Part 9, Interlude 2
The fireplace burned brightly, frantically vibrating molecules creating blazing beauty. A blue cone dwelled in the encasement of red and yellow, its superior temperature held suspended within the lesser's grasp. Cinders littered the stone fireplace floor, telling of previous holocausts raging across tortured logs. The remainder of a newspaper that had somehow managed to escape the flame's fury lay perilously out of harm's way. It was an article about a professional gambler who had lost everything in an all or nothing bet at a local casino. The man had gone from riches to rags in seconds. A tendril of fire reached out and licked its consuming touch across the thin paper, transforming the black words into indecipherable ashes.
The light from the fire flickered through the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls and floor. The ground was clothed in a lush, midnight blue rug that contrasted nicely with the off-white walls. There was a large, extravagant bed along one side of the room, its crimson comforter neatly laid over the comfortable padding. Exquisite, matching, hardwood dresser, desk and nightstand filled the expansive space—all empty of course. For the man who dwelled in this place had as little need for them as he did for the bed. He simply kept them because he found them oddly... comforting... almost homey. There was a feeling of relaxation, familiarity, and privacy that they helped enhance in the room. It reminded him of his... humanity?
Speaking of the room's owner, he stood along the one wall of the space that didn't fit with the opulent scene. Rug, paint and furniture abruptly ended, replaced by a bastion of computers, their unfriendly polished metal surfaces a cancer to the magnificence of the chamber. There the man could be found, his stark skin taking on a frightening effect as the fire cast strange shadows upon it. His glowing red eyes stared intently on the screen in front of him.
And he smiled.
The tiny machines he had dubbed 'nano-controllers' were working perfectly. According to his readings, the X-Men's mutant abilities had been allowed to manifest themselves exactly as he'd commanded. It was amazing to watch the change in their bodies as they transformed back into Homo Sapien Superior. It was absolutely fascinating. He typed hurriedly, calling up new screens of data on the computers built into the wall. Hungrily he read the information, face taking on a look that might be compared to a child's expression of wonder were it not for its frightening appearance. Completely absorbed in his work, the room around him faded away into oblivion. This was what he lived for. The knowledge and discoveries scrolling across the display were like a drug to him.
Of course, it would be much nicer to observe the changes in the X-Men in person rather than from a list of readings transmitted by his nano-controllers, but that would be possible soon enough. They would come to him eventually. He'd left enough clues, inconspicuous enough to force the X-Men to work a bit to find and decipher them. It might take a while, but he could wait. Such was the price to pay for not allowing them to get suspicious of overly obvious indications of his involvement.
They would come, perhaps sooner rather than later with recent developments. Sinister had left his signature, his marking of a diamond traced in red on his nano-controllers, not expecting the X-Men to know what it meant, but figuring they'd work the connections back to him eventually. He hadn't planned for Remy LeBeau to be there with them. The last he'd known the young mutant had been banned from the team. Surely Gambit would easily identify the tiny machines as his handy work. Maybe too easily. Maybe easily enough to allow the X-Men to perceive that a trap might be involved. No matter. The price was worth paying for having a mutant like Gambit in his grasp. That price and much more was worth paying for such a genetic gold mine.
Sinister smiled again and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. All his excruciatingly careful planning was paying off. Even now the X-Men were probably searching for him with the Cerebro unit he had allowed and helped them to retrieve from government hands, tracking a signal that he'd created to fool them into thinking they'd found him. It had been useful before in leading them to Rogue without endangering himself. While he had been miles away they'd invaded one of his bases, no doubt believing that he was somewhere within it. Or perhaps believing that they were walking into a trap since normally their Cerebro could not detect him. It didn't matter which, simply that he had been successful.
But now Mr. Sinister was leading the X-Men directly to his real location. Now he was ready to claim his prize. What wonderful test subjects they would all make. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't be able to get his grasp on the Summers' too, but Gambit compensated for that. Such extensive power would be interesting to study.
Sinister finished examining the last of the information on the computer screen.
Now all he had to do was wait.
Turning abruptly, he surveyed the room. Along one wall there was a standing bookcase filled with books whose tattered covers looked old and worn. He walked over to it, the spandex conforming comfortably to his movements. The costume was rarely taken off, except for bathing. There was no need to change when it was perfectly suitable to his needs. Unless he was in disguise, it was his sole clothing.
Reaching the bookcase he ran his hands over the tattered books, fingers gently grazing the covers. Humans could be so primitive... but then sometimes, a choice few geniuses could create such beautiful works of literature. Genetic research was his passion, his true love, but the books... they were his companions. He lived a lonely life, with no equal to share his discoveries with, having no time to forge a relationship even if such an equal existed, but his reading allowed him to endure his solitude. Usually science created beauty and humans destroyed it, it was rare for any member of mankind to make something worth his attention.
But sometimes they did. And he was thankful for those occasions. A tiny smile spread across his lips as he chose a book. Pulling it out of its alphabetical position, he walked over to the bed and sat gently on its edge. The luxurious mattress sunk beneath him, and at first he stiffened at the unusual comfort of it, but eventually relaxed, though not quite enough to lay backward across the soft surface. The words 'Les Miserables' were printed across the book's front in gold letters. Opening it carefully in his lap, he began to read.
The words provided a strange sort of solace, as well as a means to occupy his mind as he waited for more information to be transmitted by the nano-controllers. Soon his plans would fully converge into success.
Soon. He could wait.
Sinister was a very patient man.