She didn't like having Sabretooth in such close quarters. He was many floors and doors away but she was still too aware of him. She didn't have enhanced senses to smell him, but she could catch a psychic whiff of his thoughts. The malice rolled off him like musk. Having him around felt like a tetanus shot to her mind. She put up with it for a few days before he finally fell asleep.
Finally, she thought. She was sick of 'hearing' him rumble and purr over his many ideas on what he would do to all of them as soon as guards were dropped. The little glimpses of those ideas that she had caught had left her jaws tired from being clenching so tightly. There was a definite downside to telepathy. The upside was that she could so something about it.
She sent her own thoughts out, intending to skewer the fluttering notions like butterflies. There was all sorts of damage she could do while she was there if she wanted. He wasn't the only one who could take advantage of a dropped guard. Lucky for him, she was able to rise above her own murderous impulses. At least she was this time.
Her mind touched his and it was like being in the room with him. She could see the room because he knew what it looked like. He had trashed the room, of course, scoring the walls with claw marks and tearing the furniture to pieces.
He wasn't one to suffer unnecessarily though. He had left the cot intact. That's where he was sprawled now, breathing slow and deep. His breath caught, and she wondered for a heartbeat if he was aware of her. He settled down again at once, and while she was listening to see if he had somehow sensed her trespassing, she became aware of something else.
Outside of someone's mind, it would've been a sound. It was faint, barely a murmur, but out of place. It was like waking up in the middle of the night and hearing the faint hum of a radio you were certain you hadn't left on.
She went deeper, looking for the source of the 'sound'. It was easy to imagine this situation as a physical one. She could be sneaking quietly through a house instead of a mind, a dark, stained hallway of a charnel house. Who was whispering down in the basement?
It wasn't Victor, she realized after a moment. She allowed herself a bitter smirk at the thought of Creed having a conscience desperate to make itself heard, only getting a word in when he was asleep. The closer she got, the more like a voice it seemed like. It was almost crooning.
Unease prickled along her senses. This was weird. She had been in sociopathic minds before and never had anything like this. There had been other voices in some of them, but they had all come from splintered pieces of the host's mind. She had encountered hitchhiking telepath-ish entities that were making themselves at home, all manner of unstable minds and manifested dementia, alien consciousnesses, mental parasites, that sort of thing. She wasn't sure why a whispered lullaby in a killer's brain worried her like it was. And she wasn't the type to be worried for very long before she decided to do something about it.
She had come to his mind to silence his bloodthirsty plans for escape and revenge. She could do that. She could handle the unknown voice too. Time for Creed to be quiet, she told herself, and sank into the cellar of his mind.