The X-Project

Begins at 2am, Thursday morning.


Pete Wisdom wasn't a very deep sleeper - professional habit for the most part, so he was used to being woken by noises at odd hours, as the old house settled once most of it's inhabitants were in bed. He'd been meaning to ask Marko to fix that floorboard by his bedroom door for a few weeks, but this was the first time it had ever formed part of the nightly series noises - normally it just creaked like a bastard when someone stood on it.

He turned over in bed, settling to go back to sleep, and saw figures at his door. As they moved, he caught the glint of a knife.

Suddenly wide awake, he rolled out of bed, throwing himself bodily into the nearest of them, grabbing the man's wrist, and driving his own head forward to meet the bastards's nose. He was dimly aware that the bloke's companion had stared running in the opposite direction as soon as Pete had started moving.

Pete took advantage of the man's preoccupation with his shattered nose, grabbed the back of his opponent's head with his free hand, and slammed it into the wall a few times. He stopped, looked at the man to check he was unconscious, then slammed his head into the wall a few more times, just to be safe.

Half a minute later, after rifiling the man's uniform, he was armed. As he straightened up, he finally put a name to the face he'd caught a glimpse of as the other man had run.

Scratch.

Oh, bollocks.

He left the room at a run.

---

The cunt had woken up.

Tony 'Scratch' Perry had never liked Pete Wisdom. The do-gooding little shit and his moral high horse had spoiled opportunites for fun and games on several ops, and it had always rankled that the chain-smoking fuck had been his superior.

Still, he was running the show now.

"Fallback plan. Go!"

---

Pete's yelling had woken other staff. Betsy stumbled from her room opposite.

"Listen, I need you to wake anyone who's still asleep, right damn now. Get whoever you can, get downstairs, and get as many of the students locked in the basements as you can."

"Wha-?"

Before she could ask the question, Pete interrupted.

"At a guess, some shitbag in the British government has decided that they're not happy with me working in the private sector, and they want something done about it. They sent a kill team for me, part of which is unconscious and bleeding from the face in there."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, back at his room.

"Sadly, he will have had chums, who will be taking the children hostage right now. So we need to get downstairs, and stop as many of them as we can, and then work out what to do about the rest."

Betsy blinked.

"How d'you know for sure-?"

Pete cut in again.

"It's what I'd do."

He looked away.

---
The problem with leaving assignments till the last minute was that the amount of work required always seemed to increase, the closer it got to the hand-in date.

John sat up in bed, reading the textbook until he realized that he'd read the same page three times, and none of it was going into his brain, most likely because none of it was even remotely interesting.

He closed the book, dropped it to the floor and was about to try and get to sleep when Wisdom's dulcet tones echoed through the Mansion, startling him fully awake again.

"Uuugh, the fuck does he want now?"

It took a moment for him to realize that it wasn't Wisdom's drunken attempt at singing "My Way" in the style of Sid Vicious (again) and then he was out of bed like a shot, grabbing his lighter as he did so.

Slipping out of the room, he managed to avoid being seen by any of the men who seemed to all appear from nowhere, and tried to concentrate on remaining calm. This wouldn't be like the last time... at least, not for him. As he moved about, trying to avoid being seen by the intruders, he eventually realized what was happening.

A group of men were standing in a section of corridor, and all of them had at least one struggling child held securely. They all muttered something to each other, before moving off as a unit, towards a broken window, which John assumed was going to be their exit-route.

"No fucking way are they doing that again!"

*click*

His lighter provided the spark he needed, and soon the men were surrounded by a wall of fire that reached towards them, but not the children. If they'd been paying attention, they'd have seen that the fire wasn't burning anything, but then again, not many people tend to pay attention when large firewalls actively grab at them.

Then again, if he'd been paying attention himself, he'd have realized that there was another soldier coming up behind him. One moment, he was grinning to himself as he saw the men begin to back away from his fire, the next... The next moment, he'd have screamed as loud as Theresa could... if he had been able to. He fell to the floor in agony, as all his muscles seized up and his brain felt like it was beginning to melt, before passing out.

---

Perfect. One bunch of hostages already, and one was all they really needed. Tony would have liked to take his time with the little firestarter, but he wanted to be back in the secure zone and in full control of the op, and he didn't have time for the little indulgences. The price of command.

---

The mansion wasn't quiet any longer, and Remy leaned back further into his shadows. Prowling around at all hours was his current hobby, and he was getting used to how the mansion operated by this point. There were remarkably little details and innovations that he was sure people had missed. Did they know about the cameras, the motion sensors, the passive infra-red beams? LeBeau was making finding a way to twart them all a pet project, plus how to get into the secure area that used a locking system that wouldn't look out of place on a nuclear weapon depot.

LeBeau was also used to the little noises he should be hearing at this time of night, and these were not some of them. Something he couldn't explain had already identified them as a strike force moving in sealth, after something. With his lack of weapons, even missing his normal deck of cards, Remy felt too exposed. It was time to retreat.

Gambit had just reached the hall when the figure in the fatigues and the baliclava came around the corner, MP5 at ready. The man hesitated for a split second as Remy suddenly appeared in front of him. Unfortunately for him, he was the only one who hestitated.

A hand lashed out on instinct, pushing the weapon to the side as Remy stepped in and drove the edge of his other hand like a blade into the hard knob of the soldier's adam's apple. There was a crunching sound, and the soldier's hands went to his throat, wet gasping noises coming from his mouth. Blood welled in the fabric by the man's mouth before he collapsed.

Remy backed away from the corpse. He had fought on the street for food and for a bed, but he had never killed a man. Worse, killed him in a heartbeat without consciously knowing what he was doing. Fear replaced caution, and Remy LeBeau turned and fled deeper into the shadows.

---

It was a short and vicious fight.

Pete hadn't been surprised to discover that the intruders had come up with some means of knocking out the talents of the telepaths in the mansion - from the descriptions Emma and Betsy gave him of the sensation, he guessed it was the brain damage case who broadcast psi-static for couple of miles around, but right now, he really didn't care.

They'd woken the faculty with impressive speed, and a very short time later they were moving through the house in teams. He'd taken Emma and Betsy with him, and they'd found Shinobi and Piotr almost as soon as they'd gotten downstairs. There was something very comforting about the fact that out of five of them, there were only two to whom guns were a threat - especially in the face of spotting three men with rifles that were heading a group of kids along in front of them.

---

Shiro had been taught since a young age that to be a deep sleeper was to mean that you would die in your sleep. So when the door to his room was opened in the dead of night, his eyes snapped open. Something about this situation was unsettling, but Shiro couldn't definitively put his finger on it. Before any questions could be asked, he sat up, aimed his fist at the intruder, and a burst of plasma streamed forth, lighting up the room and slamming the intruder up against the wall. Shiro's eyes widened as the light from the blast reveals the other man's identity. A soldier.

With a muffled curse, Shiro rolled out of bed and quickly grabbed his katana from underneath. There were shouts coming from the hallway, adult and child alike, and from what he could gather in half a second, it sounded like people being hurt. Shiro may be a cold, heartless bastard, but was never a coward, and he would never hesitate to defend the helpless if that was his calling. And seeing as how many of the students were helpless, at least in his opinion, it was currently his calling. Without further hesitation, Shiro took to the air and charged the recovering soldier. Before the man could even raise his gun at the flying fireball, Shiro unsheathed his sword, and in one quick motion, sliced the man's throat. He was left to die on the floor, carpet stains be damned, as Shiro flew out of his room to see what was going on.

Two more soldiers, herding the younger children away. With a growl, his fiery aura flared, and he flew forward, sword poised to take them out. But they noticed him, and as Shiro aimed to slice one of them in half, he was engaged by the man. It was nightstick against katana as the other soldier continued rounding up the children.

"I have no time for this," Shiro growled, trying to fend away his opponent. But he was not untrained in combat, and soon found an opening as Shiro tried to swipe him across the chest. The soldier thrust his nightstick forward, jabbing Shiro's chest and forcing him back. Taking the advantage, the soldier proceeded to smack Shiro across the face and arms in an effort to beat him senseless. Knocked to the ground, hands held protectively in front of his face, Shiro found himself without his sword. Bruised, battered, and nearly helpless, Shiro let instinct take over.

And it told him to let it out, all out. With a loud roar, Shiro unleashed his power, sending the soldier clear across the corridor. He didn't need to look at his arms to know that the black discoloration was slowly creeping up his body. Times like these, there were only two things to do: meditate to calm down and let the power flow out, or simply release it all. The latter sounded more appropriate now, so he did so. The soldier had barely stood up before a second plasma blast slammed him against the wall, burning through his coat. Shiro kept him pinned to the wall, approaching him slowly, only pausing once to quickly pick up his sword. Once he was directly in front of the soldier, Shiro grabbed him by the throat with his free hand, still burning with power which charred the soldier's neck, and without another word, ran him through.

He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings, though. As the man fell down dead, there was a loud bang and a sudden pain surged through Shiro's left arm. Turning around, he found the third soldier aiming his gun at him, barrel smoking. He pulled the trigger again, and Shiro just barely dodged getting shot in the chest. But this bullet ripped through his left arm too, and Shiro was again unarmed on the ground.

There was no way he could manage to dodge again or divert the bullet with a plasma blast. This was neither the proper time nor place to die, Shiro thought, staring up at the gun pointed at his face. Not lying on the floor bleeding from bullet wounds, and certainly not in America of all places. I cannot die here.

But instead of hearing the sound of a gunshot, Shiro heard a muffled grunt and the sound of someone falling over. Looking around, he saw one of the children, a short and really fat boy, standing over the fallen soldier. Shiro opened his mouth to tell the boy to get out of the way as the soldier raised his gun again, but closed it when he saw the bullets simply bounce off the boy's body, as the boy did nothing but giggle. Eyes widening, the soldier quickly got to his feet and ran, grabbing two of the children around the waist as he passed, taking them with him, kicking and screaming.

"Don't," Shiro said weakly, getting to his feet as the boy set off to follow. "Find everyone who's still on this floor, and lead them somewhere safe. Do you understand me? You can't stop him without endangering those two. Let someone like Ms. Braddock do it." The boy just looked at him, conflict obviously raging in his mind, and then, finally, he nodded. "Good. Now go. And thank you." Without another word, the boy left to round up the others standing around the hallway gaping, while Shiro picked up his sword and flew toward the medlab, hoping that he wouldn't encounter any more trouble before he could get his arm examined.

---

Angelo had also woken up somewhat abruptly on hearing the commotion in the corridor outside. He left his room to investigate, moving cautiously along the halls and managing to avoid seeing any of the invaders.

It didn't take him long to reach the stretch of corridor where John had taken on the strike team. They were gone by then, of course, and the whole section was now blazing, without a conscious John to keep the fire away from the walls and floor.

Angelo shielded his face against the heat, and was horrified to see a figure lying in the flames, occasionally twitching spasmodically. He couldn't see clearly who it was, but that hardly mattered - somebody had to get them out, and he was the only person around.

Steeling himself, Angelo moved forward - quickly, before he could lose his nerve - and stepped into the burning area to pull the person out. However, all the steeled nerves in the world couldn't lessen the pain in his hands when they came into contact with the fire. This brought the memory of the burning car in LA rushing back, until he no longer knew where he really was or what he had been doing.

He spun, frantically, finding himself in his own worst nightmare, surrounded by walls of fire with no way out. As the pain worsened and he found himself gasping for air with his lungs filling with smoke, racked by a painful fit of coughing, he fell to his knees amid the flames. This was not a good move, had he been thinking straight, since it brought his skin into direct contact with the burning floor.

Finally overcome by the pain and the smoke, he crumpled the rest of the way, unconscious before he hit the floor, facedown in the flames. The moment he lost consciousness, all the uncovered skin of his body - which, since he was only wearing shorts, was a lot - spread out around him, into the fire. He lay there, not moving.

---

The fight was took longer than it should have - the soldiers obviously been briefed about the superdense mutants in the house, and as soon as it had become apparent that their guns weren't working, two of them had adopted a defensive technique designed to keep Piotr and Emma from landing a blow, and while they couldn't exactly hurt the two of them, there was no denying the tactic's effectiveness at slowing down the rescue attempt.

Pete took this in in the split seconds between dodging blows himself, having thrown himself bodily at the third man, wrestling for the bastard's gun. So far, he was managing to keep the guy's finger from the trigger, but he had the terrible feeling that he wasn't going to manage that for much longer...

---

Cain jerked upright in bed, heart pounding in his chest. The jungle had been there, had been so REAL. He ran his hands over his arms, feeling no insect bites or the myriad of scratches and cuts accumulated "in-country". Breathing deeply, he pulled on a long-sleeved sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, pondering a few laps around the lake to burn off some steam. Then he heard it... a gunshot? Couldn't have been, he told himself. His hand was almost to the doorknob when he heard the second shot, and then he was in motion, dashing from his room into the third-floor hallway.

When Moira heard the gunshot, she was half asleep in bed, surrounded by books. She woke slowly, certain that she had imagined it...gun shots? Hearing nothing, she rolled over, prepared to go back to bed. What stopped her was what definitely was a scream. She was out of bed in a heart beat, hand at the door knob when she stopped herself. As a human, what chance did she have against...whatever this new threat was?

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to her bed and soon she was pulling a long box out from under it. With a few clicks, the lock on it was released and she found herself pulling out an older hunting rifle. Not quite antique but at least sixty years old, a bolt-action large-bore game rifle.. Charles had found it while going through some personal effects of his step-fathers and had requested that she keep it safe. He had never been fond of guns and considering who lived in the house, hiding it with someone who knew them well was a good option. Getting rid of the gun had never been an option, though, and for that, she was grateful.

What chance indeed? Within minutes, she had the rifle primed, extra bullets in her pocket. The rifle had been kept in very good condition so it was only slightly rusty around its edges. With a deep breath, she stood up and headed for her door.

Hefting the hunting rifle in her hands, she quickly loaded the weapon and then stepped towards her door. She didn't hear anything but there had definitely been some shots fired earlier and she wasn't going to take the chance now. With a quick move, she threw open her door and stepped out. Hearing a sound behind her, she spun around, gun level and let the safety go.

Cain blinked, seeing the doctor wheel out of her room, rifle in hand. Conflicting thoughts spun through his head in the span of a microsecond: *Duck! GUN! Shit! Take it out! Move, you slow sonofabitch, MOVE!* Taking one step towards Moira, Cain shook his head and called out in a low voice, "Doc!" Catching her eye, he wheeled a hand above his head and pointed to the stairwell, then made patting motions low to the ground, hoping she got the intent: Rally up, head downstairs, protect the kids.

She caught his drift and hunkered down slightly, moving towards the stairwell. The rifle bounced slightly before she settled back in the crook of her hip and waist. "Cain," she whispered, "what th' 'ell's goin' on?!"

Cain's eyes flickered down to the rifle, then to the stairwell. "Gunshot downstairs. Silenced, but definitely hostile. Kids are already running around, this is going to turn into a clusterfuck." He paused briefly, "The old dumbwaiter system, they used it to get out of the mansion when Stryker's goons came in?" At Moira's nod, Cain smiled. "There's a sealed-up old staircase at the end of the east wing hallway, used to go down to the basement. If this ain't some fire drill of Chuck's, we should get the little kids down there and out of the crossfire."

"Aye, good idea." She frowned. "Dinnae know where th' older ones are, but knowin' some o' them they're in th' thick o' th' fray. But the wee ones...probably still in their rooms. Room search?"

Cain nodded, taking two long strides down into the stairwell. He motioned for Moira to follow quietly as he glanced out into the second floor hallways. "Younger kids are on the left, in the west wing, right?"

"Aye." She padded along after him, rifle now slung over her shoulder. She sent up a quick thanks to her beloved father, who had made damn sure that his only child knew how to hunt with the best of them. Her face hardened. This wasn't normally her type of hunt but after those government goons came to Muir Island, it wasn't something she was totally unfamiliar with. Her hand snaked down and patted her pockets. Plenty of bullets.

Cain's head panned back and forth, glancing down over the railing to the foyer, then quickly jerking back. He held up two fingers, then ran his hand over his face. Moira nodded. Two men, masked. Quickly, Cain crab-walked backwards, glancing up the hall where thankfully, the doors to the younger children's rooms were closed.

Moira backpedaled with him, keeping an eye on the hallway in front. She didn't want to start anything unless she had to. Getting the kids to safety was number one priority. However, if anything got between them and getting them to safety...she glanced down at the old rifle and then up at Cain and smiled grimly. They were in for one hell of a tussle.

Once they reached the hall, Cain squatted down, his bulk blocking the hall as if he were a concrete bunker. "Get the kids," he whispered.

"Staircase is only drywalled over, you should be able to bust right through it with that." He twitched his head towards the rifle. She nodded and then scooted under his arm. Taking a deep breath she eased the first door open and slipped inside, keeping the gun out of sight for now. She didn't want to startle anyone who was in the rooms, not in this house.

As Moira roused the sleeping youngsters from their beds, Cain caught motion from the other side of the hallway. His first instinct was that it would be one of the other students -- students didn't carry submachine guns. Shit, Cain thought. Reaching out, he palmed a nearby vase. "Hey, asshole!" he called out, hurling the vase sidearm down the hall.

The black-garbed soldier ducked the clumsily-thrown projectile, raising his weapon and firing a burst at Cain. The bullets stitched up Cain's chest and neck, flattening against his invulnerable skin and falling to the ground. Cain looked down at the smoking holes in his sweatshirt. "Son of a bitch..." he growled, moving to take a step forward when he heard the first cry of panic from one of the children. Gritting his teeth, he set himself in and blocked the hallway. Cain snarled as the attacker walked slowly forward, unloading the bullets harmlessly into his chest. He didn't want to move because of the kids but if he didn't do something soon...

The decision was taken from him as suddenly the front of a rifle showed itself between his rib cage and elbow. "Back the bloody 'ell off ye wanker!" Moira snapped, as she calmly fired. The first bullet ripped into the man's right knee with a second bullet following close behind and it soon destroyed his left knee. The sound of shooting stopped but the man was now screaming in pain, gun forgotten.

Cain blinked through the gunsmoke. "Shit, woman!" he cried, "Warn me next time!" He turned, seeing the half-dozen kids huddled at the end of the hall. The oldest couldn't have been more than eight, big blue eyes filled with panicked tears and insectile antennae wavering. Cain glanced back to the foyer, then rushed Moira down to the kids at the end of the hall. Raising one fist, he punched through the thin plaster, ripping down drywall until the spiral staircase was revealed. He shook it briefly. "Should be sturdy. It'll get you down to the basement safe. LOCK the medlab doors, and don't let anyone in who you don't trust."

Coughing, Moira shook her head and instead turned to the oldest child. With a few whispered words, she got them all started down the staircase. "Aye, I'll go down an' make sure they're safe but I'll be comin' back up ta keep watch." With a sharp nod, she pointed out the fancy, but study, looking tables that lined the hallway in spurts. "If'n ye do me th' favor o' buildin' me a bit o' a barricade, I'll be fine. But like 'ell am I leavin' a stairway like this open ta jus' anyone."

Cain grinned. "Don't worry, doc. No one's getting through." He cracked his knuckles ominously, listening to the sounds of gunfire and shouts coming from the foyer and stairwells. "Those kids don't have any way to protect themselves, and you know how to handle that rifle damn well. Girl Scouts?"

"Nay. Me da hunted an' made damn sure I knew how ta as well. Been huntin' since I was knee high ta a rifle. Comes in handy every now an' then." She started going downstairs, to make sure the kids would be okay and then stopped. "Jus' make sure th' barricade is up before ye leave. An', Cain? Give'em 'ell."

Cain looked down the stairwell, listening until the last footstep had faded. He waited a moment, then grasped the center support and heaved.

The old wrought-iron steps shuddered, then began to fall like leaves down the dusty shaft. Shoving a table upright in front of the entrance to the now-impassable stairwell, Cain's attention was diverted by a bullet bouncing off the back of his head.

He turned to see a black-masked soldier, kneeling over his comrade's wounded form, firing two submachine guns wildly. Cain smiled as the bullets simply fell to the ground after striking him. "Give them hell." he hissed between his teeth, then began to laugh as he charged...

---

He'd got lucky. The bastard risked going for a knife at exactly the same time Pete had twisted the gun in his grip, and the rising butt had struck the man squarely under the chin, stunning him for long enough that Pete was able to press his advantage and ram the thing in his face again, and then his gut, collapsing the sod to the floor.

Pete turned to find that other two men were suffering similar setbacks as Shinobi and Betsy added their skills to the brawl. Soon, they had all three men unconscious on the floor, and Pete was fighting his urge to put the boot in.

"Piotr, Shinobi and I will take these children downstairs. Peter, you and Betsy should keep looking for-"

"Illyana is not here." The big Russian cut across Emma. "I will not go without her."

"I'd hope she's already down there, Piotr, after all that time we spent practicing her drills, and the three of us are best suited to keep these children safe. This is not the time to argue."

Emma's tone wasn't exactly harsh, but it certainly closed the discussion. The three of them set off.

---

Clarice woke up in the middle of the night, sounds of shouting and what she thought was fighting outside. She looked around the darkened room panicking, uncertain what to do. In the next bed over, her head under the pillow, Marie-Ange mumbled. "Trying to sleep. Go' way." Rahne sat up muzzily just as someone bashed the door in.

"Holy shit!" Clarice muttered, grabbing her stuffed punk-rock hello kitty that she sleeps with and pulling her sabre out from under her bed. At the sound of the door slamming violently against the wall, Marie-Ange pulled the pillow off her head. The french obscenity halfway out of her mouth turned to a shrill scream as she realized what was happening.

"Shut up," the first man in growled, stepping aside and covering them with a gun. "And don't try anything with that sword, missy." The second man joined his squadmate a few seconds later, followed by a third, who moved to the far wall, watching the door closely. The last entered, checked the window quickly, and then lunged for Clarice's arm.

"Fuck!" Clarice panicked; there was a blinding flash of white light across her body, and the girl was gone.

The soldier lunging for Clarice stumbled, and reached for his gun. "Where the fuck did she go?" "Don't care. Get the other two, then." Three guns trained on Marie-Ange and Rahne, while the largest of the four soldiers pulled a pair of plastic ties from a pocket.

Marie-Ange scrambled backwards on her bed as the large man approached. As she did, she knocked a sketchbook from her nightstand to the floor. The flash of bright blue caught her eye, and as the man came closer, a scaled blue figure appeared, kicking him in the chest, and momentarily drawing the attention away from the girls.

As the man who'd just seized hold of Rahne turned in shock and raised his gun, Rahne -- desperately not thinking about it -- transformed until she had a wolf's jaws, growled and clamped them down on his upper arm. Blood ran into her mouth, her teeth grated on bone, and something cracked.

Three cracks followed Rahne's growl, and Marie-Ange's projection rippled for a moment, and then collapsed, leaving only a smear of blue on one soldier's BDU top, and three bullets that clinked to the floor.

The man who'd grabbed Rahne hit her hard on the muzzle; dazed, she let go and tried not to slide the rest of the way into wolf-form. Later she might wish she had.

The soldiers darted in closer to the girls, One roughly grabbed Marie-Ange by the arm, twisting it back until she whimpered, and pushing her face down on the bed. He pulled her other arm back, linking her two wrists with a plastic zip-tie, and pulled her up by a shoulder. "Another stunt like that, little freak, and I shoot your bitch friend there."

Another took over from the man swearing about his wounded arm and tied Rahne's hands as well. Then they shoved the two girls out of the room and guided them stumbling down the hall.