chaos engine trilogy

by Unknown Author

  And with that, he leapt off the pile of bodies, throwing himself at the guards, who now looked like they were more interested in running for their lives than defending their place of employment. Not they had a choice, though; Wolverine wasn’t about to let any of them escape.

  That didn’t mean, however, that Nightcrawler was about to just stand there and watch as his fellow X-Man slaughtered five people, no matter how cruel their actions might have been in the past. Teleporting himself across the short distance, he caught Wolverine in mid-leap, then ’ported again, despite the strain it was putting on his body. They landed

  in a heap five yards from Logan’s intended victims. The guards immediately lost no time in vacating the scene.

  With a howl like that of a lost soul consigned to the pits, Wolverine leapt to his feet and prepared to go tearing after his quarry.

  “Logan, stop!” Nightcrawler said, stepping into his pjith. He looked winded, but not enough that it would keep him from preventing another murder. “The killing must end. I know how you feel about all this, but you must find another way to handle the situation.”

  “You don’t know how I feel, elf.” Wolverine retracted his claws— the metal-sheathed bones quickly sliding back into his arms—and pointed a gloved finger in Kurt’s face. “Why don’t ya wake up an’ take a look around you, bub?” he growled. “We ain’t mixin’ it up with the Acolytes or the flamin’ Brood. We’re bustin’ up a death camp, like the kind that used to exist back in the bad ol’ days o’ your country. Remember those? I bet you read all about ’em in school, right? Well, I was there, bub, an’ I’ve had my fill o’ malnourished bodies an’ mass graves. I’ll be damned if I’m lettin’ any o’ these monkey-suited sadists escape the punishment they got cornin’ to ’em.” He glared up at Nightcrawler. “You ain’t got the stones to do a job that needs doin’, then stay outta my way an’ go help the people that need helpin’.” He snarled. “An’ I don’t mean the flamin’ guards.”

  Not bothering to wait for a response from his stunned teammate, Wolverine pushed past him and, extending his claws once more, went hunting for fresh game.

  All hell was breaking loose.

  Guard towers were exploding—courtesy of Gambit and his deck of kinetically-charged cards. Armored troops tore across the compound, some of the soldiers still struggling to put on boots or cram shoulder-length hair into battle helmets. In their pens, German shepherds were barking wildly, eager to attack the enemy, but in the confusion, no one had the sense to release them. Somewhere deep on the grounds, gunfire erupted, only to be silenced moments later.

  And in the midst of all this chaos, the inmates began to stream from the bunkhouses; some joined the battle, attacking whatever guard was handy. Most, though, stampeded in the opposite direction, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by the high fencing designed to keep them in.

  Scott, we’ve got to get the prisoners out! Jean’s thoughts were brimming with concern, yet she kept her emotions in check.

  I’m on it, Cyclops replied. He turned to the chain link fence and the wave of humanity that was surging against it. If he didn’t act now, the people in front would be crushed against the links by those in the back who were too panicked to realize that they weren’t going anywhere.

  “STAND BACK!” Cyclops shouted above the din. But either no one heard him, or they weren’t paying attention to his plea.

  Raising his hands, he touched two small contacts on each side of his visor. Immediately, the ruby quartz lens rolled back, into the upper half of the metal shell, exposing his eyes—just for a second.

  But it was time enough for two beams of bright red energy to lance forward from his pupils, to strike the ground in front of the fence with all the force of an exploding missile.

  That got the inmates’ attention. They froze, clearly' uncertain of what to make of what had just transpired. As one, they stared, wideeyed, at the blue-and-gold-garbed X-Man standing before them.

  “Move back from the fence!” Cyclops yelled. “I’ll have you out in a second!”

  They did as they were told this time, and the mutant’s visor flashed again. Instantly, an entire section of the fencing came crashing down. Before the broken metal had even touched the ground, though, the prisoners began pouring through the hole, frantically climbing over one another in their haste to be free.

  “Single file, people!” Carol barked. “Plenty of fresh air and freedom to go around!”

  The joyous occasion, however, was soon disrupted by screams of terror from the back of the line. Using her amazing mental powers, Phoenix pushed off from the ground and gently floated into the night sky. Her eyes narrowed in anger as she spotted a dozen armored soldiers stomping across the yard, in the direction of the crush of prisoners. The air filled with the sound of laser weapons cycling to full power.

  “This one’s mine, ” Phoenix said. Her bright green eyes flashed a deep crimson color and, with but a thought, she telekinetically grabbed hold of the collapsed fencing and flung it at the guards. In seconds, they were securely pinned to the ground, and no longer a threat.

  Cyclops turned to Carol. “Help the other prisoners as they come through. Jean and I have to get inside.” Carol opened her mouth, probably to argue about being left behind, but Scott gently placed a hand on her shoulder before she could say anything. “Please,” he said.

  Carol seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.

  Cyclops smiled briefly. “Thank you.” He glanced at Jean, who was still floating above them. Her eyes flashed again, and he rose up to join her. Together, they flew over the inmates and into the camp, as Carol struggled to create some sense of order in the midst of hysteria.

  * * *

  Now, I get to have some fun, Rogue thought, a malicious smile spreading across her face.

  Having completed her bombing run with Gambit, she had dropped the wily Cajun onto the roof of one of the barracks to help out Wolverine—and Nightcrawler, who was probably back in the thick of things—and then had taken to the air again. Below her, the camp was in chaos as fires burned, shots rang out, and the prisoners turned against their captors, attacking them with whatever weapons they could find— table legs, metal folding chairs, their bare hands.

  And speaking of captors .. .

  From what appeared to be the commandant’s office, a group of armed men and women came running out, followed by someone who was more than likely the man in charge. Considering the conditions of the camp and its prisoners, Rogue had expected someone who looked like the devil himself to be in charge—dark and sinister-looking, powerfully-built, with neatly coiffed hair and a pointed goatee, his uniform crackling with each confident step that he took. What she saw instead was a man with all the physique of a scarecrow, possessing bulging eyes, unkempt, thinning hair combed across a sunburned scalp, and a uniform that was badly in need of pressing.

  Guess there must’ve been some pretty slim pickin’s down at the employment agency . . . Rogue thought.

  Forming a double-line across the main yard, the guards raised their rifles and pistols and took aim on the inmates, clearly intent on using deadly force to stop the riot.

  Not if I can help it, Rogue thought grimly. With a burst of speed, she bore down on the firing squad.

  “FIRE!” yelled the commandant.

  Twenty-five fingers squeezed back on twenty-five triggers to begin the massacre—

  —only to close on empty air.

  Nonplussed, both guards and commanding officer stared at their hands, obviously wondering what had become of the weapons they had just been holding.

  “Y’all lookin’ for these?” Rogue asked. She serenely floated twenty feet above them, a Chesire Cat-like grin lighting her attractive features. As they watched in astonishment, the skunk-haired mutant crumpled the guns into a ball with her gloved hands, and then, like a major league pitcher delivering a fastball to home plate, wound up and threw the oversized paperweight into the middle of nearby Breakstone Lake.

&
nbsp; “Lemme ask y’all somethin’,” Rogue asked, standing in midair with her hands on her hips. “Without those peashooters, how y’all think you’d do in a fair fight?”

  “Against a freak like you, who can do something like what we just saw?” the commandant replied with a sneer. “How is that a fair fight?”

  Rogue wagged a disapproving finger at the annoying little man. “Now, there’s no need for name-callin’, sugah. Y’all don’t see me climbin’ up on my high horse an’ callin’ you a wall-eyed, turd-sniffin’ polecat with delusions of bein’ a man, do ya? ’Course not.” Her grin widened. “’Sides, I wasn’t talkin’ about me.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I was talkin’ about them. ”

  The commandant and his men looked past her to see the very prisoners they had been targeting now rushing toward them. Before the little man could bark an order, the inmates were upon them, knocking them to the ground and giving them a not-so-healthy dose of their own brutal medicine.

  Rogue chuckled as she saw the commandant scramble to his feet and run screaming, a group of inmates hot on his tail.

  “I love this job . .she said with a sigh.

  Her work, however, was far from complete.

  A flash of moonlight on green metal off to one side caught her attention, just before a powerful laser beam struck her below the collarbone, knocking her out of the sky. Semi-conscious, Rogue soared across the yard and slammed hard into a black-painted truck parked near the main entrance, crashing through its roof with her indestructible body and collapsing in a heap on the cold, metal flooring of its container. Dazed but unhurt, she groaned and slowly sat up, in time to see a quartet of airborne soldiers in what seemed to be modified Guardsman armor—at least that’s what it looked like, based on the pictures she’d once seen on the Xavier Institute’s computer files . .. when the institute had been on these grounds, that is—hovering a few yards away.

  “Blast that freak!” one of the soldiers yelled. As one, the Guardsmen raised their hands, palms held forward. Rogue saw flashes of light erupt from the center of each hand as the laser generators built into the armor released their deadly energies.

  And then the truck exploded around her.

  Nightcrawler had lost sight of Wolverine in the middle of the fray.

  The last glimpse he’d had of the hotheaded Canadian came just before a green-armored soldier had swooped down from out of the night sky to backhand Kurt into the side of a bunkhouse. An exploding playing card that connected with the soldier’s boot-jets—courtesy of Gambit—had shorted out the man’s flight systems and sent him wildly careening over the fence and into the lake. Then, side by side, the blueskinned teleporter and the dark-haired thief had joined forces with the hordes of angry prisoners to finally turn the tide of battle against the seemingly endless swarms of armed guards who opposed them.

  Now, the ground suddenly trembled as a new explosion rocked the camp. Flames and thick, black smoke shot up from a transport truck standing near the camp entrance. Gambit frantically looked up into the night sky, then gazed at the burning vehicle and the armored figures swarming around it.

  “Rogue?!” he yelled.

  “She’ll be fine, mein fruend,” Nightcrawler assured him. “Rogue is quite resilient, you know. It will take more than an explosion to knock her out of the game. For the moment, however, we must concentrate on the matter at hand.”

  “I guess ...” Remy said, though it was clear from his tone that he was distracted by his concern for his beautiful teammate. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still capable of fighting, though. Pulling three cards from his ever-present deck, he tossed them at a trio of guards clad in body armor; the cards detonated on impact with the steel plating, the force of the released charges throwing the now-unconscious men across the yard.

  Gaining a small respite, Gambit stole a quick glance at the burning vehicle.

  “Come on, chere,” he whispered. “Don’ let ol’ Gambit down now . .

  At the main entrance, the Guardsmen touched down on the muddy field, forming a rough semicircle around the truck; the smoke was thickening, fueled by the melting rubber tires, making it difficult to see the wreckage. One of the armored figures turned to the others.

  “Okay, that’s one down,” she said. “Fan out and eliminate the rest of her bud—”

  Her order was cut short, however, by the scream of metal scraping against metal.

  As the Guardsmen watched, the pile of debris shifted, then fell to one side, and Rogue staggered out. Her hair was in complete disarray, her costume was in tatters, her ears were ringing like school bells from the explosion, and she was covered from head to toe with oily smut, but she was very much alive.

  And very, very angry.

  “Now,” she said, glaring at her attackers, “it’s my turn.”

  * * *

  Creeping around the comer of a bunkhouse on the far end of the camp, the commandant pressed up against the rotted, wooden slats of the wall and tried to become as one with the shadows. He’d managed to evade the prisoners who had bolted after him, though it had taken a masterful series of twists and turns to finally put some distance between himself and his pursuers. The window-shattering explosion from the front of the compound had also helped to buy him time enough to hide. For the moment, he was safe.

  That moment, unfortunately, ended all too soon—-shattered by the vise-like grip of the hand that now closed around his throat from behind.

  “If I ain’t mistaken, based on how popular you are with the inmates,” Wolverine growled, “then you must be the piece o’ trash runnin’ this hellhole. Am I right?”

  The commandant opened his mouth to cry out for help, but Logan’s grip viciously tightened, thumb and forefinger pressing down on the man’s Adam’s apple. A low gurgling sound issued from between the commandant’s lips, and he began turning an unhealthy shade of blue.

  “The last thing you wanna do is get me really honked off by makin’ any trouble, bub,” the feral X-Man warned. “The only reason you’re still breathin’ is ’cause you still got a use or two. But you try anything guaranteed t’raise my blood pressure even a little, an’ you’ll be wishin’ I’d let yer ‘guests’ work ya over instead. You understand?”

  Though his eyes were starting to glaze over, the commandant frantically nodded his head.

  “Good.”

  Wolverine released his grip, and the commandant fell to the ground. The little man alternately coughed and gasped for air as a copious amount of drool poured from his mouth. When his breathing seemed to have stabilized, and his skin tone had returned to a more natural color, Logan grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and hauled him to his feet. Eyes wide with fear, chin slick with lines of spittle, the commandant stared, open-mouthed, at the X-Man, clearly afraid of what might happen next.

  “Here’s the deal,” Wolverine said. “You’re gonna order yer men to stop fightin’ an’ lay down their weapons. If they don’t, I’ll kill ya.” “A-all r-right,” the commandant stammered.

  “Then yer gonna free the rest o’ the prisoners. I know you mighta gotten confused an’ all, with everybody runnin’ around like chickens in a barnyard, but I’m sure you got some folks locked up in solitary, or a punishment box, or whatever you sick freaks use to break a man or woman down. If ya don’t set ’em loose, I’ll kill ya.”

  “Y-yes. Im-immediately.”

  “Then, you’re gonna bum this place t’the ground.”

  The commandant’s eyes widened even further. “B-burn the camp—?”

  “Shut up,” Wolverine snapped. “Yeah—bum this whole stinkin’ hellhole. Don’t leave a beam standin’. Burn the armor an’ the uniforms, too. If I see one trace o’ those goosesteppin’ monkey-suits after tonight—”

  “You’ll k-kill me.”

  Wolverine nodded. “Smart boy. Now, get t’work.”

  And with that, he shoved the commandant forward, directing him back to the center of the camp.

  Phoenix and Cyclops touched down in the m
ain yard just in time to avoid a collision with a Guardsman who was not flying under his own power. His armor riddled with fist-shaped dents, flight systems rendered inoperative, he soared across the camp and crashed head first into what was once a mess hall. The structure collapsed on top of him.

  “That would be Rogue’s doing . . .” Phoenix said, watching as the mess hall roof buckled, seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then dropped onto the rest of the wreckage.

  “That would be my guess, too,” Cyclops replied.

  They turned to look in the direction from which the soldier had been sent flying. Looking worse than she probably felt, Rogue was happily cracking Guardsman armor like lobster tails, then reaching in to scoop out their contents; men and women clad only in camouflage-hued skivvies were roughly yanked from their protective shells and deposited on the ground, deprived of their weapons and their dignity.

  “The situation seems to be under control,” Cyclops mused aloud.

  Phoenix didn’t respond, pausing instead to lightly touch the tips of her fingers to her temples. “Kurt and Remy could use a hand, though,” she said, having picked up their mental call for assistance.

  “Let’s not keep them waiting, then,” Cyclops said.

  “You’d think with all that’s going on, these verdammt guards would have surrendered by now,” Nightcrawler commented between gritted teeth.

  The strain of fighting without pause was beginning to tell on both X-Men, as well as the prisoners standing beside them. Kurt had pushed himself to the limits of his powers, ’porting to and fro around the compound, throwing a punch to the jaw here, a kick to the groin there, but finally he had to give it up; his body felt like it would tear itself apart if he tried one more spatial jump. Gambit had ran out of playing cards a while ago, and had to settle for basic fighting skills until he could get his hands on something that he could use as a weapon.

  Unfortunately, there seemed to be no end to the guards. Apparently having conceded the loss of the camp, they had put all their effort into taking their frustrations out on whomever had been left behind during the mad dash for freedom, thus forcing the remaining prisoners back toward the chain link fence enclosing the eastern side of the camp, near the lake. Luckily, though, either the guards were out of bullets, or they’d crazily decided to settle the matter with knives and bare hands; either way, it would account for why no one had started firing into the crowd.