WOLFSBANE#2
"It'll chew you up and spit you out." Pt.3

This is NOT my story and all feedback should be directed to:
  jpcar1@mfs02.cc.monash.edu.au

DISCLAIMER: Wolfsbane, X-Factor and all featured characters are the
property of Marvel Comics. They are used without permission, although no
profit is being obtained through this usage.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

WHAM! Sabretooth burst the door open with a kick to the lock, and entered
the house, followed by Forge, who was carrying a predictably large weapon
of his own design. At precisely the same time, Polaris ripped the
metal-framed attack window out and flew in, dragging Wolfsbane behind her,
while through the back, Shard entered with Wildchild.

Forge encountered their target first, as Wire came barrelling down the
staircase, firing a  submachinegun from each hand. He was a small Hispanic
man, athletically built - deceptively strong. Strong enough to hold an Uzi
in one hand and control it. He came flying through the air spitting twin
swathes of destruction, long black hair snapping around and a wicked grin
on his face. Forge brought up his wrist-band shield generator, deflecting
most of the shots. One struck  his cybernetic leg, shattering the knee.
Depleted Uranium bullets, Forge thought. Even armour-piercing wouldn't do
that to his leg. Sabretooth crouched behind Forge and his shield, but when
Forge went down, he sprung to the side, avoiding the last of the burst of
bullets. Rolling behind convenient couch, he came up over the top when the
fire stopped, leaping straight at where he smelled his opponent. 

Just before he hit, he realised that his target was standing still, he
wasn't even looking at Sabretooth as he reloaded. Furthermore, the smell
wasn't fear - it was expectation, like he'd just set a trap . And the big
lug had just walked into it. He crashed through the illusion, coming
muzzle-to- muzzle with a very nasty Uzi, and a grin on a face above it. He
kissed himself goodbye and charged. Whether he would have managed to kill
Wire without dying himself would never be known - Polaris entered at just
that point, freezing the trigger mechanism of the gun and spinning the man
around. Sabretooth's wild swing connected with his ribcage, which by
rights should have caved in, but instead the claws bounced off. Below the
torn skin on his right side was only metal. Polaris locked the target in
place as  Sabretooth licked the "blood" off his hand. The cyborg even had
face blood pumped into capillaries in the synth-skin to make himself look
real. It didn't taste nearly as good as the real thing. He glanced up -
Rahne was standing up on the staircase, where Polaris had come from,
looking him dead in the eye. She was different from the X-Factor reports
he'd read about her. He returned the gaze and grinned, she looked away. 

The medical scans on Wire were quite revealing. His bones were interlaced
with synthetic protein strands, making them several times stronger and
less brittle than normal bones. On the sides of his ribcage were subdermal
plates made of high-impact plastic. His right hand was cybernetic, as were
his eyes, his inner ear, and a large amount of his nervous system.
Reflexes, senses, strength, all boosted to well beyond the human norm, and
all replacements were covered with a very expesive synthetic skin - they
all looked normal. Best of all, though, he had a storage cell at the back
of his head that was linked to his eyes so he could access the
information. At the moment, it was filled with a map - a townhouse, with
entry points and address marked. Forge ran the address through the
computer. It belonged to one P. Hayden, a CIA agent. The house had not yet
been attacked. "They'll ne'er attack it now. They know tha' this spaleen's
bin nabbed, and they'll guess tha' we got the map, too," Rahne pointed out
when Forge suggested they lay in ambush at the house.

"The girl's right, Forge," said Shard. "They know that if they got here,
they'll be busted. All it gives us is something to go on." 

"To try to do what?" Forge asked.

"T' try tae figure out what the Brotherhood is doing." Rahne answered.
"Could ye jus' show me the man's file?"

Forge brought it up. Sure enough, P. Hayden was listed as being ‘on
leave'. "Aye. Ye see tha'? Tha's making me suspicious. Ah ran intae some
CIA blorks in Scotland who were ‘on leave'. They were working fer
Operation: Zero Tolerance."

"Are you saying that this man..." Forge started.

"No' necessarily. He could jus' be on leave. There's nae way o' tellin'
‘til Ah c'n talk tae Wisdom an' get him tae check up wi' his contacts in
MI6."

"Excuse me," asked Forge. "What would MI6 know about this?"

"Och, nae more than the KGB," Rahne replied whimsically,

"Bu' more than the President." Forge hmphed and left, pleading that
repairs awaited on his car.

"Look, just get it done quickly, will you?" Shard interjected to hide her
smile. "I want to be ready for the movie tonight."

"Aye, it shouldnae take too long. Wha's on?"

"A Michael Douglas film that Wildchild has been wanting us to see for a
long time. I don't see what's so great about him, but this movie's meant
to be really good." She shrugged.

"And wha' is it called?"

"`Black Rain.'"

Wisdom had spent the whole day in meetings with top CIA officials. He
always hated dealing with the CIA; they didn't tell you anything that you
didn't know already. You never got anything done in meetings, that was all
done in backroom audiences, or in restaurants or pubs or at someone's
house. The meetings were just there so everyone met each other and
established where they all lay. He fell back on his hotel bed, half-empty
whiskey bottle hanging from one hand, top shirt buttons undone and tie
hanging loose. It had been a long day and he needed to unwind. He didn't
like leaving the kid alone, either. He liked it even less now that he
found that Mystique and Sabretooth were on the team. But from what he'd
heard they were actually very tied to the government. They'd even had a
chance to kill Forge and go off with the weird Beast (there were about
thirteen theories about where he came from - Wisdom believed none of them)
but apparently working with the government was important to them for some
reason.

The cigarette that hung slackly from his lips ashed onto his shirt. He
didn't worry, just brushed it off. _Back to your old slob hall habits,
Wisdom. Kitty would die if she saw you like this._ Hell, just about the
only time he ever behaved was when he was around people who would report
back to his girlfriend. _The things we do..._ Another swig of his whiskey
and he sat up, reaching for the pile of messages he'd carried up from
reception. Sorting through them, he saw one was from Wolfsbane: "Check up
on a P. Hayden. He's a CIA agent who is officially ‘on leave'". That was
it. He looked at his watch - it would be about four in the afternoon in
London. He reached for the phone.

Interlude one: a bleakly shot, drizzly futuristic city's airport. A plane
has pulled up at the terminal, a tube extends to greet it in a handshake
("Welcome to my Domain", it seems to say).

Special Agents Rahne Sinclair and Lorna Dane are stepping out of the
plane's door. Handcuffed to Sinclair's wrist is a Hispanic-looking man,
with flowing brown hair and a dangerous look. "Hey, no way, the Mets are
gonna kick in this years' final," Dane asserts.

"If ye want tae b'lieve tha' Ah won't stop ye," Sinclair answered, shaking
her head, "bu' Ah'll ha' tae warn ye tha' ye're backin' the wrong horse.
Ye never were so good at spottin' the odds."

"Yeah, right. Since when were you an expert? Oh, yeah, I remember. You
like to think you're an expert on everything - what's that nickname of
yours? Black Rahne?"

"Never mind tha'. Ye see the men we're meant to hand the prisoner over
tae?" She scans the crowd in front of customs, then answers her own
question. "Never mind, Ah see them." The little threesome worked their way
through the crows - not difficult since government officials got the front
seats - towards the clump of official-looking men. One is unbelievably
large - bursting the seams of hi= s suit. Aside from that, he looks normal
- if being in possession of long blue fur and sharp white fangs is
considered normal. Sinclair approaches the one in lead - a blond - and
everyone pulls out their badges. "Detective Inspector Alex Summers? I'm
Special Agent Sinclair, this is Special Agent Dane."

"I'm Inspector Summers. This is Detective Rhodes, this is Detective Hayes,
and this is Detective McCoy. We're here to pick up the prisoner, Luis
Rochelle. Thank-you for escorting him to Tokyo."

"Hold it. Can we see some paperwork?" asks Dane. Blondie produces a form,
filled in by computer. Dane looks it over for a moment. "It's legit. He's
all yours, Summers. Hope you enjoy him."

She shoves the paperwork back to Summers, produces the key to Sinclair's
handcuffs."Oh, we will." Sinclair uncuffs Luis and hands him over to
Detective McCoy. "See you around."

"Nae, we're leavin' soon." Sinclair answers.

"Oh, no, you'll be seeing us," says Luis. As the Tokyo delegation leaves,
he gives them a leer, about as cute and cuddly as a Bengal tiger.

"Wait on," Sinclair observes, "were we no' meant tae go tae the station
wi' them?"

"Bloody hell, you're right. Let's catch up."

Customs is only a short jog away - they get through by flashing their
badges. With no baggage, they get out quickly. "Special agent Sinclair?
Soory we are late, but what are you doing out here? we expected to meet
you inside customs." Another voice greets them outside customs. Sinclair
turns to face the speaker, seeing four more men, all holding badges. One
holds a form that looks similar to the one produced by Summers. He has a
perplexed look on his face. "Where is your prisoner?" he asks.

"Bloody hell!" shouts Dane. "Look!" Sinclair looks where she is pointing,
and sees Summers and his boys leaving by the car park entrance. Luis is no
longer handcuffed, "Spit! Chase 'em!" They break into a sprint, heading
for the car park. By the time they get there, their quarry has vanished.
"Split up. When ye find 'em, yell and do nae try anythin' stupid."

"Gotcha." Sinclair heads for the upper levels, and Dane heads for the
outside lot. Sinclair is only on the next level up when she hears Dane
scream. Running to the edge, she draws her gun, expecting the worst. She
did not expect what she now sees. Dane is in one of the outside lots,
encircled by a chain-link fence and surrounded by bikers, each of which
has a different exotic hand weapon. All wear helmets.

Dane has her gun out and is pointing it at the leader, but a biker rides
up behind her and slaps it out of her hand with his bo staff. The
emergency stairs are close by, and Black Rahne pounds down them seven at a
time, crashing into the walls of the stairwell as she goes. Some nasty
bruises and a short run later, she finds herself holding the fence, trying
to climb over. 

Her gun had disappeared somewhere along the line and she couldn't climb
the fence, she could only beat her fists and wail. The bikers circled
closer and closer to Lorna, like sharks. They had taken their helmets off
now - the leader with the sword was Rochelle - Wire. With the bo staff was
Bastion, with a chain-knife was Sabretooth and with a huge longbow was
Mystique.

As she watched, Bastion rides forwards and knocks Polaris's legs out from
under her with a quick blow to the knees, before returning to position.
She remained kneeling, but almost immediately Mystique rode out and
smashed a powerful blow with the butt of her sai on Lorna's temple which
sent her sprawling. She struggled back to her knees, using both arms to
support her. But Sabretooth rode forth, cutting her right arm with his
chain-knife. She screamed then, staggered but remained kneeling, supported
by only one arm. Rahne screamed in unison, her violent protest against the
barrier increased. Wire extended his katana and rode back to the closed
gate of the compound. With that runup, he set his blade steady at Lorna's
neck height and accelerated. He got closer and closer - Rahne screamed...

..and woke up, jumped out of bed and ran to the basin. She splashed water
on her face and collapsed into the corner for a while, sobbing dry tears
for a while. "Och, it's happenin' agin, it's happenin' agin," she said to
herself. "It's happenin' agin."

Oh, well. Had to make up for the lack of violence in this issue. Next
issue, the action- and suspense-filled conclusion to the "A Sort of
Homecoming" 2-parter - entitled "Indian Summer Sky", where the meaning of
the dream is explained and Havok makes his move. 

P.S. About the names I have given to each of these stories - they are,
indeed, all taken from songs. But I'm not going to tell you which ones;
it's not really important.