Fun With Frankie

The male screamed as she fell upon it, savaging the body and ripping out his throat which caused the cry to change into nothing more than a gurgle. She sensed the cub act with her, though she went for the Red Mane. She would have looked up and checked on them, but for the sudden burning sensation on her side. She yowled in pain and glared at the fallen male’s hand. He had no claws nor fangs to inflict such injury, only that small, black rock or stick which smelled sharply of something bad. Yet it somehow managed to hurt her. With one final sweep of her claws, she gutted the man from navel to neck.

The pain was she felt was sharp and intense. Looking at her side, she saw the gash made by the bullet as it grazed her in its flight. Putting a hand to it only made things worse, bringing tears to her eyes as she crawled off the body, along with the definite realization that she had been shot which brought the world back into horrifying clarity.

Barbara gasped sharply for air, as if waking from a dream. She felt as if she had blacked out for a few minutes, for she was not where she had last remembered being. She had been talking with Frankie, having only just walked towards him after having set her rifle against a rock, and now here she was laying on the ground, breathing shallow from a gunshot wound. “You let him have a gun?! I thought you searched him, Artie!” she yelled out, knowing full well the little imp was probably still watching from where ever he was tucked safe away. That’s when she became aware of two things; one, the sound of Artie cussing up a storm storm behind her, and two, the feeling of something brushing her legs while also being connected to her backside.

They say that when you’re in shock or dazed from something unexpected, you fail to notice the obvious. That was quite the case for Barbara Ann Minerva. It took her a few moments, but eventually she observed that her clothing was in tatters, she had claws, and was covered in both fur and blood. Whipping around, she cringed in pain, but managed to see the long feline tail that was, unbelievably, hers. Mouth agape in shock, her tongue absentmindedly felt her lengthened canines and well as the distinct flavor of blood and bits of viscera still there. Her eyes then trailed to the two bodies: one at a distance and the other quite near and obviously ravaged by an animal. Had she done that? That discovery sent her scrambling, ignoring any and all pain, until she was pressed hard against a rock, trembling and confused by what had transpired during her apparent blackout.

Artie had continued thrashing, paying little mind to Laura's cut off words since his own were flying in all directions. 
"I didn't LET him have it, he took it off Frankie's miserable corpse!" he shouted to Barbara before he tried to heave Laura off of him, "You've got to get a GRIP, Barbara! We'll figure this out togeth-LAURA GET OFF, I HAVE TO.....have...."
He stopped as he looked at his hand, covered in fresh blood. He didn't feel her breathing. He didn't feel her do...anything. 
"....Laura?" he said in a small voice as he squirmed out from under her, his eyes wide with fear, the malice in them long gone. He turned the girl's body over and saw her gaping, bleeding bullet wound to the back of her skull. He gasped and shivered from the shock of it. She had taken bullets for him before but...could she die?
"No no no....no, shh, shh it's o-okay..." he said as he cradled his daughter's head in his arms, emotion welling up and getting stuck in his throat, trying to brush the hair out of her face, "You're okay....you're all right.....Laura..." 
It was that emotion he had long ago locked away. That feeling when he killed his Locke that night. He was a puppeteer of death's scythe, and sometimes...somehow...one of his fingers would slip on the strings and the scythe would come for him. Or those he loved. He did this. He killed her. If he hadn't been so careless, let Francis take that gun...
"Shhhhh....y-you're okay..." he choked out as he rocked back and forth, holding his little girl. 
Tears came from his eyes, one set trickling down his exposed muscles of his face. The salt of them stung but he didn't care. He looked over to Barbara and tried to say something but he couldn't quite make out the words properly and gave way to a long, single shout, a moan that tore at his throat as he did it. 
"LAURA!" he shouted as he kissed her forehead, his trousers where he held her head now soaked in her blood, "You can't go...! You can't....B-Barbara?" 
He looked over at the cat woman, he didn't know what to do, what to say, how to cope, where to go. 
What to do. What to do. 
What could he do? He couldn't leave her, not his Laura. Not his little girl. But what else was there to do? He shakily stood, without use of his cane and moved slowly over to Barbara, pointing back at Laura's body. 
"Barbara, she-she can't...she...." he stammered as he reached out and held Barbara's arms, "Will you....would...." 
He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything. 
Nothing but crumple onto his knees in front of Barbara. 

He was nothing but a sobbing mess. He couldn't stop. Artie never liked to appear weak, but in this moment he was. He was a shell. A hollow shell. He was full of tears, but nothing more. It was all he could feel anymore. 
"She...she left me...why did she...I told her not to..." he cried, clutching at Barbara, oblivious to the worries of her own predicament in this tide of emotion.
All sorrow. All fear. All guilt. Each feeling mixed in and overtaking the other in rapid succession.
No.....he was not full of only those...but full of....rage. It built inside of him like a swelling volcano set to burst. He stopped shaking. He looked up at Barbara as the tears stained his face, but his eyes had blocked the sadness away again for the moment. His pupils had dilated. He was fixed on only one thing. 
With a cry of the purest hatred he had ever yet felt in his entire life, Artie stumbled away from Barbara, limping and half crawling in search of anything nearby. 
His eyes settled on his tin mask. He grasped it and dove onto Francis' mangled body. 
With the smoothed underside that usually covered the top of his missing lip, he stabbed into and severed the jaw tendons on the man's body with successive blows. 
"YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME!" he raged, "YOU. DON'T. GET. TO DIE. YET. YOU COME BACK, YOU LITTLE RAT, THE DEVIL DOESN'T HAVE THE MIND FOR WHAT I'LL DO TO YOU!"
He bashed the mask more and more into the lifeless corpse of Francis, digging in and mashing the face into a bloody pulp, blood spraying all over Artie's clothes and face. But he didn't care. Nobody would recognize this body. Nobody. 
"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GET OUT OF IT?! HUH?!" he foamed, "YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE MY LITTLE GIRL FROM ME?!" 
His rage caused him to spit as he spoke, bashing the tin mask into Francis' head into it bent into an unrecognizable shape. He then tossed it aside in a fit of anger and pried the rigor mortis-clamped fingers off of the pistol Frankie had, holding it up and checking the chamber. 
His rage subsided. It gave way to acceptance. 
Laura was dead. His daughter. The only good thing he had done in this life. Saving her. 
He looked at Barbara, despair setting in on his face once again as he put the barrel into his mouth. He gave her a slight nod. 

Artie's face contorted in anger at having been prevented from doing the deed. He snarled at Barbara and thrashed in her grip momentarily before his eyes welled up again as he caught Laura's body in his peripheral vision. He went limp in Barbara's grip. He couldn't look at either of them. 
"It just..." he said as he held Barbara's arm softly, "It hurts so much. She always protected me...and I tried to protect her from...them....and I brought you both here...and n-now look at you. Look at you both....does everything I love have to die, Barbara?" 
He was shaking again and looked into the woman's eyes. He had yet to fully take in her predicament. But it all hurt so much right now. Losing Laura. Being betrayed. And now the woman he loved looked like this. He looked at her like he always had. She was not repulsive. Was it different? Of course it was. But she was Barbara. And he loved her. And she was all he had in the world anymore. The thought scraped in his brain that he may not even have that anymore soon, given how the day had been.
"Will you stay?" he asked in that small voice again, rubbing her forearm gently, "I don't want her...us...to be all alone." 
He reached out and gently caressed her cheek, looking deeper into her now fully cat-like eyes. 
"Barbara..." he said as he stifled a sob, "I don't...know what to do this time." 

The girl was six years old and screaming.

Her small arms thrashed frantically against the binds that held her down to the metal surface, the skin of her wrists tearing and bleeding terribly at every pull and yank she tried in an attempt to free herself. The pain she was causing herself was nothing, it did not even register in the Girls mind as radiation burned her from the inside out. The girl wanted to die. she wanted this to stop.

just when she was certain she was about to black out, and that the suffering would stop, she felt the impossible. the skin on her arms was tickling and itching as she felt it knot itself back together. and then came the worst pain of all as new muscles, new bones veins and body mass grew itself inside of her. Bone spikes emerged as the girl stared in terrified confusion at what she was seeing.

The girl was seventeen, she had been named Laura a long time ago. The screaming was all around her, but she felt a calmness. a focus.

"LAURA! there's no bloody time! can't you hear the fuckin' sirens?!"

"Silence. i am working."

"for the love of- THE PRICK SHOT YA! WHY ARE WE ALL RISKIN' OUR NECKS SO YOU CAN PLAY DOCTOR!"

"you do not have to be here. Take the merchandise back to Artie and tell him i shall be late home."

"you think i'm stupid enough to be willin' to tell him i left his little girl behind?"

"If i tell the police i was a civilian that walked in and tried to help, they will believe it. They do not register a teenage girl as a threat. i will not be held or considered a suspect. Artie knows this. Go. you are distracting me."

"You're fuckin' creepy kid. you know that right?"

"I am aware. you are still here."

"heh. Okay. you better come back in one piece, you hear me?"

"i hear you. I hope you return safe as well."

"huh. I. yeah thanks."

The girl was twelve. she had been named Laura only seconds ago. She wanted to scream, but knew if she started she would never stop.

"M-mother?" The girl knelt in snow that had been warmed by the mixing of fresh blood. "Please. i do not know what to do." it was stupid. The woman was dead, with two slashing wounds across her chest. Talking to her was a waste of time but she could not bring herself to move.

"what... What is my mission?"

Her Mother had told her she was free. The girl (Laura. her name was Laura now.) did not understand what that meant. If she did not have a mission what was the point of her? what was she supposed to do now? or tomorrow? the infinity of options and possibilities A girl named Laura could take entered her mind, and with no experience in choosing for herself it over whelmed her. Personal choice was a sand storm she was expected to stare into and decide which grain of sand was her favourite.

Slowly, the girl laid herself down next to the body of the woman she'd murdered and hugged herself close to it as she tried to think. She tried and failed. after a time had passed, the girl concluded she did not know what to do other then that she could not stay here. she stood. took a last look at the body in the snow, turned and started walking towards the east. there was nothing in that direction that interested her, it was simply the direction she had been looking when she decided to leave. So she started walking.

The girl was ten. her designation was X-23. the screams had faded but were all she could think about.

the mission had been to kill the man, and all witnesses. she had done so. flawlessly. she had been told she had done well.

Yet she felt like she had failed.

the little boy had entered the room ten seconds earlier then X-23 had anticipated, he had looked at the blood and bodies like he had never seen anything like this before and it had confused X-23. he had screamed in terror and grief that X-23 also did not understand.

The mission had said no witnesses.

now here she was, back in her cell. she could not stop thinking about the mission. she could not stop feeling like she had failed when she knew she had not. Methodically, the ten year old unsheathed one of her claws and began to carve an X into her left forearm. she watched the wound heal up. then she cut herself again. Cut. heal. cut. heal.

she sat there, waiting for the confusion to stop. whenever Weapon X had a problem, they would use her and her claws to solve it. Therefor X-23's problem with herself could be solved by cutting herself. it all seemed perfectly rational.

Her mother disagreed. When she entered the cell, she grabbed X-23 with horror and seemed angry. X-23 flinched back, expecting punishment for whatever she had done wrong, that never came. Looking at her Mother the girl found the woman looking at her with that expression X-23 occasionally caught. one of pain and upset that X-23 could not understand. once she had apologised forhowever she may have caused upset.

Her mother had left the room for an hour. when she returned her eyes were strange and red but X-23 had not mentioned it.

The girl was twelve. For the first time when someone asked her name, she answered "Laura." she expected him to scream from what she'd done to his face but he never did.

"you need it more then me. you are wounded."

He seemed to find that funny. the red headed man found a lot of things funny. He ignored her and draped his coat over her anyway. She was glad he had.

Throughout the rest of that day, and the considerable time it took the pair to get back to New York, she found herself thinking that a lot. "she was glad he had done that." it kept cropping up. it was nice.

The girl was sixteen. Her name was Laura Cade. she knew saying yes to Artie's request would lead to people screaming.

she said yes anyway. because she loved her Father. because she knew she could say no and he would accept it. and because she wanted him to be happy.

The people screamed and bled and died when she went out and met them.

Laura told herself it was okay. it was acceptable. when she slept that night she dreamed about a twelve year old in the snow.

The girl was nineteen. the girl was Laura Kinney. she was Laura Cade. She was X-23. She was a small child with no need of a name.

She could picture so much of what was and had been. but she saw only two "could be's" ahead of her.

The girl could be twenty, dressed in all black. She could use red glass to make a mask that would give the illusion her eyes glowed red in the night. She could go out and hurt people every night and some day she could place Fisks head on her Fathers desk. And she could be happy. it'd be easy. she would not have to do anything new or different.

But

the girl could be twenty, and for reasons she did not understand she could be dressed in a bizarre outfit coloured yellow and blue. and like she had that one single moment when she was seventeen, she could try to help for no other reason then she wanted to. even if that person had hurt her. even if it put her at risk.

And then maybe she could make the screaming stop.

Laura opened her eyes and found herself on an island, covered in her own blood. everything hurt. Laura was not accustomed to pain lasting, but returning her to life took a lot out of her healing factor and for a while she would be sore and in pain and her own standard of fragile. And alive. which made it all worth it.

Slowly, her limbs shrieking protest at her every second of the way, Laura picked herself up and staggered over to a tree. she half leaned and half collapsed against it and waited for her breathing to return to normal. Her thoughts were fuzzy and as she slowly turned her head to take in her surroundings she noticed Artie and (Laura had a minor freak-out before her brain remembered that cat creature was Barbara.) they were both crying and both staring at her in shock.

Laura weakly raised a hand and waved to them both.

"Father, I apologise." she said immediately, the words flowing out of her in a tidal wave of trying to fix this. "i should have told you i can come back to life. i did not wish to worry you knowing i have died in the past and i do not know the limits so i could not in good faith give you false hope if something is to kill me which i can not in fact heal back from." she was rambling and she knew it. "i am sorry. please do not cry."

Barbara’s eyes began to water as Artie tried his best to comfort her. Normally she was not one to cry, but this was extraordinary circumstances. Even so, she didn’t want him to see her cry so she looked away, trying to keep that damned British stereotype of a stiff upper lip. A nearby rustling drew her gaze back, thinking it was some scavenger attracted by the smells. That was the last thing they needed. Let the animals chew on Francis and Frank, but she wouldn’t let them have Laura.

And apparently Laura wasn’t going to let the animals have Laura either.

Her body moved. Her body stood. Her body waved and it spoke. Barbara could only stare at it. Her. She had taken a bullet to the head. She should have been dead. In disbelief, Barbara looked down at her own side, thinking that perhaps Artie had stumbled upon a magically insane island where logic didn’t apply. Alas though, her side was still seeping blood, so it was not due to where they were that brought Laura back. Artie must have seen the same thing for he was out of her grasp and pulling her towards the once dead girl. When Artie fell and crawled the last few feet to hold his daughter, Barbara just stood there, mind still trying to peace this all together.

She had heard of people surviving severe trauma to the head; lances, steel rods, even cases of trying to intentionally end their own lives with a handgun. But this was entirely different. The girl had had a hole in her forehead, Barbara had seen it. Now it was gone. The only indication that she had suffered any injury was due the the trickle of blood where the hole had been. The injury itself was no more. What the hell had happened? At Artie’s beckoning, she approached them both. The urge to touch, to examine her for any sign of… something… was dreadfully strong. Hand trembling, as if afraid that by touching her whatever strangeness that affected them both would nullify and the girl would drop down dead once more, Barbara lightly caressed her forehead. It was real and intact and none of this made any sense. Legs feeling a bit unsure, she sat down hard upon the jungle floor, only able to stare in amazement at this. “You were dead…” she breathed.