chaos engine trilogy

by Unknown Author

  “You’re the reason Remy’s dead!” Rogue shouted hysterically, hovering above the grassy field. “If it hadn’t been for you, the world wouldn’t have changed, an’ we wouldn’t have tried to fix it, an’ Remy wouldn’t have been infected with that stinkin’ virus, an’—”

  “Wh-what are you prattling on about, stripling?” von Doom gasped—clearly, the blow had injured him. “How is Doom responsible for the actions of some costumed imbecile he has never met?” Slowly, he staggered to his feet. “Were it not for the constant interference of cretins such as yourself and your churlish band of misfits, Doom would not have to—”

  “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Rogue screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t wanna hear anymore of your stinkin’ lies!” She flew toward him again, picking up speed as she drew closer. “All I want is t’see you dead!”

  She drew back her fist, prepared to deliver the fatal blow—

  —only to be smashed aside by a surge of magnetic energy that sent her flying past the monument, toward Independence Avenue, to slam, hard, into the side of a fuel tanker-truck as it moved along the thoroughfare. The powerful shockwave generated by the resulting explosion violently shook the ground for miles around, and sent the gathered combatants tumbling in all directions.

  Lying in the center of the blast crater, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, Rogue would be out of the fight for quite a while.

  “Doom is mine!” Magneto shouted, to no one in particular. “Mine must be the hand that slays him!”

  The mutant overlord turned back to his target as the Emperor rose to his feet, preparing to meet the attack.

  “And now, your reign of terror comes to an end, human!” Magneto shouted. “Tomorrow’s sun shall rise over the new empire of Homo superior! ” Powerful magnetic forces crackled around his hands, and he prepared to loose them on von Doom—

  —only to be blindsided by another airborne mutant. The impact sent him tumbling through the night sky.

  “Watch those hands, friend!” Warren said. “The Emperor doesn’t know where they’ve been!”

  Before the mutant overlord could react, Warren had grabbed him underneath the arms and hauled him into the storm-lashed sky, pulling him as far from the Emperor as possible.

  “Damn all you infernal do-gooders!” Magneto raged. “Even with your minds rewired by that tyrant, still do you constantly find ways in which to interfere with my plans! Well, no more, I say! Von Doom dies this night, and no man—no mutant—shall keep Magneto from taking his revenge!”

  His hands began to glow brightly. Bolts of magnetic energy crackled between his fingertips, becoming more powerful by the second. Wrenching himself out of Warren’s grip, Magneto turned in mid-air—and placed both hands flat against the winged mutant’s chest.

  Warren screamed—a high-pitched keening that could be heard even above the rumble of the storm. His shirt started to bum, then the azure flesh beneath it. His body convulsed spasmodically; his wings stopped beating.

  And then, like Icarus cast down from the heavens, Warren plummeted toward the ground so very far below.

  “WARREN!” Betsy cried. “Oh, my God, my God ...”

  They could have escaped all this insanity; could have kept flying and put themselves far and away from any danger.

  But when Warren had looked back in time to see Magneto tear apart the Imperial limousine, he had insisted on going back. It was madness, she had said—sheer and utter madness for him to think he had any chance against such a man as Magneto; a man who could match the Emperor strength for strength, and decimate the ranks of the finest soldiers in the Empire.

  But he wouldn’t listen. Dropping Betsy off on the far side of Constitution Avenue, in front of the National Academy of Science, he had soared away to protect his leader, ignoring her pleas to come back.

  And now ...

  Paying no attention to the war being fought around her—or the level of danger in which she was placing herself—Betsy raced across the battlefield, watching his descent with growing panic. He was falling faster and faster, wings fluttering uselessly; above him, Magneto sneered, then floated away toward his original target.

  Betsy screamed when Warren struck the ground near the Reflecting Pool; the sound of bones breaking was unmistakable.

  Hands pressed over her mouth, she slowly walked toward him, not wanting to see his condition, but unable to stop herself. Warren lay on his back, arms and legs splayed at unnatural angles, wings spread wide on the grass. His clothes were smoldering, and the stench of ozone and burnt flesh that flooded her nostrils almost made Betsy retch. A small scream escaped her lips, the sound muffled by her gloved hands, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  And then Warren moaned; his wings gently fluttered.

  He was still alive.

  Betsy gasped. “Warren ... ?” She ran to his side as he struggled— and failed—to sit up.

  “Hey . . . Betts ...” he said weakly. He inhaled shallowly, and something rattled within his chest. “Guess this is . . . what I get for. . . trying to impress ... my girl, huh?”

  Despite her tears, Betsy forced herself to smile encouragingly as she knelt beside him and cradled his head in her lap.

  “You stupid, stupid man,” she said, gently stroking his face. “A nice bouquet of flowers would have been just as impressive.”

  “I’ll. . . remember that. . . next time . . .” Warren replied. Each word, each breath was a labor for his damaged lungs. His face suddenly contorted horribly, and he gasped, unable to breathe.

  “Help us! Someone please help us!" Betsy cried. She frantically looked around for a paramedic, or a police officer—somebody. Anybody. But her pleas were lost amid the clash of mutant energies that crackled across the night sky, and the dull thud of flesh striking flesh. From off in the distance, the high-pitched wail of sirens could be heard as emergency teams raced to the scene.

  “Guess everybody’s a . . . little busy . ..” Warren muttered. The pain appeared to have subsided, but the azure color of his skin had noticeably paled, and his handsome features looked strained.

  “Shhh,” Betsy whispered, placing a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak.” She leaned forward to gaze into his glassy eyes, and her lavender hair descended like a curtain over both their faces. She angrily swept it back, draping it over her right shoulder. Warren laughed softly, brushing aside a loose strand that lay across the bridge of his nose.

  “You sang like... an angel,” he said, grinning lopsidedly. “You know that? So beautiful...” He grimaced as his body was wracked by another painful spasm; it subsided after a few agonizing moments. “Kinda funny, don’t you think . . . since I’m the one . . . with the wings . ..”

  “Please, baby—don’t talk,” Betsy insisted. “You’ve got to save your strength.”

  “You British women . ..” Warren gasped. “Insatiable . . .” He chuckled—a weak, phlegm-drenched sound that rattled up from his lungs.

  “Oh, God...” Betsy moaned. She was in a panic, her thoughts jumbled as each screamed to be heard over the others, until her mind was filled with white noise. After what seemed like an eternity of confusion, one thought was able to force its way to the front of her mind: GET HELP.

  “Warren, I’m going to find a doctor, or a paramedic,” she said. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just please, please hang on.”

  She started to rise, but Warren grasped her hand and pulled her back down. “No . . . don’t go . . .” he said, slowly shaking his head. His voice was growing fainter.

  Betsy opened her mouth to say something—some words of encouragement, or even anger, telling him he had no right to give up, not when they still had a whole lifetime ahead of them to explore—but in her heart, she knew it was too late.

  Too late for anything more than good-byes.

  So did Warren. Tenderly, he reached up to stroke her cheek. “You really are ... the most beautiful woman ... in the world . . . you know...”

  Betsy took his hand and brushed her lips
against his fingers. “Warren, I. . .” she began, then fell silent, unable to speak. A tear dropped from the comer of her left eye, to splash on Warren’s cheek.

  “Don’t leave me ..she sobbed.

  Warren smiled. “Love you, Betts . . .” he whispered.

  And then he was gone.

  “Die, you worm! In the name of all that is holy, why don’t you die?”

  Floating a dozen feet above The Mall, Magneto unleashed another blast of energy that caught von Doom squarely in the chest. The Emperor skidded across the grassy field, then lay still for a moment.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Magneto bellowed, pointing at von Doom as he struggled to a sitting position on the grass.

  As one, both mutants and humans stared in shock at the sight before them.

  Armor smoldering, velvet cloak burned away, the Doombot looked down to see the tangle of wires and circuit boards that protruded from its chest.

  “Damn ...” it muttered in an electronic gurgle.

  18

  SHE WAS going into shock.

  Kneeling on the grass, Warren’s lifeless body cradled in her . arms, Betsy stared blankly at the tableau laid out before her.

  The battle had come to an abrupt halt with the startling revelation that the man who had ruled an entire planet for a decade—or, far more truthfully, for only one short month, in the “real” world—was in actuality an automaton.

  And then the rain began to fall.

  Betsy didn’t feel the drops striking her exposed skin, or soaking her expensive gown, or drenching her hair, washing some of the lavender color from her locks. Her makeup began to run as well, exposing a bright red tattoo that extended from just above her left eyebrow to just below her left eye; it looked like a stylized “J.” In all the years she’d possessed it, Betsy could never remember how or why she had chosen to have such a noticeable mark etched onto her face, but Warren had always liked it.

  “Warren ..Betsy whispered, and looked down at him. Now that he was no longer troubled by pain, he looked so peaceful, as if he were resting. She bent down to kiss his lips one last time, and was shocked to discover how cold they felt.

  “Oh, my God...” said a small voice beside her.

  Slowly, Betsy lifted her head and looked up. A red-headed woman and a dark-haired man, both clad in colorful spandex costumes, were standing next to her.

  “Oh, Betsy,” the woman said, eyes brimming with tears. “I am so very, very sorry.”

  Betsy stared at the woman; her glassy eyes began to clear.

  “You,” she said softly. “Yours was the voice I heard inside my head.”

  The woman nodded and knelt beside her. “That’s right, Betsy. I’m Jean. Do you remember me?”

  “I...” Betsy began; her eyes started to glaze over once more. “Did you know Warren?”

  “We both did, Betsy,” the costumed man replied. “He was our friend—as you are, too.”

  “I—I don’t remember...” Betsy said hesitantly. Her gaze drifted back toward Warren; staring blankly at his stilled features, she gently stroked his hair.

  “Betsy, I... I know it might sound a bit.. . cold, given the circumstances, but I could help you remember,” Jean said. “Would you like me to do that?”

  Betsy’s eyes cleared, the fog that shrouded her thoughts suddenly lifting; her body began to tremble with uncontrolled anger. She turned to glare heatedly at this costumed woman kneeling beside her. What in God’s name was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they see she was consumed by grief? Were they blind to the fact that she was cradling the dead body of a man who had meant the world to her—and who had been needlessly taken from her by the same superpowered madman who was leading them? Hadn’t they a shred of decency, or was it some sort of requirement among Magneto’s followers to be able to so callously ignore the suffering they caused?

  “Haven’t you people done enough already?” she said, her features contorted with hate.

  Jean started. “What... ?”

  “You’re the ones who started all this fighting, aren’t you?” Betsy snapped. “Magneto’s superpowered toadies? Didn’t any of you have the slightest idea about what might happen if you attacked the Emperor at a public event? About what the cost in human life might be once all the shooting started?” Her lips pulled back in a snarl. “Or was your precious revolution all too damned important for such considerations? So what if lives are lost, so long as your master’s blasted dream of mutant superiority comes true, right?” Her eyes blazed with anger. “Perhaps if you’d taken the time to put a little more thought into your plans, figured out a way that wouldn’t have involved laying waste to half of Washington, then Warren wouldn’t have had to ... wouldn’t have .. She closed her eyes to blink back tears, then turned her head away.

  Jean placed a consoling hand on her shoulder; Betsy shrugged it off, her attention focused once more on Warren. She angled her head above his face, using her darkening hair as an awning of sorts to protect it from the rain.

  “You’re wrong, Betsy,” Jean said gently. “I know how it looks, I know how you feel right now, but you’re wrong about us. We’re the ones trying to put an end to all this madness.”

  Betsy laughed—a sharp, bitter note—and wiped away the raindrops that had collected on Warren’s stilled features. “I’d say you’re a little too late for that, then—wouldn’t you?”

  “I...” Jean began, then stopped. “Yes,” she said softly.

  Betsy glanced up as the man’s bright yellow boots came into view. He crouched down in front of her.

  “Warren was my friend, Betsy,” he said, his voice strained with grief. “I valued his friendship, as I have yours. Please believe me: I didn’t want this to happen. I just did what I thought was right, for the good of the mission.” He shook his head. “I don’t know—maybe if I’d reacted faster when Magneto was helping Ororo, gone back on my word earlier .. .” His head lowered. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he whispered.

  Betsy opened her mouth, ready to discharge a stream of choice invectives and tell him what he could do with his sympathy, but the pain that was so clearly etched on his features made her stop and reconsider.

  “No,” she finally said. “I imagine you didn’t.”

  The man slowly looked up. “Betsy, it’s important that you remember who we are, and what you mean to us,” he said. “What Jean and I, and the other X-Men, are up against is too big to tackle on our own—we need our friends by our side. We need you. Will you help us?”

  Betsy shrugged; she didn’t care one way or the other.

  The man turned to Jean and nodded. Gently, she placed her fingertips against Betsy’s temples. “This may sting a bit...”

  “How?” Magneto roared. “How can this be? To have come so close to having my revenge, only to have it stolen away by a... a robot?"

  He landed beside the faux von Doom as it sat on the grass. Sparks tumbled from its shattered casement, to be quickly extinguished by the heavy downpour, and the rosy complexion of its face and hands had faded; its skin now looked like white candle wax. The automaton looked up at him, and flashed that same infuriating, condescending smile that had haunted the dreams of Erik Lensherr every night of his long exile in the Sahara—which, as it turned out, had been a dream of sorts itself.

  “You have lost, mutant,” the robot burbled. “Though you have caused your fair share of trouble this night, and revealed to the world that its beloved ruler has been living vicariously through this metal shell, still is Doom triumphant.” It waved a gauntleted hand at the fiery ruins around them—at the lifeless bodies, and the thick smoke, and the decimated field. “By morning, Washington shall be restored to its full glory, and all this shall be but a distant memory—the fading remnants of a dream lost upon awakening. You, as well; now that you have played your final hand, I find myself quickly growing tired of this game. You have led me a merry chase, Magneto, but the time has come for Doom to put away his toys and move onto far more importan
t matters.” The android chuckled. “Despite your best—though ultimately pathetic—efforts, mutant, it is my dream, my empire, that shall endu—”

  Magneto savagely ripped it apart with a bolt of magnetic force, then threw back his head and roared.

  “Come out and face me, you mind-twisting worm!” he screamed to the heavens.

  But the rumble of the storm was the only reply he received.

  Jean had been right—having her memories jump-started hurt like hell. But the pain was worth undergoing the process in order to have her true life fully restored to her.

  Betsy remembered everything now: her brother Brian’s costumed identity as the super heroic Captain Britain, and the knowledge that both siblings had gained extraordinary powers from their father, a former citizen of Otherworld; her kidnapping at the hands of the “real” Arcade and Miss Locke, and Brian’s efforts to free her from Murderworld; then her days as a fashion model in London, and her months as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Psi Division agent; from her time as the X-Man called Psylocke to the moment when her life had changed forever—the Siege Perilous, an event of cosmic proportions that, somehow, had transferred the mind and soul of Elisabeth Braddock into the body of a Yakuza-trained assassin named Kwannon.

  And Warren; she remembered everything about Warren, as well. Their first awkward dates, when he would try to impress her by playing the suave millionaire playboy, and she would act the part of the femme fatale, all slinky body movements and sensuous gazes—that sort of behavior hadn’t lasted long, mainly because he wasn’t all that suave, and she had run out of double-entendres to spice up her conversation; they’d settled for just being their true selves, and seeing where that would take them. The time he’d encouraged her to sing in public for the first time, draped across the grand piano in the center of the Starlight Room like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. Their moonlit flights above Manhattan, his arms secure around her waist, giggling hysterically as she felt the cool rush of air against her face.

  There was more: Their adventures with the X-Men. Their attempts to live a normal life together in a world of spandex-clad madmen and alien invasions and universe-threatening disasters. Her brush with death, after Sabretooth had gravely wounded her, and Warren’s subsequent, perilous journey to the mystical realm called The Crimson Dawn to retrieve the Ebon Vein, an elixir that saved her life and granted her the power to teleport through shadows. His battle with Kuragari, the selfproclaimed “Shogun of the Shadows,” who later captured Betsy and tried to use her as his pawn in his quest to take control of the Crimson Dawn.