Day Zero - Silver

[x-bevatron.livejournal.com]

Mark is turning Silver into a fortress. Jean-Phillipe finally makes it there, looking for help getting Marie-Ange back from Caliban.



The energy in Silver was a kind that Mark had never imagined would come to his club. The manic desperation of his co-workers and friends was enough to make him forget that this was the place where personal freedom was born and concerns were discarded. Now mutant and human alike were transforming the nightclub, East Houston's brick and booze incarnation of love and counterculture, into a fortress. No one was mourning that more than Mark. "Ray, you and Sharon teek the speakers down," he said a short black kid in ripped skinny jeans and a dirty and bloody Hendrix t-shirt. "More attacks like this morning and they'll probably fall. Get 'em down and I'll show you where to put them. Larry, I need you and Jon to barricade the fire exits. I only want the front entrance accessible so we don't get any surprise visitors. Anyone carrying Tylenol or aspirin or Midol or whatever in your bags, take 'em out and leave them at the bar for Jen to collect. If more people like Fred come, we'll need the medicines for them."

As people bustled around to follow his orders, Mark checked his phone. Still no messages from Angie. He sighed and went to join a glitter-skinned girl with butterfly wings, good old dependable Debbie, who was washing up another girl with a foot-long gash in her leg. The injured girl was shaking and muttering feverishly. "Shh, calm down, hon," Debbie said, her soft voice carrying far in the distressingly silent club. "You'll be fine. I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you, yeah?" When she looked up at Mark, though, her expression belied her surety.

Jean-Phillipe staggered through the doors into Silver, a nasty gash over one eye still slightly oozing. Thankfully, the regulars guarding the front entrance recognized him and let him through without much of a fuss. His eyes widened at the changes inside, the wartime atmosphere. He spotted Mark immediately, the point of calm inside the whirlwind of activity. He made his way over to his former lover and grasped his arm, half-collapsing on him. "They...they took her," he murmured only loud enough for Mark to hear.

It was only for the sake of everyone in the club that Mark didn't completely lose it. The few psis in the room all suddenly turned to him, raised eyebrows and concerned faces silently asking the cause of the sudden psychic turmoil. He clamped down on his mind and led Jean-Phillipe away to where a stack of clean towels and sheets sat. He took one and began cleaning the wound. "What happened?" he asked, his voice tight.

Jean-Phillipe grimaced at the stinging as Mark applied disinfectant to his wound. "We were attacked," he reported dully. "Some crazed albino. Called himself Caliban." He shifted restlessly. "He did...something to Marie-Ange. She went with him, almost willingly. I managed to fight my way free and get here."

The name wasn't familiar, nor was the description. Mark would remember an albino mutant. "Give me details. Where? What powers does he have? Who was with him? Did you see where they go?"

He remembered when Mark's hand would tighten on his arm for a different reason than it currently was. "We were on our way here from the apartments. He is...strong. Very strong. Twisted a man's head nearly off of his body. And he seemed to have...some sort of ability to control people. There was a crowd of humans with him, and I believe that is how he got Marie-Ange to go with him." He shook his head. "As for where they went, I am not sure. I got hit on the head, and just barely managed to get away."

"Fuck." Mark's curse was more pitiful than angry, and his hands shook as he taped a small piece of gauze to Jean-Phillipe's forehead. He wiped his hands on his pants and took out his phone again. There was still no reception, and the text message he tried to send bounced back. "God dammit. We need to find her."

"We will need more than to just find her. I suspect we are going to have to take her back by force." He reached up and touched the bandage on his forehead. "Do you have an army somewhere?"

"No. And even if we were that fucking lucky, it would have more useful things to do right now. Angie's one person, and there's a few million out there who are fucked." Pete lit a cigarette with his fingertip.

"Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right. And you know Angie would agree with me." He shrugged. "The good news, however, is that I have nothing more useful to do, because me bedside manner is fucking rubbish. So: describe the cunt again, and give me the most precise location you remember, and I'll go after her while the rest of you stay here get on with the real job."

"Non," Jean-Phillipe said firmly. "I am going with you." Despite the adversarial relationship he had with his cousin, she was family, and he couldn't very well leave her in the hands of a psychopath. "He is albino, and a hunchback. He is very, very strong, and he has the ability to control those around him. And he is extremely violent." He stopped, attempting to remember the earlier events through the panic that he was still feeling somewhat. "As I recall, we were somewhere close to the Lower East Side on our way here when we encountered him. That...is all that I remember, I think."

"Um, excuse me?" a voice piped up. They turned to see a young man, tall and oddly proportioned, his clothes as dusty and tattered as everyone else's. "I uh couldn't help but overhear you. 'Cuz, you know." He pointed to his rather large ears and blushed. "But, uh, I think I know who you're talking about. He and a bunch of others kicked me out of my apartment. Took the whole building for his lair or something."

Pete smiled thinly. "And you all laughed when I told you that God loved me the most. Where do you live, squire?"

"Uh, East Village, 2nd and St Mark's. You can't miss it, they smashed the place up pretty good. But you can't seriously.."

"Can, will, and intend to enjoy a victory cigarette afterwards." Pete blew smoked down his nostrils as his slight smile got a bit wider, and much more menacing.

"Right then, french boy. You're probably not terribly useful either, so you might as well come with me. But you do what I tell you, when I tell you, or I will lay you flat and leave you for whatever feral creatures are left out there. I am not about to have my beautiful rescue attempt spoiled by the second guessing of a confused Lyonnais. The rest of you, you know the job. Keep as many people alive as you can, and do not be afraid to fuck off and live to fight another day if it gets bad. The heavy mob outside the city are bound to putting some kind of plan together, and you'll look really stupid if you get killed before the cavalry gets here. Understood?"

"Just try not to kill him, Pete," Mark attempted to joke, though there wasn't much humor in his voice. Though he'd only rarely seen Pete in top form, he knew enough about him that the grin set him off a little. "Angie might file a complaint with HR. And you." He turned to Jean-Phillipe and gave his hand a encouraging squeeze. "Seriously, listen to everything Pete says, even if he tells you to get the fuck out. 'Kay?"

Mark's concern startled Jean-Phillipe slightly, given the parting of ways they had experienced. He didn't much care for Pete's arrogant attitude, but the Englishman did seem ridiculously competent from everything he'd heard. And he seemed even more concerned than Jean-Phillipe with Marie-Ange's safe return. He figured he could swallow his pride for that. He nodded. "I am ready when you are," he said, hopping off the table he'd been sitting on.