Peace.
Harmony.
Collective.
Random, stray thoughts flit in and out. Vestiges of a powerful mind. Stream across the earth, infiltrate every living organism.
Peace.
Harmony.
Collective.
Voices, bits and pieces. Mutterings, prayers, wishes and hopes. Lullabies and song. Breathing in the warmth, the life.
Dream.
Rest.
The life, flowing across the world. Empowering every individual. The lifestream, the awareness.
Voices a littler louder. A pulling sensation. How? Feeling doesn't exist here, he thinks. He thinks? Thinking should not be.
Clutter.
Confusion.
Headache, perhaps. Pounding and persistent. Shadowed, a face frowns against the void. Frowns? Face? How? There is no physicality here.
Form.
Presence.
Harder, stronger. An immense feeling. Inescapable, urgent. Pulling, harder, faster. Condensing form. What?
Cold, wind, blue. Sharp intake of breath. It's getting closer now. Harder, he feels like he's suffocating from too much air. Lungs pulsate, heart beats. Feeling returns, fingers flex. What's happening? A minute, two minutes. He thinks he is being ripped.
A sharp echo, reverberates around the world. Solid form. Gasp of what? Blue eyes open again. A light flickers and dies. Lifestream flows faster. Faster, faster. Pulls inward, condenses. One focal point, like a small universe unto itself. Big bang, or crunch, or something.
Body.
Life.
The earth stills and quiets. In the snow, he's there.
Unconscious, barely breathing. Eyes shut.
"In just two more days," the purple haired woman speaks aloud.
"Too long," her companion gruffly replies.
"Aww, be patient, two days will come and go before you know it."
He snorts, but decides eating is more important than talking. The Asian woman makes a face.
"Cable, where are your manners? You're not some barbarian you know."
He continues shoveling food in his face wolfishly and ignores her.
"Well I'm done with my lunch. When you are done with yours, I'll see you outside."
It's bright and sunny when he finally emerges. She gets up from her meditative position and cross her arms. She pokes him squarely in the chest.
"I hope you're aware, mister, that some of us shop everyday and cook everyday to ensure that others have the ability to eat more food than the entire population of most island nations. Next time you're on a binge, perhaps you can buy the food and cook it yourself."
"Sorry," he shrugs.
How can anyone be so nonchalant? She thinks, but with a hint of smile; Cable can seem so innocent at times.
"Ready?" Cable asks, his eye coming to life.
"I've been ready," she retorts back, "been waiting for you."
He doesn't let her talk anymore. Damn woman talks too much, he thinks, as he launches himself forward, fist out.
Psylocke jumps and somersaults past the attack, her blades out and screaming. She reaches to slice Cable as he, propelled by momentum, continues his flight.
Gotcha, he thinks, anticipating the attack. He stops his motion easily, having faked the amount of force he put into it. With some measure of elegance he twists his large torso over and parries her strike, before countering with a kick that sends her flying.
Psylocke snaps her head back and hovers in midair, grinning as she wipes a speck of blood from her chin. After a brief moment she launched forward, blade out. Cable saw her coming, and was just about to reach forward and pull her crashing to the ground when suddenly, Psylocke grinned and used the large boulder she had been manipulating behind his back to slam into his body, pummeling him into the ground. She gracefully twisted her body and flipped out of her initial launch. She landed on the ground and flipped her hair behind her. Blades gleaming, deadly as ever. These sparring sessions were nice, she thought, a good way for her to gain some valuable practice. Cable might be stronger, but she was infinitely sneakier. And with Cable, she didn't have to worry about holding back, a good thing compared to all the checks she had put on her abilities when sparring (or teaching, as Cyclops so delicately put it) all the younger students residing in the Mansion.
She didn't have much time to think. The boulder suddenly came flying her way, and she barely had time to slice through it. Not that it did her any good, the two halves of the boulder flew apart, but right through them came Cable. She yelped in surprise and didn't have time to dodge his fist completely. But Psylocke wasn't about to go down that easily. Even as she was hit she was already raising her foot up, and kicked Cable with her heel. The two of them flew some feet apart, both landing on the ground in fighting stances.
"Aagh!" She didn't really have time to react when Cable collapsed. Her first thought was, oh shit, what did I do? But then, she hadn't done anything. Psylocke rushed forward and kneeled down next to Cable, who had pressed his palms to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Cable? Cable! What's wrong, what's happening?" It seemed as if he'd suffered some telepathic assault, but Psylocke was sure she would've felt a residual energy from whatever could have done this much damage to her practically invulnerable opponent.
"Cable!" she tried to hold him steady with her arms as she tried to engage his mind, projecting a soothing aura. She may not be an expert at telepathy, but she knew he would be able to detect her energy.
Cable expelled a large amount of air and gasped, trying to normalize his breathing. What was that? He thought, it was massive, whatever it is. A moment later and he had calmed down enough to put his hands down and open his eyes, looking into Psylocke's worried features.
"What was it? An attack?" she questioned.
"No," he breathed, still a bit shaken. "Not an attack, I can't place it. It was like an immense sonic scream, only telepathic. You didn't feel anything?"
"No," she said, perplexed.
Cable frowned and looked at the sky. He tried concentrating, pinpointing the location. It was almost like a cry of help, and it seemed so familiar, as if he knew the person. But was it even a person? The telepathic blast was so primal, inhuman in some ways.
"Let's get back inside," Cable said, as he slowly propped himself up, and then took Psylocke's hand, pulling him upright.
"Are you sure you're ok?" It was just them at the Mansion, no one to see what was wrong, Psylocke thought worriedly. She wished Emma were here. Cable may have not liked her, inheriting something, perhaps, from Jean's genetic makeup, but Emma was the only one capable of administering any kind of psychotherapy. Now that Jean had passed and the Professor was trapped within the recesses of the M'Kraan Crystal, she thought.
"I'm fine," Cable chided, sensing her thoughts, "I don't need therapy, and not from Emma, at any rate. Just another telepath awakening into his powers probably. Damn strong telepath, but that's nothing new."
"But why didn't I hear it?" Psylocke muttered, as she and Cable walked back up the steps to the Mansion.
"Well," Cable replied, "you're somewhat more distant from telepathic assaults, and I guess this, on some level, qualifies."
Psylocke nodded, but was still not completely satisfied. Shouldn't I have felt something? she thought.
"Two more days!" The goggled man noted, trying to be somewhat optimistic about their current situation.
"Wonderful," was the white haired man's sarcastic response. He glanced again at his cards and then at Scott.
"Hey," the other cautioned, "no telepathic cheating, remember?"
"'M not," came the defiant response.
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I will see your bet and raise you two chips."
Stryfe sighed and folded his cards. He had nothing. Scott grinned and collected his winnings: pebbles, that they were calling chips.
"Ok, no more."
"So, what?" Scott said, counting his 'winnings.' "You just want to sit here for the rest of the two days?"
"WHAT?" Stryfe yelled, rubbing his temple. He had suddenly felt something, a strong telepathy.
"Um, I asked what we were going to do for the next two days. And then you yelled 'WHAT,' " Scott said, frowning at his companion. "Are you feeling ok?"
"Sure, great," Stryfe mumbled, "thought I felt something, must've been nothing."
Scott nodded and quashed his need to father Stryfe. What was he supposed to do? Stryfe was even more difficult than Cable, and Scott had only recently accepted his previous enemy into his life. If he had thought his relationship with Cable was awkward, it was nothing like his relationship with Stryfe. He was always unsure what to do, what to say. On the first day of their mission, he had opened up a bit. Apologized to Stryfe. Tried to make amends. But Stryfe was clearly even more weirded out than his father, and waved an acceptance. Admittedly, they were bonding over the extreme boredom, but Scott still worried about his newfound son. He frowned, even that word sounded awkward, if anything, their relationship was more like teammates who tip toed around the other than familial. Still, he thought, Stryfe is my son.
The moonlight filtered in through the windows. Cable tossed and turned, and finally opened his eyes again. 2am. He hadn't fallen asleep after being in bed for three hours. Something still echoed in his head. Some trace of the telepathy he had felt earlier. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. What was it?
The curtains shook a bit, and Cable finally got up, deciding sleep was useless, a waste of time. He walked to the window and closed it, quieting the whispers of the wind. The moonlight filtered in through the paned glass and he stared upwards, hands propped against the base of the frame. His left eye glowed.
He had to find out the truth. Now.
The window creaked open and closed behind him. Cable's form flew upwards into the sky. North, where the echo seemed strongest.
North, where something was pulling him.
The sky was still mostly black over the Arctic, although a ring of orange was slowly creeping forth from the edges of the earth. Cable could still see the moon, the stars, the faintest of which were slowly surrendering their light to the coming dawn. The air, like it always was in the colder regions, was crisp, clean, fresh and clear.
There was a silence so thick that when Cable halted his flight, and just floated, he thought it was the most tranquil and peaceful feeling he'd ever experienced. When the silence was so pervasive it almost seemed as if there were thick layers of blankets covering the ears. Only cold blankets.
This, he reflected, must be what the Askani felt when they reached the height of their meditative trances. He imagined that, floating upside down in the air, with the blood pulsing in your head, would be similar. But then again, he'd never had the patience himself to try. He remembered fondly Aliya had tried to teach him, but he had crept away once she reached her trance like state. He was gone for hours; she had been extremely upset, he had shrugged. Nothing could rid him of his inability to stay still for hours, what is, is.
Cable's breath came out in puffs as he scanned the expanse of cold ice and snow below him. The echo was strongest here, he could still feel lingering thoughts, voices, from whatever had called out earlier. They led him here, to the cold Canadian deserts. Below him, he could see nothing but the snow that, in the darkness of the morning, seemed a deep shade of blue.
Cable flew closer to the ground and concentrated, trying to draw up the sensation of the telepathic blast he had experienced. Tried to use it, to retrace its steps, where had it come from?
There!
His heightened senses suddenly alerted him to a still shadow against the paleness of the snow. A body, he thought, as he drew closer, ever wary of a trap.
But a few steps more and he became even more suspicious; he recognized the unmoving form, sprawled out against the snow like a twisted angel. Brown hair, streaks of white. If the man's eyes were open, Cable knew the left one would be glowing, just like his. It was someone he knew, but also someone whom he knew couldn't possibly exist in physical form. But a quick yet thorough mind scan told him otherwise. The man was indeed who he suspected; no intruder, no imposter, no illusion.
Nate Grey.