To Catch a Killer - Part 2

Posted on Sun Jan 26th, 2025 @ 10:50pm by Bobby Drake & Pietro Maximoff

2,641 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 6: X-Fernus Agenda
Location: New Mexico High Desert
Timeline: December 4th, 1990

The compound sat like a mirage in the heart of New Mexico’s arid desert, a collection of jagged structures almost indistinguishable from the surrounding sandstone cliffs. Solar panels gleamed faintly in the sunlight, concealed amidst rugged rock formations, while antenna arrays jutted skyward like desert flora. The barren terrain around the double-wide manufactured home gave no clue to its true nature—just empty, baking land with the occasional whisper of wind carrying sand across the hardpan.

Bobby and Pietro trudged toward the compound. Sweat beaded on Pietro's forehead while Bobby stayed relatively cool. That was for more than just style. In his ice form, Bobby would not stand out in a long range thermal scope.

The heat hung in the air like a heavy curtain, muting sound and mirage-like ripples distorting the horizon. They stopped short as a faint shimmer in the air caught Bobby's eye—a transparent energy field subtly bending the sunlight.

"That’s definitely not natural," Bobby muttered, dousing the area with fog. He crouched low, his keen eyes searching for any telltale signs of company. He spotted a small, blinking device embedded in the sand. “Looks like some kind of trip sensor.” Turning back to Pietro, he asked, “How well do you know this guy? Is he gonna try to waste us?”

“I mean, he worked with my father a whole bunch.” Pietro said while rubbing the back of his head. “He helped build Asteroid M and set up all the life support inside of it. But Magneto started asking him to do things he didn’t like, so they fought and he left on bad terms.”

Whoever this mystery man was, it said a lot that he was capable of holding his own against the Master of Magnetism.

“I don’t know if we should sneak up on him.” Quicksilver commented “He has gadgets and weapons all over the place. It might just be better if we just, I dunno, asked him.”

“Maybe so…” Cupping his hands to his mouth, Bobby called out, “Hey! Anybody home? We... come in peace!”

From the rock faces flanking the invisible barrier, automated turrets sprang up like clockwork. There were just spinning barrels instead of cuckoo birds.

“This feels very ‘turn back now,’” Bobby said, slowly raising his hands. “Think it’s friendly?”

At the motion of his hands, a warning shot kicked sand off the ground near his feet. So much for being invisible to sensors. Evidently these turrets responded to motion… or were remotely controlled.

“Well, that answers that,” Bobby said, forming an ice shield between them and the turrets.

From hidden speakers, an authoritative voice crackled to life, distorted by static. "State your business or turn back. You’ve got one chance to explain before I stop playing nice."

Bobby glanced around nervously, his gaze settling on Pietro. “Uh… you know how to sweet-talk tech geniuses, right?”

“Forge, it’s me, Quicksilver!” The turrets aimed and locked on to Pietro, the realization of who he was didn’t seem to help the conversation. “I’ve left the Brotherhood and Asteroid M.” The connotation behind that statement was not lost on the man controlling the turrets and they dropped in response. “I’m here with an X-Man. We’re investigating a murder. The murder of Senator Kelly. We found a strange bullet shell at the scene of the crime. Can you help us identify it?”

The turrets swiveled back into their hidden compartments as the voice crackled through the speakers again, carrying a note of begrudging tolerance. “Fine. Approach, but don’t make any sudden moves or stray off the path. I’ve got enough firepower hidden here to turn you into paste, and I’m not in the mood to clean up.”

Bobby smirked and glanced at Pietro. “Sudden moves? Pretty sure that was a jab at you.”

Pietro scoffed but didn’t argue, falling in step beside Bobby as they followed the straight path carved into the desert sand. As they neared the house, a figure emerged from the shadows of the front porch. His silver hair caught the sunlight, glinting as he uncrossed his arms to reveal the unmistakable gleam of a cybernetic left arm. He wore camo pants and a plain white T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame, his organic arm resting against his hip.

The man’s sharp eyes took in Bobby’s ice form and Pietro’s familiar face, his expression equal parts weary and disbelieving. “Well, this is a sight,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Someone real important must be dead for me to see the likes of you two showing up on my land. What do you want?”

Bobby, raising his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, let a wry smile cross his frosty features. “We’re investigating Senator Kelly’s murder. The feds are dragging their feet, and we found something at the scene that doesn’t add up.”

Forge snorted, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Of course they are,” he muttered, more to himself than to them. “Fine. Get inside before you melt all over my property.” He turned sharply, waving them forward as he headed for the house.

“I don’t melt,” Bobby groused.

The interior of the house was surprisingly modern, its walls lined with shelves cluttered with mechanical parts, schematics, and tools. A workbench dominated one corner, laden with half-finished gadgets and glowing screens displaying streams of data. Forge strode to a modest kitchen area, grabbing a trio of beers from the fridge and setting them on the counter. “Here,” he said gruffly, sliding one toward each of his visitors before opening his own.

Bobby and Pietro exchanged glances before sitting at the table. Forge leaned over, scanning the redacted ballistics report Pietro handed him. His cybernetic hand tapped against the edge of the table as his organic one traced the photos of the smashed bullet.

“This slug,” Forge said, jabbing a finger at the photograph, “is from a .375 Magnum. Specific to the XPR-77. The rifling grooves, the shape—it's all there.”

Bobby leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “How can you be so sure?”

Forge grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Because I designed it, Frosty. Top-level sharpshooter’s rifle. The Pentagon commissioned a prototype series, but they didn’t mass-produce it. Too expensive. They went with a cheaper alternative.”

Bobby frowned. “So, how many are we talking about?”

Forge shrugged. “Fifty at most, likely as few as ten. They’d be listed in the Pentagon’s records—serial numbers, assignments, and any that went missing or were ‘lost’ to the black market.”

Bobby crossed his arms, his ice cracking slightly as his frustration mounted. “And this casing we found?”

Forge nodded. “That is a .375 Magnum shell, the very caliber of the XPR-77. That’ll tear through armor at over a thousand meters. Someone wanted Kelly dead and made damn sure it happened.”

“A Pentagon manufactured weapon and a shot that was taken from a distance that was impossible for a regular person to take.” Pietro shook his head, all of this was starting to stink. “Who sanctioned this hit? This is the sort of fire power that the Mutant Response Division uses, but on a public figure who was a human that was all for the removal and suppression of mutants? I hate to be that guy, but this is starting to sound like some sort of conspiracy.”

“But wouldn't that explain why the feds are dragging their feet?” Bobby insisted.

“Yeah…” Forge reluctantly agreed with a groaning sigh. “The term you're looking for is a ‘false flag’ operation. Like Operation Northwoods. That was proposed before either of you were born. War-hawks in the Army wanted a war with Cuba so bad they wanted to stage an attack on American citizens and blame it on Castro the Cuban dictator. Obviously that never came to fruition, but bullshit like that is why my Army days are behind me.”

“So what do we do?” Bobby implored the old Native American with unadulterated pleading. “I'm not just going to go home and forget about what we found.”

Forge stuck a finger in his face. “That's exactly what you're going to do. Go home. Get a hobby. Find a pretty girl and settle down. Make a few babies just as dumb as you. That's it.” Shaking his head, he continued. “Otherwise you're going to find yourself at the business end of the barrel too. The Pentagon won't hand over that list willingly. That means you got a fight on your hands just to get anywhere. Anything you uncover that way will be inadmissible in court; the fruit of the poison tree doctrine. You hear me, boys? Go. Home.”

“You know that telling me not to do something makes me want to do it even more, right?” Pietro said with a quirk of his eyebrow and a smirk of his lips. “Especially when someone is looking to exploit mutants because of this. Don’t tell me you’re okay with mutants being sent to camps and having to wear collars, Forge?”

While Quicksilver had never been close or even civil with Forge while he was on Asteroid M, everyone in Avalon knew about his falling out with Magneto. Forge refused to answer to anyone but himself but he too had compassion for his fellow mutants.

“If the Pentagon has the answers, then we go to the Pentagon. Simple enough,” Pietro said with an easy shrug.

“Yeah,” Forge said, giving up on persuading the vigor of youth to do the smart thing. “Just… if you do this, do it smart and don’t get caught. Even after the fact, they can’t know what you did, or they’ll find a way to even the score.” He grunted in disapproval of his words, unable to believe what he was hearing from his own mouth. “If you found a whistleblower, that would be even better. That way the spotlight is on them instead of you. Odds of finding one at the Pentagon are slim to none, so you’re better off getting in and out unseen.”

Bobby shook his head. “But what are we looking for exactly? If there are a ton of names, we could spend weeks or even months tracking them down and ruling them out as the killer.”

“No shit,” Forge said flatly. “Why do you think nobody is asking questions about the stalled investigation? Even if they weren’t half-assing it, these things still take time. What you have to ask yourselves is who gained from his death? They’re the ones who ordered the trigger pull.”

“Like Pietro said… the MRD uses experimental tech like that,” Bobby said. “So… if they went to the top of the dogpile, then they benefited from Senator Kelly’s death even though he was on their side?”

Forge nodded. “Bingo. I’m glad one of you isn’t a complete moron. I’ll let you fight out which one it is. Limit your search at the Pentagon to anybody with MRD connections and branch out only if nothing turns up.” He tapped the file with all the papers and pictures. “I just know it was that rifle, so find the smoking gun and the shooter won’t be far.”

“Thanks, Forge. You’ve been a big help.” Bobby gave him a grim smile and nodded in thanks. “We won’t forget that.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer that you did,” Forge groused, though he couldn’t help mirroring Bobby’s grim smile, “especially when your dumb asses get caught. Now get the hell out of here before any more of your stupid rubs off on me.”

“We have our own connections, Forge, if you are ever in a tight spot you can find us as X-Factor in New York City.” Pietro raised his hands defensively before he continued, “Not saying you need it but you helped us out and if you need it one day…well… The Baxter Building is pretty damn easy to find.”

Quicksilver didn’t wait for a reply, he wasn’t really looking for one but he felt better making the offer. Actually he felt a lot better doing all of this work with Bobby, it was so different than how The Brotherhood worked.

Only once they were off Forge’s property and heading back to Albuquerque did Pietro dare to speak again. “You think we can get into the Pentagon? I hate to admit it but that’s not even something Magento would dare to try.”

“You ever hear of the General Services Administration? GSA?” Bobby asked. “They’re like the government’s janitors, but for real estate and assets. It’s their job to handle all the properties, buildings, vehicles, and equipment that Uncle Sam owns. You know, anything that isn’t a top-secret bunker or nailed down to a missile silo.”

“I’m not even an American citizen, I just know the main buildings, I have no idea what the GSA is,” Pietro replied as they approached the highway.

Bobby shifted in his seat, pulling out a crumpled notebook from his jacket pocket and flipping it open. His notes, taken from his research into the Hellfire Club, were a jumble of scrawled handwriting and arrows pointing to barely legible annotations. “Yeah, I didn’t either ‘cause they aren’t really important to most folks. They don’t just keep track of where buildings are. They deal with stuff like who’s using what space, where files get stored, and even things like office supplies or government vehicles. And with all that comes records. Lots and lots of records. I’m talking databases, filing systems—probably whole warehouses of paper files. If we’re looking for where those XPR-77 rifles were allocated, assigned, or stored, there’s a good chance the GSA has some piece of the puzzle.”

Glancing at Pietro, Bobby tried to gauge his reaction, but he didn’t slow down.

“Now, I’m not saying the GSA will have the exact serial numbers or the personal files of whoever has one of those rifles. But they’ll know where to find those records. Like, if the Pentagon shipped the rifles to a specific place, GSA would’ve been involved in the logistics somewhere along the line. They’re not exactly top-tier security, either. I mean, sure, they’re a federal agency, so it’s not like walking into a post office, but they’re no Pentagon.”

“That definitely feels a lot more obtainable.” Pietro admitted, while he was a bit of a hot shot and full of himself he did know his limits. “By your government’s standards I’m a terrorist. Over the years there have been rumors amongst the Brotherhood that some buildings might have fail-safes to stop us and our specific power sets. If any of that is true, it would be at The Pentagon and I honestly don’t want to find out if that’s true or not.”

He considered what Bobby was proposing and the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. “Yeah, I think the GSA is perfect, we just need a name or a location to where that gun is… that’s a good call, Bobby.”

It wasn’t an enormous amount of praise but it was more than Bobby received on a regular basis. But his desire to no longer be seen as just the team’s comedic relief seemed to be working.

The praise wasn’t lost on Bobby and he positively beamed under it. “Thanks, buddy.” His eyes darted toward the driver’s seat to see if his unintentional nickname would ruin the moment. Not wanting to find out, he blurted out, “So we’re off to D.C.!!!”

TBC

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