Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The drone’s footage was clear and crisp. The aerial shots soared along a grey beach, then over a pine forest, and down along a rushing river. Following a figure, whose motions were quickened by the sped-up footage.

Transigen had been keeping tabs on the mutant for over a year, now – yet they remained something of a mystery.

Mutation? Unknown.

Reason for Isolation? Unknown.

How they survived on Maine’s wild coast, with only deer and wolves for company? Anyone’s fucking guess.

But whatever they were, they were about to meet Transigen’s best.

Pierce lounged in the Hummer’s passenger seat, replaying the drone footage as the Reavers groused in the back about the shitty coffee on their longhaul from Pheonix. It had been a tiring trip, and reaching the hummers and armoured truck waiting for them on the tarmac had only been a part of it. Now they had a three-hour drive North to the coast, and no guaranteed where the mutant would be when they arrived. By Pierce’s estimated, the mutey ranged over a 10-mile area on the daily. But they’d find them. With nearly a dozen Reavers set to the task, that was a given.

It was an anomaly, to have brought so many Reavers to hunt a single mutant. But the energy signature recorded from the remote coast over the last few months had ensured a special team. He'd heard from the techs that the bursts were unlike anything Alkali’s sensors had ever picked up. Something science had no name for.

That had piqued Pierce’s interest. The energy surges were certainly coming from the mutant – it couldn't be coincidence that a mystery mutt was living in the region of the anomalies, during the only months they'd been recorded – but a hundred other questions remained. What kind of energy was it? How could it be harnessed? And, Transigen’s more pressing concern: in the age of global techno-warfare, could it be weaponized?

So, the mission.

Get the mutant. Whole. Alive. And do whatever was necessary to bring them in.

***

It was the perfect trap.

You never saw it coming.

One minute you were running along the path, thinking of your plans for moving camp before the first snowfall – and then something whizzed past your ear.

You skidded to a halt, puzzled. Something else thwacked into the basket you held, inches away from embedding itself into your skin.

Bullets?
No. The projectile was like a small hypodermic needle, coated in glinting metal. Darts.

Tranquilizers.
You dove for the ditch, just as more darts whizzed overhead.

Breathing hard, you rolled into a crouch, then spun behind a tree for cover. Peeking out, you saw two black silhouettes outlined against the ridge above the trail, scanning the treeline with dark goggles.

Then an engine roared to life from further down the trail, and a dark Hummer came into view, another gunman poised atop it.

It was an ambush. They must have known you were coming – must have staked out this trail, which you thought was yours alone.

A tall man with honey-blond hair leaned out of the Hummer's passenger side, calling orders to the soldiers as he scanned the treeline. His gaze met yours.

He grinned.

“Five o’clock!” He shouted, pointing towards you.

You didn’t wait around to see what came next. You pelted through the undergrowth like a deer.

They'd found you, at last.

And those didn't look like simple security personal, either. Not even true military.

Reavers.

You pushed the thought from your mind, and ran. They hadn't gotten you yet – and you could outrun them, in these woods. Your woods. You'd keep running all night, if that's what it took.

Voices shouted from behind you, and footfalls hit the dirt as more soldiers poured from the vehicles.

Your breath came hard. Every once in a while, a dart whizzed by, some close enough that you could feel the air they stirred. They thunked into the trees around you.

The gorge, you thought, limbs growing heavy. If I can cross the gorge, they won’t be able to follow.
If you could get across, that was.

The fallen tree was a precarious bridge on the best of days, and last night’s rainfall had probably left its bark wet and slippery. Still, it would be the quickest way to lose them.

You emerged from the treeline into the clearing at the gorge's edge. Peering down, the rushing turquoise water seemed very far below. It was a forty-foot drop, and the river was freezing in late Autumn.

“Fucking shit,” you said, giving yourself no time to think as you leapt onto the fallen tree, whose bulk spanned the gorge like a thick-beamed bridge.

Footfalls, behind you. They’d reached the treeline.

Something made contact with you pack, nearly knocking you off balance as your boots struggled to find purchase on the wet bark. A dart had embedded itself in the thick canvas. You regained your footing, and continued on, flushed with adrenaline.

“Hold!” Someone shouted, annoyed. “Don't fucking shoot! They’ll fall."

That brought you a measure of relief. They weren’t trying to kill you, at least – but you doubted the alternative they had in mind would be any more pleasant. The mutants that went into Transigen's armoured trucks didn’t tend to come back out.

You continued to clamber carefully across the log, sticking to the trunk and the places the bark seemed the most stable.

Halfway across, now.

You tried not to look down, ignoring the rush of the river far below.

“Get the hook!” The man shouted from behind you.

You glanced backward, worried they were rigging up a line to reach the other side of the gorge. But what you saw was worse.

“Get them in the leg – or shoulder,” the blond man was saying, as a Reaver aimed an odd-looking rifle at you. Not a rifle; some sort of grappling hook, attached to a projectile head.

A hook. Made to hook you, and drag you back to them.

Shit.
Your body flooded with cold.

Without thinking, you leapt from the side of the log, grabbing hold of one of its branches before the Reaver could fire. You caught the slippery bark, and managed to hold onto it as you swung down to hang below the huge log.

You were out of their sightline, for the moment – but now at the mercy of the disintegrating wood. You dug your nails into the branch, but its wood was slick. For a sickening moment, you hung out over the drop, watching your feet dangle below you.

Your eyes rose back to the bank, where the soldiers had moved to keep you in sight. The blond man stood at their front, staring at you. He cocked his head.

"Now, baby – let's not do anything rash."

You ignored him, squeezing your eyes shut.

Was this rash? Sure. Stupid? Probably. But it was like you'd said. You'd rather take your chances with all the dangers in the world then find out what happened inside Transigen's labs.

So you let go.

Voices shouted above you, but they quickly disappeared in the rush of the wind. Then you hit the water, and all the air was knocked from your lungs.

***

It was a long time before you could fight the river’s current enough to make it to the bank; soaking, freezing, and coughing up lungfuls of water. Your head spun from your initial impact with the river, and black dots danced across your vision whenever you moved too quickly.

When you made it to the bank, it was all you could do to lay there, staring at the sky and gasping for air. Shivers quickly overtook you, and you feebly tried to ring out the hem of your soaking shirt. You'd had to tug your jacket off, to keep it from pulling you under – and now you lay in sopping pants and thin cotton on the bare stones.

The water had been freezing. And your pack was gone; lost to the river, so you had no way to light a fire. But you knew you needed to get dry, and warm – fast.

The sun was setting behind the trees by the time you regained enough strength to drag yourself upright. When you did, a glint of light caught your eye, winking where something disappeared above the canopy. Something metallic.

A drone.

Of course they had drones looking for me.
Even now, they could be tracking me –

“Well hi,” someone said, stepping from the treeline ten paces away. Their voice was smooth and pleasant. “Have a nice swim?”

You struggled upright as Reavers jogged from the trees, surrounding you and aiming a dozen weapons at you as they grabbed and pinned your arms. You tried to struggle, but your muscles were slow to respond, wracked as they were with cold.

“Fuck – off!” You shouted, fighting as they pulled you up.

They dragged you forwards, and pushed you to your knees before the tall blond man. He stood, calmly adjusting his metal hand as if this were the most normal scene in the world.

Which for him, you thought, it probably fucking was.

You couldn't hide a violent shiver, and could tell your lips were turning blue from the cold. The blond man glanced at you, as water droplets pattered from your wet hair with the intensity of your shaking.

"You cunts looking for the nearest vacation rental?" You spat, covering your embarrassment over the violent shivering with a sharp gibe. "Cause you're pretty damn lost. Tourists usually stick to the 295."

“Oh ho!” He laughed, tilting his head towards the other Reavers. “We’ve got ourselves a talker. That’ll come in handy, since I’m beginning to feel pretty damn curious about what your mutation is." He turned back to you. His hands were in his pockets, his posture the picture of casual grade – but behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes were those of a predator. Their focus reminded you of those of the wildcats who drifted through the area, or the rare bands of wolves who sometimes appeared along the shore. They had an intensity to them. Even now, you could feel them assessing you. Calculating.

“Well, we know it can’t be swimming,” He said, ticking the possibilities off on his fingers. “Or flying." He grinned.

“Keep guessing, redneck ex machina,” you retorted. “We’ll be here all night.”

One of the soldiers behind their leader gave a short laugh, which quickly turned into a cough. The blond man smiled tolerantly, then shrugged.

“Have it your way. We can move things along. Cuffs," he commanded.

Another Reaver came forwards, brandishing a pair of thick, evil-looking metal handcuffs.

As he rounded behind you, you bucked against the Reavers holding you down, but they only gripped you more roughly. One cuff clamped down on your wrist. You tried to kick at the soldiers, but a Reaver grabbed hold of your hair, and smashed the butt of his pistol against your head.

You saw stars, and felt your body go limp in their grip. The cuffs tightened around your wrists.

Something hot was running from your nose and down the back of your throat, and you choked slightly before you spat it to the ground.

Blood.

The ringing in your ears was clearing, but now you saw that dark boots had come to rest before you. You raised your head in time to see the blond man’s smiling face come into view, as he crouched down. He took your chin in his hand, forcing it upwards.

His gaze raked across your face, and he smeared his thumb carelessly over your bloody lips.

His golden hair was tousled, and he'd taken off his glasses. This close, the blue of his eyes was vibrant as a noonday sky, and he smelled of leather, sweat, and tar.

“Not a healing power, either,” he mused.

“I’m not a mutant,” you replied hotly, pulling your chin from his grip. “If I was, I’d already have done something to blast your fucking brains out.”

He rocked back on his heels, eyes widening in mock offense.

“Well, alright!" He stood, brushing off his pants. “Then I'm sure the lab will be able to figure out why you're giving off energy signatures strong enough to be recorded a thousand miles away."

You stiffened.

He noticed your reaction, his gaze locking onto it.

"So you do know something about that," he drawled, smiling. "That's good to know. Hard to keep that kind of thing a secret, I imagine, when we can pick it up clear across the country."

He winked, and turned back to his soldiers at the treeline. "I just hope you're worth our while. It wasn’t easy, getting out to your neck of the woods.”

You'd gone cold at mention of the energy surges, and them taking you to the lab. Colder than you already were, that was. Terror lanced through you.

Now, as the soldiers lifted you into a standing position, you struggled against them, panic threatening to choke you.

“No–fuck!” You cried, digging your heels into the wet ground.

You couldn't go there. They'd tie you down, and test you, and find –

The blond man only chuckled.

You stared around wildly, looking for a way out and finding none.

Fuck pretending to be a complete non-mutant, then. That had been a great plan – until you were about to be bundled into a truck on your way to Transigen. Besides, if they thought they knew what your mutation was, maybe it'd make it easier to escape.

The trees. The riverbank. The water. You quickly took in your surroundings. There had to be some around. And then you spotted them – a pair of wings, wheeling high in the fading sky.

And there – a pattern of scales, shifting carefully between the rocks to your right.

You breathed deeply, then opened your mouth. You called to them. Shouted at them. Pleaded with them for help.

The words you spoke were from no human language, but sounded somehow familiar. Their tone was strange, but their melody like the echo of a distant memory.

You wondered vaguely what the soldiers heard, when you spoke. Perhaps a scream. Perhaps nothing.

But the eagles heard. The two raptors wheeling overhead turned, and dove as one towards the soldiers. At the same time, you turned towards the riverbank, and called out to the creature there. A rattlesnake, who’d been sleeping among the stones until it was disturbed. The large serpent considered your request for a moment, golden eyes glinting, then coiled into an angry ball and launched itself at the nearest soldier.

Pandemonium erupted in the clearing.

The blond man didn't take his eyes off you as he grabbed his pistol, then turned away to fire on the eagles.

A Reaver screamed as an eagle tore through his vizor, and another stumbled and fell as he was blinded by the second eagle's flapping wings.

Nearer you, the rattlesnake had bitten a Raever’s exposed hand, but now two soldiers were descending upon it with stomping boots, pulling pistols from their holsters. The snake hissed, writhing in pain.

You couldn't help the tears that streamed down your face, mingling with your blood, as you crawled towards the snake in a desperate attempt to keep the soldiers from crushing it.

But you couldn't stop their heavy boots.

The snake hissed.

It was like watching a friend die.

It was watching a friend die.

With a herculean effort, you pushed yourself to your feet and kicked at the nearest soldier, hands still cuffed behind you. One kick sent him stumbling, and the other would have caught him in the temple, had you not been slow, weak, and pained. He caught himself, and turned to backhand you across the face.

Stars obscured your vision.

Your head pounded.

The next thing you knew, you were lying on the ground. A coppery taste filled your mouth, and you blinked away tears, taking in the scene in the clearing.

The eagles were fleeing, one flying badly on a punctured wing. One Reaver lay on the ground, bloody hands covering his face. And the one who'd been bitten by the rattlesnake was keeled over, vomiting into the dirt from the venom.

You couldn't look towards where the snake's body lay. 

The blond man's gaze found you where you lay sprawled on the ground, and he pulled a tranq-gun from the holster of the nearest Reaver.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?" He said, walking slowly towards you. "And here I thought you said you weren’t a mutt.” He shook his head, tutting softly. “That hurts.”

He aimed the dart gun, gesturing apologetically with it.

"Just in case you got any more tricks up your sleeve."

He smiled. And fired.

The dart embedded itself in your thigh, and you gasped in pain. It stung horribly – and the stinging sensation quickly spread, even as you struggled backwards along the rocky ground.

The blond man came to crouch beside you.

“Ah ah,” He said, planting a knee on your chest. "None of that."

His weight pinned you down, keeping you from moving as the tranquilizer took hold. You were quickly growing lightheaded, and the world around you was taking on an air of unreality. You felt your head nod slowly towards the ground, unable to stop it.

I can't give in.
Darkness blotted out the edges of your vision.

I can't let myself be kidnapped by some military jackasses. This is not how my story ends.
You felt him catch your head as it fell to the ground, his hand warm against your cheek.

“Honestly, I’m a bit disappointed," he said, thumb tracing the bruise beginning to form along your jaw. "I guess I was expecting something with a little more… ‘bang’.”

He wiggled the fingers of his other hand at you, teasingly. "Sweet dreams, darlin'."

But his voice seemed to be coming from a long way off, and your eyes were drifting shut against your will. Your body was numb. The smell of him – gunsmoke now mingling with sweat, and something else, dangerously enticing – was near, as he pinned you to the ground. The only warmth came from his hand against your face – and even that was receding.

And then you knew nothing.

***

Chapter Text

The armoured truck bounced along the rutted road, firearms and metal shelving rattling in its rear. And there, behind the metal bars of the vehicle’s cell, lay U36. They were passed out on the truck’s floor, head lolling against the metal bench. Only their face peeked out from the thermo-blanket the Reavers had wrapped them in.

Pierce sat beside the armoury rack on the truck’s passenger side, idly dismantling and cleaning his gun as two of his senior Reavers, Hendricks and Gabe, sat on the bench opposite him.

When the Reavers had carried U36 to the truck, the medic had been worried. They’d had full-blown hypothermia, he’d said; worsened by the effects of the tranquilizer. Their lips had been blue when Pierce had stooped to examine them, and the rise and fall of their chest faint. So he’d kept them in one of the Hummers for a while, blasting the heat and wrapping them in a thermo-blanket until some of their colour returned.

U36. Transigen had logged them with that name, for lack of a better one. They could find no record of them in any database; not a birth certificate, or a school diploma. Not even an out-of-date parking ticket. So U, for unknown. And their number, 36, hinted at the long list of forgotten mutants who’d come and gone through Transigen’s doors over the years.

The conversation of the Reavers eventually returned to the mission, and one of them leaned forwards, catching Pierce’s eye.

“Shouldn’t we gag them, or something?” Hendricks asked. “Don’t want them talking to the fucking roaches, and getting them to choke us in our sleep.”

Gabe chuckled.

Pierce glanced towards the mutant’s unconscious form, then smiled and shrugged.

“No need,” he replied.

They’d left Maine’s thick forests behind hours ago, and were now driving through civil Massachusetts farmland.

When Hendricks stared at him questioningly, Pierce pulled the notebook from his bag. He’d found it in their camp when they’d raided it before the ambush, and had taken time to study it after they’d captured them. It was a useful thing, to learn about your prey. It meant you could begin to understand them. And when you understood something, you could control it.

“They can only talk to a handful of critters. Eagles; hawks; wolves, and the like. The hawks might be a problem – but there ain't many of those other ones around here."

He idly fanned the notebook’s pages, exposing the charcoal drawings and neat, cramped script within. “It takes them a while to learn how to talk to any species. Think of it like a language.”

Hendricks examined the notes, half-interested.

“And snakes,” Gabe added. “Don’t forget that they can talk to snakes.” The man seemed unnerved by the idea. “Shawe’s arm was swollen as a motherfucker by the time we got him out of there.”

Hendrick’s face darkened at the memory, and he handed the notebook back to Pierce. “I get this shit,” he said, nodding to it, “but shouldn’t we just gag them anyway? Stop them from doing any of it.”

Pierce had finished reassembling his gun, and now slotted it back into his holster, flexing his mechanical fingers on the grip.

“Where’s the fun in that?" He replied. "They have answers. And it’ll be easier for them to tell ‘em to us if they can talk.”

The two Reavers sat back in their seats, as the driver leaned back from the truck’s cab to catch Pierce’s attention.

“ETA 1900 hrs, Sir.”

Pierce grunted in response, and swung himself up and into the cab’s passenger seat.

Good. Zander would be waiting; and he’d enjoy seeing the look on the doctor’s face when he brought the prized mutant in, less than 48 hours after the mission had been issued.

***

You woke to the press of something cold against your face, and the feeling of harsh vibrations rattling through every bone in your body.

You were on the floor of a vehicle. A moving vehicle.

You sat up as fast as your aching body would allow, pushing off the odd metallic blanket that had been wrapped around you. Your head felt like it was about to split open, and you touched it gingerly, finding a painful lump near your temple, and soreness you could only assume were bruises along your cheekbone and jaw. Your memories were fuzzy, disjointed. Were you on the road, again? Running?

Everything came back to you in a rush, as you turned from the truck’s windowless rear to see the cage separating you from its front. Two tough-looking men sat on the benches beyond, clad in dark combat gear.

“Holy fuck.”

One of them glanced at you, his expression cold.

“What the fuck have you done?” You cried, standing and grabbing the metal caging. Dizziness swept over you as you did, and you lost your balance with the movement of the vehicle, tumbling back to the floor.

You lay there for a moment, stunned.

“You fucking idiots,” you said. You couldn't believe it. You'd been taken – after spending so much time travelling, and hiding, to evade this kind of capture. And they had no idea what they'd done, in taking you.

Your thoughts raced, and you tried once more to stand, holding the metal bench for balance.

Another figure leaned into view from the truck’s passenger seat, his blond hair lit by the reflection of the sky in the windshield. His gaze found you. He smiled. It was their leader; the man with blue eyes. The one who’d drugged you.

“Welcome back, bud!” He drawled. “We was just talking about you. In fact – we’re gonna get the chance to get a little better acquainted in just a few minutes.”

You made the mistake of letting go of the bench, so when black spots danced across your vision, you stumbled to the ground again, landing hard on hands and knees. Some of the dizzinness was the truck's motion – but it also felt as if you were drunk.

An aftereffect of the tranquilizer?
“Couldn’t imagine anything worse,” you retorted, drily.

But beneath your façade of confidence, fear was coursing through you. You remained on hands and knees, trying to steady your breathing and focus your mind. But here, your normal calm was out of reach. You were trapped – and you knew where that led. If you couldn’t control your emotions, the next time your mutation – your true mutation – surfaced, you wouldn’t be able to control it. And that was the only thing you truly feared.

***

The truck’s back doors swung open, and evening light streamed in. The sun was setting on the fields beyond the highway pullout in which the convoy had stopped, and three Hummers were parked around the armoured truck, their occupants milling about or talking into radios.

Two Reavers pulled you from the bench, and you allowed them to manhandle you down from the truck. You stumbled against one of them as you reached the ground, blinking as the light set your head to aching. He steadied you roughly.

Their leader – Pierce, you’d learned his name was – was talking into a radio by the nearest Hummer. He finished, and turned towards you. He had an intimidating build – broad shoulders and thick muscles, which spoke of military training – and carried himself with casual, swaggering confidence.

“You did quite a number on my men," He said, clasping his hands behind him and tilting his head with a sharp half-smile as he approached. "One of ‘em will be out for a few weeks – and the other’s down for good.”

You raised a brow, and put two fingers to your head in mock salute. They’d removed your cuffs, and seemed to assume that with so many soldiers around, you wouldn’t try anything.

Oh – you realized. And they think they know what my mutation is. They think they’re safe enough, with no dangerous animals around.
You held onto the thought of their continued ignorance, savouring the one piece of control you still had left. It was immensely satisfying. Your face gave nothing away, though; expression remaining dry and impassive. The only thing that disturbed your cool facade was the fact that the light from the sunset was still making you squint. Even that soft light was worsening your headache; making it feel like someone was working away at your temple with a jackhammer.

“Thing is,” Pierce said, examining you casually as he approached, and stopping only when he was close enough to bring the difference in your height into sharp contrast, “I wouldn’t appreciate you causing me any more trouble. So let’s be reasonable, shall we?”

He smiled. “Doctor Rice will be here in half an hour – and until then, you can tell me all about these energy surges you’re causing. What they are. Why they happen.”

You stared at him, unimpressed.

“Huh. We could do that,” you replied, pursing your lips and taking a casual step to the side – to Pierce’s right – as if considering. “Or I could gut you like a fucking fish, and leave your men to pick up the pieces.”

He only had time for a brief expression of surprise before you were on him, hooking his leg from beneath him and wrenching his arm to pull him off balance. He was heavy, but the move was designed for a difference in strength, and your position beside him gave you leverage. He toppled to the ground, and the Reavers around the vehicles gave shouts of alarm.

Then you were on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to the ground with your knees as you held the knife to his throat. His body was hot beneath yours, his chest rising and falling.

The knife had been in the belt-sheath of one of the Reavers, of course. The one who hadn’t thought twice about you stumbling into him, and taking something with you when you left.

You’d meant to slit Pierce’s throat immediately and make a break for it, hopefully leaving the Reavers in chaos without their commander, but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you. You shook your head, trying to clear it.

The sound of weapons cocking came from all sides, but no Reaver made to grab you – not with your knife to their leader’s throat.

Pierce’s eyes were wide with amusement, as you kneeled atop him. He didn’t move as the knife’s edge drew a bead of blood from his skin, but he smiled, slowly.

“So, this the kind of thing you like?” He asked. His tone was overcasual, but you could see the anger lurking in his eyes. “Cause you could have just asked.”

“Shut up,” you breathed, trying to force your mind clear through the pounding headache. Something’s wrong. I can’t even fucking think straight.
Pierce’s eyes scanned your face, seeming to recognize something therein.

You blinked hard, and glared at the men around you. “You take one fucking step closer, and his head’s getting unacquainted with his body.”

“Thing is, darlin',” Pierce said, shifting slightly beneath you. The sun was bothering your eyes again, and your sudden movements had left you lightheaded. And why did your head still feel like it was splitting open?
“I don’t think you quite understand your situation. You seem a little – ” In one sharp movement, Pierce twisted his leg around yours, flipping you off him so you that landed hard on your back. “–Off balance,” he finished, with satisfaction. His face was inches from yours, and he breathed hard, pressing you down. One of his hands found the knife in yours, and wrenched it free, throwing it to the nearest Reaver.

"I gave you a choice. Too bad you chose wrong." He smiled, and then he was off of you, the other Reavers grabbing your arms.

One of the Reavers looked to Pierce questioningly, and the tall man nodded. The Reaver he’d addressed pulled back, and kicked you sharply in the side. Once. Twice.

The pain was like fire, and you writhed on the ground, huffing out a sound that was half cry, half cough. For a moment, you didn't care about keeping up an invulnerable facade. It fucking hurt.

So much for a great fucking plan, you thought, gasping as you regained your breath. I shouldn’t have tried to escape, not yet – not with this fucking headache. I’m too disoriented.
“Oh –” Pierce said, turning back as the Reavers dragged you up. “And have the medic check their head. Seems like they’ve got a real bad concussion.”

He smiled. And turned away.

***

Chapter Text

You sat in the truck’s cell, hands cuffed behind you. It seemed that the Reavers had learned their lesson, and weren’t going to underestimate you twice.

You glared at the opposite wall. Angry at yourself. At everything. It was easier, that way – to turn your fear into fury, and ignore the sinking pit of dread in your stomach. The tingle of electricity in your fingertips.

It also let you ignore the creeping loneliness you felt gaining on you by the hour. The emptiness. Like you were back there – a teenager, on the run. Confused and alone, and scared to bring anyone close, for fear you’d subject them to your own fate.

You closed your eyes, and they stung with the threat of tears. The memories were too close; too sharp. In your forest, you’d had comforts – the sound of the trees, the presence of animals like neighbours around you. But with all that torn away, you had no buffer for the pain.

At least my headache’s improving, you thought, drily.

The medic had visited, checking your pupils and the lump at your temple and the bruises that covered half your face. He’d declared that you had a Grade 3 concussion; the worst he’d seen in a while. He’d given you pain relievers – which you’d thought ironic, considering – and had told you to keep the icepack on your head for a few hours, drink the water they’d left for you, and rest, when you could. Civil treatment, given that Pierce had had his Reavers kick the shit out of you less than an hour ago. But brain damage seemed a different game than good old-fashioned pain. Something they weren’t willing to risk.

One of the Reavers had also tossed you a gas-station sandwich at some point, which you’d eaten, before leaning your head back against the truck’s metal cage and closing your eyes. You’d drifted, and for a while the pain had dissipated.

Now, voices outside the truck pulled you from your reverie. You recognized Pierce’s smooth drawl, along with the voice of someone unfamiliar. You only had a moment to prepare, before the truck’s back doors swung open.

A tall, gaunt man stood there; dressed more like a desk-working professional than the soldiers you’d grown accustomed to. His eyes were grey and dispassionate, but he smiled when he saw you.

“U36,” he greeted. “I’m glad we're finally getting the chance to meet."

You didn’t bother replying. That wasn’t even your name. And this was the doctor, you assumed. Zander.

His smile was sickly as he sat, and his eyes never left you. As if you were a prized animal he was planning on bidding on – or a puzzle he intended to solve.

Pierce remained at the truck’s door, leaning casually against the metal frame.

“I see my colleagues have been none too gentle in their treatment of you,” Zander said, eyeing your face. “I’m sorry for that. They’re effective, but not known for their restraint.”

You gave Zander an icy look. All condescension. He was a fool, if he thought he could convince you that he intended to treat you any better than the Reavers had.

He bore the weight of the glare for a full few seconds, before sitting back in his seat. His gaze left your face, and found its way down to your bare arms, which were still exposed from when the medic had pushed up your sleeves to check your blood pressure.

“Are those scars?” Zander asked, seemingly intrigued.

“They’re nothing,” you replied, pushing your sleeves back down to cover the marks. But he wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “They nearly look like galvanic conduction,” he said. “Lightning.”

Even from where he stood, you felt Pierce’s eyes flick to your now-covered arms.

It was true. The scars – little more than raised silver traceries, running along your arms up to the shoulder – did look like the lightning. A hundred small forks of lightning, criss-crossing your skin.

“What happened?” The doctor asked, curiously.

“Paper cut,” you shot back. “What happened to your face?”

Some of the ingratiating politeness fell from the doctor’s expression.

It wasn’t your best work, admittedly, but it was satisfying to see the creep slightly taken aback.

Zander sighed and leaned back, seemingly content to set small-talk aside.

“I understand why you’ve been resisting the Reavers, U36,” he said. “Given their treatment of you, little else could be expected. But your help is of the utmost importance to us. You see, its imperative that we learn the origin of your power. The energy surges. It’s a matter of national defense, in fact.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, doctor Frankenstein,” you replied. “But I would rather eat my own liver then tell you and your buddies at Transigen one fucking thing that could help you. Cause it’s not a matter of ‘national defense’,” you mimicked. “It’s a matter of profit. And you won’t be making one fucking penny off me.”

The doctor’s face went cold, the remainder of his politeness dissolving at your tone.

Against the side of the truck, Pierce chuckled. The doctor shot him a glare.

“You see, doc?” Pierce said, finally standing from the wall. “I’m afraid your methods ain’t cut out for this.”

Zander turned back to you, assessing you once more with eerie detachment.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he replied. “When reason fails, few options are left to us.”

He stood, giving you one last long look before he stooped to exit the truck. You shivered, glad to see him gone. Zander’s gaze felt like someone trailing cold, dead fingers across your skin.

“Use your methods,” you heard the doctor say, as the doors to the truck swung shut. “Get whatever information you can from them.”

***

The truck’s doors slammed shut, and Zander turned to Pierce.

“We don’t know how much information we’ll be able to extract in the lab,” the doctor continued. “So get what you can on your way there. The only methods we have for studying such a phenomena are limited. And within the human body, they can be…invasive. We can’t predict how long U36 will survive them.”

Pierce gave a casual nod.

“Keep me updated on your progress,” Zander ordered, striding to his black SUV and climbing inside.

“Will do. We’ll see you in Mexico City then, doc."

The car’s door swung shut, and Pierce watched as it pulled out onto the highway and disappeared.

He’d never seen the doctor so quickly shot down by a test subject before, and it had been entertaining to watch. He owed U36 his thanks, for that.

It’d be a shame for the mutant to disappear into Zander’s lab. But you couldn’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs – and they wouldn’t be the first he’d brought to what he knew would be their execution.

He turned back towards the armoured truck. One thing the meeting had succeeded in accomplishing was further heightening his curiosity about what they were hiding. They’d given up denying that they knew about the energy surges, so their refusal to talk was something else entirely. Perhaps they’d predicted the impact the knowledge would have on the world, and didn’t want it falling into Alkali’s hands. Which meant that they knew it was valuable.

Pushing them too far tonight would be a mistake, he knew. He didn’t want Zander on his ass for bringing them in broken, and he got the feeling that it would take a while to get them to talk using pain as his only leverage.

He let out a long sigh through his nose, then turned and gave his Reavers a few orders before striding towards his Hummer.

He’d have to consider the best way to get U36 to talk. They had a few days of travel until they reached the border – and those were his only chance. So, he'd make the best of it.

In fact, he’d make a game of it.

***

It was the middle of the night, when you woke screaming on the truck's metal floor.

For a moment, it had been too real. The emptiness all around you. The non-existent sky. The ache of being lost, and alone, and knowing there was no way out. That you’d never get home.

“But I did,” you said aloud, trying to calm yourself. You could feel the electricity in your blood, fizzing through you. Threatening to boil over. “I’m back. I’m back.”

Someone pulled open the truck’s back doors, but you didn’t turn. You kneeled on hands and knees, pulse racing. Your arms shook slightly, and you took deep, measured breaths, trying to push down the panic.

“What’s the racket, bud?” A familiar voice asked. “I hope you’re not losing your marbles on us.”

You turned your head, still breathing hard, and glared at Pierce.

He’d changed from his usual jacket and military pants to a black t-shirt. A gun still hung on the holster of his belt. His blond hair was mussed, and his blue eyes dark with the night.

“Fuck off,” you replied, though you couldn't muster your usual spite. You were still trying to push the dream away – and to ignore the faint silvery sheen coming from the scars poking from the bottom of your shirt sleeves. You couldn't let him see that.

“What’s the matter?” Pierce asked again, climbing into the truck and lowering himself to the bench. “Doesn’t seem like you to go screaming your head off at nothing.”

When you failed to reply, Pierce leaned forwards.

“C’mon, sweets. I can’t help you, if you won’t help me.”

You sat back on your knees, surreptitiously pulling your shirt sleeves lower to cover the pearlescent scars, then lowered yourself to a seat on the floor of the truck.

“You don’t want to help me,” you replied tiredly, turning to him. “You think I’m vulnerable right now. And that you can get something from me.”

Pierce cocked his head.

“Can’t I?” He asked, smiling.

Awfully, he was right. You didn’t want to be alone right now. You didn’t want to go back to the nightmares.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you replied. The derision and playfulness were both gone from your voice, for the first time since you’d met the Reavers’ commander. Now, you were simply talking to another individual. “It’s the truth. You can kill me, but I’ll never tell you anything I know. Because what I know is dangerous, and you’re fucking evil.”

Pierce stared at you, then raised a brow. He seemed amused by your change of tone. Intrigued by it.

He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, extending his legs out before him and crossing his ankles. The picture of ease.

“The doc and his team are scientists, darlin’,” he replied, seemingly willing to meet you at the level of real-talk you’d initiated. Though coming from him, it could be anything but. “They ain’t evil. If what you have is only dangerous, they ain’t gonna use it.”

You rested your head back against the bench, exhaustion overcoming you as you closed your eyes.

“I don’t believe you."

You could feel Pierce watching you, but didn’t care. A beat of silence passed, and then you felt him lean forwards.

“Thing is, hon – ” he began, voice smooth and ingratiating. “As soon as we get to Transigen, you’re a goner.”

You opened your eyes, and stared at him, trying to gauge whether to take him seriously or not.

“Sorry to say,” he shrugged, “but the doc’s methods – for this particular problem, that is – don’t leave many survivors.”

You continued to stare at him, trying to find the lie in his eyes. But there was none. Was it true? Was going to the lab as good as a death warrant for you?

You hadn’t expected to return from Transigen – but you hadn’t expected your end to be so sure, so soon.

Pierce held up a finger. “But,” he said. “If you tell us what you know before we arrive – well, there wouldn’t be any need for those procedures, would there?”

You didn’t want to believe him. But you were also growing to fear the prospect of Zander’s lab – you could imagine the antiseptic tang of the air, and all those cold, dead surfaces – nearly as much as your true mutation.

You met Pierce’s gaze.

“The energy’s not from me.”

Pierce began to roll his eyes, shifting his weight to stand, but you held up your hand, stopping him.

“It’s not from me,” you repeated. “It’s from – something else. Beyond me. Something I only have access to sometimes.”

How much can I tell him, without giving too much away? To make him understand that they can’t dissect me, but not pique their interest enough that they try, anyways?
The old you would have come up with a lie. Would have wormed their way out of the situation, somehow. But you were tired. You weren’t them, anymore.

“This thing that I can reach, sometimes – ” you faltered. “There’s only one thing I know for sure about it."

You based this next part on snippets of things you'd heard during the past day, over radios or between Reavers who didn't know you were within earshot.

"It's not something you can create with a code or frequency," you said. "It's not some science that you can copy down and replicate. If I die, your access to it goes with me.”

The truck was silent for a moment, save the thoughtful tap of Pierce’s finger on the metal bench.

Then he looked at you, and his mouth tilted into a smile.

“I believe you,” he admitted. “Funny, ain’t it?”

He stood, and smoothed his shirt. “Let’s continue this conversation tomorrow. You keep being honest with me, sweets, and, well – I can make good things happen.” He winked, and stepped from the truck, landing in the dirt.

“Sweet dreams,” he called backwards, as two Reavers closed the door behind him.

Unfortunately, they were anything but.

***

Chapter Text

The convoy crossed into New York State as the sun lit the Eastern horizon. Its pastel tones seemed to soften all the edges of the world, even inside the armoured vehicle.

Pierce glanced backwards from the truck’s passenger seat, and caught sight of the mutant’s face, soft and open in sleep. Seemingly so much younger, without the hard, world-weary expression of their waking life. Then something caught his attention.

“We filling up for gas?” He asked the driver, nodding to the approaching exit. The driver replied an affirmative, and the line of dark vehicles veered from the highway. When the truck pulled to a stop outside the seedy gas station, Pierce slotted his radio into his belt, and swung himself back into the body of the truck, boots landing on the steel floor.

U36 remained asleep, oblivious.

Pierce approached the metal caging, and squatted down before it to examine what he’d noticed from the passenger seat. The sleeves of the mutant’s shirt had bunched up in sleep, revealing the odd, root-like scars twining around their forearms.

He studied them. Zander was right; they did remind him of lightning. So he pulled out his phone, and brought up images of scars caused by lightning strikes. His eyes narrowed, then widened, as he saw that they matched the mutant's perfectly.

“Gotcha,” he murmured.

The scars were obviously connected to their mutation, somehow. To the energy surges. Could the energy surges be caused by lightning strikes? It would explain the irregularity with which they occurred. But how did their ability to communicate with certain animal species factor into all of this? He was still missing something.

He stood.

One realization had struck him, upon watching their sleeping form. The ways they’d expressed fear in the last few days had ranged from sarcasm, to spite, to outright violence. But the way they’d spoken of the energy surges, last night – it was something else entirely. A kind of quiet, deep-rooted fear, which couldn’t hide itself behind glib comments. They were terrified of them.

Why?

He stared at them for a moment longer, then sighed briskly, and opened the side door to hop from the vehicle. He’d get those answers, today; one way or another.

***

You woke to the eerie feeling of being watched, but the truck was empty when you sat up and looked around. Your neck was sore from the position in which you’d slept, but at least you’d had the thermo-blanket to keep you from the steel floor. Your wrists, on the other hand, felt like someone had worked away at them all night with sandpaper. You had to get these cuffs off.

Late last night, the convoy had stopped at a military outpost you assumed belonged to Alkali. There, you’d been able to shower, and eat a decent meal – always under the strict supervision of security personal, of course – before falling into the narrow bed in the cell they pushed you into. But what felt like only moments later, you were being dragged up again, and bundled into the armoured truck in the pre-dawn chill. Tired as you were, the motion of the vehicle had soon lulled you to sleep once more.

Now it seemed to be nearing midday, and the truck was stopped.

The driver returned moments later, and the engine roared to life as two Reavers entered and placed themselves on the benches before your cell.

“Hey!” You called, getting the Reavers’ attention before the truck could return to the highway. “Any chance you can take these cuffs off? They're really cramping my style.”

One of the Reavers glanced at the other.

“The boss said we can take ‘em off you,” he replied, turning back to you, “but that you should know: if you try anything, you’re getting tranqed, and shipped to Mexico City in a box.”

You grinned. “I’m guessing that’s a direct quote.”

One of the Reavers approached, and unlocked the cage’s door to uncuff you. When the cuffs clicked open, releasing your wrists, you gave a silent sigh of relief. The skin beneath them was rubbed raw, large red welts marking where they’d chaffed at it.

The Reaver eyed you suspiciously for a moment, seemingly expecting you to make a break for it at the first opportunity, but when you didn’t, he stepped back out of the cage and locked its door behind him.

You climbed to sit on the cell’s bench, and leaned your head back against the wall as the truck merged onto the highway. You weren’t trying to escape. Not yet. Now was when they were expecting it, so better to bide your time for a few hours, at least – until they were reasonably sure you’d given up. Then you’d make a break for it. 

You were in a better mood, this morning. After a good night’s sleep, everything suddenly seemed more manageable – and that meant that the energy in your blood felt much further from the surface than it had last night. Perhaps you could make it out of this. Perhaps you could escape, before you arrived at the lab – and before your mutation was triggered. Sure, Pierce had said they wouldn't experiment on you if you gave him some answers – but while that was comforting, you couldn't shake the feeling that he'd turn back on his word the moment an alternative suited him better. And even if they didn't torture you, the eventuality that your mutation would flare up was unavoidable. It was like IBS, that way.

One of the Reavers’ radios crackled to life, and he pulled it out as the message came over the channel.

“Delta to Command. Reporting: Mutant-related disturbance, 10-clicks South. Over.”
There was a pause, and then Pierce’s distinctive voice returned over the radio. He must be in one of the other cars, you thought.

“Go ahead, Delta.”
“Reports incoming of a large-scale disturbance in Westchester County. Possible casualties. Looks like it’s being caused by psionic waves – likely coming from known telepath Charles Xavier. Situation ongoing. Over.”

You watched the Reavers in the truck exchange a glance, and you sat up from the wall. Charles Xavier? The man who ran that institute for mutants?

“Let’s take a look,” came Pierce’s reply. “All vehicles: follow our lead. We’ll turn South, and canvas the area. Stay alert.”
The convoy took an exit and merged onto the highway leading South, presumably towards the source of the disturbance.

The vehicles were driving atop an overpass, when it happened.

The pain was sudden, and blinding – as if someone had speared your head with a hot poker. You clutched it, gasping. And it seemed you weren't alone in feeling the sudden wave of mental pain, for horns honked, and in a moment the highway had turned to chaos.

The armoured truck veered wildly as a car ahead ran into the cement barrier, then fishtailed into the transport truck beside it. There was a screech of metal, and then the world became a blurr of motion and pain as you were thrown to the floor.

You lost all sense of direction, as the truck rolled. Your body was tossed back and forth with each impact, until you crashed into the cell's opposite wall, and the truck finally came to rest on its side.

You gasped. And coughed. The pain in your head had disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but now other pains cried for your attention.

There was a gash in your arm, from where the metal caging had torn free from the wall and skewered you with its sharp edge. And a terrible pain in your thigh, where the heavy metal bench lay atop you, pinning you after having come unbolted from the floor.

Somewhere outside the truck, a car alarm was blaring. People were shouting, and in the distance, sirens wailed.

You tried to sit up, but couldn’t shift the bench’s weight. You cried out in frustration. You heard coughs and grunts of pain as the Reavers kicked open doors and scrambled from the truck.

“Hey – HEY!” You shouted. “I’m – ” you coughed, choking on the smell of burnt rubber “—I’m still in here!”

Footfalls ran all around the truck, and you heard orders being shouted.

Your head fell back to the ground, chest rising and falling rapidly. That wave of pain – was that the psionic energy? How powerful must Xavier be, to do something like that? And why had he?

But you had a more pressing concern. You’d thought the energy of your mutation under control since last night – but now it was back in full force, fizzing through your blood and setting your scars aglow. The truck was also slowly filling with smoke, and you were still stuck beneath the metal bench.

“You two – report to Alpha!” A familiar voice shouted from outside, as more footfalls approached the truck. “And where the hell’s the cargo?”

Words were exchanged, and then someone threw back the latch on the truck’s back doors, pulling them open. Pierce stood silhouetted in the gap, framed sideways against the blue of the sky.

“Never thought I’d – ” you coughed again, voice rough from the smoke,“—be glad to see you.”

“First time for everything, bud,” Pierce replied, as another Reaver appeared to help him hoist the metal bench away.

With its weight gone, you struggled towards the opening, gasping as pain speared through your thigh. You didn't know how deep the gash in your leg was, but could feel blood slicking the floor beneath you.

Then Pierce’s strong arms were around you.

You cried out as your injured arm was jostled as he pulled you from the wreckage, and placed you down on the asphalt against the side of the truck.

“Ah – shit!” You breathed, putting shaking fingers to the place where blood seeped from your thigh. The fabric of your pants was torn, and the edges of the tear matted down with blood, obscuring the wound below.

Pierce glanced at your leg, then away down the highway, seemingly calculating something.

“Gonna need you to breath for me,” he said, turning back and quickly kneeling down. Without hesitation, he roughly tore the rip in your pants further open, exposing the wound beneath.

You sucked in a pained breath. “Fuck!”

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” he replied. He gave the wound a cursory once-over, then grabbed the edge of the thermo-blanket from where it stuck out of the truck, and tore a strip from it.

“Missed the arteries. Hold this on there, now—” he said, wrapping the fabric around your leg and pulling it tight, making you grit your teeth in pain. “And don’t you move till I get back.”

You glanced up at him in surprise.

Even injured, they were going to leave you here, alone?

Perfect.

Pierce met your gaze, then raised a brow, and snorted. “On second thought—” he grabbed your wrist, and forced it against the truck’s door, at once pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt.

“Let me go!” You cried, kicking at him with your good leg. But he was too strong; too fast. One cuff closed around your wrist, and the other around the bar of the trucks door, trapping you in place.

“Fuck! Pierce, you can’t just leave me here to die!”

“I’ll be back for ya,” he said, smiling as he stood.

“Whatever that psionic attack was – I can help! Just let me go!” You called out, in desperation.

“We’ll do just fine on our own, sweets,” he replied, striding away towards the Hummers.

“Like hell,” you spat after him.

It didn’t matter that he’d cuffed you. You weren’t going to wait around for them to get back – nor did you want to be here when the next wave of psionic energy hit. The first one had come too close to knocking you over the edge. Your scars were still glowing, faintly.

You glanced around, squinting against the sun as you scanned the sky. Empty, save for a few fluffy white clouds – and there, a speck, wheeling high in the blue.

A hawk. Perfect.
The nearest people to you were the Reavers, about thirty paces away, and a group of civilians cowering beside a toppled transport truck further down the road. You were alone, on this stretch of highway. You tilted your head upwards, and called to the hawk, in the strange half-forgotten song that always danced at the edge of your consciousness.

The bird wavered for a moment, uncertain about descending into the smoke of the highway. You called again, pleading with it. It circled once, and then dove downwards. At your request, it descended to the level of the pavement, and picked up in its talons a thin piece of scrap metal that lay a few meters away from you. Then it winged over and deposited the metal piece at your feet, perching on the truck’s door and cocking its head curiously.

“Thank you,” you breathed. The hawk ruffled its feathers, seemingly satisfied, then took off again – veering away from the highway and quickly disappearing into the smoke.

You inserted the metal pick into the cuff’s lock, and worked away at it for a long minute. Finally, the cuff clicked open, releasing your wrist. You huffed in satisfaction, and slowly pulled yourself upright, using the truck for balance to avoid putting weight on your injured leg.

I could steal a car, you thought, and try and get away down the highway. Most of the drivers probably left the keys in the ignition, when they fled.
Your gaze locked onto the nearest drivable vehicle. A small pickup truck, standing with its doors open about fifty paces away, past the Hummers. You stumbled towards it, keeping to the inner lane of the highway to avoid the place the Reavers were congregating. Orders were being shouted, and men were mounting the Hummers, getting into position on the rooftop gunning stations.

You were nearly to the pickup, when the second wave of pain hit.

You cried out, and fell to your knees, as the energy slammed into your head. Shouts from the others nearby let you know that they felt it, too.

From the corner of your eye, you saw your scars begin to glow once more. Light spooled out from your arms, twining around your body. You kneeled frozen on the ground, gritting your teeth against the pain – and unable to stop the light from growing brighter.

Ether, a small voice echoed in your mind. You had no name for the energy, so that was what you'd always called it. You hadn’t told Pierce that. It seemed a silly thing to share; the name you’d given the energy.

Suddenly the mental pain released you once more, leaving you panting on hands and knees. You heard sounds of relief from the direction of the Reavers, meaning that the wave had released them, too.

“What the fuck is that?” Someone shouted.

Movement caught your eye, as a few Reavers turned to look in your direction.

The light was twining around your body, now; lifting your hair to dance around your face.

Calm. Just – breathe, you thought. But you were losing control. Tears leaked from your eyes. Please don’t take me back.

A cold breath of air caressed your cheek.

“No!” You cried.

Pierce appeared around the side of a Hummer, the Reavers parting to let him through. He caught sight of you, and jogged in your direction, a rifle cocked under his arm as his gaze locked onto the light emanating from you.

“I – can’t – stop it!” You shouted.

“What is this?" Pierce demanded, halting before he got too close. "What you talking about?"

The light was unspooling more quickly from your arms, now; wreathing you like mist.

“Whoa there,” Pierce said, voice going low and calm as if he were trying to soothe a spooked animal. “Now just hold on.”

Inhale.
The air tasted of smoke. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

Exhale.
You were shaking, and your head ached from the pain of the last psionic wave. You could feel the Ether reaching for you; grasping you, with cold fingers of light.

Pierce seemed to realize that it was a lost cause at the same time you did, and he dodged backwards, rolling behind the nearest car. Just in time.

You felt cold hands close over your body. There was no chance to take another breath. No chance to brace yourself. In one moment, you were kneeling on the pavement, the world hot and noisy and painful around you – and in the next, there was nothing.

Just cold, and emptiness where noise used to be.

You blinked open your eyes.

The light filtering down from above you was grey – like sunlight, seen through a cloud of ash. And the overpass around you was empty – just a bare stretch of asphalt, winding away into the dusk.

The only noise was the hollow sound of the wind echoing across a vast landscape.

You shivered, and slowly got to your feet, limping on your injured leg. You were no longer fizzing with the strange power. It was outside you, now. All around you.

There were no stories about this place. No records, or theories, or myths. You didn’t know if anyone else had ever stepped foot here. So it had no name, save the one you’d given it. The place that wasn’t a place. The place that was dead, and silent, and in which you were always alone. The Empty World.

The movement of the real world – the world of colour, and noise, and day and night – was only echoes, here. Sometimes, you’d see the flash of a car, or a ghostly figure, there in one moment, and gone in the next. But otherwise, you were alone.

You hobbled to the edge of the overpass, and gazed down at the vista beyond. Buildings, trees, neighbourhoods, and fields; all grey and formless in the misty ether-light. Empty.

Tears streaked your sooty face, and you turned away from the view to sink down against the concrete barrier. You gasped as the movement pulled open the wound in your leg, cracking the scab that had begun to form and causing new blood to seep from it.

This was your mutation. Your curse. To have something in your blood which always pulled you back here, like a cord you couldn't break. Into this wasteland, where nothing felt real.

You were back. It was like you’d never left. The last time you’d been pulled in was a few years ago – but the memories were just as vivid as ever. Being trapped. Unable to return. Wandering, for weeks. Months. Alone.

By your reckoning, you’d spend nearly two years here, the first time your power flared up. It had been then, after being alone for long enough that the sound of your own voice startled you, that you'd come to hear the strange song that wove through the movements of the landscape's ghost-animals. They were only flashes of movement – a tail, disappearing into an empty building, or the flicker of wings in the high branches of a tree – but they all seemed to give off strains of the same melody; a language at once strange, and familiar. And when you'd gotten back to the living world, you'd found that you could come to hear that same song in the movements of living animals, given time. It was how you'd come to be able to communicate with some creatures, in the way that you did.

Like this place changed you a little bit, every time you visited it.

The second time you'd been pulled here, you'd been trapped for less time – a little over a year. But that time had been worse by far. For that time, you’d brought someone with you.

You pulled yourself slowly up from the ground, gritting your teeth through the pain. Wordless, grim determination set your face, squaring your shoulders against the cold, empty wind.

Sam.

The one who’d found you, when you’d been living alone on the road as a teenager. Who’d become your home, as the two of your travelled together. As you rode on night buses, using each other as pillows – and found an unspoken safety together, the likes of which neither of you had ever known.

Sam was what happened when someone got too close to you. You remembered her hands on your face as you tried to push the Ether down – and the horror when you’d woken in the Empty World, with her at your side. Or, more precisely, her body.

You limped slowly across the pavement, ignoring the occasional silvery flash of Ether in the mist around you. You knew what you needed to find.

You’d never forgiven yourself for Sam’s death, but you’d made her a promise, in the weeks before that fateful flare.

“Promise me, Ray,” she’d said. Her nickname for you, given the light your mutation gave off when used. “Promise me that however hard things get, you’ll keep going. Just keep going.”
Fresh tears tracked down your cheeks, as you took one painful step after another. Towards the place the overpass dipped back towards the highway below. Where it led into the empty land, beyond.

“I promise,” you whispered, though there was no one there to hear it.

For there were ways to get back from the Empty World. You’d done it before, so you could do it again. If only to keep your promise.

The first time, it had happened when you’d been wandering the foothills in what you assumed was the ether-version of Northern Utah. You’d tripped, and nearly fallen off a steep precipice – but just before you fell, the light had snapped up all around you, pulling you forcefully back into the living world. You couldn’t rely on getting back that way twice, though. While you never found that you had the need to eat or drink while in the Empty World, injuries were all too real. You could just as easily end up broken at the bottom of a cliff, if you went dangling yourself off precipices.

But the second time you'd escaped this place, it had been in a different way. A lightning strike. The strike that had left your arms scarred nearly to the shoulder.

The surge of energy had been enough to let you catch hold of the ether again, and flare it up bright around you; throwing yourself forcefully back to the living world and into a parking lot outside of Chicago.

Unpleasant, but effective.

And you didn't intend on staying in this place a second longer than you needed to.

So I better start looking for a storm.

***

Chapter Text

It took a few weeks of wandering for you to spot a lightning storm on the horizon. When you did, you ran all the way too it, refusing to stop though your lungs burned and your leg ached. You’d stitched up the wound in your thigh using a makeshift needle and spare piece of thread, but it had unsurprisingly become infected. Cauterization had been your only option – and now the top of your right thigh was a mess of mending scar tissue. You tried not to look at it.

You caught up to the storm as it unfurled over a great, flat plane of bare earth. The wasteland was devoid of trees as far as the eye could see, and the sky roiled above it, dark clouds of Ether crackling with energy.

The first lightning strike came down too far away from you – snapping out at the husk of a dead tree thirty paces away. But the second was nearer. It struck a boulder, fizzing the air around you and making your hair stand on end.

“Third time’s a charm,” you said, running towards the highest point of the land nearby. It was a jut of stone, sticking up from the dry earth; and you hoped it’d be the lightning’s next target. “C’mon!” You shouted, turning to face the storm. “You know what to do!”

The lightning came down from the sky like a pillar of white fire, proving that, indeed, the third time was a charm. It struck the outcrop of stone beside you, electrifying the air with a thousand volts of energy.

It was more than you needed. The ether within you flared up bright and hot.

Home, you thought fiercely. Take me home.

***

A corn field outside Philadelphia wasn’t exactly what you’d pictured when you’d told the Ether to take you home, but, hey – beggars couldn’t be choosers. You were back in the living world, and that was all that mattered.

You were done with cold winters and grey skies, so you rode buses and trains and hitchhiked the highways until you didn’t know the name of a single city you passed. Until the trees were replaced by scrub brush, and the earth was baked orange by the sun.

The Reavers would still be searching for you, you knew. You’d disappeared in the midst of that psionic attack, and had been gone from the face of the earth for weeks – but you had a feeling they wouldn’t give up that easily. The next time your Ether flared, you were sure their sensors would register it. So you’d have to find a way to shield the energy. To hide yourself.

Your travels eventually washed you into the streets of El Paso, where you worked odd jobs to get by, eventually taking up as a mechanic in a small garage. And it was there that you came to meet Logan. He was going by James, then; and drove his beat-up limousine in on a Monday night, with one of its headlights out and a series of impressive dents along its side. You didn’t ask where they’d come from, though their shape suggested the work of a baseball bat. Nor did you ask about his painful limp, bloodstained jacket, or gashed knuckles. But you’d heard enough stories to eventually put the pieces together.

The Wolverine is in El Paso.
They say he’s working as a driver.
And that he’s getting old, now – one of the last relics from the days of the X-Men.

He didn’t speak much, but began bringing his limousine into the garage whenever it needed servicing. A silent trust developed between you, founded on discretion, and the shared knowledge that you both knew that the other knew what you were. So when he offered you a safe place to stay, in exchange for your help with the mechanical issues it had, you already knew your answer.

Safety, a roof over your head, and the company of other mutants? It was a no-brainer. Besides, you knew the Reavers were still out there. That Pierce was. And though you were used to being on your own, you knew going it alone couldn’t work forever. So you travelled with Logan to the barren lot and abandoned factory across the border, and made a new home for yourself.

It would be a year until you saw Donald Pierce again.

In so many ways, so much time.

But for him? Not nearly long enough.

***

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That night, you lay in the darkness without even trying to sleep. It was futile, for whenever you closed your eyes, you were inundated by all the images and sounds you tried to push away by day. 

Gunfire. 

Shouts; screams. 

Logan’s voice, calling your name; telling you that if you’d only gotten there a little sooner…you might have all made it out together. One small, strange family; the only thing you’d ever wanted. Except that Caliban and Charles had already been gone by the time you reached North Dakota, and there was no bringing them back. Any of them. 

You let out a sharp breath and rolled over in the darkness, curling your wings in around you as you stared out the window. The lights of Mexico City twinkled back at you; replacing the stars with a thousand points of neon and lighting the sky with a purple haze. You wondered if somewhere out there, any trains were passing by in the night. Living at Logan’s compound in New Mexico, you’d grown used to the sound of the freighter passing on the tracks, and shaking the whole building with its rumbling progress. It had grown comforting, in a way; making you feel as if you weren’t the only one alone in the darkness. 

There was nothing, and no one, to keep you company now. 

***

The light of day was an unwelcome intruder when it finally dragged you from sleep. Somewhere, an alarm was going off. 

You stumbled around blearily to shut it off, knocking over a lamp with your wings in the process. 

I have to dissipate these fucking wings, you thought with half a mind, before collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. You couldn’t live like this forever, but the thought of engaging with your powers again – of drawing on the Ether – was too much for right now. Because it brought up all the memories of working with Caliban as you learned to control it, and those were the memories you were currently trying to push into the darkest corner of your mind. 

But you had something else to focus on, for today; for you’d slept well into the afternoon, and had a meeting to get to. You showered and dressed, wincing with every movement that pulled at your still-healing shoulder and the burns along your calves, then set off in the direction of Ansley's office. 

Some personnel were just leaving when you arrived, and you stood back to let them pass, shooting them cold glares as you did. You didn’t know who they were, but figured that anyone working for Transigen – save the nurses and aids, who seemed like decent people – were probably no good. 

Can’t hurt to be hostile. It was your new motto. 

“Come in,” Ansley called, as you turned to enter his office. “I trust you’re finding your way around alright?” 

“Oh, perfectly,” you muttered, lowering yourself into one of the cushioned chairs facing his desk. “I’ve always wanted to live in a research lab that failed its ethics review.” 

Ansley raised a brow, and finished typing something on his laptop before turning his full attention to you. 

“Yes, well. Most personnel have accommodations outside the facility, but it seems like this arrangement might be better suited to your situation. For the time being, at least."

You shrugged a wing noncommittally. 

“Now – we have a few things to discuss before the team briefing. Your contract, here; and these regulations pertaining to the facility.” 

After a bout of paperwork during which you scratched your name – not your real name; just Ray, the old nickname you’d given them to use – onto more dotted lines than you cared to count – the terms and conditions for life, it seemed – you heard a pair of heavy footfalls approach the office’s door. 

“Ansley,” a drawling voice greeted, as Pierce and another man entered the office. You stiffened at Pierce's arrival, and eyed him with all the trust one might reserve for a feral tiger with which they shared a cage. He sat in the chair across from you, and sighed as he motioned for the other man – someone dressed in dark combat gear; probably another Reaver – to close the door behind them. 

Pierce was wearing a dark button-up shirt and fatigues of the kind you’d come to associate with him. His gaze met yours as he sat, and his eyes seemed serious beneath the shadowed fall of his hair. 

“Pierce; Clark,” Ansley greeted. “Ray, you’ll have met Pierce,” Ansley introduced, nodding towards them. “Our Head of Security. And Andrew Clark; our Facility Security Coordinator. You’ll be working closely with them on most of your assignments. Particularly this first one.” 

Your gaze flicked coldly between the two men, trying not to linger again on Pierce, and then moved back to Ansley. “And what exactly is my first assignment?” 

Ansley nodded slightly, sighing through his nose as he leaned back in his chair. “Pierce, do you want to do the honours?” 

Pierce’s gaze slid to you once more, and he tapped his metal fingers absentmindedly on his knee. The bruises you’d spotted on his neck yesterday were now concealed by the collar of his shirt, so for all intents and purposes he seemed back to his normal self. 

“Recon and acquisition,” Pierce said. “We’ll be getting intel on some friendly neighbourhood competition, and taking back something of ours.” 

Your gaze shifted from Pierce, back to Ansley. 

“A few months ago,” Ansley continued, “one of our top researchers – Dr. Johan Hansfeld – was poached from our ranks.” 

“The competition offered him bigger bucks,” Pierce cut in, for your benefit. 

“Unfortunately, he took some important research with him when he left,” Ansley continued. “Which we’re looking to recover. He’s currently working with Zenith Labs, and we’re looking to remove him from their ranks, as well.” 

You sat back, a cold feeling creeping over your skin. 

“So you want me to steal something, and kill someone?” 

Ansley waved a hand airily, though his expression darkened slightly. “You’re returning to us what is already ours. And we’ll simply be reminding Johan of the intellectual property he owes us, before he goes into a convenient retirement in the Bahamas. In any case – your purpose is not to question your assignments. It’s to carry them out.” 

Your hackles rose, but you were saved from replying by a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” Ansley called, as a woman with dark, curly hair entered the office, carrying a stack of laminated files. 

“Ansley; good to see you,” she said, approaching to shake the hand he extended as he stood. 

“Thank you for joining us,” Ansley said. “We’re glad to have you. Pierce; you’ve met Gloria,” he said. “And Ray, this is Gloria Fueyo; an accomplished journalist. She happens to share our interest in exposing the corruption at Zenith Labs, and has a briefing on their facility's layout for you and Pierce’s team to study. Your assignment will take place a week from today.” 

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur, as you studied floor plans and tried not to think too much about what exactly it was that you’d gotten yourself into. Lack of sleep and the constant throbbing pain of your injuries muddled your thoughts, though, and doubt began to creep into the spaces between them. You were going to raid a laboratory, at night, and kidnap a scientist. There’d be security personnel guarding the lab, but Pierce would take them out for you, as he'd assured you. He was a mercenary – a trained killer – and you were working with him. 

What would Charles, Logan, and Caliban think of me now? You thought, rubbing your temples. What would anyone? 
You limped down to the cafeteria to get food when it grew dark outside Transigen’s windows, and then returned to the infirmary to have your wounds checked before heading back to your rooms. The antiseptic tang of the medical bay was nearly growing comforting, given your frequent visits, and you let a nurse – not Benjamin, and you’d been too tired to learn their name – work away at the dressings on your shoulder and calves without comment.

“You’ll be alright, if you try not to strain your shoulder,” the nurse told you, the lilt of her accent lending the words melody. “And try not to get the bandages wet.” 

You took the pills she proffered, and gazed up at the fluorescent lights as you waited for them to kick in. 

You could see yourself falling into a rhythm, here – in this soulless building, with its concrete walls and unquestioned orders. It would be a mind-numbing routine of waking, showering, carrying out assignments, and eating tasteless food. A routine which didn’t require thinking, or feeling. And perhaps it was better, that way. Perhaps that was the best way to get through this indentured servitude, to which you felt as if you'd sold your soul.  

A line of hot liquid traced down your cheek, and you sat up as the tear trickled into your hairline. Late as it was and exhausted as you were, you should probably get back to your rooms. Besides, you didn’t want the nurses and aids to see you cry. 

***

The way back to your rooms felt longer than usual, and you got confused along the way, taking the elevator a floor above where you’d meant to get off. You sighed as you leaned against the hallway's nondescript grey wall, waiting for the elevator’s blinking light to return for you. 

In the quiet, you couldn’t help but reach for your power. 

It had been blocked to you since North Dakota, like a limb grown too numb to feel, but given the day's events, you were itching to regain even the slightest feeling of control over your situation. Harnessing the Ether again would mean being able to dissipate your wings – which would be an incredible relief, given the astounding inconveniences associated with them. Having feathers tickle your neck twenty-four hours a day did not particularly lend itself to mental stability. 

You knew the effort was futile, but tried to concentrate anyways, ignoring the ding of the elevator as it arrived. You braced yourself against the wall, and dug for the Ether. For a moment, lights blossomed behind your closed eyelids, and a wave of heat washed over you. Then the power trickled from your grasp, like so much sand escaping through your fingers. 

The cold shock hit you a moment later, as the effort of trying to push past the block took its toll. Tremors wracked your body, and you slid to the floor, feeling suddenly sick. A throbbing pain took up behind your temples. 

From somewhere nearby, a door opened, and footfalls approached. Then someone was kneeling before you. 

“You alright there, honey?” Pierce asked. He crouched before you, gaze sweeping over you in assessment. You worked to catch your breath, blinking to clear your vision of stars. 

“I—I’m—” you began, taken aback by his sudden presence. And his proximity. He reached out a hand to steady you, a look akin to concern flashing across his face. 

“Where did you come from?” You asked, dumbly. 

He cocked his head with a frown. “You in the habit of collapsing in hallways?” He returned, ignoring your question. 

“It’s a pastime,” you replied, using the wall for support and struggling to stand as the dizziness dissipated. He helped you up, threading a strong arm beneath yours to lift you as you regained your footing. “Well, seems like we should get you to the med-bay, in that case," he replied evenly. As if this was just another normal night of finding people passing out by elevators. 

You shook your head and breathed out a laugh. “I just came from the infirmary. I don’t feel like going back there tonight.” 

Pierce stood still for a moment, his body pressed to yours where he supported you, eyes narrow and unreadable. Then he sighed. “Well, you wanna sit down for a minute?” He asked. “Seems like you’re on your last legs.” 

You glanced up at him, uncomprehending, then made sense of the door which stood ajar a few paces down the hallway. Light streamed from it. That’s where he’d come from. An office? His rooms? You didn’t know. But getting all the way back to your rooms didn’t sound like much fun right now, and you were pricked with a vague sense of curiosity as to what lay beyond the door.  

You sighed, letting your head droop in exhaustion for a moment. Then – “Sure,” you replied. 

Pierce adjusted his grip beneath your arms, and helped you towards the door.     

Quite the gentleman, if I didn’t know him better than that.
This close, he smelled of night air from the city outside, and a hint of musk that must belong to a cologne. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and you were reminded suddenly of the first time you'd met him. Deep in the forests of Maine; when you’d been prey, without knowing you were being hunted. 

You shook the thought away, and focused on not falling on your face as you entered the room.

It was simple and functional, like yours – but larger, and with adjoining rooms leading from it on either side. This main room held chairs, and a table by the window, whose wooden surface was strewn with a number of items – papers, a jacket, a radio, a holster.

Pierce led you towards the nearest chair, and you fell into it, wincing as the movement ignited the pain in your temples once more.

"Water?" Pierce asked, disappearing into the next room and returning a moment later with a glass. 

"Sure," you said belatedly, taking it from him. 

You glanced up at him as he crossed to the chair opposite you and dropped into it, off-put by the strangeness of the situation. 

This man was one of your greatest enemies. He was a large part of the reason your life was currently in shambles, and was indirectly responsible for the deaths of at least two of the people you loved. Yet he was offering you a glass of water. 

Pierce appeared to be the picture of ease as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He raised a brow as he caught you watching him, and tilted his head knowingly. 

“Do you live here?” You asked, to redirect his attention.  

He eyed you evenly, face impassive. “Sometimes, if work goes late,” he replied. 

You grunted, and placed your water on a nearby table to massage your temples. “So why’d you invite me in?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Because I happen to be a very decent person,” he said mockingly, leaning forwards in his chair. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re no use to me dead.” 

You eyed him, then tried to reposition yourself in your chair, uncomfortable with the angle at which your injured shoulder was resting. The better question was, why had you agreed to come in?
“You got shot, didn’t ya?” Pierce asked, his gaze following your movement. “Your shoulder.” 

You nodded, then shot him a pointed glare, but his focus was on the bandages exposed by your short-sleeved top. He rose to approach you. He raised a placating hand as he did, in the same motion he’d made the other day. No need to worry, it said. I mean no harm. 
Knowing him, that was doubtful. 

Pierce came to a halt beside your chair, and you caught your breath as he did a cursory examination of the bandages, fingers skimming your shoulder and back. You couldn’t help but shiver at his touch. 

“You should ice this muscle, and this one,” Pierce said, motioning to two points behind your shoulder blade. “They tell you that?” 

You shook your head, startled out of words by the contact. 

“Yeah, well.” He said, hands falling away. “They ain’t been shot in the shoulder before.” He flashed you a grin, and was about to turn away when his gaze caught on the bandages on your legs. “What about these?” He asked, crouching to examine them. 

“Burns,” you said, taken aback. “Second degree. Same as you, I’d guess.” 

He raised his eyes to meet yours, and for a moment you knew the memory of the fire at the farmhouse was blazing bright in both your minds. Then he stood, and crossed the room to disappear into the adjoining one. 

“Could be,” he called back, amidst the noise of items being riffled through. “Or maybe I got out without a scratch. That’d be good for publicity.” He returned, a pair of tensor ice packs held in each hand. 

“I always keep some of these around. They’re a neat little trick; cut the hell out of the healing time.” He pulled his chair up beside yours.

He would know that, you guessed, given his line of work. He'd probably had his fair share of injuries, bravado aside.

Pierce unwound one of the ice packs, and leaned down to reach for one of your legs. Then he paused, glancing up at you. “This alright?” 

You cleared your throat. To be honest, you didn’t mind his attention – which was its own brand of madness. There were layers of weirdness to being here with him that you weren’t ready to unpack yet, but you couldn’t help but enjoy having someone see you – consider you – beyond the impersonal examinations conducted by the doctors and nurses. 

Pierce shot you a lopsided smile. “Can’t say I’m used to putting these things on other people, but I don’t mind trying."

“Uhh –” you said uncertainly. “Sure. If it’ll help.” 

Pierce leaned down and lifted up one of your legs, resting it on his knee before beginning to wind the tensor pack atop the bandages covering it. 

“You been into the city yet?” He asked, focused on the ice pack as his hands worked. His cybernetic arm seemed just as competent as his human one at the task, though its metal fingers were cold when they brushed your exposed skin.  

“Not yet,” you replied. “Been a bit busy signing my life away to corporate.” 

Pierce moved onto the next leg, his mussed hair falling into his eyes as he did. He brushed it away absentmindedly. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you saw now that he wasn’t in his usual work attire. He wore a black t-shirt, and his hair seemed rumpled, giving the impression that he was distinctly off-duty. 

“Well, there are some nice spots. Damn hot in the summer; but the coast is real nice.” 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be getting out to do much sight seeing. I’m one step away from being a prisoner here–" you said, venom entering your voice “–but you know that.” 

Pierce finished with your second leg, and let it return to the ground, sitting back in his chair. “You ain't a prisoner," he replied. "Not anymore. Now you're an employee," he grinned. 

You snorted derisively. 

"And you gotta steal the moments you can, darlin',” he said. “That’s all life is.” 

Pierce stood, and motioned for you to do the same. “We should get this one on your shoulder. It’s looking pretty swollen.” 

You stood, legs still slightly shaky. Pierce took your elbow to steady you, then shot you a half-smile as he unwound the last tensor. He leaned forward, and his chest pressed lightly to yours as he wound the ice pack around your torso. Once again, the heat of his proximity made you catch your breath. 

God help me. You'd officially lost it. Or maybe you were just tired of being alone, and on the run, and only being touched when someone wanted to hurt you. 

“I was trying to use my mutation,” you admitted suddenly, distracted by Pierce’s nearness. “In the hallway. That's why I ... that's why that happened. But I can't, right now. I don’t know why it did that to me.” 

Pierce leaned away slightly, enough to look down at your face. He was so close that you could see the flecks of oceanic blue in his eyes, and the remnants of a scar marring the corner of one of his eyebrows.  

“Huh,” he said, finishing securing the tensor and stepping back. “And you don’t think it might have something to do with the fact that you nearly died half a dozen different ways the last few weeks?” 

Your gaze slid sideways, and you considered the possibility. Could the block in your power be just that? Exhaustion? 

It was possible. Hell, considering everything your body had been through in the last month, it would be a miracle if your abilities were at full strength. But some part of you knew that the wound went even deeper than that. It stemmed from all the emotions – and the realities – that you were currently working hard to shut down, conceal, and ignore. 

You shrugged noncommittally, and were about to move back to your chair when Pierce reached out and caught one of your hands. His hand was firm and callused, and lifted yours towards him as he examined the white striations which wound up your wrist like twining vines. 

Lightning scars, from one of your first forays into the Empty World. 

You pulled your arm away, breaking the contact. And you were about to take a step back, when a sudden mad idea rushed into your head. 

Without stopping to think, you stepped forwards, closing the distance between you as you wound a hand around the back of Pierce's neck. Your fingers traced through his hair, and it felt as you'd imagined. Soft. 

Pierce stilled, eyes locking with yours. For a moment, you stood close to one another, breathing each other in. Then, when he didn't pull away, you slowly closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. 

For a moment Pierce was still and rigid against you – surprised or disgusted, you couldn't tell – but then he responded to the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. His lips were hot against yours, and all thoughts fled from your mind as the kiss deepened. 

His tongue parted your lips, tasting you. You found yourself wrapping your arm more firmly around his neck to bring your bodies more tightly against one another, and Pierce responded, one of his hands grasping your hip to anchor you to him while the other trailed up your back.   

When he took your lip between his teeth and bit it, the pleasure in the twinge of pain made you gasp. 

The moment stretched out, interminably long, as you lost yourself in the kiss.

Then you pulled away, breaking the embrace. 

You didn't know what had brought you back to your senses, but you stood, breathing hard, as you stared at Donald Pierce. Your pulse was racing. 

Pierce was breathing hard, too, and a bemused smile crept across his face as you watched. 

“So, how long have you been waiting to do that?” He asked, dragging a thumb across his bottom lip. His eyes glinted with predatory amusement.

How long – you hadn't been waiting to do that, and now that you'd done it you could barely believe that you had. 

"I – should be getting back to my rooms," you said, hiding your flushing cheeks by turning away and starting towards the door. 

Pierce followed.

"Alright, sugar," he replied. "I'll take you. Third floor, isn't it?"

You glanced back at him, and let out a breath of exasperation. "Figures you know where I live. And I'll be fine to get there; it's not far." 

You didn't know what you were feeling at that moment, and would rather be away from him while you untangled it all. 

Pierce sighed. "Yeah, but you ain't in good shape, and I don't want all my hard work to go to waste," he said, nodding to your legs and shoulder.

He proffered you his arm.

"Besides, I don't mind." 

You stood still for a moment, looking between him and his outstretched hand. Then you turned your gazed skywards, and sent out a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening. 

 Please let me not be out of my fucking mind for this. 

You stepped forwards, and took his arm. 

***

Chapter Text

Strips of motion-activated fluorescent lighting flickered on one after another as the man before you strode through the cold, stark basement, glancing back for you to follow. 

It had been a few days since your admittedly ill-advised first aid soiree with Pierce, and your pager had notified you this morning that you were due to be fitted for gear for your upcoming assignment. While you’d been hiding in your rooms since, hoping to avoid what was sure to be an awkward encounter the next time you saw Pierce, mission outfitting had sounded non-optional. So here you were, hoping against hope that you wouldn't run into the Reaver Commander in Transigen's basement gear storage unit. 

The Recon Manager arrived at a side door, and swiped his pass to open it. Inside, racks of Kevlar and carbon fibre swished on either side of you, and you brushed a hand along the garments as you passed. 

Going into Pierce’s rooms had been fun, in a perverse sort of way. Like watching a crime documentary. It was a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the life of a sociopath. And, yes, he was a sociopath with soft hair and a smooth southern accent – but he was only attractive in the way that any lethal weapon was. Like a blade honed to an edge, or a corrosive substance just whispering at you to touch it, his presence beckoned towards the heady rush of danger. 

A masochist’s dream , you sighed internally. But at least you knew your own weaknesses. And something you’d gleaned from Pierce the other night, whether or not mashing your face to his had been a mistake (which was pretty inarguable), was that there were different facets to him. There was an off-duty version of him, for example, who seemed a hell of a lot more open to chatting about things that verged on the personal than the business-hours Reaver Commander did. 

And that was something that might be useful, seeing as you were still in the dark about almost everything that went on at Transigen. Like why were they so invested in - and ' responsible for ' - the mutant kids. Or what the hell kind of information they were so desperate to get back from Zenith Labs. Or how the fuck they’d made evil-buzzcut-logan, X-24.

So yes, you were toying with the idea of fucking Donald Pierce. If it got you any information, it didn’t sound like the worst possible way to pass your time at Transigen. If that failed, you could always go play in the radiation lab.

“Don’t touch anything,” the Recon Manager snapped, glancing back at you as he pulled open a storage locker. You raised your hands from the garment rack in surrender, but continued to stare around the room, casually itemizing what you could see for future reference. It might be handy to know what kinds of gear were down here, in case you ever had to make a short-notice departure from Transigen. Not that you wanted to do that, seeing as the fate of Laura and the others depended on your contract with Ansley. But still, it felt nice to know a few of their secrets. 

When the Manager had collected an assortment of garments and pieces of equipment, he handed them to you with a cold expression, crossing his arms as he waited for you to pull on a Kevlar vest to check its size. 

He wasn’t a Reaver, judging by his lack of military apparel and macho attitude, but he was clearly anti-mutant. A Purifier? A follower of the Church of Human Potential? Who knew. It barely mattered, since there were too many varieties of hatred out there to count. And Logan had always said that they were all the same, in the end.

“These aren’t yours,” the Recon Manager said gruffly, when you nodded in assent at the size of the vest. “They’re equipment on loan from the facility. What comes back damaged comes out of your pay. If you get paid, that is.”

With that, he strode towards the door, and stood waiting for you to exit the room before he shut it behind you. 

Just another day at the office , you sighed internally. And I’m sure this isn’t even the most toxic workplace out there .

Then again, you were considering starting a workplace situationship with your sadistic mercenary supervisor, so there was still plenty of room for things to go downhill from here.

~~~

As you lay in bed that night, you stared at the screen of the phone in your hands, reading the message you’d received that morning over and over again. 

We are safe. Across the border.  

The unknown number from which it had come was undoubtedly Laura, using the burner phone you’d given her. And they were safe. You didn’t know what that meant – if they’d found a true hiding place, or even other mutants, or had just escaped the tails Transigen had on them – but your heart ached with relief. For now, they were safe. And they would continue to be, as long as your deal with Transigen remained. 

You flipped away from the messages app, and scrolled through the phone’s home screen, trying to get used to its controls. It was the phone Laura had given you, previously belonging to someone named Gabriela. Who that was, and what her story was, you had no idea - but she assumedly had no use for it, anymore. Maybe she'd been Laura’s family, or maybe just some unlucky bystander who’d helped the mutant kids and gotten themselves in the Reaver’s crosshairs, but she was clearly gone, just like every other person who'd ever stood between Transigen and their goals. 

Your finger brushed the camera app in the phone's corner and it opened involuntarily, causing the ‘recent videos’ icon to catch your eye. Because there was a video there. You sat up in interest and tapped on it, and shaky footage immediately grew to fill the phone's screen. 

“My name is Gabriela Lopes,” a woman said, sitting back in a chair in a warmly lit room. “I am a nurse, and for ten years I have worked at Transigen research in Mexico City.” The footage flashed, changing to a video of the exterior of Transigen’s gates.

Your eyes widened, and you sat up further, gripping the phone tightly.  

The next clip was of Gabriela in a storage closet somewhere inside the lab, breathing hard and obviously filming in secret.

“Transigen is owned by an American company,” she continued. “What I am about to show you is illegal in the US, and Canada.”

The camera panned around to the hallway, and you watched in growing horror as a line of children – a few of whom you recognized from North Dakota – filed past. 

“They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study,” Gabriela continued breathlessly. “But that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here, and never left. They have never seen the sun, or the ocean. Rain, or snow, or any of god’s creatures. They have no birth certificates, no names besides the ones we have given them.” 

Then Laura appeared on the screen in your hands, asleep in a narrow bed, and you made an inarticulate sound of horror as you covered your mouth. 

You’d heard Laura imply that she and her friends had been at Transigen's lab together, but you’d thought that it was because they’d been kidnapped and brought there. That Transigen had wanted to study them, because they were the first mutants born in 25 years. Not that they were from the lab . 

“They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls,” Gabriela's voice continued, careless of your mounting horror as the video panned over a few bloody hospital beds. “Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas ; special seeds in bottles.”  

Then Pierce appeared on screen, and you inhaled sharply, watching as he dismantled the domestic scene of one of the kids’ birthdays. The video continued, flashing past scenes of the children being injected with large syringes full of fluid, and then a boy using his powers wildly, attacking the personnel around him. And then Laura was back – only this time on a bloody surgery bed, with half a dozen tubes sticking from her arms. A team of doctors worked on her, and familiar metallic claws protruded from her knuckles. 

You choked out sob, and tried to steady the phone in your shaking hand. 

Laura, slashing her own forearm with the Adamantium blades .

Men running up a flight of stairs, in time to see a young boy throw himself from the roof .

A computer screen open to a file titled ‘X-24’, followed by a series of disembodied limbs, floating in blue tanks . 

Then, men - Reavers - were grabbing the children, and pulling them out of their rooms. Pierce appeared, zapping a child with a metal rod before dragging their unconscious body into a lab room. 

“We are going to save as many children as we can," Gabriela continued, voice choked with emotion. "I read about a place up North. A place for mutants. They call it Eden.” 

Then the video changed, and the kids were running down the halls, accompanied by Gabriela and a few of the other nurses. Escaping . 

“If you’re watching this,” Gabriela said, now addressing the camera from what looked to be a motel room, “it means that I am dead.” Her dark, soulful eyes filled with tears, matching the tears now streaming down your own cheeks. “I am not sure if any other children survived. We were separated.” 

You were breathing hard, and you lowered the phone shakily to your bed as the recording neared its end. 

“Please,” Gabriela’s voice finished. The voice of a dead woman. “Take her to safety.”

Then the video shut off, returning you to the phone's black camera screen, and leaving your room in darkness. 

Your chest rose and fell erratically as if you’d just sprinted a mile, and it felt like there was a vice gripping your stomach, making it hard to breathe. You rose from the bed and walked desperately to the window, then back to your bed, pacing.

“Fuck.” The images from the video flashed through your mind. “Fuck. Fuck! ” 

You crossed to your door and threw it open, not knowing where your feet were taking you – only that you needed air. This building felt different, now that you’d seen what had gone on here. The pain. The fucking torture, and all the other things you could barely comprehend. Your bare feet slapped the cold floor - you'd not bothered with shoes in your rush - and you took the stairs at the end of the hall two at a time, ignoring the strain on your still-healing shoulder and legs. 

You burst out onto the lab's roof as your vision blurred with tears, and gasped for breath. The night was warm outside, and the sounds of the city - dogs barking, distant music playing, and far-off sirens - rushed in around you, replacing the eerie silence of the compound.The sharp gravel of the rooftop bit into your feet, but you barely felt it. You put a hand to your stomach, fighting off a wave of nausea as you leaned against the cement wall to your left.  

You’d known Transigen were evil. But – that ? That was fucking insane. 

You leaned your head back against the wall and took a few steadying breaths, trying to process it all.

Far below you, a car door slammed, and loud laughter echoed through the lab's concrete yard. You walked slowly to the edge of the roof and looked down, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you spotted a group of men exiting a dark truck stationed in front of Transigen’s main entrance. A blond head swung from the truck’s cab, and your stomach tightened as you recognized Pierce. He handed off a black case to another man who carried it inside, and turned to grab something else from the truck. 

The image of him dragging an unconscious child across the floor of one of the labs flashed before your eyes, and before you knew what you were doing, you’d stepped off the edge of the roof, curving your wings in sharply for a quick descent. The rush of air pulled at your sore shoulder, but you ignored it, landing soundlessly on the pavement before the vehicle. Your chest heaved as you stared at the men encircling the truck. The men who’d tortured Laura . Who’d tried to put the mutant kids to death as soon as they no longer served a purpose to the lab. 

Pierce was turned away from you, but his head cocked slightly to the side when your bare feet landed on the pavement, as if he’d heard some minute noise behind him. That was the only warning you had before he’d pulled his gun from its holster and swung it around to aim it at your head, almost quicker than you could blink. 

Then his eyes found your face, and wings, and a grin spread across his face. 

“Well hey there, darlin’!” He said, returning his gun to its holster and leaning back against the SUV. He wore a sleeveless black shirt above his fatigues, suited to the warm night, and it showed off his muscle-corded arms and the skull tattoo on his neck. The men nearby turned to see what was going on, and quickly caught sight of you standing in the darkness down the walkway. Some stared at you coldly, while others jostled each other, chuckling at unheard jokes.

“Finally come to join your pals?” Pierce asked, a glint in his eye. “Get a little team bonding in?” 

But you weren’t in the mood for banter, tonight.

“Transigen made the mutant kids?” You spat, staring at him as your skin prickled with hatred. “This fucking place made them, locked them up, and tortured them, until you decided to kill them ?” 

The men behind Pierce quieted, and some lab worker who’d been on his way in through the automatic doors paused to glance your way, eyes wide. 

Pierce showed no signs of surprise at your outburst, but his eyes grew cold as he tilted his head slowly to one side, examining you. He took in your messy hair, bare feet, and the dark shorts and t-shirt you slept in, before his gaze rose back to your face. “Who you been talking to?” He asked, deceptively casual.

You choked out a harsh laugh. “As if I’d fucking tell you.” 

He raised a brow, and snorted incredulously. “For the sake of your little friends, baby, I’d suggest you do,” he drawled. “Otherwise–” he opened a hand helplessly, “who can say what’ll happen to ‘em.” His grin faded, and his eyes glinted with predatory delight beneath a veil of mock regret. “As you know, we really got no issue killing what needs to die.” 

Your skin prickled as you held his gaze. Because just like that, you were reminded of the violence simmering beneath the surface of this place. And how easily they could take everything away from you, while you remained a prisoner here. You ground your jaw, wishing that you’d restrained yourself from hopping down here and confronting Pierce with what you’d learned so quickly, because now, of course, he was suspicious about how you you’d figured it out. 

“Laura mentioned being at a lab, but I didn’t put the pieces together till now,” you replied, crossing your arms before you and glancing away as you fabricated an excuse. You couldn't let Pierce find out about Gabriela’s phone, or they’d find the messages between you and Laura. And then you’d lose the only mode of contact you had with her and the others.  

“I thought she’d just been kidnapped and brought to the lab,” you continued, staring rigidly away at the fence surrounding Transigen. “But if she had Logan’s DNA, then it must’ve meant that someone engineered her. And tested the Adamantium on her. And if you did that to her…” you finished, motioning with a hand to express that you’d extrapolated the rest. 

Pierce scrutinized you for a moment, then his mouth curved in a slight smile. “Hm,” he grunted. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or not, but he leaned back against the SUV, and waved at the Reavers who’d gathered to watch the little scene play out, motioning for them to continue on their way. Some chuckled as they turned away, shooting you cold smiles before walking off towards the parking lot or turning to grab things from the truck’s trunk. 

“Well, great powers of deduction, bud," Pierce said, raising something to his lips – a vape – and taking a pull. “But you always knew what you were signing up for. Ain’t no use getting cold feet now.” 

Your breathing had gradually slowed, but rage and disgust were still warring with disbelief inside you. But below that, yes; there was also a grim lack of surprise. Of course you knew what Alkali-Transigen was capable of. They’d been hunting mutants to either kill or experiment on for the past 25 years – and if they’d found a way to make mutants of their own, of course they’d be lab rats. But you just couldn’t reconcile that idea with Laura and her friends. 

Laura, lying on the surgery table, amidst all that blood. 

“Sure, Pierce,” you replied sardonically, your nausea slowly giving way to fatigue. “Of fucking course I shouldn’t be surprised that you like killing kids. I’ve truly never hoped hell exists quite this much,” you added, pitching your voice to reach the receding Reavers. “Cause you fucking monsters will have reserved seating.” 

One of them turned to shoot you a smile, waggling his fingers mockingly as he disappeared around the corner, and Pierce sighed, pushing up from where he leaned against the SUV. 

“C’mon now,” he said, walking towards you. “Ain’t no such thing as monsters. Just people willing to get things done, and people who ain’t.” 

You stared at him in disgust as he approached, while the Reavers’ truck pulled away behind him, leaving the sidewalk outside the lab’s main entrance empty.

“That’s a great line of bullshit you got going there,” you replied tiredly. “Write a fucking book.”

He came to a halt beside where you stood, and gazed skyward, taking another pull from his vape. “I know you don’t get it, baby,” he replied. “You’re soft. Thing is, if we hadn’t done those experiments, someone else would have. And then they’d be getting the big bucks when all of this pays off.” He glanced down at you, unfazed. “See? It’s all just choices.” And as always, his smooth drawl was like warm water on your skin, working to soothe you into believing that he was right. That this was what the world was, and there was no way around it. “You either choose to win,” he finished, “or you’re alright with losin’.”

You rolled his words over in your head, and snorted derisively. But one phrase stuck in your mind, catching your attention through your fatigue. When all of this pays off . So there was a master plan behind the experimentation. Some kind of goal Transigen had, that they knew would pay off big time. 

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you replied, too tired to come up with a better insult. It was simply the truth. The revelations of the night had left you drained, and your rage and horror were quickly fizzling into numb disgust. 

“Mm,” Pierce hummed in agreement, nonplussed. “Tellin’ me that ain’t what you're into?” He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Cause the other night, it seemed to me like –” 

“Shut–” you said, turning sharply as you cut him off, “–the fuck up. I was dizzy and fucking injured.” And you were currently in no mood to discuss the other night. You may have decided this afternoon that fucking Pierce for info was a good idea, but that was before seeing him taser a fucking child. Though on the one hand, you now wanted to know Transigen’s dirt even more badly. Cause there was clearly a lot of it. 

Pierce chuckled at your evasion. “Guess that means I’ll have to kick things off this time,” he shrugged, sighing. Before you'd registered his intent, he was moving towards you, forcing you back against the compound’s cement wall. You glanced up at him in shock, but he only smirked as he snaked an arm around your waist. Then his lips were pressing hotly against yours. 

What the fuck , you thought, hands rising to press against his chest, uncertain of whether to push him off. But all thought fled from your mind as he kissed you hard, hungrily, and when you gasped in surprise, you felt him smile against you. 

And then you were breathing in his scent – fucking vape smoke , and sweat, and cologne – and it was disgusting, and intoxicating. 

You couldn’t decide if you wanted this, but he pressed you back into the wall, forcing your hands out from between the two of you. You steadied yourself against the wall with one hand, and when you wrapped the other around his waist, he pulled you against him, wrapping his cold cybernetic hand around the back of your neck. 

Stick to the plan? You thought frantically. Seduce him and see what he lets slip? Or go back to my room and process what the fuck I found out today like a sane person?

Pierce’s hot weight against you made it hard to concentrate on any thoughts, though, and he grew bolder, his human hand sliding under your shirt and up your back, sending shivers racing through you. Finally, you leaned your head back against the wall as his hand slid down to grasp your hip, and gave in to the sensations. 

Ah, fuck it. 

Pierce felt the tension leave you, and bent his head to trail his tongue up your exposed neck, exhaling in satisfaction. You shivered at the tingling sensation of his breath on your neck, and pulled him closer, winding your fingers through his hair. Then he took your chin in his cold metal hand, and forced your mouth back to his. His tongue parted your lips, and quested deeper.   

Dizziness washed over you, and you inhaled deeply, trying to catch your breath. His breath was hot against your cheek, and smelled of beer and minty vape smoke. “Mm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gaze down at you. “Now this is better, ain’t it?” 

You met his gaze, breathing hard. “Better than trying to hold a conversation with you,” you shot back with mock sweetness. Pierce grinned, and returned his metal hand to the back of your neck, grip tightening. Then his mouth was back on yours, stealing the breath from you. 

Admittedly, it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, but this felt fucking intense in a way you weren’t used to. Probably the constant threat of imprisonment and death , you reasoned. One hell of a kink. 

Your skin buzzed in the warm night air, and all focus was lost to the inebriating press of his body against yours. His hips pressed into yours, and he slid a knee upward, parting your legs. You inhaled sharply, and he moved his hands down your back, grabbing your ass with one while the other gripped the back of your other thigh. He held you tightly in his grip, claiming you, and you relaxed into him, gasping at the sensation.  

But then the doors to the lab whooshed open a few yards to your left, and someone made a startled noise. Whoever they were immediately hurried away towards the parking lot, accompanied by the blip of a pager. But their reaction pulled you back to reality. 

And it turned out that while you wanted to be a no-fucks-to-give secret agent who slept with the enemy and stole their secrets in the process, fucking a murderer less than an hour after watching him torture children, and learning that the company he – and now you – worked for had created and experimented on them, felt a bit too icky. 

Alright , you sighed internally, so it's gonna to be a 'go back to my room and process what the fuck I found out today like a sane person' kind of night . Bummer. But the murderer in question would undoubtedly still be here tomorrow, and more than willing to continue carrying out your plan. 

“Alright, cowboy,” you said, pushing up from the wall and forcing your way to the side, extricating yourself from his grasp. “That’s enough for tonight.” 

Pierce scoffed, turning his shoulder to lean against the wall as he watched you go. “Really? You ain’t sticking around?” He called, then snorted in laughter. “I don’t know what the fuck kind of game you’re playin’, baby."

You flipped him off as you walked away, disappearing past the sliding doors and back into the cold air of the lab. 

But yeah , you thought, your exhaustion returning in a wave as the hot adrenaline began fading from your limbs. That makes two of us .

Chapter Text

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders , you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental . But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then?  

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them; let alone the non-man, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore , you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, baby,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, they’re on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, birdie?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban . For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall, and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, they weren’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell them about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you?  

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of understanding. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether.  

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach; there was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break .” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard . As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole.  

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like–but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands.  

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back. And you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off. You were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confident, or brazen, under their scrutiny; but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while , you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do . Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night.  

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.