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Slaves to the Cause: Scene 3Cyclops came to waking slowly. It was as though he was walking through an ancient forest. At first everything was dark and still under the canopy of branches that was his unconsciousness. As he walked the trees slowly began to thin. Light broke through where the boughs were younger and more spindly. Travelling became easier as the trunks he wove through were not so fat, and the ground not so sodden with humus.
Still the light increased, the air began to move bringing new smells to his flared nostrils that had no place in the forest. Smells of fear, blood and old stale sweat. Trees dwindled to shrubs and saplings. The light was now so bright it made Scott wince, gritting his teeth. The light disintegrated the forest and Scott realised he was awake. Immediately he wished he wasn't.
His head felt heavy and clumsy. Every part of him ached with a detached numbness, like a child protesting to a parent but knowing their plea fell on deaf ears. The old sweat he could smell was his. His clothes were stiff and creased with it. Blood made him gag. His mouth was full of it until he managed to turn his head and spit it out. So that was how he had been woken. He probed a tooth with his tongue, feeling it wobble. Then Scott decided to open his eyes and face the music.
"Good to have you join us." A man's voice spoke through a loudspeaker system. There was nobody in the cell with Scott. Presumably they were behind black sheen of the one-way glass in front of him. Scott himself was strapped to a spindly chair, bound by his ankles, wrists and across his chest. He tried to strain against it, but his muscles wouldn't work like he wanted them to. He felt drained, as though he'd had a bad dose of flu.
Cyclops wasn't wearing his shades or visor, but a rather bizarre contraption instead. No wonder my head feels heavy, he thought as he looked at his reflection in the glass. The ruby quartz strip he looked through was in place over his eyes, containing his powers. The metal frame holding it there ran in a circlet all round his skull, with struts going under his chin and over his cranium. There was no trigger, and even if he could get his hands free he would struggle to get this contraption off. He was powerless.
"Don't try and move too much." General Kincaid spoke into the microphone on the other side of the window. "You've been in an induced coma for a number of days."
"Why?" Cyclops managed to stutter.
"Its simply the easiest answer when faced with the question of how to imprison mutant vigilantes and terrorists." Kincaid answered smugly. "Not many of you creatures can operate your freakish powers when the body is rendered incapacitated. Now listen carefully Scott Summers, I won't repeat myself. I'm no fool; I know there are too many of you to exterminate every mutant on this planet. But what I don't intend to do is stand by and let you influence the running of this country. You're not human and so you don't have rights. You need to be controlled and examples need to be made to subdue the mutant population. Mutants must be made to live in fear of stepping into the open, let alone stepping out of line. The X-Men will be my examples, your executions public."
"You woke me up to tell me this?" Scott growled.
"I woke you up because I need information to proceed with my case against you, your pathetic kind, and the President. If you respond to my questions your processing and execution will be as painless as I can make them."
"And if I refuse?" Scott challenged.
"You don't want to refuse." Kincaid told him flatly, "The people of the United States of America, not to mention the rest of the world, are baying for mutant blood. Who is going to stop me from giving it to them? We have the X-Men, and they are being offered the same choice you are. Trust me, some of them are seriously considering their options."
"You can do what you want to me." Cyclops snapped. "I won't tell you anything."
"We will see about that…"
Kincaid entered the room with three other soldiers, one of whom was carrying a folding wooden chair. The other two approached Cyclops directly, releasing one arm from his bounds. Scott squirmed as Kincaid walked sedately to sit behind the X-Man. He took hold of Scott's wrist in a pincer grip, bending Scott's arm up behind his head and down his back. The General was phenomenally strong, and now he had Scott pinned in a way that would dislocate his shoulder if he tried to fight back. Pain shot through Scott's neck like electricity, crackling through his every nerve.
"What I want is simple." Kincaid told Cyclops. "The access codes for the lower levels of the Xavier mansion, and the protocols the X-Men work to."
"I'm not telling you anything." Cyclops insisted. Kincaid smirked as he replied, "I thought you might say that."
The General changed his grip, grabbing hold of Cyclops' hand and smallest finger in two meaty hands. Cyclops barely had time to register that before the pain made him bellow out loud. Kincaid smiled as Cyclops' finger went crack and popped neatly out of its socket.
"You've got nine more fingers before I find something more interesting to dislocate." He threatened darkly. "The codes and protocols Cyclops, now."
"No!" Scott gasped, "Never!" Another pop, another solid wall of pain hit Scott, making his heart labour and his breathing struggle.
"The protocols." Kincaid reiterated. "Give me what I want and the pain will stop. What would it take to roll you vigilantes into action? What strings would the President have to pull to make you puppets dance?"
"Argh!" Scott screamed as Kincaid dragged his arm down further. Cyclops could almost hear the tendons starting to tear loose from their moorings. "No! I wont tell!"
"Yes you will!" Kincaid argued. "Everyone breaks, even stubborn pricks who don't know how pointless their existence is!" He dislocated a third of Scott's fingers callously. "Tell me how to get into the lower levels!" He moved onto the next finger of Scott's ruined hand. Everything went dark and fuzzy round the edges to Scott. His ears throbbed, hot with blood that because of the pain didn't seem to know where to go. More sweat dripped from his brow. It ran down his nose and into his mouth, tasting salty and vile. Kincaid was still talking, but Scott couldn't hear him.
"Fine." Kincaid growled, dropping Scott's destroyed hand with only the thumb still in its socket. "We've time, Cyclops, all the time I'll ever need. Send him back under, I have an appointment to keep."
Kincaid must have left then, Cyclops couldn't lift his head to check. A sharp pain pierced his arm, then his eyes closed without him instructing them too, and he was back in the darkest part of the forest, dreading the next time he might be dragged out to answer to the monster called Kincaid.