its Garrison." He brushed the hair out of her face. "Can you understand what I'm saying?" He used a low tone, accentuating his words with touch, much like when dealing with a concussion victim. He wasn't sure what had happened to her specifically, but the telepaths weren't there to help him out right now, so he had to fumble through it.

The effects from the lights starting to fade, Marie's eyes blinked open, though she hastily shut them again. "Ow," she groaned, before cautiously opening her eyes again, spots still dotting her vision. "Ah can hear you, but something tells me you shouldn't look like you've got chicken pox. Did we get 'em?"

"Hey, don't do that. For all I know, the secratary I I just coldcocked has the mutant power to liquify your brain or something." Kane held a hand over Marie's eyes, so she could crack them slightly enough to see his relieved grin. "The problem with fighting teleporters is that they have the ability to just go away, and her and Jabba the TV Exec just went."

"Good. Because Ah don't really feel like playing a game of chase right now," Marie said, the hint of a smile on her face. It was funny how her invulnerability never quite worked out the way she thought it should. "Help me up?" she asked, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. The spots were already starting to fade, but she was still a little woozy.

"Geez, this is as bad as you on the Cuban rum." Kane slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet. She wavered slightly, and he reached out to steady her. "You sure you're alright, Marie?"

The concern was uncommon from the Canadian. In the field, Kane happily let his mouth run a mile a minute, both to distract his opponents and to help him avoid distractions. But watching Marie topple like she'd been poleaxed had cut off all of his banter, split between worry and anger. His fingers tightened slightly against her uniform as he steadied her.

Marie blinked, the concern in his eyes catching her by surprise. "Ah'm...good," she said, the arm she'd slipped over his shoulder tightening slightly. She stared at him for a minute before letting out a small sigh and resting her head against him. "Let's go home. And next time we go to a Caribbean island, no villains. Just those drinks with the little umbrellas, 'kay?"

"If you wear the little green and yellow bikini, I'll buy you any drinks that you want." He said, taking her weight easily. He stopped to pick up the secratary as casually as slinging a duffel bag, and walked both of them out of the command centre and into the jungle clearing where the rest of the X-Men waited.