Bad Moon on the Rise

"What are they feedin' you kids these days? Air?" The gray haired man spoke casually to the girl, even as he noted just how light she was, though it hardly made draggin' her any easier with the kickin' and the screamin' - or attempt at screamin' goin' on behind the gag, and all. She was 16, maybe 17 - be about his daughter's age, were she with them anymore.

"Now settle down." He growled low, tossing her into a steel chair even as he pulled out a set of cuffs to lock her wrists to the seat's arms with. Beside her sat another youth, this'n a boy, in his mid 20s, his eyes open and vacant as he stared up at the ceiling. A fly landed on his pupil, which had gone gray and empty some days prior, to no reaction, dark stains pooled around his legs. She screamed again.

"I know, darlin' I know. It ain't fair, it ain't right. But that's life, sweetheart. Life isn't fair or right. Its cruel, and mean and the people who don't deserve it get the worst of it." He hunkered down a bit in front of her, eyes fixin' with hers. "Now if I remove this gag, you gonna be nice and quiet? Screamin' really won't do you no good here, other than make'n me mad." She nodded furiously, and he reached forward, pulling away duct tape and a rolled up washrag that had worked to keep her silent.

"I'll do anything, just... just don't hurt me." He heard her whimper softly, and frowned as he saw her spread her legs a bit wider, "ANYTHING." He stood sharply, shaking his head as he turned his back to her, dragging a cart full of tools towards the char. "Don't be gross, girl." he scolded, picking up a saw and examining it in the dim light of the warehouse he'd dragged her into. "I'm a father, for Christ's sake." Her eyes grew wide, angry at first, then hopeful. "Then... then how would you feel if this was happening to your kid?!" He spun on her then, steely blue eyes locking with her own Amber, ones, face turning down in a growing scowl.

"Sweetheart, this is happening because of my daughter." He could see the blossom of recognition in her eyes at the comment. "I didn't do anything to her!" He shook his head, "No you didn't." He took a step toward her, saw still clutched in one hand. "But your kind sure did." He watched her expression turn sour, angry. "You're just a bigot." She spat, and he couldn't help but smile at the resolve even in the face of what she had to realize was her death. "Maybe, but here's what I know, girl. If it weren't for mutants, like yourself." He motioned at her, looking over her dark gray skin, "My family would still be here." He bent down to look her in the face, "Now, I took your gag out to give you an opportunity for a last word, if'n you want it."

She glared at him, then sneered. "You can't do this." He just sighed, shaking his head and standing back up, pressing the saw to the edge of her neck, "Sweetheart - that's what everyone of you says." She growled, and spoke louder, "NO! I mean you CAN'T. My skin is like iron, you won't even be able t" She was cut off mid word by her own scream as he gave one pull of the saw, sharp blades digging into flesh and slicing, tearing meat as the first splashes of blood stained her shoulder, her expression fading to one of horror and shock.

"That's what you all say." He repeated grimly, "You shouldn't be able to see me, I'm invisible." He mocked a boy's voice, "Why can't I shrink and get out of this chair?" an older man's voice, "Why won't you do what I tell you to? Why can't I read your mind?" A young girl's voice. He looked down at her, pulling the saw away from her neck and letting drops of crimson hit the concrete floor as he looked down at her, fear frozen on her face, the light playing off his own, and casting it in shadow - silhouetting him against the overhead lamps. "W...what are y...you?" she rasped out brokenly.

"I'm a father." he repeated, "And if it makes you feel any better, darlin'. I'm just sendin' you and the rest of these... " He motioned at the 3 or 4 additional bodies handcuffed to chairs that had come before her "on ahead of me. When you get to Hell, you tell 'em I'm comin'. Make sure they save a spot with the rest of the muties for me. Now..." He brought the gag he had removed back up, forcing it into her mouth and reapplying the duct tape even as her struggles began anew. "Lets get started on that message, sweetheart." She screamed.

Virginia Hayes sat back in the sun drenched booth she was occupying, shading her eyes against the uncomfortable glare shining in the window. New Mexico wasn't winning her over, and it looked like her next stop was going to be Oklahoma. The flyover states were low on her list of vacant spots, but of course this was business, not pleasure. She squinted out the window at her motorcycle, it's saddlebags packed full, and turned to face the sound of her waitress returning.

"More coffee?" The girl proffered the coffee pot, fresh brewed, and Virginia shook her head.

"No, thank you." She paused, and added, "Maybe just the check?"

"Sure thing."

Virginia watched her go, and rubbed her temples. A headache was building, like it usually did when she hadn't let Ginny out for a while. This was too important to trust to a fake personality, no matter what Major Mckenzie thought. Perhaps the implanted personality would simply disintegrate if it wasn't used? She hoped so - sharing a body with, for all intents and purposes, another person was unsettling at best.

She'd been tracking a mutant killer from Ridgefield, California. A killer of mutants, that was, though some of the authorities involved speculated he must be a mutant himself, because of the nature of the crimes. Mutants with indestructible skin cut up, no, that wasn't something any run of the mill serial killer could accomplish, even if he planned ahead. The MO was close enough to that of the cyborg Zero that she had picked up the trail. There had been two bodies in Ridgefield. Then three bodies in Winslow, Arizona four days later. Here in Gallup, New Mexico, there was just the one, and it looked like she was the only one so far who'd connected it to the others.

Virginia fished out her credit card and handed it to the waitress when she came back. There had been a rash of murders up in Clinton, Oklahoma. Two victims were confirmed mutants, and that was enough to make it her next destination.

He put his hand over his head, blocking the sun from view. The truck had ran out of gas about a mile outside of El Reno, just west of Oklahoma City, and he rather hated walkin' through the heat of mid-day. Thankfully he could already see a gas station on the horizon, with a diner to boot. Perfect time to grab some lunch and fuel. A short walk later he found himself entering the building, an almost archaic thing clearly built in the 50s and never intended to last, the door chimed from a small silver bell as he walked in, a waitress scrambling behind the counter of the diner as a fan rotated back and forth to cool the small room. No A/C, it would seem.

He sat himself down a spell at the countertop and looked across it, over the other patrons. Locals, travelers, one man at the back who - based on his hat - may have been the sheriff. It took a few minutes before the girl, pretty little thing about 30 could finally make her way over to him, trying to effect a smile despite her stress. "Everyhin' alright, darlin'?" He asked concerned, and watched her shoulders slump, face knotting as if wanting to say something and knowing she shouldn't. "Just... a busy day, hon. And to warn ya', our cook quit, so I don't have a whole lot made right now."

Now that was interestin', he had may $20, $30 left to him right now. His last stop hadn't netted much to keep goin' on. All the muties had, had in their wallets. Never use the credit cards, neither. Those you made sure to burn up with any evidence you could gather. He doubted the authorities cared all too much for some dead mutants, but no need to risk it, just in case. He scratched his stubble and considered. "You need a hand for the day? I've got a bit of experience, and could frankly do for a little extra cash before I run on out of here. I need to pick up some gas for my truck, it ran down about a mile back." He motioned down the highway. Her eyes went wide, and a smile broke across her face. "Normally I wouldn't say yes, especially to someone I don't know, but I am in a real bind - so... if it's not too much to ask?"

His smile broke wide and bright across his face and he stood, coming back around behind the counter, "No problem at all darlin'. Gas or electric? You know, nevermin' I'll figure it out." He headed into the kitchen, grabbing the previous cook's apron he had thrown on the counter as he'd stormed out and throwing it on. "You just call back what you need, and I'll get you sorted."

It had taken a few hours to get into the swing of things, but once they'd come back to him, he'd worked like he'd never left a kitchen in his life - he watched the last patron leave - and Missy, as he'd come to learn her name, lock up the front before coming back to the kitchen, where he was cleaning dishes. "Mister, I owe you big, real big." She smiled. He nodded and wiped his hands, "A good days pay is all I need, dalin'. And enough gas to get my old beater runnin' again." She nodded, fishing through the tips stuffed into her apron before pulling out 3 $20s and a $5. "I hope this is alright, we don't make a whole lot, but" He cut her off with a raised hand. "It'll do just fine, I reckon."

He'd gotten his pay, and gathered up a small canister of gasoline to get him on his way, headin' out the back of the diner so Missy could lock up. Outside he was greeted by a younger hispanic man, a scowl on his face. "Man, I was trying to make a point, you frikken' scab." He took a step towards the gray-haired man, alone behind the diner as Missy had gone out the front. "Were ya now? A man doesn't make a point by abandon'n his post, and leavin' others to worry over the day."

The boy took a step forward, glaring "Hey! FUCK you man! I'll make a point to YOU then!" He outstretched his hands, and looked shocked a moment later, clearly expecting something to have happened. Abraham smiled, wide, dark and pleasant. "Well, I hadn't planned on this - but sometimes things just work out, son. You mind deliverin' a message for me?" The man stepped forward, picking up bit of iron pipe as he did. The boy screamed.

The parking lot was empty. Then it suddenly wasn't - a quiet expulsion of air as matter filled the space, and a shiny Harley and a red headed woman appeared. She was standing next to the motorcycle, both hands on it, and once she was sure it wasn't going to fall down she looked around. Virginia pulled her leather jacket's collar up against the wind, brown leaves scattering across the asphalt by her feet.

She straddled the Harley, revved it up, and rode out onto the street, heading for the police department. Or sheriff's office, she amended mentally, as she parked the bike by the curb outside. Virginia made sure her Vanguard ID was in her jacket pocket, secured her helmet on the back of the Harley, and walked into the building.

"Can I help you?" queried the receptionist, and Virginia smiled.

"Yes, I wanted to speak to the person in charge of the..." her eyes tracked to the newspaper behind the counter on the girl's desk. "The Mutant Killer?" She raised her eyebrow as she showed her ID. "Who comes up with these names?"

"Oh, you know, the media," the receptionist said, shrugging. "The FBI is calling him the I-40 Killer. Let me get the sheriff for you Sergeant Hayes." She picked up her phone, and spoke quietly for a few minutes. Once she hung up, the sheriff was already striding out of his office, straightening his uniform.

"Didn't expect Vanguard to show," he said, shaking Virginia's hand. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised, we've got the FBI sending a team out. Frankly I could use the help. We don't see much of this sort of thing around here in Clinton."

"I'm glad to be of assistance, Sheriff ...Buckley? Sergeant Virginia Hayes." She smiled tightly. "I would love to look over your files on the murders, if that's all right?"

"Certainly, certainly," he said. "You can call me Jim." He paused, as if waiting for her to reciprocate on the first name basis idea, but she just nodded. "Right, okay, so follow me. Daniels, get me the I-40 Killer files. You can use this desk, if you like?" He led her toward the back of the room, to an empty desk. "For as long as you want. I just... share anything you find with us?" He wiped his damp hands on the side of his pants. "The families are distraught."

"If I find anything, of course." Virginia forced a warmer smile out, and the sheriff exhaled with relief, turning and nearly bumping into deputy Daniels who was laden with a file box. They awkwardly bobbed around, trying to get past each other and finally managing it. Virginia accepted the box and dismissed the deputy, focusing on her work.

Five victims. Two of them had their wrists slit, both male, though one was in his twenties and the other his forties. A pair of teens, male, fourteen, female, twelve, had been asphyxiated with garbage bags wrapped around their heads and taped down. A sixteen year old girl, who had been discovered just that morning, had a saw taken to her neck - which was an impossibility as the girl had iron skin. Virginia didn't envy the coroner trying to do an autopsy on that corpse. Forty year old man had enlarged eyes, and his wife had testified he had the ability to shrink at will. The youngest, the twelve year old, hadn't been a confirmed mutant but the autopsy had revealed the x-gene was present, as it was in all the victims.

It was all similar to the other murders - mutants being killed who theoretically should have been able to fight back, disappear, or their mutations made them invulnerable in some way (at least to the method by which they were killed). Virginia flipped back to the most recent victim, and found herself staring at the picture: her black hair fanned out on the dirt, the throat raggedly cut, most likely by a hand saw, amber eyes blank and staring in her grey face. She felt transfixed.

Get it together, Hayes. The girl had a minor resemblance to the Connors girl that Ginny was so fond of. Virginia turned the picture over and continued reading.

There'd been enough money left over after gettin' into OK-City, which so far seemed to be a fairly okay city - Marie woulda loved the little word play - to get a low end hotel in the commercial district. The building hadn't been updated since the 70s, if he wagered a guess, hallways covered in tacky brown wood panelling, and smelling entirely too much of orange cleaner. He presumed to cover other smells and odors what may permeate the building if the scent of cleaner wasn't strong enough to gag a man. He wasn't about to get much sleep though, as every 30 minutes or so, like a commode grandfather clock the fill tank in the toilet would let out a low, long howl - screaming, as it were, loud enough to wake him back up. Bad valve, he reckoned.

So instead he lay on the far too uncomfortable bed, and flipped through the local channels, finally settlin' on the news.

Shock today as residents in Clinton, Oklahoma cope with the discovery of a mass grave just outside of town. The victims, all of whom have been confirmed to have carried the X-Gene, are believed to be the latest in a rash of homicides being attributed to the work of "The Mutant Killer"

A flashy graphic of a shadowy figure overlaid against an X-Gene with its own font appeared in the corner near the Anchor's head, causing Abraham to all but chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. Whatever happened to just presentin' the news without having to make a damn spectacle of it?

Police are urging caution to residents along the I-40, particular those with the X-Gene to report any suspicious activity to the local authorities. In a prepared statement from Vanguard they have asked all mutant citizens to//

He frowned, muting the TV and staring at the Vanguard logo that had appeared as they read off whatever inane dribble had been given. Where was Vanguard when good, honest, normal folk needed them? Where had they been when his own wife and child were brutally murdered by those thugs that thought havin' power meant you could take from anyone you wanted? Nowhere. But now that he was goin' about providing a service to the people of this fine country by clippin' the poisonous fruit 'fore it could bare any more of its kind they were all up in arms. He turned off the TV, anger flaring in him as he sat up in bed.

I-40, eh? Well time for a change in direction, is what that meant. Yessir, time for a change in direction. He glanced to the dresser, and the magazine that lay out upon it, pages turned to an article on an upper New York School for the so-called gifted. Time to head north.

"Just had a body drop in El Reno," said the voice in her ear, and Virginia nodded, ostensibly smiling at the trio of FBI agents across the table from her.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, pushing back from the conference table and leaving the room and the murderboard with smiling pictures of the victims pinned to it. Virginia kept her folder of copies under her arm, and slipped into the ladies room. Normally she would share information with the civilian authorities, but in this case, when it was probably Zero on a tear across the country, it was better she get there first.

Not that that was in any doubt. She 'ported to the parking lot, touched her bike, and disappeared in a quickly disapating burst of purplish 'smoke.'

She found herself in a bright and multicolored place, mists covering the landscape and shapes moving in the distance as the ground shifted like floating leaves. It was thankfully empty of creatures, at least in her immediate vicinity, and Virginia closed her eyes, concentrating on her destination. She was everywhere and nowhere, and El Reno, OK was just a step to the left.

Her eyes popped open as she felt Someone staring at her, and she quickly 'ported, leaving the Astral Plane and landing on an empty road.

Missy, had spent most of her day answering questions about the awful scene that she'd arrived to that morning. Alex, for all his trouble, had not deserved what had happened to him, his body beaten to such a degree that it was nearly unrecognizable. The murder weapon, a pipe that had been by the back door ever since repairs on the water line last spring. She'd always meant to gather it, and any of the other bits and ends that were in the alley up and clear them away - but had never gotten around to it. She couldn't help but blame herself for this. Still it made little sense, he'd never hurt anyone - save for his insistence on storming out on her the day before, or his fool-headed demand that she quiet the customers. So Sheriff Ted and ole' Mike were a bit bigoted, it was their right wasn't it?

She'd decided against opening up for the day, instead sitting in a booth and sighing, reading the headline that screamed outrage at the death of one of the town's own. She sipped a cup of coffee and put her head against her palm, trying not to cry, and failing for the third time today.

The door to the diner must not have been locked, because a polite cough came from behind the crying woman. She looked up, startled, and Virginia put out a hand to calm her. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I was told -" She stopped and reached into her inner jacket pocket, holding her Vanguard credentials out for the woman to examine. "I have a few questions for you, about your employee who was murdered."

She blinked a few times, wiping away tears and trying to compose herself, in light of suddenly being a spectacle. "Of... of course. Anything I can do, or say to be of help. Alex was... well he wasn't always the best person, but he didn't deserve that."

She brought her hand up again, forcing back the tears and clearing her vision more - even as the thought of Alex, of finding him that way tried to bring fresh tears to her eyes.

"Thank you." Virginia sat across from her. "Did anything... unusual happen that day? I understand that Alex was supposed to be working but he left mid-shift."

"Well... yes, Alex started the shift just fine until the sheriff and some of the locals came around. They got to talking, you know how it goes. Small town folks know each other, meet for coffee and breakfast, talk about a little bit of everything. And got on the subject of..." She got a bit quieter, suddenly very self-conscious with the Vanguard official across from her, she cleared her throat a bit. "Mutants. Well, he didn't care for the tone of the conversation, and told me to stop them. I'm not about to run out our most frequent customers because they want to talk politics, it isn't how I run the place. He stormed out, told me I could handle it myself. Which, I did for a while, until we started getting more and more of a rush. It was a bad day. If it hadn't been for Abraham, I don't know how I would have handled the day, honestly. Man was a lifesaver."

She shook her head a bit.

"After that I really didn't think much of Alex, was busy keeping the place running. Then I came in today and... found him in the back alley the way he was. I really don't know where he'd been all day after he left, or who he was dealing with. I mean the news is kinda going around about... well... you know." she motioned towards Virginia a bit, "What he was? We had no idea. I mean, it makes sense NOW, but... we had no idea."

Virginia nodded sympathetically. "You say the ones 'talking politics' included the sheriff? I'd like to talk to Abraham as well; was he scheduled to work or did you call him in to cover for Alex?"

She finished drying her eyes, that talk of the man who had saved her entire day cheering her from the sadness of Alex death.

"Oh no, he was a customer - not even a local. I didn't have a backup cook once Alex left, but he saw I needed help and immediately jumped to my aid, a true gentleman. He worked all day in the diner from lunch to close. I'm not sure where he'd be staying, or if he's even still in town. I haven't seen him since."

"Mmhm," she murmured, making a note. Virginia looked up at the clearly still traumatized woman, and tried to smile reassuringly. "Was there anyone else at the diner that day that you didn't recognize? Non-locals? Perhaps present during Alex's loud exit?"

She considered, trying to remember everything that had happened through that day. "Perhaps a few, we always get some out of towners, being on the highway and all - but when Alex left it was still early enough it was all local folk. The Sheriff, Bob from down at the hardware store, Mr. Royce from the bank. I think Betty Johanson had just come in for a cup of coffee, she works at the library."

She shook her head with a sigh. "I'm sorry I'm not being more helpful, it's... been a very trying few days." She stood and went to refill her cup of coffee, holding up the pot in offering to the woman. "Oh, I did say I didn't know where Abraham might be, if you think he might know something... though I can't imagine what. I suppose he might have noticed something I didn't, but maybe you can get a hold of him through his family? He mentioned, oh gosh... I'm trying to remember where he said they were from, somewhere out west. Ridgeville? Ridgetown... goodness, what was it?"

"Ridgefield?" Virginia waved off the coffee, suddenly alert. "Are you expecting him to come back today?"

She blinked a bit at the word as it was said, rolling it around her head just a bit. "Yeah... I think that was it. Ridgefield. Out in California, or therebouts." She returned the decanter to the burner of the coffee maker and sat back down with her newly refreshed cup.

"He didn't say anythin' about comin' back, I fear - and with the news all alight about what happened here I wouldn't expect him, or much of anyone else for a while." She sighed and looked at the woman a bit more carefully, almost searching her face for something. "I really hope you aren't thinkin', what I think you're thinkin'. I just don't see anyway a man that sweet could be involved in this business."

"Well, you never know what details others might remember that could be relevant." Virginia smiled. "I imagine the sheriff has already questioned you about this Abraham?" If there was a sketch artist already with a likeness worked up she needed to get her hands on it.

If there wasn't, well, small town sheriffs could be pretty incompetent. "Can you describe him?"

She shook her head with a heavy sigh. "'Fraid not. Sheriff Ted's had his hands full with calls about the whole thing. I promised I'd give him a better report as soon as things settled down, but ma'am - we ain't never experienced anything like this before."

She took a sip and looked back at the woman across the table from her, hands swirling the cup slightly, watching the ripples it made, cream and sugar mixing slightly as it stirred.

"He was a tall man, 6 foot and and an inch or two. Gray hair, goatee, probably in his 60s. But I'm not the best judge of age, really. He had really strong eyes." She took another sip, thinking about that. "He locked you with them and it almost felt like you couldn't breath. I think they were blue. Real steely though." She shook her head a bit, thinking. "I'm probably not givin' you much, I'm sorry. I don't really look at people to try and remember 'em. I see so many people in here day in day out. So many faces even the one's you know start to bleed together."