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FIC: A Stolen Season 8/?

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  • rimmette@earthlink.net
    A Stolen Season 8/? For disclaimers, etc. see part one. Does anyone still remember this story? Archived at http://www.geocities.com/khakigrrl/ ***** POV:
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 22, 2001
      A Stolen Season 8/?

      For disclaimers, etc. see part one.

      Does anyone still remember this story? Archived at


      <i>POV: Rogue</i>

      I can't sleep.

      We went back to the mansion last night, again, and didn't find any
      new clues, again. It's only been a few weeks, but I'm beginning to
      lose hope that we'll ever find Scott and the children. It's like
      they disappeared into thin air.

      I've tried to talk to Logan about it, but he won't listen to anything
      that sounds like giving up. It's not that I've given up on them,
      I've just lost faith in the methods we're using to find them.
      Logan's a great tracker when there's a physical trail to follow, but
      there just isn't one in this case. He relies too much on his senses,
      and I can't convince him to switch to another tack.

      Of course, I don't have many ideas other than what we've tried. If
      either of us had any computer skills, I know we could find them
      through the government databases, but the only person I know even
      close to being that computer savvy is... was Kitty.

      I hate that. I hate having to correct myself, having to switch my
      friends, my family, from present to past tense. It isn't right.
      It's not fair. Kitty should be shopping for cribs and baby clothes,
      not rotting away in some government facility.

      No, can't think about that. I can't imagine what everyone's bodies
      would look like now. They're not in them anymore. They're gone,
      free, whatever's happening to their bodies isn't happening to them.
      Stop it. Don't think about it.

      I sit up and pull the covers away. If I'm not going to sleep, I
      might as well get up and do something, get my mind onto something

      Logan groans at my movement, but he doesn't wake up. He hasn't been
      sleeping well, what with the nightmares and all, and we just got back
      to the hotel at six this morning after searching the abandoned
      mansion all day yesterday and all night last night. I don't want to
      wake him up from what little rest he's getting. Of course, he'll
      wake up pretty soon if I'm not lying beside him.

      Hmm, there's a 7-11 down the block. If I ran down there and got a
      book, I could stay in bed with Logan all day and still keep my mind
      distracted. It'd really help him if he could get a decent amount of

      In fact, we probably shouldn't try heading out today. I should stop
      by the motel office on my way and pay for another night. It's
      already 8 and if everything works out, Logan will sleep long past the
      11:30 check-out time.

      I'm almost dressed when Logan moans, "Marie?"

      Damn that man. He's such a light sleeper that despite the fact that
      I've been whisper quiet, he's woken up.

      "It's ok, Logan," I whisper. "I'm gonna go pay for another night.
      I'll be right back."

      "You tired?" he asks in a weary drawl, his eyes still closed.

      "Yes, sugah, really tired. I'm just gonna pay for the room, and then
      come back and get some more sleep."

      "Kay," he answers as he snuggles his face back into the pillow.


      When I walk into the worn down, dingy lobby, there's no one at the
      front desk, but I can hear a guy talking in the back office, so I
      wait. There's a newspaper on the desk so I pick it up, intending to
      flick through it and kill a little time. Of course, that's before I
      turn it over and see the front page with a grainy black and white
      picture of Logan's face staring back at me.

      It looks like it was taken by one of the security cameras in the
      mansion from what little I can see of the background. It's the
      corresponding title, though, that makes my blood run cold, "Mutant
      Suspected in School Disappearances." I scan the article only to find
      that Logan is being accused of the disappearances of sixty-one
      students, faculty, and staff at the Xavier School for Gifted
      Youngsters. The police want him for questioning. They suspect foul-
      play. There's a manhunt on.

      "Look, I told you. He's here!" The voice from the back office has
      risen in volume and frustration and now I can make out what he's
      saying. "Yeah, the guy from the paper. He's travelling with some

      He's turning Logan in. We've gotta get out of here, get as far away
      as possible. Now.

      "I don't know who she is. Are you gonna send someone? Ok, but make
      it quick. I don't wanna be the next one to vanish."

      That's the last of the conversation I hear before I'm out the door
      and running back to our room.


      "Logan! Get up. We have to get out of here. Now!"

      I'm already rummaging through his duffle bag, pulling out jeans and a
      T-shirt, when he sits up groggily in bed.

      "Marie? What..."

      I just throw the clothes at him. "Dress. Now."

      Running into the bathroom I start dumping shampoo, conditioner, soap,
      all of my stuff into my overnight bag. There's no time. We have to
      get everything and get out.

      By the time I leave the bathroom, Logan's dressed and packing any
      clothes we'd left out in the room into his bag. He's wide awake now
      and gathering all our stuff together just as frantically as I am. I
      pick up my other bag and his boots on the way out the door, and he
      follows me with his own bag in tow.

      Running to the Jeep, I pull out the keys and, throwing the bags into
      the back and Logan's boots to the floor on the passenger side, I get
      in and start it up. Logan jumps in on the passenger side, and as
      soon as he shuts the door, I'm backing out of the parking lot and
      speeding towards the freeway. We have to get as far away as we can
      as quickly as possible.

      Logan waits until we're speeding down the highway before he
      asks, "Marie, what's going on? We can't leave. Not with Cyke and..."

      "They're looking for you."


      "The police. They think you're involved in what happened at the
      mansion. They can't get you, Logan. If they do, the soldiers'll
      find you and then..." I let my voice trail off. I don't want to
      think about what would happen if they captured Logan.

      "We can't leave, Marie. We can't stop just because..."

      "No. We have to, Logan. Just for a little while. Please. I can't
      lose you, too."


      <i>POV: Dr. Elizabeth Mason</i>

      It worked, and I have to credit myself for my own ingenuity. The GPS
      data shows that the mutant just crossed over into Pennsylvania. I've
      scared him away.

      Now, all I have to worry about is the thousands of other things that
      could go wrong with this plan before it's over.

      For one thing, they killed a lot more mutants than I'd expected
      during the trial run. To make matters even more complicated, one of
      them was pregnant. Although the resources are available to keep my
      plan working, the computer power necessary to keep everything running
      smoothly is incredible. If anyone bothers to check, the gigabytes
      per second of data I'm processing through the mainframe will give me

      Fortunately, Dr. Thacker's been so focused on the logistics of
      collecting bodies from all over the United States and transporting
      them as discretely as possible to disposal facilities, that he's left
      the technical aspects of the project to me and my team. Since I'm in
      charge of the assignments, I can ensure that none of them detect what
      I'm doing.

      It is quite a conundrum Dr. Thacker has. How do you kill or capture
      over a hundred thousand mutants from all over the United States
      quickly and efficiently? He doesn't want to disturb the moral
      sensibilities of the public by allowing the bodies to remain
      visible. After all, the citizens of the United States voted for
      mutant registration, not mutant extermination.

      If I wasn't totally against everything he's doing, I might feel sorry
      for him. As it is, I only feel sorry for myself. The logistics of
      my counter-plan are more complex than he could ever dream, and the
      stress of fooling an entire bureaucracy is weighing on me.

      I don't sleep well. I wake up several times during the night with
      ideas to make the plan better or realizations of faults where my work
      could be detected, or worse, where the plan could fail on its own.

      Sometimes, I wish that it were three months from now just so I could
      know how everything turned out.


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