THE ONE
Rogue fought against her fear as Vertigo pressed her forward down the corridor. She did not want to be here, going wherever Vertigo was leading her; a terrible chill had settled in the pit of her stomach when she thought of what might be awaiting her. She briefly entertained the thought of turning without warning – taking Vertigo by surprise and draining her of her powers. But then what? Where would she go? She didn't even know where she was to begin with. Her rational sense bade her to be patient - that an opportunity would present itself at the right time.
Resolutely, she convinced her jittery nerves to calm themselves, to act like an X-Man would. She did not know much of her captors but she now willed herself to take in every inch of her surroundings. The more she would know of them, the more she could learn to fight them.
And perhaps live to warn the X-Men, she thought bitterly.
She shook her head. She would not let doubt defeat her.
Committed to her new mission, Rogue sneaked quick glances around her. The walls were the same metallic material that surrounded her cell, the midnight blue that seemed to absorb the bright lights above them, making it difficult to see any details they may have. Sometimes she caught glimpses of red lights, often followed by a slight recess in the wall. She guessed that they must be doors, that the lights were coded buttons. She suddenly recalled a James Bond film.
The thought made her pause for a moment. She gasped in pain as Vertigo punched her lower back. Rogue whirled around with one hand rubbing her bruised spine and the other clenching itself into a fist. She stared at Vertigo with accusing and hurt eyes while Vertigo smiled cruelly back.
"Go ahead. Try it," she taunted.
Rogue inhaled sharply as she was struck with nausea. The corridor swayed slightly in front of her. Gritting back the bile that formed in the back of her throat, she turned and continued down the hall grudgingly, still rubbing her sore back. Bitch. She hoped that Vertigo was a telepath.
Vertigo gave no signs that she heard Rogue's comment. The nausea left Rogue, although the memory of it never strayed. It was an infuriating mutant power to try to combat. How do you fight against being dizzy? She shook her head again and exhaled loudly with frustration.
A soft swishing noise caught her attention. Something to the left of her had moved. As she walked further down the hall, she saw that one of the recesses in the corridor had opened. An eerie green light spilled forth, its brightness paramount to the whiteness of the fluorescent lights overhead. A fog seeped forth from the room, snaking around the door and drifting into the corridor. A panicked thought escaped Rogue's mind. Poisoned gas?
A body clothed entirely in a white, air-tight lab suit walked out of the room, holding some sort of data pad in its black, rubber-gloved hands. Its facial features could not be discerned from under the immense gas mask that gave it an insect-like appearance. It tapped furiously at the pad, striding right past them without acknowledging their presence. Rogue stared at the figure in complete bafflement as it hurried down the hall, down the way they had come from.
They had stopped walking, and while it struck Rogue as odd, she nonetheless took her chance to glance into the room. The fog drifted leisurely from the floor to the ceiling. Suddenly Rogue sucked in her breath and held it; if the person wore a gas mask, chances were the fog was some sort of poison. Rogue squinted as hard as she could.
She could make out a shape, a large tube of sorts. The light broke as it tried to pass through it – Rogue realised it was filled with some sort of thick liquid. She craned her neck to peer into the room further and her brows furrowed as she strained to see inside the tube. There was something in there…her eyes widened.
The door slammed shut.
Vertigo was staring at the closed door with an unmistakable look of disgust on her face. Rogue released the breath she had been holding as she studied the mutant. Vertigo took a moment, then composed herself again. She glared at Rogue.
"Keep walking," she said quietly.
But her voice had lost some its edge. Why would the room affect her? Surely she had seen it before. As Rogue walked slowly down the hall, she pondered these thoughts along with the sick feeling that pounded in her chest of what she had seen in the tube: a human fetus.
***
"Hit me."
Obligingly, Wolverine flicked a card in Nightcrawler's direction. The blue mutant awkwardly slid the card off the table with his three-pronged hand and placed it into his other palm, which already held two cards. He scanned the cards and smiled, exposing his fanged canines.
"Drake?"
Bobby was staring at the tabletop blankly with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His two cards lay face down on the table. Logan was certain that even if he casually leaned across the kitchen table and sneaked a peak at Bobby's cards, the kid probably wouldn't bat an eyelash.
"Bobby?"
Startled, the teenager shook the thoughts from his head as he looked at Wolverine with a questioning glance.
Logan nodded at the deck of cards beside his hand. "You wanna card or what?"
Bobby shook his head and flipped his cards over. "I think I'm done for the night."
Wolverine grunted at the seven and the ten that Bobby had laid out before him. He looked at Kurt who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "What?"
"Hit me."
Logan and Bobby shared dubious glances. "You sure?" Wolverine asked.
Kurt nodded vigorously. "Yes. Hit me."
Shaking his head, Logan flicked another card at him and smirked at his own three. Confidently, he laid down his combination of a jack, an eight and a two. "Read 'em and-"
"Tventy one!" Nightcrawler exclaimed as he laid down his four cards.
The smouldering cigar nearly fell out of Wolverine's mouth. Bobby leaned forward on his elbows to gape at the cards. Kurt had given them a five, a six, a nine and an ace. Bobby and Wolverine both sunk back into their chairs, staring at Nightcrawler with an odd sense of awe. Nobody beat Wolverine at cards. Bobby's lost $25 was attributed to that.
Nightcrawler sat on his haunches in the wooden chair and scooped up the winning pot that had collected in the middle of the table. "We play again?"
Wolverine took a long drag on his cigar while Bobby rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "No thanks," he said quietly.
Nightcrawler shrugged and stuffed his pockets with the overflowing cash. "Vell, until next time, nein?"
The two remaining at the table mumbled their thanks and goodnights to Kurt, who bounded up the staircase on all fours.
Bobby resumed his distant stare.
"You wanna talk about it?"
Bobby looked at Wolverine. The mutant was chewing on his cigar but stared at him intently. Bobby started to shake his head slowly, but stopped the movement and looked out into dead space before him. "It's like…it feels like…I mean out of everyone on this earth, we're more powerful than any of them. And you combine us all together and we can do some amazing stuff." He lowered his hand down on the table slowly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "But we can't even find our own team-mate."
"We'll find her," Logan assured. "Believe me."
Even if he didn't believe himself.
***
It felt like Star Wars. She was Princess Leia off to meet her doom at the hands of Darth Vader. She fought against a hysterical urge to giggle as she imagined herself with cinnamon buns on the side of her head. She then wondered at her own sanity to be reflecting on 1970's pop culture when she may be making the final march of her life.
The hall had come to an abrupt stop. The dead end curved outwards to meet Rogue, welcoming her. The same red lights she had seen before were at the right hand side of the dead end. Rogue's palms began to tingle and sweat. She did not want to see what was behind this door, and yet a curious exhilaration could not wait for it to open.
As if sensing Rogue's inner torment, Vertigo purposely delayed keying in the code to slide the door open. Vertigo's mouth curled in a malicious sneer as she watched Rogue's eyes widen with every second, the teardrops of perspiration that gathered on her dark brows, the way she chewed on the corner of her lips. It was as though she had completely forgotten about Vertigo. Vertigo reached up with her right hand to punch the keys in.
Rogue threw her right elbow viciously into Vertigo's nose, hearing the satisfying crunch and surprised cry from the mutant woman. She frowned at the form of Vertigo holding her bloody nose, tears streaming from her watering eyes. The once proud and taunting woman now sat curled against the wall, drawing her knees in to protect her body.
Rogue turned, prepared to dash down the hall when something stopped her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, a shiver escaped and coursed through her spinal cord. Her hands shook of their own accord. She held them before her eyes, amazed to see the continuous vibrations for she did not know what was making her tremble so violently. There was something in that room.
Turning and yet fighting the action with every sensible notion in her body, she slowly faced the door again. Vertigo's eyes were open, furious and agony-ridden. She attempted to swear at the girl but ended up moaning as every small movement sent electrifying currents of pain throughout her sinuses. Rogue spared her only a quick, nervous glance before stepping closer to the door. Someone was laughing on the other side.
Her arm drew up in an eerie imitation of a marionette, controlled by an outside force and not of her own accord. She stared at her own alienated arm in bewilderment. The hand touched the red-blinking keypad. She blinked mutely as her fingers danced lightly across the key signs. The thought was discomforting to say the least. How did she know the code?
The door opened with a resounding swoosh that tousled the white streak in her hair dramatically. She gasped and choked down the urge to scream.
"Hello, Ms Rogue."
***
Charles Xavier was fitful in his dreams. His head tossed and turned against the pillows as he felt a staggering amount of dread chill him to the core. He pulled at the blankets until they came to rest at his chin, but he felt no warmth from them. He had an unnatural urge to flee, but his dreams told him nothing of who or what he wished to run from. He fought against the distressed need to cry, and as the emotion threatened to suck him under with his own tears, his logical side reminded him that he was dreaming – he hadn't cried since his one of his prized protégé's had left him in a mountain of water. But the need was there, and though he could not explain it, the telepath that Charles was bade him to venture further into this dreamscape.
There was a familiar touch to it.
***
The being before her sat regally in a leather armchair with his long, black cape gathering at his feet. His gloved hands rested on the arms casually and he smiled warmly at her. But his eyes glowed with an ethereal crimson and his toothy grin was too wide to be anything but menacing. He was an enormous man, obviously well built as could be attested by the form-fitting outfit that enhanced every defined muscle. Even her friend Piotr could not match the sheer size of the creature in front of her.
"There's no need to be nervous," he quipped emphatically. "We won't harm you."
Rogue nodded uncertainly. "Ah'm sure." Her voice cracked with tension. She found she could not tear her eyes away from his intense face.
As if realising this fact, the man cocked his head and gave the slightest laugh. He flicked his left hand, beckoning the figure that stood directly behind his chair.
It then hit Rogue that she had overlooked this person entirely. It was a woman of striking height and possessing a build comparable to a feminine version of the man. She had a shock of dark, thick green hair and emerald eyes to match. The woman smirked at Rogue, much as Vertigo had, but this one studied Rogue as if comparing her to a cockroach. Rogue felt an instant dislike for the woman. She squirmed self-consciously under her scrutiny.
"Polaris, if you would be so kind as to pour us a beverage," the man instructed. He had a refined way of speaking, almost eloquent in his delivery. Rogue would have likened him to her Professor Xavier if it weren't for his decidedly malevolent appearance.
The woman named Polaris had stepped over to brightly lit bar that jutted out from the wall. She flicked a switch and a small rectangular piece of the wall flipped over revealing rows of ornately carved crystal glasses. Polaris took three glasses out and poured an indistinguishable clear liquid from a metal decanter. She handed one to the man, who swirled the liquid around the glass languidly, almost as if it were a fine brandy. She extended her long arm to Rogue, who stared at the glass nervously before tentatively reaching for it.
There was a drawn moment when all three stared at each other and no one drank.
"It's not poisonous," the man remarked.
Rogue shrugged, but the slight tremble of the glass belied her nonchalant gesture. "You first."
The man smiled. Rogue wished he wouldn't; the more he grinned at her, the more unease she felt. "As you wish." He downed the liquid in one extended gulp. He exhaled loudly, evidently refreshed. "Delectable," he gasped.
Rogue glanced at Polaris. Slowly, tauntingly, Polaris placed the glass to her slightly parted lips. She let the cool liquid moisten her bottom lip and lowered the glass with a wink in Rogue's direction.
"Polaris," the man said in a reprimanding tone, "be civil."
Polaris shrugged and took a long sip of her drink. Both turned a beckoning stare to Rogue.
She sniffed suspiciously at the contents in her glass before finally taking a long gulp. The sudden taste of clean, crisp water threw her off, and the liquid trickled down her windpipe, resulting in a panicked coughing fit. Polaris and the man laughed at her. She glared at them as she wiped away some of the discarded water on her chin.
The man placed his fingers on his mouth as he calmed his laughing fit. He pushed himself out of the chair and strode towards Rogue, who shrank away from him. He positively towered over the teenager. "Now that that's out of the way, lets get down to business."
Rogue held his steady eyesight stoically, although her knees felt close to collapse. "Who are you?"
The man's dark black, almost blue eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my apologies! How rude. I am Mr. Sinister."
Rogue's jaw fell. She turned her head away. "Well, that's appropriate," she muttered.
One of Sinister's eyebrows arched. "Indeed."
Rogue faced him again, feeling an unnatural determination rise in her. "What do you want with me?"
He bent his heads toward her. "Now that's the question, isn't it?" He asked quietly. He motioned to Polaris, who came behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But perhaps my companion here can give you a better idea. If you would be so kind, Malice?"
Rogue stepped away from the woman until her back was forced against the wall. Polaris was staring at her with an unprecedented intensity. Rogue couldn't explain the sudden and all-encompassing fear that racked her body with tremors. Something hammered at her mind, pounding against her skull as if knocking to gain entry. As her vision clouded at the edges, her wavering attention was drawn to the woman's choker. The cameo in the centre of the black ribbon was not elegant or even appealing. It was the picture of a woman with raven hair and black eyes to match, and as Rogue fought against an overwhelming sensation of being suffocated, she could have sworn that the woman in the choker was looking at her.
In a last attempt to fight against the unseen force attacking her mind, Rogue clutched her head and screamed.
***
Charles Xavier woke with a start, gasping for air and perspiration rolling down his forehead and cheeks. He could feel her; in a moment of sheer clarity he felt her mind struggling against a forceful intruder and then – nothing. She was unconscious, of that he was certain. And he was relieved as well. The pain and fear of the intrusion reverberated within Charles until he felt that he, too, could have screamed.
As he collected his senses and calmed his pounding heart, the Professor knew that he would not sleep anymore that night. His student was in pain, perhaps being tortured. But more than that, her panicked presence had lingered in him and a name spoke itself in his mind.
Sinister.