Somewhere in England...

[x-scarletwitch.livejournal.com]

One of the surviving Stryker team cells sits in England, trying to figure out their next move. When suddenly a familiar name pops up on the screen and provides them with a reason to start again.



Jacob Reynolds grunted and slid slightly lower in the worn out seat in front of the computer monitors. England was supposed to cool but even the British apparently needed air conditioning. And amidst the computers, weapons and supplies, that was one of the things they didn’t have.

As the computers slowly cranked out information, Reynolds finished the rest of his soda and tossed the empty can over his shoulder. “How ya doing over there, Reg?” he called, not bothering to look at his current partner.

“Same as I’ve been since the entire shit went south, man,” came the tired replied. Reginald Theodore Jacobs was the type of person who just shouldn’t be where he was. Obviously from a background of some higher breeding, he looked starkly out of place in the beaten up, abandoned airport they had taken over for a headquarters. Even with a mouth that would make most sailors hair, top and bottom, curl.

“How long has it been?”

“Lost count, really. Stryker’s deader than a whore with rot, need to stop counting, Rey.”

“Trying.” Reynolds paused. “And that’s pretty foul.”

“So?”

“Just sayin’, is all.”

Ever since Colonel William Stryker had died in that snafu up in Canada with the core team, things had gone from slightly uncomfortable to something very similar to a kicked ant hill. With his death, the government had come down hard on the projects he had been running and Reynolds figures they were lucky to have managed to snag some of the stuff they had.

As it were, they were incredibly disabled. They lost a good deal of manpower—not many were willing to stick it out without pay since they were technically AWOL—not to mention access to the databases Stryker had worked so hard on.

But they had hardware, most stolen but some from when they had been active, and some spotty software and information left over. And the ones that were left were all very deep into the dream that the old man had left behind.

That man may have been a hero when he was alive but now he was something better. A martyr.

“You think we’ll find the rest?” Reg suddenly asked.

“The cells? Who knows. I mean Stryker was so paranoid that he didn’t tell us where these assholes are. God knows if they’re still active, even.”

“Some probably are, we just gotta look.” A shrug. “And, hey, we can take out those asslicks our—“

A sudden soft but insistant beeping interrupted the conversation and Reynolds sat up straight in his chair. “Fuck is that?” he asked, pressing a few buttons on the roughly set up consol and computer. There was a presence near his shoulder and he glanced over as Jacobs appeared at his shoulder.

“Thing just beeping for the hell of it or did it pick up on something over the wire?” he asked, hand sitting idly on the communicator that would radio the rest of the team.

“Not sure, hang on a second.” Grunting as the screen fizzled out slightly, Reynolds kicked it and was satisfied as the words came back up on the screen. “Lets see here…well, fuck me.”

“Nah.”

“Look!”

As the other man peered at the dimly lit screen, Reynolds felt his heart speed up a bit. “Something’s going over the wire. A name popped up on the flagged thing but it’s being wired from up on high to ignore it and let it be…”

“Thought we couldn’t get this shit?”

“Not directly. But yours truly here is mighty fine with rerouting this kind of information and we’re getting this second hand. And…good God…”

“Fuck. You see that name?”

“Yes.”

“Recognize it.”

“Hell yes.”

The two men stared at each other. “I think we were just handed our saving grace.”


The captain stared at the readouts, pen in his mouth since he had given up cigarettes to save on money. “Maximoff?” he asked, glancing around.

“Yes, sir. One of the two that Colonel Stryker had on his list. Brother and sister.” The woman, more of a shit brick house than anything else, cleared her throat. “And from Colonel Stryker’s records…related to Leshnerr.”

“Thought so.” He glanced over the readouts once more before straightening. “We’ve been talking about how to ease ourselves back into our objectives, men. Looks like this young lady is it. The question is how?” His gaze went to Reynolds. “You were the one who was rather well versed in the system. How much do you remember?”

“Truth be told sure, there wasn’t much on her.” Reynolds shrugged and shifted slightly. “More on her brother but we figure that’s because he was closer to the old man than she was. Got her DNA through some means, don’t ask me how, sir, and a rough descript but that’s it.”

“Powers?”

Another shrug. “Got me. Apparently the brother didn’t discuss her much with daddy dearest.” A few snickers followed his last sentence but a sharp look from the captain silenced them. “Uh…beyond descript and a few details, we’ve got pretty much next to jack shit. Sir.”

“Can you get anything else on her?”

“With a little bit of time, I can get her itinerary and find out where she’s flying to. Currently she’s in the middle of freakin’ Europe so I can see if she’s going to end up in England eventually.”

“Do it. The rest of you, get ready to saddle up. Leshnerr was Stryker’s big game piece and he’s one of the reasons he died. We can’t get our hands on that bastard Xavier right now but what’s the next best thing to Leshnerr?”

“His rather fu—“ Jacobs stopped midcurse word and tried again. “His flesh and blood, sir?”

“You read my mind, soldier. We’re well trained military professionals, people. Mutie or not we can take some twenty year old. Move it!”