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Chapter 5: Whose Side (Part One)

The teenagers and adults alike scream at us as we pass by. Donovan is practically being carried by Azazel while I'm being dragged along by Sabertooth. A teen with short, golden locks even more wild than mine shouts a stream of obscenities as we stop in front of a cell diagonal from her own. Captives. Like us.

Azazel continues on with Donovan, casting me a vague, sidelong glance. His eyes flick between myself and Sabertooth, before he disappears swiftly down the hall.

I try to memorize the code number as Sabertooth opens the cell, but I only catch the first three numbers before I'm roughly shoved inside. The force of the shove sends me to the ground, and, with nothing to slow my fall, I hit the floor shoulder and knees first.

I groan, the gag having fallen off once I was out of Magneto's reach, but quickly scramble to get up as the mutant approaches me. Before I can leap to my feet, I feel his hand latch onto the nape of my neck.

For a moment, he holds me there, motionless. The only sounds that fill the room are my own sporadic breaths and his deep, nearly-silent inhalations. Then, just when I'm beginning to panic, his other hand curls around my upper arm and he hefts me to my feet. I start to turn, still alarmed at that very frightening moment of uncertainty, but am halted when I feel Victor's hands take hold of the cuffs around my wrists.

Rather than unlock them with (oh, I don't know) a key, he simply tears them apart with a rough jerk. That's right. Tears them, leaving only the metal bands around my wrists, probably so that Metal Head can have something to grab if I try to escape. Clever.

"Super strength," I marvel somewhat jealously, testing out my new bracelets to see how much room I have to move my hands around. It turns out to be quite a bit actually! But not enough to slip my hand through. "Lucky you."

"And what can you do, frail?" He scoffs at me. "Other than run your mouth and get yourself in trouble?"

I stiffen. I half-turn, taking in his size, his height, the broadness of his shoulders and intensity in his glare. Why is he even still here?

"Why do you want to know?"

He takes a step closer, and I take an involuntary step back. He really is huge. That coupled with his super strength, claws and fangs makes him a dangerous opponent. If I'm attacked, there wouldn't be much of a fight.

His voice is low and threatening as he says, "I'm not gonna ask again, frail."

There's that name again: Frail. What the hell isthat?A pet name?!

I glance past him, only just noticing the prisoner across from me has begun to look on curiously, but I quickly revert my eyes to Sabertooth, narrowing them challengingly. I remain stubbornly, decidedly silent. I'm not making this easy for them.

They want to know what my powers are? Tough.

"Lehnsher was right," the creep rumbles, advancing on me until I'm backed against the wall. "You really don't understand what's goin' on here." He leans down, way down, his breath trailing down my neck, and growls, "You're not in any position to refuse."

"Last time I checked, you're just a henchman," I growl back, growing more nervous every passing moment, which somehow doesn't dissuade me from running my mouth, "A goon. Even if I did talk, it wouldn't be to anyone's lacky."

I make a conscious effort not to groan in pain when the back of my head meets the wall, secured there by the hand around my throat. My effort pays off. Even so, I have to grit my teeth against the pain of it. Sabertooth, on the other hand, can barely contain his rage. But, in doing so, it only serves to prove my point.

"I'm no lacky." He hisses, his face mere inches from mine.

"Aren't you?" I practically whisper back with just as much venom.

Anger, shock, and a slight look of amusement flicker across his features, all wrapped up in a single chuckle. Yet, he doesn't let go or move away. A look of intent settles across his face and his weight on me increases. I move my hand up to push him away only to have it caught and pinned back against the wall.

"Let me go, henchie," I mutter, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fear in my voice. "I'm not above screaming for help."

"Screaming, huh?"

Sabertooth perks up, flashing his fangs again with a grin. "Wonder what it'd take to get one out of you. A real one. Maybe I'll do Lensherr a favor and put you in your place right here and now."

I brace myself for a fight, which would pretty much consist of me delivering a single kick to the groin area and then screaming for help. I'm preparing to do just that when the sound of the cell door reopening catches my attention.

"What are you doing?" Is Azazel's quiet question.

He doesn't approach nor does he take a fighting stance (not that I'd really expect him to or anything) but his posture is tense. The red mutant's spaded tail swishes behind him erratically. Swish,swish,swish.

"Your job," Sabertooth snaps back, glancing over his shoulder. "Apparently."

"You should go," the red mutant presses urgently, stepping further into the room. "Our mutal friend will be expecting your report."

"And he'll get it."

Creed turns back to me, his grip tightening around my throat. I shrink away slightly and cringe when he brings his hand up to my cheek and presses one of his claws in hard enough to draw blood.

"Soon as I'm done."

A bamf and a plume of smoke later, and Azazel is suddenly there holding a blade longer than my entire forearm poised to the other mutants' midsection."Not like this," says Azazel.

Just when I'm starting to feel terribly caught in the middle, Sabertooth suddenly drops me and shoves Azazel back, knocking him into the wall with extreme force.

"You tellin' me what to do, Red?"Creed scoffs, then adds, "'r maybe you just want this one fer yourself."

"You jeopardize this mission!" Azazel hisses, drawing his blade in close while his tail thrashes.

I take the moment to back away towards the makeshift bed in the corner, wondering what the hell is going on. There's nowhere to hide and no way to fight them. Unless I use my powers…

No, no. That's stupid. I'd still be helpless. Looks like I'm stuck here. But seriously, what the fuck is going on here?! I thought these guys were on the same team and now they're—what?—fighting about who gets to terrorize me? And who is this 'mutual friend?' Could it be they work for someone else? Or was that Magneto guy not the one in charge after all?

"Is as you said," Azazel continues, "this is my job. You should have gone by now."

Gone? So this Sabertooth guy is just a hired hand. But why does Azazel want him gone so badly?

"Can't afford to wait any longer. We're movin' forward on this sooner than later. And I have the feelin' this one won't be so easy to crack."

"This one," I interrupt tensely. "Is still here. And can hear everything you're saying. Not that I have any fucking idea what you're on about."

They stop and turn to stare at me.

I cross my arms and ask, "Now, is someone going to be explaining, or are we just gonna pretend I'm not here?"

The one called Sabertooth looks me up and down, a smirk curling his lips, before rumbling, "You're gonna wish you're not."

"You keep saying that," I observe, "but as far as I've seen, your little gang here isn't very organized. Makes me wonder: Who's the leader here?"

I know I'm playing a dangerous game. But I need to know what I'm up against. I'm in deep shit. The sooner I can find out what's going on, the better.

"I don't see how that's any a' your business, frail," says Sabertooth.

"It became my business when you kidnapped me." I retort heatedly, glaring at first him, then at Azazel, who seems to be the only one defending me here at the moment, and say deliberately, "I have every right to know who is doing this to me!"

"You would do best to leave this alone," Azazel quips, trashing my earlier assumption that he was here to defend me in any way. "You are prisoner. You will know what we tell you. No more. No less. And you will stay quiet as well." He adds, jabbing a finger at me, "Understand?"

A flash of hurt crosses my face but I stow it before it can register.

"If I didn't know any better," I say quietly. "I'd say you're hiding something."

The two look at me, both tense but unsure of what to do.

Then, Creed lets out a chuckle and says to Azazel, "What'd I tell you? Gonna take more th'n scare tactics to break this one."

He starts approaching me again. I draw myself back on instinct and Azazel makes a move forward. Before anyone has the chance to take action, however, the clacking of heels grabs everyone's attention.

Emma Frost, a surprisingly welcome sight in my eyes, strides in front of my cell and takes in the situation for one full minute before stating, "Get out. Both of you."

Azazel, after a moment of hesitation, teleports away with a nod. Frost turns to Sabertooth next, who hasn't quite left yet, then nods her head towards the door, "Collect your pay and go," she tells him.

He scoffs, but raises his hands mockingly in surrender and leaves the room. As his feet pound down the hallway, I hear him growl, "Catch ya' later."

Gee, I wonder who he's talking about...

The second he leaves, Emma gives a sniff of revulsion, "Disgusting," she mutters.

"I'm guessing you read their minds," I inquire, my hand going to my cheek once more. The tiny cut on my cheek has begun to clot already but when I take back my hand, I still find blood. Almost without thinking, the telepath approaches, removing a cloth from her bosom and hands it to me.

"Unfortunately," she says as I tentatively take the warm material in my hand. Gross. Booby warmth... "As if I needed to. All men only have one thing on their minds."

"That's a little sexist," I joke with a smirk.

She blinks at me, startled by my friendliness, and I take the moment to catch her off guard even more by saying, "Thank you for speaking on my behalf earlier. I thought that guy was really gonna give me up like some kind of…"

I stop, sighing, then say, "Thanks."

"So," I continue when she doesn't respond. "You going to interrogate me now or something?"

"Hm, not yet. You and I will have our sessions soon enough. But as you've already guessed, interrogation isn't my only job around here."

"Then, what is?" I challenge, certain a telepath would be a superb interrogator.

A tiny smile tilts her mouth, "Torture."

I blanch.

"Torture? Why torture?!" I exclaim. "You're a telepath, you can just read my mind."

"Why simply extract your secrets when I can test your mettle and draw them out of you instead?"

"That's—that's insane!"

I can't tell them what I can do. I just can't. The moment I do, they'll determine my usefulness. That either means they'll try to use me for a weapon, or (if my powers to deemed too threatening or troublesome to them), they might get rid of me. I have to hold on to my secret for as long as I can until I can figure out how to escape from here.

I just need to stall long enough to do that.

"Well," says Emma. "You can always save yourself the trouble (and a considerably amount of pain) by telling me what I want to know now."

I fall decidedly silent.

"Perhaps you need to think over your options a bit longer," says Emma. "You have an hour. Choose wisely."

And with that, Emma turns on her heel and leaves.

What the hell is going on here? Only time will tell. See you in the next chapter!

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