The MCRT, Morlocks, MGH and Murder

Part 2: Chapter 15

Emma glanced at Jean’s notes from the previous day, paying special attention to what Jean had called ‘Hypothesis B’. It said simply that MGH could control or change a mutant ability. “Has there been previous studies on this?” she asked the red-haired scientist.

“Yes,” Jean supplied, “Only problem is, I can’t find them in Hank’s mess he calls a filing room.”

Emma was pretty certain that spending a day in a room filled with files, Jean and her music would make for a horrible day, but research was research and the pros outweighed the cons in this case. “Have you started looking this morning?”

Was Emma actually volunteering her precious time to do some menial task? Jean hid her surprise as she said, “Yeah, I made room for a table and shifted everything to one side of the room except for the things I already searched through last night.”

Emma knew the petite little scientist had indeed not moved box after box, much less moved a table manually. Of course she had used her telekinesis. That would be a plus, Emma thought, less chance of breaking a nail if Jean would be doing all the heavy lifting. “Well then, let’s go look for evidence to support our other two reasons why someone would take MGH – control and change.”

Amplification. Control. And change. It was a valid starting point. Now, hopefully, they would find the proof they needed to make others see it as they did. Emma followed Jean into a room that she would have called complete chaos if not for the small group of open boxes, expertly labeled with several different colored tags. Obviously Jean’s doing, because Hank did not even label boxes, let alone singular files.

Pat Benatar’s I Need A Lover ended and was replaced by Michael Bolton’s Steel Bars. And Emma silently steeled herself for the rest of the soul, rock and pop from the eighties – a decade Jean could scarcely remember but had an obsession with. It could be worse, though, right? At least Jean didn’t listen to Shania Twain.

“The job that isn’t my job,” Jean said, rolling her eyes as she saw that Emma looked overwhelmed by the sheer number of files Hank had amassed over his nearly three decade long scientific career. Then, indicating a small notebook paper, she said, “This explains how I’ve been organizing everything. All of the colored tags are in that little tin. I think you can handle it.” Without further instruction, she telekinetically shifted the boxes a la Moses, only slightly, and added, “You start from the left, I’ll start from the right.”

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