The X-Project

There seemed to be a lot of shouting and running around upstairs, but Amanda figured it was part of the mansion's wacky goings-on. She'd only been there a week - for all she knew there were late-night fire drills or midnight joggings sessions to build team morale, or even some kind of prank war going on. So as she meandered casually back from the kitchen, eating leftover Chinese from a Tupperware container with a plastic spork with her werelight bobbing happily beside her, the sudden appearance of a man in military-ish black garb toting a handgun was something of a surprise.

"Hold it right there, sweetheart, and raise your hands, nice and slow. Neither of us wants you hurt, right?" he snarled, training the gun on her face in a very professional manner.


'Not some kind of training drill then,' Amanda thought to herself, the man's British accent registering on her immediately. She half-raised her hands, not dropping the container of fried rice. "Guess I'm nicked, then. You going to put the handcuffs on me so we can play 'good cop, bad crim'? I'm awfully naughty," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry husk. She watched his eyes through the balaclava, waiting for her chance, and when he blinked in confusion, she threw the Tupperware container at his face with all her might, at the same time shouting: "Illuminatae!" and dropping to the floor and covering her eyes. The werelight detonated with a brilliant flash that she saw even with her eyes closed. Blinking rapidly to erase the spots in her vision, she saw the man had dropped his gun and was rubbing frantically at his eyes, swearing profusely.

She saw her opening and took it - pulling the flick knife she'd acquired through shady means on her last visit into town, she lunged forward, slashing at the man's face. "Have a taste of this, arsewipe!" she yelled, but her triumph turned to shock as the man dodged out of the way and grabbed her wrist. He twisted, hard, and Amanda cried out as she felt something in her wrist snap and the knife fell from her nerveless fingers.

"Not very nice, mutie, to have a go at a fellow countryman. Now I'm going to have to get nasty with yer." Amanda saw the man's other fist rise, and before she could register what was happening something exploded into the side of her face. She bit her tongue, hard, and tasted blood. Several more blows followed, and there was a sickening muffled 'snap' noise as her cheekbone and then her nose were broken. She slumped, barely conscious, her face on fire with pain, only the man's grip on her wrist holding her upright. He seemed satisfied by this and let her fall to the floor, blood pouring from her nose and staining the carpet. "Right then, missy, let's get you to the ballroom with your little friends, shall we?" he said, bending down in preparation to lifting her onto his shoulder.

Amanda's fingers twitched, and she mouthed a few words through swollen lips. The plastic spork she'd dropped to the floor earlier rose of its own volition and shot through the air, aimed at the man's eye. Unfortunately her aim was off, and it only imbedded itself in the soft skin below his left eyes, the balaclava taking some of the impact. He brushed it away, blood seeping from four small holes in the skin.

"Stupid, luv, very stupid." The man grabbed his gun, lying on the floor nearby, and put the muzzle to Amanda's temple. "If you'd co-operated you would have just been a hostage. Now you're too much trouble, so I have to neutralise you. Leastways this'll be quick and painless - if I had my way I'd take my time, but we're running on a schedule here." Amanda heard through the roaring in her ears the slide being pulled back, and closed her eyes, waiting for the shot which would finish her.

Instead there was an odd, muffled cracking noise, an obscene gurgle, and the thump of something heavy and soft hitting the carpet beside her. She cracked open eyes that were strangely heavy, to see the man lying on the floor, clearly dead - no-one could be alive with their neck bent at that angle. Hands touched her shoulders, and she flinched.

"Easy chere. Remy won' hurt you none. I saw a medkit back on de wall. Get out of de way of de way and see what we can do, oui?"

"You ... killed him," she whispered, letting her eyes fall closed again as he carefully rolled her over. She felt the slight stiffening of his muscles as he replied:

"Dat be true. Remy have no other choice."

"No ... it's good. 'M glad ... someone ... wasted the fucker ..." Talking was proving too painful and Amanda barely noticed as Gambit lifted her into his arms and headed for the concealed elevator.

---

At first Jono thought there was something wrong with his ears, as if sounds were muted. He thought briefly of his mother who had kept telling him he'd ruin his hearing if he continued to listen to such loud music, then turned to Sarah, wanting to ask her if something was wrong. She didn't react to his mental prodding, so he frowned and threw his book at her.

She caught it from the air and returned it with deadly accuracy. "What?" she demanded, and Jono tried to reply, but it didn't clear away Sarah's raised eyebrow. He sat up from his slouch, his chest still bright, so there was nothing dampening his mutation, but something was definitely not right.

Then he realized it, it wasn't his hearing that was affected, but his sense of people. He hadn't noticed before how much he relied on his telepathy to provide information about the people around him, just the feeling of where they were, the closer the sharper. His thoughts derailed when they heard the first of the gunshots from above. Sarah shot up from her bed and to the door, followed a bit more slowly by Jono who was confused and out of balance due to losing his ability to communicate again.

The boiler room door made a fine crash as Sarah threw it open and raced towards the stairs, Jono galloping after her, feeling half-blind. The ground floor, once they got there, was dark and from somewhere in the mansion they could hear the sounds of fighting. Without another word Sarah took off towards the worst of it, while Jono held back, wondering what he was supposed to do. Then he whirled around and continued to the second floor, needing to know if Paige was all right. He had every confidence in Sarah being able to take care of herself.

He took the steps two at a once, ignoring most of the frenzy around, until he was at the top of the stairs. Then he glanced around, the glow snaking from his chest making him a target as well as lighting his immediate surroundings. He dashed off again, towards the very familiar room 201.

Paige chose that moment to come around the corner, a sight to be seen to say the least. She'd never quite mastered her diamond husk - she could get it if she weren't, in reality, terrified to try it on her own - but she had mastered a metal alloy to such perfection, to an art even, that in her mind it made up for it. For now. She practically glowed in the low lights, the silver reflecting off whatever there was to illuminate the halls. Scanning the area Paige found him and took off in that direction. You don't shoot a girl made of metal.

She crashed into him with a solid thump and he caught her in return, holding her away from the now free psionic energy that composed him. Her distress was made evident as she clung to him, fingers tight on his arms. "Oh God, I thought... I didn't know..." There was a scrape of metal against metal as she blinked furiously, trying to clear tears that couldn't possibly be there. Jono ran his hands down the curve of her spine and she would have stayed there, perfectly still, if not for the chaos
around them. Pulling away she shook her head, the clang of her hair banging up against itself barely heard against the surrounding commotion, and tried to clear her head. It was then that she noticed the pained expression on Jono's face and the silence in her mind but for her own thoughts.

"Jono? What's wrong?"

His hands clenched into fists and then unfurled with frustration in a hopeless gesture, a flail. He finally put two fingertips to her mouth and then to his temple, dark eyes lit up by his own light showing so much confusion.

"...you've lost your speech," she said finally, understanding, and the whole situation filled her with a sense of dread. This wasn't an accident; this was very well planned out attack and by someone who knew exactly who
they were.

He nodded and she grabbed his hand, squeezing as tight as her husk would allow. "I need to find Angelo. Then I'll get out of here. Stay out of trouble, okay?" Her voice sounded so calm in her ears and she wondered for a moment who was speaking.

The grip on her hand tightened when she tried to let go and Paige raised both her eyebrows. "I have to, Jono. I-"

Jono put his fingers to her mouth again and nodded in not quite agreement but at least acceptance. She gave him a thankful smile and ducked, stealing a quick kiss atthe inside of his wrist before they took off down the hallway.

Angelo was not as difficult to find as one would have expected; the out of control fire that had now consumed the entire corridor was an instant give away of trouble. The two of them paused, taken aback at the size of the flames and Paige raised an arm instantly to shield her eyes before realizing herself and lowered it back down. Jono was the first to spot the two figures in the center of the flames but didn't recoil in horror as Paige did once she had found them as well.

"Oh God..."

There was who they were seeking, Angelo, all pooled out within the flames and certainly unconcious as well an added accessory of a still twitching John. Jono instantly moved forward but Paige caught him with a metallic hand.

"You are still flammable, unable to feel pain or no. I am not. That means I go and you stay, no arguments," she said, her voice as smooth and cool as her husk. She narrowed her eyes at him with a clink as he tried to pull away. "I said, no arguments. It makes sense, Jonothan."

He stilled for too long of a moment before slumping slightly, dejectedly and nodded again. Letting go of him, Paige gently drew her hand across his cheek, murmuring, "Keep watch." and stepped into the fire.

It was hotter than she expected; the heat tried desperately to run through her, hitting her outsides and making them feel as if they would just wash away. She didn't cringe, didn't pause, but kept walking. As long as she kept walking, she figured shewould be fine. Paige didn't have to make the difficult choice between love or duty, as Angelo was nearer to her, though terrifying in his released form. Something in her chest was seizing up as she looked at him that way, bathed in flames, but she ignoredit and took him under the arms to half carry, half drag him out.

She didn't remember handing Angelo to Jono, or telling him what he should do in quick, short sentances, but obviously she had. When she came back for a second time, this time carrying the still twitching John, Jono had raised Angelo's feet and put him in as best of a rescue position as could be found, considering the amount of space that the burns took up.

Looking up to thank him, Paige found Bobby there instead. His features were deathly pale but there was a grim sort of determination that clung in his eyes. That would have explained the cursing she thought she heard earlier. He reluctantly tore hisgaze from John as Paige set him down gently and gave her a weak sort of smile that was more grimace as he stepped past her. Paige marveled at the way John was totally unaffected by the fire; she knew that he had an immunity to it, but hearing about it and seeing it were two totally different things, especially when Angelo lay beside him to compare.

A sudden coldness hit the back of her neck as Bobby spread his mutation down the hall, the crackling of fire replaced with the cracking of ice. Paige turned her head to watch for a moment before planting herself in a better place to regard the full hall in case anyone uninvited came back. Her hand flexed by her side, the only sign of her nervousness.

"Jono went to go get help," Bobby answered her unspoken question as the last of the fire died out. "I think he figured you'd tell him to stay here and go yourself if he asked."

Paige smiled to herself. "Brat. Reading my mind even without his mutation."

Bobby returned to her, resting a hand on her shoulder lightly. Her smile had faded as she flicked her gaze to Angelo and then quickly away again. It was torture, seeing him like this, and yet she couldn't look away for very long. Bobby squeezedat her shoulder, reassuring, but she hardly felt it. Right now, she hardly felt anything but the overwhelming desire for them all to just be safe.

Leaving one hand on her shoulder for comfort, Bobby extended his other hand toward Angelo, cooling the air around his body, trying to minimize the damage done, although he realized it was a little late for that. His eyes kept straying to John's pale, prone form, wondering if he was okay, and what the hell had happened to cause the fire to go out of control in the first place. Surely he wouldn't have done it on purpose--would he?

---
A small group of staff had arrived in the main hall. The kidnappers had holed up in the ballroom, and had effectively restricted access to the corridor leading toward it. There was a heated debate going on about the merits of just rushing them, when an amplified voice brought all conversation to a halt.

"We just want Wisdom. He comes in here alone, we'll do what we came here to, then all fuck off, and you can get back to your shitty little lives. We see anyone but Wisdom coming their way, or lose our camera feed, or are just generally fucked with in any way, we start hurting the kids."

Pete sighed, recognising the voice.

"Bollocks. He's not bluffing. I know that fucker, and if he's running the show I'm amazed they haven't started killing kids already, just for jollies."

"So we go round the outside, come in through the windows." Scott remained calm.

"They'll see you coming if you get within a hundred feet of the windows."

"How d'you---"

Pete didn't bother to check who was speaking before answering.

"Because I wrote the sodding book on this, OK? Because one of the jobs that I did before I was fired was write the fucking manual on how to stage an incursion into this school. After Stryker blew it, and everyone got away, and he got the doing he desevered, I was asked to do an analysis on how to stage a theft, kidnapping or targeted execution in this place. I wrote the fucking book. That's how I bloody know, OK?"

There was a moment of silence.

"So now I'm going to do more or less exactly what the manual I wrote said the staff here would do if you cut off telepathy, set yourself up securely in the ballroom, and took hostages."

---

Tony grinned to himself. So it hadn't gone quite by the book - he’d lost more men than forecast, but they were just squaddies anyway. The fact they were well trained sqauddies meant that were harder to replace, not that they were irreplaceable. Other than that, this was going exactly to plan.

His grin widened when he glanced at the portable screen that was showing their camera feeds, and saw Wisdom walking down the corridor to the ballroom. The bleeding-hearted fuck had gone even softer than he used to be, if he was seriously about to walk in here and sacrifice himself. They were using his own fucking op against him, and he was doing exactly what the book said. No fucking wonder the boss had cut him loose.

He motion Jackson and Connor forward, to take up places by the doors, leaving the other three on the kids. As soon as Wisdom walked in, there were two rifles pointing at his head.

"You've gone bloody soft, haven't you Wisdom?" he said.

The other man just grinned back at him.

"You haven't changed, though. Still a wanker who can't be trusted to run a job. Fuck, they fired me, and they've still got you following my orders on ops. What's the matter Scratch, couldn't come up with a plan of your own to kill me? Or did the boys in London not like your little wank fantasies?"

In lieu of a reply, Scratch backhanded him, sending the older man sprawling. He was just about to start in on the serious work of beating the arsehole to death, when the windows exploded in, showering glass down everywhere, while strange lights strobed and danced around the room. It must have been whatshername, the celebrity bitch...

Before he could collect himself, adjust to this, there was gunfire. It took him a second to register that it wasn't any of his men firing - he'd forgotten to search Wisdom for a gun! The cunt had just shot Doyle, MacGregor, and whatever the other fuck's name was - the three with the guns on the kids - all of them neatly in the head. Blood and brain matter everywhere. The stupid sad fuck had gone for the ones on the kids, rather than the lads pointing guns at him.

Jackson reacted first, opening fire at Wisdom's prone form as he rolled away, catching him several times in the leg, but before Connor could follow suit and slot the bastard he was forced to duck by a blast of laser fire from somewhere outside. The stupid sod straightened up and looked in horror at the three smoking holes in the woodwork where his head had been - the second's pause giving Wisdom enough time to get clear and shoot back, forcing Connor and Jackson to seek cover themselves.

This had gone too wrong, too fast.

"Connor! Jackson! We’re fucking out of here. Fucking now!" he hated to give the order to retreat, but he wasn't hanging around here to get shoot at any more. Still, at least they'd taken out the windows for him, he thought as he headed out into the grounds, Jackson at his heels. He concentrated as he ran, building up charge, just in case.

---

Damn. Fuck. Scratch had gotten away, the little shit. And Pete knew for certain that after they handed the remaining soliders over to the police in the morning, they’d be on their way back to London within a couple of days. And he'd been shot in the leg again.

And all that was fucking nothing, compared to the hell that had happened here tonight. His fucking fault.

Another new nightmare, then.