Title: CEREMONY OF INNOCENCE
Author: Marvelous
Chapter Summary: Scott's ordeal continues.
Chapter Two
Upon waking, Scott was pleased to realize that at least the pain in his spine was gone. The collar was still locked around his neck; even without touching it, Scott could feel the dull pain from the two prongs embedded in his skin.
His uniform and boots had been removed. Sitting up, Scott saw he was now dressed in loose-fitting fatigues similar to the ones the two soldiers had been wearing. He was barefoot, and his hands were manacled in metal cuffs in front of him.
He was in a small holding cell, constructed of the same dark concrete as the interrogation room. Same sturdy-looking metal door, too. He had been deposited on a metal bunk bolted into the concrete wall, with a thin mattress and a threadbare but clean blanket of olive drab wool.
His surroundings could have been worse, given the nature of his captivity. A glance around the room revealed a sink and a toilet in the corner next to the bunk. Even better. Scott slid off the bunk and stood up. He winced at the chill of the concrete floor against his bare feet. He made his way to the sink and turned on the tap. Cold water gushed out in a comforting flow. Scott scooped some into his cupped hands and splashed his face. He tasted the water: metallic, but probably okay to drink.
Lacking a towel, he wiped his face with his hands, careful not to splash water on the collar. Didn't want to get electrocuted on top of everything else. For a moment, he wished he had a mirror in the cell. It had been fifteen years since he had seen his own eyes; as long as he was forced to wear the blasted collar, it'd be nice to refresh his memory of what they looked like.
Scott walked over to the solid metal door. Testing the handle would be an exercise in futility, but he did it anyway. Locked. No surprise there. The door had a small barred window, too narrow to reach through. Scott settled for glancing through it to the hallway outside the room. He found himself looking at a dark, empty corridor. Concrete, again. He had no idea where he was, to the nearest state. Nearest country, really.
Someone was coming. Scott drew back from the door at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Automatically, he reviewed and discarded ideas for escape attempts - hiding behind the door, pretending to be asleep, sick, dead, having a seizure, taking a hostage, making a run for it. With his optic blasts gone and his hands bound, he wouldn't get far. Stryker wanted him alive, that much was clear. A better option, though less emotionally satisfying, would be to simply wait it out.
Anyway, these guys weren't careless, whoever they were. Scott saw a face peer through the small window. It was the blond soldier. Scott remained where he was, standing a few feet away from the door, and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Under the circumstances, that wasn't difficult.
The door was unbolted and pushed open. Another soldier, one Scott hadn't seen before, stepped into the room. The blond kid stood just behind him, openly glaring at Scott. Both held assault rifles.
The other man motioned with his rifle at Scott. "Move. Slowly."
Scott didn't obey immediately. He would be cooperative at first, within reason, because he didn't see a better alternative, but that didn't mean he would jump at their commands. The blond kid snorted in impatience and grabbed Scott's arm. He jerked him forward. "Now, mutant!"
Resigned, Scott let himself be pulled out of the room. Though careful not to show it, he was curious to see more of his surroundings. Hopefully, he could find some clue to help him figure out where he was. As he was marched down the corridor, he scanned the area. This would be far easier to do covertly if he still had his visor. He also wasn't used to seeing everything without the heavy wash of red; even the dim fluorescent lights were hurting his unprotected eyes.
By now, Scott was convinced that the soldiers were genuine military. Special Ops, most likely. That in itself was disturbing; did it mean that his and the professor's abductions were sanctioned by the government? If that was the case, had similar attacks been made on the other X-Men? Scott tried not to think about Jean. He allowed himself only a fleeting wish that she was safe, wherever she was.
The compound, however, looked more industrial than strictly military. They had entered a massive high-ceilinged chamber, lined with huge turbines and heavy equipment, some of which was stored behind metal fences. There was also a low, steady roar that Scott had been able to hear from his cell. If he focused on it, it sounded like a rush of water. It was possible they were inside a dam. If so, which one?
Something tickled at the back of Scott's memory, some recent discussion about an non-operational dam. Wolverine. Scott had it, suddenly. Alkali Lake, up in Alaska, where Wolverine had gone to look for clues to his missing past. He had returned without finding anything. Still, the professor had been certain enough to send him up there in the first place, and the professor rarely made mistakes of this nature. But what could connect Wolverine to Stryker? Stryker's angry words to Scott implied this was part of a personal vendetta against Xavier.
Scott had no more time to dwell on such matters as he was forced through a doorway at the far end of the chamber. He found himself in the interrogation room from before.
He was a little surprised Stryker wasn't waiting for him. Instead, the dark-haired soldier was leaning against the table in the center of the room. He straightened up as the soldiers entered the room with their captive. His implacable gaze fixed on Scott. "Ah," he said. He motioned toward the metal chair bolted in the center of the room. "Put him there," he said.
With what Scott considered to be wholly unnecessary force, considering how cooperative he was being, the blond kid dragged him over to the chair and pushed him against it. Frustrated with his enforced helplessness yet seeing no sensible escape possibility, Scott sat down. The blond soldier stuck the assault rifle under his chin as a silent warning not to move. The other one dropped in front of Scott and uncuffed his hands. Each wrist was then secured to the arms of the chair by thick leather straps; even without testing the restraints, Scott had a feeling he wasn't going anywhere until someone saw fit to unbuckle him. His legs, too, were spread and his ankles fastened to the chair legs. Throughout this process, the dark-haired man simply watched Scott. He still looked amused. Scott felt a growing unease. Something about this man's scrutiny unnerved him more than the presence of Stryker himself would have.
When Scott was at last securely fastened, the dark-haired man finally spoke. "Right, that's fine. You're dismissed, both of you."
The blond kid straightened up. "But sir--"
The dark-haired man just looked at him. The kid flushed. "Are you sure you want to handle this mutant by yourself, sir? The colonel said to be careful around him."
"He's not going anywhere." The dark-haired man winked at Scott before turning back to his comrades. "I believe I dismissed you."
"Yes, Lieutenant Jordan." The blond kid still didn't look happy about this, but he and the other man left the room without further protest. The metal door clanged shut behind them.
Jordan. Scott now had a name to go with that perpetually-bemused face. Every bit of information was useful, or so his experience as an X-Man had taught him. It was telling that none of the soldiers had name tags on their clothing. Scott suspected this entire operation was of the off-the-record variety.
Jordan leaned back against the desk and silently observed his prisoner. Scott stared back, careful not to reveal any anxiety. "Alone at last," Jordan finally said, a small smile on his lips. "Sleep well?" His tone was light and flippant.
Scott could play that, too. "Out like a light."
The corner of Jordan's mouth quirked. He continued to regard Scott. Scott shifted in his chair.
"What happens now?" Scott asked, careful to sound only mildly curious.
Again the quick smile. "Now I get to torture you, Scott."
It was the answer he expected, though Scott still felt a quick thrill of fear. The use of his name was a little surprising. It was intimate, a little demeaning. Scott knew that had been the intention. He permitted himself a small shrug in reply, as if he were slightly bored by all this. As if threats of torture came every day.
The smile widened. "The boss has ordered me to soften you up - that's his phrase - while he fixes up another batch of his brain juice. He seems to think it might make you a little more receptive to its powers if you've been knocked around a little first. At least that's what he says. Personally, I think he's just pissed it didn't work, and is taking it out on you. But that's between you and me."
"Brain juice?" Scott asked. Casual, so casual.
Jordan shrugged. "That shit in the hypo. Brain juice."
"Yeah? Whose brain?" Scott asked.
The smile twisted into a brief grimace. "You don't want to ask that. The boss does some freaky shit to mutants. Not his favorite class of people."
"Yeah, I kind of guessed that," Scott said. He was a little surprised at how willing to talk Jordan seemed. Talking was infinitely preferable to getting tortured, so he tried to keep him going. "You feel the same?"
Jordan shrugged again. "Doesn't matter much to me, mutant or human. I just like the thought of hurting you."
"Thought you might," Scott said. "You seem the type."
The man snorted. "Yeah, but here's the sticker. I'm not allowed to damage you. Might interfere with Stryker's plans for you. Limits my options."
"Tough break," Scott said. He grabbed hold of that bit of information and used it like a protective shield. Pain was okay. Not ideal, but okay. He had spent much of his life since his mutation developed in one kind of pain or another - the headaches from his optic blasts, torn muscles from training sessions, injuries in combat. Pain was infinitely preferable to, say, mutilation. Or death.
"I know," Jordan said, as if he were reading Scott's thoughts. "Basically reduces me to this." He held up the small metal box that controlled the collar. Scott felt a brief flash of revulsion.
"Great," he said easily. "That should be entertaining for the thirty seconds or so before I pass out."
"That's just because Stryker was giving it to you all at once. See, I can adjust the settings. Start out low and kind of build momentum." The smile tugged at Jordan's lips once more. "Before the end of our little session, I bet I get to hear you scream, baby."
He flicked the dial. Scott felt a jolt as the current of pain traveled along his spine. He bent forward protectively as much as his restraints would allow, judging the intensity of the pain. Definitely weaker than before. Still mighty painful.
Gloomily, he thought to himself that there was a good chance Jordan would win that bet.
Author: Marvelous
Chapter Summary: Scott's ordeal continues.
Chapter Two
Upon waking, Scott was pleased to realize that at least the pain in his spine was gone. The collar was still locked around his neck; even without touching it, Scott could feel the dull pain from the two prongs embedded in his skin.
His uniform and boots had been removed. Sitting up, Scott saw he was now dressed in loose-fitting fatigues similar to the ones the two soldiers had been wearing. He was barefoot, and his hands were manacled in metal cuffs in front of him.
He was in a small holding cell, constructed of the same dark concrete as the interrogation room. Same sturdy-looking metal door, too. He had been deposited on a metal bunk bolted into the concrete wall, with a thin mattress and a threadbare but clean blanket of olive drab wool.
His surroundings could have been worse, given the nature of his captivity. A glance around the room revealed a sink and a toilet in the corner next to the bunk. Even better. Scott slid off the bunk and stood up. He winced at the chill of the concrete floor against his bare feet. He made his way to the sink and turned on the tap. Cold water gushed out in a comforting flow. Scott scooped some into his cupped hands and splashed his face. He tasted the water: metallic, but probably okay to drink.
Lacking a towel, he wiped his face with his hands, careful not to splash water on the collar. Didn't want to get electrocuted on top of everything else. For a moment, he wished he had a mirror in the cell. It had been fifteen years since he had seen his own eyes; as long as he was forced to wear the blasted collar, it'd be nice to refresh his memory of what they looked like.
Scott walked over to the solid metal door. Testing the handle would be an exercise in futility, but he did it anyway. Locked. No surprise there. The door had a small barred window, too narrow to reach through. Scott settled for glancing through it to the hallway outside the room. He found himself looking at a dark, empty corridor. Concrete, again. He had no idea where he was, to the nearest state. Nearest country, really.
Someone was coming. Scott drew back from the door at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Automatically, he reviewed and discarded ideas for escape attempts - hiding behind the door, pretending to be asleep, sick, dead, having a seizure, taking a hostage, making a run for it. With his optic blasts gone and his hands bound, he wouldn't get far. Stryker wanted him alive, that much was clear. A better option, though less emotionally satisfying, would be to simply wait it out.
Anyway, these guys weren't careless, whoever they were. Scott saw a face peer through the small window. It was the blond soldier. Scott remained where he was, standing a few feet away from the door, and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Under the circumstances, that wasn't difficult.
The door was unbolted and pushed open. Another soldier, one Scott hadn't seen before, stepped into the room. The blond kid stood just behind him, openly glaring at Scott. Both held assault rifles.
The other man motioned with his rifle at Scott. "Move. Slowly."
Scott didn't obey immediately. He would be cooperative at first, within reason, because he didn't see a better alternative, but that didn't mean he would jump at their commands. The blond kid snorted in impatience and grabbed Scott's arm. He jerked him forward. "Now, mutant!"
Resigned, Scott let himself be pulled out of the room. Though careful not to show it, he was curious to see more of his surroundings. Hopefully, he could find some clue to help him figure out where he was. As he was marched down the corridor, he scanned the area. This would be far easier to do covertly if he still had his visor. He also wasn't used to seeing everything without the heavy wash of red; even the dim fluorescent lights were hurting his unprotected eyes.
By now, Scott was convinced that the soldiers were genuine military. Special Ops, most likely. That in itself was disturbing; did it mean that his and the professor's abductions were sanctioned by the government? If that was the case, had similar attacks been made on the other X-Men? Scott tried not to think about Jean. He allowed himself only a fleeting wish that she was safe, wherever she was.
The compound, however, looked more industrial than strictly military. They had entered a massive high-ceilinged chamber, lined with huge turbines and heavy equipment, some of which was stored behind metal fences. There was also a low, steady roar that Scott had been able to hear from his cell. If he focused on it, it sounded like a rush of water. It was possible they were inside a dam. If so, which one?
Something tickled at the back of Scott's memory, some recent discussion about an non-operational dam. Wolverine. Scott had it, suddenly. Alkali Lake, up in Alaska, where Wolverine had gone to look for clues to his missing past. He had returned without finding anything. Still, the professor had been certain enough to send him up there in the first place, and the professor rarely made mistakes of this nature. But what could connect Wolverine to Stryker? Stryker's angry words to Scott implied this was part of a personal vendetta against Xavier.
Scott had no more time to dwell on such matters as he was forced through a doorway at the far end of the chamber. He found himself in the interrogation room from before.
He was a little surprised Stryker wasn't waiting for him. Instead, the dark-haired soldier was leaning against the table in the center of the room. He straightened up as the soldiers entered the room with their captive. His implacable gaze fixed on Scott. "Ah," he said. He motioned toward the metal chair bolted in the center of the room. "Put him there," he said.
With what Scott considered to be wholly unnecessary force, considering how cooperative he was being, the blond kid dragged him over to the chair and pushed him against it. Frustrated with his enforced helplessness yet seeing no sensible escape possibility, Scott sat down. The blond soldier stuck the assault rifle under his chin as a silent warning not to move. The other one dropped in front of Scott and uncuffed his hands. Each wrist was then secured to the arms of the chair by thick leather straps; even without testing the restraints, Scott had a feeling he wasn't going anywhere until someone saw fit to unbuckle him. His legs, too, were spread and his ankles fastened to the chair legs. Throughout this process, the dark-haired man simply watched Scott. He still looked amused. Scott felt a growing unease. Something about this man's scrutiny unnerved him more than the presence of Stryker himself would have.
When Scott was at last securely fastened, the dark-haired man finally spoke. "Right, that's fine. You're dismissed, both of you."
The blond kid straightened up. "But sir--"
The dark-haired man just looked at him. The kid flushed. "Are you sure you want to handle this mutant by yourself, sir? The colonel said to be careful around him."
"He's not going anywhere." The dark-haired man winked at Scott before turning back to his comrades. "I believe I dismissed you."
"Yes, Lieutenant Jordan." The blond kid still didn't look happy about this, but he and the other man left the room without further protest. The metal door clanged shut behind them.
Jordan. Scott now had a name to go with that perpetually-bemused face. Every bit of information was useful, or so his experience as an X-Man had taught him. It was telling that none of the soldiers had name tags on their clothing. Scott suspected this entire operation was of the off-the-record variety.
Jordan leaned back against the desk and silently observed his prisoner. Scott stared back, careful not to reveal any anxiety. "Alone at last," Jordan finally said, a small smile on his lips. "Sleep well?" His tone was light and flippant.
Scott could play that, too. "Out like a light."
The corner of Jordan's mouth quirked. He continued to regard Scott. Scott shifted in his chair.
"What happens now?" Scott asked, careful to sound only mildly curious.
Again the quick smile. "Now I get to torture you, Scott."
It was the answer he expected, though Scott still felt a quick thrill of fear. The use of his name was a little surprising. It was intimate, a little demeaning. Scott knew that had been the intention. He permitted himself a small shrug in reply, as if he were slightly bored by all this. As if threats of torture came every day.
The smile widened. "The boss has ordered me to soften you up - that's his phrase - while he fixes up another batch of his brain juice. He seems to think it might make you a little more receptive to its powers if you've been knocked around a little first. At least that's what he says. Personally, I think he's just pissed it didn't work, and is taking it out on you. But that's between you and me."
"Brain juice?" Scott asked. Casual, so casual.
Jordan shrugged. "That shit in the hypo. Brain juice."
"Yeah? Whose brain?" Scott asked.
The smile twisted into a brief grimace. "You don't want to ask that. The boss does some freaky shit to mutants. Not his favorite class of people."
"Yeah, I kind of guessed that," Scott said. He was a little surprised at how willing to talk Jordan seemed. Talking was infinitely preferable to getting tortured, so he tried to keep him going. "You feel the same?"
Jordan shrugged again. "Doesn't matter much to me, mutant or human. I just like the thought of hurting you."
"Thought you might," Scott said. "You seem the type."
The man snorted. "Yeah, but here's the sticker. I'm not allowed to damage you. Might interfere with Stryker's plans for you. Limits my options."
"Tough break," Scott said. He grabbed hold of that bit of information and used it like a protective shield. Pain was okay. Not ideal, but okay. He had spent much of his life since his mutation developed in one kind of pain or another - the headaches from his optic blasts, torn muscles from training sessions, injuries in combat. Pain was infinitely preferable to, say, mutilation. Or death.
"I know," Jordan said, as if he were reading Scott's thoughts. "Basically reduces me to this." He held up the small metal box that controlled the collar. Scott felt a brief flash of revulsion.
"Great," he said easily. "That should be entertaining for the thirty seconds or so before I pass out."
"That's just because Stryker was giving it to you all at once. See, I can adjust the settings. Start out low and kind of build momentum." The smile tugged at Jordan's lips once more. "Before the end of our little session, I bet I get to hear you scream, baby."
He flicked the dial. Scott felt a jolt as the current of pain traveled along his spine. He bent forward protectively as much as his restraints would allow, judging the intensity of the pain. Definitely weaker than before. Still mighty painful.
Gloomily, he thought to himself that there was a good chance Jordan would win that bet.