My Heart in Your Hands
by Princess of Monkeys
Chapter 30
You guys are the best!!!!! See, I was cheating by posting on my birthday- that way, all the reviews would be like little presents all week long. And it worked!!! And I'm really trying to post fast, but real life (and t.v. shows) get in the way. But c'mon- it could be worse, I could be one of those people that only updates every other week or something, so don't complain too much!!
And now, some fun with the Acolytes. Hmmm, it comes to my attention that St. John just gets so abused in my fic.... I'll have to write one for him where he gets to set fire to lots of stuff, to make him feel better. Right now, he's torching the disclaimer, which has been mysteriously absent for many chapters....
Most of Friday had passed before Remy's absence was noticed by the others. Ironically, it was St. John, the least observant among them, who discovered he was missing. The surveillance tape from the Xavier Institute had started to wear out from being rewound so often, and when he couldn't see the pretty flames anymore, he got bored and went looking for a drinking partner. He made the mistake of asking Piotr where Remy had gone to in Magneto's hearing, and needless to say, the Master of Magnetism was less than pleased that the Cajun had managed to escape; it was going to make things that much more difficult for him.
By the time Piotr had managed to unwind the metal kitchen chairs from around St. John's body, Magneto was in a slightly better frame of mind. Having sent Sabretooth out to track the thief, and leaving strict orders for Colossus to send Mastermind to him immediately upon the man's return, he escaped into his lab, slamming the door behind himself.
"Wot's 'is problem?" St. John asked, bruised and bewildered. Sometimes he almost thought Magneto was trying to hurt him! But who'd want to hurt him?
Piotr simply shrugged- though he had some inkling of what Magneto's 'problem' could be, he didn't want to voice his thoughts aloud, and especially not to Pyro. "I do not know, comrade," was his only reply.
The Australian shrugged it off. "Oh, right then. Have a beer mate?" He offered, wandering back into the t.v. room and digging around in the cooler by the couch- he'd accidentally managed to set fire to the refrigerator some time last week, and Magneto wasn't exactly the type to call for a repairman. With a sigh, Piotr followed him into the room and accepted the beer- wasn't like there was anything else to do, after all. He gingerly settled his bulk on the other end of the couch, and didn't complain when St. John flipped the channels around, finally settling on a cartoon. St. John raised his bottle for a toast, though to judge by the smell of his breath he was in no position to be able to think up one. Dutifully, Piotr clinked bottles with him, silently wishing Remy luck in evading Sabretooth. He tried not to envy the Cajun for managing to leave when he, too, so desperately wished to be free of the yoke of servitude to Magneto- but deep in his heart, an ember of hope grew. Someday, he would be free too- him and his family.
During the past week, Magneto had been busy studying the information he and Gambit had retrieved from the F.O.H. headquarters, calling in favors for more information when necessary and analyzing the data. The operation was much larger than he had previously suspected- the 'neighborhood service organization' front was a cover for something much, much more. Not only was the organization running military style training camps in the remote areas of the northern united states, but they also had several 'research and development' facilities offshore, where cheap slave labor worked to assemble what looked to be the basic components for Sentinel robots. Some of the financial records from Creed's computer answered Magneto's question of where Bolivar Trask had gotten some of his funding from- not only had they given him money for his robots, but now they were trying to break him out of prison as well. More immediately disturbing was the fact that several 'testing facilities' were located in Nevada, Arizona and Utah; the records referred to gene extractions, splicing, and other experiments on mutant subjects that were horrific enough to have come out of his childhood nightmares from Auschwitz.
There had been legislative briefs on the computer as well- proposals for things like mutant registration, mandatory genetic testing at birth, and a strict segregationist policy. That last one didn't bother Magneto so much- he agreed that humans and mutants should live separately, if humans even had to share the world with mutants at all. But the segregationist policies espoused in the documents were far more than separate but equal- the bills called for something akin to the concentration camps he remembered from Poland, slave labor and horrible deaths. This was what Graydon Creed wanted for all of homo superior- slow, agonizing death, simply for being born with different genes.
There was no question in Magneto's mind that Creed must be stopped- but his own curiosity remained. _What made the man hate us so much? Jealousy, that he was not born superior to normal humans, turning into a desire to destroy what he can't have?_ At that moment, something beeped on the other side of the lab, jolting him from his musings about the causes of human hatred. Turning, he walked to the second bank of computers along the far wall, staring at the genetic analysis upon the screen. Not only had the computer finished analyzing the skin cells from Creed's glasses, but it had found several matches to known DNA samples already ion its memory. _Well, isn't that interesting,_ he thought with dark amusement, looking at the names attached to those samples. _No wonder she has always hated him- and it does explain her mysterious absence..._ His mind wandered back into history, thinking about a time long ago when a young blue skinned associate of his had mysteriously vanished for several years, only to reappear on his doorstep one day, tearing up a birth certificate. "Now they'll never know," she had said, and at the time, he'd thought it had been her own past she had been destroying. Now, it all made sense to him. He smiled, not a pleasant smile. _Well, with parents like those two, no wonder he hates mutants._
When he emerged from his lab several hours later, he found that it was nearing midnight. Mastermind hadn't yet returned, and neither had Sabretooth. He felt almost pleased- his plans were finally starting to take a definite shape. But the momentary pleasure he felt evaporated when he saw the rest of his team sitting on the couch, drunk and reeking, watching a Powerpuff Girls marathon and laughing together like idiots. _Sometimes, the idea of creating a clone army sounds almost appealing..._ He thought, wondering yet again what ever had possessed him to recruit Pyro in the first place. His desire to cause more bodily harm to the firebug was put on hold, however, by the loud roar that signaled Sabretooth's arrival.
A frighteningly triumphant look on his feral face, the large man swaggered into the room, tossing a body down on the coffee table without concern. "I didn't get the Cajun, but I know where he went- Xavier got him. Found this instead- figured you might want it more."
Magneto looked down at Mystique, lying haphazardly across the coffee table, a nasty looking bruise blossoming across the side of her face, and merely said "indeed. Take her to the lab; the other is of no consequence." Sabretooth complied, smiling like the predator he was- the idea of Magneto inflicting pain upon Mystique pleased him.
Floating himself down the hallway, Magneto entered his soundproofed study and locked the door behind him. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he dialed carefully, spoke a code phrase, and within several minutes, a woman's delicately Cajun- tinged voice spoke in his ear. "Where is he?"
"Your thief is in Bayville, New York." He proceeded to give the Institute's exact address, and he could practically hear her purring in pleasure over the phone. She'd been waiting quite some time for her revenge, and who was he to deny it to her, now that the man was no more use to him? Besides, her organization could be useful to him- it would be essential to establish a good working relationship. They spoke for another minute, and when he clicked the 'end' button, he smiled again. _Such a pity about Gambit..... But betrayal has its price._ Composing his face, he left the room, preparing to go deal with Mystique. Before he had Mastermind rearrange her memories, he had questions he wanted answered.
by Princess of Monkeys
Chapter 30
You guys are the best!!!!! See, I was cheating by posting on my birthday- that way, all the reviews would be like little presents all week long. And it worked!!! And I'm really trying to post fast, but real life (and t.v. shows) get in the way. But c'mon- it could be worse, I could be one of those people that only updates every other week or something, so don't complain too much!!
And now, some fun with the Acolytes. Hmmm, it comes to my attention that St. John just gets so abused in my fic.... I'll have to write one for him where he gets to set fire to lots of stuff, to make him feel better. Right now, he's torching the disclaimer, which has been mysteriously absent for many chapters....
Most of Friday had passed before Remy's absence was noticed by the others. Ironically, it was St. John, the least observant among them, who discovered he was missing. The surveillance tape from the Xavier Institute had started to wear out from being rewound so often, and when he couldn't see the pretty flames anymore, he got bored and went looking for a drinking partner. He made the mistake of asking Piotr where Remy had gone to in Magneto's hearing, and needless to say, the Master of Magnetism was less than pleased that the Cajun had managed to escape; it was going to make things that much more difficult for him.
By the time Piotr had managed to unwind the metal kitchen chairs from around St. John's body, Magneto was in a slightly better frame of mind. Having sent Sabretooth out to track the thief, and leaving strict orders for Colossus to send Mastermind to him immediately upon the man's return, he escaped into his lab, slamming the door behind himself.
"Wot's 'is problem?" St. John asked, bruised and bewildered. Sometimes he almost thought Magneto was trying to hurt him! But who'd want to hurt him?
Piotr simply shrugged- though he had some inkling of what Magneto's 'problem' could be, he didn't want to voice his thoughts aloud, and especially not to Pyro. "I do not know, comrade," was his only reply.
The Australian shrugged it off. "Oh, right then. Have a beer mate?" He offered, wandering back into the t.v. room and digging around in the cooler by the couch- he'd accidentally managed to set fire to the refrigerator some time last week, and Magneto wasn't exactly the type to call for a repairman. With a sigh, Piotr followed him into the room and accepted the beer- wasn't like there was anything else to do, after all. He gingerly settled his bulk on the other end of the couch, and didn't complain when St. John flipped the channels around, finally settling on a cartoon. St. John raised his bottle for a toast, though to judge by the smell of his breath he was in no position to be able to think up one. Dutifully, Piotr clinked bottles with him, silently wishing Remy luck in evading Sabretooth. He tried not to envy the Cajun for managing to leave when he, too, so desperately wished to be free of the yoke of servitude to Magneto- but deep in his heart, an ember of hope grew. Someday, he would be free too- him and his family.
During the past week, Magneto had been busy studying the information he and Gambit had retrieved from the F.O.H. headquarters, calling in favors for more information when necessary and analyzing the data. The operation was much larger than he had previously suspected- the 'neighborhood service organization' front was a cover for something much, much more. Not only was the organization running military style training camps in the remote areas of the northern united states, but they also had several 'research and development' facilities offshore, where cheap slave labor worked to assemble what looked to be the basic components for Sentinel robots. Some of the financial records from Creed's computer answered Magneto's question of where Bolivar Trask had gotten some of his funding from- not only had they given him money for his robots, but now they were trying to break him out of prison as well. More immediately disturbing was the fact that several 'testing facilities' were located in Nevada, Arizona and Utah; the records referred to gene extractions, splicing, and other experiments on mutant subjects that were horrific enough to have come out of his childhood nightmares from Auschwitz.
There had been legislative briefs on the computer as well- proposals for things like mutant registration, mandatory genetic testing at birth, and a strict segregationist policy. That last one didn't bother Magneto so much- he agreed that humans and mutants should live separately, if humans even had to share the world with mutants at all. But the segregationist policies espoused in the documents were far more than separate but equal- the bills called for something akin to the concentration camps he remembered from Poland, slave labor and horrible deaths. This was what Graydon Creed wanted for all of homo superior- slow, agonizing death, simply for being born with different genes.
There was no question in Magneto's mind that Creed must be stopped- but his own curiosity remained. _What made the man hate us so much? Jealousy, that he was not born superior to normal humans, turning into a desire to destroy what he can't have?_ At that moment, something beeped on the other side of the lab, jolting him from his musings about the causes of human hatred. Turning, he walked to the second bank of computers along the far wall, staring at the genetic analysis upon the screen. Not only had the computer finished analyzing the skin cells from Creed's glasses, but it had found several matches to known DNA samples already ion its memory. _Well, isn't that interesting,_ he thought with dark amusement, looking at the names attached to those samples. _No wonder she has always hated him- and it does explain her mysterious absence..._ His mind wandered back into history, thinking about a time long ago when a young blue skinned associate of his had mysteriously vanished for several years, only to reappear on his doorstep one day, tearing up a birth certificate. "Now they'll never know," she had said, and at the time, he'd thought it had been her own past she had been destroying. Now, it all made sense to him. He smiled, not a pleasant smile. _Well, with parents like those two, no wonder he hates mutants._
When he emerged from his lab several hours later, he found that it was nearing midnight. Mastermind hadn't yet returned, and neither had Sabretooth. He felt almost pleased- his plans were finally starting to take a definite shape. But the momentary pleasure he felt evaporated when he saw the rest of his team sitting on the couch, drunk and reeking, watching a Powerpuff Girls marathon and laughing together like idiots. _Sometimes, the idea of creating a clone army sounds almost appealing..._ He thought, wondering yet again what ever had possessed him to recruit Pyro in the first place. His desire to cause more bodily harm to the firebug was put on hold, however, by the loud roar that signaled Sabretooth's arrival.
A frighteningly triumphant look on his feral face, the large man swaggered into the room, tossing a body down on the coffee table without concern. "I didn't get the Cajun, but I know where he went- Xavier got him. Found this instead- figured you might want it more."
Magneto looked down at Mystique, lying haphazardly across the coffee table, a nasty looking bruise blossoming across the side of her face, and merely said "indeed. Take her to the lab; the other is of no consequence." Sabretooth complied, smiling like the predator he was- the idea of Magneto inflicting pain upon Mystique pleased him.
Floating himself down the hallway, Magneto entered his soundproofed study and locked the door behind him. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he dialed carefully, spoke a code phrase, and within several minutes, a woman's delicately Cajun- tinged voice spoke in his ear. "Where is he?"
"Your thief is in Bayville, New York." He proceeded to give the Institute's exact address, and he could practically hear her purring in pleasure over the phone. She'd been waiting quite some time for her revenge, and who was he to deny it to her, now that the man was no more use to him? Besides, her organization could be useful to him- it would be essential to establish a good working relationship. They spoke for another minute, and when he clicked the 'end' button, he smiled again. _Such a pity about Gambit..... But betrayal has its price._ Composing his face, he left the room, preparing to go deal with Mystique. Before he had Mastermind rearrange her memories, he had questions he wanted answered.