Disclaimer: Marvel owns all the characters and would never abuse them this way unless they were on THE DRUGS.

Author's Notes: This is part of Mutatis Mutandis. Everyone say 'duh' with me. This story follows the events that took place in 'Interlude at a Cheap Motel' and 'Awakening' chapter four. All MM stories are archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net
Naturally, feedback is appreciated and can be sent to decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca
I am currently listening to a song entirely about crabs. Not the kind you find in the ocean, either.

The Politics of Mutancy
Chapter Two - Confrontation

Everything was grey inside. 'Outside' was different; the emotions of everyone around him shifting and sliding in a psychedelic display of auric colour that was not seen but merely felt. That and the murmured thoughts that were not his own made it tremendously difficult to function, so he retreated from them and built a dense wall of unfeeling around himself. Behind the wall was grey, and while it was depressing at least it was safe.

Numbing.

He was, he'd concluded, a walking corpse. No heart, no lungs, no blood. He was beginning to doubt he even had a soul. Yet his body moved, refusing to die despite his best efforts. As such, he found it rather difficult to really care about anything.

And so it was that he found himself standing in the shadowed outskirts of one Senator Hull's spacious, manicured lawn, waiting apathetically for the all-clear signal so he could waltz into the man's house and murder him while he slept. This fact didn't bother him in the slightest; those emotions were on the other side of the wall. Kill a man? No problem. All in a day's work, guv.

Clarice, he knew, was upset by the whole affair, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be sympathetic. In terms of war, killing this one man would prevent the deaths of countless others. Others of 'their kind,' as Magneto put it.

Jonothon shook his head. 'Their kind.' Bollocks. If indeed it was mutants VS humans, he knew perfectly well that he was excluded from both groups. Other mutants, his genetic brothers and sisters, turned away from his form with faint shudders when they beheld him. Freak among freaks.

Still, the fact remained that slaughter could be prevented. And oh how simply… just slip inside under cover of darkness and steal one human life.

Just a human.

Not just. They have more humanity than you, monster.

Maybe so. But it didn't matter. None of it did.

The device strapped to his wrist glowed a sudden sullen red, indicating that the scene was secure and he and the other Acolytes were to proceed to the house's east entrance where Gambit would be waiting for them.

He moved forward through the darkness, peripherally aware of the thought/feelings of his teammates as they converged at the door. The night was silent except for the faint sound of traffic and there were no signs of security personnel… well, none that were conscious anyway. Clarice had already seen to that.

"He be upstairs," Remy whispered. "Asleep in de master bedroom, jus' like we were told."

Pietro, who was supposedly their field commander, gave a curt nod. "Okay. Remember the plan: Three of us will enter the bedroom. Two will guard the windows while one kills the guy, ok? Colossus, you stay here and stand watch. The remaining two will guard the hallway outside the bedroom. Got it? Magneto said this guy might have some surprises up his sleeve so we have to be careful. Ok, let's get going already!"

Colossus grunted as the rest of the team slipped into the building. No alarms sounded, as Gambit was well versed in the art of breaking and entering and had disconnected them. Still, caution was required. The Acolytes crept along the darkened hallways, Pietro zipping up the narrow staircase to the second floor, scouting for trouble. When none presented itself he motioned anxiously for the others to follow. At the end of the hallway, which was carpeted in a deep olive shag Jonothon couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at, a paneled oak door stood shut against them.

"That it?" Pyro whispered. Pietro nodded.

"Yeah. Ok. Clarice and I will watch the windows while Gambit offs the guy. You other two stay here."

Gambit held up his hands and shook his head. "I ain't killin' nobody," he whispered.

Pietro stared at him. "What?! You're a criminal for crying out loud. Stop pussying around!

Gambit shook his head again. "I am a thief," he said quietly. "I am not an assassin."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Fine," he snapped. "Clarice…?"

"Oh no, nuh-uh. No." Her eyes were absolutely huge. "I… I can't. No, no… I just can't."

"Pyro…?"

"Sorry mate. 'Fraid I've never killed anybody before. Don't think I can do it unless we're in the middle of a fight, yanno?"

Pietro made a disgusted sound and made a flapping gesture with his hands. "You're all pathetic," he hissed. "It's just a HUMAN. What about advancing dad's cause, huh? Survival? You guys forget all that stuff when you walked in here?"

*Why don't you do it?* Jonothon asked. Pietro jumped, as the psionic voice was quite loud in the silence of the house. Jonothon, of course, didn't have to whisper.

"Yeah," Gambit added slyly. "Honour should go t'our fearless leader, non?"

"I…" Pietro looked startled, but then quickly adopted a nonchalant expression. "I don't want to get my hands dirty," he said.

*Bollocks.* Jonothon pushed his way past the smaller boy and headed towards the door. *I'll do it, then. Damned already.*

Pietro stared after him for a second, then motioned for Clarice to accompany him. "Stay here," he whispered at Pyro and Gambit, who both nodded.

The door opened noiselessly, letting the Acolytes into a large, tastefully furnished bedroom with more hideous olive carpeting. The bed was a king size four-poster and two figures slumbered obliviously in the center of it. Clarice paused and tugged at Pietro's arm.

"Two?" she asked. Her voice was hardly more than a breath.

*Must be his wife.* Jonothon said, crossing the room to stare down at the sleeping couple. *Or mistress. Wotever.*

Pietro made a 'hurry up' gesture and took his place at one of the windows. Clarice lingered, a frown creasing her pretty forehead. "Not both," she near-whispered, and moved to the other window and looked outside.

Jonothon leaned over, hearing the faint whistle of breath moving in and out of Hull's nostrils. He felt a moment of real envy that this corrupt human being should be allowed such peaceful repose, such simple pleasures, such… normalcy. His hands reached out and long, slender fingers wrapped themselves gently around Hull's exposed throat.

*Wake up,* he projected. At the window, Pietro jerked and turned around.

"Keep it down!" he hissed. Jonothon ignored him.

*Wake up,* he sent again. Hull stirred as Jonothon's fingers clamped tight, pinching off his airflow. His eyes snapped open, confused and panic-stricken. Beside him, his wife moved, coming awake as well.

"Bill…?" the woman asked groggily. Hull choked, thrashing against Jonothon's relentless grip. The woman snapped awake and screamed. Pietro cursed and then he was at the bedside, holding the woman down and clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her. He yelped suddenly when she bit his hand and then she was free, jumping on Jonothon and clawing. Jonothon's hands slipped and Hull moved, gasping for air.

"Help!" Hull's wife was screaming. She tore at the bandages covering the lower half of Jonothon's face and sudden light flooded the room. Hull and his wife managed to tumble off the bed where they froze as Jonothon turned to face them.

"Monster," Hull's wife whispered.

Echoes of memory - bitter sensations. Not the first time he'd heard that word in relation to himself and assuredly not the last. Jonothon closed his eyes for a moment, ravaged features contorting painfully. Phantom fire swirled lazily, the flames changing like autumn leaves to a brilliant orange-yellow and scorching the bedsheets. Pietro, who'd been poised to attack, withdrew. He knew by now what such a display meant: something was going to explode.

Time seemed to freeze in the instant before the explosion; Hull and his wife clung to each other like lost orphans, their wide middle-aged faces like obese children's as they waited, dumb, for a fiery death to wash over them; Jonothon's closed lids twitched and a soft non-sound drifted psionically to all present: a shadow-whisper emitted between the two halves of the brain, perhaps. Then the eyes snapped open, blazing with an inhuman light, and destruction reigned.

The furniture splintered and burned, the wall and windows exploded outwards in a shower of charred brick and shattered glass. Then… it was over. Jonothon surveyed the wreckage mutely, noting there was no sign of Hull or his wife.

"Does anyone else smell sulfur?" Clarice asked in the sudden silence.

Pietro's head snapped around at the exact instant Pyro came hurtling through the door, propelled by an all-too-familiar optic blast. "Oh, shit," Pietro said conversationally. The X-Men had arrived.

* * *

Scott Summers, known alternately as Cyclops, had not planned on pausing upon entering the remains of Senator Hull's bedroom. In fact, after blasting the fire-wielding mutant in the hallway his plan was to charge ahead and take down as many Acolytes as he could before they realized that Kurt had teleported Hull and his wife away from the scene seconds before the room had been destroyed. Jean, he knew, was right behind him and keeping an eye out for the unaccounted Acolyte - the one with the goatee and red eyes. There'd been no sign of that one, and Scott assumed he was in the bedroom with Quicksilver and the mysterious girl the professor had mentioned.

So. The plan was zap first, ask questions later. No stopping planned.

Thus, Scott was completely surprised to find himself skidding to a sudden halt upon rushing through the doorway, but the tableau that greeted him was just so far from what he'd been expecting that he couldn't help himself.

Half the room was simply… gone. Spiraling scorches marked the remaining ceiling and floor while the air seemed to hum with a latent energy. Frozen beside the bed was Quicksilver, his mouth set in a shocked 'O'. Not far behind him was a slim young woman with lavender skin and an expression that reminded Scott of a deer about to take flight. The Acolyte he'd blasted lay at the foot of the bed, groaning. But what made Scott stop his charge abruptly was the figure on the side of the bed opposite Quicksilver, languidly turning to face him.

Dressed head to toe in black leather, the boy appeared to be in flames. Or rather, Scott amended mentally even as his body moved to a defensive posture, the chest and lower half of the boy's face seemed to have been replaced with some sort of unimaginable cavity spewing luminous, shifting energy. Scott heard Jean gasp and caught a brief telepathic message from her (Scott, HE'S what I felt…) before Quicksilver made a bolt for it, streaking past him and out the door before Jean could recover enough to snare his feet telekinetically.

"Who-" Scott started.

*Chamber.* The reply rang through his head, accented and hollow. Dead.

*SCOTT!*

Scott whirled in time to see Jean crumple to the floor as the lavender girl who'd been standing in the corner seconds ago delivered an expert kick to the back of her head. Scott reacted instinctively, blasting at the girl's form despite his desire not to hurt her, and was shocked when she simply vanished before the blast could hit her.

Teleportation, Scott thought. Oh shit… He turned in time to receive a kick to the stomach, a fist to the jaw and a swift backhand across the face. Scott sprawled, narrowly avoiding a foot in the face as he rolled. The ground, he noticed peripherally, had started shaking. Great. What now?

* * *

In the world of Pietro Maximoff, one person mattered above all others: Pietro Maximoff. So when the X-Geeks appeared in Hull's bedroom, his first priority was to get himself the hell out of the line of fire, THEN worry about his teammates. Grey had been the only X-Man he'd been concerned about; he was much too fast for any of the others.

So Pietro was shocked, to say the least, when his feet suddenly stopped moving as soon as he hit Hull's front lawn. Pietro let out a decidedly unmanly squawk as he recognized the electric blue energy field holding his feet to the ground.

"Wanda," he moaned, looking around frantically. He could see his sister advancing unhurriedly across the lawn.

"Hey Pietro," a familiar voice sounded to his left. Pietro turned, his hopes rising. It was Avalanche. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince the older boy to help him get away…

Lance grinned as Pietro's head turned to face him. "Got you where we want you, traitor," he said, and the ground started shaking.

"Dear brother," Wanda cooed as she advanced across the trembling ground. "I think we need to have a little heart-to-heart…"

Pietro looked from Lance to Wanda and justly decided that he was screwed.

* * *

End Chapter Two