CHAPTER 140 — THE LANDING AT MUIR
The Blackbird sliced through the Scottish clouds like a blade. Storm sat at the controls, steady hands guiding the jet down through the fog. Rain hammered the wings, the horizon smudged grey against darker grey.
"Ye gods, I never thought I'd see this place again," Banshee muttered, leaning forward in his seat. His eyes were fixed on the shadowy outline of Muir Island. "Looks like it hasn't changed a bit. Miserable weather an' all."
"Focus, Banshee," Cyclops said, voice flat but tight. "We're not here sightseeing."
Thunderbird snorted, arms folded across his chest. "Urgent or not, it's just another job. If this island's crawling with trouble, all the better."
"You'll get your fight, John," Logan growled, popping a cigar stub from his jacket and rolling it between his teeth unlit. "Don't rush it. Place reeks already."
Nightcrawler tilted his head, tail curling idly. "Reeks? We're still sealed in the jet, mein freund."
"Don't need the window open to smell rot." Logan's nostrils flared, pupils narrowing to slits. "Salt, metal, blood. Something's off."
Colossus said nothing, hands folded politely on his lap, his quiet bulk taking up half the row. His gaze drifted to Storm as she brought the Blackbird down onto the makeshift runway, wind howling against her command.
"Touching down," she said. Her voice was calm, musical—but her brow was drawn. The weather outside mirrored her unease.
The Blackbird landed with a shudder. Hydraulic hiss, steel creak, then stillness. The X-Men unbuckled in silence, each moving with the instinct of soldiers who had done this dance too many times.
The hatch lowered. Cold sea wind rushed in, biting and wet. Mist clung to their uniforms, and the cry of distant gulls broke the silence.
Logan stepped out first, claws unsheathed with a snikt just to test the air. He crouched, sniffed. "Yeah. Death's been here."
"Wonderful," Banshee muttered, pulling his collar tighter.
Cyclops emerged last, visor gleaming red in the gloom. "All right. Eyes sharp. Stay close." His voice carried command, but even he felt the weight of the place.
The group crossed the damp stone yard to the lab entrance. The doors hung slightly ajar, a sickly fluorescent light flickering inside.
"Not exactly a warm welcome," Nightcrawler said, forcing a smile as his yellow eyes darted around. "Do you think they left the lights on for us, or—"
"Quiet," Logan cut in. His claws retracted with a soft click. He pushed the door open. The smell hit him harder now. Copper. Burnt ozone. Decay masked with antiseptic. His lip curled.
They stepped into the lab. The air was colder inside, the hum of machinery low, oppressive. A monitor buzzed faintly, left running. Papers scattered across the floor, a chair overturned.
Then Colossus froze. "Bozhe moi…"
Against the wall, beneath a half-broken lamp, Polaris lay unconscious on the tiles. Her hair spilled green across the floor like ivy. Her chest rose faintly. Alive. But next to her—
A corpse. Withered, desiccated, skin pulled tight against bone like parchment. Eyes sunken to black pits, mouth stretched in a silent scream.
Storm's hand flew to her mouth. "By the Goddess…"
Banshee swore under his breath, crossing himself before kneeling beside Polaris. He checked her pulse. "Alive. Weak, but alive. Poor lass."
"Forget the pleasantries." Logan crouched over the corpse, sniffing. He grimaced. "Not natural. This body ain't just dead—it's been drained. Hollowed. Whatever did this… it's still around."
Nightcrawler's usual humor slipped. "Mein Gott. It is like something sucked the very life from him."
"Enough gawking." Cyclops's voice cracked like a whip. "Fan out. Search every corridor, every lab. We find survivors, we find answers."
Thunderbird cracked his knuckles, eager. "Finally."
Colossus gave a grave nod. "Da. Let us find who is responsible."
Logan lingered a moment by the corpse, eyes narrowing. 'Smells like fear and ash. Whoever did this… they didn't just kill. They feasted.'
He stood, flexed his claws with a snikt, and followed the others deeper into the shadowed halls of Muir.
The hunt had begun.