Descent

Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the Marvel, I'm not making any money.

Part 4

The boy who sobbed apparently didn't interest Sinister after the initial testing. One day his henchmen simply came in and hauled the boy away, leaving Warren the next in line for the mad scientist's attention.

The first few sessions wouldn't have been any worse than a particularly grueling doctor's exam. No worse than the examinations Warren had endured when his father's physicians had been trying to determine the best way to remove his wings a lifetime ago, except for one little thing. The physicians had talked to him. They'd warned him before doing something that would hurt. They'd explained their actions to him and tried to be reassuring. Sinister reported his findings and made notes in much the same manner as a corner might have done. If he were aware that the body he was working on contained a feeling, self-aware individual, he gave no sign that he cared.

As the days progressed Sinister's tests became more invasive, egocentric and painful. One day Warren gave into his impulses and screamed until he was gagged. After that he only screamed when he couldn't help it.

One day, instead of securing him to one of the tables, Sinister had Harpooner and Archlight drag him up to the roof where they held him immobile while Sinister attached electrodes to his head and body, the wires were connected to a small box Sinister secured to Warren's back, between his wings. A manacle with a long chain attached was put on his ankle. When everything was in place the two henchmen hauled him toward the edge of the roof.

To his own surprise Warren realized that he didn't want to die. "Stop! Please!" he begged. "I can't fly like this! Look at my wings, I can't fly!"

"Your wings were never sufficient to support your mass." Sinister said, appearing mildly surprised his captive had spoken and with that Warren was summarily tossed off the roof.

His broken, battered wings wrapped around his body like a shroud and he plummeted toward the Earth.

The chain around his ankle brought him to an abrupt halt, sending shocks of pain through his body. But instead of smashing into the side of the building and dashing his brains out Warren found himself swinging a few feet off the ground in the open mouth of an airplane hanger. After several minutes Archlight showed up and hauled him back to his cell in the lab.

The next time he was strapped to the table Sinister said. "I believe the subject's damaged wings interfere with his in-born ability to fly. While it would be possible to heal the wings, the rehabilitation process would be lengthy and their use taints my data."

Warren wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew, as surely as he knew his name, that the scientist intended to cut off his wings and something in his mind snapped. The madness that had hovered in the corners of his mind for so long descended and consumed him.

Warren fought his shackles with a strength lent to him by desperation, and the restraints gave way. Warren fell to the floor, then scrambled to his feet and ran, unmindful of the injuries he'd sustained, only knowing that he had to get out.

The turn of events caught Sinister unaware and Warren escaped into the compound before he could react.

Warren had no though in his head except escape, no sense of which direction he should go in except away, no plan except to keep moving. He never even noticed the other person until he plowed into him. Weakened by his captivity the collision threw Warren to the ground.

"Mon Dieu," a concerned voice exclaimed, then strong hands were helping Warren to his feet. "What happened to you? Wings? De Morlock's Wings? Why are you here? What happened to you?"

Warren froze, rooted to the spot by the demon eyes that had haunted his nightmares. Gambit had changed; the underweight, awkward twelve-year-old had grown and added a healthy layer of muscle over his bones, an easy grace to his movement and at least two years to his age.

Seeing the true length of his captivity in the other boy's face, Warren screamed his outrage and dove at Gambit, intending murder. The pair hit the floor in a tangle, Warren pinned Gambit beneath him, his hands locked around Gambit's throat. The younger boy's eyes were filled with shock and an old fear. Gambit's hands pressed against Warren's chest and an explosion tore them apart.

Both were sporting burns when they scrambled to their feet. Gambit was holding a handful of glowing cards, "I don't want to hurt you Wings," he warned.

"Your master doesn't like damaged merchandise?" Warren asked with a bitter laugh. "Too late for that."

A card exploding at his feet tripped him and foiled Warren's second attack. As he struggled up for a third try a feeling of dizziness swept over him, robbing him of the focused terror and rage that had kept him on his feet that long. He felt hands clamping onto his arms, restraining him. He tried to reclaim the madness that had aided him before, but all he found was the ashes of despair and hopelessness along with the sick spinning sense of vertigo.

"Grey Crow, why's he like this?" Gambit asked and Warren hated the boy even more for having the nerve to sound concerned and compassionate.

Warren fought as he was drug back toward the lab, his hate filled eyes fixed on Gambit.

"He had an accident," Scalphunter explained. "Didn't realize you knew him. The boss'll fix him up good as new, don't worry yourself about it. Might take awhile longer to get his head sorted out, but you know that."

Behind Scalphunter, Vertigo was fighting to keep from rolling her eyes and smirking at the pretty story her field commander was spinning for the boy.

Remy gave her a suspicious look but nodded. "Oui, I know, a'most flashed back to Richard when he tried to strangle me. You'll let me know when he's feeling well 'nough for visitors?"

"Sure kid," Scalphunter replied. "But if he fixates on you as a focal point for his anger it might not ever happen."

"Why would he?" Remy asked.

"I don't have a clue," Scalphunter lied. "But that's what it looked like he was doing a few minutes ago, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Merci," Remy said a small edge of suspicious creeping into his voice. "Mais, got t'ings to do. See you around."

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