He couldn’t believe he was so fucking helpless. His power and strength drained from him, leaving him limp and broken. Reduced to such a pitiful state. A state of perpetual agony. Agony that continued, went on relentlessly. No breaks, no reprieve. Just endless pain. Suffering.
A madman wielding a knife and blowtorch with maniacal pleasure against his charred flesh. He knew he was supposed to be looking for something…someone… but the memory was curiously fading beneath the pain…the endless pain….
“Bastards!!” Storm slammed her fists into the wall, her shoulders heaving as she screamed and screamed. Her son, her husband. Gone. Taken from her. NO! NO! NO! “AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!” She slammed herself against the wall again. “Let me out!!! I have to find my son!!! Let me out!!” She pounded the bullet proof glass of the mirror that lined the wall.
On the opposite side of the two way mirror Shinobi Shaw smiled.
“Shh. I know, Mystery.” He soothed, even though she couldn’t hear him.
The flats of Storm’s hands slapped the glass, and she seemed to stare right at him. “I’ll kill you.” she swore. “Every last one of you.”
Shinobi reached out tentatively and touched the cool glass with the tips of his fingers. “Storm…”
He was paralyzed. He couldn’t move, not even his vocal cords. He was helpless, completely vulnerable to the people tearing him apart. He heard the taunts of a man he knew he should know, but couldn’t place. He heard the laughter when he vomited. But he refused to acknowledge it, refused to acknowledge the pain that was being inflicted on him.
Death. God, what he wouldn’t give for death… But he’d be damned if he’d succumb like that. He’d live just to spite them. Fuck ‘em.
He watched his tormentors with ice cold eyes, predator’s eyes, his gaze unblinking, focused, promising brutal retaliation. Time held no meaning for him now, his mind worn by the never ending torture.
He smelled butane, then heard the soft whoosh and hiss of the blowtorch being lit. White hot heat licked his face, the pain beyond reason, his lips peeling back from blackened teeth as they burned his flesh away…
In the swirling madness threatening to engulf him, he felt her. A woman. He had no idea who she was, only that the idea of her soothed his pain, eased his suffering. He tried to remember who she might be…was she important to him? She must have been for him to think of her now, while his eyeballs boiled in his skull. He futilely tried to hold onto his thoughts of her, but the pain poured out of him now, a raging torrent that he was powerless to stop…
Ororo lay curled up on the bed in her small room. Sweat beaded on her skin as she fought against the crushing emotional pain welling up inside of her. The pain was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It went on and on--hours at a time, unending. Pain tore through her and she felt as if someone had punched a hole through her chest and ripped out her heart.
*Ororo.*
*Stay out of my head.*
*Ororo, you need help.*
*What I need is for you to LET ME OUT!*
*I know this is difficult for you…*
*You don’t know shit. Let me out.*
*Ororo, you’re sick.*
*Let me out. I need to find my son.*
*Ororo, you have no son. You never did.*
*Liar!*
*We’ve been over this. You have no son. It is all in your head.*
*Lies!! My son is Chance. My husband is Wolverine!*
*Your husband is Shinobi Shaw. You have no son. You miscarried and you had a mental breakdown.*
*GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!*
Ororo rolled onto her stomach, holding her hands over her ears as she screamed and screamed, until her voice was raw and the horrible voice in her head stopped.
Gut-wrenching agony. Fuck!
Long tubes of heated metal were shoved into his abdomen, impaling him. He roared as they were twisted, the pain making him black out.
A short time later he blinked half healed eyes open, the room a foggy blur. Blood covered everything, making the room a red haze. A man stepped forward, his smooth cultured tones grating on his nerves like the glass they ground into his back. The man pulled the tube from his abdomen with a vicious jerk and he heard himself scream with agony. He bared his fangs, a feral growl echoing in his chest, even as blood bubbled from his lips.
“You are a fool.” The voice of his tormentor hissed in his ear.
He lunged forward, but his wrists were manacled at painfully awkward angles making it a useless exercise, only serving to reopen old wounds and cause himself more pain. But pain was good. Pain meant he was alive.
Days passed and hunger entered his world of pain. Agony and hunger. Nothing else existed for him. Endless moments stretched out before him and he could remember nothing but agony and hunger. Agony and hunger.
The dreams were the most terrible part. In the brief moments of reprieve, when the blackness claimed him, when his body could no longer stand the razor blade inflicted wounds or the blazing pain of fiery needles, he dreamt of her. A woman. He knew her. He knew her. Who was she? With her snow white hair and crystalline eyes. Who? He would call to her in his dreams, beg her to come to him, but she never did. She was always just out of reach.
And soon, anger at this invaded his world of agony and hunger. He began to hate. A hatred that fed him, even as his body starved. In the place of the man, a monster grew. A monster that thrived on pain and hate…
Ororo jerked awake, blinking rapidly to bring the room into focus. Bedding was scattered everywhere, her pillow shredded by her own hands. Feathers and fabric littered her room, her cell. Her prison.
She ran one hand through her short sweat dampened hair, trying to recall the dream that woke her. A man. With a thick mane of ebony hair and dark eyes, with a touch of cruelty around his sensual mouth, as if hardened by life.
She rose and walked around the room, rubbing her scalp in agitation. She paused, her fingers sore. Pulling her hand away from her head she looked at her fingertips. They were slightly scabbed, as if the skin had been rubbed off.
She frowned. Why would she have done such a thing? She gave the room a long look and noticed splotches of blood leading under her bed. Slowly she lowered herself onto her stomach and crawled along the floor, looking under her bed. There, on the floor beneath her mattress, scrawled in her own blood was one word: Logan.
Slowly she got to her knees, the pain in her chest returning. A lump formed in her throat. Logan? She closed her eyes. Who was Logan?
He must be important to her…right?
Logan? Lo-gan?
Ororo wanted to scream in frustration.
She wandered over to the sink and toilet in the corner of her room, turning of the water and splashing her face. There was no mirror, as the last one had been removed after she had tried to slit one of the guards throats as he delivered dinner, but she knew she looked like hell. She felt like it. She dipped her head under the faucet, wetting her short locks. She had toothpaste, but no brush, again removed when she had sharpened the end and tried to stab another guard. She used her index finger, cleaning her mouth.
*You are awake.*
*Go away.*
*How are you feeling?*
*Go away.*
*How are you feeling?*
*Who is Logan?* She tested the name.
*Hm. There is no Logan. You are Ororo Shaw, wife of Shinobi Shaw.*
*You are lying.*
*Ororo, please, you must stop this. You are only hurting yourself and your husband.*
*Lies. Who is Logan?*
*There is no Logan, Ororo.*
* I want…Logan.*
*There is no Logan.*
*Logan!*
*There is no Logan!*
“LOGAN!”
The scream brought him from his sleep, his head snapping up. He cocked his head, but the only sound he heard was his ragged breathing and the faint pounding of his struggling heart. He was starving to death, his body eating itself, slowly…very slowly. For some reason his wounds kept healing. Much to the delight of his tormentors.
“Awake?” A gruff voice asked. “Good.” Gasoline was poured over his head. “Smoke?”
“AAAUGGHHH!!”
The door to her room opened with a faint creak.
Ororo backed further into the shadows, watching warily. It wasn’t dinner time. No one usually came at this hour. She pressed herself against the back wall, watching.
A man stepped into the room, moonlight from the small slit of a window she had overhead illuminating his ruggedly handsome face. He had dark hair and deep eyes. He was the man from her dream.
Ororo gasped. She stepped forward involuntarily. “Who are you?” she asked quietly.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“It’s me. Logan.” He stepped towards her, his dark eyes glittering in the faint light.
“…Logan?” Ororo rubbed her forehead. “I was told you weren’t real.”
He smiled, his canines gleaming at her. “Oh, I’m very real.” He opened his arms to her.
Without thought Ororo ran to him, throwing herself into his embrace. Faint flickers of memory lighting in her head. Wolverine?….X-Men…?
“Easy, darling. I have you.” His arms closed around her.
Ororo nuzzled her face into his neck, inhaling. Suddenly she stiffened. Something didn’t feel right…
“Logan?”
“That’s right, Ororo.”
She tilted her head, looking at him. He looked exactly like the man in her dreams. As she studied him he lowered his head to hers, kissing her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth greedily. He pressed her closer, grinding against her.
Ororo tried to pull away. “Wait!” she cried.
“You always were a cock tease.” he snapped, tearing at her thin gray top.
“Stop that.” she pushed at him.
He slapped her.
Ororo cradled her cheek. “Get out.”
“You asked for me, bitch.” he laughed. “Now you’ve got me.” He grabbed her shoulders, shoving her onto the bed. He followed her down, covering her body with his.
Ororo clawed at his face, and was rewarded by a punch in the mouth. “You want this, whore.” he laughed, tearing her top open. He squeezed her breasts roughly on his hands.
“Get off,” she hissed.
“I intend to,” he leered.
Ororo lifted her knee, catching him in the groin. He groaned and she shoved him off of her, scrambling from the bed. He staggered to his feet.
“Cunt.” He charged her, slamming her into the wall. He punched her in the gut over and over, knocking the wind from her and making her gag. “You like it rough, bitch?” He kneed her in the crotch. “How’s it feel?”
Ororo sucked in a ragged breath.
He slapped her. “Remember you wanted this, whore. You asked for Logan. I am Logan.”
Ororo stared at him blankly.
He licked the side of her face. “You like Logan, don’t you, you slobbering bitch?” he taunted, groping her. “Do I make you wet?” He tugged at her loose sweats.
Ororo head butted him. “Get out of here.”
He laughed, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m going to fuck you good, Storm.”
Storm? Ororo backed away from him warily.
“You had your chance to do this the easy way.”
Chance! She had a son!!
A fist caught her off guard, dropping her to the cool tiled floor. She glared up at the man towering over her. He unzipped his pants, smiling at her. “You’re going to suck my cock, whore.”
Ororo’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bite it off,” she swore.
“I’ll make you scream my name, bitch,” he taunted, stroking his erection as he stood over her. “You wanted Logan, cunt. You’ve got him.” His lips parted, revealing fangs.
Ororo lashed out with her foot, slamming into his engorged member, making him scream. She rolled to her feet, grabbing his head in her hands and slamming his face into her knee.
The man on the floor rolled back and forth, cupping his aching balls.
“Get up.” she demanded. “Come on, get up.” She stomped on his side.
Suddenly three guards burst into her room, slamming her into the wall. She struggled against them, noticing the still swinging open door. Fists and wands hit her in the head and chest. Freedom. She screamed, trying to crawl over the men holding her down. Chance!!
She screamed again as hit after hit was inflicted upon her, blood oozing from her nose and mouth, her eyes rolling towards the back of her head. She heard a crunch and knew her arm was broken, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get out. Be free. Several kicks took out her right knee and an elbow caught her temple, making her see stars. Still she struggled, hitting and kicking and biting at the men holding her down. One guard grabbed a handful of her shorn locks and slammed her head back against the wall. Once. Twice. Three times.
They released her and she slid down the wall, too weak from the pounding to stand.
The man known as Logan stood over her. He grinned at her, then with callous disregard he pissed on her. When he was done relieving himself, he leaned down, kissing her bloody lips.
“Just remember how Logan loves you, Ororo.”
He was an animal. Trapped. Lost . Confused.
A man was walking towards him and to his astonishment, the man was changing shape right in front of him. Going from rugged and stocky to taller and elegant. The man brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder, his cultured tones mocking.
“How does it feel to be helpless?” he asked. “To know I have so much power over you.” One elegant hand rested on the blowtorch. “To know I can make you scream and cry?”
Predatory eyes gleamed in the stillness.
“It’s so fascinating, watching the two of you struggle for reality.”
Two of them?
“Poor pathetic creatures. You I can torment endlessly, but I fear you won’t last much longer in your current state.” the man moved forward. “Wasting away.” He tsk-tsked. “Such a pity.”
The animal sniffed. There was a scent on the man, a familiar odor that rekindled feelings of…warmth. Mate. They had his mate?
The shape changing man grinned. “You smell her, don’t you?” He stepped closer. “Breath deep, because this will be the last time you scent her. She is mine, you filthy animal. Mine!”
Pain!! He flame ignited and the skin on his chest bubbled and charred, the stench making him gag. Ah, fuck, the pain!!
The shape shifting man rippled and standing before him now was a beautiful woman with snow hair and laughing eyes. Her wide lips parted in a gentle smile.
“Poor baby,” she crooned. Graceful fingers caressed his jaw. In his pain hazed mind he saw her and he wept inside. He knew her, but he didn’t. She was lost to him. “It’ll all be over soon, love. You will be dead and I will be letting Shinobi fuck me. I love his big, thick cock,” she cooed. “You are nothing to me. A distant blip on my life. A mistake, generously removed from existence by my true love.”
This pain was worse, he decided. His heart was breaking. He didn’t know why, he couldn’t remember her, but his heart was breaking, his will to live leaving him. Seeping out of him as quickly as his blood was pooling on the floor.
“Wolverine,” she whispered in his ear. “Bleed for me…” She stabbed him in the throat with a slim blade.
Ororo groaned softly. She was shivering, something that seemed all together foreign to her. She was in pain. Her body aching. She rolled off of her bed onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Something was happening inside her body. She was cold, and felt like she would never be warm again. Wave after wave of pain tore through her body. Her abdomen felt like it was on fire. She rocked back and forth, a faint sheen of perspiration covering her in a sticky film. She writhed and moaned, the pain relentless. Goddess, what was happening to her? She rolled to her knees, trying to crawl to the sink. It was then that she felt it, a warm rush of fluid between her thighs as crimson decorated her sweats and floor.
Ororo moaned, rolling into the fetal position. Tears stung her eyes. Oh, the pain…
The silence was deafening.
Not a soul moved in the war room, barely a breath stirring the air. They waited, in baited silence for the Professor, and for a miracle.
Gambit glanced at Ali who was seated beside him, her face an impassive mask, but he knew she was afraid. Hell, so was he.
Remy wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, massaging the tension from her, watching her with hooded, unreadable eyes.
Ali cast him a look and the torture in her ocean eyes ate at him. Chance, their beautiful nephew was gone. Taken by a madman. And Ororo and Logan as well.
The door opened and immediately the room breathed a collective breath, the tension thickening until it was palpable.
Xavier shook his head. “I am still unable to locate them.”
Ali’s fingers curled into fists.
Remy closed his eyes.
Jean stood up. “What about Sebastian Shaw’s former Hellfire Quarters?”
“I scanned the region.”
“Yes, but Shinobi employs several powerful telepaths, including Emma Frost.”
Charles gave her an indulgent look. “Child, I am the most powerful telepath on the planet. I think I would be able to manipulate her defenses.”
“Where?” was all Gambit asked.
“The Club's headquarters, known as The Hellfire Club mansion, was once a museum and amphitheatre, and is located at what is now Fifth Avenue on Manhattan's East Side, only a few blocks away from the Avengers Mansion.” Cyclops said.
“Fascinating.” Ali said standing, followed by Gambit. “I’m going.”
Xavier rolled to the table. “It’s highly unlikely Shinobi would be in such an obvious place. And if he had, we still don‘t know whether Ororo and Wolverine are there.”
“I think it’s worth a shot.” Alison added. She looked at Gambit, their fingers interlocked, with her squeezing so tight her knuckles were white. “I remember the way Shaw looked at Storm. I can‘t sit back and do nothing. It‘s been weeks since he took them.” Ali took a deep breath. “For all we know they’re dead, but I can’t not know.”
Cyclops nodded. “It’s worth a shot. I’ll check Club Hellfire first, then the original mansion.”
Gambit turned to Ali. “I don’t want you going.”
“We go together.” she said.
“Non. I go.” Gambit said, a look of dark retribution on his normally smiling face. “If dey be dere I bring dem back.”
“I am so sorry I wasn’t able to find him.” Kurt said quietly.
“Not your fault, fuzzy man,” Jubilee said, her brown eyes teary. “You tried to get to them.”
Once again the room was silent, thinking back to that fateful day when Chance had been taken by Shinobi, who had shifted to appear like Jubilee. Storm and Wolverine had reached the boathouse first, a forceful gale testimony to Strom’s grief, the winds forcing the others to maintain their distance. It was in that brief moment when the winds had died that Shinobi had struck. He had wired the boathouse with explosives. The explosion was felt all the way to the mansion. It had taken hours to sift through the rubble, only to realize Ororo and Logan were not there. They were missing.
It was Kurt that had felt the ripples from another teleportor. He had followed the trail for a distance, then realized it was futile. Whoever had ported Ororo and Logan had set up numerous false trails, and Kurt grew exhausted, his heart laboring with the numerous jumps. He had nearly died in his effort. That had been nearly three weeks ago and still no luck in locating their fellow X-Men.
Ororo sipped the glass of water in her hand carefully. She stared at the woman n front of her guardedly.
“There, now. How’s that?” The dark haired woman placed a heating pad behind the small of Ororo’s back.
“Fine.” she said flatly.
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Mrs. Shaw.”
Ororo nodded, handing the water back. “I’m not thirsty any more.” she smiled faintly. She studied the woman in front of her. She was mid-thirties, with dark brown hair, a few grays and light brown eyes. She was pleasantly plump, as though she enjoyed a decent meal and she had a friendly smile on her otherwise plain face. She was dressed in a light top and loose pants. She appeared to be a nurse of some sort.
“You should drink t all,” the woman encouraged.
“I am not thirsty.”
“Very well.” The woman placed the glass on the night stand.
Ororo glanced around the plush room, her brow furrowed. Flashes of another room, with a cot and torn bedding slipped in and out of her mind.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” the nurse asked.
Ororo nodded. “My husband.”
The nurse waited. “Your husband?”
“Yes,” Ororo demanded. “Shinobi Shaw.”
