Chapter Five:
As the Lady Deathstrike headed out of the corridor, Mortimer Toynbee waited until he heard the heavy outer doors close before pausing again in his work. He clung to the wall with one strong hand, and used the other to rub the scar on his face.
The discoloration on his green skin ran from the left corner of his mouth in a jagged line down his jaw, growing darker and wider as it reached his neck. It was a bitter reminder of his failure during the Liberty Island battle, when the witch had hit him with a bolt of lightning.
But, old vendettas did not consume him for the moment, the chiding inner voices silent as he thought on other things.
Toad quickly completed his work on the high ventilators and jumped down to the ground. He landed easily, almost noiselessly, and began to gather his tools. He wanted to begin work on the Brotherhood's jet before it was needed again, which he knew would be very soon, if Deathstrike's new surveillance footage positively identified their targets.
Crouching in the shadows, Toad leapt once and cleared the distance to the wall-mounted ladder. He slid down quickly and headed off in the direction of the landing bay. He carried a heavy bag with his tools over his shoulder, and did not take the same path as Pyro or the Lady as he left the windy hall. He maneuvered his way along the walls and through various small passages, which no one else would have been able to use. He preferred to move around this way, systematically avoiding an accidental meeting with anyone else on the Island.
If Magneto needed him, he would be called, otherwise he had no desire to interact with anyone else right now. His main focus was preparing for the next mission, completing his work to the utmost perfection.
However, he could not help but be sidetracked from his tasks. As much as he fought against distraction, his mind wandered back to a video Deathstrike had recovered from one of Stryker's abandoned bases, the video upon which Magneto had formed his current agenda. He had insisted all of the Brotherhood familiarize themselves with the tapes, ensuring them that they should know what dangers Magneto's plans would hold.
It had been brief, apparently from a field camera worn by one of Stryker's troops. There was gunfire, and there was the girl, bullets ricocheting away from her, trails of fire slowly burning away from her feet. The girl is grabbed from behind by an older blonde-haired woman an instant before the footage ends with a bright explosion. The video was not very old, probably taken only a few years before Stryker's untimely demise, and clear enough to show the fear on the woman's face…and the fury in the girl's eyes.
For some reason, Toad found the footage immensely disturbing…yet, also completely fascinating. The pure rage which consumed the girl in the moment the ground began to burn made Toad wonder exactly what had caused her anger. He understood anger, he understood hate…and watching the video was like watching those emotions brought to life.
Before he realized it, Toad was crouching outside of the information room, listening to Deathstrike's quick typing and once again rubbing the scar on his face thoughtfully. He stood, dropping his tools to the ground, and pulling the round lenses from his face.
The Information Room was long and narrow, lined with several computer stations which he and the Lady had installed months ago. She was sitting at the central controls, before a large monitor, extracting the information she had gathered in Chicago from her hand-held to the main computer.
Toad walked up behind her quietly and looked at the monitor intently. If the Lady noticed his presence, she did not acknowledge it, and he had not expected her to. He watched as dozens of surveillance photos blinked past, mostly of Mystique in various disguises interacting with their targets. The computer chimed as the uploading was complete and Deathstrike paused in her typing.
After a moment, she made a few quick key strokes and a media box appeared on the screen. A video clip began to play and Toad leaned forward slightly.
It had been shot from a distance and moved in closer as a young woman with long red hair stepped out of a coffee shop. She was smiling, chatting with someone pleasantly and walked around the corner out of the shot. The shot pulled back, and a small flag on a street light read, "Chicago University."
The clip began again, and Deathstrike turned her head to watch Toad curiously. His strange, slightly large eyes shone with a gold gleam as the light from the monitors reflected in them. She had watched his fascination with these tapes grow over the past few months, and was beginning to wonder if his duty to Magneto was the only reason he studied them so closely.
Toad noticed her watching him and looked away from the screen with some effort. He walked away without a word, ignoring the Lady's curious stare which followed him until he stepped out again into the hall.
He reshouldered his bundle and headed to the landing bay.
As Toad walked, the brief respite offered by the new video was replaced by a vicious inner torment. He never spoke about it, even to Magneto, and now he ground his teeth as he walked.
Don't you look at her, you freak, a voice rose up in his mind. It was a dead voice, one of many from his past. The words rung painfully in his mind, and he spoke quietly to himself.
"Shut up…"
Another voice joined the first, Freak, what do you think you're doing? You shouldn't be here, watching, watching, no one wants your freak face staring at them…
"Shut up…"
With the voices came a sick shame, and the taunts of his youth haunted Mortimer Toynbee's psyche with vicious glee.
Stupid freak…ugly little monster…get away from me! Don't you look at them! They don't want to see your stupid green face, get back where you belong…
"Shut up…shut the fuck up…"
Now, the anger came, years of torment creating the wall of hate he used to keep those voices out of his head. He focused on it, thought on those who once hurt him, thought of them dead, his powerful legs crushing them into the ground, shoving their awful jeering facing into the dirt. A thought that held more memory than he would admit…
Anger, rage…hate. Defense mechanisms so ingrained in him over his decade in service to Magneto that he rarely felt anything else. Damn the rest of the world, Toad had his place now, had his purpose. He, for one, could not wait for the war to begin.
Toad entered the landing bay with a fierce smile on his face, the past beaten down again…at least for the time being.