Hi readers,

Well, this is it. The last chapter before the SoL begin their mission. Exciting, no? Be sure to check out the OC submission entry and come up with an OC for later in the narrative. Already have one in this story? Submit again!

Hori out.

The ache in his muscles was unrelenting and burned with a deep intensity that probably would have caused any normal man to cry out in pain. Sinister was not a normal man. The only indication that he felt anything at all was a slight pursing of his lips as the new genetic serum coursed through his veins, destroying, rewriting, and rebuilding the very fabric of his being.

Laura leaned over his extended arm and gazed at the monitors that had been connected to a majority of his vital systems and brain functions. She had the disinterested look of a child dutifully doing her homework, and lackadaisically typed information into the terminal as she browsed the data, leaning her head on her free hand in boredom. She looked down at his arm, naked from the shoulder down, and grasped the series of tubes that pierced his veins and fed the serum into his bloodstream. She forcibly pushed the needles deeper in, giving them a rough shake as though she was reattaching a gas line to a kitchen appliance and making sure the seal took. It was not a gesture of malice. Sinister's rapidly-healing body would push the needles out in a matter of minutes if she did not force them back in. Nevertheless, she did the task with all of the delicacy of a slap in the face, and Sinister let out a low hum of irritation as the needles pierced recently-healed flesh and vein, renewing the burning wash of pain.

Laura looked at him and gave him a rare smile, sarcastic and in-genuine as it was. "Aw, does that hurt?"

Sinister did not reply. Rather, he could not. While undergoing the painful process of rewriting his genetic code with the various serums that he manufactured, parts of his mind would shut down for brief periods of time while sections of his brain were rebuilt or reshaped. Currently, his motor skills had abandoned him, and he was no more capable of speaking than he was of teleporting across the room.

Though perhaps I could do something about that as well, he thought, In good time. I'll have to search the databases again.

Improving and purifying his body, adding and subtracting mutations and aspects of his physiology, was a process of baby-steps that he had been perfecting for nearly a century. He had made the mistake in his earliest experiments of trying to force drastic changes upon his test subjects in a short period of time, with disappointing and occasionally monstrous results. The Worthington boy in particular had been a disaster that still managed to irk Sinister when he thought of it. He was often fighting the urge to go a little further with each of his own injections, to try to add or subtract a little bit more to or from his genetic structure than he had last time, but he knew better. He had learned more than enough lessons at the expense of other's lives. Not that that bothered him.

Sinister became aware of an increasingly bothersome cramping behind his eyes, and felt himself press the back of his head a little harder into the headrest of the medical chair he sat in. Discomfort slowly gave way to pain, and pain was slowly eroded into real agony. Sinister felt himself screw his red eyes shut as the light in the sterile room became a blinding wash of hot knives. The sensation seemed to bore deep down through the middle of his brain, as though someone were pulling a length of rusted wire through his forehead and out the back of his neck. Somewhere far away, he felt his back begin to spasm, and if his ankles and wrists were not fastened with powerful kinetic restraints, he surely would have fallen to the ground in all of his twisting and writhing. Vaguely, he was aware of a new burning sensation in his arm, and slowly, one pulse at a time, the ravaging agony began to subside, transforming little by little back into the dull ache that he was familiar with.

He finally opened his eyes to see Laura removing a syringe from a churning vein in his bicep, then swiftly pull the tubes from the soft flesh of his inner elbow, the obscenely long needles still sputtering the mercury-colored liquid that he fed into his system.

"You should have waited longer between treatments this time," Laura admonished, "Any more and you would have cracked. You're going to end up as broken as Archangel was."

Sinister emitted a low grumble, and suddenly became aware of something in his mouth. He spat, and to his surprise, the tip of his tongue fell to the floor with a wet slap, oozing unnatural, purplish blood that was characteristic of his body now after years of genetic cleansing and modifying. In his fit, he had managed to bite it off. Confused, Sinister explored the sensations around and in his mouth, searching for pain, or at the very least an alien sensation of missing a part of his body, and found that the severed section of his tongue had already grown back, the new organ tingling and slightly numb as the nerves still reattached. How fascinating.

Laura regarded the bleeding hunk of flesh on the floor with the same expression that she usually wore; Disinterest.

My healing abilities have accelerated, Sinister observed, making a mental note, Most impressive.

"Do not presume..." he finally said to Laura in a low growl, the throbbing in his clenched jaw still subsiding, the words coming thick and rough as his brain remembered how to speak again, "To lecture me, girl. I am well aware of my own limits. To compare me to the Worthington brat is to compare gods to insects."

Laura pushed a lock of brown hair from her hard, oval face, shrugged and pressed a button on the nearest monitor. The restraints that held him to the chair hissed and popped open, freeing him. She made a motion to begin removing the sensors from his body, but he shrugged her off, perhaps more roughly than he needed to, and saw about it himself. She rolled her eyes and began sorting through the various pieces of equipment, tidying up where she could, snapping the used needles from the mess of tubes and syringes and dumping them in a nearby sharps container.

Sinister watch her as she worked. He had offered Laura the opportunity once, to pursue the goal of self-perfection as he did, but she had rejected to notion fiercely, citing that she had endured quite enough medical probing for several lifetimes. That had disappointed Sinister. Laura was fickle, dangerous, and only as loyal as she had to be, but he had grown to trust the guarded, seething, fierce woman. It was her very penchant for questioning him and viewing nearly everything laid before her with suspicion that made her so valuable. It would be a shame if she did not reconsider his offer soon, otherwise there would be no place for her in his new world. Then all of his promises to her would be meaningless, through no real fault of his own.

Sinister brought his mind back to the present and began to make a physical and mental inventory, as he always did after he had taken a serum. More often than not, the transformations it brought upon him were measured and predictable, but occasionally, such as in the instance of his newly invigorated healing factor, he found himself pleasantly surprised. This particular version of the serum, however, he had been looking forward to most especially. The intense pain he had experienced in his mind gave him a measure of hope that his research had finally proven fruitful, for that sensation was quite new to him during his injections. But how to know for sure?

He thought of Laura's words earlier, down in the cryo chamber where he had dispatched the late Cain Marko.

"You're not a psychic," she had said.

Well, let us see, he thought, and, turning to look at the girl as she perused data on her monitors, tried to reach out to her with his mind.

It was difficult to know if what he was trying to accomplish was even the proper way to go about things. It was as though someone had simply told him he'd grown a third, invisible arm, and then given him no further instructions. Was this correct? Was this how it was done? He could not be sure if he was even exercising the right part of his mind. He tried to imagine his psyche as a beam of red light, cutting through the air between them and entering Laura's mind like a surgical laser. That certainly felt correct, he could almost sense as though her mind and his were connecting, but it was weak, like listening to a radio caught between channels. But how could he be sure if he was imagining it or...

There was a familiar sound of metal raking against bone, and Sinister suddenly realized that Laura was staring at him, her eyes ablaze, the two claws on her left hand extended, the bloody gashes they left between her skin already healed.

A long, tense silence passed between them, and Sinister readied himself for the very real possibility that this would be the moment when he would be forced to kill her.

"Congratulations on your new gift," she said eventually, her mouth practically dripping with venom as she spoke, "Now... Stay the fuck out of my head, Sinister."

Sinister did not know whether to smile or frown, and did neither.

"Of course," he said, retreating from her mind, though he did not know for certain if that was how it worked. It must have been, because Laura seemed to relax immediately, her claws withdrawing back into their housing in her thin forearms.

Despite himself, Sinister could barely contain his own excitement, and did his best to conjure up his usual visage of stoic impartiality. Finally, he was on the right track. For nearly forty years he had been trying to tap into his own psychic abilities, even giving up for months, years at a time out of frustration. But finally, he had uncovered the keys. As always, science had prevailed.

"How did you-" he began.

"Weapon X," Laura said before he could form the question, tapping her head lightly with one finger as she went back to her work, her previous rage seemingly forgotten, "They made a labyrinth out of my head, then built a Fort Knox of psychic defenses around it. Not even Xavier could crack this nut all the way. Same as Logan."

Sinister found himself oddly disappointed by that. Of the many people who's minds he wanted to peer inside of, Laura was most certainly near the top of the inventory. Xavier had been one of the most formidable telepaths in the history of... anything, and the sudden realization that there were limits to even his vast power washed over him like a cold wave.

Still, it was not entirely unexpected. There was always room for practice, and now that the path was coming clear in front of him, he need only remain steady and determined. Perhaps the bar the Xavier set would be a goal, rather than a roadblock.

The door at the far end of the room chimed, and Sinister raised himself off of the chair, savoring the new charge he felt in his muscles as he did. He felt as though he could crush steel to powder in his hands. He pulled his black silk shirt from a metal hanger had had hung from a neglected medical armature light and pulled it on over the black tank top that he wore. He swiftly buttoned it and tucked it into the waist of his slacks before waving a hand over a console, unlocking the sliding doors which parted immediately with a soft hiss of air.

Gorgeous George and Hairbag stepped in, though 'stepping' was hardly the correct term was for what either of the men really did. George slithered across the floor like a living oil spill, his limbs and features warping seemingly at random as he moved. One moment his arms were the appropriate length for any normal man, then next they seemed to swell and lengthen, as though he were some image distorted in a curved mirror. Hairbag scrabbled across the plastic and metal on all fours as he almost always did, his cruel black claws searching in vain for purchase on the smooth surface.

George looked at Sinister, then at Laura, who still sat reviewing data on her monitors, though Sinister suspected that whatever interest she had in the screen had longed passed. She was no scientist. The tasks that Sinister charged her with were no more complicated than any mundane chore, and she had no real passion for the data that the computer relayed to her. She simply wanted to be left alone. George made what might have been a questioning face, and looked as though he was about to ask a question, but the desire to do so seemed to leave him as swiftly as it came. The Nasty Boys knew that Sinister was often experimenting with this or that, and that Laura often acted a laboratory assistant to him, but that was the extent of their knowledge, for, in truth, that was really the only credit that Sinister could give to their limited, hedonistic minds. George seemed to remember this, and thought better of asking what they had been doing. Which, Sinister had no doubt, was what he had contemplated inquiring of them a moment ago.

Hairbag also looked at Laura, but with baser concerns on his mind. The feral mutant operated almost entirely on instinct, and still had not learned any sort of lesson from the thrashings Laura had given him for sticking his nose where it was not wanted. Quite literally. She eyeballed him with death in her gaze, and for once, Hairbag seemed to think better of approaching her.

"Yes, George?" Sinister asked finally when the mutant did not speak for several seconds, and felt himself suppress as sigh. He did love his Nasty Boys, his blunt instruments, as it were, for their obedience and willingness to destroy just about anything placed in their path, but on matters of a more intellectual attitude, they were next to useless. Little better than messenger birds.

"Sir," George nodded curtly, the swift moment creating a rude slurping noise from his ooze-like body, his voice like that of a pile of mud come to life, thick and wet, "The download of the launch codes from SHIELD is nearly done. Maybe three hours or so left. The computers haven't said nothing that'd suggest they're not the genuine article like Laura said they would."

"Haven't said anything," Sinister corrected. George stared at him blankly. Sinister rolled his eyes, "Nevermind."

It was as he expected. SHIELD was bound to give up the launch codes to him. They had no bargaining leg to stand on, and while their military might was still formidable, their political power had done nothing but wane in the past years, and they could not afford any sort of public incident. Not if they hoped to maintain was little credibility the rotten husk of the United States had left. Still, he supposed Laura was right. They would never give him the codes so easily if they did not have some half-cocked plan to fall back on. No doubt some ludicrous attempt at an air-strike. The Ark was more than adequate protection from such an attack.

"Very good," Sinister said, "We'll make our way to the main bridge when the download is complete, and begin the launch sequence. Have the genome troopers man The Ark's battle stations and main battery."

Laura turned swiftly in her chair. "Spread a hundred soldiers over a two mile ship? What are you, insane? How are they going to defend against-"

"Against what, exactly?" Sinister cut her off and raised his hands to either side, as though to show her that no invisible threats existed around them, "We're not under attack, girl. And if SHIELD really is that foolish, The Ark has more than adequate automated defenses. I need the ship's main compliment of cannons online and manned for when SHIELD tries some stunt to take her back once we're airborne, which I'm sure they will."

"But a small strike team..." she started again.

"Ah," Sinister raised a finger to his head as though remembering something, "I do believe that's why I have you, Laura."

In truth, that prospect had crossed his mind more than once. Even now some band of jugheaded SHIELD soldiers could be making their way to his position, but the idea did not particularly bother him. It took far more than a group of men with guns to make him nervous. If such a group did exist, he'd cut them down like cattle. Or, rather, Laura and the Nasty Boys would.

Besides, Sinister could not afford to be questioned so in front of George and Hairbag. Stupid as they were when compared to him, they were not immune to detecting weakness in leadership, and the last thing he needed was those two getting bright ideas.

"You're dismissed," he said, waving an arm at the two men, "See to it that my uniform is brought to my private quarters."

Sinister looked at George's oily, wet-looking hands, and then at Hairbag's, hairy and caked with brown flecks of what might have been dirt of blood or both. He thought of those hands touching his clothing and curled a lip in distaste.

"Have Ramrod do it," Sinister added as the the two turned to leave.

As he watched Hairbag scrabble across the floor on his hands and feet, Sinister suddenly had an idea. Again, he visualized his mind shooting outward like a laser, zeroing in on the feral mutant's brain, focusing like a microscope on his very psyche. Perhaps beginning with Laura had been too ambitious, he reasoned. But a mind like Hairbag's...

The fur-covered mutant shuddered suddenly, stopped in his tracks, his rough hair standing on end, and abruptly leapt into the air, doing half a somersault and landing hard on his head with a sharp thud against the polished floor. Nearly oblivious to the pain of it, Hairbag jumped to his feet and looked around, panic and rage painted on his ugly features. George had stopped to look at the smaller man in utter shock.

Sinister let out a dry chuckle, and covered his mouth to obscure the smile that he wore. Concentrating, he tried something else.

Both of you, he thought at the two men, Get a move on. Now.

George and Hairbag looked at Sinister as though they had been slapped. A myriad of expressions worked their way across both men's faces, ranging from fear to anger to outright confusion. Finally, they exchanged glances and, slowly, began inching backwards, as though they did not want to expose their backs to Sinister as they proceeded down the hallway.

"Y-yes..." George stammered, "Yes sir."

The sliding doors hissed and clicked shut.

Sinister laughed again, this time making no efforts to hide it. He was positively overjoyed. True, accessing the minds of men like George and Hairbag was probably nothing to brag about in the realm of telepathy, but he knew he was on the right track. He need only practice, and work upon improving the serum that would bolster his abilities. He would get to work on it immediately.

A sudden and unwelcome ache pulsed in his head, and he massaged one temple with two fingers. He supposed that was all part of it. He was exercising a muscle that, until minutes ago, he did not have. There would be growing pains, exhaustion, the lingering spasms of creation.

He turned to Laura's chair, but found that she no longer occupied it. He looked around, suddenly disturbed that he had been so distracted as to not hear her move around the room, and relaxed when he saw her stowing the last of the equipment in a small medical locker. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and clicked the locker door closed.

"What?" she asked.

Sinister did not answer, but turned, waved his hand over the door's console, and walked out of the room. As the doors began to slide shut, he looked back at her, grinning wickedly, despite the growing pain in his head.

"Prepare yourself," he said, "The new empire takes flight today."