Post by Pyro on Aug 7, 2006 13:42:17 GMT -5
Dear Friend
I am so, so sorry.
Things got out of control very quickly in Baltimore and contact was never made with Adam. I will be sending one of my associates to find him as soon as the dust has settled. I can't apologise enough. Our numbers are pitifully small. It may be that we have to disband the Brotherhood.
Who are you?
SJA - 'Freedom Fighter'
John hit the 'send' button on the email. He'd given his initials. If the 'Friend' knew as much about the Brotherhood as he seemed, he'd be able to deduce who 'Freedom Fighter' was. He rubbed at his eyes which were hurting again already and continued reading news articles.
After Angie had left, John had immersed himself in reading the various news sites, absorbing information on the attack that he had led. The casualty and death counts momentarily appalled him, then he hardened his heart. He saw pictures of the people he'd once called friends and felt a wrench at his gut when he saw one particularly clear picture of Kitty. Had she got out OK?
His headache had crept back after barely half an hour had passed and he was drinking water in an effort to combat it, his head bent over the keyboard.
" .. me the way to Amarillo, every night I'm mmmhmmm ... " The Juggernaut ambled passed humming out of tune. Cain took two steps past the open door, stopped and took two steps back. John was working again. They had barely been back on the base a day and already he was hunched over the computer studying. Cain didn't care to guess what.
He stooped and stuck his head in.
"You 'ad anythin' to eat yet?" He queried.
"What?" John looked up, his eyes red from staring at the screen for so long. "Oh. Food yeah." He gestured a plate nearby that contained several as-yet-untouched sandwiches that Python had dropped in for him a while ago. "We made serious headlines this time," he said, his tone both pleased and horrified. "Seems like our infamy's spread that little more."
He was faintly alarmed by one report he'd read which had actually focused on him personally and had wondered where the media got their lies from.
"So no then," Cain squeezed the rest of his frame through the doorway and into the office, "bloody eat somethin' or you won't be leadin' shit before long!" He pushed the plate across the table, dislodging several papers and bumping it against the computer.
"An I should think we made the bloody 'eadlines, did some serious damage to that NovaTeX place, an you burned all the cure." Cain folded his arms across his massive chest. "Bet the X-Men 'ave come out smellin' of roses again though eh?"
"All the cure consisted of two cases worth. Intel was up the creek."
John sat back in the chair heavily and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He felt faintly spaced out from information overload and Cain was right. He needed to eat. He reached over and took one of the sandwiches off the top of the pile and ate it without pleasure. He barely tasted it. Everything tasted like ash in his mouth, the taste of the warehouse still lingering.
"And as for the X-Men..." He shook his head. "Looks like their integrity might well be in question. Fucking Bobby Drake had to get himself involved in the warehouse. Wannabe hero that he is. I'm just glad we got out relatively unscathed - apart from Dead Man, obviously - and that Mystique got the information she needed."
He swivelled the monitor round so Cain could see it. "Read that."
The article was a focus piece on the Brotherhood, mentioning that its former leader, Erik Lensherr, MIA since Alcatraz had left his vision in the hands of a young felon named John Allerdyce. It went on to list all Pyro's apparent misdemeanours, including the destruction of several important buildings - including one school - that Cain was pretty certain he'd not done. He'd been on Genosha for much of the time.
"Reverse spin doctoring," muttered John. The article had irritated him beyond belief.
Cain watched the young man eat, satisfied, at least for the time being, that he wasn't going to starve to death in his sleep. "That's a shit picture of you," he said conversationally, "sounds like a load of bollocks to me." He frowned and ran a hand over his scalp.
"Shame about Dead Man, 'e was alright by me, but so long as Mystique got 'er information I guess it's all alright huh." The big man muttered. If they had started the attack sooner instead of waiting around for Mystique the X-Men might not have had time to get into position. And if they hadn't got into position they might not have been able to catch on to Dead Man and Jane.
As it was, Jane had been lucky. By all accounts the Dead Man's last act had probably saved her life.
John was tired. He was tired on a deep, cellular level. His head wasn't right, he was walking the very fine line between keeping it together and losing it totally, although he wasn't really aware of that. He picked up Cain's tone and bristled visibly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He set down the half-eaten sandwich and folded his arms across his chest defensively. "By all accounts, the X-Men were there before we arrived anyway, so stop being so fucking righteous about it. She's good at getting her hands on intelligence. We need that right now. Because there's SOD all of it around here."
"Yeah, you're a smart lad, damn right she's good at gettin' 'er 'ands on intelligence," Cain shot back with a scowl, "'sides, d'you even know what she's got there? 'as she told ya? 'cos she sure as 'ell 'asn't told the rest of us, or ain't we good enough any more?"
The implication burned through John's rising anger like a laser beam and he stood up, leaning forward on the desk. "What's your problem, Cain?" he said, in a low, dangerous tone that he'd never heard the boy use. It was the sort of tone he'd have expected to hear from Magneto, maybe, but Pyro? Nah. Pyro was the pushover.
"She has to assimilate all the information she got first. We just got
back, Cain, and she was pretty badly beat up. When she wakes up..."
" ... that's what we're callin' it these days is it?" Cain cut in, "'ain't never 'eard it called assimilatin' before but, y'know, we live an learn." He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back into them eliciting a crack of joints.
"We been back since this mornin' an we still ain't been told shit. Ya both disappear without a word an that skinny blonde bimbo waltzes in like she owns the place ... an, y'know, come to think of it, when exactly was she invited?"
"Are you questionning my decisions?" John's hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out his lighter, flicking it on and off reflexively. "You can always get the next plane off this rock if you want to, Cain. Nobody ever said you had to stay and follow my command. Both Mystique and Emma Frost are important additions to our team - even more so now that Mystique has got her powers back. Do you see the significance of that, Cain? Or should I draw you a few pictures?"
"I ain't questionin' your decisions, I'm questionin' if they even ARE your decisions mate," he rumbled, "or is that 'ow we're gonna be doin' it now? She gives the orders, you just tell 'em to us? 'Cos if that IS 'ow it's gonna be then I MIGHT just get Python to bloody well drop me off!"
Every scrap of colour drained out of his face and he lit the flame in his hand, but kept his fist clenched around it. "I came up with the plan for NovaTeX. Mystique slotted her plans in to fit around mine. Do you hear that, Cain? MY plans. NOT HERS!" He hesitated for a few moments and pinched the bridge of his nose, his train of thought careening rapidly out of control.
The flame in his hand curled out from between his clenched fingers, burning the skin there as he lost concentration. He yelped and drew the flames back into himself.
"'cept it was our plan that changed, wasn't it? Not 'ers!" The Juggernaut was not famed for his patience and though he could and would grace Pyro with as much as he had, it was rapidly exhausting itself. He'd only come in to check if the lad had eaten anything.
'The lad' (who would have toasted Cain on the spot if he'd known that's what he was perceived as) looked shockingly disoriented. He was having another of those moments where he was struggling to recall everything that he had just said. Literally the entire conversation he'd just had with the Juggernaut was refusing to come to mind. He sat back down again, his face still white and stared at Cain blankly.
"Get out," he said. "I can't have this conversation with you. Not now."
The sentence had a double meaning. Under normal circumstances, it would have meant 'I don't have the patience or inclination to talk to you right now'. In John's current state, it meant 'I CAN'T have this conversation, my brain won't cooperate'.
The Juggernaut had seen marked changes in the kid since Magneto's apparent death at Alcatraz. He'd gotten more and more intense, whilst at the same time withdrawing more and more into his own world. He'd seen Pyro manic, he'd seen Pyro nearly in tears. But he'd never, ever seen Pyro calm.
And that's what he was seeing now.
Flat calm.
Dead calm.
Cain shook his head, "you wanna remember who it was dragged your skinny arse off of Alcatraz, an who sorted out a boat 'ome mate." The Juggernaut growled. Then he squeezed his way back out of the office and slammed the door behind him with such force the hinges shattered and the metal buckled.
Then it toppled back into the hall with a crash.
Cain was already gone.
I am so, so sorry.
Things got out of control very quickly in Baltimore and contact was never made with Adam. I will be sending one of my associates to find him as soon as the dust has settled. I can't apologise enough. Our numbers are pitifully small. It may be that we have to disband the Brotherhood.
Who are you?
SJA - 'Freedom Fighter'
John hit the 'send' button on the email. He'd given his initials. If the 'Friend' knew as much about the Brotherhood as he seemed, he'd be able to deduce who 'Freedom Fighter' was. He rubbed at his eyes which were hurting again already and continued reading news articles.
After Angie had left, John had immersed himself in reading the various news sites, absorbing information on the attack that he had led. The casualty and death counts momentarily appalled him, then he hardened his heart. He saw pictures of the people he'd once called friends and felt a wrench at his gut when he saw one particularly clear picture of Kitty. Had she got out OK?
His headache had crept back after barely half an hour had passed and he was drinking water in an effort to combat it, his head bent over the keyboard.
" .. me the way to Amarillo, every night I'm mmmhmmm ... " The Juggernaut ambled passed humming out of tune. Cain took two steps past the open door, stopped and took two steps back. John was working again. They had barely been back on the base a day and already he was hunched over the computer studying. Cain didn't care to guess what.
He stooped and stuck his head in.
"You 'ad anythin' to eat yet?" He queried.
"What?" John looked up, his eyes red from staring at the screen for so long. "Oh. Food yeah." He gestured a plate nearby that contained several as-yet-untouched sandwiches that Python had dropped in for him a while ago. "We made serious headlines this time," he said, his tone both pleased and horrified. "Seems like our infamy's spread that little more."
He was faintly alarmed by one report he'd read which had actually focused on him personally and had wondered where the media got their lies from.
"So no then," Cain squeezed the rest of his frame through the doorway and into the office, "bloody eat somethin' or you won't be leadin' shit before long!" He pushed the plate across the table, dislodging several papers and bumping it against the computer.
"An I should think we made the bloody 'eadlines, did some serious damage to that NovaTeX place, an you burned all the cure." Cain folded his arms across his massive chest. "Bet the X-Men 'ave come out smellin' of roses again though eh?"
"All the cure consisted of two cases worth. Intel was up the creek."
John sat back in the chair heavily and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He felt faintly spaced out from information overload and Cain was right. He needed to eat. He reached over and took one of the sandwiches off the top of the pile and ate it without pleasure. He barely tasted it. Everything tasted like ash in his mouth, the taste of the warehouse still lingering.
"And as for the X-Men..." He shook his head. "Looks like their integrity might well be in question. Fucking Bobby Drake had to get himself involved in the warehouse. Wannabe hero that he is. I'm just glad we got out relatively unscathed - apart from Dead Man, obviously - and that Mystique got the information she needed."
He swivelled the monitor round so Cain could see it. "Read that."
The article was a focus piece on the Brotherhood, mentioning that its former leader, Erik Lensherr, MIA since Alcatraz had left his vision in the hands of a young felon named John Allerdyce. It went on to list all Pyro's apparent misdemeanours, including the destruction of several important buildings - including one school - that Cain was pretty certain he'd not done. He'd been on Genosha for much of the time.
"Reverse spin doctoring," muttered John. The article had irritated him beyond belief.
Cain watched the young man eat, satisfied, at least for the time being, that he wasn't going to starve to death in his sleep. "That's a shit picture of you," he said conversationally, "sounds like a load of bollocks to me." He frowned and ran a hand over his scalp.
"Shame about Dead Man, 'e was alright by me, but so long as Mystique got 'er information I guess it's all alright huh." The big man muttered. If they had started the attack sooner instead of waiting around for Mystique the X-Men might not have had time to get into position. And if they hadn't got into position they might not have been able to catch on to Dead Man and Jane.
As it was, Jane had been lucky. By all accounts the Dead Man's last act had probably saved her life.
John was tired. He was tired on a deep, cellular level. His head wasn't right, he was walking the very fine line between keeping it together and losing it totally, although he wasn't really aware of that. He picked up Cain's tone and bristled visibly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He set down the half-eaten sandwich and folded his arms across his chest defensively. "By all accounts, the X-Men were there before we arrived anyway, so stop being so fucking righteous about it. She's good at getting her hands on intelligence. We need that right now. Because there's SOD all of it around here."
"Yeah, you're a smart lad, damn right she's good at gettin' 'er 'ands on intelligence," Cain shot back with a scowl, "'sides, d'you even know what she's got there? 'as she told ya? 'cos she sure as 'ell 'asn't told the rest of us, or ain't we good enough any more?"
The implication burned through John's rising anger like a laser beam and he stood up, leaning forward on the desk. "What's your problem, Cain?" he said, in a low, dangerous tone that he'd never heard the boy use. It was the sort of tone he'd have expected to hear from Magneto, maybe, but Pyro? Nah. Pyro was the pushover.
"She has to assimilate all the information she got first. We just got
back, Cain, and she was pretty badly beat up. When she wakes up..."
" ... that's what we're callin' it these days is it?" Cain cut in, "'ain't never 'eard it called assimilatin' before but, y'know, we live an learn." He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back into them eliciting a crack of joints.
"We been back since this mornin' an we still ain't been told shit. Ya both disappear without a word an that skinny blonde bimbo waltzes in like she owns the place ... an, y'know, come to think of it, when exactly was she invited?"
"Are you questionning my decisions?" John's hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out his lighter, flicking it on and off reflexively. "You can always get the next plane off this rock if you want to, Cain. Nobody ever said you had to stay and follow my command. Both Mystique and Emma Frost are important additions to our team - even more so now that Mystique has got her powers back. Do you see the significance of that, Cain? Or should I draw you a few pictures?"
"I ain't questionin' your decisions, I'm questionin' if they even ARE your decisions mate," he rumbled, "or is that 'ow we're gonna be doin' it now? She gives the orders, you just tell 'em to us? 'Cos if that IS 'ow it's gonna be then I MIGHT just get Python to bloody well drop me off!"
Every scrap of colour drained out of his face and he lit the flame in his hand, but kept his fist clenched around it. "I came up with the plan for NovaTeX. Mystique slotted her plans in to fit around mine. Do you hear that, Cain? MY plans. NOT HERS!" He hesitated for a few moments and pinched the bridge of his nose, his train of thought careening rapidly out of control.
The flame in his hand curled out from between his clenched fingers, burning the skin there as he lost concentration. He yelped and drew the flames back into himself.
"'cept it was our plan that changed, wasn't it? Not 'ers!" The Juggernaut was not famed for his patience and though he could and would grace Pyro with as much as he had, it was rapidly exhausting itself. He'd only come in to check if the lad had eaten anything.
'The lad' (who would have toasted Cain on the spot if he'd known that's what he was perceived as) looked shockingly disoriented. He was having another of those moments where he was struggling to recall everything that he had just said. Literally the entire conversation he'd just had with the Juggernaut was refusing to come to mind. He sat back down again, his face still white and stared at Cain blankly.
"Get out," he said. "I can't have this conversation with you. Not now."
The sentence had a double meaning. Under normal circumstances, it would have meant 'I don't have the patience or inclination to talk to you right now'. In John's current state, it meant 'I CAN'T have this conversation, my brain won't cooperate'.
The Juggernaut had seen marked changes in the kid since Magneto's apparent death at Alcatraz. He'd gotten more and more intense, whilst at the same time withdrawing more and more into his own world. He'd seen Pyro manic, he'd seen Pyro nearly in tears. But he'd never, ever seen Pyro calm.
And that's what he was seeing now.
Flat calm.
Dead calm.
Cain shook his head, "you wanna remember who it was dragged your skinny arse off of Alcatraz, an who sorted out a boat 'ome mate." The Juggernaut growled. Then he squeezed his way back out of the office and slammed the door behind him with such force the hinges shattered and the metal buckled.
Then it toppled back into the hall with a crash.
Cain was already gone.
