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Chapter 3

When I come too, the first thing I see is Erich Lehnsherr. At first blush, I think:

You are the most unwelcome mirage in the history of mirages!

And, I credit my hallucination of him in equal parts to paranoia and to the fact that I have only opened my right eye. Unfortunately, he's still there when I peel open the other one. I realize then that I'm in even bigger trouble than I thought. If I'm in a… something … truck? Van... moving vehicle thingy with Magneto (who is just as creepy in person as he is on TV, "cured" or not), these jerks clearly know I'm a mutant.

How the hell did they know?

I've been so careful. How fucking annoying!

What a waste, Grrrrr!

I take inventory of my body and realize I'm slouched over on my side. Fortunately, I'm not on the shoulder they tased me, and I have a moment of déjà vu from this morning when I woke up slumped on my couch. At least I'm not drooling this time. Eric is watching me with a pensive expression on his face. I know why. He doesn't recognize me. He can't figure out why I'm here and he's so sure he knows who all the major players are.

Well, Ha! At least I've stayed off someone's radar.

I sit up slowly and feel my hip protest. Oh man, that is going to leave a nasty mark. Eric is still watching me in his creeper way but I can't be bothered with him now. There's another person sitting on the bench seat next to him, I realize, as my vision becomes more focused. She's blond, very pretty, great rack, and I feel a tickle at the back of my mind, like I should know who she is. At first, I write it off as the psychic backlash, but then I realize it's not psychic at all, its logic.

Raven Darkhölme aka Mystique, in the…pink flesh and actual clothing, fortunately. My ego can't really take another hit.

Of course she would be here. Magneto is here, therefor; Mystique is here. It's the simplest form of math. I wonder if they would take offence of I started referring to them as M&M…or Eminem. Yeeeah, I'd probably get shanked. No thanks.

She's also staring at me and looks seriously unimpressed. Well tough shit. Not all of us have super hot blue bods and can walk around all badass and bare-assed all day. And, now she can't either. Ha! I shoot a flat smile and close my eyes to ward off the sudden bout of nausea evoked by sitting up. Tasers suck. The End.

The vehicle is still moving and I have no idea how long I've been out. We could have been on the move for minutes or hours. I don't even know which one of us was in this trouble truck first. I suppose I could ask, but I find myself irrationally angry with both of them.

If they could have just shut up and not tried to take over the freaking world, Megamind-style, I would have been able to find a job, pay off my student loans, maybe even get married and have kids. No one would have ever known about me. And if my kids turned out to have the X gene…well…I don't know. Shit. I might not have thought that through all the way, but it really doesn't matter now.

It's all gone. Anything I'd planned for myself up until this moment is all gone.

This realization does nothing to alleviate my nausea and I find myself taking deeper breaths to force the bile back down from my throat. Caught between blind rage and pure panic, I fall back to my most basic grounding techniques. Music has always been my touch stone. It's actually a major element of my mutation, as well, but I don't want to think about that right now.

I force my mind to focus on the rhythmic beating of my heart; still too fast, but at least consistent. As the beat fills my sense I find the energy to reach back to the music I was listening to during my run/jog/abduction sprint. I can't help but smile when the soundtrack to Pitch Perfect begins to echo softly through my mind.

I briefly dabble in the idea of humming Ace of Base: The Sign, both to help my mood and hopefully annoy my roomies, but even acknowledging their presence pisses me off so I shift my thoughts toward The Bella's Acapella Finals Medley. My smile spreads to a full blown grin and I begin to hum the first few lines of Price Tag; the nausea begins to recede. By the time I've gotten to Give Me Everything the image of Fat Amy rockin' out on stage makes me laugh out loud. I feel more in control of my emotions and hazard a glance at my captive/captured audience.

Eric has a sardonic smile on his lips and Raven Mystique (because she can probably still kick my ass mutation-less and handcuffed) is pointedly ignoring me. Good. At least they aren't planning to break my focus…or my neck.

Now for the real test…

Have they jacked with my ability to use my mutation?

I reach back into the reservoir of my mind and begin sifting through what I have begun to call: the Source. This is the part of me that houses my abilities and also subtly and irrevocably connects me to every other mutant on the planet. Like mutant Wi-Fi.

The Source is why I've tried so hard to stay away from politicized mutant groups. If anyone knew what I could do, really understood, some psycho would find a way to manipulate me into hurting people; mutants, humans, I don't know which but I know enough to know it wouldn't be hard. And, to be honest, I'm not really sure I can be killed. I'm not a rapid-healer…yet. But I'm pretty sure I could be if I needed to. So, torture would be pretty effective. But mostly, I don't know if my mutation would allow anyone a shot at really killing me…including me.

There are times when the Source feels like an entirely separate entity; a force of nature living inside me (not quite a parasite because it doesn't gain anything from me, but similar.) I've wondered at times, if I reach deep enough; pull hard enough, could I actually draw energy from the other mutants? I hope I never have to find out. The implication of such a need is terrifying.

The Source is there, in my mind. I test it to see if I can reach inside, like I do when I use my abilities. The Source is represented in my mind as an enormous, floating quicksilver sphere. When I want to use my mutation, I dip my mental "fingers" into the surface of the sphere and draw out however much I think I need to complete a specific task. When I touch it, the surface ripples and bends away from me slightly, creating a dimple in the surface. If I continue to push, the surface will eventually allow me entrance and my "fingers" will sink to the sphere. It always feels like cool honey; sticky and dense.

The first time Xavier touched my mind, there was no sphere. My mind and the Source occupied the same space. So, when he reached into my mind, he reached inside the Source and I suppose it responded like a firewall to a computer virus. The Source attacked Xavier in an attempt to reject or destroy the invader. He was forcibly ejected from my mind and I was left a quivering, sobbing mess in the middle of a vacant softball field. Not Fun.

I will be forever grateful that no one else was around to see me go down. Who knows what would have happened of some responsible adult was around to do the exact wrong thing and take me to the hospital?

Form that day on, my mutation took up the shape of the sphere in my mind, almost as if it were a sea urchin that had retracted at the foreign touch. Instead of having to exert control over my mutation, I actually had to begin purposely coaxing it out into the open. Ultimately, it was much easier for me to hide because I realized there would be no more "accidental magic." My mutation was on mental lock down.

There were a few times after that when Xavier would try to make contact, much gentler than he had the first time but his subtle effort was for not. As soon as he approached my mental barriers, the Source would expand, subsume my mind and harden into an impenetrable casing. I imagine that it looks like my brain is coated with Adamantium.

It's actually pretty freakin' cool.

Right now, the surface responds just as I expect it to; it dimples inward before allowing my "fingers" to sink into the surface. It's slightly warmer than usual and I pick up a faint trace of what can only be described as "emotional residue". I credit my Star Trek vocabulary for that nomenclature. Thank you Counselor Troi. The echo seems frantic and disorganized. I can relate. It reaches out to me like a frightened animal, testing me and sniffing my "hand".

Suddenly it engulfs my hand, races up my "arm" and I feel a powerful tug, urging me to submerge my mental self in the sphere. I resist. Now is not the time to explore this new development. I've learned what I needed to know. I still have complete access to my mutation and can use it to do whatever I might need to do. Good. Now what?

I gently pull my arm back from the sphere and clumsily try to project a sense of calm and comfort to the Source.

I'll be back, I whisper. I'm not saying no, just not right now.

Projecting a sense of reluctance, the tug decreases before finally letting me go. Slowly I open my eyes, only to meet Eric's stare once more.

"Interesting," he murmurs, and I wonder what he thinks I've just done.

I'm about to snark back something truly inspired when I remember something important. Just before I started my run, I felt someone become aware of me. "The Empath." I wonder if I could find him again; reach out for help?

No, not an option, I immediately think.

Not only would I expose that I'm basically networked to all the mutants on the planet (if only to this one person), I would also be bringing another mutant to the attention of these assholes and putting them directly in danger if s/he were to attempt my rescue.

I file that untenable option away for more desperate times. Besides, for all I know "The Empath" is half way across the world and I wouldn't even know where send them. Or, doesn't give a shit, anyway.

"Tell me, my dear. Just what are you doing in this charming little…chateau?"

Somehow, his question is both polite and profoundly condescending. Impressive. I wonder if that's part of his mutation. He's a super-snarky, super-magnet. I wouldn't put that on a resume. Doesn't really pop.

I glance at Mystique. She's watching me, too. The only clue I have that neither of them know what I was doing is the intense irritation Mystique seems to project while flicking her eyes between Eric and me. Clearly, she realizes I've done something that interested him, hence the: "interesting" comment, but she doesn't know what it is.

Good, at least I didn't ping any other mutants while on my little fishing expedition.

I'm stopped from truly answering his question when the trouble truck comes to an abrupt halt. We all rock to the side on our bench seats and I hiss when the motion irritates my hip. Eric's eyebrow goes up in question and all I can say is,

"Taser."

Apparently, 'nuf said. He nods in what can only be genuine sympathy and, for some reason, Mystique looks vaguely impressed and suddenly curious. Before I can query, she throws me a bone.

"All they used to get me in here was a 9mm. Apparently, they were more worried about resistance from you than me."

This information both shocks and terrifies me. They must know more about me than I thought if they wouldn't even risk allowing me to fight back. I realize now that I was herded like a sheep by a dog. All they had to do was put a threat behind me and I ran right to a secluded area (to protect my secret, like an idiot) and ended up giving them the perfect arena to abduct me.

Fucking stupid.

I'll keep that little secret to myself. I'm sitting across from a megalomaniac and a master strategist. Admitting to them how easily my capture went would be humiliating.

"Maybe they were just worried I'd scream."

A nice deflection, if I do say so myself. She seems to take that into consideration and I watch the respect slide from her expression with some regret. As amazing as it would be to have the respect of someone like Mystique, I simply cannot afford to be that interesting…to anyone. Too bad I'm already far to interesting to someone.

Finally, the truck doors swing open and the room/cage is flooded with light. I hadn't realized how dark it was in here. Mystique and Eric make no move to get up as multiple armed commandos being to appear in front of the open door. They have vicious looking guns trained on us…no not us. Fuck. Just me. All the guns are pointed at me. What the hell did I ever do to warrant this much caution. I'm an unemployed psychologist. This sucks.

"Try anything stupid and I shoot one of them." His voice is gruff and commanding. One of them? A play on my humanity. Unfortunately, that will work.

I just can't help myself.

"I think out of the three of us, I'm the least of your concerns. Damn it Jim, I'm a therapist not a Ninja." I almost giggle after that quip. Bless you Leonard McCoy. I've been waiting years to play a line like that.

Eric snorts, and Mystique looks vaguely impressed once again. Apparently, raw bravado in the face of AK's, is an acceptable replacement for mad ninja skills. Good to know.

"Shut the fuck up and get out of the trunk." How rude!

"That rhymes." I'm suddenly inspired…

"Shut up! I mean it," he barks, and I can practically feel my two roomies holding their breath. I take the plunge…

"Anybody want a peanut?"

One of the other commandos actually laughs, Eric cracks a genuine smile but the most gratifying response is from Mystique.

"Classic."

Later, I will determine that being slammed in the head by the butt of an AK was totally worth the Princess Bride reference. It was a close call but a nerd's gotta represent. And, as the world goes dark once again I think:

Next is Firefly, fo sho.