The MCRT, Morlocks, MGH and Murder

Part 2: Chapter 5

The chance of finding a portal teleporter around was slim to none as all of the ones registered in The Academy were just starting out and were not authorized to use their power for any other reason other than training purposes. And the only line-of-sight teleporter Remy knew was Kurt and it would be a cold day in hell before he showed up before seven in the morning. So, it appeared driving was his only option. He didn’t mind driving usually, but, it wasn’t something he felt like doing today. He would have had Clay Quartermain drive, but he was currently at The Triskelion, preparing for a conference that was the first of its kind.

The first MCRT conference, where Clay would be responsible for explaining the duties and preoccupations of an MCRT agent. He would go into lengthy detail explaining exactly what he had been doing for the past four years and he would explain why such work was necessary. Remy did not envy him. Though Remy was technically in charge of the MCRT, he was twenty years younger than Clay and did not have the clout he did and Clay also wasn’t a mutant. The line of thinking was if a baseline agent like Clay could be concerned about mutants then anyone could.

Remy had just left The Triskelion yesterday afternoon, after finishing the grueling process of identifying the remains of fifty two serpentine mutants that had suffered untimely deaths at the hands of, as yet unidentified, sect of Purifiers. The emotional toll, plus the cold he had that he couldn’t seem to shake, not that he was exactly doing anything to try, made it seem like a chore to drive to MD1 at Logan’s beck and call.

Each mutant community is usually given two names, one based on their location in whatever city or state they might be in and the other is one that the mutants that live there have come to call themselves. ‘Mutant District 1’ or MD1, was one of two zones in New York City, and thus, it encompassed about half of The Big Apple. Within the district were four known condemned buildings that mutant communities lived in, and there was also all of the underground to consider, where the Morlocks were. Meaning that Logan would have to be more specific when he said ‘meet me in MD1 pronto’, but then Remy knew he’d call with exact directions later.

Sure enough he received his coordinates about half way through the drive and saw it was near one of the entrances to the underground, a subway system on 116th street. As soon as he parked his car, he called Logan. “I’m at 116th. Where are you?”

“Couple blocks north. Back of Farinelli’s Pizza.”

“Okay, be there shortly.” He ended the call and began the walk in the icy cold, thankful he had a warm coat on and several layers. Due to the kinetic energy he had running through his body at all times, he felt warm to the touch, but reacted to temperatures as if they were about ten degrees less than everyone else. He gauged the temp today at negative five.

Logan was leaning against the corner of the building smoking a cigar and eating a slice of pizza when Remy arrived. Remy raised an eyebrow at Logan’s choices. “Isn’t it a little early to be eating pizza?” He didn’t also ask if it was a little gross to be eating at a death scene, but he wanted to.

Logan shrugged, “It’s good pizza. Body’s this way. And, like I said, he’s an ugly one.”

Remy muffled a series of coughs into the crook of his elbow, and replied, “I usually don’t find dead bodies attractive.”

“You’re still sick?” Logan asked him and he wasn’t exactly nice about it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. A regular tough guy.

“Yeah, well, I’m still waiting for my healing factor to kick in,” Remy answered sardonically. Logan had told him once, when Remy was still a rookie that he acted as if he had a healing factor – meaning reckless. And Logan would know, of course, since he had one of the fastest, most effective, healing factors known. Remy would be happy at this point with a normal immune system, which he was becoming more and more certain he did not have.

Logan seemed to know what he was thinking. With his own dry tone, he said, “It’s called DayQuil and going to bed once in a while.”

“I believe it’s your fault I’m out here right now. Let’s see the body, huh?”


Remy walked around the back of the dumpster and was hit with a wall of emotion he couldn’t begin to decipher as he looked down and saw… Red. His large, ugly, mottled red corpse with four arms and moles was unmistakable. He shook his head and in a barely audible voice, he cursed, “Goddamn stupid moron.”

“You know him?” Logan asked him, knowing the answer. Many said Remy was hard to read, but Logan had never seen that. Remy tried to be hard to read, but all one had to do was pay attention. He knew most were too preoccupied with Remy’s looks to bother with his feelings.

“Yeah. Jesus,” Remy said, taking a few steps back from the body. The worst part of being an MCRT agent, in Remy’s opinion, was dealing with the dead. Because it was almost always someone he was acquainted with. “Name’s Red. I just saw him three days ago.”

Logan raised a bushy brow. “You need a minute?” He knew Remy well; the kid was sensitive and usually blamed himself for shit that couldn’t possibly have to do with him.

After a pause that could have been the ‘minute’ he needed, Remy replied. “No. Goddamn it.” He ran his hands through his notoriously rumpled chocolate brown hair and sighed. “Let’s just call this in.”

“I did right after I called you. Should be here any minute.”

Remy crouched down next to Red, careful not to touch him, but wanting to take a closer look at what he suspected. Five days ago, Red had been itching his skin hard enough to break the skin, and three days ago the scabs had begun to form. But looking at Red’s corpse now, he saw more open wounds than scabs which told Remy at least one thing – Red had not stopped taking MGH after Remy had told him to.

He stood up and again pushed his hands through his hair. “I went through their houses, and didn’t find anything. He must have kept some though.” He was mostly talking to himself, frustrated that he didn’t know Red had lied to him. People did not get away with lying to him, as an empath he had a way of knowing, and he prided himself in it. But, somehow Red had.

“Nothing anyone can do about it now,” Logan said. “You at least gave a damn to look.”

Much as Remy wanted to tell Logan where to put it, he knew what Logan was getting at. Red could make his own choices. Choices had consequences. Red’s consequence was death. What Red hadn’t cared about though, was those consequences affected more than just Red.

The forensic team arrived then, and took over the scene, getting ready to transport the body to the nearest morgue, where an autopsy would be performed by a S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor.


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