Don't Close Your Eyes: Awakening
Jul. 1st, 2011 03:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logs Haller and Xavier figure out what's going on psionically. Haller has bad news for his father.
"The connection's weaker here, and here," Jim said, one hand over Angel's face, the other over Klara's. Brow furrowed, his hands moved as if following an invisible line, then came to rest above Hank. "But they both converge . . . here. It's like their consciousnesses are chained together.
The telepath sat back and looked at where Charles was seated against the wall. The Danger Room was so thick with psionic activity Jim could barely ascertain the individual signatures, further complicated by the static created by the imposed link itself. But that wasn't the worrying part. The younger man met the professor's eyes, frown deepening. "This is strange. That Shadow King entity just used Cain's mind as a staging area, and even Glorian only had one point of access. This is gradated."
"It is the work of someone who has had a lot of time to prepare," Charles acknowledged, returning the frown. "We cannot attack the origin point - Jean's mind is far too fragile at this time and she would never survive the intrusion, let alone what the feedback would do to those connected to her." Psychically lobotomizing the mansion's residents was certainly not even to be considered. His gaze shifted to the still forms of the students. "Our attacker is strong, but not omnipotent. His influence is spread more thin the further away from Jean he goes."
Jim nodded. "It's almost like Monet and Hank are acting as satellites -- like whoever it is has used other minds to carry the signal he's creating with Jean." He grimaced. "Probably so it's harder to untangle. The point of least resistance is also the farthest from the source."
"Be that as it may, it does mean there's a weakness. We will simply have to be patient," Charles pointed out. "And methodical. Like unraveling a sweater, we must start at one point and work our way through."
The younger man found his eyes drawn to the sad, still form of the dead Cuckoo. Efforts had been made to make her sisters comfortable, but it was no longer psychic interference that kept them unconscious. They had tried to fight, and for that their link had been severed terminally. In their minds their sister's absence throbbed like a ragged wound.
"Yeah," Jim said, heat briefly rising in his voice and grey in his eyes, "I felt enough to guess what a direct assault could do."
Where heat rose in Haller, Charles' expression dimmed, darkened. "We will stop him," he promised softly. "But first, we have to help those who are under our care." A soft noise came from Klara, a whimper of pain and fear. "And we must do it soon."
Jim took a deep breath. Charles was right; they didn't have the time to indulge anger. "I know. I know. Okay. Start at the edges. So the fewest people are affected if something goes wrong at the source." He began to reach for Angel again, then stopped.
"Professor, before we do this I have to . . ." He had been dreading this, but he knew he had to tell Charles. Jim swallowed hard. "We're not going to find Amelia. When Kurt tried to get you -- they shredded her mind. They killed her."
Something rippled in Charles' eyes then, something dark and dangerous, a storm on the horizon. "No more," he said at last, and his voice was echoed by a low rumble on the astral plane, psychic thunder. "They will not take any more of my children." His next words were spoken mind to mind: ~Help me, son. Help me save those we have left.~
I'm sorry, Jim wanted to say. Sorry he hadn't been smarter, more powerful, made better choices. Sorry that how he'd handled things may have been what cost Amelia her life and the professor a friend. But sorry was just a word. That thing crouched in Jean's head, spinning the web that stretched from Charles' first student to his last -- that was real. What was real could be fought.
It could be changed.
Reaching back, Jim put one hand over his father's. For an instant their eyes locked, blue on blue, and his hand clasped hard.
#I'm with you, dad.#
They began.
"The connection's weaker here, and here," Jim said, one hand over Angel's face, the other over Klara's. Brow furrowed, his hands moved as if following an invisible line, then came to rest above Hank. "But they both converge . . . here. It's like their consciousnesses are chained together.
The telepath sat back and looked at where Charles was seated against the wall. The Danger Room was so thick with psionic activity Jim could barely ascertain the individual signatures, further complicated by the static created by the imposed link itself. But that wasn't the worrying part. The younger man met the professor's eyes, frown deepening. "This is strange. That Shadow King entity just used Cain's mind as a staging area, and even Glorian only had one point of access. This is gradated."
"It is the work of someone who has had a lot of time to prepare," Charles acknowledged, returning the frown. "We cannot attack the origin point - Jean's mind is far too fragile at this time and she would never survive the intrusion, let alone what the feedback would do to those connected to her." Psychically lobotomizing the mansion's residents was certainly not even to be considered. His gaze shifted to the still forms of the students. "Our attacker is strong, but not omnipotent. His influence is spread more thin the further away from Jean he goes."
Jim nodded. "It's almost like Monet and Hank are acting as satellites -- like whoever it is has used other minds to carry the signal he's creating with Jean." He grimaced. "Probably so it's harder to untangle. The point of least resistance is also the farthest from the source."
"Be that as it may, it does mean there's a weakness. We will simply have to be patient," Charles pointed out. "And methodical. Like unraveling a sweater, we must start at one point and work our way through."
The younger man found his eyes drawn to the sad, still form of the dead Cuckoo. Efforts had been made to make her sisters comfortable, but it was no longer psychic interference that kept them unconscious. They had tried to fight, and for that their link had been severed terminally. In their minds their sister's absence throbbed like a ragged wound.
"Yeah," Jim said, heat briefly rising in his voice and grey in his eyes, "I felt enough to guess what a direct assault could do."
Where heat rose in Haller, Charles' expression dimmed, darkened. "We will stop him," he promised softly. "But first, we have to help those who are under our care." A soft noise came from Klara, a whimper of pain and fear. "And we must do it soon."
Jim took a deep breath. Charles was right; they didn't have the time to indulge anger. "I know. I know. Okay. Start at the edges. So the fewest people are affected if something goes wrong at the source." He began to reach for Angel again, then stopped.
"Professor, before we do this I have to . . ." He had been dreading this, but he knew he had to tell Charles. Jim swallowed hard. "We're not going to find Amelia. When Kurt tried to get you -- they shredded her mind. They killed her."
Something rippled in Charles' eyes then, something dark and dangerous, a storm on the horizon. "No more," he said at last, and his voice was echoed by a low rumble on the astral plane, psychic thunder. "They will not take any more of my children." His next words were spoken mind to mind: ~Help me, son. Help me save those we have left.~
I'm sorry, Jim wanted to say. Sorry he hadn't been smarter, more powerful, made better choices. Sorry that how he'd handled things may have been what cost Amelia her life and the professor a friend. But sorry was just a word. That thing crouched in Jean's head, spinning the web that stretched from Charles' first student to his last -- that was real. What was real could be fought.
It could be changed.
Reaching back, Jim put one hand over his father's. For an instant their eyes locked, blue on blue, and his hand clasped hard.
#I'm with you, dad.#
They began.
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