Sinister Intentions
A X-Men: MovieVerse Fanfiction
Written by RogueMoon
Chapter Six
::: :::
Rogue tapped the desk nervously. It had been hours now and the X-Men hadn't reported in. The signal from the Blackbird had it still sitting where it the team had landed. Still cloaked.
Something had gone wrong. That was the only explanation. The team had actually found something and were now in danger. Or worse. And the school had no telepath powerful or skilled enough to operate Cerebro.
Rogue bit her lip, thinking over what she could do. She wasn't entirely helpless and as acting director of the Institute, as she always did when the team went out now that she couldn't join them, she had the authority to back up her decisions. There were some students who were advanced enough to be promoted to secondary team status. Their abilities diverse. No telepath though. She needed a telepath. The school needed a telepath.
She pulled up the Cerebro files on known mutants in the world. Narrowing the search to telepaths.
Jason Wingarde, mental illusionist. Less of a direct telepath and more of manipulator of mental visions. Known to have opposed the X-Men, though evidence of his passing had only been found after the fact. That took him off the list. Well, last resort at best.
Emma Frost, telepathic member of the socially elite Hellfire Club, Headmistress of the Massachusetts Academy, Chairman of the Board and CEO of Frost International. Actively Competed with the Xavier Institute for the most 'gifted' students. Tentatively rated Beta Class, possibly low-level Alpha.
Rogue tapped her finger on the desk, eyes going back to the Blackbird's signal. It was still there. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and dialed.
::: :::
Gambit came back to entertain himself with their company about a half hour after being called away by Sinister. Rough estimate. Jubilee was pretty good at keeping track of time. Came in handy being a mall rat and runaway. It hadn't felt like much longer than a half hour.
The Devil Man had changed clothes though. He was dressed in hospital scrubs. Hospital pants, anyway. And one of the blinking collars. No shirt, no gloves, no shoes. Jubes allowed herself a moment of unabashed ogling. The man was hot.
She giggled and she heard Kitty giggle too. Gambit glanced over, giving them a rakish smile and wink. Both found their cheeks burning red, but their matching grins of girlish glee didn't leave.
The Devil Man licked his lips and stood in front of them, stretching so casually. Showing off his body at the best angles before his most appreciative audience, "Like what you see petites?"
"Leave them alone, Gumbo," Logan growled, thrashing a bit. "They're jailbait to you."
Gambit kept smiling at the girls, not turning around as ran one hand down his chest and replied, "But mon ami, dat be de best kind o' bait." Another wink, cheeky grin.
If Jubilee hadn't been hanging from her wrists, she was sure her knees would have given out at that. Louder giggles and a squeal. She shouldn't be enjoying that. She snickered at herself and flirted back, "Worst pick up line, like, ever."
"You still be smiling, non?"
She couldn't help it. She giggled again. Kitty did too. A muffled cough from Storm that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. The men were glaring. They couldn't help it. They couldn't understand something so obviously a girl thing.
"Did you just come to show off skin, bub, or you got a reason for the wardrobe change?" Enter Wolverine, mood killer.
Jubes was disappointed to see the lazy smile on the Devil Man's face replaced with a scowl. Thankfully directed more at the wall than her.
He turned around and hopped up on the table, hands clasping and moving like he'd rather give them something to do. Something to hold. Hadn't he always had them doing something? Cards or cigarettes. He looked nervous.
"What? Not so talkative now, Cajun?" Logan taunted, grinning like he knew some great secret.
Gambit shot the glare his way and sneered, decidedly more angry and agitated, "Monsieur Sinister would like ta grace ya wit' a demonstration."
Wolverine chuckled, liking that he was having such an obvious affect on the man, "What kind of demonstration? More of your card tricks?"
"Non." It was said like a curse, hands clamping on the table edge, knuckles going white.
Before Logan could continue, the Doctor appeared, smiling almost pleasantly as he took center stage, "Ah good, you have changed. Lay down now, my dear Gambit."
The man gulped hard and did as he was told, every muscle stiff. He didn't want to. He hated what was coming. He couldn't disobey. His body shook, convulsed before he could stop himself as the first wrist clamp was closed. His eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn't have to stare into that too-bright light.
There was no more mirth from any of the X-Men. Logan could smell the kid's fear. Utter terror. It was the same as his. The team couldn't look away. Morbid fascination, like unto watching a train wreck, kept their eye on the display as horrified realization began to spread through them.
"Is the light too much for you?" Sinister asked, almost sounding concerned.
Gambit nodded as his other wrist was locked down. His breathing decidedly more ragged now. He could feel tears forming. Wanted to blink them away. Couldn't. The light was too much.
The Doctor opened a drawer under the table and produced a pair of glasses, placing them over his patient's eyes. Carefully lifting his head and securing them in the back. They looked eerily similar to Cyclops' wrap arounds.
His ankles were locked in place. He gasped out, trying very hard not to hyperventilate.
"Stop it!" Jubilee nearly screamed. "You're hurting him! Stop it!" She was a bleeding heart.
The doctor glanced up at her and chuckled, pressing a hand to Remy's shoulder and giving a squeeze to comfort and calm the man, "My dear Ms. Lee, yes I do know who you are, I have yet to do anything to Remington that he is not a willing participant of. He has a dislike of operation tables due to his treatment in the Weapon program. An issue I could not prevent. I understand that it is a psychological condition many of those in the program suffer from."
If Gambit heard any of this, he gave no indication. He looked out of it. His hands clenching hard enough to draw his own blood. A trickle of which began to leak out. Jubilee felt sick.
Sinister placed a gas mask over Remy's nose and mouth. Hank recognized it as oxygen. That was good.
The doctor pulled out trays from under the table, instruments and vials of strange colored liquids appearing in an ordered fashion. He worked meticulously, not wasting a single movement before stepping around the table opposite of Beast, ensuring the mutant had a perfect view.
Essex smiled at his peer, "Doctor Henry McCoy, it is a pleasure to be your host today. I have decided to perform this demonstration for your benefit. As a fellow man of learning, prominently in the field of genetics, you will most assuredly appreciate the beauty of what I have been able to achieve. What I will continue to achieve."
"I do hope you'll accept my apology in advance, Doctor Essex, for finding myself disagreeing with your assessment of the situation," Hank replied, ever polite.
Sinister chuckled again and clasped his hands behind his back, "You are familiar with the Weapon program that your compatriot, the aptly named Wolverine, was a part of, yes?"
"Not particularly, no," he answered honestly. The doctor seemed to like to hear himself talk as much as Gambit had. Keep him talking, wait for a distraction. Maybe a last minute rescue by forces from home. Rogue was good for those. He hoped.
Essex looked surprised and glanced between Logan and Beast, "Well then. It seems an explanation is in order. For you to understand what I am doing, you must be made familiar with that particular period of government wish-fulfillment."
Gambit seemed to be relaxing as the talking went on. Hank couldn't see if his eyes had shut. It was possible, the oxygen was laced with a sedative.
Logan growled. He couldn't do much more.
"Don't you ever wonder what it was that produced the man you are?" Sinister paused, then continued, "No matter. You see, Stryker was interested in mutants. His son was a mutant. He wanted to 'fix'" - the man's lip curled at the very idea - "the mutant 'disease'. Using other mutants to do so. The Weapon program.
"I joined easily enough. Faking records that gave me a more acceptable birth date and background. The other doctors I worked with were amateurs in comparison," He was pacing the room now, enraptured by his own monologue. It was so terribly cliché. And rather terrifying. "None of them understood the mutant genome the way I do. They couldn't appreciate the elegance inherit in the perfect, undiluted DNA strands they had access too. It was all I could do not to kill them all in frustration.
"I had to hold myself back, make it so I wasn't called on to be the lead researcher, too much in the spotlight for my preferences. But still be valuable enough to have access to the genetic specimens I so desired.
"Stryker, for his part, was obsessed with you, Mr. Logan. A foolish obsession. He was convinced you were the end all and be all of human weapon perfection. He was wrong."
Sinister's gave fell almost lovingly toward the man strapped to his operating table, "Make no mistake, Mr. Logan, your genetic structure is most intriguing. Your predisposition for accelerated healing joyfully separate from your more animalistic traits. Much more useful then Mr. Creed's. His is far too muddied with his feral tendencies. But your genes do not hold the keys to making the perfect mutant.
"His do," a hand reached out and gently swept a few stray hairs from Gambit's head. Essex looked up at Wolverine, grin splitting his face before he turned is attention back to Beast. "You see, Mr. McCoy, Remy has the singular ability to produce biokinetic energy. You understand the relation of potential and kinetic energy?"
Hank nodded, "Kinetic energy is produced when an object is in motion. Basic Science, Doctor."
The man tilted his head in acknowledgment, "Indeed. And Remy is quite lucky I was there to discover his genetic structure and alter the records to make his potential look so inconsequential that when he finally escaped, Stryker saw no reason to go after him. The world is quite lucky. I am quite lucky.
"As I said, Remy has the ability to produce biokinetic energy. He can use to convert the potential energy inherent in any object into kinetic energy. This is usually released most explosively. I know you've see an example of that already. He was smoking in here earlier," he practically beemed, as if sharing the world's greatest secret.
Keep him talking, thats what Beast needed to do. "I apologize again, Doctor, but I find myself failing to follow your train of thought."
Sinister frowned and sighed, "Of course. I should not have hoped that you would be able to see without being drawn a map."
Hank let the insult slide. He followed quite well. But he needed to keep the man talking.
"In layman's terms, he can force an object into motion, charging it with the energy it would produce once actually in motion and manipulating the direction and speed of the object. If he forces the object to stay put, the charge builds to the point that the molecules within it tear it apart from the need to use that energy. Explosions usually follow. With enough training and concentration, Gambit could charge individual atoms, forcing them to tear themselves apart."
That got the point across. The X-Men as a whole sucked in their breath and Sinister's smile returned, "A walking, talking, card playing nuclear bomb with a penchant to mouth off to his superiors. I couldn't let Stryker and his foolishness destroy such potential. He has yet to achieve it, incidentally." The doctor finally picked up one of the vials of liquid and inserted a syringe.
"I found him again a couple years after the Program was shut down. He was undergoing secondary mutation. Destroyed a theater in Seattle. Ninety-two dead. Simply put, he couldn't control it. His body was not advanced enough physically to do so. I offered him that control.
"In the subsequent years, he has come to serve me quite well, in return for the treatment he needs to continue to control his abilities. That is what this procedure is about. He is undergoing near constant gene therapy to keep his body from releasing enough power to wipe out the western half of the United States."
It all sounded so simple. So benign.
Sinister inserted the needle into the skin above Gambit's heart, the purple liquid within emptying slowly into the man's body.
"I was most ecstatic to get my hands on your genetic structure, Mr. Logan," Essex continued. "Through his use of biokinetic energy, Remy can make his body work faster than even the average mutant. Giving him hightened agility. Heal himself as well. But such healing is nothing in comparison to your ability. Today's session is to integrate the purer strand of your DNA containing your healing ability into Remy's DNA structure. To work with his own biokinetic field. It will make further therapy much easier on his body, cutting the recovery time in half and allowing him to continue to be useful to me beyond being such a glorious specimen.
"I would attempt to integrate Mr. Wagner's teleportation ability, but it is tied directly with the physical expression of his mutation. And that is simply not useful enough to corrupt such a near perfect genetic structure."
It was morbid curiosity that made him ask. Essex was right, Hank was fascinated by this. By the seemingly simple ability to manipulate a person at the genetic level. It was sickeningly beautiful. So he had to ask, "What happened to his eyes?"
The others were thinking it, of course. Wanting to know. Trainwreck.
Another syringe was filled. A green liquid. The needle stuck in the soft skin below Gambit's chin, "Gene therapy. When brining out his body's own latent ability to handle the power he was born with, it was always there, recessive, the eye discoloration expressed itself. Also recessive. Direct connection. Unfortunately it made his eyes much more light sensitive. In anyone else I would find it a dissapointing drawback on the genetic level. I suppose it's useless sentimentality that keeps me from feeling such."
"Why are you telling us all this?" Bobby finally asked. "You're like some movie villain telling us his great plan."
Sinister chuckled, "That would be an apt comparison if I was actually telling you my 'great plan', as you put it, Mr. Drake. Remy's development is a pet project. But it is only a stepping stone in my life's goal. And you have yet to hear anything that could lead to a glimpse of insight as to what that is. Though I am willing to give you a hint if only for the amusement of watching such a pathetic intelligence as yours attempt to figure it out."
The room waited as a third syringe was filled. Red liquid, arm this time. Gas mask removed.
Gambit awoke to Sinister looking most pleased with himself. His head didn't hurt like it usually did. Essex unlocked the restraints, helped his patient sit up. The glasses stayed on for now. The doctor put away his tools and walked to the exit.
"So what's the hint?" Bobby called after.
Essex paused and looked at him, smug grin splitting his face, "The death of those you call Morlocks was a stepping stone as well."
::: :::
End Chapter