Exploring the World of Whateley Academy (Gen 0 Project)

A Good Man

by Domoviye 

Gen-0 oversight by Elrod

Part 1

October, 15^th, 1991
MCO research lab #5, Northern Michigan

“How are you feeling today Tara?” Dr. Anthony Carter asked his young test subject.

The teenager shrugged, which was almost lost in her baggy Guns N Roses t-shirt. “OK, I guess.”

Carter smiled encouragingly, knowing that getting the girl to talk was going to be a challenge that day, still he had a few secret weapons. He pulled a bag of fast food out of its insulated box and put it in front of her. “Here, eat up. I know the cafeteria food isn't always the greatest.”

He watched her nose twitch and a rare smile appeared briefly from the sullen expression before disappearing again. “You didn't have to,” she said, eagerly reaching for the bag nonetheless.

“You're too skinny, we need to put some meat on your bones or you'll fade away to nothing. And that is a professional diagnosis,” he teased her.

Tara rolled her eyes at that. They both knew she was perfectly proportioned and looked better than Cindy Crawford. Still he could see some of the tension drain away as she chewed on a mouthful of fries.

“Have you enjoyed your boxing lessons with Franky?”

“Oh yeah!” she said, perking up. “I haven't knocked him out once in the last three sparring matches, and now he's stopped using the full body armour. It's... it's nice that he trusts me enough to do that.”

He got up from his chair to pat her shoulder, wincing as the arthritis in his knee acted up. “You're a good kid. You just need to learn more control and you're doing that now. Has Dr. Brennan reached any new conclusions?”

Carter hid a frown as Tara pointedly ignored him, ripping a bite out of her burger. He was only borrowing his fellow doctors' patient temporally, so even if he disagreed with her methods there wasn't much he could do. That was one of the problems with studying mutants, too few mutants and too many things that weren't understood, the five young mutants in their research centre were being shared by six researchers, and frequent guest researchers from other facilities. It was hardly ideal, especially considering the less than empathetic feelings some of the researchers had for the teenagers.

“Do you like the newest tape I gave you?” he asked, changing the topic. “I don't know one rock band from another but I think I got the right one.”

“You did, thanks. I've listened to it at least fifty times already.”

He listened as she talked about how dreamy the lead singer was, and how she wanted to start learning how to use the guitar again so she could play a song called 'Don't Cry'. He'd listened to the stuff she called music, he knew that at fifty-five he wasn't the intended audience, but he still couldn't figure out why anyone would want to listen to that racket. Still, he knew how to listen and keeping the young girl relaxed was important.

Tara stopped talking abruptly when Nora, his head nurse, came in to prepare her for the physical exam. Puttering around his office making sure all his papers were in order, he gave the two ladies a few minutes to get to the examination room and for Tara to get into the hospital gown. Just as he was about to leave there was a knock on his door, Nora stepped in a moment later.

“What's wrong, Nora?” he asked.

She pursed her lips for a moment. “Tara was beaten. Her back and stomach are covered in bruises, it looks like she was kicked at least a dozen times, and hit with a baton repeatedly around the shoulders and back. Considering her regeneration, I'd say it happened yesterday.”

He throttled back his rage. He wasn't an angry man, but hurting children was one of the ways to make him explode. Taking a very deep breath he asked very slowly and evenly, “Did she tell you what happened?”

“You know her, she didn't say a thing.”

He nodded grimly, the girl wouldn't complain about anything. It had taken him almost a month to get her to do something other than just answering questions with as few words as possible. “Let's see if I have more luck,” he said. Getting his cane, he stiffly made his way to the examination room.

Tara looked at him defiantly, her dark eyes half hidden by her long greyish-blue bangs. He returned the look with his own sympathetic blue eyes, having dealt with children since the early 50's when he began helping his father at a family practice, he had seen that expression all too often. His long, bony hand tightening on his cane was the only sign of his anger. Taking a seat beside her, he offered a tiny smile. “What happened?”

“None of your business,” Tara said.

“Did you go into a rage?”

“No,” she said. Then her head sank down and she looked at her hands. “Yes. But it was controlled by Dr. Brennan, all part of her latest treatment. So it's not your problem.”

“If you're being hurt it is my problem. Who did this to you?”

Her muscles tensed, a heel smacked into the metal side of the examination table, badly denting it. Carter and Nora both backed off a little, not saying anything or making any quick movements. The moment passed, and Tara looked at them, her nails digging into her thighs hard enough to draw blood. “Can we just get this over with?” she asked in a whisper.

“All right Tara, let's start by taking your blood pressure,” he said as gently as possible.

As they did the physical, Tara started to relax until she was answering questions in something resembling her normal voice. Carter finished the physical fairly quickly, as it was mostly just to confirm there hadn't been any major changes that could throw off the upcoming test and began attaching sensors to her scalp. Once more Tara tensed up, biting her lip in fear and fighting to control her shaking.

“It's going to be all right, Tara. You've done this before, we'll make sure you don't hurt anyone,” he told her.

She kept biting her lip, but the shaking stopped a little. After the last clip was attached to her shoulder length, wavy hair he led her to a machine that looked a little like an MRI and an oven in a side room. A large one way, bullet proof window covered one wall, letting him watch her from the control room, the window was non-reflective to keep from drawing the attention of a mindless rager. He'd had the machine and the room made to very exacting details two years ago with the assistance of a fellow researcher who was also a gadgeteer. Getting the MCO to pay for it had taken a lot of work, but his status and connections had eventually gotten results.

Tara laid down on the extra strong table that could theoretically hold up a tank. He and Nora unlocked the padded metal restraints, three for her arms, four for her legs, six along her body, one that fit loosely over her throat, and a final heavily padded restraint across her forehead. The restraints had once held a level six exemplar who had tried everything possible to break free as a test, despite Tara's strength she wouldn't be able to get out without breaking most of the bones in her body.

As Carter placed several needles into her arms and legs, he noticed some tears welling up in the corners of Tara's eyes and her lip trembling. He wanted to tell her that it would be all right, he wanted to stop the experiment just so she wouldn't have to experience something she hated and feared so much. But if he wanted to help other children he needed the results, and it wasn't like he could just let her go home. Biting back the encouraging words she wouldn't want to hear, he walked out and went to the computer.

Nora had everything ready, so he leaned over and spoke into the microphone, “Tara we're starting the scan now. We'll induce a rage incident in one minute.”

Her breathing becoming panicky and the monitors showed her heart racing with fear, but she kept silent.

Starting the scan, the monitors began flashing information on her hormone levels, blood pressure, brain activity, heart rate, and dozens of other things. Nothing came back as abnormal from the previous scans, so with a heavy sigh, Carter lifted a glass cover and pressed a red button.

Tara jerked, screaming in pain as a heavy electrical shock ran through her system.

A second later her brain was lit up like a Christmas tree, blood pressure skyrocketed, and her hormones became a churning maelstrom. In the room the girl screeched liked a demon, the ear rending noise broken by the almost explosive crack of bones breaking as she strained against her bonds. The bones healed seconds later with her rage enhanced regeneration, only to be broken again as Tara focused on freeing herself and killing the source of her anger.

Carter forced himself to watch and listen. If he was going to put her through this hell, the least he could do was experience a piece of it.

When the rage finally ended, he let the scanner run for another ten minutes. Tara didn't care about the wait, she was asleep, her body drenched in sweat, blood dripped from her mouth where she'd bitten through her tongue.

The second the monitors stated her body had returned to normal, Carter shut the machine down and was out the door as quickly as he could. Taking the needles out, he unlocked the restraints while Nora wiped away the blood checking to ensure that none of Tara's former tongue was still stuck in her mouth or throat.

The motion woke Tara up. As soon as she could move she curled up into a ball and began to cry. Carter lifted her into a sitting position, hugging her. Shakily Tara put her arms around him and cried into his chest.

“I-I want my M-M-Mom and Da-Dad,” she sobbed.

“I know you do, Tara,” he whispered stroking her back and hair.

“They hit me.”

“Who hit you?”

“The guards,” she said. Her grip tightened around his neck, she was as weak as a kitten after the rage so he listened, hoping she'd say more. “Yesterday. I was too slow. The guards wanted to put me back in my room. I couldn't move fast enough. They hit me. I was so weak, I couldn't do anything. Dr. Brennan walked away. She didn't care. It hurt so much. They said I deserved it.”

“They were wrong, Tara. You don't deserve any of this, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. I promise,” he said, hugging her more tightly.

“No, they're right,” she said, her voice heavy with despair. “I deserve it. I deserve everything they do to me.”

“Director Brown will see you now,” the secretary told Carter who was waiting impatiently in the bare office.

“Thank you,” he replied, reminding himself to be polite. He opened the door to see the new director of MCO US Research Lab 5 sitting behind a large desk smiling politely at him.

“Dr. Carter,” the grey haired director said, motioning for him to sit down, “sorry for making you wait, what seems to the be the problem?”

“I need to file a formal complaint and charges of assault against two security guards,” Carter said bluntly.

The smile dropped from the directors face immediately. His grey green eyes narrowed and his lips twisted angrily for a split second. “What happened?”

“I did a scan of Tara Wilcox for my own research today. She was beaten yesterday after an experiment by Dr. Brennan. I recorded her conversation with me, and I have video of the physical showing the extent of her bruises. If she was a baseline she likely would have died from the assault.”

Director Brown didn't seem surprised by the news. “I was already given a full report on the incident by Dr. Brennan. Ms. Wilcox was given a direct order by the guards and she refused to comply. Considering her violent nature and the volatile way she refused, actually attacking one of the guards they were given no choice but to use physical force in order to make her comply and to protect this facility.”

Carter leaned in, wishing he was more intimidating looking than his thin, frail body actually was. “I checked Dr. Brennan's records yesterday. Tara had just completed a controlled rage incident and had been given enough tranquilizers to kill a bull, even without the tranquilizers she is weak, disoriented and emotionally depressed after an incident. She couldn't hurt a child in that state unless she fell on it.”

“Mutants have surprised us before Dr. Carter. The guards in question are experienced field agents, they understand that they cannot take anything for granted. Especially when dealing with a mass murderer.”

“She is a rager, it's a recognized mental illness. Holding her directly responsible for that incident is-”

“She killed ten people, including her parents. If she had been in a city or town, instead of a highway rest stop when she went on her rampage the death count would have been in the high double digits,” the director practically spit out the words.

“She is still a child and is in our care. Dr. Brennan made a deal with the prosecutor and the defence attorney to keep Tara as a test subject to discover how to limit and prevent rage incidents in other mutants. She swore an oath that Tara would be treated humanely. Beating a drugged girl is hardly living up to her end of the agreement, nor is it required for any research purposes.” Only the pain in Carter's knee kept him from standing up and hammering on the desk. He had heard that Director Brown was a hardliner, one of the ever growing number of MCO agents from the field division who believed it was better to hold mutants captive, or kill them, than to let them live freely; now it was confirmed. He knew the field agents were becoming increasingly controlled by hardliners, ready to shoot first and ask questions later; now they were spreading into the research and political side of the organization.

“Dr. Carter, do you know how many people died in the Fools Fight this year?” He didn't give Carter a chance to answer. “Or the fight last October between the White Lion and the self styled reincarnation of Shaka Zulu in South Africa? Sao Monica has been taken control of by the so-called emperor Gizmatic, who's doing god knows what to the locals. The mutant mercenary Paramount has successfully created his own nation in Romania and is letting his super powered minions rule over the baseline population with an iron fist. Mutants are becoming an ever greater threat, which the world is finally beginning to realize.”

“How does that involve a girl who handed herself over to police as soon as she recovered her senses?” Carter demanded.

“We are going to learn everything we can from her, so that when more mutants rise up with their god complex and attack us, we will know how to deal with them. Considering how quickly these dangerous mutants are appearing now, we must be ready for them.” The Director looked at Carter. “How soon will we get some results on how to suppress mutant powers from your own research?”

“Decades,” he admitted. “Considering we've only started properly pinpointing the genes that could be involved in the mutation process, my research is simply to show future researchers a rough guideline of where to look. I suppose you think that's worthless and I should have a miracle elixir on your desk by Christmas?”

“That type of thinking is going to get regular humans killed, either by the mutants out breeding us, or eventually getting enough high level individuals to form an army. Dr. Brennan understands that speed is essential. We don't want to kill or unduly harm our test subjects here, but they must be kept under strict control. If we push some boundaries in our research, reasonable people will admit that it's worth the cost.”

Ignoring the pain in his knee, Carter stood up to glare down at the Director. “I will report the beating and this conversation to my superiors.”

“That's well within your contract,” Director Brown said evenly. “I wish that you would see reason but from looking over your files I don't expect a mutant lover like yourself to understand the gravity of the current situation. Now I have an important call to prepare for, if you'll excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, the Director took a file from his drawer and and began reading the first page. Carter walked out his back straight, refusing to show any sign of pain or weakness. His mind was busy going over who he needed to contact and how to pass on the severity of the situation.

Carter winced as his leg came down a little too hard on the treadmill. He'd spent the entire afternoon talking and sending electronic letters to his higher-ups in the research branch of the MCO, as well as the dozens of contacts he'd made since joining the MCO in '71. Five years ago, he'd have had one of them calling the director that evening to lay down he law, ten years before that someone would fly out to oversee things personally, with a police officer to arrest the guards. Today there were quiet promises that they'd look into the situation, while asking him to be patient.

Slowing the treadmill to a gentle walk, he silently cursed the so called superheroes and villains who had brought the organization to this state. The MCO had been created to study and understand mutants, but more and more of the new interns, doctors and researchers, encouraged by the ever growing number of field agents, seemed to believe that they were part of an army that was meant to fight mutants on the street. The researchers who had started it all, were losing the tenuous hold they had over the organization with every passing year. And now the balance was rapidly tilting in the wrong direction.

He had no love for mutants who abused their powers, but those were a minority. A few mutant criminals he'd talked to during his studies claimed, fairly legitimately in some cases, that they had only gotten into crime to survive when they couldn't get jobs, a fair hearing, an education or even a place to live. As far as he could see, if the MCO went the way the new generation was pushing things, more and more mutants would believe that the only choices they had were to fight back or lay down and die. How many more innocents would die because of that?

Stupidity.

A large and very muscular man walked in followed by a shirtless, pimply faced teenager who was wearing thick black gloves. Smiling at the chance to take a break, Carter gratefully got off the treadmill and limped over to them. “Franky, Victor, what brings you down here?”

Franky lightly slapped the teen on the back. “I was finally able to talk him into trying some boxing, doc. He's had enough of lifting weights and stretching, now he wants something more challenging.”

Carter knew all about it, he'd been the one to encourage the security guard and part time physical trainer to push the shy teen into boxing. It was one thing to get the advice from a tired, old doctor, and quite another from a man who looked like he could go hand to hand with Champion. He pretended to be concerned. “Are you sure about this Victor? I don't want you to get hurt.”

Looking nervously at him and then Franky, Victor nodded. “Yeah, I can handle it,” he said, his voice cracking, which made his pale skin turn almost ruby red, just like his hair.

“Well give it your bet shot.” He gave the muscle bound trainer a stern look and raised his finger in warning. “If you hurt him, I'll be right over here to patch him up.”

“Good to hear Doc,” Franky said with a cheerful laugh.

Victor didn't look nearly so confident as he was led over to the punching bags where some other people were working out. When they saw Victor, the group sneered, grabbed their towels and water bottles, and walked away.

“Damn gene freak,” one of them muttered.

Grabbing his cane, Carter followed them into the change room. “What are your names and ID numbers?” he demanded as soon as they were out of the gym and away from Victor.

“None of your damn business doctor,” the oldest one who had a large burn scar on his bald head, answered.

“That boy is a patient here, who is trying to help us learn how to control mutant powers,” Carter said. “He didn't have to come and he can leave anytime he wishes. Do you want to explain to the director how your insults made him back out of treatment, setting back research on mutants by years? And if the director doesn't fire you when your stupid prejudice makes Victor uncomfortable enough to leave, I will pull every string I can to get you sent to the research centre in Northern Alaska.”

The men glared at him for a moment, before the apparent leader nodded, once. “Sorry, Dr. Carter. We'll make sure to keep our comments to ourselves next time.”

“See that you do.” With that settled for the moment, Carter walked back into the gym to watch his patient.

Victor was busy practising with a punching bag, hitting it lightly while Franky showed the boy how to hold his wrist to put some real weight into the punch. It looked like an ordinary teen learning how to box, except for the fact that flame flared upwards from Victor's bare shoulders, singeing his short hair and ears, every time his fist connected with the bag. It was rather spectacular looking, but a vast improvement from the wild, uncontrolled flares just a few months ago. When they had first started six months ago, the boy had been forced to wear specially made fireproof clothes covered in gel pads and had still been a walking fire hazard. A regime of drugs that desensitized his skin, learning concentration techniques, and daily low impact, high intensity exercises to help burn off some of his excess energy was slowly having an affect on keeping the fire manifestation under control. It still wasn't safe for him to live in regular society, but with the steady improvement Carter was very hopeful that in another year or two, Victor wouldn't manifest fire whenever he was bumped or hit. Until then the boy was a perfect test subject for studying uncontrolled manifestations.

Of course the end goal of his research was to find a drug, device or a treatment that would remove or stop a mutant power entirely, not simply discover new ways to control them. Even if Director Brown was an extremist he was right that mutant supervillains were a growing threat. If they could take away their powers it would make containing and dealing with them much easier, as well as providing a warning for other would be criminals. In the case of mutants like Tara, Victor and others, removing their powers, or simply limiting them, would be a blessing.

The training went on for almost thirty minutes. The boy tried a variety of punches that seemed nearly identical to Carter, but Franky would talk about each one at length as the boy punched the air, a bag, or an open palm. The smell of cooked flesh filled the room. It wasn't exactly pleasant, seeing the skin around Victors shoulders blister and burn with each burst of flame, unfortunately there was no other way to deal with it. Victor had to wear himself out or the flames would erupt at the lightest impact burning large areas of his skin. If it wasn't for his light regeneration, the boy would be dead or covered completely in scar tissue.

“Hold on,” Carter said, watching how Victor was beginning to wince with pain.

“What's up, doc?” Franky asked.

“Victor, how do you feel?”

The boy flexed his shoulders, popping several blisters. “Just a little hot. I can handle it. I've handled worse.”

“Take off your gloves,” Carter ordered, giving him a stern look.

Gingerly he took off the gloves, shreds of cooked skin peeled off leaving muscle that looked more like cooked ham. Smoke rose from the inside of the insulated gloves. Franky swore loudly at the smell of it.

Taking a close look at the ruined hands, Carter gave him a light smack on the head. “Why didn't you tell us your hands were heating up? You almost charred your bones, and your nerves are practically dead. It will take all week to heal the damage.”

Victor tried to make himself look tough. “I didn't really feel much. I can handle the pain.”

“You shouldn't feel any pain. The drugs I'm giving you keep anything but the strongest sensations from affecting you. The moment you start hurting, you need to stop. I've told you this time and again.”

“Listen to the doctor, Vic,” Franky said, patting his arm gently. “Pushing yourself is good, but pushing yourself to the point you get injured won't prove anything except that you're too stupid to know when to stop. You should have told me and we could have tried something else like footwork, bobbing and weaving or some aerobics. There's no shame in stopping, only quitting.”

“Sorry. I just didn't want to stop, it was fun,” Victor muttered.

Carter sighed and patted the boy on the back, which caused a burst of heat to form on the point of impact. He remembered when he'd been that age so many years ago and could easily see himself doing the same thing. “You're on bed rest tonight and most of tomorrow. You can do aerobics, cycling and swimming for the rest of the week. No heavy impact exercise. If I find you've been rough housing with Sonny or Rob anytime this week, you lose your TV privileges and you're grounded. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Come on than, let's get your burns bandaged, I'll have one of the orderlies help you have a shower.” Carter said. The shower alone would keep Victor from pulling another bone headed stunt like this again for at least a few weeks. Getting washed down like an invalid was a humiliation no teenage male ever wanted to go through if they could help it.

As expected the boy groaned, and shuffled along at a snails pace.

“Thanks for trying, Franky,” Carter said. “You can have him back next week.”

“Sure thing, and next time I'll keep a better watch on him. Later Vic,” Franky said.

Carter watch the man head for the door shaking his head angrily, fists bunched up at letting Victor get hurt. The guard was good at his job, but sometimes he didn't quite realize just how badly mutants could be hurt by their own powers.

Franky finished up his workout and headed to the locker room. One of the nice things about working in the MCO research branch was the facilities. A gym membership at a place with a pool and all the top of the line equipment he had free access to would have cost an arm and a leg. Even worse it would probably be filled with yuppies who wanted to compare their portfolios and clothes instead of actually working out. It was also a heck of a lot safer than working out in the field.

“Ah hell.”

He turned to his buddy who had just finished putting his civilian clothes on and was looking at his wallet with disgust. “What's up, Greg?”

“I was an idiot and didn't grab any cash this morning. Brenda is going to be pissed, I was supposed to do the shopping,” his buddy said.

He raised an eyebrow. “No cash? What's with all the green stuff in your wallet? Rabbit food?”

“That's why I'm an idiot,” Greg said, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet, they were all different colours, so it looked a bit like a rainbow. “This is CHILL, from my trip to Jamaica. I was suppose to take it to the bank yesterday and grabbed it as I ran out this morning.”

Franky took a fifty from the pile, it was a little darker green than US cash, and had a picture of a beach on it, at the top was written 'Caribbean Hegemony Inter-island Legal Tender Lexicon'. “CHILL huh?” he said with a smile.

“You gotta love the joke. I'm going to have to use my credit card now. Shit, it's almost maxed out.”

“Wait a sec.” Franky opened his personal locker, and pulled a couple of twenties out of his wallet. “Here ya go. Pay me back tomorrow.”

Greg eagerly took them. “Thanks man, I owe ya one.”

“Next time we go to the bar, first rounds on you.”

“Deal,” Greg said, throwing on his coat and heading out.

Stripping down, he headed to the showers. A couple of new guys were in there already, they stopped talking as he stepped inside.

“Howdy,” he said politely before turning on the shower.

No one said anything. Shrugging to himself, he got himself cleaned up, ignoring the looks they were giving him. As soon as he was dry he headed back for his locker, not liking the atmosphere.

Another new guy walked in. Franky gritted his teeth; he knew the guy, Enrico, pretty well, having taken him on orientation. They'd almost come to blows five minutes after he'd introduced the prick to the kids.

“Hey mutant lover, how's it hanging?” Enrico asked.

“A lot lower than yours. How's your girlfriend?” He smirked before the guy could answer. “Wait you don't have one. Sorry, sorry, I keep forgetting, women like guys who have something more than a toothpick and a couple of raisins.”

Franky watched as Enrico bunched his fists, his face turning red. To add insult to injury he turned away from the prick, listening very carefully so that he'd be able to dodge the expected punch in time. As long as he didn't throw the first punch and didn't do much more than defend himself, Enrico would be fired which was fine with Franky.

“Hey man, what the hell ya doing?” someone said.

Looking back, he saw that Red, one of Enrico's buddies had him by the shoulder. “This fucking mutant fucker needs his fucking ass kicked.”

“Enrico, read a goddamn book and learn some decent insults. Or are you still reading 'See Spot Run'?” Franky asked.

Red threw himself on Enrico who lunged at him. “Hey! That's just what he wants. You want to get fired you idiot. Take it easy.”

Franky put on his shirt and watched, still smirking. He'd seen Enrico sparring, the guy was fast, but didn't have much technique, relying on speed and size alone. Whereas he knew how to fight, had an extra twenty pounds and about four inches on him, a fight would be over quickly, even if Enrico got help from his friend.

“Why the hell do you help out the freaks so much?” Red asked, still not taking his hands off his friend.

“I get an extra five bucks an hour training them. And its a lot more interesting than staring at a wall all day waiting for something to happen,” he replied truthfully. “If you like fighting, you can't beat going a round with an exemplar to get your blood flowing, just have to make sure they won't accidentally kill you first. You should try it, you might learn something.”

With a little wave he left the two, glad to be well away from them.

“Remember boys, no rough housing. Maintenance is complaining about having to rebuild the wall for the third time this month,” Dr. Carter said as sternly as possible.

“Sorrythatwasmyfault. Ilostcontrolandcouldn'tstop,” said Sonny, a boy with scales in place of hair. He zipped across the room almost too fast to see, to sit down on a large specially padded chair that rocked back and forth for a few seconds.

A boneless hand lightly touched his shoulder. The owner of the hand was sitting slumped down, looking like a half melted doll, in a wheelchair in the small kitchen nook ten feet away, where snacks and drinks were kept. “We'll try harder, Dr. Carter. I promise,” the boy slurred.

“I know you will, Ben. Do you boys need anything before I head home?” he asked.

“How about some girls?” a voice asked, seemingly coming from all around them.

Smiling in sympathy, he shook his head. “No Rob, that isn't really possible yet. You'll have to talk to Tara or the nurses.”

An older teen stepped out of one of the bedrooms, he was absolutely hairless, his pink face was nearly featureless except for two small black pinhole like eyes, and lizard like nostrils; where his mouth, jaw and ears should be was just smooth skin. “I'm not into older women, and murderers don't do a thing for me,” the voice said.

“Sorry, I can't help you there. You'll just have to find something else to do.”

“He'll find something else to do. Too bad we all have to hear him when he does it,” Victor shouted from his room.

“Shut up! You nearly burned yours off last week!” Rob shouted back, his voice rising in anger.

“Victor!” he snapped. “That's enough. What did I tell you about taking it easy? And Robert, have you taken your medicine?”

Without a word the mouthless boy went to his room, coming back with a handful of pills. Holding them in his hand, there was a sharp, ear piercing whine, the pills rose an inch in the air and crumbled into a powder. The noise dies, letting the powder fell back onto his palm where it was absorbed by the skin. The tense muscles relaxed, followed by a happy humming sound that filled the room. “I'm better now,” Rob said a few moments later.

“Good. I'll see you all tomorrow. And remember Sonny, we're going to try a new drug regime to slow you down. I want you to only drink some water for breakfast so we can do some blood work first thing.”

“Rightdoc,Iremember!” the speedster said.

With a final goodbye he headed for the exit. Just as he was about to make his escape back to the sanctuary of his lab, a distinguished woman with greying hair came down the hallway reading some notes. Sighing, he gave a little cough to get her attention.

“Dr. Carter,” she said, evenly.

“Hello Dr. Brennan. I was planning on seeing you tomorrow, but would you happen to be free now?” he asked, keeping his voice as business like as possible.

“Of course doctor. I always have time for my colleagues. I was just on my way to my office,” she said.

They walked in silence to her office, she kept her pace just a touch faster than he was comfortable with, forcing him to limp along, relying on his cane more than he would prefer. Stepping inside, he looked with distaste at the numerous photo's on the wall. They were mostly of her meeting various important looking people. Most people who knew a bit about the who's who of the United States would be mildly impressed at the politicians and business leaders, particularly the sheer number of Goodkinds; he on the other hand knew that most of them were very anti-mutant, even if they didn't proclaim it to the world.

“What can I do for you Dr. Carter?” she asked, taking a seat behind her desk.

“It's about Tara and the assault yesterday. How could you possibly let two guards beat a child?” he demanded.

She sighed, looking at him as if he were a naughty child. “I spoke to Director Brown already about the incident, he believes I acted correctly. There is nothing more that needs to be said, as she is not your patient.”

“You swore an oath that she would not be harmed beyond what is required for testing. I thought you were a doctor.”

“Director Brown has found nothing wrong with my actions,” she told him, not rising to the bait.

“I have informed the Director of Research about this incident. He was not pleased.”

She paused for a second, her eyes narrowed. “Well then I assume I should be expecting a call from him sometime this week. I should get to work preparing a report, instead of working on my research to help Tara deal with her rage condition. Thank you very much Dr. Carter, good day.”

“If you had stopped them from beating her, you wouldn't have to worry about this,” he reminded her.

Her voice remained cold and firm. “I don't deal with security. I trust the guards to know what they are doing. Good day.”

Having dealt with the woman for over a year, he realized she wouldn't give him anything more to work with, she was too set in her ways. Still he couldn't resist one last dig. “How is your uncle? I was reading the other day that he is up for parole early next year.”

Her nostrils flared, it was a small sign of her anger, but from the normally very controlled woman it was a rather impressive show of emotion. “I wouldn't know. I don't deal with that side of my family.”

“It's a shame really. He would be perfect for your research, one of the first reported ragers on record. You should see about bringing him in, it's nice being close to your family. Have a nice evening,” he said, smiling as warmly as possible before letting himself out.  

Getting into work the next morning, Carter was greeted by the sight of Nora crying in his office her white uniform wet with tears. Rushing as best he could to her side, he put his hand on her shoulder, hiding a wince as he knelt down. “What's wrong, Nora?”

“I'm being reassigned,” she said through her sobs. “I was told this morning. I have to be in New York at the end of the week.”

“What? Why?”

“I don't know. What am I going to say to Bernie? He's going to propose to me soon.”

He rubbed her back, handing her some tissue. “I'll see what I can do to stop this, Nora. You've been with me for ten years, I'm not going to let you go now that I've gotten you properly trained.”

She just blew her nose, a picture of misery as he tried to think about how to get her to stop crying. He knew how to deal with crying children, crying adults were not something he was used to. “I'll go talk to the Director and see what's going on. If he doesn't stop this, I'll go over his head. Clean yourself up, we need to begin the tests on Sonny soon.”

Nora sniffled something that sounded like OK, as he left the office. Walking to the Directors office he was surprised to see at least a dozen new people, guards, office workers and fresh faced researchers. Some of the guards openly glared at him as he limped past, while the researchers looked at him with wide eyed wonder. The glares he ignored, the others he nodded at politely.

The Directors secretary smiled at him as he opened the door, but the smile never touched her eyes which narrowed slightly. “I'm sorry, Dr. Carter, the Director is on the phone right now, he should be free after lunch if you want to make an appointment.”

“This is rather urgent, my head nurse is being transferred. Without her my research will be slowed,” he explained.

The smile got wider, and more fake looking. “The Director told me that he is aware of the problem, but the transfer came from the top. He tried to explain, but apparently Ms. Bates was specifically requested for her expertise in mutant care, so it's out of Director Brown's hands. However you have been given first pick of the new research assistants that arrived today. You can interview them all this afternoon, their files should be sent to your office within the hour. Now would you like to make that appointment? I can fit you in at 2 o'clock.”

“I have to be in the lab this morning. How am I suppose to find time to read the files, interview these people and meet the director?”

“I'm very sorry, Dr. Carter it's the best I can do.”

He reminded himself that the secretary was just the messenger, there was no use getting angry with her or demanding to be let in. Smiling wanly, he thanked her and headed back to his office. The halls were even busier than just minutes before, he only saw a handful of familiar faces, several of them looked to be in shock, hurrying along lost in their own little world.

It was a relief to be back at his office.

“Nora,” he said softly to the crying nurse. “I'll call the head office this afternoon, but for right now we need to get ready for Sonny. “

The familiar details of work got through to the woman. “Right,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “I'll just take a minute to clean up, then make sure they're getting everything ready in the lab. I'll get Sonny personally.”

“Thanks Nora. Let's not keep the boy waiting, you know what he's like when he hasn't had breakfast,” Carter said with a real smile.

Hanging up his coat, he picked up the reports concerning Tara from the day before. His staff had spent the night trying to decipher the hormones released during the rager incident. As usual the testosterone had increased by 500%, enough to kill any baseline several times over, adrenaline had shot up by a similar amount, all the normal chemicals and hormones found in a normal flight or fight response were there, just amped up to an unbelievable degree. But there were at least five other chemicals they were still trying to decipher. The make up of them wasn't like anything ever recorded in a baseline, and at least a dozen labs around the world were looking into them. To make matters worse similar tests in other ragers found similar chemicals in almost forty percent of the subjects in wholly different proportions, but for the other sixty some had a few of the chemicals, others had none, and a handful had even more chemicals that they were still trying to identify. They needed larger samples, unfortunately most ragers, who weren't plentiful to begin with, didn't want to be tested, or were killed during a rage incident gone wrong. Several of those last ones had been killed by police and military units who were advised by MCO field agents.

It was the same problem all the time, too few mutants to test, but they were too powerful not to study. The fact that animals didn't have the mutant genes meant that only human subjects could be used which severely limited what researchers could actually attempt ethically and legally. It was hard enough convincing mutants to let themselves be guinea pigs, especially with the growing fear after the fiasco of Butchers Row. But when people heard how an MCO officer had bravely helped bring down a dangerous mutant in the newspaper, mutants got even more nervous. So only the most desperate came to the MCO looking for help, or agreed to be helped when Dr. Carter contacted them or their parents after hearing about them through the news or his medical contacts.

If only he could spend a year or two studying the students at the secret mutant school in New Hampshire. He'd talked to the school, even visiting it once, offering his services as a doctor, but when he'd put forward the suggestion, an MCO agent had a year before helped police put down a senior from the school. The police reports and witnesses claimed the mutant had attacked several people, but the Headmistress saw things differently. Despite his arguments and expertise, the stubborn woman had refused to listen to reason, he'd been politely thanked for the offer, but told that there was no need for his services or the MCO research.

Another waste caused by stupidity and hardheadedness.

Sighing, he put the file in his safe and headed to the lab.

“Anthony, wait up!”

Carter slowed down, his smile at seeing one of his fellow researchers died at seeing the concern on his friends face. “What''s wrong David?” he asked.

“Did you hear, what they've done?!” the British neurologist demanded.

“No.”

“My entire research into mutant warpers brain chemistry has been defunded. My whole team is being split up for more important work around the country. Has the entire organization gone stark raving bonkers?!” he punched the wall for emphasis.

“You can't be serious!”

“We got our papers this morning. They didn't even have the balls to tell us to our face or with a phone call. Just an electronic letter. I'd have preferred being told to my face to sod off, that at least has some respect,” David practically spit the words out.

Carter shook his head in shock. “But what about your research? All the information you've gotten from Rob and Ben. They have to realize how important that is.”

He snorted in disgust. “It will go into central filings for other researchers. I was this close,” he held his thumb and forefinger a hair apart, “this close to finding out what really happens in a warpers head when it uses its power. And now it'll be shoved into some filing cabinet somewhere never to see the light of day.”

The loud stream of curses that followed brought a security guard dressed in a baby blue uniform running. “Is there a problem here?”

“Yes there's a bloody problem! Someone has gotten their head shoved up their bloody arse! Now I have to try to unstick it for them before they destroy five years of research!” David stormed down the hall cursing and yelling about small minded incompetent bureaucrats.

“What is going on up there?” Carter asked himself as he once more headed to his lab.

“Richard, you can't send Nora Freedman away,” Dr. Carter pleaded into the phone, during what was usually his lunchtime. “She's worked with me for years, I've trained her to my perfection, she knows how I operate better than anyone. And she has formed a close friendship with all of my patients. Switching her around so quickly without even a chance for the children to get used to the idea will make my work ten times harder.”

“I'm sorry Anthony, there's nothing I can do,” his boss said. “Things have been up in the air for the last few months, and we're re-prioritizing projects and funding to deal with it. Your research is still important, but the fact that it will take decades, means you are a lower priority. Ms. Freedman is one of the best nurses in the MCO thanks to you, and we need her in New York working and training with new nurses so they can get up to speed in a reasonable amount of time.”

“You knew it was a long term project when you signed off on my proposal, what changed?”

“Fools Fight,” Richard replied, his deep voice trembled with barely controlled anger.

His hand slid down his face, and he let himself grind his teeth in frustration before speaking. “What does that idiocy have to do with my funding and my nurse?”

That got a bitter little laugh. “You need to play politics more often. In the last few months, the Goodkind's have doubled their donations to the MCO. But not a single cent has gone to the research branch, it's all going right into the field divisions pocket. Now their lobbyists can start paying some real bribes to the DPA and pet politicians. The MCO is getting federal support now, and looking at hiring five hundred new field agents and support staff over the next year. Did you know they're recruiting directly from the army now? Any soldier that's gone up against mutants, gets a nice package explaining the benefits of the MCO when they retire.”

“You're joking? Why is the government letting them do that now? And how could we let the Goodkinds get their hooks that far into us?”

“People are scared. You have your nose so deep in your research, you haven't seen the panic on the streets. Watch some TV, read some news letters from Humanity First, which has tripled it's membership, people are looking for protection because they're seeing evil mutants in every shadow. I've got reports that mobs led by H1 are burning and lynching suspected mutants all across the country with the support of the local police. They're being cheered on, by people who've known the people for years,” Richard said disgustedly. “As if that isn't enough, you'll love to hear this one. That old plan of registering mutants has even been bandied around at the upper levels. And they're updating it using your ranking system.”

“No!” he snarled. “That system is meant for research and policing purposes only. Not some branding system. How do they expect mutants to turn themselves over like that?”

“I have no idea,” Richard answered, sounding very tired. “But they're looking at it, and blocking out any of the old guard that they can't remove. I'm fighting my forced retirement right now. With the pressure on me, we're placing bets on if they'll succeed or I'll have a heart attack first. Care to put in a wager?”

“What can I do?”

“Keep doing your job. Pay attention to what's happening around you. Maybe you can find something we've missed, a smoking gun, an incriminating file. Right now we're looking for a miracle to keep the MCO following its charter, but as usual miracles seem to be in very short supply right now.” Richard sighed wearily. “I've got to let you go now. I have a presentation to make to some universities on a joint project. It's about the only thing I'm allowed to do anymore.”

“Good luck, Richard,” Carter said.

“I'll need it,” he replied before hanging up the phone.

Carter looked across the desk at David Wellington, a badly scarred young man who was trying to avoid fidgeting and looking nervous. He didn't want to be interviewing the man or the two other candidates, but it was something that needed to be done, even though there was a pile of results waiting in his lab from the drug tests on Sonny that morning. While it was usually the job of the lower ranked researchers and interns to sort the results into something usable, he liked to be there poring over the fresh information for the little details that could be overlooked.

“So... David, you worked as a field medic and researcher for the MCO in France, Australia and Miami, what made you want to get into the main research branch?” He hated this part of the job, he never knew what to ask.

“Well Dr. Carter, when I got injured assisting the police during a mutant manhunt, I realized that after five years facing down mutant supervillains and their henchmen I was starting to slow down. That's a sure way to get killed out there. I took the paid training as a nurse, because I had already dealt with emergencies that an experienced ER doctor would deal with several times. I graduated at the top of my class a month ago and was considering the available positions, when I was told that there could be an opening in the same research facility as you, well, I jumped at the chance,” the applicant said with a grin.

He raised his eyebrow in question.

“Sir, I've always respected you. Discovering the first set of mutant genes, your research on exemplars, distinguishing warpers and manifestors once and for all, the rating system that you designed, to name just a few of your successes, are remarkable. When I started, my supervisor still insisted on using the Stein Mutant Rating, it took at least twenty minutes to rate a low level mutant using all his charts and tables, and the add on's for ectoplasmic manifestors and body warpers just added to the mess.” He snorted in disgust. “Some people complain that your system is too simple, but frankly being able to say a supervillain is a Shifter 3ifam, and have people know what I mean without pulling out a Greek translation book and having to give a math lesson to explain how I reached my decision saves time and lives.”

“Have you ever worked alongside mutants?”

“No, Dr. Carter. But I've studied them in action extensively.”

“We have five teenage mutants here. Each one is helping us to learn more about their conditions and solve problems that are almost exclusive to the mutant population. Would you have any problem working with them?” Carter asked.

“I don't believe that there will be a problem.”

He nodded, his gut didn't believe the man. “Can you open the door, I'm expecting a visitor.”

David looked at him questioningly, but did as he was asked. He jumped a little, his hand going to his waist as if to grab something that wasn't there, before he got control of himself and stepped to the side. “You're Robert Rivera, I believe. I read your files,” David said, letting the pink, mouthless mutant in.

“Impressive, you didn't piss your pants seeing me,” Rob said, his voice echoing quietly in the office. He went over to the couch in the corner, where some basic medical supplies rested, ready to be used.

“Mr. Wellington, I'd like you to do a basic physical on Rob,” Carter said.

“Uh, right. Certainly, sir.”

Carter watched as David went through the motions. He started off nervously, and fumbled a bit when he realized there was no way to check Rob's throat, but by the halfway point he was acting like a professional and finding work arounds for some things that were physically awkward or impossible. There was no friendliness, no trying to put Rob at ease, but it was done properly. He put David down as a maybe, hoping the other two potential candidates were better.

“Mrs. Wells, if you would be so kind as to open the door and let my visitor in?” he asked the second applicant.

“Of course, sir,” the middle age woman, who had excellent credentials from Goodkind Pharmaceuticals, said with a smile.

“Hi Dr. Carter,” Ben slurred, guiding his motorized wheelchair into the office.

“Mrs. Wells,” Dr. Carter said to the woman who was standing like a statue at the door, staring in disgust at the boy. “Mrs. Wells!” he snapped.

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked.

“Did you not realize you'd be working with young mutants who need your help, when you applied for this job?”

“I-I-I didn't think they'd be alive,” she stammered.

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY!” he shouted, lurching to his feet.

The woman fled.

“OUCH!” Victor yelled, as he was practically pulled off the exam table. Flames erupting from his arms setting fire to his new bandages.

The young nurse, just out of school on an MCO scholarship, jumped back with a scream. Dr. Carter who had been standing beside her, calmly and quickly smothered the flames with a towel, before turning on the gasping woman.

“What were you thinking? I specifically told you to apply only limited pressure to his hands as it could cause a flame manifestation. And you were stupid enough to wrench his hand towards you?”

“It was resisting me! How am I suppose to work with it if it doesn't do what I order?” she shouted, completely thrown off her game.

“He,” Carter emphasized the pronoun, “is a teenage boy, they tend to be stubborn. You work with him, and get him to do what you want. You don't drag them this way and that. Are you aware we will be with a rager?”

“She'll be properly restrained,” she said.

“No, she will not be restrained unless we are activating a rage incident. If she is having a bad day and you did that, we would both be dead right now. Instead you've hurt a young boy, setting back his healing process by several hours; and need to redo your makeup, which you seem to care more about than your patient. You will leave now,” he ordered.  

The nurse looked at him in shock, glared at Victor and practically ran from the room.

“Thanks, I didn't like her very much,” Victor said.

“She seemed to be a good fit at first or I wouldn't have had her change your bandages. I'm sorry about putting your through that,” he said, getting some scissors, ointment and new bandages.

“Why are they getting rid of Nora? She's great.”

Easing himself onto a stool, he began unwrapping the burned bandages. “She's too good, they want her in New York, to train other nurses on how to take proper care of mutants.”

“That woman you just had in here could use a few years learning from her. Who are you going to get. Rob doesn't really like the guy who looked him over, but he seems like the best of them,” Victor said, his frown letting Carter know that the boys weren't impressed with any of the applicants.

“I'll be getting David. He's rough around the edges, but I think I can train him properly. He won't do anything stupid at least.”

“Rob really was hoping you'd get a pretty, young nurse. He was telling us how he'd seduce her all morning, then he came back screeching about the ugly mug on the guy who made him bend over and cough. It was pretty funny,” he said, wincing a little newly healed nerve endings were covered in bandages.

“He should know by now, the nurses consider him a patient not a potential boyfriend,” Carter said, shaking his head at the fools errand.

Victor gave a wistful sigh. “He can dream. It's not like any of us are going to ever get a girlfriend, especially him and his ugly face.”

“I wouldn't bet on that. Once we get your fire problem under control, you'll be able to go back to school and with your handsome mug, you'll be fighting off the girls. Even Rob has a chance, I've seen some really odd couples in my time, and I believe theirs someone for everyone.” He briefly considered telling about the mutant hero known as The Iron Mountain who married a mutant woman with stretching powers, but that story was a little too intimate to share.

“So why didn't you ever get married?”

“No time to find the woman for me,” he answered honestly. “I'm too married to my work to even bother looking, and it wouldn't be fair to my hypothetical wife. Wives deserve to see their husband more than once a week.”

Victor nodded in understanding. Carter noticed the thoughtful look on his face as he finished bandaging his hands. “That's all done. Lets get you back to your room, your still on bed rest.”

“Thanks for helping us,” Victor said suddenly.

“You don't need to thank me, I'm just trying to help in my own small way.”

“No, I, we really need to thank you. Most people act like that nurse, like we're less than human. You don't. It... it means a lot.”

He knew how hard it had to be for Victor to admit that. The boys always tried to hide it but from how they opened up to him and clammed up around others, he knew that they weren't blind to the sometimes obvious discomfort and even hatred others had for them, simply for existing. “You're welcome,” he said, solemnly.

October, 25^th, 1991

MCO research lab #5, Northern Michigan

Tara sat on her bed trying to play the guitar. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely pluck the strings, and the music in front of her was just a blur through the tears.

“Calm down,” she whispered. “You healed. It didn't hurt that bad.”

Her fingers spasmed, making an ear shattering screech. The guitar hit the ground as she covered her ears trying to shut out the whine of a saw cutting through bone. Her heart raced, through clenched eyes the comforting darkness became tinged with red. A growl rose in her throat.

“Don't worry, this won't hurt much,” Dr. Brennan said, turning on a surgical saw.

Her hand slammed against the thick steel wall. The pain of a broken knuckle forced its way through the growing haze filling her mind.

The saw gouged at her wrist. The rage tried to escape, to end the pain, the drugs held it back.

“No!” she shrieked, clawing her way back to sanity. “I won't let it out. I won't let it out!” She punched the wall again, leaving a dent. She felt a bone snap.

Blood dripped from the stump. Dr. Brennan measured it carefully, stating the amount, the rate of regeneration, the blood pressure and more for the nurse. Tara sobbed through the gag. Unable to even move because of the metal clamps holding her down.

Blood smeared the wall, as she punched it again. “Get out of my head! It had to be done!”

“Please don't do this. Oh god, please do-” she stopped pleading as a rubber gag was pushed into her mouth.

“This is to learn more about the regeneration of ragers, Tara. It has to be done,” Dr. Brennan said, while a nurse prepared the surgical saw in front of her. Two guards watched, grinning.

“I deserved it. I deserved it. So STOP WHINING YOU LITTLE BITCH!” The snapping of bones echoed in the steel room.

The pain finally overpowered the rage. Slumping down, holding her shattered hand up and away from her body, she picked up the guitar from the floor and stroked it with her good hand. She had to remain calm. She couldn't let the rage out.

“Franky, these are the new recruits. You know the drill, show them the ropes, let them know who not to fuck with, and how to keep out of trouble,” the security chief said, than headed back to his office to relax until he had to look good for the director.

He looked over the new guys still not sure why they had practically doubled the security force, while at the same time cutting the actual research staff in half. Dr. Carter had gone on a long rant the day before about it all, and Franky was losing friends practically left and right as they were transferred.

“Hello,” he said the group of five men, all of whom looked like they had seen some really nasty crap from the way they held themselves, watched everything around them and the scare they all had. “I'm Franky, we're not too big on formalities here. Mostly we're here to make sure no mutant supervillains show up and decide to make trouble because we're the MCO. If that happens we mostly try to buy time for everyone to run out the backdoor and follow them as fast as we can, we'll be having some drills on that later. Don't worry though, this facility has been around for twenty years we haven't even seen any protesters.”

“Don't they keep mutants here?” one of them asked. Franky noticed he was missing his ring finger and little finger on his left hand, it looked like they had been bitten off.

“We do, five kids. The boys are mostly harmless, they'll mouth off sometimes, play pranks and rough house with each other, but tell them to smarten up and they will. Be careful around Victor, the redhead, he manifests fire and if you bump into him too hard he'll light off uncontrollably,” he warned.

“The one to watch out for is Tara. She's a rager and could tear this facility down if she loses it. Use kids gloves around her and if she tells you to back off, DO IT. She is working very hard to keep control of herself, and has only had seven uncontrolled rage incidents since she came here. There were no casualties because they happened in her room or the lab where she is most frequently tested, which are both heavily reinforced. She locked herself in every time she felt herself losing control. Everyone here would like to keep it that way, so if I or any of the old hand see you messing with her, we will beat the shit out of you.” He watched them very closely to see if they understood he wasn't joking.

“Why don't they have her locked up?” another one asked.

“She's earned the trust. She's been here for almost two years and hasn't hurt anyone even by accident. They're trying to find out how to stop a rager, they can't do it if she's on edge the whole time. Don't worry, I've been teaching her how to box and while I've gotten a lot of bruises she's got a better grip on her temper than most teens I've met.”

That got some gasps and looks of disbelief, he didn't really care. He hadn't been able to box with her all week because of doctors orders, but that wouldn't last too much longer and he'd show them she wasn't a bad kid just sick. “If you'll come with me, I'll show you the control centre, where two people are constantly monitoring everything. After you get some experience you'll all get your shot at ordering everyone around and staring at boring screens for eight hours.”

“Hey Franky,” Rob said, waving at the group of security guards from the couch. A music video was playing on the large screen TV.

“Hi Rob, are your friends around?” Franky asked. “I want to introduce the new guys to them.”

“Sorry man, you chose the wrong time for show and tell. Ben is with Carter. Sonny is working out with fifty pound leg and wrist bands, and Victor is swimming.” The teenager who only had on a pair of boxers got off the couch, drawing looks of discomfort from the group who were already on edge from the weird voice that surrounded them. Coming closer he said, “I think I like your new friends, for once I'm prettier than someone.” Snickering filled the room, making up for his expressionless face.

“Why you little punk,” one of the guards who had half his face burned and a blind white eye snarled. Before anyone could stop him the guard shoved Rob hard in the chest sending the smaller teen flying.

Franky moved in, prepared to slam the guy into the wall and let him know that he had screwed up. Rob beat him to it.

It felt like someone was playing the drums in his guts, Franky and all the other guards bent over trying not to throw up. Scar face wasn't so lucky. There was a loud fart, followed by a horrible stench and the feeling stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Able to move again, everyone backed away from the unlucky guard who was standing there in shock, his blue pants rapidly turning a dark brown.

Rob glared at him from the floor, his voice sounded like a swarm of bees. “You can call me a freak, you can look at me with disgust, but don't you DARE lay a hand on me. I haven't played fair since I was fourteen, and I can do a lot worse than that.”

Scar face reached for his baton, somehow believing he could take out the mutant before he did something else. Franky grabbed his shirt shoving him outside and into the wall hard enough to bounce. “Go get yourself cleaned up, hothead. You're on report for attacking a patient, which is a big no no. Come back when you can handle a punk ass kid without trying to beat him up.”

With another shove he sent the guard on his way. “For the rest of you, I told you they would mouth off, unless you do something monumentally stupid like our friend there they won't do much more than that. But if you're a dumb ass, they can and will put you in the hospital. Don't be that dumb ass who makes all of our jobs harder.”

“Thanks Franky,” Rob's voice said from the hallway as the door to his room slammed shut.

“Let's go check out the gym,” Franky said, shaking his head in disgust.

Tara didn't look up from strumming her guitar when the door opened. It would just be lunch and her stomach felt like a knot filled with hot, churning bile. The bloody sheets from her outburst were in the clothes hamper beside the door, and after a bit of cleaning only the new dent on the wall showed what had happened, so she didn't need to talk to the orderly.

The orderly didn't put her lunch on the table or move from the doorway. She faltered for a second, wondering why the idiot didn't just do his job and leave. They had seen her like this before, they knew it was safer to just leave her alone.

Why didn't he go away.

“Come on princess, time to go,” the man said.

She looked up and saw four guards, a gasp escaped when she realized that the two in front were the ones from the experiment yesterday. They were in full armour, holding weapons that could hurt even her.

“W-w-what experiment?” she asked in a whisper.

“Don't know. I'm just following orders. So come on,” the guard said, giving her a smile that made her shiver.

“I don't want to. Not today.”

The guards entered the room, spreading out to surround her. “Dr. Brennan's orders. So you don't got a choice.”

“My contract says I can refuse an experiment or study until it's reviewed by another doctor,” she said, pressing her back into the wall. “I want Dr. Carter to review it.”

“You'll have to talk to the doctor about that. I just follow orders. Now do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” the guard asked.

Tara watched them shifting, their hard armour squeaked a little as the plates ran against each other. She could break the armour in one hit. It would be easy. A tiny voice in her head, the one that was still crying over what had happened the day before told her to do it. She could escape, she wouldn't be cut up again.

The image of her mother, broken and crushed lying in a pool of blood, filled her vision.

She stood up, shaking her head to clear it. She wouldn't kill anyone again. “OK. I'll tell Dr. Brennan.”

“Let's go,” the guard said. Something in his voice sounded almost disappointed.

Clutching her arms, Tara made her way down the hall. She had the contract to protect her. If Dr. Brennan tried to break it, she could call her lawyer, he would help her. Maybe she could become Dr. Carter's full time patient. It would be all right. Everything would be fine.

“Hey, Enrico,” one of the guards said behind her, “do you think this will be as much fun as yesterday?”

“Hell yeah. Yesterday was nothing. We're in for a real show today.”

Her nails dug into her arms. They couldn't do this to her. She had a contract. She was doing her part. They could hurt her a little. She deserved it and it was part of the deal. But they couldn't torture her. Her lawyer had been very clear about the limits. She just had to tell them she wouldn't do it. They would have to review the procedures. If it went too far, she'd get another doctor.

“Can we get the video for later?”

“I can swing it.”  

She turned around, keeping her hands firmly wrapped around her arms, “I want to go back to my room.”

The four guards raised their weapons. “No chance. The doctor has some big plans for you today. We don't want to get into trouble, so turn around and lets go. Nice and slow.”

“No. I'm not going anywhere except back to my room.” Her heart was beating faster, her muscles tensed and a a redness coloured her vision. She was going to rage. Her nails pierced her skin, a trickle of blood left a trail of red along her skin.

The men pointed the weapons at her, the ones in front crouched down a little, letting the two behind them bring their guns to their shoulders. “Don't do anything stupid, you have an appointment with the doctor.”

Tara could only see their eyes behind the visors that covered their faces, the rest was hidden by the light reflecting from the hard plastic, but she was suddenly very certain of one thing, they wanted to kill her. The realization was almost too much for her. She heard herself growling. Turning away she dug her fingers deeper into her flesh. “Please, let me go back to my room,” she whispered.

“No.”

It was hard to breathe. Gasping, she heard her father scream just before it was cut off with a crack of his neck being snapped. “Please, send me to jail. Send me to jail right now. Call the police. I'll go peacefully.”

“Keep going, girl,” the guard ordered.

Hesitantly, she began moving, if she stayed still she'd kill them. Every step towards the examination room seemed to make the rage worse. Even the pain from her arms could barely hold it back. Usually hurting herself was enough. Her nails scraped against bone.

She was going to rage. She'd kill the guards and everyone else nearby. Franky was working, he'd come running to stop her, she'd kill him to. She wouldn't be able to stop herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks, she heard herself growling. Clamping her mouth shut, her jaw tensed, she felt her teeth cracking from the pressure.

Turning a corner, for a brief second she was out of sight of the guards. Dr. Carter's office was just ahead. He would help her.

She started running.

Dr. Carter looked at the wedding invitation, not feeling in a celebratory mood. It was from his former head nurse, Nora. Rather than moving to New York she'd put in her resignation on the last day, choosing to stay with her boyfriend and now fiance. He really wanted her right now, her replacement was competent, but he was still learning which slowed everything down.

And this latest insult was putting him weeks behind schedule.

There was nothing else he could do about it, he had to talk to the Director again, if the man was available. It seemed that every minute of his day was spent in meetings or on the phone with people more important then the senior doctor on site.

Walking down the hall, he saw more new faces. The people he did know had looks of shock as they found out their research was being cut, they were being relocated or they were wondering if they'd be next. Not bothering to knock he entered the Directors outer office, not bothering to smile at the secretary. “I need to speak to the Director.”

“I'm sorry he's unavailable at this moment,” she said.

“Make him available! I've lost over a quarter of my lab time this week, and according to the schedule will lose almost half of it next week. How am I to do my work without my lab?” he demanded.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Carter. The director is out of his office today, I could set you up for an appointment next week.”

“And that will be cancelled at the last moment as usual. I created those labs, I specially ordered the equipment, or had it made from scratch, and now I'm not even allowed to use it!”

She smiled blandly at him. “I'm sorry, I'm just the messenger doctor. I don't have any control over the labs.”

He played his only card left. “Let the Director know I'm going to be lodging a complaint against him personally. This situation is becoming intolerable.”

“I'll be sure to let him know about your concerns and your complaint doctor. Would you still like me to set up that appointment?”

“No,” he said, walking out.

His knee ached, things were going straight to hell and he didn't know how to slow it down. He'd already lodged several complaints to the research side of the MCO, and had been ignored. From watching the news and catching up on politics he knew why. Protests against mutants were even happening in Seattle, and many protests in smaller towns and cities had turned bloody. Los Angeles they'd had a riot outside the headquarters of the Hollywood All-Stars which caused over a million dollars in property damage. The stories of parents murdering or allowing their children to be murdered for manifesting had sickened him.

He passed by yet another guard. They were a research facility why did they need so many guards?

“DR. CARTER!”

His head snapped up at hearing Tara yelling like that. Ignoring the blinding pain, he ran towards the screaming girl.

“DR. CARTER! HELP ME! SEND ME TO JAIL!” Tara screeched, when she saw him.

The girl ran down the hall towards him, her hands and arms dripping blood. She slowed down, sobbing and gasping, she got past him and went to her knees facing the wall, shaking so badly it looked like she was having a seizure. Four guards came pounding after her, weapons raised. He marched towards them, hiding the icy fear that filled him at the thought of how close they were to a rager incident.

Keeping his voice very steady, not wanting to risk pushing Tara over the brink, he said to the guards. “Get away from her now.”

“She is to come with us, she has an appointment with Dr. Brennan,” the guard who according to the name tag was Enrico, said.

“She is coming with me. You will leave right now, unless you want us all to die very quickly,” he said. Turning away from the guards, he walked back and very gently put his arms around the trembling, crying girl. “Tara,” he whispered, “come with me. We're going to my office. You'll be OK there.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed. He saw her fingers digging deep into her upper arms as she walked blindly beside him, but slowly, very slowly calming down. The guards watched hem go, glaring at them both, but not willing to get in the way. When they reached his office, he locked the door and sat with her on the couch.

After what seemed like an eternity, she loosened the grip on her arms revealing five deep cuts and horrendous bruising. The bruising began to fade away almost immediately. Carter felt his heart skip a beat, she had to have been riding the very edge of a rage for the last several minutes.

“What happened Tara?” he asked.

“Please send me to jail,” she whimpered.

“Why?” Avoiding prison and knowing that she was helping to possibly help put an end to rage had been the one thing that kept her going even at her lowest points. He couldn't begin to imagine why she would change so quickly.

“It's safer. It won't hurt as much.”

Anger welled up in his chest, overpowering even the fire in his knee and leg. “What's going on? I know I haven't had a chance to talk with you for the last week, but it can't be that bad.”

“The last experiment. D-Dr. Brennan, cut me. She cut off my hand and then made me rage. She wanted to test my healing factor. She drugged me so I couldn't rage as easily, but it didn't stop the pain. I felt everything,” she wailed.

“My god!”

“The guards watched. They laughed at me. Th-they said that they were going to do more today. They said it would be fun to watch.” She looked up at him with eyes full of terror. “Please,make me your patient or send me back to prison. Call my lawyer, tell him they're breaking the agrrement. He can make them stop. He can help me.”

“I'll call my superiors. I won't let them do this to you again,” he promised.

Embracing him, she began to cry into his chest.

An hour later, Dr. Carter headed for his car. His staff had orders to go over the old data, and to do anything they could to keep Tara in the lab under their care until he came back. There was no way he could stop the butchers from hurting the girl if he stayed in the centre, he had to get help. And to do that he had a long drive ahead of him to demand the help in person.

Wishing he could take some pain medicine for his knee he pulled out of the parking lot and instead of driving home, headed for Detroit.

The bad music and bad beer matched Franky's mood perfectly. None of the other old guard of the MCO security were any happier.

“They nearly made Tara rage today, outside of her room,” Greg said. “Do they have a fucking death wish?”

“One of those new fuckers was talking about how he wanted Rob to make one of his smart ass comments away from a camera so he could beat the shit out of him,” another one said. “A special ops soldier wanting to beat up a smart mouth kid. So fucking brave.”

Franky snorted. “Rob would scramble his brains and his guts before he got in a hit. He made scarface shit his pants today. Couldn't have happened to a better guy.”

“So what are we gonna do about these new guys? I don't want to face Tara when she flips out. Hell, I'll be the first one to throw myself into the secure room and lock the door, this job isn't worth dying over.”

He stayed quiet, drinking his beer as the others complained. He knew exactly what had to be done, and that was why he'd invited everyone out for a beer at the last minute. After a third beer, the door opened and in walked his least favourite piece of garbage. “Guys, let's go make Enrico and his friends learn how to treat people properly,” he said getting to his feet with a nasty smile.

The group saw the two guards who had been chasing Tara earlier that day, almost setting her off in a rage. There were three others laughing and joking with them, the newest recruits, cracking his knuckles, Franky smiled, the almost equal numbers would make things interesting.

“Yo, assholes, we need to talk!” he shouted over the music, palming a roll of quarters into his hand.

“Hey, mutie lovers,” Enrico sneered. “I was hoping to see you. I heard what happened to my friend today, your pet mutant embarrassing him like that. It wasn't very funny.”

“I thought it was fucking hilarious. Maybe he won't be such a shit for brains now.”

The bar got very quiet as people noticed the two groups of large and heavily muscled men staring each other down. The bouncer who had been drinking a beer at the bar, said something to the bartender and made his way over. “You guys need to take this outside,” he said.

“Ladies first,” Franky said with a smile, bowing towards the door.

Acting as casually as possible, Enrico and his friends walked out, taking off their jackets and stretching as they did. Something wasn't right he thought. They weren't posturing enough, no lame insults, they seemed way too eager. There was no way he'd back out now though. Trying to stay loose, he followed them out, ready to start punching.

The five men were spreading out, laughing, psyching each other up. Franky saw his own friends coming out the door ready for anything. Almost anything at least.

There was a thud as something metallic hit the pavement in front of them. Before he even knew what it was, he was covering his head. When the flash bang went off, it didn't blind him too badly, but the noise left him stunned. Enrico came running up, catching him in the jaw with a strong haymaker. Staggering, he swung back, catching Enrico in the gut. A kick to the back of the knees knocked him down. Swinging wildly, he managed to punch the second attacker in the balls, the scream of pain was music to his ears.

A boot to the head sent him to the pavement. They didn't give him a chance to get back to his feet, he screamed in pain as they began stomping him.

October 26^th, 1991
MCO District Office, Detroit Michigan

Doctor Carter stared in disgust at the small mob in front of City Hall, and unfortunately between him and the MCO building. They were acting peacefully, shouting support for the MCO, but what they were demanding was a mockery of all he and the MCO had spent decades working for.

“How many more people have to die because the MCO has its hands tied?” a man with a Humanity 1^st pin shouted into a megaphone. “How many children have to die because their mutant classmate went into a rage at school? How many police have to die trying to take down a mutant supervillain that the so called mutant heroes let get away? How many innocents must suffer from devises and gadgets that are little more than ticking time bombs? How many must die before the government lets the MCO do its job and eradicate the mutant threat?”

Carter slowly made his way through the crowd, trying to avoid the grotesque pictures of mutilated, burned and crippled people that were being thrust into his face with every step.

“Sign our petition, make the the government open its eyes to the mutant threat.”

“Join Humanity 1^st. It's time we stand up and protect humanity.”

“Donate to the cause. All proceeds go to help people who have suffered from mutants.”

“Get out of my way! I have business inside,” he shouted.

The mob just pressed in closer. It took over a minute of pushing, jabbing with his cane, and thrusting himself into any gap available to get through. After the long drive, the constant pressure of the last week, very little sleep and running the day before, he was leaning heavily on his cane by the time he made it past them, and was able to walk more easily to the MCO front door. Every step jarred his leg, making it feel like his knee was made of shattered glass digging its way into his flesh.

Getting inside, he was waved through by two guards who were eyeing the mob with contempt. Wishing he could sit down, he went to the receptionist, pulling out his ID badge, “Dr. Carter here to meet Dr. Richard Giles.”

He was used to getting a polite smile, a bit of small talk, maybe if the receptionist was well read some talk of his research, this woman was different. The smile turned cold as she heard his name, “He's expecting you doctor, please go on in.”

She hit a buzzer and the door leading into the rest of the building opened up. The security was something else that was new. He wondered what else he had missed with his nose in research. He made his way inside, noting that the door was three inches thick and looked to be made of solid metal except for the thin sheathe of wood covering the public side. When it closed behind him, he head several locks close with dull thuds, he was no expert on security, but even Tara in a full rage might be slowed by that door.

Walking down the hallway, the usually animated workers were huddled together or walking alone, some people tried to look busy, others were as inconspicuous as possible. Very faint conversations could be heard from behind the closed doors. Only a few people greeted him with a quick nod or hello, before hurrying away. It felt like they were tiptoing around a rager, or were at a funeral.

Stepping into the elevator, he held the door for a pretty young woman in a business suit to get on.

“Thank y-” she started to say, only to stop abruptly when she saw his face. “Uh, thank you, Dr. Carter.”

“You're most welcome. What floor?”

“Um, third... please,” she replied, looking at her feet.

He decided to push a little. “How are you this fine day?”

“Fine,” she muttered.

“Everyone seems too busy to talk. Is head office here?”

“Just a lot of things to do, doctor.” She shoved her nose into the folder she was carrying cutting off any chance at further conversation, and practically ran out at her floor.

As the elevator headed up, he leaned against the wall. “What am I going to do?” he asked.

The top floor was quiet, almost deathly still compared to the busy nervousness below. Every door was closed, making him feel like an intruder to a tomb. Limping along, he tried to picture it like it was the last time he'd been there two years ago. Back then the doors had mostly been open with researchers coming in and out, people talking on the phones discussing projects and funding, sharing the latest discoveries. Now, he couldn't even tell if anyone was still alive.

At the end of the hall he knocked and opened the door a moment later. Richard gave him a weary smile and motioned for him to have a seat. Carter didn't notice the gesture at first, too concerned for his friend. The always portly scientist had gone to fat, his suit far too tight, his skin was sallow, with a greasy complexion.

“Richard, you look terrible,” Dr. Carter said.

“Stress has not been kind to me. Martha is pushing me to accept the offer of early retirement but I'm still healthy enough to put up a fight. So what has made you finally pry yourself from your lab?” Richard asked.

“Dr. Brennan is torturing her patient, completely ignoring the contract of humane treatment and research she signed. Two days ago she cut off the hand of Tara Wilcox, without any sedation to see how quickly she could regrow it while not raging,” he said in a growl. “The girl was running away from four guards armed to the teeth yesterday, a hair away from a full rager incident because they'd been taunting her about doing something even worse.”

Richard rested his cheek on his fist, practically exuding exhaustion. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“STOP IT!” Carter shouted.

“How? Didn't you get the memo? I'm no longer in charge of your research facility, you've been moved to Washington.” He snorted. “Don't try to find out who your actual boss is though, its just the newly Combined Research Division for the United States. Even I don't know who I'm reporting to.”

“I've checked my mail twice a day, I haven't gotten a single word about it,” Carter said, his eyes narrowing at the knowledge he'd been deliberately left in the dark.

“You and about fifty seven other researchers who could be considered pro-mutant, there are probably more. You can probably expect to find yourself given forced retirement in a few months.”

“But my research. My patients,” Carter said in a quiet voice, trying to think about the implications.

Richard let out a sigh, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his neck. “Forget about your research, it will be gone. Get your patients back to their parents. Robert is old enough to live on his own now, just get him a ticket to New York. I might be able to get the other three into a school.”

“What about Tara?”

“Call her lawyer, get her into a prison. She'll be safer there.”

At his incredulous look, Richard shrugged, sagging in his chair. “In the last two months, three patients around the country have died. One because of a rage incident outside of a safe room. The second from an allergic reaction to a new drug. The third during surgery from something completely unforeseen. Believe me, your children are in danger.”

Victor sat on the couch with the other boys spread around the room watching Director Brown nervously. They had barely seen him except for a brief visit when he took over and the cold look did nothing to set them at ease.

“After looking over your cases and the very strong anti-mutant situation going on in the country, the MCO has talked with your parents and they have agreed that it is in your best interests to be given over for temporary custody with the MCO. This is only until your powers are in check and the current tense situation has lessened.” He gave them what might have been an apologetic smile. “This means we will be taking a more protective stance to your well being. Visits into town will be cut for the time being, to avoid a growing H1! group . Phone calls will be limited and monitored. And visits from your parents will be put off for the time being.”

Everyone groaned and started to complain, it was cut off by a security guard pulling out a large taser. “Now then, I'm sure this is disappointing, but this is for your protection. I hope that you'll abide by these rules, and in a few months everything can return to normal.”

“What about me?” Robert said, the buzzing in his voice the only hint of his anger. “My parents are dead and I'm eighteen. I can leave whenever I want. You want to stop me from going into town for some fresh air, I think I'll be leaving now.”

“And do what? Go where?” Director Brown asked. “You have a high school diploma, a few hundred dollars, and can't pass yourself off as a human. You wouldn't last two days in the general population. But if you want to risk it we won't stop you.”

There was a long moment of silence, finally Robert slumped down in his chair. His defeated and sullen body language making up for his expressionless face.

“Very well, I'll let you boys get back to your things now. Have a good evening,” he said, leaving with his two guards.

“This is bullshit!” Robert shouted once the door was closed, storming into his room.

As the sound of thrown books and objects came from the older boys room, the rest of them quietly wondered what would happen next.

Franky limped out of the hospital. His arm in a sling to keep him from using his sprained wrist, he could barely see out of his right eye and his ears were still ringing from the concussion he'd received. The rest of him wasn't much better, but he was better off then two of his friends who had broken bones.

He saw that his car was right where his friend had told him in the parking lot. He'd been lucky it hadn't been towed during the night. When he got closer, he realized that something was wrong, it wasn't sitting right.

Walking a bit faster, he went to the drivers side and let out a long stream of curses. A knife was sticking out of the front tire, the back one was slashed wide open.

Cursing even more, he painfully made his way back to the hospital lobby to call a tow truck.

“Hello, is this Mr. Tracy?” Carter asked when the phone was picked up.

“Yes it is? How can I help you?” the young man on the other end asked.

“I'm calling about Tara Wilcox, I'm one of her doctors with the MCO and there is a serious problem.”

There was a long sigh. “Is she following orders?”

“Yes, but Dr. Brennan is not. The experiments are becoming sadistic, I think it would be safer for her to be placed in prison if something isn't done,” Carter said, shaking his head in disbelief at what he'd just said.

“Is her life in danger?” Tracy asked.

“I believe so.”

“I'll contact Dr. Brennan, but... it's probably safer for her to remain with the MCO. Even if it hurts her.”   Tracy said, sounding like he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“They cut off her hand while she was awake. How can that be safer?” Carter demanded.

“Because if she leaves the care of the MCO, the judge will sentence her for mass murder. When we made the deal with the MCO and the prosecutor we were looking at twenty years minimum and that was after Tara plead guilty and we threw everything we had into a temporary insanity plea. If we go before a judge for sentencing now, with the current hatred towards mutants, she'll get the death penalty.” There was a sad chuckle. “I thought it was a miracle to get her handed over to the MCO where she could possibly do some good, and if they could cure her a chance to get be free before she's an old woman. I guess I'll have to take that star off my wall.”

“Can't you do anything?”

“I've been a defence attorney for five years, usually I deal with shop lifters, petty theft and assault,” Tracy explained. “I don't have even a fraction of the influence necessary to keep her from the death penalty, the best I could do is appeal it which would only add a few years to the process. They'll fast track it as much as possible, so instead of a few decades of life behind bars before executing her, I could maybe get her five before they do the deed.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” he swore, surprising himself with the profanity.

“I'll talk to the MCO, but that's all I can do. And I'll try to see Tara and explain everything,” he promised. “Maybe, I can get them to ease up. I've got to prepare for a client in five minutes, thank, you for calling me.”

“Thank you for trying,” Carter said, hanging up.

Pacing the small hotel room, he tried to think of something. Usually in situations like this, he'd have the TV playing to act as background noise helping him to focus his thoughts. As he'd discovered however, the channels were full of anti-mutant hysteria ranging from the pathetic, 'My spouse is having an incestuous relationship with her mutant brother,' to the horrifying news reports of three siblings being shot and burned when the thirteen year old was accused of being a mutant.

Looking at his watch, he saw that he still had two hours before meeting Richard and his wife for dinner. He wished he'd thought to bring his telephone book so he could call the boys parents, but he hadn't even thought of it and he hadn't bothered memorizing the numbers.

His knee forced him to stop pacing. Everything was going to hell. His MCO was having the good in it ripped out before his eyes, leaving only the hate and rot that he had known existed but thought was safely contained. Richard was right, he had stayed in his lab too much, maybe if he had noticed what was going on he could have stopped it. But he had only come out when it started to affect him. And now it was too late.

What could he do to stop the madness tearing his organization apart?

The phone rang, making him jump in surprise. “Hello?” he answered.

“Dr. Carter, this is Dr. Giles secretary,” a woman said, her voice tense with barely contained emotion. “I- I'm sorry to inform you that Dr. Giles... won't be meeting you for your supper meeting.”

“What happened?”

“He was on his way home an hour ago. A- a transport truck hit his car. Richard... died.”

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. Numbly he put the phone down, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that his friend and ally was dead.

Staring out the window, his usually busy mind was for once bereft of ideas.

Walking down the street, the greasy burger and fries he'd eaten for supper felt like a lead weight in Carter's stomach. He could have ordered in, probably should have, but he needed to get some air. The hotel room had been stifling.

The street was almost deserted. He didn't really notice it however. The news had reported Richards death. The trucker had dozed off and veered into the oncoming lane, Richards car had been flattened, the one good thing was it was instantly fatal. Having dealt with patients who had lingered on in pain before finally dying, he could appreciate a quick death.

His hotel was coming in sight when hands dragged him into an alley and threw him against a cold, grimy wall.

“Give me your wallet, old man,” his mugger demanded.

He reached for his pocket. “All right. You can have it. I don't want any trouble.”

The mugger looked around to make sure no one was watching. Carter held his wallet out, hoping the man would be satisfied with it. Grabbing it, the mugger belted him across the face with his free hand.

Carter fell to the ground, moaning and stunned. He heard his ribs crack as he was kicked into the wall. Covering his head, he tried to scream for help as he was pummelled.