AUTHOR’S NOTES: Check Disclaimers page for character copyrights. This was inspired by my earlier work, Meeting the Wolverine. This is comic-verse X-Men, and takes place post X-Files: Unnatural Selection & pre Tigress. There are references to other stories here, but those haven’t been posted yet. And yes, there are some time inconsistencies, but I don’t think you’ll have any problems. And, just so you know, I had to guess what had happened in the comics (i.e. Wolverine going back to the Weapon X facility).
And I think I saw another story with a similar title, but it’s just a coincidence!! I am NOT A HACK!


NYX
By Kara Senecal



JULY 31, 2001
SOMEWHERE IN NOTHERN CANADA
10:01 PM:
A biting wind spiraled through the pines, hissing and moaning as it knocked loose snow off the branches of the trees overhead, snapping them like whips, making them snarl against each other, against the sleet that coated their needles.
The tiny grains of ice grated against her cheek and the girl snorted, squeezing her eyes against the onslaught. Grimacing, she shifted her huge bag over to her right shoulder, freeing her tired left arm and quickly wiping away the prickling on her face.
Readjusting the wool scarf once more around her face, the girl quickly plunged her hand back into her coat pocket. She glared bitterly skyward at the dancing beams of light overhead, deciding for the hundred thousandth time since she arrived in the country, that she hated Canada.
“Shouldn’t be this frickin’ cold in July,” she seethed, stomping her leaky boots against the icy, cracked pavement. “Shit … I shouldn’t be this frickin’ far in the first place.”
Hopping a bit to catch her duffel before it slid off her arm, the girl turned around, walking backwards against the wind’s assault, her teeth chattering violently.
The heel of her boot caught a crack, but she didn’t notice until she stumbled; her feet were dangerously numb now.
“Shit,” she growled, straightening herself up. Dropping her bag on the ground, the girl sat down and undid the laces and Velcro with trembling, half-frozen fingers. Freeing one foot, she furiously massaged it, rubbing her gloved hands over it as quickly as possible. When the faintest tingle returned, the girl shoved her foot back in the boot, hastily tying the laces and slapping the Velcro back together.
She freed the other foot, massaging it quickly and shoving it back into the boot as fast as possible. She didn’t exactly have the time to sit around and wait for her feet to thaw out.
She winced as she redid the laces, remembering an old Jack London story she had read once, though she didn’t remember when. It was something about an unnamed man and a trail dog, hiking through … through …
“The Yukon,” she murmured, wondering why it came to her so clearly. But it was the Yukon, and the unnamed man had gone out even though people told him not to, because when the temperature plunged below zero, a man was as good as dead out there.
The man hadn’t listened, and naturally, froze to death, though he had tried everything in his power to survive.
The girl bit her chapped lower lip; she wouldn’t freeze. No, she couldn’t, because she had to keep moving, and she was a survivor and she wasn’t about to give in to the cold, dammit!
Snarling, she stood, ignoring the vivid curl of her breath as it snaked out into the air. Snatching up her duffel, the girl trudged on.
Covering two more miles, the girl dropped her bag again and bent over, her hands on her knees. Dear God, she couldn’t keep this going much longer.
She shook her head. “N-No,” she stammered, forcing herself to stand up. “Gas station … not far. You saw the sign. Just … a little more …”
Swallowing hard, she reached for her bag. She’d try one more mile at least, then she’d give up. For now. She was cold and hungry and she hadn’t slept in three nights. She needed to take a break.
But she had to keep moving until then.
The girl didn’t get far before she heard the rumble, and felt the road beneath her feet quake. Her heart started to hammer in her chest, and she gave a strangled cry of panic, wheeling around to see-
A freight truck.
“Oh, God,” the girl wheezed, clapping a hand to her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, and forced herself to relax, to slow her racing heart.
Maybe she could get a lift.
“Hey!!” she screamed, her voice muffled by her scarf. Yanking it away in irritation, she yelled again, waving her arms over her head and squinting in the bright white glare of the eighteen-wheeler.
It wasn’t until the truck coasted to a halt beside her did the girl realize what a stupid mistake she might have made. The driver might recognize her, or, worse yet-
“Bon soir, mademoiselle,” the trucker shouted, leaning across the seat and flinging open the passenger door.
“Bon soir, monsieur,” the girl replied, trying her best to remain calm. “Parlez vous englais?”
“Yep,” he answered, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What’s up?”
“I-I need a ride,” she said, looking uneasily into the truck’s cabin. O-kaaaay, he didn’t look like a psycho. “Just to the gas station? Please?”
“Why not?” the trucker said, still grinning. He beckoned her into the cabin. “Hop on in.”
“Thank you!” Tossing her bag inside, the girl scrambled into the truck, slamming the door shut behind her. She began to buckle her seat belt, but then decided against it; if she had to make a run for it, the belt was going to slow her down.
Still not completely trusting the driver, the girl placed her duffel bag between him and her. With that gut on him, if he wanted to try something, he was going to have a hard time squeezing over her bag.
The trucker seemed polite enough, making small talk with her until they reached the gas station. As he filled the gas tank, the girl bounded out of the truck’s cabin and dashed into the dirty, decrepit convenience store. Buying some snackage for the rest of the hike, she hurried back out, finding the driver as he paused to light a cigarette by the gas pumps.
‘Not the brightest dude in the world,’ she thought, frowning.
The trucker glanced at her as she clambered back into the truck. “You plannin’ on headin’ to Alberta? ‘Cuz, I’m on my way there …”
“Uh, no, I’m okay.” She smiled sheepishly as she crammed the candy and crackers and bottled water into her duffel bag. “I’m just gonna shove this stuff in my bag and take off.”
“Where you goin’, anyways?”
“Um …” She shrugged. “North.”
The trucker arched an eyebrow. “Kind of a long walk, eh?”
“Yeah, but I’ll be okay.” Zipping the bag up, the girl shouldered the duffel, waiting for the driver to swing up into his seat beside her. “Thanks for the ride. I could pay you …?”
Drawing the cigarette out from between his thin lips, the man exhaled, the smoke clouding up the truck’s cabin. “Tell you what,” he drawled, glancing at her. “You can gimme a kiss, an’ we’ll call it even.”
‘I KNEW it!!’ her mind screamed, and the girl froze, shocked by the proposition. “I uh, I-I don’t think so …”
“C’mon …”
“No!”
“Just one!”
“NO!!”
She spun away from him, her gloved hands scrabbling for the passenger door’s release.
“Just an itty bitty one,” the driver pressed, lashing a hand out and catching her by the wrist.
“Why won’t you STOP?!?!!” the girl began to shriek, but her words were swallowed up by a beastly snarl.
Startled, the truck driver yelped, dropping his burning cigarette onto his crotch. He jerked away in horror, his mouth opened to scream as the girl wheeled around in her seat, her eyes horrifyingly yellow and slitted, her skin turning into a mottled green-blue, new fangs flashing in the dull light of the truck’s dashboard.
The girl screamed in a twisted rage and she lunged, lashing out with suddenly clawed hands. Catching the trucker by the shirt collar, she slammed into him, snarling angrily as he shrieked in terror.
Behind him, the driver’s side door gave away, swinging aside and sending both the monstrous girl and the driver plummeting to the icy pavement.
Almost unaware of what she was doing, the girl slapped the driver across his face with the back of her hand, knocking his whiskery chin aside and giving her enough room to strike, to latch her fangs into that sweaty, dirty throat.
Almost sobbing in terror and pain, the truck driver screamed, beating his meaty fists into her ribs, begging her to stop, stop it, he’s only a man, he wasn’t going to do anything bad to her, he didn’t want to die, oh please, oh please, don’t kill him, he didn’t want to die!!!
The girl’s pointed ears pricked and she stopped snarling. Her eyes widening, she released her hold on the trucker, gagging and spitting out his blood that had only begun to sate her stabbing hunger.
Her chest constricting, the girl scrambled off of the man, tripping over his feet and landing hard on the concrete. Horrified, she stared at the man, watching as he wailed and tried to staunch the flowing wound with a weak hand.
Suddenly, she realized what she did.
“Oh no …” She shook her head wildly, her loose, light hair slapping her face and sticking to the blood that drenched her face and the front of her shirt. “No … oh, oh God!!”
Pushing herself to her feet, the girl leapt back into the truck with one fluid movement. Snagging her duffel bag with one talon, she hefted the bag up easily and lunged, fairly flying over the huddled man on the ground.
“I’m sorry!!” she cried as she tore out of the gas station, across the road, and into the dark woodland beyond.
******************************************************************************
AUG. 1, 2001
4:31 AM
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
XAVIER’S INSTITUTE FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS:
“Huuuh!”
Gasping, Charles Xavier sat bolt rightup in his bed, his eyes flying open in terror, then squinting against the river of sweat trickling down his forehead.
Confused, Xavier impatiently wiped the sweat away from his face, ordering himself to calm down, take a few deep breaths. But those breaths hitched in his throat, and he choked, coughing and wincing against the tightness in his chest.
He frowned, then winced again, raising a shaky hand to his throat, half expecting fang marks to be present there. Of course, there weren’t any, but that didn’t reassure Xavier in the slightest.
He didn’t have a nightmare; he had a vision.
Xavier drew in another breath and held it, wondering briefly if he should wait for Jean to come to his room or not. She always came when he had nightmares or visions; she felt them at the same time he did.
Normally, Xavier would have waited for her, but this time, he decided not to. Dragging himself into the hoverchair beside his bed, Xavier sped towards Cerebro, repeating what he had seen over and over again in his mind.
Reaching the huge machine, Xavier keyed for the digital map of North America, then reached for the headset.
By the time Jean and Cyclops found him there, Xavier had already scribbled out the coordinates.
“Jean,” he said, not bothering to look at his visitors. He held the notepaper out to Jean, all the while examining the glittering gold spark as it wound its way through Northwestern Canada. “Assemble a team. I’ve found her.”
******************************************************************************
1: 34 PM
THAT DAY
ABANDONED WEAPON X FACILITY
NORTHERN CANADA:
Keeping a firm grip on the Blackbird’s copilot chair, Wolverine leaned forward in his seat, straining to see the rubble beneath the circling jet. “Whatta surprise,” he snorted, exhaling the last remnants of his cigar. “My favorite place on the whole goddamn planet …”
Beside him, Jean Grey frowned, though not because of his attitude. “I’m sorry, Wolverine,” she said, checking the scanner for a suitable landing spot. “I wouldn’t have brought you here, but … but the Professor insisted--”
“’Insisted’?”
“Well …”
Seeing her floundering, Nightcrawler quickly leaned forward in his seat. “Herr Professor thought it would be best if someone who knew the area came with us,” he said.
Jean managed a brief smile of relief. “That, and he was afraid this mutant wouldn’t trust us. She might attack us, and the Professor thought it’d be better if we had some muscle on the team.”
“So why’s Frenchie with us?”
Behind him, Gambit gave the back of Wolverine’s chair a withering glare. “Gambit’s ‘ere t’ pour on de charm, mon ami.”
Wolverine grunted, snubbing out the stub of his cigar. “Great. This mission’s a failure already.”
Jean sensed Gambit opening his mouth to reply, but Nightcrawler thankfully shook his head, mouthing for Gambit to just forget it.
Sighing, Jean keyed for the Blackbird to go into hover mode. “There’s no place to land,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt and standing up. “We’ll go down and search on foot. The ‘Bird’s computer will scan for any new mutants in the area.”
Sullenly, Wolverine unbuckled his belt and stood, following Jean, Nightcrawler, and Gambit to the elevator lifts.
With the added combinations of tall pine trees and the burnt out husk of the old Weapon X facility, the snowdrifts weren’t deep. Still, they made a lot of noise as they trudged through the icy snow, and Wolverine’s frown grew deeper; he’d bet anything that the kid would light out as soon as she heard the footfalls.
He stifled a weary sigh; despite his obvious loathing of this place, Wolverine understood that he was just going to have to grin and bear it. There was girl out here who was badly frightened and needed help.
“But why come here?” he murmured, raising his head to glance at the shattered concrete walls.
Jean glanced over her shoulder at him. “You say something, Logan?”
“Huh? Oh, uh …” Uncomfortable, Wolverine shrugged. “Just thinking out loud.”
Not really believing him, Jean glanced at Nightcrawler and Gambit, who shrugged sympathetically.
Setting her jaw, Jean turned to Wolverine. “Logan, if you don’t want to be here …”
“We’re wasting time,” he interrupted, averting his eyes. Plunging his hands into his pockets, he trudged forward, stepping around Jean. “Let’s keep moving.”
Jean didn’t reply, and Wolverine was infinitely grateful. Coming to this place was harder than he ever imagined, and he was trying his best not to flip out right there and then.
As they walked gingerly over the snow, Wolverine paused, studying the bent, rusted metal doors creaking pathetically along one wall. Curious, he summoned up his courage and took a cautious step forward, his eyes narrowing at the deep marks on the metal.
“Hey, Jeannie,” he called, reaching out to touch the grooves on the rust. He glanced at her briefly as she staggered towards him. “Lookit this.”
Jean blinked, not knowing what she was looking at. “What is it?”
“Claw marks.” Wolverine ran his finger along a rip in the metal, frowning at the dust that gathered on his fingertip. “New ones. Somebody tore these doors open.”
Jean grimaced, reaching out and spreading the fingers of one hand, matching them up with each individual claw mark. “That’s a helluva spread.”
“How old is this kid we’re looking for?” Wolverine asked, carefully pulling one of the doors back, revealing a dark, dank--and empty--cave-like room.
“Seventeen, or eighteen,” Jean replied, straightening. “I’m not exactly sure. Her name’s Dara.”
“D’ya know why she’s campin’ out at the cabinet o’ Dr. Caligari?” Wolverine asked, disappointed with his discovery.
Jean didn’t flinch as he allowed the facility door to swing shut, thundering loudly in the wintry air. “I’m not exactly sure … Charles didn’t fill me in on a lot of details.”
Frowning, Wolverine turned to face her, and--
“Waitaminute.” Startled, Wolverine looked about himself. Confused, he stared at Jean. “Where the hell did Kurt an’ the Cajun go??”
*
“Nice an’ cozy,” Gambit commented, arching an eyebrow at the tiny campsite built in the hollow of a shattered guard tower. “Ye jes’ need a trip wire right ‘bout ‘ere, an’ …”
Not paying any attention to him, Nightcrawler cautiously poked his head into the tiny pup tent propped up against the fallen guard tower. “Guten Morgan! Anybody home?”
Naturally, no one was inside the tent. A little relieved, Nightcrawler drew out of the tent and stood. “Nada.”
Gambit shrugged, bending a bit to inspect the kettle someone had hastily dropped on a fire that was rapidly burning itself out. “Ah guess they were jes’ sittin’ down t’ dinner.”
“Then she can’t be far.” Resolving himself to finding the poor girl, Nightcrawler circled around the camp, only half listening as Gambit commented on the fact that it was amazing that the girl made it this far north without a single weapon, and--heyyyy, animal crackers!!
Smirking, Nightcrawler stepped around Gambit, wandering around the half of the guard tower that was left standing.
“Aha!” he cried triumphantly. “Gambit, mein freund, I believe this is what you Americans would call a ‘Bingo’ moment!”
A half full bag of animal crackers clutched in one hand, Gambit vaulted fallen pieces of concrete, racing across the snow to Nightcrawler. “What?? What is it?”
Grinning, Nightcrawler pointed in front of him. “Footprints! Fresh ones, in fact!”
“Mon Dieu!” His own face splitting into a smile, Gambit clapped Nightcrawler heavily on the shoulder. “Good work, elf! Lemme call Jeannie ova ‘ere--”
Nodding absently, Nightcrawler walked on ahead, studying the sloppy footprints as they raced along the ground, heading to a grove of pine trees that fenced in the old Weapon X facility.
Nightcrawler wasn’t as apt at reading tracks as Wolverine was, but it was obvious that these tracks were new; the girl must have heard them as they were walking around the building, and took off.
He frowned; what was this girl’s mutation, exactly? What was it that made the girl so frightened to be around other people? Why did she flee at their approach? The Professor hadn’t divulged any details, but he had made it clear that the girl was not to be underestimated.
Setting his jaw, Nightcrawler continued on, deciding not to wait for his teammates. If he could spot the child first, he could always teleport back and tell the others where she was.
Glancing up to the grove of pines, Nightcrawler wondered if the girl was somewhere in there, watching them from the security of a high branch--
“Oof!!”
His yellow eyes widening in a panic, Nightcrawler swung his arms wildly to regain his balance, staggering in the snow and momentarily cursing his sudden clumsiness.
Shaking one foot free, Nightcrawler turned to see what he had tripped over. He blinked, startled, at the brown leather boot laying askew in the ice.
“Was ist das?” Nightcrawler stooped down and plucked the boot out of the snow, holding it up to eyelevel. It was a woman’s boot, roughly the same size of the tracks behind Nightcrawler. Bunched up inside was a thick, woolen gray sock.
Arching an eyebrow suspiciously, Nightcrawler turned around, towards the grove of pines. Several feet in front of him was another boot, and another gray sock lay half hanging out of it.
“Why did she take off her boots?” Nightcrawler murmured, gathering the second boot and sock. As he bent to retrieve the shoes, his eyes wandered to the tracks before him.
He blinked, then shook his head again, bending closer to inspect the prints. Like something out of a bad werewolf movie, the human footprints became elongated, the toes stretching further apart, claws slicing perfect triangles into the snow.
Swallowing hard, Nightcrawler quickly reached for his two way radio. “Uhhh … Gambit? You there?”
“Gambit ‘ere, mon ami.”
“Jean and Logan too?”
“Well, Jean’s ‘ere, but half-pint seems t’be on another planet. Whassup?”
“I’m near the forest … I’ve been following the girl’s tracks … but …”
“But what?”
Not knowing how to explain it, Nightcrawler shrugged helplessly. “They changed!”
“What?”
“They--they don’t look human anymore.”
There was a pause in the communications, and Nightcrawler held his breath.
After a moment, Gambit spoke again. “Logan wants t’know what dey look like.”
“What they look like?” Puzzled, Nightcrawler scratched the back of his head. “I dunno … like a three ton chickadee scurried through here.”
There was another pause, and Nightcrawler glanced over his shoulder. He was surprised how far he had walked from the old facility. Three dark figures were clumped together by the fallen guard tower, and one of them waved to him.
“Elf, ya hear me?”
“Go on, Wolverine.”
“I don’t wantchya to go inta th’ woods, y’hear me? Not without one o’ us.”
“But--”
“Listen to me, elf! I gotta bad feelin’ ‘bout this. Don’t go inta th’ woods!”
Frowning, Nightcrawler sighed in disgust. “I’ll wait for you at the edge of the woods, okay?”
“Kurt--”
“Look, this wind is cutting me like a knife! I need to find some cover, all right?” With that, Nightcrawler signed off.
Shivering once, he stomped forward, trying hard not to look at the monstrous footprints beside him.
Reaching the grove, Nightcrawler circled around the first big tree he saw, ducking behind the huge trunk and heaving a breath of relief, as the wind seemed to disappear.
Pausing for a moment, Nightcrawler took the laces of the boots and tied them together; he should hang onto them until he found the girl. She must be half frozen by now.
Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped, and a torrent of snow cascaded to the ground. Startled, Nightcrawler’s head snapped up. He watched with baited breath as the powdery snow settled around the base of the pine, and--
“Gah!!” Nightcrawler felt all his fur stand on end as the brown creature plummeted to the ground, flopping pathetically on the pile of snow.
Gasping, Nightcrawler scrambled to his feet, thoughts racing through his head. There she was! Was she hurt? Why didn’t she get up? Was she scared?
Why was she so small?
Realizing what it was, all of the breath rushed out of Nightcrawler’s lungs, and, a little embarrassed, he glanced about him to be sure that no one had witnessed his squawk.
When he was satisfied that no one had seen him, Nightcrawler trudged forward, picking up the heavy suede jacket from the snow. He wiped the clumps of ice away from the sleeves, wondering why …
“Uh-oh.”
His heart freezing in his chest, Nightcrawler slowly raised his head up, his widening in horror as a teal-colored tail curled away from his gaze.
Seeing the fang lined maw above him, Nightcrawler opened his mouth to shout--okay, okay, scream--at the bluish green, bat-winged, whip-tailed demon crouched on the branch above him, snarling viscously, its eyes a bloody red.
“Uh … uh …” Nightcrawler’s heart jumpstarted, jarring loose his legs from the frozen ground. Slowly raising one hand, he began to back away. “S-s-sorry … D-don’t be scared--I-I-I’m not gonna--”
With a head splitting shriek, the thing shot out of the branches of the tree, its wings unfurling and clawed hands outstretched for Nightcrawler’s throat.
“YEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!” Fairly tripping over his own feet, Nightcrawler tore through the snow, forgetting that he was holding the boots and jacket, forgetting he could run on all fours, and forgetting that he could teleport away from the shrieking monster behind him.
“No, no! Waitaminute!! I don’t want to fight you!!!” Nightcrawler cried, risking a look back at the furious creature as it tore through the woods. “I just want to talk!!”
The demon snapped its jaws at his tail, the sound eerily reminiscent of a bear trap slamming closed. Deciding that it really didn’t like him, Nightcrawler flung the jacket and boots back at the beast. “WAIT A MINUTE!!!”
With an infuriated scream, the creature pounced, launching itself like an arrow through the icy air.
Without thinking, Nightcrawler “bamfed”.
*
Seeing the elf disappear into an implosion of light and smoke, Wolverine skidded to a halt, flinging his arm out to stop Jean Grey from racing past him. “Hold it!!”
“But--”
“Sacre` Bleu!” Gambit exclaimed, sliding across the ice-slicked snow. “Dere she is!”
Neither Wolverine nor Jean needed Gambit to point it out to them; snarling and snorting and shaking her head wildly as the smoke of Nightcrawler’s teleport dissipated, the demon-like creature staggered forward, grimacing as she wiped the brimstone away from her eyes.
Wolverine almost unsheathed his claws, but caught himself; no sense in scaring the girl any worse than she already was.
“Jean,” he said, narrowing his eyes as the girl dropped to all fours, like a feral animal. “Is that ‘er?”
Wide-eyed, Jean nodded. “Yeah … that’s Dara.”
Gambit reached into his pocket and withdrew a deck of playing cards. “She looks like de Gargoyles in Manhattan.”
Wolverine blinked, realizing that Gumbo there was right; the wings, the tail, the high, arched feet, the glowing eyes, everything about the girl screamed ‘Garg’.
“Jean, now would be good a time to fill us in on all the details,” Wolverine growled, his muscles tensing as the mutant snarled at the team.
Jean opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a thunderous “BAMF!!!”. She gasped, jerking away as the indigo cloud unfurled over their heads, dropping still another demonic figure into Wolverine’s outstretched arms.
“’Crawler?!”
“Logan!! It’s--!!” Not noticing that he was cradled in Wolverine’s arms, Nightcrawler spun around and pointed back across the snowy field. “She’s--”
Seeing the X-Men distracted for a moment, the Gargoyle-like creature tore through the snow towards the team, screaming like a crazed banshee. Nightcrawler barely had time to register the creature’s speed before Wolverine unceremoniously tossed the elf out of his arms.
“Hold it, kid!!” Wolverine roared, rushing forward to cut the mutant off.
“Wolverine, wait!!” Nightcrawler cried, spitting chunks of ice out of his mouth as Gambit yanked him to his feet. “She’s--!”
Not slowing for a second, the mutant feinted to the left, skidding around Wolverine and screaming a challenge as he turned to intercept her. As soon as his back was turned, the mutant’s whip-like tail cracked through the air, snaking around his ankles and jerking his legs right out from under him.
Nightcrawler cringed as he watched his friend go flying face first into the snow. “--Fast.”
Snarling against the biting ice, Wolverine shoved himself up onto his knees, wheeling around just in time to see the mutant lunge, raising a fist and slamming it expertly across Gambit’s chin. Nightcrawler yelped and ducked, giving the wild mutant a clear shot at Jean.
A strangled cry tore out of Wolverine’s mouth and he shot to his feet, tearing after the mutant as she thudded to the ground before Jean.
Setting her jaw, Jean’s hands quickly flew to her temples, and she focused, her eyes hardening as the girl began to stand.
“Ah!” With a cry, the mutant spun away, bounding away from Jean, gripping her head in both hands.
“Uff!!” Looking as though someone had punched her in the face, Jean reeled backwards, her hands clapping to her eyes. Losing her balance, Jean collapsed, her red hair engulfing her face like a living flame as she fell.
“Jeannie!!” Wolverine cried, not caring if he sounded panicked. Tearing through the snow like a wild man, Wolverine dove to her side, grabbing her wrist in crazed fear. “Are you--?”
Pulling her hands away from her eyes momentarily, Jean rolled away from him, sitting up uneasily. “I--I’m fine! I just--”
Her voice cracking, Jean looked up, at the mutant girl. Surprised, Wolverine followed Jean’s gaze, and he blinked, staring at the Gargoyle-like mutant as she looked back at Jean. The girl’s eyes were not glowing like they had earlier. Instead, deep blue eyes glazed with unshed tears peered out from under a mop of unkempt, dirty hair.
Swallowing hard, the girl took a step forward. “I--I--I didn’t mean … I’m s--s--”
Suddenly, the girl’s eyes widened fearfully, and she glanced at Wolverine, then Gambit who sat in the snow, staring at her in disbelief, then Nightcrawler, who very slowly began to stand up.
“Easy now, miss,” he said softly, extending a three fingered hand to her. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
Ragged gasps ripped from the girl’s chest, and she backed away, shaking her head wildly. At first, Wolverine thought she was frightened by Nightcrawler’s appearance, and, feeling sorry for both of them, he began to rise to his feet.
“How did you find me?!” she screamed, her voice filled with terror.
Startled, Wolverine and Nightcrawler shot each other a baffled glance; she sounded as though she had been on the run from them.
In one amazingly swift movement, the girl spun around, a flurry of snow exploding into the air as she ran, panicked, back to the Weapon X facility.
“Wait!!” Nightcrawler cried, and he shot forward, Wolverine right on his tail.
“Stop!” he shouted, vaulting the fallen guard tower. “We’re th’ good guys!”
That only seemed to make her run harder. She skidded around the Weapon X building and ducked into another stand of pine trees.
“That oughta slow ‘er down,” Wolverine huffed.
Nightcrawler narrowed his eyes. “Wolverine--why isn’t she flying?”
That was a good question. Wolverine shook his head as he put on the speed. “Let’s just be grateful that she’s not!”
Snarling, he and Nightcrawler smashed through the low hanging branches, gaining on the girl as she clawed her way past the pine trunks.
Finally, exhaustion and rage overtook her, and, like a cornered animal, she spun around, her fangs bared and eyes shining a deadly red.
“Fine, you bastards!!” she screamed, her wings unfurling and her tail snapping angrily across the snow. “Come an’ get me!!”
Startled by her sudden, viscous challenge, both Wolverine and Nightcrawler slid to a stop in the snow, gasping as the girl screamed and launched herself through the air.
With a growling cry, Wolverine ducked, reminding himself not to hurt the girl even as her ebony claws ripped along his forehead. Falling hard to the snow, Wolverine lashed out with his fist, feeling his knuckles connected with denim and muscle.
The girl half yelped in pain and surprise, half snarled in rage and fear. Catching a low hanging bough, she twisted her body around, lashing out her tail so it snapped brutally across Nightcrawler’s chest, ripping open his jacket and flinging him back against a tree trunk.
“Uhh!” he grunted, air rushing out of his lungs. He was so dazed that he didn’t even blink as the girl planted her dragon-like feet against the pine tree and pushed, rocketing herself toward him.
“KURT!!!” Wolverine roared, shoving himself to his feet as the elf looked up in shock, crying out as the girl slammed into him, her fangs snapping closed on his blue throat.
“Scher dich zum Teufel!” Nightcrawler roared. Not pausing to think, he balled a fist and let it fly, striking the girl hard in the temple, hard enough to jar her loose and to send her tumbling through the snow and pine needles.
His own fangs bared, Nightcrawler shot to his feet, his pupil-less yellow eyes glaring at Wolverine. “She drank my blood! SHE’S A VAMPIRE!!!”
Suddenly, the girl hissed, rolling onto her stomach and spitting blood onto the snow. Her eyes glazed and the side of her head raw from Nightcrawler’s punch, she snarled at Wolverine as he slowly approached her. “ … Not my fault! They … made me--!”
“Listen, kid,” Wolverine started, holding his hands out to show he that he wasn’t going to hit her. “I don’t know what th’ hell happened to ya, but, believe me, we’re gonna help you--”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Shrieking, the girl leapt to her feet, almost flying through the air as she lashed out her claws, screaming, “Go to hell, you--!!!”
With a startled snarl Wolverine lashed one fist out, his opposite hand automatically popping his claws.
He roared, striking the girl with more force than he needed. The girl didn’t make a sound as she was flung through the air and smashed against a pine.
“Logan!!” Nightcrawler cried, his eyes popping open in horror. “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DID YOU DO?!!”
For a moment, Wolverine didn’t reply. He stared at the girl as she lay slumped on the frozen ground, his chest heaving with ragged snarls and his clawed hand still partially raised to strike. Slowly, his rage faded, and Wolverine straightened himself, sheathing his adamantium claws. Swallowing hard, he pushed through the snow to the girl, worrying that he might have really hurt her.
Kneeling beside her, Wolverine cautiously extended a hand, touching the side of the girl’s throat, finding a weak and irregular pulse fluttering beneath the skin.
Wincing, Wolverine sat back on his heels, staring uncertainly at the girl. “Sorry, kid,” he muttered. Grimacing again, Wolverine glanced over his shoulder at the elf, who was wiping excess blood away from his clotting wound.
“Ya okay, misfit?” Wolverine asked, suddenly realizing that if Nightcrawler hadn’t struck the girl when he did, he might have loss a dangerous amount of blood.
“Ja,” Nightcrawler answered, sounding somewhere between disgusted and worried. “Fantastich. Is she all right?”
Not knowing how to answer that, Wolverine shrugged, glancing back at the still mutant before him. “I … don’t know, rightly. She’s hurt.”
“Wunderbar,” Nightcrawler sighed, drawing the sleeve of his jacket away from his left wrist, revealing the tiny two-way radio. “I’ll call Phoenix and Gambit to let them know.”
“Okay, elf.” Frowning, Wolverine gingerly slid his hands under the girl’s arms, gently lifting her up and into his lap, concerned by the way her head rolled on her neck. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the kid had been exposed to the freezing Canadian air for almost an entire hour with no jacket or shoes.
“Hang on there, kid,” he murmured, holding her steady against his chest with one arm while he shrugged off his jacket. “I’ll getchya warmed up in no time.”
Still trying to be gentle, Wolverine drew the girl’s leathery wings closed and hooked them under her chin, like he had seen Athena do before. Wrapping his coat around her, Wolverine began to stand up, hoping he wouldn’t trip over her ta--
Surprised, Wolverine took a double take, blinking hard to clear his vision. A new worry crept into him, and, frowning, Wolverine gently lifted the girl’s right arm, struggling to push her shirtsleeve away so he could see …
“2-27-83-BETA,” Wolverine read aloud, his voice rising in anger as he realized what he was looking at.
It was a serial number.
**************
“Lesee here … clothes, clothes, clothes--” Pausing long enough to glance into a virtually empty wallet, Gambit tossed that aside too. “--Mo’ clothes … books … a diary--”
“GAMBIT!!!” Slapping the autopilot on the Blackbird, Jean Grey shot to her feet and yanked the dirty canvas duffle bag out of Gambit’s hands. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Looking only mildly startled by Jean’s outburst, Gambit casually shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. “Ah, de fille don’t mind none.”
“She’s unconscious!!” Jean shouted, ready to throttle the handsome thief. “She can’t mind ‘cuz she doesn’t KNOW!!”
“Alright, alright!” Gambit replied, exasperated, throwing his hands into the air. “Yous convinced Gambit--he be puttin’ de junk back, okay?”
Not truly satisfied, Jean turned away from him, disgusted. Frowning, she made her way to the back of the jet, past Kurt as he dozed in his seat.
Hearing her pass, Kurt jerked awake. “Aach--everything okay? Was--”
“Sorry Kurt,” Jean murmured, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“S’okay,” Kurt muttered, rubbing his eyes quickly and standing. “Is Logan still back there?”
Grimacing, Jean nodded, glancing back to the belly of the jet where they had interred the girl. “Yeah … I was going to check on him …”
“I’ll come too.”
Jean nodded, only half listening. At that moment, she felt her stomach twist into worried knots.
But whom was she worried for?
The girl … or Wolverine?
Deciding not to think about it, Jean led Kurt past the sliding door and into the hull where the girl laid silent and still on the medical bed, and where Logan sat, slumped in his seat, still staring at the black numbers tattooed on the girl’s arm.
He didn’t move when the door opened, but Jean knew better than to assume that he didn’t know they were there. She swallowed hard as she walked up to him, forcing herself to be calm and emotionless; she didn’t want to drop any hints to the theories that were brewing in Logan’s mind.
“She’s okay?” Jean asked, kneeling beside the bed.
Logan hardly nodded. “She’s breathing easier now.”
“Good.” Tossing her red hair back, Jean checked the girl’s pulse, then inspected her numerous bruises and cuts. “Seems to have healed up all righ--”
“Who is she, Jean?”
“Huh?”
“Drop the shit, Jean, WHO IS SHE?”
Taken aback though she was by Logan’s snarling demand, Jean held her demeanor. She glanced with faked surprise at her teammate. “Her name’s Dara Gibson, I told you--”
“You’re hiding something,” Logan said, his voice rising, all of the muscles in his shoulders tensing. “I knew it from the start. Xavier told you about her, didn’t he? Told you that she was some sort of experiment--a mutant guinea pig, right?”
Inwardly, Jean shrank away; Logan was teetering dangerously on the edge of rage now, and though Jean wanted so badly to tell him, she held her tongue.
Maddened by her level gaze, Logan shot to his feet. “Look at her, Jean!! Look at those numbers on her arm--just try an’ tell me that that’s the latest teen fad these days!”
Behind Logan, Kurt shot Jean a baffled look.
Pretending to tire of the conversation, Jean sighed heavily and stood up. “Logan. Listen to me. You’re tired. We all are. And we’re all a little on edge and a little confused and worried. But that’s no reason to start aiming for throats.”
The tension in Logan’s shoulders disappeared and he grimaced, rubbing his eyes in pain and exhaustion. “Ya doin’ somethin’ to me, darlin’?”
“Just releasing some endorphins,” Jean said gently. She forced a tired smile onto her face. “Why don’t you take a break, Logan? Xavier’s promised to explain everything to us when we get back to Westchester. Okay?”
With a half-hearted snarl, Wolverine sank back into his seat, resuming his vigilant watch over the unconscious girl.
Hurt by the expression on his face, Jean turned away, beckoning for Kurt to follow.
Baffled, Kurt hesitated, glancing back at the girl briefly before bounding after Jean. “Jean--Jean, wait--”
“I can’t tell you anything, Kurt,” she replied, anticipating the questions before Kurt even voiced them. Waiting for him to step through the door, Jean keyed for the door to slide close. With a heavy heart, she stared at the closed door, envisioning Wolverine slumped in his seat, watching the girl …
Kurt blinked. “You read her mind?”
Jean drew in a deep breath and held it, closing her eyes and nodding.
“Again.”
She nodded. “When I went to check her pulse, I tried to look into her mind again.” Feeling tears burn in her eyes, Jean glanced at Kurt, then at Gambit, who stood, looking at her with concern and uncertainty.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “How could anyone do that to a human being?”

7:04 PM
XAVIER’S INSTITUTE FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK:
“How long has she been out?”
“About four hours,” Jean replied, straightening the blanket around the girl’s shoulders as Beast fumbled for his stethoscope. “I think part of it’s due to the fact that she usually sleeps during the day.”
“Hibernates,” Beast corrected, drawing out his stethoscope from his lab pocket with a flourish.
“Whatever.”
Behind them, as Gambit and Nightcrawler struggled with the girl’s duffel bag and the twisted remains of her pup tent, Wolverine slowly trudged out of the Blackbird’s hatch, watching as Beast and Jeannie huddled around the girl, now laying on a stretcher from the ‘Bird.
Wolverine frowned, pausing to watch Beast adjusted the stethoscope around his furry head, then carefully listen to the girl’s heartbeat.
“Sounds like she has a little fluid on the lungs,” Beast mused, shifting the stethoscope across the girl’s chest. “Nothing to worry over, though …”
As Wolverine watched, he felt a tendril of worry snake through his gut. Something wasn’t right; the girl, her breathing didn’t seem even …
Satisfied with what he heard, Beast plucked the stethoscope out of his ears and smiled at Jean. “So far, so good. Let’s take her down to the lab--”
Without warning, the girl’s eyes shot open, glowing like fiery beacons in her skull.
Beast jerked back, gasping in horror. “What the--”
With a head-splitting shriek, the girl lashed out, moving so fast that Wolverine wasn’t sure he saw it at first. He gasped as the girl screamed, raking her black claws across Beast’s face, yanking free her other hand from the loosely fastened straps.
Snarling, the girl sat up and brutally backhanded Jean, sending the startled redhead flying back against the Blackbird.
“JEAN!!” Wolverine roared, springing from the hatch to her side, risking a brief glance at the beastly girl as she sat up in the stretcher, quickly flicking her shiny talons over the leather straps, slicing them cleanly off.
“Mon Dieu!” Gambit shouted, his coal black and red eyes widening in shock as Beast sat up, clapping a paw to the cuts on his face.
“I KNEW I should have tightened those straps!” he groaned.
Flinging the duffel bag to the startled Gambit, Nightcrawler sprang forward, “bamfing” across the hangar bay and right onto the stretcher.
With a strangled cry the girl flung herself backwards off of the stretcher, sending it rocketing a few feet back against the Blackbird hatch.
“Schwhoops!” Gasping, Nightcrawler bamfed again, landing this time on the Blackbird itself. “Fraulien, wait a minute!! We’re not going to hurt you!”
Shoving herself to her feet, the girl snarled momentarily in Nightcrawler’s direction before turning her attention to Beast. “YOU!!!”
Surprised, Beast stared at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
With a scream like grating metal, the girl pounced, slamming with all her might into Beast, knocking him flat on his back.
Like a mad woman, the girl straddled Beast’s chest and tore into him, switching from claws to fists and to claws again, shrieking through choked roars, “You bastard! YOU ASSHOLE!!”
“Miss!” Beast cried, flinging his arms up before his face to shield himself from the attack. “I’m afraid you have me mistaken for someone else!”
From where Wolverine crouched, trying to shake Jean back to consciousness, he saw the girl hesitate, her raised fist stopping in mid strike, the strength slowly oozing out of it.
Just as suddenly as she stopped her assault, the girl screamed and began again, her blows falling harder, ringing thunderously through the hangar.
Wincing briefly, Wolverine leapt to his feet, allowing Jean to slump to the ground. Baring his teeth, he tore across the hangar, clenching his fists but resisting the urge to pop his claws.
Finally, Beast couldn’t take the beating anymore.
“Lady,” he snarled, lashing his hands out and catching both of the girl’s bloodied fists. “I’m going to have to ask you to kindly CEASE AND DESIST!!!”
With a brutal roar of his own, Beast lifted the girl off of his chest and flung her aside, as though she had been a rag doll.
Startled by Beast’s sudden reaction, the girl gasped as she careened across the floor, her bloody claws slamming into the durasteel, leaving a long trail of metallic curls.
Not really knowing what he should do, Wolverine shot forward and grabbed the girl by her bicep, jerking her to her feet. “Okay, kid, that’s enough!”
“Let me go!” she shouted, her voice cracking with panic. She tried to twist out of his grip, but when Wolverine refused to let go, she spun around again, her fangs bared, her fist raised--
Almost lazily, Wolverine slapped it aside, startling the girl. Catching her other arm, Wolverine held fast, yelling over the girl’s head to Gambit as she twisted and struggled and screamed.
“Cajun!!”
“Comin’!” Catching the sedative Beast tossed him, Gambit bit down on the plastic cap and tore it off. Spitting it aside, he gave the hypodermic needle a test, squirting a bit of the medicine out and tapping away the bubbles. “Hold ‘er, Wolverine--”
Seeing the needle gleaming in the neon light, the girl shrieked in terror. Energy surged through her and she sprang backwards, nearly taking Wolverine off of his feet.
“Hold it kid, calm down!!” he roared, tightening his grip.
Squeezing her eyes shut, the girl flung herself at him, startling Wolverine. Before he had a chance to jerk away, the girl barreled forward, ramming her spiked knee into his gut.
“Argh!!” Pain shrieked through him and Wolverine felt himself double over, felt himself let go of the girl as he clapped both hands to the gaping wound on his stomach.
The world spun dizzily as Wolverine pitched forward, landing hard on his knees. He tasted blood and bile as it boiled in his throat. Somewhere far away, he heard Gambit grunt as something slammed into him.
Suddenly, the hypodermic needle clattered into Wolverine’s view, the vial pinging resoundingly in the hangar.
Before he could even lift his oddly heavy arms, the girl pounced, shooting in front of him and slamming her arched foot down on the sedative.
Grinding the shattered glass beneath her foot once, the girl turned away, her tail snapping loudly in the air.
Red stars exploded behind his eyes and Wolverine keeled over, biting back a snarling swear, watching as the girl staggered away from him, waiting for his healing factor to kick in.
Obviously exhausted, the girl pushed herself forward, stepping over a dazed Gambit, towards Beast and Nightcrawler and Jean, who had regained consciousness. They held their ground with mixed expressions, watching as the girl uncaped her wings, growling, “Let me out.”
Jean swallowed once, but her voice was firm. “We can’t.”
“Bull shit.”
“We can’t.”
The girl’s hair seemed to bristle. Her muscles tensed. “Let. Me. Out. Now.”
Nightcrawler arched a disbelieving eyebrow at the girl’s tone as Beast and Jean shared a baffled look.
Wolverine ground his teeth together and choked back a growl of agony as his healing factor kicked into overdrive. Hissing, he rolled over back onto his knees, forcing himself to ignore the wound in his gut as it warped, scarring over and fading almost completely as he stood.
The girl’s bat-like ears pricked, picking up the noise behind her. She gasped, spinning around in fright as Wolverine slowly stood up. Her eyes shot open in horror. “You--but how--?”
At first, Wolverine was too infuriated to reply in anything other than snappish growls. She almost gutted him …!
Not understanding, the once fearsome mutant backed away from Wolverine, bumping into Nightcrawler. She cried out and spun away from him, and would have run backwards into Wolverine, but she stopped short.
“I’m--I’m sorry,” she stammered, her eyes flooding with tears. “I--I just want to go--!”
Surprised, Wolverine stopped, his snarl disappearing.
Choking on a sob, the girl stepped away from Wolverine, glancing nervously across the hangar as Gambit, having already recovered, made his way to the control room to phone for help. “I don’t want to be here! You can’t keep me here!”
At a loss for words, Wolverine glanced at Jean. The red-haired psychic didn’t return the glance. She only bit her upper lip hard, watching with glazed eyes as the terrified girl backed herself into a corner.
Sliding back against the tiled walls, the girl slumped to the floor, folding her leathery wings around her body, as though they would shield her from the X-Men. “You can’t keep me here! I’m not a lab rat!”
The very marrow in Wolverine’s adamantium bones froze.
“What?”
Hearing his voice, the girl flinched, as though Wolverine had raised a hand to her. She peered out from under one blue-green wing, her eyes hateful and haunted. “A lab rat. I’m not a lab rat. I’m NOT A LAB RAT!!! I’M HUMAN!!!” The red glow roared back into her eyes and she screamed, jabbing a blood encrusted talon at Beast. “I know what you want with me! I know what McCoy wants to do! You touch me again and I’ll rip your goddamned lungs out, McCoy!!”
Beast’s eyes widened, and a furry hand clapped itself over his mouth. “Dear God …”
Bitter tears raced over the girl’s cheeks. “I’ll kill you … I’ll kill Sevarius … and I’ll kill him …”
Shaking his head wildly, Beast started forward, causing the girl to ram her back into the wall in terror. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!”
“D-Dara, I’m not--! You’re not going to--!” Beast cried, his voice thick with horror. He tried to take another step closer to Dara, but Nightcrawler shot in front of him, planting his three fingered hands against Beast’s chest and throwing his entire weight against the titanic Beast. “Nein, mein freund! She’s terrified of you!”
Finally, Wolverine understood. He felt the blood drain from his face as he looked from Beast to Dara huddled in the corner. “Hank--ya don’t think--”
Beast didn’t seem to hear Wolverine. He only stared at Dara, sick with horror and disbelief.
Blinking away more tears, Dara arched an eyebrow, struggling to look fearless before the man she was so terrified of. “Y-you act like you’ve never seen me …”
“I haven’t!” Slowly, anger seeped into Beast’s voice. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything! It was--
was--”
He fell silent, realizing that, technically, it had been him.
Wolverine couldn’t stand it anymore. Sucking in a steadying breath, he knelt down, a few feet from Dara, wincing as she cringed at the sight of him.
“Easy Dara,” he said, struggling to keep his voice soft. “I won’t hurt you.”
She snorted scornfully at him. “Everyone I’ve ever met said that to me.” Her lips parted in a brief, hateful smile. “Now look at me.”
Touche`. Wolverine smiled weakly. “I’m Logan--”
“Do I look like I care?”
His brow furrowed at the remark, but he pretended that he hadn’t heard it. Instead, he turned and gestured to the people around them. “That’s Jean, that’s Kurt, that’s Remy, and that’s--”
She snarled viscously as he came upon Beast. “I know who he is.”
Visibly hurt, Beast gave Dara a pleading look. “Dara, I’m not who you think--”
“Go to hell, bastard.”
This wasn’t going anywhere. Wolverine frowned briefly at the girl’s attitude, though he admired her ferocity. “Dara … Dara, look; I was experimented on too.”
Dara’s head snapped around to look at him, almost startled. Nightcrawler and Gambit straightened, shocked, while Beast’s shoulders slumped and Jean turned away, ashamed that she allowed Wolverine to figure it out.
The glow in Dara’s eyes faded again, and she looked at Wolverine in confusion, then, gradually, hatred and resentment. “You were.”
Wolverine nodded.
Slowly, Dara sat up, and immediately, Wolverine didn’t like it. Something was wrong about her posture, the look in her eyes--
“Was it the same people?”
“It might have been.” This wasn’t right.
Dara glanced away, her defiance dying right before Wolverine. “What happened?”
‘Play along.’ Wolverine thought. “It was … bad. Very bad.”
She raised her eyes to his again, and, for a moment, her pain shone through.
“Yeah …?”
“Yeah … Dara, we didn’t bring you here to hurt you.”
A muscle in her cheek twitched. “Where am I?”
“In New York.”
Her eyes widened briefly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Wolverine’s unease was growing. “Look there’s a man here … his name is Charles Xavier--”
“Xavier?” Dara repeated, her eyes flying open again. Shocked, she looked up to the group around them. “I--I got fliers from you guys a year ago …”
“So you know we’re okay?”
Dara jerked back at the question. “’Okay?’ Hardly!” Her fangs flashed again in the hangar’s neon light as she glared hatefully at Beast. “That doesn’t explain why he’s here.”
Beast looked at her, wounded. “I--I think I can explain, Dara …”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Dara snapped, her voice cracking. “I don’t …”
At a loss, Wolverine looked away, his eyes falling to the black numbers tattooed along Dara’s arm. Seeing them made him angry again.
“Dara,” Wolverine said softly, raising his eyes to hers. “If I promise to keep everybody away from you, will you come upstairs to meet the professor?”
Dara blinked, a shuddering breath escaping her lungs. “Ye--yeah. Okay.”
Wolverine smiled gently, even though, deep inside, he knew that had been too easy. Still, he didn’t want to rile the girl, so he slowly stood and waved the X-Men aside.
Keeping her gaze fixed on him, Dara rose shakily to her feet. Self-consciously, she gripped her right wrist, holding it against her chest so the X-Men couldn’t see her serial numbers.
Wolverine gestured to the elevators at the far end of the hangar bay and, nervously, Dara nodded, walking ahead of him.
Wolverine followed close behind, his suspicions rising. He frowned as his animal side within him snarled, not trusting the frail girl before him.
“Huh!” In a flurry of wings, Dara spun around, her fangs gleaming and her eyes glowing red, her right leg raised and hooked, catching Wolverine in the temple and sending him flipping sidelong to the floor.
Wolverine didn’t remember hitting the floor. His teeth clenched in a tight grimace, he slowly opened his eyes, wondering what happened.
Remembering--foggily, at first--Wolverine groaned and lifted a hand to massage the back of his head.
“I like ‘er already.”
*
Her breathing fast and ragged, Dara flung herself to the nearest elevator, digging her talons into the soft metal and muscling the door opened.
She snarled as her arms strained, as the thundering footsteps echoed in the hangar behind her. Seeing the doors creak open, Dara pushed herself through, yanking her tail in before the elevator could slam shut.
Her clawed feet slipped on the slick tiles, flinging her against the chrome walls of the elevator. She gasped, her eyes flying open in terror as she struggled to think.
A stray, distant memory flickered in her mind and she grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to remember.
The memory came back, brief, but vivid. Swallowing hard, Dara opened her eyes and craned her neck up, spotting the escape hatch in the elevator’s ceiling.
Crouching to the floor, Dara launched herself upward, startling herself by reaching the escape hatch on her first try. Slamming her palm against it, she knocked it out and swung herself up, into the cavernous interior of the elevator shaft.
The memory returned, and Dara instinctively jumped for one of the elevator cables, pulling herself up, climbing hand over hand up the shaft.
Even as her would-be kidnappers’ voices rang below her, Dara didn’t truly notice. As she clambered up the cables, Dara frowned, wondering how she could possibly climb this far without getting tired.
Was she taught this?
A thin gleam of light broke through her concentration. Almost delighted, Dara sprang, catching the edges of the doorway. Digging her claws into the crack, she pried the doors open, wincing at the harsh light.
Hissing, she bounded through the ruined doors, not immediately noticing the wood paneling around her, or the tall picture windows with sash curtains …
Or the sheet of ice that encased the Oriental rug below her.
“Wah!!” Dara’s legs flew out from underneath her, throwing her hard to the frigid ice. She cried as pain zapped through her spine and as her breath was squeezed out of her lungs.
Momentarily dazed, Dara forced herself to roll over onto her hands and knees, gasping and choking hard, feeling the ice burn her palms.
Clapping a cold hand to her forehead, Dara looked up searchingly, looking for a way out of this madhouse.
Instead she found only an ice sculpture of a man returning her gaze with a cheery smile of his own.
He blinked. “Hi there.”
Dara cried out in terror, struggling to stand but only tripping over own tail. Not knowing what else to do, she latched her claws into a wall, pulled herself upright, and ran for all she was worth.
Thousands of doors opened as she tore down the nearest hallway, spilling out startled mutants that moved to catch her as she ran past.
Panicking, Dara dove around a corner, bowling over a young Chinese girl wearing a bright yellow jacket.
“Hey!!” the girl roared, leaping to her feet. “What’s the big idea?!”
At a loss, Dara just kept running, running faster down the corridor and unfurling her wings as another tall window loomed before her.
Flinging her arms up in front of her face, Dara threw herself through the window, hearing it shatter, feeling the glass tear through her clothing.
She hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum and springing to her feet. Seeing the sliver of the moon gleam down to her, Dara allowed herself a brief, bitter smile.
Nighttime. Her powers worked at their fullest extent at night.
Dropping to all fours, Dara ripped across the wet lawn, bounding towards a stand of trees, feeling her energy renew itself.
Charging through the trees, Dara tried to force out of her head the nagging terror that she didn’t know where she was. What’s worse, if she was in New York, the people here would recognize her instantly. Missing person flyers, as well as wanted posters, her face plastered to all of them, virtually littered the East Coast.
Dusting the glass shards from her sleeves, Dara craned her neck upward, peering through the break in the tree canopy to the sparkling stars overhead.
Doubt crept back into her mind and Dara shook her head, not wanting to believe it; she had heard that the Xavier Institute was a good school for young mutants …
But then, that’s what they said about the “Essex University” as well.
Wiping sweat away from the odd brow ridges on her forehead, Dara stood upright again, grimacing at the mud that sucked at her taloned feet. She wanted to stop and wipe the tracks she left away, but she was too frightened; if she stopped for a minute, then they might find her.
Pushing her way through the underbrush, Dara felt the mud beneath her feet turn to sand. Surprised, she shook her feet off, glancing around at the glimmer of silver that lapped gently at the beach.
‘A pond,’ Dara thought, blinking at the glitter of stars on the water. She grimaced; she couldn’t swim, she didn’t have the strength. And she couldn’t fly, because she didn’t know how. Circling around the pond might take too long.
Desperation surged through her, and Dara fought back a panic attack. She turned in a slow circle, squinting her eyes and perking her ears.
Hearing the hollow thunk, Dara spun around, fearing that her kidnappers might have caught up with her. But when nothing charged her, Dara waited.
… Thunk …
There it was again! Dara turned and launched herself forward, on all fours, towards the sound, charging up the beach in an odd, bounding gait.
The sound became louder, and Dara slid to a halt beside a sapling. Bracing herself for an unwelcomed surprise, Dara warily peered around the tree.
Several yards before her sat a huge, darkened boathouse. A dock stretched out into the lake, and, tethered to one of the posts, a small boat bumped rhythmically.
Dropping her guard, Dara raced forward, leaping easily onto the boathouse’s deck. Not pausing to marvel at her acrobatic feat, Dara sprinted down the docks, falling to her knees beside the last post and struggling to slice away the boat’s tether.
Slowly, it occurred to her that the boat’s thunking had developed an odd echo. Sensing a presence behind her, Dara snarled and wheeled around, her wings unfurling, her eyes glowing.
But nothing was there.
Surprised, Dara scanned the boathouse, remaining in her half crouch. Confusion began to set in; she could’ve sworn …
A flicker of movement appeared on the boathouse roof, and Dara gasped, terror surging through her as she looked up at the man, peering down at her from over the eves.
“Don’t panic, kid,” he called, waving a hand to her. “I just want to talk.”
Dara felt her heart drop like a stone to her stomach; how had they caught up with her so quickly?
The man on the boathouse stood up, unfolding a pair of massive, feathery wings from behind his back. An amazed cry caught in Dara’s throat, and her eyes widened in disbelief as she watched the man calmly step off the roof.
His feathery wings unfurled, catching the wind as the man dropped, allowing him to drift gracefully to the ground. As he reached the boathouse docks, Dara could see that he had bluish skin, much like her own.
Not understanding, and forgetting her terror for a moment, Dara sprinted towards him, wanting make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
She wasn’t.
Seeing her approach, the winged man stiffened, as if bracing himself for an attack. “Are you all right?”
“I … n-no.” The glow fading from her eyes, Dara stopped short a few feet from the man. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“You … you have …” she stammered.
The man arched a blond eyebrow. “What? Blue skin? Good looks?”
“Wings …”
“Oh yeah.” Smirking a bit, he extended one wing, studying it. “Sometimes I forget that I have ‘em.”
Dara blinked. “I used to have wings like that.”
Startled, the man’s head snapped around, and he stared at her with a rather unreadable expression. Uneasy, Dara shifted, dropping her gaze to the slats of the docks. “I used to have feather wings … b-but, that was before … before they took them.”
At first, the man didn’t reply. Worried that he didn’t understand, Dara risked another look towards his eyes. “After I was taken … they took m--my wings …”
“You mean …” Horror began to glaze the man’s eyes. “Somebody took them … you mean, amputated them?”
The words seem to cut at her much like those scalpels. Dara flinched in spite of herself. “Yeah … Then they gave me these.” Grimacing, she flicked a black claw at one leathery wing. “I don’t--I don’t remember when …”
Sucking in a ragged breath, she raised her eyes to the man’s. “You have blue skin, kinda like mine … were you … experimented on too?”
The question seemed to take the man aback, like he didn’t know how to answer.
Suddenly, Dara wanted to change the subject. “Who are you?”
“Huh?” The man seemed to snap out of trance. He stared quizzically at Dara for a moment before remembering her question “O-oh! It’s Warren … but everybody around here calls me ‘Archangel’.”
Dara nodded, understanding why. “I’m … I’m Dara.”
Archangel smiled, and held out a hand. “Please t’meetchya.”
Startled by the sudden movement, Dara jerked back with a cry.
Surprised, Archangel yanked his hand back. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Dara looked at him incredulously, not knowing what to do or say next. She shouldn’t even be talking to him; he might be working with the others.
But oddly, seeing someone else with discolored skin, with wings like those she had once possessed … it made Dara feel … safer.
Swallowing hard, Dara slowly straightened. “Y--you can fly?”
Archangel nodded. “Yeah. Can you?”
Dara shook her head. “No. Don’t know how.”
Archangel’s mouth tumbled open. “You’re kidding me.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t know how to fly?”
Confused, Dara shook her head again.
Archangel blinked. “I could teach you.”
“Teach m