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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
 
 
 

A Matter of Pryde - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Karen Bruce
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 10

"And this is is our hi-tech training room. . . ." Jubilee spread her arms for effect, a mocking, little smile on her face, “Ta da!”

"As you can see, there isn't too much room to train in," Bobby added with a chuckle.

“We do the best we can with what we can get,” Lila said apologetically.

Arms folded in front of her chest, Pryde looked around herself. The floors were covered with padded mats, while a few punch-bags hung limply from the ceiling, leaking stuffing. A row of battered dummies stood against the wall, their vulnerable points sketched on them in faded, black ink. Drake had been right when he had said it wasn’t much.

Still, it was better than the medilab in which Cecelia had wanted to keep her for overnight observation. She had refused point-blank. The days spent in her repair cycle had been enough of a waste of time without her undergoing pointless, medical examinations. The hours would be better spent training for their next mission - she was acutely aware that her skills had degraded through lack of use since she had run away from the MPF, and she needed to get them up to scratch again. This training room was nothing like the complex back at the Mutant Peacekeeping Force’s base, but it wouldn’t hurt her to run through some basic exercises.

She shrugged, “As you say, it’s a bit lowtech, but it’ll do.”

"As Remy would explain if he was here, modern training equipment is notoriously hard to come by, " Raven replied, "If I could only get my hands on the stuff they have at the MPF . . . ." She cut herself off with a shake of her head, “But I can’t, so there’s no point wishing for it.”

"Where is Remy?" Jubilation asked in interest, “I was positive he’d want to come check up on Pryde.”

"With the lady lieutenant," Iceman lent the fact a whole significance of its own by waggling his eyebrows. Pryde frowned to herself. She had heard snatches of conversation about an MPF soldier who had been captured while trying to infiltrate the rebel’s base. If rumours were to be believed, she was apparently a member of the Black Stripes, the elite squadron sent on all the most dangerous and sensitive missions. That meant trouble for the rebellion in general and for her in particular. It could be no coincidence that this lieutenant had arrived at the base only a few days after she herself had joined the team. She had known the Emissary would be tracking her - either to bring her back for reprogramming or to destroy her in order to hide the evidence of an unpopular project - but she had not thought she would find her so soon.

“Why hasn’t he killed her yet?” she asked urgently, “If she’s Black Stripe, it’d be safer to have a ticking nuke in our base. What is he thinking keeping her alive?”

A wry expression on her face, Jubilee replied, “That’s the problem. He’s thinking with his other head. You know, the one between his legs . . . .”

"Enough," Raven cut her off, "We are here to train, not gossip. So, shall we get started?”

****

As Raven watched the supersoldier square up to one of the dummies and begin attacking it with systematic precision, painful memories came rushing back into her mind: memories of another mission and a more serious fight.

She had been assigned to infiltrate one of the underground fighting syndicates - los Gladiatores, who were notorious for staging brutal death-matches between unequal opponents. The syndicate’s reasoning was simple and ruthlessly logical: the people paid to see blood, and they always gave the customers value for their money. Besides, there was no shortage of fighters available to them. There would always be another warm body to put in the ring for every cold body carried out of it. She had heard the stories. Young muties were sold by their desperate parents for the price of a meal or the next fix. Human immigrants were shipped over by unscrupulous agents, who held back their passports and handed them over to the syndicate the instant they stepped off the boats. The government cared little about either of those groups. On the contrary, the fewer muties and immigrants there were, the happier they were. If the syndicate was eliminating them, then it was doing the American public a service and the more power to it. However, what the government did resent was the steady flow of tax-free dollars that passed through its hands, so they had come to an arrangement with it. They would turn a blind eye to the numerous deaths and injuries in return for a substantial monthly donation. And los Gladiatores had been behind on their payments.

A match was being staged in centre ring when she arrived, dressed like a society wife in silk and pearls. Los Gladiatores were always picky about whom they admitted to these occasions. As a result, their guests included almost anyone of any importance in New New York. Politicians rubbed shoulders with businesspeople. Lawyers swopped stories with generals. Newspapermen cheered victories alongside movie-stars. She battled to hide her hatred for the people around her, people who enjoyed a little blood in between cocktails and business meetings.

Picking up a glass of champagne from a roving waiter, she turned her attention to the fight in the ring in the middle of the room. A young girl, who could not have been more than fifteen, was fighting a huge man whose ugly face bore the scars of previous victories. Beside him, she looked so small and so breakable. She was wearing a red bodysuit with a little, black cape that swirled around her as she dodged her opponent’s blows. The luminous streak of white in her hair marked her as a mutie. Watching her bobbing and weaving in the arena, Raven felt sick. It looked like los Gladiatores were up to their usual tricks.

Turning to the man next to her, she asked what the odds for the match were. He grinned, then replied in a manner that she would never forget: "The girl - Rogue - is the favourite. The other guy - Kleinstock - is 100 to 1 against."

At the time, Raven had stared at him in open disgust, thinking it was a sick joke on his part. Even with all the luck in the world, there was very little chance that someone so fragile and young could hope to defeat such an opponent who was superior to her in every way. In strength, size and experience, Kleinstock had the match already won. Unless the girl had omega-class powers beneath her cape and few muties that powerful were allowed to live, she was going to die.

Disgust changed to disbelief, however, when Rogue suddenly lashed out with a kick that connected with his chin. Bone and cartilage cracked with a sickening sound. Kleinstock flew across the ring to crash against one of the posts and fell to the ground with a soft thud. His head lolled limply to one side, dark blood trickling from his mouth. Raven didn’t need her years of field experience to tell that his neck was broken. The crowd erupted in cheers around her, and flowers rained down on the young girl. In return, she lifted her head proudly and snapped a crisp salute to them, before vaulting out of the ring and disappearing through one of the side doors.

Her mind a swirl of confusion at what she had just seen, Mystique ran after her, wishing to speak to Rogue. One of the guards tried to stop her, protesting that no members of the public were allowed backstage, but she flashed her MPF badge at him and he let her through with no further objections. She knew he would report back to his bosses and her infiltration would be a bust, but she didn’t care. She needed to speak to her, even if it were at the cost of her mission.

She would be in line for a serious reprimand later, but she knew this girl was more important than the Emissary’s need to extract a few dollars from los Gladiatores. She had seen the brutal, efficient way she had dealt with Kleinstock. It was obvious she possessed unbelievable strength, and an iron will to match. She had to be alpha class – or even omega - if she did not miss her guess. The MPF could use a recruit like that, more than it could use the money. She hoped her superiors would understand that.

She found the girl sitting alone in one of the dressing rooms, hiding her head in her arms, sobbing like a broken-hearted child. She was not surprised to find her in tears – she had seen it happen to many a junior recruit when the rush of combat wore off and the realisation of what had happened hit them. Her costume lay discarded at her foot in a red and black heap, and she was only wearing a grey sports’ bra and matching pants. Mystique could see her body was covered with scars in all shades of silver and mulberry.

"Are you . . . is everything all right?"

The girl started and looked up at her in shock. Her eyes were wet; her nose, red. She tried to flash her a cocky smile, but couldn’t quite manage it, “Jus’ peachy. Ah take home ten percent of the purse tanight.”

She exhaled heavily and sat down beside her, "Do you enjoy doing this?"

Rogue looked around herself, obviously checking that no-one was listening to them, then shook her head, "Of course not. . . . Ah don’t have a choice. They own me. Even if they didn’t, it’s this . . . or . . . or becomin’ a hooker like mah momma."

Raven tried to place a reassuring hand on one thin shoulder, but the girl instantly flinched away from her touch. Her fingertips barely brushed her skin, yet, for some reason, she felt oddly dizzy and disorientated when they did. For the split-second of contact between her and the girl, she had the terrifying feeling that she was slipping away from her own body, as if her mind was being forcibly pulled out of it. It stopped the instant Rogue jerked away from her, which suggested that the young fighter might have another mutant power apart from superstrength. That would make her even more of an asset to the MPF . . . .

Frowning, she looked at her hand and said, "There is another option, Rogue."

"Like?" the girl asked distrustfully.

"Come with me."

"You nuts, lady?” she exclaimed, “Ah don’t know you. You could be a . . . a sicko or something.”

Nodding her head in understanding, Raven reached into her evening bag and pulled out her badge again. The hologram image of her flashed in the light, as she handed it to Rogue for her inspection, "My name is Raven Darkholme. I'm a Commander in the Mutant Peacekeeping Force."

Her eyes wide, Rogue scrambled to her feet, "Please don't arrest me. Ah wouldn't do this if Ah had a choice."

"Of course not. . . . ”  Raven said soothingly, “If you come with me, I'll give you a home and - how old are you now?"

"Fourteen," the girl pushed her stringy hair out of her face, as if daring her to comment on her age.

"Fourteen," she repeated softly, then said in a brisker voice, "When you're eighteen, I'll sponsor your training. You can be on the right side of the law: upholding it.”

Rogue stared at her for a long time, conflicting emotions flickering across her face. Raven could read fear and excitement and a strange, terrible hope that made her stomach twist to see it. The girl standing in front of her might have only been fourteen, but she had seen and committed enough horrors to give her material for nightmares for the rest of her life. How many people had she killed? How many injuries had she suffered? Yet a part of her remained intact and human enough to want freedom from the life of a fighter-slave; to want something better and brighter for herself.

With difficulty, Raven concealed her sympathy for the girl and anger at the bosses who had only seen her as entertainment. She knew she had to remain neutral and professional - the girl had to make her own decisions about her future. Even if she did decide to come with her, MPF training was hard and long. It was designed to produce tough, loyal soldiers, who could handle themselves in any situation, and many recruits couldn’t take the pressure. They simply burnt out and dropped out. Some had even died in the camps, although that was a dirty secret that the Emissary preferred to remain unknown. No, she knew she could not afford to get emotionally involved, even as she knew she already was.

At last, Rogue grinned at her and shrugged, "Why not? It’s gotta be better than this shitty gig, especially since the bosses won’t risk their asses messing with the MPF. Might be mah only ticket out of here. Ah’ll throw some clothes on, and then we can go.”

Dragging her mind back to the present, Raven felt a strange sadness heavy in her chest. Watching Pryde going through the standard exercises with such ruthless efficiency had brought back her old memories of the girl she had saved from the syndicates so many years ago - the girl who had become like a daughter to her; the girl whom she could no longer acknowledge as her own; the girl who now was being held captive by the rebellion. . . .

Sabrina.

****

Laughing, Pryde spun out of the way of Iceman’s clumsy kick at her mid-section, and tagged him on the shoulder. Per Raven’s instructions, the four rebels had split into pairs and were putting their combat skills to the test. Lila and Jubilee were trading their usual diffident blows, while Bobby’s impersonations of some old kung-fu star were impressing nobody. The former commander, however, was more interested in watching Pryde perform. The other woman ducked another of Bobby’s ill-aimed punches and responded with a sweeping kick, which knocked him off his feet to land on his backside.

Raven pursed her lips thoughtfully. Despite the supersoldier’s laughter, her fighting was almost unbelievably precise and efficient. There was not a single wasted motion; a single unnecessary attack; a single blow of Bobby’s she did not anticipate and defend. It was like her entire brain had been hardwired for fighting - which it probably had. 

Suddenly, in the instant between thought and action, something changed. Bobby launched another attack at her, and Pryde dodged it with her usual grace. As she did so, however, her mouth contracted into a tight, white line and a red film came down to cover her eyes, so that it seemed like she was looking out at the world through a veil of blood. She flexed her fingers and silver claws sprung from their tips, glittering in the dull light. She swung at Iceman, who leapt out of the way at the last second. There was the sound of ripping fabric, and blood spread out from three scratches on his belly.

“What the hell are you playing at, woman?” he shouted furiously, clutching his stomach, “You could have gutted me.”

“For high treason against the Emissary, rebel, I sentence you to death!” Pryde’s voice was cold and mechanical, “This sentence will be carried out immediately by this unit!” 

"Is this a joke?" Jubilee asked, sounding nervous, "No one’s laughing, Pryde."

“Shit! Of course!” Raven exclaimed, suddenly realising what had happened. Stepping quickly forward, she unslung her energy weapon from her holster and levelled it at Pryde. Not that she thought the little blaster would do much good against the supersoldier, but she knew for how much appearances counted.

"Back down, soldier," she snapped, her finger poised on the trigger, "That's a command."

"From who?" Kitty snarled.

"Raven Darkholme, MPF Commander," Mystique replied crisply, "Authorisation code: Blackwings-Delta-Rho-167."

The instant the words left her mouth, Pryde visibly sagged. The red film vanished, her claws retracted, her shoulders slumped. Raven felt herself relax - it was a good thing that the MPF were terrible at updating personnel files, or Remy might have come to find all of them dead. She had no confidence that any of them could have matched the supersoldier in combat, even armed and with their mutant powers.

Tears spilled down Pryde’s left cheek, and her left eye had a haunted expression in it. Her right was dry and stared forward impassively, "Not again. Please, God, not again."

"What happened?" Lila asked, rubbing the back of her neck, "You went completely psycho on us, girl."

"Silence, Cheney," Raven barked, "I'll explain later. You get Drake to sickbay for the doc to look at him."

Slightly sulkily, "Yes, sir."

“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . . .”

Her head down, sobbing, Pryde sprinted out of the training room and disappeared through one of the access pipes to the sewers. A guard moved to question her, but she knocked him out of the way and carried on running.

Remembering the other girl so many years ago, Raven went after her.

 

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