In the Danger Room -- Betsy/Scott
Apr. 17th, 2004 02:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBetsy in the Danger Room, training and using her newly acquired skills, but is unaware that she has an audience. Backdated to Saturday.
"Computer! Reset, level eight," Betsy said, taking her position in the middle of the training platform.
She prepared herself, gathering her wits. The sound of small clicks above told her the two new drones were inputting the new protocols and resetting.
Betsy glanced upward, the black orbs remained immobile, but in any minute they would start projecting laser blasts at a blinding pace.
And it still wasn't fast enough.
She refused to wear the uniform, thinking it far too early a transition. Instead, she opted for a pair of black sweats and a tanktop. Besides, she found more maneuverability in the loose-fitting sweats that she would've in the black leather. Something she would never admit to either Scott or the Professor.
The all-familiar chime sounded from above, a moment before a series of red blasts flew in from both directions. The drones swooped unto her position within seconds and Betsy rolled instinctively on her side to avoid being decapitated. At first, she was amazed at the fluidity of her movements when she first began the program. She found that after Kwannon's possession, she had gained not only the woman's memories, but also a wealth of her combat skills. It was an odd feeling, to remember how to do, but not experience how it came to be.
She ran for several man-made barriers lining the opposite side of the platform. Ducking behind a steel wall, as a blast whizzed just above her ear and rebounded off the wall. Betsy kneeled down, reaching for the planted weapon, this time a revolver. In quick succession, Betsy turned around, aimed the gun, and fired. A few rounds later, there was the distinct sound of metal hitting the ground.
-----
She didn't know he was watching. Scott brushed back the guilt and focused on the screens that displayed the activity in the danger room. On the one hand, it wasn't exactly fair of him to have the room set to alert him when Betsy was using it. On the other, he needed to keep an eye on her - for his own peace of mind and for her safety. Maybe it was too little, too late, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He'd lost too much and it was all too fresh.
She was good. Better than she'd ever been, better than most. Kwannon. This must have been what Logan was talking about, all this speed and skill. The thought left him sick and cold and he wondered what other imprints the entity had left on the woman he loved and what else she wasn't telling him.
"Talk to me." He didn't even know he was speaking aloud. "You have to talk to me."
-----
"Again," she heaved. Her hair slick with sweat, she wiped away a limp strand of purple hair.
It needs to go, faster. Much Faster. She needed to find her limit.
"Reset! Level 12 and increase firing speeds, accordingly," Betsy said through gasps. She was bent over, hands on her knees.
"Increasing firing speed would dangerously exceed set safety parameters," the computer chimed.
"Then disengage the bloody safety measures," she barked.
A flurry of red and blue blasts filled the Danger Room, as three drones appeared and advanced on her. It was hard to see the seemingly small form of Betsy Braddock, as she twisted and contorted her body in a blur of actions and counteractions. Managing to launch herself to the opposite side of the room, Betsy lodged her body between two wooden crates.
There should be another set of weapons just on the other side of this crate, she thought.
Betsy reached around on the left side of the wooden blocks, only to have one drone shoot within centimeters of her hand.
She pulled it back, quickly. Wiggling her hand in front of her, thankfully with all her fingers still attached. She heard the distinct clicks and beeps passing between the low-hovering drones, plotting her demise. And she was still no closer to beating the program. "Damn!"
-----
"Override user commands," Scott ordered. "Mask override." He keyed in his code and reset the safety measures on the room. Betsy would never know he'd done it, not unless she looked at the command logs and those were outside of her security clearance. The longer he watched, the more he wanted to turn it off, to confront her and ask her what else of Kwannon's remained but what he wanted most of all was to go and ask to join her, and to hear her welcome him. He'd settle for that, instead of answers, and he hated himself for it. Don't leave me behind. I don't care if you're going to hell, just take me with you. Don't leave me alone.
It was too close. The days were disappearing, time marched on and the door of the year was going to close on his loss with a finality that holidays and birthdays and even Jean's memorial had failed to carry. He was claustrophobic with grief at moments like this, like some part of him was drowned with her and buried under tons of broken concrete and cold water.
Survival instinct, or something like it, snapped him back into an efficient, functional mode. He inhaled convulsively, surfacing, and then focussed fiercely on the scene before him.
-----
Betsy popped her head, the drones menacingly searching for any sign of her. She needed a distraction. Something. Anything. She felt her brain churning. Betsy looked down, her right hand still enclosed around the gun.
Well, when all options were exhausted, improvisation has always been your best ally, Braddock.
She threw the revolver in the opposite direction, all three drone' eyes locked on their target, disintegrating the gun. Betsy's arm wrapped around the crate and enclosed around the next plant. Her hands grasped around the hilt of something sword-like, two somethings, in fact. She brought the weapons to her chest, cursing inwardly. A pair of fucking Sais.
How lovely.
But, it wasn't. Her heart beating fiercely against her ribcage told her as much. Again, she tried to keep her breathing regulated, to keep focused, and stave off the feelings of panic. But she pitched backward, falling into the smell of jasmine, wind chimes blowing against the wind, and summer rain, washing away the grains of sand and blood. These were Betsy's unwanted memories and the host to her nightmares.
Betsy brought her hand shakily to her face. She was far from the Danger Room and Xavier's Institute for Gifted Students. And it was obvious she was lost to the sounds of the advancing drones, as they began systematically destroying each obstacle within the room.
-----
"Move!" Scott slammed his hand down on the console, willing Betsy to wake from whatever had captured her awareness. "Goddamnit, Betsy..." He'd set the safety back on, his rational mind muttered, but its voice was thin and distant. There was no safety parameter he could set for her life or for the minefield that was her internal landscape. She wasn't better, she wasn't okay, and she wasn't talking to him about any of it. He was insanely angry at her, it hit him like a flashfire, eating him from conscience to composure in an instant.
"Don't do this to me!" Don't be silent. Don't shut me out. Don't do what she did.
But she couldn't hear him. There were too many barriers between them and all the doors were sealed.
-----
Sarah had left; nothing she could do or say would change that. And it only made her failure feel more complete, as a teacher and as an X-Man. And yet, it would not become the end of her.
“No!”
Betsy’s head snapped up and she caught sight of the approaching beams. She pulled back sheer moments before the crates were demolished and hit the floor with a heavy thud. As two of the drones passed overhead, Betsy shoved the blades into the heart of their circuitry, watching as the drones crashed into one another.
She felt a slight sting in her palm and stared at her hands, both slick with blood. There was a dark curiosity with the way her blood dripped slowly down her palm. It was beautiful, dark red mixing with silver and then back along her flesh.
Betsy heard what seemed like an unsteady beep coming from the other side of the platform. It told her that the remaining drone was foolishly retargeting. But, she didn’t have the time or cared to continue this game and thanked it for that courtesy with a Sai in its’ targeting eye.
She watched as it loss power and joined its’ comrades on the floor. Betsy looked around her surroundings and sighed. This wouldn’t do at all; perhaps Logan had something harder, something to make it all worthwhile.
“Computer, save settings and end program.” Collecting herself from the floor, she watched as the drones disappeared. The only sign of her encounter was the blood still trickling from her hands.
She looked up at the observation deck and thought about searching for advanced training exercises now, but she felt her bones angrily protest the idea. But it was decided. The old program had to go.
Taking a last look at the Danger Room, Betsy left, heading to the medlabs for some antiseptic and gauze. She’d tell Hank that she did it cooking. There was no need to let him worry about her. At least she came to see him this time.
-----
"Computer! Reset, level eight," Betsy said, taking her position in the middle of the training platform.
She prepared herself, gathering her wits. The sound of small clicks above told her the two new drones were inputting the new protocols and resetting.
Betsy glanced upward, the black orbs remained immobile, but in any minute they would start projecting laser blasts at a blinding pace.
And it still wasn't fast enough.
She refused to wear the uniform, thinking it far too early a transition. Instead, she opted for a pair of black sweats and a tanktop. Besides, she found more maneuverability in the loose-fitting sweats that she would've in the black leather. Something she would never admit to either Scott or the Professor.
The all-familiar chime sounded from above, a moment before a series of red blasts flew in from both directions. The drones swooped unto her position within seconds and Betsy rolled instinctively on her side to avoid being decapitated. At first, she was amazed at the fluidity of her movements when she first began the program. She found that after Kwannon's possession, she had gained not only the woman's memories, but also a wealth of her combat skills. It was an odd feeling, to remember how to do, but not experience how it came to be.
She ran for several man-made barriers lining the opposite side of the platform. Ducking behind a steel wall, as a blast whizzed just above her ear and rebounded off the wall. Betsy kneeled down, reaching for the planted weapon, this time a revolver. In quick succession, Betsy turned around, aimed the gun, and fired. A few rounds later, there was the distinct sound of metal hitting the ground.
-----
She didn't know he was watching. Scott brushed back the guilt and focused on the screens that displayed the activity in the danger room. On the one hand, it wasn't exactly fair of him to have the room set to alert him when Betsy was using it. On the other, he needed to keep an eye on her - for his own peace of mind and for her safety. Maybe it was too little, too late, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He'd lost too much and it was all too fresh.
She was good. Better than she'd ever been, better than most. Kwannon. This must have been what Logan was talking about, all this speed and skill. The thought left him sick and cold and he wondered what other imprints the entity had left on the woman he loved and what else she wasn't telling him.
"Talk to me." He didn't even know he was speaking aloud. "You have to talk to me."
-----
"Again," she heaved. Her hair slick with sweat, she wiped away a limp strand of purple hair.
It needs to go, faster. Much Faster. She needed to find her limit.
"Reset! Level 12 and increase firing speeds, accordingly," Betsy said through gasps. She was bent over, hands on her knees.
"Increasing firing speed would dangerously exceed set safety parameters," the computer chimed.
"Then disengage the bloody safety measures," she barked.
A flurry of red and blue blasts filled the Danger Room, as three drones appeared and advanced on her. It was hard to see the seemingly small form of Betsy Braddock, as she twisted and contorted her body in a blur of actions and counteractions. Managing to launch herself to the opposite side of the room, Betsy lodged her body between two wooden crates.
There should be another set of weapons just on the other side of this crate, she thought.
Betsy reached around on the left side of the wooden blocks, only to have one drone shoot within centimeters of her hand.
She pulled it back, quickly. Wiggling her hand in front of her, thankfully with all her fingers still attached. She heard the distinct clicks and beeps passing between the low-hovering drones, plotting her demise. And she was still no closer to beating the program. "Damn!"
-----
"Override user commands," Scott ordered. "Mask override." He keyed in his code and reset the safety measures on the room. Betsy would never know he'd done it, not unless she looked at the command logs and those were outside of her security clearance. The longer he watched, the more he wanted to turn it off, to confront her and ask her what else of Kwannon's remained but what he wanted most of all was to go and ask to join her, and to hear her welcome him. He'd settle for that, instead of answers, and he hated himself for it. Don't leave me behind. I don't care if you're going to hell, just take me with you. Don't leave me alone.
It was too close. The days were disappearing, time marched on and the door of the year was going to close on his loss with a finality that holidays and birthdays and even Jean's memorial had failed to carry. He was claustrophobic with grief at moments like this, like some part of him was drowned with her and buried under tons of broken concrete and cold water.
Survival instinct, or something like it, snapped him back into an efficient, functional mode. He inhaled convulsively, surfacing, and then focussed fiercely on the scene before him.
-----
Betsy popped her head, the drones menacingly searching for any sign of her. She needed a distraction. Something. Anything. She felt her brain churning. Betsy looked down, her right hand still enclosed around the gun.
Well, when all options were exhausted, improvisation has always been your best ally, Braddock.
She threw the revolver in the opposite direction, all three drone' eyes locked on their target, disintegrating the gun. Betsy's arm wrapped around the crate and enclosed around the next plant. Her hands grasped around the hilt of something sword-like, two somethings, in fact. She brought the weapons to her chest, cursing inwardly. A pair of fucking Sais.
How lovely.
But, it wasn't. Her heart beating fiercely against her ribcage told her as much. Again, she tried to keep her breathing regulated, to keep focused, and stave off the feelings of panic. But she pitched backward, falling into the smell of jasmine, wind chimes blowing against the wind, and summer rain, washing away the grains of sand and blood. These were Betsy's unwanted memories and the host to her nightmares.
Betsy brought her hand shakily to her face. She was far from the Danger Room and Xavier's Institute for Gifted Students. And it was obvious she was lost to the sounds of the advancing drones, as they began systematically destroying each obstacle within the room.
-----
"Move!" Scott slammed his hand down on the console, willing Betsy to wake from whatever had captured her awareness. "Goddamnit, Betsy..." He'd set the safety back on, his rational mind muttered, but its voice was thin and distant. There was no safety parameter he could set for her life or for the minefield that was her internal landscape. She wasn't better, she wasn't okay, and she wasn't talking to him about any of it. He was insanely angry at her, it hit him like a flashfire, eating him from conscience to composure in an instant.
"Don't do this to me!" Don't be silent. Don't shut me out. Don't do what she did.
But she couldn't hear him. There were too many barriers between them and all the doors were sealed.
-----
Sarah had left; nothing she could do or say would change that. And it only made her failure feel more complete, as a teacher and as an X-Man. And yet, it would not become the end of her.
“No!”
Betsy’s head snapped up and she caught sight of the approaching beams. She pulled back sheer moments before the crates were demolished and hit the floor with a heavy thud. As two of the drones passed overhead, Betsy shoved the blades into the heart of their circuitry, watching as the drones crashed into one another.
She felt a slight sting in her palm and stared at her hands, both slick with blood. There was a dark curiosity with the way her blood dripped slowly down her palm. It was beautiful, dark red mixing with silver and then back along her flesh.
Betsy heard what seemed like an unsteady beep coming from the other side of the platform. It told her that the remaining drone was foolishly retargeting. But, she didn’t have the time or cared to continue this game and thanked it for that courtesy with a Sai in its’ targeting eye.
She watched as it loss power and joined its’ comrades on the floor. Betsy looked around her surroundings and sighed. This wouldn’t do at all; perhaps Logan had something harder, something to make it all worthwhile.
“Computer, save settings and end program.” Collecting herself from the floor, she watched as the drones disappeared. The only sign of her encounter was the blood still trickling from her hands.
She looked up at the observation deck and thought about searching for advanced training exercises now, but she felt her bones angrily protest the idea. But it was decided. The old program had to go.
Taking a last look at the Danger Room, Betsy left, heading to the medlabs for some antiseptic and gauze. She’d tell Hank that she did it cooking. There was no need to let him worry about her. At least she came to see him this time.
-----
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