Blackbird in her steelblue elegance descended into the hangar and the soft sound of engines fell silent. The back ramp opened with the hiss of hydraulics and then, the jet stood still.
Iceman jumped the stairs with a wide yawn, followed by Wolverine, Jean, Colossus, Nightcrawler, Gambit and Rogue, Kitty, Cyclops and Storm.
"Guys, lemme tell you, if I hate anything 'bout this job, it's the night shift," Bobby said between the violent oxygenation of his body.
"You should have gone vork elsewhere. Like the Eis stores, zum example. You'd be highly appreciated there, I believe," Kurt smirked, though it was obvious he feels the same, or at least very similar. There was noone in the whole team who would sympatize with these late night parties. Except for maybe Wolverine didn't care, although it was him who usually complained the most.
Now he remained silent and kept his distance from he more talkative part of the X-Men. He stretched his shoulders to get rid of the stiffnes, fought back a yawn and looked up to the starry skies. Outside the view granted by the hangar skylight was the moon sinking slowly to the horizon, and his soft, fading light was reflected by the ground.
A few secconds later the basketball court closed again, leaving the space below to the artificial lighting. The group of mutants slowly continued on their journey to the elevator.
Wolverine stopped his pace when he noticed Storm is falling behind. She seemed to be withdrawn and, compared to her normal color, very pale for the whole time. His own curiosity made him remember the promise they gave each other back in Canada and go and ask what's wrong. 'She's an adult, grown an' sane, she knows what she's doin'. Not any o' my business,' he thought for himself and shrugged, as it could extinguish that tiny voice tapping on his adamantium skull. He merged with the "crowd", blankly answered some remarks and entered the lift. The door closed and the hangar fell into darkness.
Later that night (or more precisely, that early morning), Logan lied in his bed, teetering over that thin line between the dream and reality and reviewed last hours' events to himself. It was a routine action - the good guys were supposed to send the bad guy flying and the end, finito. He realized he doesn't even know what were the mutant's abilities, they were done with him a way too fast to notice. The maniac was given to the proper authorities and the whole thing was over, even though most of the team would like to take on him personally, especially after he bruised Storm and Iceman. Luckily for them (and for him as well), they were not severely harmed.
Just another ordinary mission, that will be a topic for a discussion for a while, then be slowly forgotten. Wolverine yawned for one last time and with the thoughts of what's about to come tomorrow, he fell asleep.
The old habit hardly allowed him the pleasure of a really deep sleep and today was no exception. That's why he woke up in the moment when the familiar scent touched his nostrils. He blinked in the dark.
"Storm? What... Summers raised another alarm or what's wrong?" he groaned and rubbed his sore eyes. In a split second, he was wide awake, when his teammate (or what he was used to think about that way) swiftly jumped on top of him, succesfuly digging her knees in his sides.
Wolverine gasped in surprise and before he had any time to react, he lost the chance to use his hands. A hard squeeze on his neck then robbed him of oxygen.
'That ain't possible!' The man was swift to realize he can barely move. His brain didn't know how to cope with that information. She was strong, yes, but not more than him. And definitely not THIS much more.
She leaned closer and looked hime straight in the eye. Steel blue color of his eyes met with a strange blood red reflection and Logan shuddered. This cold, calculating stare was one of his qualities, but he would never expect to see it by her. And now he was damn sure he doesn't want to anymore. 'This can't be her...' But all of his senses told him the exact opposite.
She let go of his wrists and he still wasn't able to defend himself. He felt like drunk. At least...a lot.
The female mutant grabbed his hair and mercilessly yanked his head to the side. He realized the sharp pain a few moments later, even though his body reacted immediately. He felt like his spine was hit by a lightning bolt. He dug his fingers into her back and made one last desperate attempt to pull away, which was the only defensive he had the strenght for, before he fell into the sweet darkness.
'I need coffee... lots and lots of coffee,' Scott thought and, even though he was awake for quite some time, it was the first conscious thought that fought it's way into his mind. For the whole ten minutes he tried to persuade himself about getting up from the bed, yawning in the end, he brushed through his chestnut hair and after one offended stare on his alarm clock he finally got up, trying to do that without waking up his fiancé (which was a task he refined himself in to perfection).
He put on his clothes, quite cranky about the fact the tiny stain from yestarday's dinner didn't make it's exit from the collar of his shirt overnight, and began his quest for the longed-for coffee.
He stopped just once, to clean his glasses and rub his tired eyes. It was just then when every single hair of his body stood up straight in terror. Right behind him, there was a... noise - such an alien, grisly noise, that he was able to swear just a second after it was just a figment of his imagination. Even so, he put his glasses back on and cautiously looked around the place. There was a thing in the life of an X-Man, which was weighted by diamonds - foresight.
Nothing. Not even a trace of anything, that could make such a noise - which could be probably descibed the best as the screeching of a bat amplified about a hundred times. But there was a complete, utter silence again. The team leader stood still for a while longer, then just shook his head in dismay and decided to continue his pursuit for coffee. But the noise kept him aware; hidden in the corner of his mind as a predator lurking for it's prey.
In spite of his habit, he wasn't one of the first on the breakfast on that day. Quite the contrary - he came among the last. He fetched himself a cup and the kettle, but unfortunately for him, both were empty. With a grumble, he set up a new kettle on.
He sat at the table and claimed one cheese toast, nibbling on it with a murder-like stare. Something still made him think about that strange noise he's heard before.
"HEY!" Jubilee hit him in the ribs.
"What?" he answered, half confused, half irritated from the sudden interruption.
"I asked if you've already seen Wolvie this morning?" the young mutant demanded to know the answer, since her first attempt was left ignored.
"Uhm... no," Cyclops said and kept nibbling on his toast.
"He might have overslept...? That does not look much like him," Kurt mused and took a bite of his marmelade pancake.
"Doesn't look like Stormy, either and see? She ain' 'ere, too," shrugged Gambit. The others stared at him in total surprise. "Quoi?" he asked, still not getting the reason for their schock. Then, he finally grasped the other meaning of his own answer, which ended in his own confused stare. "Non... you can't be thinkin' dem two..." he choked on his own breakfast in amusement just from that thought.
"We ain't thinking, sugar, we just think it seems... suspicious," Rogue put on an innocent face and took a pankake from her boyfriend's hands.
"Admit it, mein Freund, since they've come back from their Ausflug to Canada, they seem to act quite unusual."
"They're not trying to kill, or even bruise each other!"
"Well, that's quite a shock."
Scott couldn't help but to stand by and watch what are the minds of his subordinates capable of when given the proper impulse. He was so consumed by the heated conversation about their new possible pair of turtledoves, that the first time he started to notice the reality again was the time when everyone fell silent. He looked up just to meet eye to eye with Wolverine standing at the door.
"An' who the hell's that girl I'm s'posed to be droolin' all over?" the newcomer asked with a suspicion and looked at one teammate at a time. The whole dining room was dead silent and everyone was suddenly deeply concerned about the wellbeing of their meals.
Logan just sighed and took the kettle of Scott's coffee, claiming it for himself. He poured himself a cup and sat on his place at the table, which was decorated with the claw-made carvings of unfinished game of Gomoku and something that might've originally been a wolf.
"You've got a morning cold?" asked Jean (who arrived somewhere in between the earlier debate) and meant the fact of Wolverine's choice of pretty unusual clothes - a warm wooly shirt with a high collar, quite tight around the neck, which was something he usually didn't dig out untill it really freezing. But Wolverine didn't answer any more but by a mere shrug. He didn't look too well, she realized; he was pale and seemed like he didn't sleep all night. "Are you allright?"
"Pretty much," was a silent answer as the mutant started reading today's newspaper.
Jean rolled her eyes. "Logan..."
"'S nothin', really, just... just a stupid dream or somethin'." It wasn't hard to guess he considers the whole thing over.
At the same time, the conspirators at the other end of the table decided to act. "I just vonder,"
started Kurt, 'accidentaly' loud enough for everyone to hear, "where ist Ororo! She's usually wide avake this time of day..."
"'Ro's asleep, elf," Wolverine muttered without looking up from the newspaper.
The X-Men exchanged meaningful glances, some failing to cover their amusement even with the use of the meal.
"An' how would you know, homme?" Gambit insisted, with the support of his companions, ignoring Hank's attempt to indicate the healt hazards to which asking Wolverine such a question usually led.
Wolverine simply rose, reached out over the table, grabbed the nagger by the collar and almost murdered him with something else than just a stare. "I just know. An' keep askin' like that an' Rogue will have to pick ye up, one piece atta time," he growled and for a while, the young Cajun felt like he really *did* mean *every* word he said. Logan then showed him back into his chair, finished the cup of coffee, confiscated the newspaper and left the dining room.
Remy put on a face of a poor innocent puppy.
"If I were on your place, which I will, fortunately, never take, I wouldn't come near that man for the nearest foreseeable future. Otherwise, I'm afraid he is about to rip your throat," Beast stated coldly.
"Ouchie..." Remy looked on his pancake with his own bite mark on it and suddenly felt a rush of sympathy towards the pastry.
The whole following day kept peaceful, lazy atmosphere. Outside, there was a thick fog crawling all around the mansion grounds, and most of the tutorials have been cancelled because of the late night mission. Neither Wolverine, nor Storm did show up the whole day.
The afternoon brought a strange weariness into the building, probably due to the gloomy weather conditions, and everyone wondered whether it has or has not some connection to Ororo's supposed ill-being. There were some, considered by others to be the most probable winners of a Darwin Award (which they didn't win only for having the luck in Logan's absence in the common quarters), who tried to name the possible reasons for her current state.
The murky evening slowly shifted into even more dismal twilight. Despite the early spring in the air, it was still almost freezing and the visibility shrank even more as the fog thickened. The sky was covered with a thick grey veil and embraced the whole Xavier Institute with a cursed-castle-like atmosphere.
Gambit spent the evening in his room, reading a book of the stories of New Orleans, which he fell on his head in the library last week. He was about a halfway through one extremely long vampire tale from the 18th century, when he started to feel extremely tired.
He tried talking himself into finishing at least this one, 'till he found out what a load of pages are still left to the end. With a deep sigh, he attached a Seven of Diamonds (which served as a bookmark) to the page, put the book back to the nightstand and turned off the lights, determined to find out whether the blood-addicted familly got slain in the end or not. As soon as tomorrow.
But just as he closed his eyes, a strange, unnerving feeling swept all over him; just like when there's someone trying to stare a hole in the nape of your neck.
He didn't move for a while, using all his other senses to determine the source of his stirness. He didn't hear a thing and he wasn't exactly sure if he really wants to know what is lurking in the dark. His sight, slowly adapting to the darkness, fell on the pack of cards on his nightstand and in that instant, he thanked the God for making him convince Rogue to play a game of Blackjack before he went to bed to read the book.
'Now or never,' he thought for himself and jumped for the cards. He took one, charged it and then quickly span around, ready to stick it down the throat of any threat that would come to eat him alive.
And right then, he froze like a deer in the headlights, like the blood stood still in his body. The last thing he saw were blood red eyes and a faint glimpse of silvery hair.
"Scott, I need to speak with you, immediately. Come to my office, please."
A sharp order resonating through his skull woke the team leader in an instant. He was already used to this kind of disturbances from the warm embrace of sleep (and Jean), so he didn't raise a question. Instead, he put his jeans on and headed for the headmaster's office, as quietly and quickly as possible, his experience and the sense of responsibility already sparking up the energy reserves of his body.
At the door, he missed his colleague by less than an inch - almost bumping into him. He didn't stop, he didn't react.
He hadn't seen anyone.
The X-Man smirked in satisfaction, showing the lenghted canines, and went exactly the other way. He entered the room and glanced over to the sleeping woman. The dim light of the few stars shining through the tears in the clouds was quite enough for him to see every detail.
The hunter once again closed in on his prey, as silent as a mere shadow on the moon at night. When the chance rose, he'd always preferred a safe kill to a long shot, but this time, his decision was different. He jumped on the footbard and woke his victim.
Jean blinked drowzily. She had no idea what roused her from her sleep, she just knew it felt odd. She rubbed her eyes and tried to see something in the darkness surrounding the room. There definitely was something present. Something had to wake her up.
"Over here, Jeannie..."
She turned to the voice but still didn't see anything but dark. Altough... yes, there definitely was some shadow in the way, even darker than the rest of the room. She reached out with her telepathy, but found nothing. She had a feeling that if there'd be a mose in that corner, her mind trace would have been as clear as a whistle compared to this.
Then she realized it was the voice of the creature, that seemed to be familiar. As soon as she concentrated on that fact, it didn't take a fraction of a second to asign the voice to it's owner.
"Logan? Are you out there?"
She got one answer - a low, hostile laugh. Without noticing any movement around her, she felt a tremnedous weight to sink down on her.
At that moment, a pale full moon came through the clouds and revealed the Wolverine on the hunt. Taken by the shock, she reflexively tried to push him back with her TK, but he simply sneered at her. "These party trick don' work on me anymore, Red." His smirk grew even wider so the sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
"What..." the female mutant started, but in that instant, she realized it's not Wolverine, who attacked her. At least not entirely. Wolverine certainly didn't have the eyes of the color of the newly shedded blood.
She wanted to defend herself, but just his gaze was enough to render her defenseless. She remembered a quote she used in her biology tutorial just about a week ago: "An effective way to deal with predators is to taste terrible." Otherwise you risk that the jaws will snap your neck in a deadly clasp.
When that occured, she probably didn't even notice.
Scott finally arrived to his objective - the office of Professor X. He knocked the door and entered without waiting for any further invitations. It was, after all, Charles, who summoned him, so he had to be expected.
Only there was a complete darkness in the office and the place at the desk was empty. The team leader scowled. Forgettery is one thing, but being completely oblivious to call someone to you was definitely not on the list. And Charles Xavier was far from both.
Cyclops granted himself a few seconds to locate the psychic link between him and the Professor and turned the lights on in the meantime. He was right - the office was cleaned up and empty, just like it was meant to be every evening after it's occupier resorted to sleep.
"Professor? Can you hear me?"
"... of course I do, Scott. What is the matter?" Even his mental voice sounded quite sleepy, so it was not up to a genius to follow the equation from there on. Whoever called, it wasn't Xavier. Scott quickly turned the lights off and raced back to his room. He'd informed his mentor on the way and asked him to raise the rest of the team.
Cyclops arrived in what seemed a heartbeat. He flung the door open without even thinking of knocking them first. "Jean?!" he shouted into the dark.
He didn't get any answer, even though the racket he made just by entering the room must have been enough to wake her. The moon disappeared in the clouds again and the room wasn't lit anymore. Cyclops reached for the switch, but the light bulb didn't even give it a try.
And then, he heard it again. That horrible sound which almost made him jump out of his skin that morning. Without any second thought he simply took off his glasses and shot an optic beam in that direction. It made contact - he could figure so much from the angry growl and a blunt thump that followed. Something hit the wall.
Beast and Jubilee arrived to help him and the rest of the team was not far away as well. But it was the moon that once again proved it's strenght and uncovered the scene. In it's soft light, there were four dark figures facing the team - two men, two women.
Storm. Wolverine. Gambit. And Jean. Four mutants everyone in the room knew. Or at least, they thought they knew. Right now, they seemed to be demons instead of human beings.
It seemed so bizzare. X-Men just couldn't help but stare. They felt like they were trapped in some kind of a bad joke concerning count Dracula. The shock caught them short of action. The more sensible members of the team caught the ferriferous scent of fresh blood.
Gambit growled and showed his own pair of fangs. That sound actually got their attention. Just in time, since the four just made their mind in the matter of the attack.
Scott shot one warning salvo just in front of them. It really did stop them. For a while. Iceman took the initiative and put an ice wall in their path. There was an uproar from the other side and the sound of fistst colliding with the cold surface of the ice. Some of the bones did crack, but they didn't seem to notice - they actually seemed to regenerate those very quickly.
"What is the meaning of-" The authoritative voice of professor Xavier came through the hallway, but fell silent as soon as the man saw the scene. "My god..."
A nasty growl came from the other side of the barrier. The four knew that the arrival of Xavier shifted the balance of the battle dramatically to the other side. They shattered the window and, with the promise of a payback clear in their eyes, the children of the night turned around and jumped into it's cold embrace, leaving their teammates behind, shaken.
To be continued...
