It wasn't the first time I'd ever woken up with the sensation that my head was being sawed in half. By that alone, knowing the way my life worked out, I was also pretty certain it wouldn't be the last.
I blinked a few times, trying to make things come back into focus.
An angry buzzing sound filled my ears, and I twitched violently as something pressed against my skull just behind my ear. I jerked to the side, snapping and spitting curses. A rough hand grabbed my chin and forced me to face forward.
"Let go," I growled. Silver spat, but before I could reach out to form the blades, someone slapped me. The impact left my ears ringing, and the touch moved from behind my ear to the crown of my skull.
A sensation like spider legs danced across the back of my neck. I made to scratch at it, but when I tried to move my hand, it just - didn't.
Wait. Back up.
Adrenaline sharpened the world and I could finally make out what was actually going on. My hands were gloved and tied to the arms of a chair, the leather stiff enough that I could barely bend my fingers. More hands were pressing against my shoulders, keeping my torso straight. My ankles were similarly bound, though someone had taken the trouble to remove my socks. Chill from the concrete seeped into my bare toes.
Someone was shaving my head.
"Let me go!" I screamed, snapping at the hand closest to my face, but as hard as I tried, the cord holding me still not budging an inch.
"None of that, now." From the shadowy portion of the room I was in, the man from before - Stryker - emerged, running a hand over his own, similarly close-cropped hair. Though I do imagine he picked that. "Unless you'd like to lose your clothing privileges, that is."
The buzzer made another pass and more of my hair joined the piles itching on my shoulder. Actually, now that he mentioned it, I did notice that I was only wearing a pair of boxers - thin material, too. Goosebumps erupted on my chest and spread down my arms. I only just resisted the urge to shiver, instead glaring at Stryker as he studied me.
"Oh, I get it," I said sarcastically, stiffening as the owner of the buzzer put his (or her) hand on my head to turn it. Still not a fan of other people touching me, and somehow I doubted that was something I'd be getting over soon. "Mutant torture how you get your rocks off? Would stripping get it over faster?" Teeth bared, I wiggled my ass as best I could in the chair. "Want a lap dance?" I asked snidely.
"Son," he said, turning the word into a thick drawl. "There is a world of difference between stubborn and stupid. Do not test me."
"Or what?" I snapped. "You'll do - what, exactly? Torture me? Been there, done that." I worked up some saliva from my suddenly dry mouth and spat at his feet as best I could manage. "You are not the worst I have faced in my life," I whispered, eyes full of fire and defiance.
Stryker's face smoothed into an utter blank, but I could see the wheels in his head turning.
I wanted nothing more than to grab the words from the air and stuff them back into my mouth, but since I didn't exactly have that kind of ability, I plucked up what was left of my courage and glared.
"Take the pants," Stryker finally said, "and hose him down."
Hose...?
He didn't literally mean hose, I hope.
Ten minutes later, I was seriously regretting my life choices. Because he did literally mean hose. As in, my bindings were cut, I was wrenched from the chair with a guard on each arm, dragged to an area with a drain, told to put my hands on the wall and spread my feet - even harder than normal because they'd taken my boxers, leaving me vulnerably naked - and a torrent of freezing cold water from what felt like a pressure washer roared from my blind spot, dousing me.
I did my best to choke back the screams that wanted to burst forth from my chest like angry birds. Thankfully the purpose of my "shower" was to clear the hair off - another thing I had already lost, another bit of control stripped away - so it was only a few minutes of torment.
My guards eased away, leaving my arms free for the first time since I'd woken up. I snatched that opportunity as fast as mutantly possible.
Utilizing the wind from my hands was a total psychological thing. Where I'd come from, having had powers for so long, I no longer needed the momentum of swinging around to aim and unleash my powers. Here, with the claws as another extra layer of conditioning to use my hands, I was a little screwed by the gloves. They felt practically glued on, which was worrying. Getting them off would be a trick. Which left regular hand-to-hand combat.
I whipped around, nailing a guy right in the nose with my elbow, grin feral as it crunched in a very satisfying way. I immediately dropped to the ground, sweeping my legs around and catching the second by hooking my foot around his ankle, sending him crashing down. Somersaulting forward, I dropped a heel strike directly into his ribs. The snaps of his bones breaking would haunt me, I knew, but I could endure the nightmares.
"Anyone else want to try me?" I growled.
The white-coated flunky just stared, face nearly as white as the hair littering the tiled floor, clutching the buzzer with pale knuckles.
Stryker simply stood there, a slightly bored expression on his face, which made me want to snarl further. I forced myself to stand and resisted the urge to fold inwards and cover my nakedness - here, admitting that he'd gotten to me by stripping me was deadly.
"Send two additional units to the washroom," Stryker said, turning his head just enough to let me see the light from the flesh-colored bud in his ear begin blinking.
I took a step back, cursed, and bolted for the door.
They must have been waiting in the hall - well, what I figured must have been a hall. When I reached out a dead hand to paw at the knob, it slammed open and nearly connected with my head. I stumbled back, falling into a crouch, teeth bared. Silver whorled uselessly around my wrists.
"Bag 'im," Stryker said lazily. "Put him in the cell across from the children."
Part of me started and froze as I remembered that this time, I wasn't the only victim involved. Rage and desperation eroded at my better judgement; I watched helplessly as six armed guards filed in, weapons holstered, loose and ready to beat me into submission.
One of them - the leader, he had a bar on his shoulder that I thought meant a higher rank than flunky - stepped forward. From a side pouch on his belt, he removed what looked like a black blob, which he shook out to reveal a heavy black bag with drawstrings at the bottom.
As he took a step forward, I took an uneasy step back. All of the false bravado I had been mustering up for a valiant but futile charge flew entirely out the window. Fear, cold as ice, clamped around my throat. My breath hitched.
Two more guards separated themselves from the group, circling around and grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises and yanking them behind my back. One of them kicked at the back of my knee and I groaned, nearly biting my tongue as I sank down. The leader stepped closer, smirking, and held the bag out.
As it slipped down over my ears and the darkness enveloped me, I screamed. It was - too much like when Trask had drugged me, before I'd gone on a killing spree that I couldn't even remember. I couldn't tamp down the instinct to struggle and fight, because this darkness could only hold a similar fate. I screamed again, thrashing, and heard a low chuckle that seemed too familiar. Phantom pain burst from my chest.
I curled inward like a dying insect, sobbing, begging in a broken voice to make it stop, please, Trask, just stop and end it...
Stryker's pleased laughter was the last thing I remember hearing before passing out.
When I flinched awake who knew how many minutes or hours later, it was full-body and accompanied by a low whine. My pride dashed itself to pieces as I realized the pitiful sound was coming from me. The hood was still on, and I was still naked, but I was laying down and covered by a blanket, so I guess that was better.
I felt around to the side and my hand met open air. Carefully, mindful of my lack of sight, I sat up, keeping the blanket in my lap to preserve at least a little modesty.
"Hello?" I called hoarsely.
"Loki!" several shrill voices answered. I heard banging from somewhere in front of me. Wrapping the blanket around my waist, I toed around until I found a solid footing and stepped forward carefully, one hand fisted in the cloth and the other held out, hopefully to stop me from running into anything.
"Where are we?" one trembling girl asked. "Where's the Professor?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. My hand hit something that clanged, which I would have bet money on was the front set of bars to my prison. I eased myself forward, leaning my head against the cool metal. My throat ached from thirst, and the stubble on my head itched.
"Loki, what do we do?"
I had to swallow, because my mouth had gone uncomfortably dry. The click in my throat sounded loud, but I knew it was just because I couldn't see anything that it seemed noisier than usual.
"We're not going to panic, first of all," I finally said. "I know for a fact that Logan, Bobby, Rogue, and John made it out. Jean and Ororo were on a mission but they'll be coming back any time. And Scott and Xavier are around somewhere. We just have to wait this one out." I gave an experimental tug on the cloth bag, but it was tied snugly around my neck. Unless I wanted to scrape my ears off, it was staying for the moment.
Someone began to sob quietly.
I wondered how long it would take for me to do the same.
I was in the middle of discussing with the kids how to set up an effective watch schedule when they came for me. I heard the sounds of footsteps and hissed for the children to be silent. Terrified, they obeyed. They were more frightened by what had happened to me, I wagered; as one of the older residents of the mansion, I was supposed to be a role model, yet I'd been stripped and shorn and hooded.
Not exactly inspiring material right there.
I snapped my head around as metal grated on metal; next thing I knew, people were gripping my arms again. One friendly soul tore the blanket out of my grip, snickering, and I flushed, blood rising to my neck and cheeks. I stumbled as they dragged me out of my cell and tried to remember the numerous turns we took, but at some point they stopped and spun me in circles. Dizzy and disoriented, I gave it up as a bad job.
After a few more minutes of walking, they yanked me to a stop.
"Take the hood off, please." Stryker, again. He's like a boomerang and just keeps coming back.
Light speared into my sensitive eyes. I took a step back, tucking my chin to my chest, trying to even out the breathing that wanted to speed up into hyperventilation.
When I finally managed to crack my peepers back open, Stryker was standing there, one eyebrow raised. He was still decked out in military gear, face still pockmarked and jowly, glasses easing the deadness in his eyes to a bearable level.
I cast a critical glance at the room we were in. Well, room might be a stretch. It looked like nothing so much as a crack den, all grimy tiled floors and a single window caked in dust that let in just enough light to make you yearn for more than the fluorescent bulbs that burned overhead.
"You're too kind," I deadpanned. "A free room upgrade? I hardly deserve it."
Stryker didn't acknowledge my comments, opting to send the guards outside with a wave of his hand. While part of me decided that now would be a great time to rush him, beat the snot out of him, and take him hostage, the other part made me still. The ease with which he regarded me, someone with known dangerous abilities, made me wary.
"You really are a curious one," Stryker said, the words bringing me out of my introspective planning and back to the present.
"Oh?" I said loftily. I checked the urge to use the gloves as an effective cover for my privates. If I didn't let it bother me, I told myself firmly, he wouldn't win.
"Well," Stryker said, falling into a parade rest stance that put his hands away from the weapons on his belt. I twitched, violently, and settled on baring my fangs. "I can't decide if your file is telling the truth or if you managed to pull the wool over Xavier's eyes."
I told them they needed to update their security if they were going to be keeping sensitive information around. Xavier, I'd said, if you're planning on keeping an accurate record of my history, you need to keep it safe - safer than what it was when Magneto broke in.
And yet, here I am.
"You've figured me out," I said sarcastically. "I, with my non-telepathic abilities and pretty face, have managed to convince one of the strongest mutants in the world that I am, in fact, from a different universe." I huffed angrily, wishing my powers included glaring things into submission and/or until they melted. Stryker's head would be a pile of mush and I'd be free to collect some clothes, grab the kids, and beat it.
"You can't always trust the information you gather," Stryker said, smirking, and the air at his side rippled. As if he'd always been there, a man in a wheelchair sat, staring. His head leaned to the side; scars poked and curled out from the edges of his filthy hospital gown. His eyes - one blue, one green - seemed to glow.
I took a startled step back. The man in the wheelchair did not so much as blink.
I closed my eyes to blink a few times of my own - how did the guy do that, invisibility? - and the world changed.
I was yelling, I could distantly tell, and thrashing around. Something was trapping me, and it felt too much like the bindings on Trask's table, and the recurring nightmares didn't help much in that respect, either.
Light flared next to me, and it startled me enough to yank me from the depths of my subconscious. I flailed against my blankets, pushing them away.
Sweat pasted my t-shirt to my chest as I sat up, heaving for breath, hands fisted in my hair. I gave the white strands a gentle tug, feeling little sparks of pain across my scalp. Pain was my anchor, I reminded myself. Pain was good to feel, let me knew the nightmares were just dreams and would fade away.
A stare from across the room burrowed into my skull and I jumped as I met an eclectic pair of eyes, one blue, one green.
"Hey, Jase," I said tiredly. "Did I wake you up again? I'm sorry."
Jase said nothing, just continued to stare. That was normal. He didn't talk at all - well, he didn't do much period, but he'd stuck to me like a burr over the past few weeks at the mansion. I didn't even really know what his powers were, just that it had something to do with mind stuff. Telepathy, telekinesis, or something similar, I'd guessed.
I scrubbed at my face and stood, yawning. It was about time to get up, anyways. Scott would no doubt be calling for another Danger Room session, given that summer had started and we were all in one place again to train. I fumbled around, pulling on my uniform - black, with silver trim. Matched my eyes.
"Wanna come down with me?" I offered. Jase said nothing, but he stood; he wasn't in his uniform, but he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve button down. He didn't wear anything that didn't come down to ankles and wrists, I'd noticed. I could only imagine why. We all had scars; just because he was new didn't make him the exception.
I trotted out of the bedroom, running my hand along the walls. Something niggled in the back of my head as I did so - almost the feeling that the paintings were wrong, which could be true, I guess. I'd only just moved from the lower floor back to the boy's wing, as Xavier had finally determined I wasn't a threat during the sleeping hours. But I pushed the feeling away. This was Xavier's mansion and my home, and everything was just fine.
Slipping into the elevator, Jase my silent shadow, I hit the button for the lower floor and rode it down. I stared at my nails for a second, an alien feeling of confusion seeming to appear from nowhere as I took in the clean, slightly ragged edges. I was due for a trim.
As we stepped out, I was greeted by several grumpy faces. Kitty was falling asleep on her feet, long brown hair in a sloppy tail. Kurt was watching her, amused, tail swishing back and forth. Jean and Scott traded pining looks, as per usual-
-aren't they together now? aren't they older?-
-leaving Evan, who was toying with his skateboard and mindlessly forming and absorbing a bone-colored spike from his palm.
This time, the confused feeling was edged with panic, and I took a hesitant step forward, nearly jumping out of my skin as Jase's footsteps echoed in the metal corridor.
"Guten Morgen," Kurt chirped, bouncing over to me with a cheerful smile. He seemed a little too alert for this time of morning, his yellow eyes gleaming with good humor.
-thought we were still looking for Kurt?-
"'Lo, Kurt," I murmured, scraping a hand through my hair. "Jase decided to tag along. What's Laser Eyeballs have planned for us today?"
Scott did his head-tilty thing that was his version of an eye-roll. I stuck my tongue out at him, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Just drills," Kurt replied. "Speed and accuracy. You're with Evan today."
Aw, man, I hated partner sessions. But since our powers were pretty similar, we always got stuck together.
-Ororo doesn't even have a nephew!-
Our motley bunch crowded into the DR, all gleaming silver and vast, sloping walls. Evan and I peeled away from the main pack, Jase close behind, moving to the area covered in targets. We stretched out for a few minutes before taking up aim and preparing to test our accuracy and reflexes.
I lifted my hands, fingers splayed-
-where are the gloves?!-
-a terrible pain struck me like a bolt of Ororo's lightning. I toppled to my knees, clutching at my chest, howling. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I clawed at my uniform top, tearing it off and exposing the skin of my chest to the refreshingly chill air. Silver exploded from me, tearing out in all directions. I heard a distant cry of pain as Evan was hit.
The scar was there. From Trask. Thick ropes of tissue, a dark blush, that wound across my pectorals, one branching almost to my armpit, that currently felt like someone had doused them in gasoline and let them ablaze.
You don't have that scar anymore!
I looked up, gasping, and met Jase's eyes. They went strangely glassy and almost seemed to shine.
The illusion splintered, went to pieces, and fell away.
A/N: Someone's had some practice at recognizing things aren't always as they seem... more to come soon. Not quite done with Stryker yet. *evil smirk*