Chapter 107: Seize the Opprotunity

Tigra laid in her bed, still as stone. Still as death, even. Brontë had to focus on the feint rise and fall of her chest to remind himself she wasn't.

He was so used to hearing her rage over the earpiece that seeing her in her normal comatose state felt bizzare. Extreme.

There were two possibilities.

One, Daken had other sleeper agents outside the hospitals that weren't so easily detected by himself or blade and they already saw the Mutants flood the Baxter Building and nearby hospitals.

Or two, Daken was up and moving. Away from Tigra's mind. Wherever he was. Moving towards the crescendo of his plans. Entering the actions faze. Readying his horrific bloodthirsty troops to descend on the current make up of the world and feast on it. To bleed the status quo dry.

For the next four hours, Bronte had to physically remind himself that Daken wouldn't be so loose. He had to have a contingency plan for loose ends like Tigra. Hell even being in the Baxter Building with her— even hearing of Daken through her in the bits and pieces he had, was already a gift from the gods. The gift of chance in his favor. Brontë didn't have much of that since Daken went left…

So he'd stay patient.

Careful.

Aware.

"You're depressed." Emma had her chair turned to face the side of Bronte's face for the past hour. Finally she spoke.

Brontë blinked out of his thoughts but continued to watch Tigra's heartbeat on the monitor at her bedside, "I'm good."

Emma shook her head, "No. You're sad. You're also wildly anxious….. I think I've seen you jump at the sounds of equipment moving downstairs five times in the past hour."

"This is an important mission. At least someone's got their head in the game." Cyclops stated as he sat across the room from them beside Professor X. The Telepath had a finger to his temple as he spoke with and transmitted messages to the other Mutants outside.

"Oh my heads in the game, don't you worry about that, Cyke." Emma replied, "You know, StormWolf….. I can fix that for you."

Bronte's jaw clenched as he watched Tigra.

"How can you be a valiant King of Krakoa if your brain chemistry is off? Allow me—"

"How about everybody stop trying to fix me? Let's start there. I can take care of myself. I'm not a king of anything. Monarchies don't work for nobody but the monarch, anyway. You came here to be back up right?"

Emma batted her long eyelashes at Bronte as she leaned on her armchair.

"So get the hell out of my face, man. Why do you play so much?"

Emma turned in her chair to face Tigra and the others but scooted closer, "It's been five hours the question is why are none of you playing? Oh yea, it's because your a bunch of stiffs. Flavorless cuts of meat. Boring. But there's hope. What about you, Cyke."

"What?"

"What do you think of Krakoa? Perhaps your inspiring words can tempt me to your side more completely…." Emma crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.

"We'll do fine without you, actually." Cyclops replied.

"Oh but I don't think you will."

Cyclops looked away from Tigra, aiming his visored eyes at her, "And why's that?"

Emma shrugged, "At the Mutant Summit we did miss an entire faction of our own people."

"Criminals who'd kill us." Cyclops corrected.

"But Mutants all the same….. or X-Kind as our new savior Magneto The Gentle, would say. If you all want a sovereign nation, would you not need the entirety of all Mutants to have sovereignty on their homeland? I mean if not then there's already holes in your plan for a better world. They'll stay. They'll keep killing. They'll have good reason. No acceptance from the good Mutants across the sea. No embrace from the bigots back home." Emma explained.

"What's your point, Frost?" Cyclops jaw clenched, stretching the fabric of the suit crawling up the sides of his face.

"My point is, you need to find and hold meeting with the others. Others I know. Others I once worked with. You're missing intel. Where's your families Romulus?"

"What?" Cyclops seemed genuinely confused as Brontë passively listened.

"What? StormWolf, Wolverine one and two, HoneyBadger and Daken had Romulus stalking them. What did you and your brother have? What was his name?…. Hmm…."

Cyclops' face went neutral. If he was angry he stepped past the point of fiery emotion and fell into something icy. Or he reeled it all in for the sake of the mission.

"Mr Sinister. If you know where he is, talk." It seems Cyclops chose the latter.

"I'm drawing a blank. He is wherever there's Mutants to experiment on. Last time I checked he was engaged in a side project that took him to….. oh yea, Wakanda. A lot of people died in that war. But knowing him, he sent a clone…. He always does. Probably extracted a good deal of resources and DNA before taking himself out in an explosion. That's his style usually…"

Brontë side eyed Emma as he remembered the bomber in Wakanda that brought Romulus to their doorstep. Literally. He was the mole. The scientist working with the freshly harvested Klyntar. And who knew what else.

"I'm sure he's just as interested in you as he is in Cyke over there. You know you're both hybrids of a sort? It's interesting… The Mutant-Demigod and The Mutant Demialien." Emma commented, "I wonder what he learned in Wakanda….. what his plans are n—"

Cyclops exploded out of his seat. Before anything more could happen, Professor X opened his eyes with an expression of alertness that matched the climate of the room. Though it was for a much different reason. One Brontë heard as something screeched miles away.

"Vampires are getting active south of us. Coming this way."

"Restrained victims in hospitals or new hunters?" Bronte questioned.

"Both it seems. Emma, I trust you'll help put me back together if Tigra's mind overpowers me?"

Emma stood up and planted herself beside Professor X as he approached Tigra's bedside, "Yep."

"I'll stay here, then." Cyclops said.

"No." Bronte replied.

Cyclops looked his way.

"This is where it's most dangerous— most important. I brought you all into this. I stay here. Plus, the X-Men know you. Not me."

Following his words, Magik teleported into the room.

"Go handle business." Bronte said.

Professor X nodded as he looked at Cyclops.

Magik kept her portal open against the wall. It didn't take much more convincing for Cyclops to leave.

The moment he did, Tigra's wild green eyes burst open, turning red. Her veins darkened beneath her fur. Her fangs grew longer as she opened her jaws wide and let out a roar of pain.

"StormWolf hold her down for me." Professor X said.

Brontë approached Tigra, hand outstretched for the gallon of water behind him. In seconds it exploded and slithered over to him, coating his suit in ice armor.

He placed his hands on her broad shoulders and stopped the thrashing, allowing Professor X to work his telepathic magic.

He placed a hand on her head and took a deep breath.

Brontë half expected the two of them to go limp as they entered her deeper mind.

That didn't happen.

Tigra stayed wild. Professor X stayed focused. Silent.

"PLEASE! Help!….. I can't— I can't…." Tigra cried.

She must've been at her whits end. The only thing she held on for was back at The Abbey watching SpongeBob.

Minutes passed.

"What's happening?" Bronte asked.

"Minds are complicated. There's layers…. differences in everyone like fingerprints. He's still trying to get through to he—"

"It's so…. Dark." Professor X said in a quiet voice. Like he was physically in the dark with Tigra, silently venturing deeper.

"What do you see?"

"Nothing. Shadows….. I can't see…. I feel them moving around. They aren't breathing. They have no warmth."

"Vampires." Obviously.

"Oh dear….. things are swimming…. great serpents on chain leashes-"

"PLEASE! Get away from me! No!" Tigra pushed against Bronte's grip.

"They want her. Everything wants her— he knows. Daken's trying to fix this."

"What do you mean?"

"He's trying to wipe her mind. But he's not a telepath. He can't grab her psyche…. Only strike it repeatedly….. Tigra doesn't have much time."

Her nose began to bleed and she shook with every exhale.

"She'll start seizing soon. If that happens while he's in we lose two people instead of one." Emma said.

"Just one thing. Find one thing." Bronte pleaded.

"It's too dark, StormWolf….."

"Touch the ground— smell the air, listen to the sounds. Something— come on!"

"It's cold— there is no sound…"

"Somewhere up north— abandoned." Bronte thought.

"It smells like chemicals… burning metals everywhere….. there's gravel— rubble, all over the place."

"Hospital…? Destroyed factory?"

"Where ARE YOU!? GET BACK!" Tigra snarled unintelligibly to anyone but Bronte.

"My god….. what has happened to you, dear boy?" Professor X shook in unison with Tigra.

Emma went stiff, "Charles?…. Charles get ou—"

The man in the wheelchair suddenly lunged forward, grabbing at his stomach as if he was stabbed.

He lost connection with Tigra and they both began to seize.

Her monitor went haywire, causing all types of alarms and sirens to go off.

Brontë snarled. He felt like he was back on Krakoa missing an arm. Missing a brother.

When he shut his eyes he could now see Professor X and Tigra there too, gaping stomach wounds exposed as they died slow.

It started to rain outside. His mind whirled—

Reed Richards suddenly burst into the room with two syringes.

"Hey!" He got Bronte's attention and threw him one before descending on Tigra.

Brontë popped the cap off the syringe and stabbed it into Professor X's arm.

It took a minute but they both calmed.

"What was that?"

"Diazepam. I had a waking suspicion that would happen so I got some ready." Reed replied.

"Preciate it….." Bronte mumbled.

"Get him to a hospital, he could have brain damage and our main OR is…. Well, obviously it's taken."

"But—"

"Go." Emma pointed out the window, "I'll meet you there."

Brontë picked up Professor X and flew out the window.

***

Another handful of hours passed once Bronte made it to the nearest hospital. The doctors and nurses kept giving him weird looks so he had to sneak in through a window.

The sun had risen since then. The X-Men and Midnight Suns successfully fought off the Vampire reinforcements.

He waited while Charles slept. He hoped while Charles slept.

"Bronte…" Mend spoke into his mind.

"…."

"Do you feel guilt?—"

"Shh. I'm thinking." Bronte said quickly as he continued to run over everything that happened.

He just needed to find him. He'd go alone. He'd fly everyone into the sun if he had to. He had to.

"Some place cold and dark… abandoned and destroyed. A place that could house all manner of Vampires and not go noticed by anyone. A large abandoned space. A city damn near….. no. The chemicals and burnt metals…. A factory." Bronte toyed with the idea.

Charles coughed suddenly.

Brontë looked up at him as he lay in his bed.

Movement underneath the blankets covering him got Bronte up and moving.

He lifted the blankets and found Charles' hand moving across the sheet like it was paper and he was writing.

"Is that..?—"

"Give him a pen and paper! Quickly!"

Minutes passed with dozens of pieces of paper discarded as Charles' continued to write gibberish.

Brontë felt sick. "He has brain damage."

"He's recovering. I don't get it…" Emma said, now in the room alongside Cyclops, Jean and Beast. There wasn't enough chairs for all of them so they stood around Charles.

"Perhaps the magical applications of Vampirism go beyond science." Beast said in a grim tone.

Bronte shook his head, "He's not infected, though. He just….."

"If he's here in the US we'll find him. Daken won't get away with this." Cyclops explained, "Everywhere else will take some time….. what?" Cyclops added as Brontë's face lit up.

"Why would he be in the US?"

"What?" Jean questioned as Brontë ran to the trash and rummaged through the papers that looked like collages of letters and numbers backwards.

"This isn't English."

"Yes, we know." Cyclops said.

"But it's correct. We just don't read this language…. What does it look like?"

Beast pushed on his glasses, "I mean…. It kind of looks like Russian? Some of the characters are wrong. I could call Collosus—"

"I got someone." Bronte pulled out his phone.

A few seconds later and Magik teleported into the room.

"You need me to read Russian?" She said.

"Possibly." Beast corrected.

Brontë handed the papers to Magik as Charles continued to write.

Magik looked over the first paper and sighed, "I don't—"

"Please, try."

Magik stared at him a moment before nodding, "Ok."

For the next hour they went from reading papers, to folding papers, to cursing at the loss of ink in Charles pen.

Until ultimately….

Almost a dozen papers covered the floor at Charles bedside. A hundred more flowed from the trash.

Among the papers on the floor they were lined up. One unintelligible sentence over the other. But all that remained were the ones with actual Russian characters.

"It's still unreadable." Emma commented. "I'm going back in—"

"No." Beast commented. "Perhaps it's an Ambigram."

"A what?" Bronte questioned.

"The words themselves are gibberish…. But maybe that's not how his brain is trying to communicate. The word could be derived from the letters of each page in a line."

"Try it out, Magik." Jean said.

Magik crouched over the papers in front of Bronte and began shifting and readjusting the pages in thought until she stopped suddenly.

"I got it."

"What is it?"

"Daken's in Chernobyl."