Chapter 28: Calm Before....

A new variable. A new-- an adjusted plan, in response to the woman with intel.... with good intentions. It wasn't supposed to go this way. Bronte and his siblings weren't supposed to be razing Department K to the ground so soon. But they had no choice. Or, their choices had grown slimmer in the wake of the mystery woman from afar.

Spring the trap before its made. Get in, remove some limbs, destroy some tech, get answers and get the hell out. That was the plan in summary and that was all that circulated through every one of their minds as they waited for the dark of night to spread across the evening sky.

Anxiety wasn't unknown to them. It sat inside the cabin and ran along the snowy fields around them like a member of the family. And they all had their own unique ways of dealing with it. Laura cleaned obsessively and watched over Gabbie like a parent with their newborn... and when things really got serious, she spoke to a mask. Yellow and navy blue, iconic and scarred from years of intense battle. The cowl of Wolverine. She'd been speaking to it for hours already in her room hidden inside the small cabin.

Daken didn't like small spaces. None of them truly did, but he made sure to avoid them at all times. He spent his time outside in nothing but a pair of pants. Sweat lined his deeply cut muscles and gave his tribal tattooing a liquid sheen as he ran through combo and arcing swing after swing with his sword. The few times Bronte watched, he noticed it looked less like fighting and more like an exercise. Formulaic and controlled. Fights were rarely controlled.

Inside, Gabbie and Raze took over the living room. In their many travels and battles, they all made sure of one thing. Bring something back. Their hunt didn't have to be hell on earth. So, they did what they could. One of the safest items of entertainment was books. And Gabbie enjoyed them-- but more than anything, she enjoyed teaching Raze how to read. Whether it be books on the human psyche, wars or corny romances like Twilight, Gabbie read them and Raze... well, Raze was Raze.

"BELLA YOU FUCK!..... Why would you choose a depressed two-hundred year old CREEP.... over Jacob!?!?"

Bronte flinched at Raze's sudden yells from the living room. It almost ruined his focus. His way of dealing with their unwanted cabin-guest. Anxiety.

He sat in the center of his small room as still as stone with Chop slumped on his bed. A glass sat in front of him. The water that should've been inside was instead floating in his hands as two smooth transparent spheres. Raze's scream ruined his headspace and caused the balls of water to ripple and steam as if placed under a flame.

The serene music playing through his earbuds was his saving grace.

Illyana's words still rang true after three years. His power-- his abilities, magic or not. They required a certain headspace. And the current headspace he held himself inside of was the most important before battle.

The calm before the storm.

In a very literal way. It was like warming the muscles of his mutant abilities. Preparing his mind for what was to come. Sure, his father and siblings were all bound by rage, but he found that there was more to his power. Rage was the end, but there was so much more before that point. He intended to take the entire journey.

"Alright! Let's start gearing up, we're on the road in twenty!" Laura's voice rang through the Cabin like an alarm. Everyone responded.

***

Bronte had long since dropped the warmup exercises with his water. The calm before the storm was at it's end.

He shrugged out of his work clothes and slid open his closet door. Inside, dozens of sweatshirts with incinerated hoodies and bullet holes sat on hangers. One hoodie was left intact.

With a sigh he took it off the hangar and got changed into his usual fit. A hoodie beneath a leather jacket, cargo pants and Air Jordan's. He was actively blowing a hole in his paychecks with the continuous purchase of the shoe, but he liked them. It reminded him of home, back when shoes were important and not destined to be blown out of existence by a lightning bolt. They also felt good to run in-- to no one's surprise, there weren't many shoes that could handle a person running upwards of sixty miles per hour.

"Beauty hour's over, dread-head. LETS GO!" Raze yelled from the other side of Bronte's door.

"I'm coming." Bronte said before heading out to the others with Chop.

***

The living room full of books, drawings and blueprints suddenly looked comedic in comparison to everyone else. Laura wore a full leather armored kit comprised of stolen bits of armor and bits she brought along with her. At her hips two holsters held thick desert eagles and her face was covered by a half mask. Everyone else wore similar kinds of gear with small variations.

For some reason Daken was allergic to sleeves and had a samurai sword at his back.

Gabbie wore a pair of snowboarding googles she'd stolen from a ski shop when they first arrived in Canada. And Raze wore a full military guards kit. Perfect for his job as impersonator.

"Everyone knows what they need to do right? Stay on your guard for tech and advanced units. Thermals, tracing rounds, artillery and people with abilities beyond the human norm. Keep an eye open for everything." Laura asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Let's go get some answers. And Bronte--"

"I'm already knowing." Bronte finished for her and slipped on his mask and hood.

Then he gave a goodbye scratch to Chop, and they were gone.

***

There was no more room for conversation. Only the mission. And it led them through the dark snowy forest as a collective blur flanked by Mountain Lions and Wolves. Cars honked and swiveled in a panic as they bulleted across highways and leapt over semis to reach another stretch of forestry.

Despite the small portions of chaos their trek caused, there was a method to their madness. Every car they landed on, every small portion of civilization they blew through was for information. Anything their sharp ears could pick up was important. News, dates, anything that would force their plans to be altered. Just covering their bases.

All was according to the plan and after an hour and a half of sprinting, they reached Department K.

Well, not exactly.

At the front of the group, Laura skidded to a halt, kicking up snow and dirt like a drifting race car. She held up a closed fist to everyone behind her, halting the group, then she took cover behind a tree. Everyone followed suit without hesitation.

Bronte was ready to refer to her in the silence when he found Daken looking at him in the distance. He was pointing from his ears to the sky.

"Listen." He thought before forcefully calming his breaths.

Aside from the wind, there wasn't much aside from a very faint blowing sound. It betrayed the swaying winds, staying as one sound the entire time.

"Machine....Drone." Bronte thought.

Naturally, they'd have eyes in the sky for such a threat as them. Guarding the base from anyone who'd learned it wasn't really out of commission. And how would it see in the dark of night.

"Thermal."

Bronte knew they were waiting on him. So, he acted quickly and slid in his earbuds. Magic required a state of mind. Music induced whatever state of mind one desired..... because music was variety. Just like his abilities.

He wasn't just the storm. He was every piece, and in his three years away, he learned how to call on each one.

The music blaring his ears was fast in tempo and intense in lyrical demeanor. It was overwhelming, in your face and alive. Like a flame. Like heat. A heat that spread through him to the beat of the music.

Pieces of Bronte's leather jacket began to catch fire along with his dreaded braids that flowed as if he were under water. Sparking bright flames danced along the curled coils. The snow around them began to melt and the air vibrated with the heavy change in temperature.

"Just a little more..." He thought as he laid his hand against the tree he hid behind and scorched the bark.

The winds began to grow violent with the abrupt change, and the sound of machinery beeping filled his sharp ears. Followed by a pop.

Gun powder lingered in the air.

He could hear Laura holstering her gun as she stepped back out into the open. They listened for another and found nothing, signaling them to keep moving.

After another mile of travel, Bronte guessed they'd caught a drone running a route and wouldn't run into much more machine surveillance.

His suspicions were right, and their mission continued. The odd unmarked armored car drove down the thick mile long driveway that branched off to every smaller division around the headquarters. But other than that it was radio silence, leading them to splitting up.

Bronte and Daken were left waiting in front of a small weapons lot. A large metal bunker placed over a snowy parking lot. Simple. Discreet. The goal was simple, give Laura and the others enough time to get in before they started the madness.

Bronte hated the waiting game. So did Daken. Perfect way to wake up the rage.

Bronte kept his earbuds in as he watched the bunker. Dead on the outside, assumedly very alive within. Flames still danced on his skin and ate away at his clothing.

Daken suddenly burst up from his crouched position and popped his claws. "On your feet, ragdoll. It's our move."

Bronte got up to his feet, his muscles warmed by the heat around him gave him an added level of flexibility. Along with a something more..... practical.

Bronte popped his claws. They steamed profusely in the cold air and glowed a hot orange.

Daken nodded at him. Nonverbal for "You first."

Bronte was gone in a flash, melting the snowy fields in his wake.

He descended on the metal bunker like a wild animal, using his superheated claws to slash through the walls as if it were made out of paper. Once inside, the sounds of human chatter and mechanical otherworkings was alive in his ears like fireworks..... that was even before the gunfire.

"INTRUDER!!!" The guards yelled in varying ways. Some didn't actually get any words out.

There were at least thirty armed men just on the bottom floor, aside from other specialized personell. With a gust of wind, Bronte was gone, hidden in the shadows of the higher floor before landing on a metal high rise where snipers and other watchmen resided.

"Don't mo--UGH!" The first to notice yelled as he raised his scoped rifle off the railing lining the walkway. Before he could finish, Bronte slashed his gun in half and front kicked him into the two other men on the walkway.

They tumbled over eachother in their bulky gear and long awkward weapons. Bronte took advantage and pounced on them, ripping and slashing through their dark camo gear as bullets whizzed past his face and sunk into his shoulders.

Bullets. So painful... especially when your skin and muscle heals over them.

Bronte roared at the shooters and cut open the walls to let the growing blizzard sweep through the bunkers interior and give him an icy cover.

The guards beneath him were minced meat. He stood up. The constant shower of snow hiding him within as the guards below fired at anything that moved. In his sudden free time, he reached into his pocket and changed the song playing on his phone. Something with a high tempo-- and a heavy bass. Something intense and dark.

A crack of lightning lit the sky outside followed by a quaking rumble of thunder. Bronte's clothing was no longer on fire and it wasn't so hot.

"I've got eyes!" One of the guards yelled, "His.... his hair is glowing?"

Bronte jumped off the high-rise. The shower of bullets returned, ripping him to shreds only for every piece of him to regrow-- reform, mocking the speeds of the lightning that fell with him, headed straight for the building.