Warning. This tale is dark. Thank you to NekoNinja24 and my AO3 partner MidgardianWatcher for your help!

Rogue awoke, but she knew what she needed to do. Trained from young adulthood, first by 'renegade' terrorists on a mission, then by the members of the dogmatically driven X-Men, she immediately knew to 'play possum'. Resistance was the word to all of this, and Rogue knew how to hang tough. That wasn't even to mention all the skills she'd absorbed through the years; rising suddenly in a random pattern like a textbook example of an intrusive thought to the forefront of her mind. Sometimes it was helpful, but all too often - before she got a better handle on herself and her powers - it wasn't.

But now, automatic skills filled in, and Rogue followed them. Feigning unconsciousness, she did her best to swiftly assess as much as she could discern. She knew it wouldn't last long, this brief reprieve while she got her bearings so she'd need to be swift. Cautiously, Rogue tested her limbs, and realized she could control them, despite a faint prickling of blood starvation. She surreptitiously tugged at them, but they didn't budge.

Despite her own thoughts warning her to the contrary, panic reared its ugly head: she had to move. Faster. Faster! She had to prepare herself before her enemies knew she was awake, and so she needed to move as quickly as possible.

Flexing every muscle, she could feel the restraints she was in; a simple pair of metal cuffs at her ankles and wrists. Tight, almost uncomfortably so, but not particularly thick. Her toes didn't quite touch the ground, it hovered tantalizingly out of reach. She was still clothed, she could feel that. Odder and odder, there didn't seem to be much involved in holding her down, so why couldn't she-

'A collar?!' she thought to herself, as cold panic well and truly set in; it sank deep to her core, chilling her from inside out. Yes, a collar. It was sitting heavily on her neck; and she felt it weighing her down, heavy with weight it didn't really possess.

She tried to breathe, tried to empty her mind, but the memories came unbidden. This was old tech - the exact same device that they used on her back on Genosha. Her heart rate spiked again and she forced her breathing to slow.

'Calm, remain calm, girl. You learned too much t'panic now.' Beat by thudding heartbeat, breath by measured breath, she managed to bite back her fear to manageable levels. She kept her eyes closed, in case she was still being monitored by…whoever snagged her. What was his name again?

It'd be alright. She experienced being collared in the past: when Omega Red came to call at the mansion. A few other times - as well as the awful, terrible first - rose to her mind, but there was a truth she couldn't deny. Each of the times prior, she was with others. It had been enough to know her allies were with her, that they knew she was there.

Here…no.

She was alone.

They weren't going to find her easily, they never had success before this thanks to her powers. It always took extra effort to include her in any psychic landscape. And really, what reason would they have to look for her? They saw her departure; Bobby and…and Remy. They would report back to the X-Men, about how she wanted to take some time off, away from the team.

She was alone.

Memories returned and she remembered what happened to her. She had left the X-Men, after Remy chased her and Bobby across the entire country. After a tense, terse conversation that yielded nothing but the proof that Remy wasn't ready to trust in them, in their relationship, the way she wanted. Their mutual unwillingness to bend was what broke their bond. For now, Rogue decided to live her life on her own, away from her found family. Alone, truly physically alone for the first time, she traversed the states, working piecemeal jobs and along the underbelly of this country. She found it healing in a way -

Until South Carolina. Until tonight. Her short-term landlady called 'humanity's protectors', Humanity's Last Stand. Driven to this extreme only after enough half-truths and conjecture on television scared her into believing she had a mutant with Legacy in her home, Rogue now found herself realizing a net was closing in on her. But before Rogue could object, or try to explain a thing - the wall burst inwards.

Apparently the HLS had also allied with a chapter of the Friends of Humanity. And something else, called the Purifiers, whatever that may be. It reminded Rogue of Cameron Hodge's The Right in a way, though anyone that called themselves such a blatant name like the "Purifiers" would most definitely be a group that wasn't interested in integration.

Whatever deals these hate groups had planned with one another, they had overwhelming force, and were threatening the safety of Melody and her child. She conceded defeat, offered her life in exchange for theirs. But their commander, some guy with a soul patch -

'Bastion,' the name floated back to her as she stifled a groan at her stretched, sore limbs. Yes, Bastion bushwhacked her with a powerful gun stunning her to unconsciousness. That was the last thing she remembered.

And thus she was here, now. But where was here? Tentatively, cautiously, she let her eyes open only so much that she could see through slitted lashes. The world blurred, and she waited patiently for clarity. It took longer than she wanted, and anxiety spiked repeatedly within her as her vision swirled.

But she had worried for nothing. She was alone. The dimly lit room was empty within her field of vision. Her toes didn't quite touch the floor, leaving her suspended by wrists and ankles. And it was cold. Cold enough for her in her powerless state to feel the bite of the clinical-like chill to the air.

Rogue opened her eyes. Yes, she was indeed alone. Emboldened, Rogue turned her head one way, then the other. She could see the struts she was strapped to, they formed a sturdy 'X'. She was shackled wrists and ankles to a Saint Andrew's Cross -

Logan's memories sprang to the forefront of her mind, also unbidden. She remembered from his - her - their - perspective the searing heat of the Outback, the pain in his limbs and lungs, the jagged laughter of the Reavers swinging in and out of focus as flies buzzed around her - their? His! - head.

Rogue shook her head in reality as well, using the motion to clear it. It was given in help, and she appreciated it. But back to the matter at hand, and the predicament she found herself in. She reminded herself that right now she needed to focus on other things instead of falling inward. Intrusive thoughts came often, and without warning. She was long used to them. Despite being a dear friend, Rogue knew how to place boundaries in her mind and firmly set that horrid recollection to the back of her memories. She didn't let others rise to the fore after that first memory surge, either.

Granted only human levels of strength, she couldn't free herself no matter how hard she tried. She grunted and strained before finally sagging against the beams exhaustedly. Whoever it was that put her in this small, chilly, darkened room wanted her to stay there alone. There was very little in here; an overhead light that cast the only illumination, and just out of her sight on the right was a dark shape; she didn't know what it was, it seemed to be at waist height. A desk, perhaps. Or a low cabinet. Her mind whirled with a dozen scenarios, each probable. What did this Bastion want with her? Usually, it boiled down to some yahoo screaming 'Death to all mutants!' before a weapon was fired. But now? Hanging here as she was, they had other plans for her and she shuddered to think why they were bothering to keep her alive.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. Rogue found herself wearying from being strung up like this. Her shoulders, her thighs, her calves, her core, every inch of her was throbbing, like she was being stuck with pins and needles.. It was occasionally hard to breathe, and she found herself having to spend time flexing her hands, her feet, her legs, neck, and her torso. The memories she had from Logan's mind in similar types of experiences were very insightful; it kept her from having to learn too much the hard way. It was also good to help her focus her mind and prepare for the inevitable torture ahead.

Time ticked on, and Rogue found she fought a different enemy. It was getting more and more difficult to hold herself up. She was panting from the effort, sweating despite the room's temperature, and exhausted. However, she refused to make any other intentional sound. Though the occasional groan managed to escape her lips.

How long would they make her wait?! She almost felt insulted, if it wasn't evident the person who planned this wanted her to get exactly this way. Without a specific course of action in mind, Rogue firmly decided that she'd deny them whatever they wanted. But time was a cruel mistress, and she found herself within a few hours trembling violently on this device, while breath rasped from her. It was hard, hanging there without encouraging potential damage.

When hands clasped her waist, caressing her hips to glide down over her pelvis and rest one hand firmly against her vagina, right against the apex where her thighs joined, she jolted. Hard. She couldn't see who the hands belonged to, they were partially blocked by the giant sized X. Whoever it was, they were likely male, all things considered. It was probably Bastion, but she couldn't really tell much except that their body pressing against the device didn't jostle it. The saltire cross didn't move an inch, even with those wide hands pressed against her. The one that was pressed right against her clothed crotch settled in, partially cupping her against her jeans now. She made a small gasping noise, and a deep, low voice chuckled from behind her.

"Good to see that you're awake, my dear."

She didn't recognize this person's scent, nor their clothing detergent, and whatever soap or deodorant they used. Very little of this person was familiar to her. But even with most of her senses denied, she knew who they were just by the tone of voice.

"Bastion." Rogue tried not to hiss; intent on not reacting how he'd expect, she acted like she was perfectly at ease despite being strung up. "Usually a gal would like some kinda notice, some kinda warnin' before -" she broke off as his broad hand stroked along her outer thigh to crest along her buttock before returning and settling itself between her parted legs from the front. She was suddenly semi-resting atop his hand, and the release of having to keep herself lifted up was a relief of its own. She exhaled and didn't mean to; it was purely reflexive. "B-before this kinda date." This kind of intimate touch was foreign, unfamiliar, and disturbingly effective. She expected pain, and this wasn't it.

Bastion laughed again, low, and deep. "I suppose most would. But I couldn't bear to hear any excuse or denial."

His hand remained steady while the other drifted upwards. His palm was against her clothed body, but its firm pressure felt like they were touching skin to skin. She struggled to find a way to riposte, but the situation had her at a disadvantage. She could feel herself becoming slightly aroused, just by feeling a foreign touch, and Rogue cursed her touch-starved body. It would be much better if she were acting like his caress was a hot branding iron.

"It's been so long. And it took a while, but I eventually found you. I've needed you to be away from your allies, able to be found alone. I watched, I waited, and when the moment was right, when you were finally away from that cult school in the Catskills, I had you retrieved, returned to me."

His free hand tugged playfully at the collar, hooking over the top edge and running a finger along the inner side. She could feel the back and edges of his perfectly manicured fingernails tickling her skin and it made her shiver uncontrollably. "I had to make certain I had your full attention. This is an auspicious event." he admitted, as a sliver of tepid excitement filling his voice. "This is a reunion."

What in tarnation was he talkin' about? It felt like he was having a conversation more with himself and the idea of her than the actual her. Rogue was about to say something, but then his nose drifted and traced the outer edge of her ear. Still so unused to any tender touch in too long, she froze like a deer in headlights.

"Yes. I've waited far too long for this moment. It's not fair; how patient I had to be." He murmured, sounding like the textbook definition of facetiousness. Well studied, and perfectly emotionless. "But I was. Separated, alone; I remembered nothing. Once I did, I knew I wanted to be as careful as possible. I bided my time, and rose to build myself an empire of paranoid narcissists. This country is full of them." Bastion chuckled as he caressed her waist with his free hand.

Rogue's mind flashed through possibilities. Was he someone with super powers? His hand against her hot core was steady. Immobile. No human man, with that much distance could hold a grown woman up like that without any strain. And he did it with ease.

Who was he? She shook off shock as swiftly as she could, and she tried to struggle, to writhe away from him. Energy and breath was in scant supply as she was granted that reprieve, her tired body trying to gather as much sweet air as possible in this break.

"Who…are you?" she panted, her cheeks flushed with exertion and undesired arousal.

"And look at my reward now."

Rogue gasped as he plucked one button of her shirt. It wobbled in its buttonhole before spilling open, leaving a gap across her collarbone, exposing flesh to the chill air. She kept quiet, but when he unbuttoned another and slid one hand to palm one breast over her brassiere she made another noise of surprise at his behavior. Rogue was trembling, and it translated into grinding against his hand. Involuntarily to be sure, but it was undeniable.

"S-Stop, what are you-"

"Hush, Anna-Marie." Bastion chided and Rogue froze more soundly than when she was hit with Bobby's icy powers on full blast. How had he known that name? All cards, identity, everything had been erased when Irene and Raven took her in. It had been a major point, a massive effort, something the two women had taken pains to make certain that she and Irene were completely unidentifiable by the government and the world at large after her adoption was complete.

No one, no one should know that name save for whom she and Raven would give permission to. And Raven knew better than to use a name Rogue had no use for anymore. She herself shared it with only a select few, especially now that she was basically alone in the world. So, Rogue was Rogue now, and that's all that mattered.

"Don't ruin this moment for us. Not after I have waited so long." Bastion said, a small thread of humanity sounding a bit petulant, now with some actual emotion. His lips parted to take her earlobe in, and he bit it, humming his pleasure. "Not after I had waited so long." He repeated as his hands continued their activity. She writhed against him, trying to toss him off. His hand roamed through her shirt, under her bra. He dislodged the rest of the shirt so it sagged open, his hand on her left breast, massaging, squeezing it, toying with it. Her panting became uneven, so unused to any touch that her heart was pounding wildly now. If she made any sort of noise beyond an uncontrollable, wordless sound, he would interrupt his lecture to chide her.

"As I said; once I - shh, shhh - once you were alone, our reunion could occur. You must be confused - shh! - as to why I would - would be so excited." His breathing didn't strain as his top hand drifted down to unbutton her jeans.

"S-stop!"

"But I know," he purred as the zipper made an absolutely sinful snicker in the room. "I know how badly you want this." He bit her earlobe. "How badly you want to be touched, Anna-Marie."

"How do you know my- Who are you?" she demanded in a choked voice as that upper hand ripped her underwear off in a rough jerk. The fabric stung the tender flesh down there as it was torn away. Bastion cast it aside, but only long enough to use both hands to rip her bra from her chest. That too was discarded, and she shivered as her breasts were completely exposed to the chilly air in the room.

"I am Bastion." the man in black said from behind her, as he pressed his lips to where her jaw and her skull met one another. "I am the leader who will protect humanity. I am Nimrod. I am the maker who will bring about a new era." His voice became oddly digital, a thrumming sound that seemed to be more…robotic. "I am Mastermold. I am the remains of Steven Lang's first attempt." He chuckled darkly, a joke to himself. "He thought he failed."

His hand had delved into her jeans, and even as she rested on his broad palm, those long spatulate fingers delved, finding their way into the tight confines of her cunt, skimming along her sensitive flesh. She was slightly aroused just from being so touch starved - but she didn't want this! Not from him!

"I am what came out of the Siege Perilous after you and your friends drove me into it." His voice took on a human tinge of anger before she heard him take a deep, leveling breath. His hand on her breast squeezed sharply, holding it. He twisted her nipple between two fingers. She winced, hissing in pain and arousal, even as his index finger began to gently stroke her outer labia. The juxtaposition of cruelty and tenderness was just as disorienting as the actions. What was wrong with him?!

"I am Bastion. And I am what the Siege made of me. And of you, my dearest other half."

"No." she breathed, her heart thudding wildly. She remembered. She remembered those desperate minutes that stretched longer and longer. The discomfort of the outfit she wore - the discomfort with the owner of the outfit, and the material itself. Every attempt they made, their enemy just stood up, ready for more, and evolving past its previous mistakes. There was no beating it; they had to regretfully dump the problem in someone else's lap.

But it had cost the team. It cost them Rogue; though on some of her more lonely nights she wondered really how much they suffered making that decision. She had fallen into the Siege Perilous, left with only foggy memories -

She was judged by the Siege, though it had turned her inside-out. It separated her, pulled all the past imprints away until it was only her and Carol. What felt then like an eternity-

But Rogue wasn't given further time to ruminate as Bastion's hands were moving as the screen died. She tried to get her bearings, but it was impossible. She only had the span of a breath of two as his ministrations continued.

"Please…why- why are you-"

"Why, whatever do you mean, Anna-Marie?"

"That's not mah-"

"Yes." Bastion hissed sharply, pinching that same erect nipple hard, again twisting the tender flesh and nerves. "The name you were born with is your name. That name your sick foster parents foisted on you can die here tonight, just like our old lives died in the Siege." His hands became gentle again, the fingers on one hand smoothing over the abused flesh.

The other…the devious other…

His hand stroked its way along her mons, through pubic hair, his fingers questing along. Rogue sagged, still not able to hold herself up under her own strength. Bastion took advantage of that fact as deftly his fingers parted her lips, and gently toyed with those wettened folds. He took his time, exploring her, but with more pressure than interest in eliciting pleasure. This seemed more…determined. She was panting harshly now, and she burned with shame in that moment, despite it being completely out of her control. Bastion kissed her neck in one slow line as his fingers began to stroke her labia majora…teasing along, blindly feeling her, as if exploring her body with only one sense alone.

"So perfect…just as I imagined…" he murmured against her ear. One finger wormed its way into her, using damned gravity, her exhaustion…and her arousal, for him to easily slide one long finger into her cunt, and she spasmed against it. Unable to do anything else, she tried to fight herself off, away from him, tried to do something - anything! - but it was impossible.

As he toyed with her, teased her, bringing her a twisted sense of pleasure, he continued to narrate. "You and I are, we were bound together." He sounded so pleased by this, as if he discovered something. "An Adam and an Eve; judged by the Siege, gifted life. You gave me flesh; and now I in turn will deliver you a new body. Together…" he trailed off as he sighed in satisfaction at imagining his dream realized.

At the same time his diabolical fingers and her untouched, overstimulated body worked together to coax an orgasm from her. It was a small, tiny, almost painful thing. Unwanted, she shuddered violently against her braces as she came from his fingers. Then she found herself somewhat horrified and shuddering again as he brought his fingers to his lips. She could hear him cleaning them with gusto over her harsh panting.

Another laugh, as if he had finally achieved something. The white haired man in black continued. "Together, we will usher in mankind to a new world." Bastion concluded as he ripped the shirt and jeans from her body with his inhuman strength. They were thrown carelessly aside, immediately forgotten. "Once we rid you of your filthy mutant heritage, you will see how right the Siege was to judge us, separate, together, and as one. It knew what we needed to be. And where." While he said this and she tried to recover herself, he had moved away long enough to rustle for something behind her, she didn't know what.

Rogue was unable to control her breathing, now hanging without support, her tired muscles screamed at her for release. Exhaustedly, doggedly, she shook her head once, then twice. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of compliance, perceived or not. "Y…you're a…" she paused for breath, not for lack of words. "...madman. Not gonna…gonna-!" she broke off as he tugged her head backwards, exposing her neck to him.

"You'll need to be prepared for your procedures, my love. I have had the schematics drafted for some time now. I think you will be pleased. A true balance of form, function, and utility. But first, a cleansing. Rest, Anna-Marie. Once you're ready for surgery, then we can begin your true, inevitable rebirth that the Siege sent me to complete." A moment after he finished speaking, she discovered what all the noise was about.

She felt a tiny bite, a sting that came on the outside of her thigh. He was injecting her with something! Before she knew it, she was fighting some strange invasion that burned her veins and left a strange, metallic taste in her mouth. From within the depths of her mind S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, Logan, and a few others recognized it immediately, providing warnings and information. A commonly used compound by the military, it was an effective agent in knocking a person out. "Dream of our Eden, Anna-Marie." he purred into her ear as the needle delivered its payload into her body. "Dream of us, making the world anew."

She was going to fight a losing battle, she realized, as he left her there in the cold, in the dim, alone. The door slid open and shut for Bastion, and she sagged on her bonds, breathing heavily, shakily. She wanted to do so many things, but her limbs were feeling even more leaden, and her eyelids felt sandy, puffy, wanting to slide closed of their own accord.

After the door closed she swiftly lost the battle with whatever he injected her with. Darkness closed in on her, and she fought it with every bit of her will. It wasn't enough, and she was tumbling into darkness. Despite the fear that hastened her heart rate, her last thoughts were that no matter what he did to her, the first thing she'd do upon waking was punch him so hard his database was going to feel it.