Metastasis

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Spending their Saturday afternoon in the city, Scott and Jean-Paul are interrupted by a call from Charles, who's received a call for help from an old acquaintance.


They were absolutely, 100% playing hooky. Scott was under no illusions about that. With classes about to start, both he and Jean-Paul should have been spending their Saturday back at the mansion, working on lesson plans or something similarly productive. But he'd said something to the older man a while back about how often he 'forgot' his birthday in the midst of various crises, and somehow that had translated into Jean-Paul wanting to take him shopping. Scott had been feeling just restless enough to throw duty to the wind; it wasn't something he did all that often, so he figured he was due.

After lunch, their wandering had taken them to a few of the better independent music stores. Including the one they were standing in right now, a store that Scott hadn't visited in ages. It didn't have the best selection in the world, but occasionally you could turn up a gem or two if you were persistent enough about hunting through the bargain bins.

"You know, I still prefer CDs," Scott said, reading the back of the jazz album he'd plucked out of the bin in front of him. "There are many reasons to appreciate iPods, but digital music just doesn't have the same... feel about it." He shrugged. "If I were twenty years older I imagine I'd be a vinyl snob or something."

"I still buy them occasionally." Jean-Paul had two CDs in his hand as he spoke. "If I like the artist enough to own the entire album, I might as well have the physical copy. I cannot say that I notice any difference in sound quality between CD and digital, though."

"I don't know that there is much. For me it's more about having a tangible copy, I guess. Something you're not going to lose if your computer spontaneously combusts or You-Know-Who decides that today would be a good day to EMP the mansion." Scott wrinkled his nose at the CD, then returned it to the bin. "One of these days a new saxophone great is going to emerge and I'll have something fresh to listen to. Some day," he said plaintively. That was the downside of having highly specialized tastes and a collection that was too complete.

"You might try branching out," Jean-Paul suggested innocently. "Discover what the Swedish take on jazz music is, perhaps."

Scott blinked, then narrowed his eyes at the other man. "Oh, sure. Open up whole new vistas for me." His lips twitched as he moved on to the next bargain bin. "That might be interesting some night. Swedish jazz."

"If there is such a thing, I beseech you, allow me to remain blissfully ignorant. I am past the age where I adapt well to new ideas."

"Oh, yes, you aged relict, you," Scott said dryly. "Remind me to introduce you to some of these nu jazz arists. I'm still trying to figure out what I think about it..."

Whatever snark Jean-Paul had been about to lob back was intercepted by the ringing of Scott's phone. "Tell whoever it is that we are busy and not available for world-saving," he sighed.

"Can't," Scott said, pulling the phone out of his pocket. "It's part of the fine print on my job contract." He blinked as he recognized the number. "Charles?" he said, answering it. "What's up?"

So much for a relaxing birthday outing. Jean-Paul set his CDs down on the nearest available rack and waited for the bad news.

"... you've got to be kidding me. After all this time?" Scott was frowning as he listened, one hand creeping up to rub at the scars on the side of his face. "Really. That's... damned odd. No... no, that's fine, that's probably easiest...no muss, no fuss. Oh? She is? Yeah... tell her to meet me there. Doesn't hurt to be cautious. I'll bring Jean-Paul if he's willing, too." A faint, humorless smile broke up the frown. "Oh really... Too much to hope that he's blowing things out of proportion, I suppose. Good thing Moira's on Muir, huh? Okay... yes, I know. Yes... yes, we will be careful." Scott ended the call, and rolled his eye at Jean-Paul. "Small change of plans," he said, sounding oh-so-patient.

"Of course there is." Jean-Paul fell into step as they headed out onto the street again, blinking at the noontime sun. They had been in that shop a while. "Where are we headed and why?"

Well, that answered the question he hadn't actually asked. "Charles got a call from an old, uh, acquaintance," Scott said, pausing for a moment as he assessed where they were and where they needed to be, and then hailed a cab. They'd parked some distance away, and if there was any chance that there was some truth to this story, appearing in a non-distinctive vehicle might be a good idea.

"Henry Pym," he went on, "is a scientist who used to run in fairly rarified circles, until he did a hatchet job on his own reputation - long story, not particularly interesting. He called Charles, claiming to have gotten involved in something sketchy and asking for help. Charles says he used the phrase 'new mutant threat' half a dozen times in the course of the conversation." A cab slowed, pulling in at the curb, and Scott gestured for Jean-Paul to precede him inside. "Rockford Hotel," he told the cabbie.

---


Arriving at Pym's hotel, they meet up with Zanne. When they run into a SHIELD team instead of Pym, however, things go from 'mildly annoying' to 'lethal' as it becomes clear that Pym was involved in something very dangerous indeed.


"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Scott said dryly as they came around the corner and saw the building in question. He'd gotten the cabbie to drop them off down the street - just in case. "There was a time Pym wouldn't have been caught dead staying in a place like this." Not that the little hotel was that bad; it had clearly seen better days, but Scott had seen much worse in the city.

"I cannot claim to know anything about the man first-hand. Moira mentioned him in passing once and Nathan made noises like a grizzly disembowelling a chainsaw." Jean-Paul gave the building an unimpressed once over, taking in the faded paint and the mish-mash of pseudo-classical architecture. They walked past a pair of chipped and gently smiling korai to get from the street to the lobby. A small, faintly algae-stained fountain of Cupid sputtered away at the center of the room, leaving dark water-spots on the surrounding carpet. "That, combined with his choice of lodgings, is forming a less than stellar second-hand first impression. Ah. There is Zanne." Jean-Paul lowered his voice slightly, aiming a unobtrusive nod in the direction of the slender, dark-haired woman lingering next to a coffee-pot labelled "Guests Only, Please" before heading her way.

Zanne tossed the cup of acrid, burnt coffee she'd been holding into the nearby trash as the pair approached. "Classy place, no?" she asked them under her breath. "I've already been propositioned twice by some greasy little businessmen." Clearly expecting a little something extra during their stay in New York, but she'd sent them off with a bug in their ear. She'd be glad when they could get out of this place.

"I think that if this turns out to be bullshit, we should just keep Pym until the next time Moira gets back and let her deal with him," Scott said sourly, inclining his head toward the elevator. "To be fair," he said as he hit the button and gazed up expectantly at the panel, watching the elevator move downwards, "he is the type to get himself into work-related trouble. Although it usually involves professional disgrace, not anything dangerous..."

"I doubt the man got in touch with Xavier because he needed help putting on a slide show." The elevator opened on an empty car, and the three mutants stepped in. Jean-Paul drummed his fingers against his wrist arm impatiently as the car began its ascent. "So I am inclined to wonder just who it is he has pissed off."

The elevator chimed, announcing their arrival on the top floor. The doors slid open on an off-white hallway gone dingy with years and lined with fluted columns in severe need of fresh paint. Pym's room was halfway down the hall, the door already standing open. Open, in a hotel. That was a little unusual. Scott took a deep breath, eyeing their surroundings and finding nothing else visibly off. Well, we'll see, won't we?

He gave Zanne a 'stand ready' gesture as she took up position at his side, Jean-Paul bringing up the rear and watching their backs. They were partway down the hall when the sound of an unmistakably feminine voice from within the room reached their ears.

Scott grimaced, biting his lip then giving a mental shrug. Might as well. If whoever it was came out shooting, they'd have to expose themselves to do it, and neither he nor Zanne needed more than a moment for a counterattack. "Pym?" he called warily as they approached the door. "It's Scott Summers."

Silence, for a long moment. "SHIELD, coming out," the female voice said cautiously. "Stand back from the door, please."

SHIELD? Scott thought with a flash of disbelief. Well, that at least suggested Pym hadn't been entirely making shit up. "All right. We'll stay where we are," he called back, gesturing at the other two to stop.

Both of the people who eased out into the hall were pointing guns at them, but the young blonde woman lowered hers almost instantly. The hulking man behind her was slower to lower his, and continued to glower warily at them, even when it was clear they weren't making any aggressive moves.

The body language was a dead giveaway as to who was in charge here, even if it hadn't been clear that the blonde had been doing the talking. Scott gave her an assessing look. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, and carried herself with obvious confidence. The look in her blue eyes was just as wary as the one her companion was giving them, though.

"Sorry," Scott said as mildly as he could, noting the earpieces they were both wearing. "We weren't expecting you, Agent...?"

"Morse," the blonde said crisply. "Agent Barbara Morse. I think we should all step inside, Mr. Summers."

"Yeah," Scott said after a moment, managing a tight smile. "I don't think this is one of those conversations we need to have out in the hall." Morse nodded and took a step back, gesturing for the three of them to precede her into the room.

Inside were two other men, presumably SHIELD agents as well - they were all, including Morse, wearing the same sort of dark suits, cut for easy movement, and they were all armed. Although these two were busy searching the room meticulously and barely looked up at the three newcomers. There was no sign of Pym, or in fact of anything out of the ordinary. Scott glanced at his companions, the faint, tight smile twisting into something much more ironic.

"Jean-Paul Beaubier," Morse said, eyeing Jean-Paul as the very large agent behind her very ostentatiously took up a position by the door. Her attention shifted to Zanne, her brow creasing for a moment as she studied the other woman's face. "And you would be... Suzanne Chan, I think? So. Cyclops, Sway, and a former member of Alpha Flight. Not precisely who I'd expect to find coming to visit Doctor Pym right at this precise moment."

Zanne smiled politely at Agent Morse, if not sincerely. "Funny how that happens. It makes life interesting, really. I take it Doctor Pym has stepped out for a moment?"

Jean-Paul's expression was disinterest tinged with annoyance. Inwardly, he was smirking at Zanne's oh so polite inquiry. He pretended that the business of asking and answering questions was beneath his notice and leaned against the wall, radiating boredom and making sure that there was a clear path between him and this irritatingly well-informed Agent Morse.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'fleeing the authorities'," Morse said, her tone cool. "Henry Pym is wanted for questioning. Depending on the results of that questioning, he may be facing some very serious charges."

"What sort of charges?" Scott asked, and got an even colder look for his pains.

"That's classified." Morse squared her shoulders, her jaw set in a stubborn line. "You'll have to come back with us, to answer some questions regarding your involvement with this."

Scott managed not to look irritated. It took considerable effort. "You don't need to haul us in for that," he said in a level voice. "There's not much to tell. We weren't involved until thirty minutes ago. Pym called Professor Xavier, claiming that he needed help. He didn't say anything about being wanted by SHIELD. Just that he had information on a new mutant threat."

There was a spark of interest in Morse's blue eyes, but her tone was unyielding as she replied. "I'll listen to what you have to say once you're in an interview room back at headquarters, Mr. Summers. Right now my men and I need to finish searching this suite." She was eyeing them carefully, the wariness back. "I hope I can trust the three of you to be cooperative and wait quietly until we're done. I wouldn't want to actually have to take you into custody."

I just bet you wouldn't. "When have we not been cooperative with our good friends from SHIELD?" Scott asked, and managed to keep the irony out of his voice.

"All right." Morse didn't look like she quite believed him. "Please keep out of the way, then."

"Make sure they check in the heating ducts and the doorframes. Doctor Pym may have, oh, what are they called?" Zanne furrowed her brow as if thinking hard. She didn't appreciate Morse's overbearing demeanor, ordering them around. "Oh, geez, I can't think of the word. I just saw it on a Burn Notice rerun the other day. But you know what I mean. You can't be too careful with these dangerous mad scientist types."

"Zanne," Scott said, not quite under his breath. His smile had become ever so slightly fixed. "Let her do her work. We don't want to get underfoot, do we?" It might be best to just do as they were told, answer whatever questions they were asked, and hope Charles was listening and would make a phone call or two on their behalf. It'd be much appreciated, Professor, if you're out there...

One of the SHIELD agents preempted any further conversation with a muffled exclamation. "Here's something," he said, straightening from where he'd been examining the contents of the mini-fridge. He turned, frowning down at the object in his gloved hands as he unwound the plastic surrounding it. "There are cold packs in the fridge, too - the gel type. Not something you'd usually see in a hotel room. My guess, Pym brought them in with him."

Freed from the plastic, the object he was holding looked like a cylinder of strange, yellowish metal, knobbed and lumpy rather than smooth. Scott raised an eyebrow at his companions as the other agent stopped his own search and moved towards his teammate, to get a closer look at his find.

Freed from the plastic, the object he was holding looked like a cylinder of strange, yellowish metal, knobbed and lumpy rather than smooth. The other agent who'd been searching stopped and came over to get a closer look at the find. Even the gorilla by the door had stopped glaring at the three civilians in the room and was shifting forward.

Morse, in contrast, turned and lifted a large metal suitcase onto the bed, flpping it open. "Here," she said, coming up with what looked like a large evidence bag. "What is it, some sort of container?"

"Not sure... ow!" The agent holding the metal cylinder swore, dark eyes widening with pain. "There's a sharp edge or something - tore through my glove," he said when everyone in the room looked at him. "I swear it wasn't there a minute ago-fuck!" His tone spiralled upward in panic and he started to tug at the cylinder with his other hand. "It's stuck, what the fuck? I can't-"

The next five seconds vanished in a blur of sudden chaos. The agent was struggling with the metal cylinder, blood dripping freely from his hand to the floor, and cursing loudly. His closest teammate moved more quickly towards him, saying something reassuring, and the other unnamed SHIELD agent was barking at him to stay still. Morse, meanwhile, had whirled back towards the suitcase, rummaging rapidly through the contents. Scott had half-turned towards Zanne, mouth open and a question about whether a freeze would be feasible half-formed on his lips when he saw it happen out of the corner of his eye. The agent's expression went blank, his struggles ceasing, and his free hand moved smoothly to his sidearm, pulling it out and aiming.

He shot the closest agent in the chest at nearly point-blank range. His next shot took the big agent in the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards and into Zanne, his toppling weight enough to knock her to the ground.

"Royce!" Morse yelled, blue eyes wide with shock as she pulled her own weapon. "Royce, what the hell are you doing?"

Scott caught her arm before she could come past him. "Don't!" he snapped. Whatever that was, they did not want to be in close contact with it. Because as improbable as it seemed, the metal cylinder was moving with a life of its own, warping and twisting as it flowed up the man's arm like liquid mercury. But the metaphor was wrong, because mercury didn't tear through cloth and flesh, and Royce's mouth worked silently in pain as blood fell like rain on the carpet. The arm holding the gun came up, however, and Scott hit the agent with a half-strength optic blast before he could get off another shot.

Royce was thrown back against the doorframe, hard enough to split the wood down to the carpeting. A moment later, he staggered to his feet and shook off the force of the blast with a stiff, mechanical roll of his shoulders before bolting down the hallway. Jean-Paul only hesitated a second, torn between giving chase and the man bleeding out practically at his feet. A moment later, he was kneeling beside the agent who had taken a shot to the chest, trying to staunch the wound. He turned to Morse. "Where is the nearest hospital?"

Scott had already raced out the door and after the fleeing SHIELD agent, Zanne only a few steps behind him, having finally disentangled herself from the agent who'd landed on her. "Summers!" Morse shouted out the door after Scott, then turned a frustrated look on Jean-Paul. Her eyes widened a second later as she realized what he could do for her downed agent. "Twelve - no, thirteen blocks west of here," she said rapidly.

Jean-Paul hefted the man as carefully as he could. For both their sakes, the speedster would have preferred to leave transport to actual EMT's, but the man had already been starting to cough blood with each breath -- the sooner he got to a hospital the better. "I will be back to help with that one," he promised, and then vanished with Morse's agent.

When he got back, Morse was practically vibrating with tension, her phone in one hand and the other hand helping her other injured agent put pressure on the bullet wound. "As soon as you can," she said to whoever she was talking to - SHIELD's dispatch center, most likely - then disconnected the call and stuffed the phone into the pocket of her jacket. "I appreciate what you're doing," she said to Jean-Paul, her voice taut, "but your friends shouldn't have gone after Royce, dammit."

"Better that they let an obviously hostile unknown run loose?" Jean-Paul said, his response no less terse than hers. "Have you called for paramedics or am I taking him as well?" He certainly hoped not. His back was still not thanking him for lifting what had been practically a deadweight's worth of grown man and he was hoping to try and catch up to Scott and Zanne.

"They're on their way. Should be only a couple more minutes - I'm serious, Beaubier," she snapped at him as she caught him looking at the door. "Don't you dare - I swear to God, I'll put you under arrest if I have to!"

Help was on its way and the wounded man didn't need two people putting pressure on his injury. There was absolutely no reason to stay there.

"Then you will have to. Once you catch up, of course." Without the weight of a passenger to hinder him, Jean-Paul was out of the nearest fire door before Morse could inhale to reply.

---


Scott, Zanne and Jean-Paul give chase, and discover something out of a horror movie waiting for them beneath the streets of New York.


It was amazing that there wasn't more screaming. Then again, Scott thought grimly, doggedly pushing his way through the crowds in an attempt to stay at least within view of Royce, it was possible that no one in the crowd was looking closely enough to see that the SHIELD agent was wearing a morphing metal glove. At least it means it's not hopping bodies - oh, God, I hate my life. He shot a quick look over his shoulder, seeing Zanne come back into view as she dodged an elderly couple.

"I'm right behind you. Keep your eyes on him!" she yelled, forcing her way through the growing mob. A train must be coming in, she realized with a thrill of real panic. The damage that could be done if Royce managed to get on it was beyond breathtaking - not just to the passengers on the car, but wherever the train stopped as well. "We've got to get him out of here!"

She had a point. Scott focused his attention on Royce, counting it a small mercy that the man didn't head for the stairs up to the platforms. But where was he going? Deeper into the station, it seemed, moving against the flow of the crowd...

There. There was the screaming he'd been expecting. What appeared to be a fight had erupted in the crowd, and suddenly it wasn't just a case of keeping an eye on the one man moving against the tide. The crowd seemed to be moving in all directions at once, and Scott swore viciously, stopping in his tracks and trying to get a clear view.

#Scott. Suzanne.# Charles's voice was crisp and calm in their minds. #He assaulted a young man. I suspect he intended to cause exactly this sort of panic, to cover his retreat.#

#Where? Is the kid okay?# Zanne scanned the melee frantically, trying to get to get a handle on exactly what was happening.

#Both of you, stay where you are. Perhaps take a deep breath, as well.# The sense of Charles's presence faded, but Scott did as he was told, trying not to chew through his lower lip. Only Charles would take time at a moment like this to tell them to calm down.

That familiar presence returned almost immediately. #Minor injuries,# Charles said reassuringly. #The young man is moving under his own power. Unfortunately, rather a number of the people around him saw what happened. There's only so much I can do to calm the crowd at this distance. And Royce... has just gone through a service door at the end of that tunnel.#

"Let's not add to the stampede," Scott muttered as Zanne came up beside him. Whatever Charles was doing was having at least some effect. The screaming had stopped, but there was still a high level of anxiety in the crowd, people pushing desperately for the exits.

"Agreed." she nodded and started slowly in the direction of their fleeing target. It was times like these that she'd kill for a holographic power that she could manipulate and try to clear the area. As it was, emotions were running so high that if they needed to come back to get a replay of the incident it would be as crisp as a digital recording.

The service door was partially ajar. Scott opened it carefully and found only a narrow set of metal stairs leading downwards - and no sign of the fleeing SHIELD agent. He frowned, not liking the look of this at all. It was pretty dark in here. Dark and cramped, and definitely sub-optimal ground for a fight with an opponent you didn't fully understand. #Charles, let us know if he's about to leap out and attack us, okay?#

#His mind is very difficult to follow,# the Professor replied. #Like a signal choked with static... I can't think of another way to describe it.#

That didn't sound promising. Zanne found that she'd been clinging to the hope that Royce was running simply because he was scared or, or... bad. But if there was something more, if there was something wrong with him... "What is this shit we've been dragged into?" she mumbled, carefully following Scott down into the darkness.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and even then it was still mostly shadows. The ground was littered with debris that crackled and crunched softly beneath their feet. It didn't look like there had been anyone down here for quite some time.

---

Charles's directions led them two levels down and to the west through a barely-lit tunnel, leaving the noise of the subway station far behind. The walls vibrated from time to time - trains moving through other tunnels, maybe - but there was no sign of Royce or anyone else. Tunnels made Scott uneasy, had ever since Creed had taken Alison. The hair on the back of his neck stood up at every noise, every hint of movement. But the best way to put an end to this was to find the man, figure out what was going on, and get the hell out of here. It was incentive enough to stay focused.

"Okay..." Scott frowned at the door that awaited them at the end of the tunnel. "This is sturdier-looking than I would have expected," he said, staring at it. "Newer." It had a coat of dirt on it, but beneath was the glint of reinforced steel.

"Not so abandoned after all," Zanne murmured, looking around for other signs of recent activity.

Jean-Paul arrived on the heels of Zanne's words, shirt bloodied, posture tense, and expression closed off. As useful as it was to have a powerful telepath as a street guide, Xavier's presence in his head had still thrown him off-stride, and this was a very bad time for it. "Both of Morse's people were alive the last that I saw. This is where the other one went?"

"So Charles said." The Professor's presence had faded back out again; Scott hoped it was to call Nick Fury, or something similar. He certainly doubted Morse was going to be very happy with them about this when she caught up to them. Scott glanced at his two companions, then focused on Zanne. "I hate to say ladies first," he murmured, keeping his voice low, "but if something comes at us you're the only one who can literally stop it in its tracks."

"If anyone asks, I'll say nothing to besmirch your chivalrous reputation," she replied as she slipped by the pair, slowly curving her fingers around the door handle. One...Two...

Zanne yanked open the door and peered in. Blood streaked the floor, forming a thin slick that started just inside the doorway and disappeared behind a large steel cabinet, as if someone had fallen and, unable to rise, had dragged themselves bodily across to it. She could hear the sound of harsh, rasping breathing. Still alive, but not doing so good. She set a wide freeze and crossed over to the cabinet. No sense in taking chances, she figured, but as it turned out it was unnecessary. "Cyclops!" she yelled, dropping the freeze.

Scott immediately followed her in. "Shit," he said, seeing what she'd found. It was Royce, unconscious and bleeding badly from deep cuts on his arm and upper chest. There was no sign at all of the metal that had attached itself to him back in the hotel. "Jean-Paul, give me a hand." There was a table that looked large and sturdy enough to take the man's weight on the left side of the room; it would do. "This looks... what the hell is this place?" Scott asked disbelievingly. It looked like a lab, although lacking in equipment. Some sort of storage facility?

"Why would one of Morse's people -- or the creature attached to him --come here when pursued?" Jean-Paul moved to lift the man's legs as Scott got a hold beneath his arms. They lifted and Jean-Paul's guts twisted for a moment as the meat of the agent's forearm sagged against the skin, the weight of the severed muscle pulling open the lips of the lacerations and bringing forth a fresh gush of blood. The arm had been sliced down to the bone, the tendons severed. "We will need to put a tour--" They had just lowered the man to the table when a muffled thump from the unlit portion of the room snapped them all to fresh attention. The sound repeated, then faded out to a faint, drawn-out keen of metal on metal that could be felt in the roots of their teeth.

"Wha- what is that?" Zanne whispered as the pounding began to escalate, becoming increasingly louder and more violent. She took a tentative step in its direction, every nerve on edge.

"Stay with him," Scott said to Jean-Paul, gaze flickering to the injured SHIELD agent before he moved to follow Zanne, eyes narrowing. "That... does not sound welcoming," he said. The sound was coming from another large metal cabinet. Which wasn't a cabinet at all, he realized once he got a closer look at it, but--"A refrigeration unit," he said slowly, his brain successfully making the connection it had been halfway to seeing back in the hotel. The metal that had 'attacked' Royce had been in a fridge. With cold packs, which suggested it had been brought in 'on ice', too. Okay, so what does that mean?

There was a fist-sized, jagged-edged hole roughly where the lock on the door of the unit should have been. Scott's eyes flickered to the floor, searching, and he swallowed as he spotted a chunk of mangled metal a few feet away. "He ripped the lock out," he said, under his breath. "Or it did." Moving to stand well to the side, he waited until Zanne had taken up a similar position and then tentatively opened the door.

Inside was - his mind abruptly refused to come up with a description. It was a mass of that same yellowish, obviously-not-metal, that looked like it had grown to encompass everything inside the refrigeration unit. Shelves, other samples, all of it was wrapped in metallic, damply glistening strands, almost like spiderwebs. There was nothing recognizable in the shape. There were denser lumps, here and there, but nothing that came together into any sort of coherent whole.

And as they looked at it, it moved. Scott's stomach twisted as the metallic spiderwebs rippled and thrashed, barbed pieces lashing outwards and burying themselves in the metal of the door, just short of his hand. Instinctively, he blasted it, but the counterattack provoked only more thrashing. The larger parts of the mass lurched back and forth, fissures tearing open and more of the barbed tentacles emerging and finding purchase on the inside surfaces of the refrigeration unit. Scott realized in horror that the thing was trying to pull itself out into the open.

"Move!" Zanne barked at Scott, shoving him backwards before slamming down a tight freeze, encapsulating both her and the glittering metal mass within it. The second the circle closed, she was thankful she'd knocked Scott clear. The metal, whatever it was, wasn't normal. It didn't die, like most things did in a freeze, but struggled to keep moving, its mass shivering gently in what should have been a complete shutdown. It was going to take all of her concentration to keep it contained as it was.

Unlike the things she carried with her into a freeze, Zanne simply couldn't manipulate the things she found within one easily. As expected the door offered no small resistance to her efforts. Pressing her shoulder to the heavy steel door, she slowly forced it shut, the latch sliding into place with a dull clatter. She slumped heavily against it as she released the freeze and the angry thumping inside began with renewed force almost immediately. "That's not normal," she said, pressing her finger to her temple where a dull throb was starting to build. "It's...I don't know how to describe it, but it's fucked up, whatever it is. "

---

"Morse is on her way," Scott said to the other two, better than half his attention on Charles. Do you have any idea what we're dealing with here? he asked the familiar presence in his mind. I've never seen anything like it. He had the distinct impression that getting answers to some of their questions might be a good idea, before Morse and her backup arrived on-scene. The agent hadn't precisely been forthcoming back at the hotel.

Even at this distance, the contact between their minds, born of long familiarity, was close enough that a number of impressions were crossing over as Charles scanned the...being in the refrigeration unit. It was still banging on the inside of the door. That was bad enough, like something out of a horror movie, but the echoes of what Charles was sensing were worse. Scott bit his lip hard, trying to make sense of it. Bright lights and pain - what felt like electric shocks, and instruments piercing his skin... His head cleared all at once as Charles gently drew back from the link, keeping what he was sensing away from Scott.

#There is a rudimentary awareness.# Charles sounded just a little... unsettled, Scott thought. #Enough of a psi-imprint to detect, although... composed of static. Jumbled. Not a mind as we know it.#

Then what? Scott didn't point out that Charles had used the same word to describe what he'd sensed from Royce. 'Static'.

#A maladaptive mutation, perhaps? Some extreme variant...# Even with the new distance between them, Scott felt Charles's presence sharpen and focus. #Worth attempting contact, I believe. If this is a mutant, he or she is clearly in need of help.#

Immediately, Scott was staggered by a violent echo of shock and pain and the link was gone, as if someone had just kicked Charles out of the astral vicinity. "Shit!" Scott swore under his breath, trying not to reel. Charles? Sucking in a breath and squaring his shoulders, he grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck and blinking rapidly. The room was spinning. It could stop that anytime now. "Fuck. I think he just sensed something unpleasant."

"Unpleasant how?" Zanne asked from her station near the fridge. "Do we need to start thinking about places to take cover in?"

"Knocked him out of contact, whatever it was," Scott said, flinching as the pounding, which had paused briefly, resumed more determinedly. "He said he sensed a mind."

Jean-Paul looked up from the agent. He'd tied the bleeding arm off with the man's own belt, but he was still concerned about the blood seeping from the less severe wounds. "Did he say whether or not it was intelligent?"

"I don't think he got that far." Scott sighed, moving carefully around the other side of the refrigeration unit, just to... shit. If the hole in the front of the door wasn't bad enough, there was blood back here, surrounding shredded cording. There was not going to be any plugging the unit back in, from the looks of it. "Zanne," he said, glancing back at his teammate. "I don't suppose you could get anything from the astral plane, while we're waiting for him to get back to us? Might be the only thing we have to go on once Morse catches up with us."

Zanne closed her eyes and tentatively reached out, both hoping and dreading that she'd find something. She grimaced as her mind registered the familiar 'catch' of an impression. "Definitely something here," she said, straightening up as she focused on drawing down the information. "It's sharp. Deep."

"Wonderful. Let's see it." Intellectually, Scott knew that whatever she was going to call up couldn't be good. Not under these circumstances. When the retrocognitive projection took shape, he realized that despite the air of disuse in the tunnels just outside, they hadn't been the first outsiders here. There'd been a whole team here some indeterminate amount of time ago, wearing protective gear - not full hazmat suits, but enough to suggest they'd been expecting to run into something unpleasant. The way they were combing through the place, checking out every drawer, every nook and cranny, definitely suggested that this had not been their lab, whoever they had been.

They watched the search continue until one of the ghostly images opened the door to the refrigeration unit. Nothing happened right away. A few of the man's companions came over to get a closer look at the mass inside, which was much smaller, neatly enclosed in what looked like a clear plastic container. It wasn't until one of the men reached in and opened the lid, probing at the contents with some sort of instrument, that all hell broke loose.

Scott made himself watch the projection and mentally file away every last detail as the surface of the mass cracked open and one of those barbed tentacles lashed out, spearing the man right through the chest. The lid had been dislodged and more of the tentacles emerged, growing even more active as they moved into the presumably warmer air outside the refrigeration unit. The impaled man was flailing, mouth open in a soundless scream, and more of the tentacles wrapped themselves around various parts of his body, tearing him slowly and inexorably to pieces. The other members of the team were panicking, trying to flee, but as the projection continued, one of them went down, yanked backwards by the ankle and then flung bodily into the air and at his colleagues.

It got worse from there. One of the men appeared to have struck his head on the floor when he'd fallen, and resisted only feebly as a barbed tentacle wrapped around his throat and squeezed. The spray of blood suggested that an artery had been severed, but the being didn't seem content to wait for him to bleed out. It dismembered him, flinging the pieces in every direction, and then went after the other men. It struck for vital areas first, anything that would immobilize its victims, but each attack ended in the same way. There was something very methodical about it.

Jean-Paul swore under his breath, jaw clenched tightly. The last ghost of the slaughtered men thrashed and twitched on the floor in front of him, but his gaze was drawn inexorably back to the refrigeration unit. How the hell did they take down something that fast and that tough when they didn't even dare touch it?

"Zanne," Scott said in a hoarse voice as the bloody images started to fade. "I think maybe you'd better stand ready to freeze that thing again if it-" But there was more. Additional images, and Scott watched as an entirely different group of men arrived. The being had spread to encompass most of the room at that point, but the new team appeared to have come prepared, and not just in the sense of wearing hazmat suits. Even as the hanging metallic spiderwebs quivered, as if the being was contemplating an attack, the newcomers forced it back into the refrigeration unit with what looked like blasts of liquid nitrogen. The door was locked, the settings of the unit adjusted, and then the clean-up ensued. Scott's eyes narrowed as he watched the ghostly image of Henry Pym run to a corner where there were no body parts and relatively little blood, and fall to his knees, vomit splattering the inside of his faceplate.

"What do you know," he murmured. "The son of a bitch was telling the truth."

The scene stuttered to a halt, fading into thin air. Zanne's face was white, the images of of the massacre burned into her mind. "Lovely," she said. "Now what?"


---


Morse catches up, and her argument with Scott is cut off when the four of them are ambushed by other interested parties. Though they manage to turn the tables on their attackers, the mystery only deepens.


"I suppose I should thank you," Morse said grudgingly, laying a hand on the unconscious Royce's uninjured arm for a moment before looking back up at the three people who'd rescued him.

"What, no arrests?" Scott asked, half his attention still on the refrigeration unit. The banging had stopped. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. When Morse had arrived, she'd been suspiciously unsurprised at their description of the being in the refrigeration unit; she'd gone pale, but Scott was fairly sure that it had been with disgust. The anger when Zanne had told her about Pym's presence had been palpable.

"For God's sake, Summers, I was never going to arrest you," the blonde SHIELD agent said with a sigh. "I just didn't know how you were involved, and you walked into the middle of my investigation. I may not have been part of any operations that included your people before, but I've heard enough to know that things get complicated when the X-Men show up."

"And here I thought it was the other way around," Jean-Paul said under his breath, letting the two field leaders talk it out. He was still waiting for the presence lurking in the cold to make a move.

"It's a good thing Charles was able to give you the coordinates before he tried to make contact with whatever the hell this thing is," Scott said, and if there was a little calculation in the comment, well, he figured he was entitled. "Seeing as though we haven't heard from him since." Which was worrisome, but if the Professor had keeled over in Cerebro, Jean would have sensed it, he told himself. There was enough to worry about right here in this room for now.

"You'll have to thank him for me," Morse said, more briskly. "My backup should be here shortly. I'm going to have to have the three of you escorted off the premises when they get here."

Scott couldn't help a disbelieving look. "You really don't quit, do you?" he said, and nearly jumped out of his skin as the thing in the fridge started banging on the inside of the door again. His voice was sharper than he'd intended when he went on. "Good thing we're used to being useful when we're needed and dismissed when we're not, isn't it?"

Morse's blue eyes met his unflinchingly, although the tension in her body language had ratcheted up again as soon as the banging had re-started. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that being a vigilante meant that you were also a specialist in biological weapons. Do I need to whip out my diploma to prove to you that I am?"

"If that's a biological weapon," Scott snapped, jerking his head in the direction of the refrigeration unit, "precisely why does it have a consciousness a telepath can sense?"

Zanne had stationed herself near the refrigeration unit. She'd happily be anywhere else, but until it was securely locked up, she didn't want to risk it breaking out and doing damage to her teammates. Scott and Morse's 'discussion', if you could even call it that, was as enlightening as it was horrifying. In what world did you need to develop something like that yellow metal entity as a weapon, and what was wrong with someone that they could even dream it up in the first place?

She cocked her head as a quiet clatter echoed in from the tunnels. The containment unit must have arrived, Zanne realized, and began to motion towards Scott that he might want to get out of the way.

"This had better not be someone of yours who's slipped their leash," Scott said harshly, noticing Zanne's gesture but lingering, part of him not wanting to back away from Morse just yet. He supposed that part of him was spoiling for a fight, just a little, and she was the likeliest target. Too much adrenaline and tension. "The last time that happened it was Victor Creed, and he made one hell of a mess."

Morse actually flushed, hands clenching into fists at her side. "Don't make us into the bad guys here, Summers! We're trying to clean up someone else's goddamned mess, that's all."

Before Scott could retort, a tall woman in dark body-armor strode in from the tunnel, eyes glowing a pale, washed-out blue in the dim light. In the instant it took Morse to start forming a question, Zanne and Jean-Paul were moving to intercept, just in case. Three more mutants charged in as the newcomer swept her arm in a dramatic gesture, sending out a distortion wave that echoed the glowing energy in her eyes, dropping Scott's companions in their tracks. As Morse reached for her sidearm, the foremost of the incoming mutants stretched toward her, his torso preceding the rest of his body by nearly three yard. His skin went pitch black and tar-like as his body distorted, disjointed and wrapped around her in sticky, constricting swaths.

"Stand down or I squeeze the life out of the girl." A viscous black goo dripped from the man's mouth as he spoke. His speech had a thick, wet quality, as if his tongue stuck to the inside of his mouth with every word.

"Girl?" Morse choked out, struggling. "Fuck you!"

"Not your backup, I'm guessing," Scott said with an icy calm he didn't really feel. "I've got a better suggestion," he said to her captor. Zanne and Jean-Paul were down; he couldn't tell whether or not they were out, too, and he was outnumbered. If it hadn't been for the thing in the fridge he'd have had no qualms at all about cutting loose. "You let her go, and I don't blast you in the head to see what concussive force does to tar."

"Tough talk," one of the other men said, moving towards the refrigeration unit. He was accompanied by the tallest of the four strangers - clearly a brick of some sort, Scott thought. The woman who'd felled Zanne and Jean-Paul headed for the nearest file cabinet, not even sparing Scott a look. "But we're not here to fight. Keep your head and we can all walk out of here." He paused and took a deep breath, flames licking up and down his arms. His attention was all on the refrigeration unit.

Scott's words had only drawn a thick laugh from Morse's captor, followed by a mocking, overwide grin that bared obsidian teeth and seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of his face. "Might be fun, GQ," he bubbled, "but this is business. Hurry it up, Calvin. I thought I told you to come into this hot."

"I wouldn't open that," Scott said, as the brick put his hands on the door handle. "You're not going to like what's in there."

"I know exactly what's in there," the pyrokinetic said tightly, the fiery nimbus shrouding his hands growing brighter and brighter. "Just a copy. Shut up and let me concentrate. We're trying to do the world a favor here. Now, Parks."

The brick yanked the door open. The being inside reacted with lightning speed, barbed tentacles shooting outward - only to falter, blackening and withering under the sudden stream of white-hot flame. The pyrokinetic's eyes narrowed and the flames turned blue as he focused them at the center (such as it was) of the metal mass. The being writhed violently, even as it charred, and started to emit a keening noise that was as unearthly as it was horrific.

Scott's jaw had locked in a tight, angry line the moment the pyrokinetic's intentions had become clear. But he saw Morse twist her wrist, and the dull metallic glint of something up her sleeve, and made himself wait. She spat a curse at the mutant holding her, a calculating look in her blue eyes, and her captor made it easy by tightening his grip, yanking her arms behind her back. Scott saw Morse shift her weight, and heard a metallic click. The telescoping baton sprang upwards, slamming into the mutant's chest with a crack that certainly suggested that he wasn't all tar, whatever changes his mutation had made to his physiology.

His first blast went right where he'd promised, and although it was a glancing hit to the head, the tar-colored mutant reeled, losing his grip on Morse, who lept away, twisting in the air and delivering a rapid-fire series of hard blows with her baton. Since she's clearly got that under control... Scott turned on the pyrokinetic before he could react, the next blast slamming the man away from the refrigeration unit and into the far wall. The brick reacted, but Scott caught movement from Zanne's direction in his peripheral vision, and smiled tightly as he held his fire.

Following Scott's gaze, the armored figure barely managed to turn before becoming frozen in place by one very irate chronokinetic. Zanne smiled coldly, and gave Jean-Paul a sharp nod.

Jean-Paul's skull was throbbing from his impact with the concrete. Between Morse, hospital runs, and whatever the fuck this thing Pym was involved with was, he was well and truly pissed off with the day and in no mood to put up with any more bullshit, no matter which faction was dishing it out. The woman had good reflexes, he would give her that -- she had managed to at least turn her gaze to where he'd been lying a moment before when his fist cracked against her jaw. Two more shots landed at high speeds -- one to her throat and another across her temple -- before her head had finished snapping aside from the first. She crumpled into an unconscious heap, croaking for air.

"All of that armor and no helmet," the speedster tossed over one shoulder, looking back at Zanne. "Whoever these people are, they are overcharging for their services."

"I blame their handler," she replied smartly, a thick layer of sarcasm coating her words. "No foresight or planning."

"You two all right?" Scott asked sharply, giving them both a measuring look before he turned his attention to the refrigeration unit. Please don't be getting ready to kill us... But the being inside, charred over every inch of its surface, seemed to collapse inward as he watched, and he bit back a curse. It was a strangely pitiful sight.

The tar-colored mutant was on the ground. Morse stood over him, eyes blazing, and drew her sidearm with her other hand, levelling it at him as he groaned and stirred. "Don't even think about it," she snapped. "You are fucking well under arrest, asshole."

Scott, staring at the remains of whatever the being in the refrigeration unit had been, turned the pyrokinetic's words over in his head, then turned to check on the unconscious man. Just a copy. Just a copy. What the hell does that mean?

More noise outside in the tunnels, and relief made him relax, just a little, as that familiar presence returned to his mind at last and Charles told him that help was incoming.