Cruel Country: Chasm

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

When things go wrong, they really go wrong. As Mark and Sofia discover.

"Remind me next time to never say anything about mysteriously missing doors!" Sofia yelled, as they literally dived around yet another corner, a spray of bullets flying past their ankles. It was bad enough that Mark was now practically powerless – there was the racket of the gunfire, but it was unpredictable at best – but now they found themselves running around in the labyrinth of hallways. If they didn't find the exit soon, they'd be needing a team to come divert attention for them; exactly what they'd been training not to do.

Mark pulled himself to his feet and kept running. His sneakers (why had he decided on the All Stars today? So not designed to be running shoes) were quiet against the metal floor, squeaking a bit every time they turned a corner. Even though she was only two inches taller, it was a struggle for Mark to keep up with Sofia as she dashed ahead. "Even a fucking Walkman could save us right now," he quipped. Because when in mortal peril, joke.

There would be a lesson in this when they got home, she was sure of it. At least a purchase of a small compass. The numbers on one of the doors looked familiar, and Sofia quickly turned her head, looking over her shoulder to reread them; she'd seen those when they first entered. They'd found the door.

There were a series of cracks, but she'd grown immune to the noise. "Fina-" she started, her long stride landing on her other foot. And that's when her leg crumbled under her.

"Sofia!" Mark cried out, immediately moving to grab her. But he misstepped and fell with her. He rolled to the side on instinct, avoiding a bullet meant for his head. Something on his hip poked him as he rolled, just a dull jab at his side. He reached for it, and pulled out the small grey square that he and Doug had had so much fun with only a couple months earlier. "How did I forget that I had this?" he asked himself as the first notes of "This Ain't a Scene, It's a Heartbreak" played rather loudly from the relatively small speaker.

It wasn't much, but it would have to do. Mark felt dulcet energy rush through his body, and without hesitation he let it out. The air around their pursuers exploded in a dozen small clouds of fire. Not much, but like the genre of emo rock itself, the effect spoke a lot about destruction while being ultimately ineffectual. The distraction was enough, though, and Mark continued to combust the air while he went to Sofia.

There was a dull, amber glow as Mark helped Sofia into a sitting position, under her hair, and when she tipped her head to the side to allow him to check her pulse, she noticed a dark stain on her trousers. Something sticky, warm, was crawling away from the edges of her thigh against the pavement; she was fairly sure Mark was saying something to her, as he circled around, throwing one of her arms over his shoulders.

The light grew in intensity as they shuffled towards the door, the smoke from Mark's fires always oddly vacant in the space that they occupied. A low whistling started up, running in angry cycles, louder, louder, and Sofia smiled, the vision from her now gold, glowing eyes going hazy.

Mark was certain that he was not helping the situation by repeating "Oh my God she's been shot oh my God oh my God" even as he tied his bandana around Sofia's leg while still converting Fall Out Boy into something beneficial. "Come on, Sof, stay with me. The exit's right up ahead. We'll be out in a sec and back to sipping mojitos in no time." Long dark hair fell over his face, and he distractedly brushed it out of the way. It didn't do him any good, really, as this wind grew violent, the narrow length of the hallway forcing it to move quickly. It was a power overload if he ever saw one. "Well, damn."

The door to the exit ripped off it's hinges as Mark reached for it, soaring, tumbling, into an angry, purple coloured sky. For the two of them, the gales were but a gentle stream, and they two fish easily moving through it, but the rattling of the bricks in their clay spoke of how terrible the storm was around them. Sofia echoed the walls, trembling in Mark's arms as she limped through the entryway and deaf to the hollow screams that brushed past them before circling around to go back into the building.

There was a terrible sensation of tearing flesh from bone, as they stepped onto the dry grass of a field, and the back of the building collapsed, falling in on itself. Dust rose towards the now lilacing clouds above, and a small, round piece of rubble tumbled along to hit the back of Sofia's heel.

There was a silence broken by her dry laugh. "I think I may have been shot."

She went limp.


Someone makes it back in one piece.

Illyana sat watching the phone. Literally. That was her job. Not to mention, the only thing she could possibly think of to do.

From Uganda, she’d fallen, disroriented, until finally hitting the edge of something hard and sharp, and ending up on the floor of the Snow Valley offices. Wasn’t bad enough that she couldn’t just ‘port the whole group to Uganda (which had probably not, in retrospect, endeared her to anyone) - worse, she’d barely got herself out of it with the slides and CDs, and she’d bruised herself pretty thoroughly in the process.

And it was seven hours later than it should have been. She checked her watch, the computer, the internet - she’d lost seven hours, somehow, in the teleportation process. It wasn’t supposed to be nearly morning at the archive; that’s why it had seemed off.

God, that felt like so long ago. A lifetime, but really only a day and a half.

Eyes closed, she pressed a finger into the slightly less-bruised temple on the left side of her face, feeling the room sway. She was sure she had a concussion - a brief look in the bathroom mirror had revealed the extensive, colourful bruising that had worked its way down the right side of her face, and she thought her nose might be broken, too, but her focus was too fractured to keep thinking about it.

The phone hadn’t rung, in all that time. It was very quiet; even Illyana, who was used to silence, was beginning to feel its weight. Between the exhaustion, so bad that she couldn’t imagine sleeping, and the scattershot of her thoughts, she kept going back to one thing - wherever they were, they weren’t calling.

Remy’s words echoed back to her: ”I can't possibly imagine a worse situation or one more likely to end to de deaths of several people.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d been responsible for a death, or the first time she hadn’t been able to help it. But for all that, she found the years hadn’t made it any easier.


Wanda gets out of danger - for the moment.

The situation appeared to be degrading rather than getting better. Sliding around a corner, Wanda sprinted down an alley and proceeded to clamber up a large wooden fence that was blocking her path. She'd been dodging the security from the facility and whoever else they had in their employ but they still managed to find her no matter what she did. It was uncanny and disturbing, something that shouldn't be happening at all. However they had been tagged... it was something that was proving to be nearly unshakable.

Perching carefully on the top of the fence, she concentrated for a few seconds before dropping down to the other side. The sounds of things toppling over—pieces of the wall and the trash in the alley—greeted her and she nodded. The way she had come from was a labyrinth of dead ends and she hoped that with the debris in the way, they would have to go the long way to reach her.

Still, Wanda's pace never slowed as she neared the end of the building next to her. There was light traffic which actually suited her needs perfectly. She ducked around the corner when she saw a dusty old truck rumble by.

Waving them down, she pointed to the city limits and then to herself before digging out some money. At the sight, they were more than willing to give her a lift and she quickly climbed up into the bed of the truck. Sliding down once she felt the truck roar back to life, Wanda kept a close eye on the area around them, unwilling to get innocents tangled up in her mess and prepared to bail out at the first hint of trouble.

As they drove towards the city limits, Wanda couldn't help but wonder what the rest of her friends were doing and she allowed herself a brief moment to pray that they were all safe.


The phone rings back at Snow Valley.


The phone rang, and Illyana jumped to answer it, her nerves already strained before the sudden noise. Fumbling with it, she managed to pick it up. "Hello?" she said hesitantly into the receiver.

"Illyana?!" The voice on the other end was British, female, young and very surprised sounding. "Fuck me, at least someone made it back. You all right?" In the background there was the sound of many voices, some sort of market.

"Um - I'm fine," Illyana said, flustered. "I had this weird time lag thing - anyway. What's going on? Are you okay?" She sounded concerned, underneath the not-so-cleverly disguised shakiness in her voice.

"Been better - won't need any training runs for a while, the way I've been running all over the place. Having trouble shaking these bastards off for any amount of time." A swirl of static clouded the line, and then Amanda's voice returned, sounding slightly fainter. "Wanda's got a way out, just trying to get there. Should be fi-- oh fuck, not again." There was a muffled thump, as if someone had ducked behind the phone booth in a hurry. "Gotta go, got company. Tell Pete 'm okay, yeah?"

"Okay - wait, what's happening?" But as she was asking, the line went dead, and Illyana stared at the phone in her hand for a long moment. "Damn," she breathed, closing her eyes.