Oscampa, New Mexico
Many years earlier…
A tall woman stretched to put a box on top of a free-standing closet. The room around her is still in disarray, the usual disarray of being newly moved in. An older man knocks on the door behind her, causing her to turn. He has a hat clutched tight between his two wrinkled hands. His hair is dark black but already starting to thin from too much time in the sun. There is a much younger woman standing next to him, she curtseys nicely when the lady notices her.
"Ma'am," the young lady begins. "My Poppa is wondering when you will be open for business."
"Tomorrow, I might be ready by tonight, but certainly by tomorrow."
"Oh," the girl stopped to translate the message to her Father. The man spoke to her slowly, his worry apparent in his voice. "He really needs to see someone about his hands, so we can call on you tomorrow?"
"I can see him today, if you'd like. It won't take long and he can have some relief. He makes his living with his hands, doesn't he?"
"Yes," the girl answered hesitantly. This gringo woman knew a great deal for someone who had just appeared. "They are getting awfully stiff. It's hard for him to weed."
"I see. Well then, if you don't mind the mess, I'll take a look at him and perhaps get him what he needs so he can get back to work." There was something a little off-putting about the smile this new lady doctor exhibited, but at least there was a doctor now. Now they would have medicine and maybe she could stop the minion of death who stalked their homes.
Oscampa, New Mexico Body Count: 3,500. Known Survivors: 15.
Kurt couldn't stop looking at that figure. 3,500 people died according to the report. They were all dead because of her. The file made no attempt to discuss the motivations of the woman who came to be known as Poisyn for her proclivity toward using obscure substances to kill her victims, though she wasn't above simply shooting someone if the situation called for it. All totaled, Kurt counted more than 10,000 people whose deaths could be attributed to Lenneth "Poisyn" Ascher-Essex. And these were only the bodies that were known to be in her closet and under her floors, there were surely many more who had died as a result of some side-effect or unaccounted for exposure to her compounds.
Mystique was sitting in her kitchen, drinking a glass of extremely poor quality wine when her son entered without knocking. The scowl on his face told her everything that she wanted to know.
"Do you still think she's worth saving," asked the woman over her glass.
"Are you, mother," returned Kurt.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were well aware of who and what you were asking others to risk their lives for. She might have turned over a new leaf to some people, but to me, she'll always be Poisyn."
"She named a daughter after you. Why?"
"She owed me her life. A debt she paid when she saved yours. Saving the rest of the compound was simply a bonus. But I wouldn't be surprised if that little mess wasn't hers to begin with. It has all the marks of her experiments, all the usual disregard for who will be affected." Mystique finished her glass and set it down on the countertop. "So do you still want to send a mission after her?"
"Yes, I still believe that even she is worth saving. Just like you."
"I've done everything I can to convince you otherwise, so since you want this done properly, I'll go. But let me tell you one thing."
"What?"
"If things start to go south, I reserve the right to get rid of her and her husband as necessary."
"I will leave that up to your discretion," said Kurt turning around to leave. Despite the tight lid he was keeping on his emotions, the back and forth lashing of his tail was more than giving away his emotional state. Luckily, his mother didn't comment and his daughter didn't seem to care.
Lenneth swirled a beaker full of dark yellow liquid and then held it up to the Bunsen burner. It immediately started to bubble, just as she had anticipated, changing to a color closer to pink.
"Almost ready," she murmured to herself, taking notes with her free hand. It didn't have to be perfect, but as a matter of course, Lenneth preferred for the things she did to be as close to perfect as she was capable of making them. A stray scream filtered into the small side lab she was using from the surgical theatre down the hallway where her husband was currently occupied. Apparently, cutting someone into little pieces was soothing to him without his powers or the necessary equipment to do any real research. Lenneth suspected it was just the sensation of having blood on his hands that produced the calming effect. Anyone else might have spared a thought for the amount of pain the person receiving her husband's ministrations was in, but having been under her husband's knife on more than one occasion, Lenneth could safely say that he was being rather mild and that person should count themselves lucky that he was in a fairly good mood.
Hanging the beaker, she allowed the liquid to cool while she began calculations on the amount necessary to produce the desired effect in her present lab subject. Given that he came out to approximately 113 kilos, 200cc of her mixture was certain to produce the desired effect without being in any danger of killing him. Unless he happened to be in that .01 of the population that had allergic reactions to the compound itself, then no matter what dosage she gave him, it was going to kill him. Pity she didn't have anything that would allow her to genetically screen her subjects. This way she simply had to work with the assumption that they weren't going to be damaged by her new toy. Such a shoddy way to work, especially when one had a limited number of subjects to work on, a pool that was getting steadily smaller as her husband worked out his frustrations.
"Busy, love," reached her ears just as a hand pressed down on the back of her neck, and slide around to her throat.
"Yes, I am rather in the middle of something," she said quietly, ignoring the pressure he was placing on her throat. Lenneth picked up the syringe she was going to use and carefully measured out what she would need. "Finished already?"
"There was actually very little that needed to be done. What are you doing?"
"New type of addictive drug compound, something I can use to keep our subjects loyal. If it works as planned, you should like its effects. Now if you will excuse me, I have a subject to work on. I'll return shortly." She slipped out of his grip and blew him a kiss as she stepped out of the room. Walking down the hallway, she could hear her husband's subject still whimpering. She strode past without a second thought; she had a subject of her own to work on, what did it matter what happened to his?
