When Matty hadn't called to check in right on time, Logan hadn't worried, but when an hour had passed and his cellphone had remained silent he started to get the nagging feeling something wasn't right, especially when she didn't answer her phone. He got her voicemail and her cheerfully snarky voice and he didn't listen to the whole recording; there was no way she wouldn't hear the ringer or feel the vibration if it was on silent.

His stomach damn near dropped out of his body when he pulled up outside the history museum, his motorcycle idling as he watched a uniformed police officer milling about outside, his presence telling Logan something was wrong even before his nose picked up the scent of something burnt. He drew air in sharply, making the scent stronger, and he knew it came from inside the museum. He killed the bike and stalked past the officer, only having to glare once to quell any protest, and he followed his nose while he tried to shut off the part of his brain that was heading toward rage.

He went straight for where the fire had been. That had to be Pyro, he could still smell the tiniest bit of butane and then the scent of scorched flesh, wrinkling his nose against something he'd never expected to smell ever again; it was a scent out of his nightmares. The scorch marks were contained to a room and a hallway and he could tell John had fought hard.

Another scent was pulling at him so he moved on. He had to go down a floor to get it full force and for a moment he thought his vision had gone red, but no, that was just a lot of blood. Under the copper penny scent was Matty and he knew she'd gone ballistic, likely over someone hurting 'her' kids, he knew she'd have fought like a lioness. None of the blood was hers but it was small consolation as he felt his own beast rising to the surface and he couldn't control it, the slide of claws bursting from his hands and a roar of anger and agony that someone could hurt his pack like this.

How long he remained the animal, he wasn't sure. At some point he found himself on hands and knees outside the back of the museum, losing everything he'd eaten that day. Under the anger was the realization he hadn't caught any scents except the ones he was familiar with, nothing that could point him in the right direction, and he knew fear.

He collapsed against the building and tried go get his breathing under control, tried to stop seeing horrible images that his brain conjured up for what they were doing to his friends, his lover, his children. Matty, Kitty, Marie ... He said their names in his head like a mantra, over and over, promising he'd get them back, he wouldn't let them be hurt anymore.

When he could see straight again he dug his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Tony Stark. He wanted Iron Man at his back and Tony's ability to ferret out information.

Narrative

Shinji knew that there were people waiting to use the computer, but he wasn't about to move, not until he'd learned as much as he could about the institute that Bobby had mentioned. It existed, apparently. How little did Shinji know about the city he was living in. Not that he thought the school made itself that obvious or apparent, it wouldn't if it knew what was good for it.

Humans hated mutants, this much Shinji knew from past experience.

He bit his lower lip and scrolled through the information quite quickly, glancing over his shoulder very briefly before returning his attention to the screen in front of him. Shinji tapped the print button and then shut down all the windows, simply acknowledging the line behind him with a nod of his head, he'd be done soon.

It was only when he heard the shuffle of papers in the nearby printer that Shinji got to his feet, giving up his seat. One of these days he really needed to look into getting himself a computer and laptop, maybe when he was making more money. He already struggled to pay his rent at the moment as it was without any further expenses.

He gathered up the paper and exited the library, settling on a nearby bench to shuffle through the information. There might be something to this school.

It would be kind of nice to be around people like him.

It was the pounding of her head between her temples that made Millie take those first tentative steps back towards awareness. It would have been easy to shy back, slip back into the darkness, and she couldn't be certain that she didn't do that a few times already. She had vague memories, more like dreams than actual events, of being carried and dropped to the ground with the harsh clang of metal on metal around her and of being rocked or held with what felt like long periods of blackness between each event.

But this time she wasn't allowed to fall back into darkness, nor was she allowed the freedom to wake up completely. Not just yet. She couldn't move, but she could feel, a little. Her head was aching fiercely, two pinpoints of throbbing pain in the back of her left arm, her throat was dry and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She couldn't move her body, her arms and legs were limp, and her eyelids felt literally glued together and heavy as lead. It was like being trapped inside her own body.

It would have been worse, but she wasn't alone. She could feel that now, too. She hadn't dreamed someone cradling her, and she felt a large hand brush over her hair. She was aware enough now to know that was real, and she was relieved. She couldn't move or speak or open her eyes but she wasn't alone.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What had happened? She remembered going to the museum with the children. It had been fun. She and Hank had taken their group of kids to see the exhibit on...

She must have drifted again, because when she came to herself again she could move. Her arms and legs no longer felt like limp nothings and she could move her own head. The ache in her head was worse though and her arm still throbbed a bit. Whoever had been holding her when she'd come to before hadn't let her go in the interim, however long or short that might have been.

She swallowed and managed to moisten her mouth and throat enough so that her tongue didn't feel so thick and clumsy. It took her eyes a few moments to focus after she'd opened them, and she'd stared blindly out of them while they cleared. When they did, the face was blessedly familiar.

"Hank?" she murmured, her voice soft and still drowsy.