Notes: Yes, this is a short chapter, but it is also important, so please forgive me?

Chapter Eight

It was strange, but she didn't feel much of anything about torturing Mitchell. She had expected to feel horrified or pleased, but… she didn't. She wondered if this emotionless state would continue for the rest of her life. She hoped it didn't. They were a pain sometimes, but she valued her emotions, because they gave her strength, a reason for being. If she didn't have emotions, was she even human? Was a human being defined by its DNA, or its emotions? Researchers say that animals feel only a couple of the most basic emotions-fear, anger, pain. If a human being felt less than that, were they human?

And if she did start having emotions again, would she begin to feel something about what she had just done? What did it say about her if she didn't? A sociopath was defined as a person with a personality disorder marked by antisocial behaviour. That didn't exactly fit her, but what else could she call herself? A human who felt nothing was dead, because to feel was to live. But if she was dead, she wouldn't be breathing and thinking, her heart would not beat within her chest. Thus, she must be alive. But she didn't feel, which marked someone as alive. So, if she wasn't dead, but wasn't truly living either, what was she? And if she wasn't truly living, could she come alive again?

Something had broken within her, when she had first cut into Mitchell's body, some precious shard of her soul had shattered beyond repair. Could she live without that shard? Or would it mean her death to be without it? If you destroy parts of your soul, can you continue living? Can you continue feeling?

And if she didn't start feeling again, what would happen to her? To see the world as a grey, empty nothingness, or to see it as the bright, colourful world she had once known but not be a part of it, would be worse than death, it would be the harshest of tortures.

Emotions governed all her actions and thoughts. If she didn't have those emotions, would she still be able to do her job? Would she be able to do anything? You eat because you are hungry, but what if she never felt hungry again? You sleep because you are tired, but what if she never got tired? You fight because you are angry, but what if she couldn't get angry? Was she doomed to forever watch the world pass her by, unnoticed and uncared for like a ghost? Would she forever remain the distant spectator, unable to feel what it was to be human?

That was a scary thought, to be forever denied the world. The thought of remaining in the dark, cold world of nothing sent a shiver down her spine.

And then she realised it. She was scared by that thought. Fright was an emotion. She did have emotions, just not right at that instant. She was still human, just in a little funk right at that moment.

Rogue smiled.

------------------------

Kar was scared. He kept remembering the horrible screams that Rogue caused her helpless victim to scream. He could still see all that blood, shining sickly in the light, he could still see the way he trembled and thrashed in his bonds, eyes filled with pain and horror and fright.

It wasn't so much the memory of Mitchell's suffering that scared him, but his own actions. Or rather, his failure to act. He'd known what they were doing was wrong, that there were other ways of getting the information, but… he hadn't done anything. He'd just stood there and watched as Rogue cut into him, lashed at him with that horrific whip, pressed the burning poker against his skin, hit him with that paddle.

Fuck, he'd even helped! Well, not really, just told Rogue where to cut, and some distant part of his mind knew that she would have cut with or without his direction, but the rest of him hated him for it. How could he have just stood there and let it happen? Why hadn't he done something? That was what he had been there for, to stop Rogue getting out of control, and he'd only intervened once! She'd been out of control so many times, cutting deeper than before, holding the poker against his skin for longer, but… he'd just watched.

Because some small part of him, a part he didn't want to admit existed, believed that Mitchell deserved what Rogue was doing to him. That small part of him knew what Mitchell had done to dozens of innocent mutants, what he would continue to do, and he'd believed that it was only fair that he got hurt like that. It wasn't just fair, it was justice.

What did that make him? Did it make him a monster or just practical? Was it a mark of someone new he was becoming? And did he really want to become that someone?

There were certain lines you weren't supposed to cross, certain things you weren't supposed to do. Was watching someone torture another human being one of them?

Kar sighed and buried his head in his pillow, trying to shut out the images burned in his mind. It didn't work, and he kept seeing blood painted on the back of his eyelids, creating gruesome games of noughts and crosses.

A harsh scream made Kar jump. He recognised the voice as Mitchell's, and wondered if Rogue was torturing him again. He shuddered and ran down the stairs, to join the others as they rushed to the basement.

It turned out Rogue wasn't torturing Mitchell. In fact, no one was even touching the man, but he was struggling in his chair and screaming as if he were still being tortured.

"What the hell is the matter with him?" Ivy asked, sounding just a tad unnerved.

"Something's pulling him," Michelle gasped, clutching at her chest as if her heart hurt. "Oh, God, make it stop."

If you discounted the screaming, there was no prelude to Mitchell disappearing. He was simply sitting in the chair screaming, and then you blinked, and he was gone. The ropes hung loosely around the back of the chair, and the handcuffs clattered to the bloodstained floor.