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God's Clear Vision; (You know if you are tagged)
Topic Started: Dec 27 2010, 12:43 AM (1,013 Views)
Quicksilver
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
December 24th
Beginning at midafternoon



He ran on the treadmill, though all others had gone to lunch, gone to a Christmas party that had been organized by those who still thought to have the celebrations of the world above. Quicksilver ran, and in his running, there was peace, there was contentment. His breakfast had been brandy and bread, eaten from an offering left to the dead beside his coffin. In his more lucid moments, he realized that he himself must have left the offerings, he himself was the only mourner outside the canopy in the back yard of his now empty home, the screens on the wall smashed, the mirrors covered, all of his property dispersed.... in his more lucid moments, he realized he had gone mad, and he thought of his dead twin and wondered to himself if he had adopted her madness as a way of keeping her with him.

This was not one of those lucid moments.

For as he ran on the treadmill attached to the generators that would turn his kinetic energy into electricity, as he ran so fast that he was a blur, and the machines smoked slightly with the heat of the friction, the silence of a world frozen around him was broken by the whispers... only there were no whispers now, there were screams. Avery's screams.

"Pietro! Why didn't you come when I called? Pietro!"

"No," Quicksilver told himself, "She was not there, she was not."

Alex stood in front of him, Avery's broken body held in arms that should have been to shattered to support even her weight, "They came for her, Piet. The Lord of Sanctuary sent them."

"Why, why would my father do such a thing?" Quicksilver asked, "What would he have to gain?"

Wanda was at his side now, and though he still ran, it seemed he stood still. She touched his cheek and her glove was red not with the dye in the fabric but with blood and he felt the slick wetness on his flushed skin. "You still do not understand do you, dear brother. My poor hummingbird, flying from place to place without ever lighting long enough to understand where you are."

The power store room with its giant generators and converters and things more complicated than he chose to learn seemed to melt in a wash of red, and he saw the city below them, grown to an enormous size, tall spires and twisting towers reaching almost to the dome itself, spread out as far as he could see, and the flag of Sanctuary, black and silver and red, fluttered in a non-existent breeze as beneath him a parade of soldiers marched, a line so far he could not see either end. "What is this?" he whispered, and he stepped to the rail of the balcony he now was on, the cape he wore billowing behind him, though he did not recall wearing a cape before. He raised his head, to peer out from under the helmet that rested heavily on his white hair, and he extended a hand in salute. As one the army saluted back.

The ghosts lined up behind him like a council of five, Havok, Polaris, Wanda, Avery, Hodge. "Do you understand, now?" they asked him in one voice, "Do you understand your destiny?"

Overhead the dome lit with red and gold and orange explosions, and Quicksilver flinched as it cracked, expecting it all to be washed away by the sea, but instead what flooded in was flame. He looked up and hell came for him... "And, it was good..." someone said, someone with his voice.

The power store room was lit with red and gold and orange, as the machines protested the speed he had begun to run in his delusion. The smoke filled the recycled air, the alarms blared and he saw nothing, he saw none of this.

In his delusion, he saw the world he would bring forth as the legacy his father left him, and he fell to his knees and wept with the majesty of it. His father laid his hand on his shoulder, as he had a lifetime ago while Hodge's blood and brains still dried to a gory crust on his face, spelling his fortune in russet runes that Wanda could have read, but he never learned, he was too stupid, too addlepated, too scatter brained. "You've become, at last, a son worthy of me."

Technicians ran in, armed with fire extinguishers, and powers at the ready, to shut down the machines, to stop whatever it was that had just gone wrong, and as they burst into the room, they were tossed aside by the blur that streaked through the egress, dragging smoke and flame and desperate madness behind him.

"What the hell was that?" gasped one.

"Shit, someone call Absalom," ordered another, "And Lord Magneto. Whatever the hell is happening here, they need to know."

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Quicksilver
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
Once upon a time there was a stupid boy named Pietro who was dragged off, digging his heels into the ground, to a nearby village where he would learn how to be a man, where he would earn a coin or two, perhaps enough for a sack of potatoes to store with the food that his caravan was gathering for the coming of the lean times. He had no skill but the violin, he had no learning because he was stupid in the head, and his greatest pleasure was sitting in the sun with his sister's head on his knee and counting the times that a hummingbird's wings beat in an eyeblink. That once upon a time trip had ended with the death of the only parent who loved him, the suffering and the break with reality of the girl with which he had shared his mother's womb, and the loss of his own confining humanity, like a prisoner breaking his shackles.

But on the other side of those prison walls, he had found not the paradise of the freedom that came when you were the wind and you spun the earth beneath your feet like an acrobat balanced on a ball. Hell had come for Pietro, in loss, in pain, in frozen horror on the faces of those who should have been a blur, and in obsession with familial duty that lead to nothing but flame.

The blur that cut through the city dissected it with razor precision, causing the word to shift aside for it, scattering people, the toppling the small electric cars, turning corners so precise that they could be marked with an angle, and the progress of the streak across the map of the city controllers was always outward, towards the farmland beyond the edge of the city, towards the wilds beyond the farmland, towards the dome, where the sky touched the earth.

"What is he doing?" the security forces asked each other, "What the hell is happening? Are we under attack?"

"Everyone stop blubbering," said the commander, "Get some people out there armed with null tech."

"Null tech?" gasped the security, "That's Lord Magneto's son, he's an Acolyte!"

"Yeah, an Acolyte who isn't answering hails, and is acting like a threat to Sanctuary," the commander said, "Don't forget that we're several miles underwater. He attacks the dome we're dead."

*****

"Where are you going, Pietro?" Wanda and Avery called after him, "You cannot hide from this. You sought it. You begged for it before him, on your knees before him, seeking him out, giving up everything, everything."

Quicksilver didn't know where he was going, he didn't understand he was running, he just felt the wind, he heard the ghosts accusing, he heard them calling for his surrender to his destiny. He was lord of the dead, of the dying, of the destruction that came, and the hell that burned after.

He was at the edge of the dome before he realized that he had even moved and he slammed full tilt into it, sending him sprawling to the ground. Quicksilver scrambled to his knees, and pressed his hands against the dome, the illusion of the world continuing beyond the hard surface. On the other side of that surface, he saw himself, dressed in his father's cape and helmet, surrounded by flame and the dead bodies of his friends and loved ones. He saw that nightmare image pull Avery to him and kiss her passionately and her flesh greyed in his grasp, the life and the soul pulled out of her. "She will burn like dry timber," the dark figure whispered, "You think that you escaped this? You think you escaped what you saw in the Void? You saw there? You should have gone home then, you should have abandoned this fool quest to save the soul of a monster. But now, it is too late. You have become one. You have destroyed everything, everyone!"

"No!" Quicksilver shouted and he pounded on the dome, making the world and the sky ripple. "NO!" he shouted again, and he drove his fists into the shielding that kept the ocean from drowning them all.

The null dart hit him in the back of the neck and he didn't feel it until the second one. He spun around and saw... "Angels..." he whispered, "Please, put me in my coffin."

Another dart hit him, and he slipped into darkness.
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Magneto (old)
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Magnokinesis / Flight
The Palace: Magneto's personal office

“Lord Magneto?”

The voice had erupted from a speaker set into a burnished steel desk seven feet wide and four feet across. The incredibly heavy piece of furniture matched the walls and ceiling perfectly, as did the round silver-gray table set to the side accompanied by a matching set of chairs used for meetings held in Magneto's personal offices. Nothing discussed escaped the walls of this surgically precise and hospital clean room, and no recordings were made. The walls and ceiling had been reinforced with the same material that composed Erik's helmet, and frequency dampeners had been planted within to ward against listening devices. The thing reeked of cold efficiency and nothing else reflecting the man who used it.

Erik looked up from the half empty plate of food and set the Brotherhood training report down on the desk, brow furrowed as he looked down at the intercom. “Yes?”

“She is here to see you, sir.”

The puzzlement written across the Master of Magnetism's face increased... not because he wasn't sure who she was, but what she was doing here. “Very well.”

“Yes sir,” the voice on the other side of the intercom said before the connection was broken. Magneto was already reaching for his helmet and placing it on his head as the heavy steel doors slid open to admit a woman dressed in robes and a hood pulled low to conceal her face. She stood just inside the office, but refrained from saying a word until the door was completely shut behind her.

“I am sorry for not contacting you beforehand, Magneto, but there's been an emergency.”

Erik stood up, his fingertips resting on his expansive office desk, “Go on.”

“Quicksilver...”

She hesitated, unsure of how to continue.

“I am very aware of Quicksilver's condition. You have reported it to me and I have ordered you to monitor it. What has happened.” Magneto was annoyed; if this was such an emergency, then why was she taking her precious time?

“I'm sorry, my lord... it's just...”

She changed tactic, “Magneto, Quicksilver attacked several people in the city and then tried to breach the dome.”

Erik's eyes widened; his son knew exactly where they were and how many miles of ocean lay above them. If the dome were compromised, it would crush every man, woman, and child within Sanctuary... had Quicksilver really gone that far? How had she not seen it coming and interfered sooner?

He was just about to voice that same question, but was cut off before he could get a single word of concern out, “We should have caught it, but Magneto... the network is down.”

Magneto's brow furrowed again, “Down? Completely?”

“Yes sir. We suspect it has been failing for a while, which is why we didn't catch Quicksilver's state until it was too late. Sir... I have no idea how it happened. Everyone else is just as baffled as I am.”

“Where is Quicksilver now?” Magneto inquired.

“Sanctuary guards are taking him to a holding cell as we speak. Reverb wanted to bring you the report herself, but I managed to beat her here so that I could inform you first and tell you about the network failure.”

Without another word, Erik strode around the desk, “Are your powers completely gone?”

“No, my lord. Just the network.”

Magneto pointed a gloved finger at her as the doors slid open once more, “You find out what happened to the network, and send a couple of your men to accompany me to the holding facilities. I'll be waiting for them outside the palace.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, “Might I ask what you need of my men?”

“I'm going to see my son. I might require their services to make him better.”
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Quicksilver
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
The guards treated this prisoner with a respect that the very few others in this facility were not allowed. He was, after all, the son of Magneto, he was one of the Acolytes. Something was wrong with him that was not mere treason or terrorism. He was a speedster, so his movements were often in a blur, few people had ever gotten a good look at him, especially since he was so isolatory a man. But as they transported him, there were definite signs. His clothes were nearly threadbare at the knees and the elbows, the soles of his shoes were almost worn through, like they were melted. His white hair had been cut raggedly as if hacked at by a knife, and he reeked of alcohol. Was the heir to Sanctuary nothing more than a common drunk?

At any rate, his father was the big bad so treating this one with respect was something that the guards were very certain to do. He was laid on a cot in one of the unoccupied cells, his powers nulled, tranqed for his own good, and he lay now mumbling in that strange language of his, left alone until his father came for him.

Quicksilver had been delivered into darkness by the angels who had pulled him from Hell's gate, and as they carried him away from the death he had caused, the five who had spoken to him, the rest who lay scattered at his feet, Tommy, Billy, the rest of X-Factor, even Spitfire, dead at his command, because of his destiny, his legacy. Now, in the cold, and the black, he was finally alone, and the world's frantic spinning had slowed to something more normal to him.

The null tech was not like the bracelets of the world above, because those were a symbol of human oppression. The darts were temporary, and the brigs had null fields. But Quicksilver, despite his speed being nulled, had already processed so the dart's chemicals so quickly before being slowed that they had already worn off, the tranquilizing affect which should have kept him unconscious for hours, had already worn off.

He opened his eyes in this dark and cold place, and he said aloud, "Is this my coffin? It is quiet, so quiet. Wanda?!" he called, "Avery! Lorna! Have you found your rest now that I am dead and buried?!"
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Primal
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JP Primal & Gambit




So the speedster had gone cuckoo, his synapses collapsing in on themselves like undercooked soufflé. Primal couldn’t say he was surprised. The kid had been acting real crazy ever since he’d put a bullet through Hodge’s skull. He’d heard about it, blowout at point blank range. For the first time since his arrival, Primal had felt something towards Pietro that wasn’t jealousy or rage; the guy had finally grown a pair of balls, done something worthy of the title Acolyte. Seemed like the gypsy couldn’t handle his own self-initiation. Few hours back he’d caused a little bit of chaos, freaked everyone the hell out until some lucky fucker tagged him with a null dart. The frantic scrabble had hammered home just how precarious this precious little metallic bubble on the ocean-floor really was. A few sheets of metal separated them from hundreds of pounds of pressure above, the slick-black emptiness of deep sea suddenly heavy and dangerous.

Ever since Gambit’s betrayal Mags had been edgy. He was guarded, even more so, over-critical and paranoid. And now his son was laid up on a prison cot. That incapacity coupled with a distinct lack of accountability had him looking for alternative answers. He thought Gambit might know something.

And of course, Primal was the guy sent to pry it out of the Cajun. He wouldn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Primal had made the fucker scream his mother’s name. He had nothing left to give. If he did, he wouldn’t admit it now. Not after he’d come so far. If Primal admired him for anything at all, it was his goddamn resilience.

Inside Gambit’s cell, something didn’t smell right. “I don’t feel like fucking around, s…” He stalled, tongue stuck against his teeth, throwing a suspicious glance at the withered Cajun. Jesse. He smelled Jesse. What the fuck? A little nugget of concern burnt hot in his gut. He stalked over to the swamprat and grabbed a fistful of hair, wrenching Gambit’s head up, that empty eye socket sunken and ugly.

“Was she in here?” he hissed, voice tight and caustic.

He'd heard a commotion outside... fleeting bits of conversation; someone had lost it. Someone had tried to break out of Sanctuary. Someone hadn't been able to conform to Magneto's little mutant utopia. A smile slowly split the Cajun's swollen lips... a genuine, heart-felt smile... something that hadn't happened in years. Magneto's kingdom was already beginning to fall apart.

Remy wondered who it had been, and what he had done? Obviously he felt sorry for the poor bastard; anyone who voiced an opinion that Sanctuary was less than satisfactory would be shushed up as quickly as possible, buried down here for who knew how long until Mags or one of his Acolytes figured out what the hell to do with him or her. The facade needed to be maintained, and judging by his own treatment, the Brotherhood would do just about anything to keep up the appearances. Gambit hoped that this first single act would spread like a cancer that would bring Sanctuary crashing down around Magneto's ears.

Moments later, metal grated on metal before it was followed by a loud crash, light flooding his dark little room briefly before it was muted as a hulking figure filled the doorway. Remy peeled his face from the floor where he lay, a very broken man who had not been healed since the last interrogation, and had been tied up for countless hours. His crimson eyes flared as he looked up at the man who entered his little world already beginning to spout trash before abruptly stopping. He sensed something, and that hesitation made Remy's heart stop in his chest.

Hours before...

“What?” was all Remy could rasp, startled awake at a figure leaning over him.

“Shh,” came a very feminine reply, “Hush.”

She was doing something to his wrists... was this it? Had she been sent to fetch him? Was he going to die?

Before another question could form in his mind, a familiar tingle slid up his spine, his entire body screaming as if it had just been reawakened. He could sense things he hadn't been able to sense in months; energy. It was like being reunited with an old lover as she embraced him. Gambit gritted his teeth, a half-groan dying in his throat as every muscle in his body seized, tendons and veins bulging in his neck as he strained with the effects of his null cuff being shut off.

As Gambit collapsed once more on the floor, completely exhausted, the woman stood up; he couldn't even bring himself to look at her as he lay motionless on the floor.

“Why?” he rasped after a few ragged breaths.

“Because,” came a whispered reply, “I hate seeing him like this. Doing this is hurting him more than it is you, and I can't take it anymore.”

Him? Primal? Was this Jesse?

He tried to move... to look at her, but failed miserably.

“Save your strength,” she urged. “Something is going to happen soon. I don't know what, but I can feel it. You wait for your chance, then get the hell out of here. Get out of Sanctuary and don't you dare come back. Or die... I don't care. Just stay out of his life.”

Without another word, she was gone before Remy could open his mouth...

He had just been visited by an angel from God himself.


Hands clenching, he managed to affect another smile... a poor imitation of that roguish grin he was so well known for and merely shrugged, “Don't know who you're talkin 'bout, mon ami.”


“Don’t fuck with me!” Primal pulled harder, dragging him up until the hairs began to tear from his scalp. His fingers clamped around Gambit’s neck, lips peeled back so that those oversharp canines looked too white in the glare. This was different. His whole demeanour was changed. There had been a distance between the saurian and all those brutalities, every question punctuated with an impersonality that he hadn’t had to cross.

“What was she doing here? You stink of her. Don’t even think about lying or I’ll cut your other eye out you little shit,” he spat. His heart galloped faster, mind racing. If she had been here… fuck. Fuck.


The ropes keeping Remy in place already began to radiate with kinetic energy, the fibers quickly disintegrating under the Cajun's mutant influence as he choked under Primal's grip around his throat. The fuck was as stupid as the dinosaurs he resembled... how the hell was he expecting to get an answer out of Gambit while attempting to shut off his air supply? That didn't matter... nothing mattered... he wished he could have waited for that big chance Jesse had said would be coming up soon, but this was the point of no return.

Unable to give a verbal reply, Remy did the next best thing. With a snap of the remaining rope, the Cajun's elbow flew up and hit the saurian square in the face. He felt the grip around his neck slip just enough to slide from between the Acolyte's fingers, his neck searing in pain as he felt claws slide across his flesh as he rolled away from Primal. Gambit immediately reached out, wrapping his fingers around cold steel – the first thing he could come in contact with. Slinging his arm back at Raen, he sent one end of the chain that had been used to suspend him all those times hurling through the air directly at the saurian head.


All Primal wanted to do was squeeze until that knuckle of bone beneath his hand gave way. He didn’t want to hear the Cajun’s response; he didn’t want confirmation of what he already knew: Jesse had been here, for some stupid, stupid reason she’d been here, illegally. And then he realised with a cold jolt that he was going to kill the Cajun, right now. He was going to kill the dirty stain before anyone else found out. His grasp tightened into a death grip.

Gambit’s elbow shot out of nowhere, cracking into Primal’s jaw, snapping his head back so hard he heard vertebrae crick. Shocked, he backpeddled, one foot skidding backwards until his gravity centred out. Instinct shifted his weight. He lashed out, snatching the chain mid-swing, links clattering metallic as they wrapped around his arm, blocking its path towards his head.


Feeling the chain go taught in Remy's hand as the other end snaked around his opponent's scaly arm, Remy fixed the Acolyte with a deadly gaze out of his one good eye. It burned with a desire to see the son of a bitch pay for every single atrocity he'd committed against the innocent who had died, plowed under by the Brotherhood's cause. His muscles ached – screamed at him. His jaw was set, sweat trickled down his temples... he visibly shook as he held tight onto the cold steel links.

The metal began to radiate with an unnatural fuchsia aura as Remy Lebeau poured every ounce of kinetic energy into the chain... the light slithered from link to link quicker than the blink of an eye. The very air around it almost crackled as the metal began heating up, beginning to sear the Cajun's hand.

“Toldja I'd–”

He suddenly flung himself forward, tossing his end of the chain at Primal as he pitched to the side, hitting the wall and covering his face with both his arms as the entire cell lit up with the light of midday. Before the light had even completely faded, he was scrambling toward the door without looking back. He suddenly felt the weight of months of incarceration... of the pain... the bindings... there was no way he was going to make it out alive on his own. Not without some help. Fortunately he knew of at least two people who would likely be up for a gambit for freedom.

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Gambit(Matt)
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
Remy tried to climb to his feet using the door to his cell as support, but as soon as he got halfway up, his legs gave out and sent him tumbling back to the floor. The Cajun rolled into the hallway in a heap, crimson eyes peering from underneath a curtain of dirty matted hair as he looked over an arm to see several pairs of feet almost on top of him. It was only then that he registered all the shouting going on. He managed a glance over his shoulder only to see more people converging on him... his attack had obviously attracted the attention of every person in the holding facility. Gambit hadn't thought about that.

When you were fighting for your life, you didn't have the luxury of thinking three steps ahead.

“What the hell? Lugar, stay on him. Triplicate, Tazer, clear–”

The floor suddenly shone brightly as Remy poured generous amounts of kinetic energy into the smooth metal under his fingertips; suddenly the men and women of the Sanctuary forces were standing on a surface that made them see spots with every bat of an eyelid. Gambit closed his eyes and looked away, doing his best to shield himself from the blast he was about to cause all around him.

Everything was consumed in a torrent of fuchsia energy.

Several seconds passed before Remy could even dare to open his eyes, and when he did, he saw bodies scattered along a shattered hallway. Doors to cells lay strewn across the pitted floor, several bent and warped out of shape, their hinges torn off the walls with them. Gambit didn't know if the guards were alive, and wasn't about to take a moment to find out... he just needed to get out of there.

Gambit tried to get up... to move... but it was impossible. There was no way he could keep on at this rate. What concerned him more than anything at that moment though was the state of his fellow prisoners... one in particular. Had he inadvertently killed Dugan? Were there others that could be trusted and who wanted to escape Sanctuary? Gambit stared at the door several feet away from his own, his red eyes fixed on it... waiting... hoping...

A head slowly emerged from inside the cell, and Gambit loosed the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Dugan was alive and well.

It took him a few moments to realize that the SHIELD officer wasn't paying him any attention. He was gaping across the hall as he stood leaning against the door frame of his own cell, his face painted in disbelief. Remy followed Dugan's gaze, but couldn't see in the room from his position on the floor; with renewed effort, he struggled to pull himself to his feet, managing to get halfway there as he propped himself against the wall beside the mystery person's cell, but the Cajun continued to keep his eyes fixed on Dugan.

“What?” he asked, slightly annoyed at the large man.

“Pietro,” Dugan said, his brow furrowed.

Remy grasped the doorframe and pulled himself toward it, peering around the corner and into the cell as Dugan ventured forward. Remy flashed Pietro a weak, shadowy version of his trademark grin, “Well hey, mon ami. Wanna take a trip?”
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Quicksilver
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
Piet, Dugan, Gambit jp



Quicksilver's whispers to the wind were answered with an explosion of hellfire, strangely pink and heatless. He was thrown backwards, and he covered his face with his arm, instinctively, though he had no interest in preserving himself. What did he care... what did he... His eyes teared from the smoke and the dust, and his ears rang with the concussion. He rose as figures appeared at the gaping hole that had been the door to this cell he had been thrown into, and for a moment, he was coherent enough to realize that this was the prison cell in his father's Sanctuary. But whatever sanity the shock of the explosion had driven into him was knocked loose once again, as a pair of ghosts emerged from the smoke and the rubble. Haloe'ed by the harsh lights they were almost silhouetted against, he stepped backwards as he stared at not just the battered and the half blinded cajun, but the human, that... Dugan. He had never appeared before to him, and Quicksilver, who had not known of Mystique's infiltration, was astonished to see him. "I did not kill you," he said to Dugan. "This is not fair. I have been haunted enough. You must leave me at peace, you must leave me at peace!" He backed against the wall, his hands over his face, "Give me peace, I beg of you. I did not mean this. I did not mean for any of this to happen!"


Dugan's brow furrowed as he looked from Pietro to Gambit, who was also staring at the speedster in puzzlement. Still clinging to the door frame, the Cajun tried to take a tentative step forward, but stopped halfway through completing it. He would have just fallen flat on his face.


“What you talkin 'bout, Pietro? What you even doin here? You do somethin to piss Daddy off?”


Without giving Pietro a chance to answer, Dugan spoke over Gambit, “Kill me? Pietro, I'm not dead. By the looks of it, you and Remy are closer to being dead than me. What're you doing in here anyway? Finally figured out that Magneto's dream is a big ol' lie? C'mon,” he said with a jerk of his head down the hall, “Lets get the hell outta here. We'll sort out all the details later.”


Remy glanced over his shoulder down the hall, “Yeah... they know somethin's up by now. We gotta move.”


"No," Quicksilver said, "Not Pietro, no more Pietro. Only Quicksilver, and I did not make him angry. I made him proud, oh so proud of his murdering terrorist son, who kills his sisters for him, who kills his friends. You died because of me, you died." He scrubbed a hand under his eyes, and he moaned, "Leave me in this darkness. Quit haunting me!" He fell to his knees. "Oh, God, forgive me, oh God forgive your misled son. I forsake you, but please, do not forsake me so."


“Pietro,” Dugan began, only to have Gambit put a hand on his arm to silence him while still glancing over his shoulder; they needed to be moving. Something was obviously wrong with the speedster, but he needed help and languishing in this cell wasn't going to get him anywhere... besides... he was a formidable man. An Acolyte for a good reason.


“Quicksilver,” Remy said, looking at him and deciding to play along... he obviously thought they were spirits of some sort that were sent here to punish him. He didn't know where the hell all this was coming from, but they needed to get the fuck out of there.

“God will grant you peace, but you'll have to earn it. Both of us were killed in Sanctuary and the only way for our spirits to rest is to leave. Get us out of here, and you'll be able to be with Avery again. It'll be heaven. But you have to leave now, and you have to get out of here alive, or you'll never see heaven and be stuck in this hellhole forever. What's it gonna be? Rot here, or atonement with the one you love?”


His red rimmed silver blue eyes rose to the single black and red one of the cajun, hardly seeing the ruins of the other, "A--Avery... She is still alive...? She would forgive me for my sins and I could be at rest?" He stood and took a hesitant step towards them, "I saw her dead. I saw myself kill her, where the sky meets the earth... Did... did that not happen?" Quicksilver looked at the pair, "You need my help? It would not be enough. Two for a hundred. That is not enough for attonement." He put his hand to the small black boot tied to his belt, "Avery would not forgive me if I did not give you aid... but how am I to know this is not a trick? How am I to know that you are not trying to torment me further?" Quicksilver closed his eyes and he said, in another voice, with a different inflection, using contractions and an cadence different than his own, "Fool boy, what does it matter if they torment you, you deserve it, don't you? You deserve to be dragged into hell, don't you!" His eyes opened and he said in his own stilted formality, "What need do you have for me? What can I do? Hodge speaks true. I deserve what ever it is you will do with me."


“There he is,” Remy said, a faint smile tracing his lips as he took a step away from the door without even thinking. He immediately began falling to the floor, only to be intercepted by Dugan, who hauled him to his feet once again and put one of the Cajun's arms over his bull neck in an effort to support him.


Behind that mask of cuts and bruises, Remy looked like a man who was ready to pass out at any moment, and in an hour, he figured he'd be allowed to. He just needed to hang in there a little bit longer... do his part to see them through an impossible situation. The Cajun looked from Dugan to Pietro, “Quickilver, take us to the teleportation room. We'll get us a ride home from there, and then you'll get you're peace. I promise.”


The ghost of the spy seemed to falter, but the other aided him, and Quicksilver realized this was a test, all a test. He had to earn his redemption, he had to work for it. He came to the two, and he smelt of despair, of tears, and of liquor, but he stood taller then than the two who had come to him. "I will carry you both, as the Savior carried his cross. You are my burden now, and I will carry you." He took the ailing Gambit from Dugan, holding him in his arms as if he weighed nothing. Gambit had lost weight, had suffered, but it did not matter, Quicksilver was strong, his upper body strength was not as great as his lower, but he could lift a ton.

Two men did not weigh a ton.

"Sling your arms around my neck, Dugan, hold tight, because I cannot hold you," Quicksilver said, "And when I run, if you need breath in your lungs, take one now. For the time of my run, you will not have time to inhale. You are lucky though. the teleportation room is not far. We will be there in a heart beat, if any of us still bore a pulse."

And then in a blur, they were gone. That ghosts would not need him to run did not occur to him, that ghosts would not care where they were did not concern him.

The thought of redemption, the thought that the ghosts would finally leave him in peace... that propelled Quicksilver forward.

Maybe when this was all over, he could be Pietro once again.
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Magneto (old)
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Magnokinesis / Flight
Special guest appearance: Spitfire

“Lord Magneto,” a guard said with a nod of his head, the closest thing to a bow the Master of Magnetism would allow in Sanctuary. Despite what many on the surface would believe, he was not some dictator that demanded his boots licked clean by a common mutant surf. He was simply a reluctant leader thrust into a position of significance through a combination of circumstances and ability. That did not curb many from trying to show him more respect than he felt necessary, and had forced him to pass a measure among Sanctuary officials to refrain from such overt shows of respect. For him, a simple use of his title and a nod or a salute was more than enough to acknowledge his station.

Cape billowing in his wake as he quickly descended the steps of the palace, Magneto nodded at the guard, but his eyes never wavered from the pair of men waiting on the sidewalk as per his instructions. An almost imperceptible smile flickered, just threatening to force the corners of his mouth upward... she was always as good as her word... a far cry from what she was.

“Magneto, sir,” said the taller of the two men as their superior closed the distance between them, “My name is Precept. You required our services?”

“Yes. I require–”

A panicked voice erupted from Magneto's helmet, “All SP, report to the holding facility. There has been a security breach! All SP, report to the holding facility immediately.”

The holding facility... where they were holding Quicksilver.

“Sanctuary Police, this is Magneto. Drop whatever you are doing and follow that command, I will join you shortly.”

Jac had been in the kitchen of her flat making dinner when the call came in. The blonde girl froze, a bowl dropping from her hands, quickly catching it before it smashed on the floor. Yeah, the Master of Magnetism hadn’t literally meant drop everything…Setting the bowl down, she grabbed a bread roll and stuffed it into her mouth as she ran out of the kitchen, grabbing her jacket on the way out, the door slamming back as she passed through without a backwards glance.

It took her mere moments to get to the holding facility, tearing through the streets, dodging the citizens who were out for the evening, leaving trails of fire in her wake that left them in no doubt as to who had passed by in such a hurry. She arrived, skidding to a halt at the side of Magneto and drew breath for less than a second to appear calm.

“You called, Sir.”

Magneto descended on a silver disk – a man flanking him on either side – when Spitfire sped up to a halt beside him.

“Spitfire,” Erik said, “I want you to search Quicksilver's house. Tear it apart. Bring me anything of importance and take note of anything unusual. This is important... leave no stone unturned.”

The speedster could barely stop the flicker that passed over her face or ignore the knot in her stomach. Something had gone wrong, she could feel it. Pietro hadn’t been acting the same for weeks, ever since they had come here, it was like he was a different person.

“It will be done at once Sir,” she clicked her heels together and gave him a small salute before turning and running out of the holding facility as quickly as she had arrived.

Magneto turned and took two steps toward the holding facility when the doors buckled and twisted as they were ripped from their hinges, flying directly at the Master of Magnetism and his two companions. The pair of men doubled over and threw their arms over their heads in fear that they were about to get creamed.

Invisible tendrils of magnetic energy caught them; Magneto let them hover there for a split second as he looked over his shoulder, his eye having caught what the others two had missed from their cowering. The floating doors were suddenly compressed to a fraction of their size, wadded up with the ease of aluminum cans and tossed aside. Erik turned his back on the ruined door frame and butchered stairs and started in the direction he'd seen the blur of his son. He shot into the air, all pretense of dignity tossed aside in the same manner he'd shoved his companions out of his way.

The teleportation chambers...
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
Spitfire shot through the streets of the city, taking the most direct path to the house where Pietro had called home, even if it did mean jumping over fences, benches, walls, whatever was in her way. As she passed, her fire danced on whatever her feet had touched, burning bright before guttering out. Rounding a bend, she squared her shoulders and headed into the gate of the little house on the end of the road, at the edge of the city. It was a nice spot and she could see why he had chosen to live here and for a moment Jac wished she had seen this part of town before she had made her selection on where to live in the mutant paradise.

Shaking such trivial thoughts from her head, Jac zipped up her jacket and headed to the front door and let herself into the property with a burst of speed. The first thing she noticed was the darkness, it was so dim…Her footsteps echoed hollowly even in the entryway and she looked around, unable to see…anything…It was dim, but it was not pitch black she found herself in, there just wasn’t anything there and for a moment Jac worried that she had burst into a vacant house, waiting for a new family to move in. No, she didn’t make mistakes like that, this was the right place for certain. Just where were all of Pietro’s belongings? Of course he didn’t have crate loads of stuff that had come from Murderworld, but he had possessions, surely.

Moving from room to room, the girl felt lost. Magneto had ordered her to search the place and rip it apart, but there was nothing…there was nothing there to search. There weren’t even any drawers or cupboards to look in as there was no furniture even, not even a single stool. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she flitted about the place, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she stopped, turning. A cloth seemingly hung on the wall, covering something up. Expecting a picture, she pulled at the cloth only to find her own reflection blinking back at her. He’d covered the mirror? Jac went around the place again and found more mirrors covered, regardless of the size. Why had he covered the mirrors…? Dropping the cloths on the floor, because there was nowhere else to put them she felt no more enlightened than she had before removing the cloths.

Her attention now turned to the windows, or rather what had covered them. Screens. Turning one of the screens on, she was met with an image of a peaceful, beautiful mountain pasture, like something out of the Sound of Music, only even more picturesque than even Hollywood could produce. Jac turned on the rest, images of more mountain scenes and beautiful wild countryside meeting her blue eyes and she dragged a hand through her hair, trying to work it all out, trying to piece together what the hell was going on, what had happened to her friend. With nothing else to find, nothing else to see, Jac made her way to the back of the property for the garden. All those countryside images…maybe there was something outside? There was nothing inside but the screens and the covered mirrors that could tell her anything.

Pushing open the door, Spitfire made her way outside, the fake sky above her giving the appearance of the very end of dusk and casting the world with a gloomy, blue grey appearance. Almost at once the young speedster came to a stop as she saw some sort of structure out in the back garden. A very uncomfortable feeling settled deep within her in as Jac approached the canopy with trepidation, her feet barely able to move as if she was wading through tar. God, why did she dread this so? The speedster asked herself, biting down on her already trembling lip. Halfway across the garden her eyes focused on something under the canopy and the blonde froze, shutting her eyes closed tight. No…No she was seeing things, it was her imagination surely.

Taking a breath, Jac opened her eyes again and continued towards the canopy. With each step drawing her closer, the girl began to falter until she was right under the canopy, staring down at the coffin laid out before her. A trembling hand crept to her mouth as she stared, wide eyed in horror. It was simply made, most certainly by hand but it was clear what it was. There was no lid on it for which Jac was almost grateful as then she would be compelled under Magneto’s instructions to open it and she didn’t think she could bear that. Nestled inside however was Pietro’s violin and the blonde girl reached out and stroked the dark wood of the much loved instrument. Tears began to course down her face, falling freely from her blue eyes as the severity of what had happened, of what was happening set in. She had to tell Magneto…But tell him what? That his son had truly gone mad? Pietro was her friend and god…What was she going to tell Tommy? There was tension between uncle and nephew but they were still family and she would still have to tell Speed about this even if he cared or not, because she cared.

Jac didn’t know how long she was stood there for until something brought her back to her senses and she choked loudly on a sob, rubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. She had tarried too long; Magneto had to know. Another wave of tears threatened to begin anew as she gave the coffin one last look before tearing herself away, unable to stand being there any longer. The wind against her cheeks dried the tears that fell, but more replaced them and her eyes were still red as she returned to Magneto. Her movements less controlled when she had rushed to his side earlier, she bowed her head so he wouldn’t see the state of her face.

“S-sir…I did as you asked but – but there was very little t-to tear apart. Everything he owned was gone, almost. There were screens covering the windows that showed…I’m not sure where Sir, it looked like somewhere in Europe and all the mirrors were covered up…Then in…in the…I’m sorry Sir,” Jac’s shoulders heaved for the briefest of moments and she hiccupped before composing herself and lifting her young face up to Magneto.

“In the back garden there was a canopy. Under the canopy there was a coffin…handmade…in it was his violin. That’s all I could find, because there wasn’t anything else.”
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Quicksilver
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Dugan/Gambit/Quicksilver




They ran, and there was nothing that could stop them. One ghost in his arms, one ghost on his back, and one ghost to carry them both. Quicksilver, in answer to the madness that had come when he opened himself to the darkness, in answer to the violence that he had brought into this world, in answer to the carrot-on-a-stick lure of redemption, forgiveness and final rest, ran, and there was no guard that stood in his way, there was no door that remained closed, there was no one, no thing, no chance he would stop until he exorcised these demons who whispered hope in his ear. Quicksilver was so very very very far from God, and as he streaked out of the containment center, he passed the one who had taken God's place, and for one second, not even that, not even the space of a heartbeat, or the inhalation of a breath, he stumbled, and nearly went to one knee. He looked up at his father, and if the movement hadn't been a blur, Magneto might have seen the desperation in his son's face.

But it was a blur, and it changed the world.

Quicksilver was gone before Magneto's mind, body, soul could register anything but a blur, and he brought his ethereal passengers into the building that housed the teleportation access. He shrugged Dugan off his shoulders and said, "Lead me, Ghost, tell me what we must do."


“Oh hell,” Dugan muttered as he stumbled a couple of steps looking as if he was about to throw up. They stood in front of what was obviously one of the teleportation chambers. A few people with luggage blinked at them in slight confusion... not at seeing three people suddenly appear in a blur of wind, but at the fact that two of them were clearly underdressed.


He looked around, several of the guards were moving forward as if they were ready to make an inquiry and an arrest if necessary. They recognized at least one of the men - Magneto's son, and they'd heard over the com channels what he had just done.


“Remy?” He asked, holding out his hand.

The Cajun slapped a glowing piece of debris in Dugan's palm, figuring he could throw about as well as he could walk right now. At least he could still earn his keep in one way. He readied another piece, charging it.


Dugan chucked the small shard of metal at a group of security, aiming for the ground at their feet. The piece exploded with a deafening crack that lit up the entire room and sent the civilians in a frenzied panic.


“Open a door to get us the hell out of here,” the SHIELD officer bellowed as he was handed another piece of debris.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” came a reply as a short man trotted down the stairs, followed by a young woman “Ain't gonna happen, buddy. Word just came down from the big guy that Quicksilver doesn't get to go anywhere. End of story.”


He shrugged and looked apologetically at Pietro, “Sorry buddy.”


Quicksilver lowered one of the arms that held Gambit, allowing him to stand, though he still supported the ailing spectre. Destruction reigned in this kingdom of Hell, and Dugan mastered it, scattering the guards, threatening to bring the building around down around their ears with the borrowed explosives of the Cajun. But, their way was blocked, and their access denied. He did not understand that. He was being stopped from doing the one thing that would save his life?

He pushed Gambit towards Dugan and stepped close to the man, and the woman, and he lifted his chin in that way he had adopted from his father. "The Big Guy set me to kill, set me to burn, set me to destroy for Sanctuary. I speak to ghosts to save the lives of mutants, I stand here, a dead man, a sacrifice to the world we have built. My sisters dead by my doing on your behalf, my love lost on your behalf, my world turned to Hell to bring you Paradise. I will set these souls free and it will lift this curse that has been placed upon me. I will have peace, I will have my rest, and this Utopia will be saved by my blood spilt on the steps of the palace of my father."

He shot one hand out, in a blur and caught the shirt of the small man, dragging him close in a snap of movement, "I am Pietro Django Maximoff, heir to the Legacy of Erik Lehnsherr. I am Quicksilver, Acolyte to Magneto. I killed my own kin to get what I wanted out of this life, to do what was necessary to make the world what it should be. Do you think I have any qualms about snapping a stranger's neck like a twig to save my people from the hell I brought them with these ghosts who haunt my steps? And, do you think I fear death? My coffin waits me. Let me pass so I can at last rest in it in peace."


The small man jerked back and forth, trying frantically to loosen the Acolyte's grip on his shirt, clearly alarmed at the menacing look in man's eyes. Dugan looked around the room to see several guards rising to their feet, some still trying to recover while others were poised to spring... he held the piece of charged debris in his hand, trying not to squeeze as hard as he wanted to... it was a tense situation.


“Listen,” the man said in a desperate voice, “You've pretty much put me in a really bad position. Basically, you're saying either you'll kill me, or your dad will kill me. I really don't have any incentive to–”


“Where do you want to go?” the girl interrupted, her breathing shallow, her eyes as big as saucers.
“What,” the man said, trying to look over his shoulder at his companion.


A hazy purple swirl began to materialize several feet away, its light catching both Remy and Dugan's eye.


“Where do you want to go? Just don't hurt anyone.”


“But–”


“Magneto will get them back. He and Absolom will understand.” Her eyes were locked on Pietro... her hands were visibly shaking. “He means it.”


"I want to go where these spirits will be set free," Quicksilver said, "I want to be where for one moment, I can see the heaven I have denied myself to give you the paradise you deserve." He released the man, "I will return to my Father's side, always. I am his heir. No other should carry this burden. Take me to the home of my love, so that I can ask for her forgiveness, and set these souls to see their just reward." He lowered his head, "I do not deserve the peace that will come, but I will return to see that my people have the home they want..." His eye closed and he spoke again an in another voice, "My brother, Sanctuary will lead our people to war. The children will be taught in ways of hate and battle. Pietro, my love, please, stop this madness." Quicksilver shook his head, unaware that he had spoken in the words of his twin, and he looked up, sadly, "My sister does not understand that there is no other way. She will know when her brother opens the gates of Heaven for these two, that she can join them, that all can join them. All but Quicksilver, all but me."

He met the man's eye and said, "You know the place I would go. You stall. You work for the darkness that binds this place with ghosts. Let us pass. Let us be free, and I will return to take the punishment for you. It is... what I do..."


The little man actually looked stunned at what Quicksilver had to say, and couldn't bring himself to actually respond when accused of stalling. The girl however looked toward Dugan, “I have no idea what he just said.”


“He means Xavier's mansion,” Dugan said, his eyes not leaving the back of Pietro's head. Remy too was mesmerized... what was this man going on about? Hadn't they found him in a prison cell? Hadn't he just gotten done talking of how he missed his old home and his love? Yet he talked about coming back to be with his father? Did he really think he was dead? Remy shook his head... the kid wasn't making any sense, and he needed Jean really badly.

The portal seemed to swirl angrily for a second before a picture of a iron gate materialized inside of it. “Go,” she said nodding to the portal, “Don't hurt him, and just go.”


Releasing Dugan, Remy stumbled forward and caught Pietro by the shoulder, tugging him weakly toward the portal, “Hey... lets go home, mon ami. We'll find you some peace.”


The portal opened and the spirits drew him close. Peace they offered. Home they offered. Quicksilver saw the iron gates and he said, "Come through the vortex, Ghosts, come through and continue on your way to your rest. I still have so far to go before I sleep."

As they moved forward, as they placed foot within the violent violet, the tormented mutant followed, and then as they vanished from the place of his death, something came at him. Something dark and tearing, snatching, catching at his brain. Something that grabbed at him and filled him with something beyond horror and loss and misery. An order had been given, and while no one had come to see that he had survived, that order had been given to make sure that he was dead. His mind was upended and overturned and memories of a lifetime were tossed and turned like an avalanch of emotion and thought. Sifted like a miner looking for gold, the important pieces of his knowledge were collected from the top and he was left only with the dust and the grit of the past nine years since a boy had outrun humanity.

What remained of Pietro Maximoff when he stumbled through the other side of the vortex was neither human nor mutant, neither living nor dead. Something had twisted within him and that something mixed what was with what had never been, and there was only the emptiness of a boat adrift without an anchor.

In the snow at the foot of the gates that lead to a mansion turned into a haven for those who had lost everything, even their humanity, a broken and lost man fell to his knees, and stared up at the two strangers who stood before him, as shattered looking as he felt. "Unde mă aflu?" he whispered in Roma, shaping the words with difficulty.


Remy could've sworn he heard something on the other side of that portal after he had passed through, but it didn't matter. As Pietro passed through and collapsed on his knees, the portal was already disintegrating. Nothing of Sanctuary was worth a second thought... not when he was finally back at Xavier's.


His gaze ran along the impressive walls all the way up to the iron gate. That single good eye ran up and down the bars taking in every single detail of them before staring past at the mansion that stood behind it. If he were a lesser man, he would cry from relief after two months of hell. The Cajun looked over his shoulder at where the portal had been just moments before, then his eyes traveled down at Pietro... he looked worse than ever... as if crossing that threshold back into a sane, rational world had caused irreparable damage to an already fragile psyche. After what seemed like moments, the son of Magneto looked up at the pair of them, uttering something in his native tongue.

Remy had no clue what the hell the kid had just said, but seeing Pietro there in the snow reminded him of the fact that none of them were dressed for this kind of weather. Gambit flashed Quicksilver the most genuine smile he'd managed in years, “We're home Pietro. Ain't gotta worry 'bout that crazy place no more.”


Turning, he stumbled barefoot toward the gate, grasping the cold iron in a hand to keep himself steady as he slapped the intercom. All three of them needed attention as soon as possible... Remy had lost a good deal of blood in the last few days and his body was covered in all manner of cuts and bruises. He slapped the intercom again and again, suddenly unable to speak and unsure if it was because the adrenaline that had kept him going was beginning to fade, or if he was too choked up at being home. He just continued slapping the intercom; they made it this far... someone would come the rest of the way for them.

Dugan – much stronger than Remy – reached down and started to lift the young man into his arms to carry him inside, but paused, instead wrapping his arms around the broken figure and embracing him in a warm hug while kneeling in the snow.


“I don't know what you just said, kid, but I owe you more'n I can ever repay. Thanks.”




Exit to "To Live for a Moment in Unison"
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Magnokinesis / Flight
JP Magneto and Spitfire

The teleportation chamber lay not too far, and when flying, it took very little time at all for Magneto to close the distance to the only place Pietro could have gone. He needed to get to his son and stop him before he did something drastic that both of them would come to regret. What the hell had happened? Why had his network failed? What's worse... why had its operators not picked up on it until just before Quicksilver's stunt?

Erik touched the ground just in front of the teleportation department, ignoring the staring onlookers that had paused in their day-to-day meanderings to stare at the famous Magneto. A familiar whoosh greeted him moments later – Spitfire's blond head already bowed before him. She described Pietro's house... screens and covered mirrors that reflected his Romany upbringing. It was when she looked up and he saw her tear-stained face that he could feel the blood draining from his face; when she mentioned the coffin with the violin in it, Magneto stiffened.

He would be the first to admit that he did not know as much about his son as he should have, but he knew enough about Quicksilver to know that Jac's findings were extremely troubling. Something was definitely wrong with his son. Had Hodge's execution really taken this kind of toll on the boy? It didn't seem possible.

“Come,” Magneto said, turning from Jac and making his way into the halls of the teleportation depot. He activated the comm unit inside his helmet, “Teleportation department, this is Magneto, you will not allow Quicksilver to leave Sanctuary. That is a direct order.”

    Jac nodded dumbly and followed after Magneto, wiping her face again until her cheeks were raw but her eyes were at least dry. They passed into the halls and she looked up as he spoke into his comm. device, ordering that Quicksilver should not leave. The girl’s blood ran cold. She silently stayed at his heels, waiting for any more instructions until the question that was clamouring to get out could not be kept inside any longer.
    
    “What’s going to happen?” Jac asked quietly, nervous of the reply she would get.

“What do you think happens to members of the Brotherhood that leave, Spitfire?” He looked at her as they strode through the halls, ignoring the calls from the guards that something was going on in teleportation depot three.

“Now, imagine what would happen to an Acolyte who wishes to defect. A man with access to more of Sanctuary's inner workings than almost anyone else aside from myself. What do you think would happen to that man?”

As they hurriedly continued toward depot three, he kept his gaze fixed on Jac, the weight of the consequences clear in his eyes. He finally tore his eyes away from hers before she could see what the weight of his own responsibility was doing to him. “That is the price of the responsibility you seek, child.”

“Quicksilver is in depot three with two others. One of them is demanding access out of Sanctuary and has some kind of energy-based powers... we need backup,” came a whisper over the comm channel.

“Gambit,” Magneto muttered.

Could he really order the death of his own son?

Spitfire didn’t answer the question, as she was sure it was a rhetorical one. Of course she knew what happened to those who left; everyone knew the price of defecting. Naturally many felt it wasn’t worth the risk and were content to remain in the Brotherhood and she was one of those people. Of course she had occasionally thought about what life might be like in the real world, away from all of this, but the Brotherhood had given her a purpose in life and she was true to the cause as any of them could be.

The girl nodded solemnly. “I know, Sir…It’s just – what happened to Pietro to make him like this…” the question was turned away from Magneto, internal musing she allowed to bubble up and she instantly regretted it. “That was out of place for me to say, sorry Sir.”

“I understand it’s possibly the most dangerous position I could ever put myself in…” her voice wasn’t quite steady, but there was determination there nonetheless. “But I don’t see the point of living this life if I’m never going to advance myself either.”

Squaring her shoulders, Jac looked up at him. “What do you need me to do, Sir?” Jac asked him, waiting at his elbow.

“A portal has been activated.”

“What? Tell them to shut it down.”

“She's not responding to my orders.”

Magneto had been listening to her words and was about to respond, however the burst of conversation over the radio had cut the rest of the exchange short. His feet left the ground as he hurled through the air toward depot three. Surely there was no one in Sanctuary's employ who wouldn't take his orders seriously.

“You will not give them leave to escape Sanctuary,” Magneto shouted into the comm, his face white as a sheet. For the first time in nearly three years... he felt like an old man.

Using his powers, he activated a switch to go to a very private channel, one only he and one other person used.

“Are you there?”

“Yes sir.”

“I need you to have your agent in teleportation three stand by for a complete mindwipe on Quicksilver.”

“Yes sir.”

“Await my command.”

He hurled himself toward the doors, using his abilities to shove them open as he sped toward them like a bullet...

Suddenly everything was happening very quickly, even to her quick senses. Jac had never seen Magneto like this, as relatively little contact as she had had with the Master of Magnetism during her time in the Brotherhood. Things shouldn’t be happening this way…Deep down inside she felt a pang of fear for Pietro and Remy too; despite everything that had happened and that was happening, they had been her friends, supported her and protected her. Without them she was feeling lost already.

Then without warning Magneto hurtled towards the doors and burst through them. Without thinking, Jac turned on her heel and quickly followed, catching up to him rapidly, without even knowing what she would be running to.

“They're leaving. Deadly force authorized.”

No...

“Belay that order,” he spoke up into the comm unit.

“Sir?”

“This is Magneto! I order you to stand down!”

He couldn't do it. No matter how many lives hung in the balance, he couldn't order the death of his own son. Quicksilver didn't deserve that.

“Yes sir,” a voice said on the other end. “Standing down.”

“Initiate mindwipe.” Magneto nearly choked on the words that sentenced his son to a half-life instead of an execution.

Moments later he hurled into the chamber, eyes blazing with silver fire, clenched fists crackling with electricity wrought from magnetism. He crashed to the middle of the floor, his gaze already locked on the bright portal that swirled violently as he caught someone disappearing into its center.

“Pietro,” Magneto bellowed, his voice ringing throughout the chamber. Not Quicksilver.

The portal was already starting to wink out of existence. He was gone.

Following after Magneto, Jac caught snatches of his commands, her heart skipping a beat as she heard him order someone to stand down. Did that mean…? No sooner than the thought was racing hopefully through her head, then she heard two of the most chilling words she could have hoped to hear.

Initiate mindewipe.

In front of her he burst into the chamber and Spitfire followed, hanging back a little as he stood before the portal, staring just as fixated, if not more than she was herself at the figure disappearing. The roar of Magneto’s voice calling out to his son made the girl jump and her hands flew up to cover her mouth. The portal faded to nothing, leaving Jac alone in the chamber with her leader. Lowering her hands, she nervously cleared her throat.

“Sir…Do you want me to go seek them out?” she asked meekly, really hoping that he would brush the question off and have her do something, anything else, but the words quietly slipped into the chamber all the same and she waited for orders like any good soldier would.

Magneto didn't answer... he simply stood staring at the spot where the portal had blinked out. The policy regarding defectors was to kill them on sight. For someone with the knowledge that Pietro had... that principal was infinitely more important, but in order to save his son's life, and still protect the lives of all those entrusted to his care, he had sentenced his son to another form of death... he had destroyed his mind.

Still staring at that spot where Pietro disappeared, Erik took a deep breath, his eyes cold as ice and his jaw set.

“Who created the portal?”

The dead calm in his voice was frightening.
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Magneto (old)
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Magnokinesis / Flight
The crackle of yet another concussive blast shattering against steel and concrete reverberated throughout Teleportation Depot three. A pale blue-skinned woman buried her face deeper in the chest of what was probably her husband, squeezing her eyes shut as tears leaked from the corner of her eyes; she desperately tried to keep her sobs as inaudible as possible. The man stared in horror at the sight that his wife was trying to hide from, rubbing her arms in an attempt to calm her down, but his hands trembled.

A seventh bubble of concussive force shot from Erik's gloved hand. Roughly the size of a schoolroom globe, it was nearly invisible in appearance and only noticeable because it distorted whatever the light that passed through it, making images appear slightly twisted and tenuous. It crashed into the corner where steel wall met cold tile and concrete floor, causing chunks of ceramic and gray rock to fly through the air as the brunt of the impact collided on the mass of blood, tissue, bone fragments, and ruined cloth that had once been the female teleporter who had been so adapt at creating violet portals.

Had the onlookers not been there when she was alive, they wouldn't have been able to tell whether it was male or female... some might even have mistaken it for an animal of some sort, disbelieving that anyone could grind someone so brutally into a wet pile of their remains.

An eighth bolt ripped through the air to cause even more pointless damage.

Moments passed in an eerie silence punctuated occasionally by a few wimpers...

Magneto dropped his arm to his side, expressionless gaze locked on the remains of the teleporter; no one dared move.

“Has anyone else been under the mistaken impression that my orders are optional,” Magneto bellowed as he suddenly whirled on the guards and teleportation staff. Eyes blazing with silver light swept over the ones on the ground and up into the teleportation staff loft; the occasional arc of electricity bolted across the deep black material of his uniform.

No one responded as he waited, fists clenched jaw set in anger. Finally he turned and started for the door, “Have maintenance clean the mess and repair the damage as soon as possible.”

“Sir,” one of the security staff spoke up tentatively as he fell in beside Magneto, “Should we assemble a team to retrieve Quicks–”

Erik's hand shot out, clenching around the throat of the man, hauling him off the floor to hang in the air while the Master of Magnetism glared at him. It was a haunting reminder of how his son had grabbed someone in a similar, but less violent manner.

“Don't you dare... Quicksilver has done more than you could ever hope to accomplish for mutantkind,” Magneto grated. He looked over his shoulder to address the rest of the Sanctuary staff, “He killed the Director of SHIELD... the very organization that hunted us down and killed or locked us away. He is a war hero who has fallen in battle. He is my responsibility and you will not give it another thought.”

Before his words had completely faded, he had let go of the man, continuing toward the doors without looking back. “Spitfire,” he barked, “Come. We have work to do.”
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
Jac stared across the space at the bloodied pulp of a corpse lying twisted and broken on the silver disc in the middle of the room, the mess of flesh and bone all that remained of the teleporter who had defied Magneto’s wishes. The smell was dreadful. It invaded her pointed nose, making her stomach revolt, but she clenched her hands into tight fists, her jaw set tight and her blue eyes focused on a spot across the room that was not the dead body or the weeping woman crying in the arms of her love. It was not Spitfire’s place to show emotion like that, not in public. She was one of the Brotherhood, furiously fighting her way up the ranks to give herself a real purpose in life. No…She didn’t look at the corpse…God, that teleporter had been so young…Jac was young…

Her very outline flickered as a nervous burst of speed washed over her and it was like a giant shudder ran through her. No eyes were on her however, for which she was glad. All eyes were on Magneto.

How had it all turned out this way? Jac’s mind kept looping back and back to the empty house of Pietro and the coffin in the garden. The girl knew that what had happened in Murderworld had taken a huge toll on the man, but this…? Jac couldn’t understand this and she felt so helpless and useless. Looking back, she wished she could have done something or said something more to him, as Pietro had been…well, without Pietro, Spitfire didn’t even want to think about where she might be now. Then there was Remy…He was gone too and even thought she hadn’t really forgiven the thief for what he had done, she missed him all the same and his exit from Sanctuary only made that emotion more real and digging deep inside.

Was this going to be her life now? The thought terrified her almost as much as the fact she was thinking it. It was the situation, that was all, the situation and the sobbing and that godawful smell…Breathe through your mouth, that was the ticket. God…She had never seen Magneto so angry. Well, angry didn’t even cover it, he was incensed, simply furious. Jac was just glad the rage wasn’t directed at her as it was awful to behold.

The order to clean the mess up was given and there it should have ended, but one of the security personnel asked if Quicksilver should be chased. Jac herself had asked that very question earlier and as she had been ignored, she felt that it was something best not spoken of and the Master of Magnetism’s response confirmed that, although it also gave her something amounting to a feeling of hope. Pietro had suffered a mindwipe, but Magneto must still care about his son, surely? The feelings were tearing at her as he moved to leave the chamber, calling at her to attend. Casting one last look at the corpse in the middle of the room, Spitfire glanced to the men and women in the room, her eyes telling them ‘Do as he says’ alone and with that look, she turned and hurried to Magneto’s side.

“Here Sir, ready. What would you have me do?”
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Jesse
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Jesse was so close to crying that it wasn't even funny; hoping to get away before Gambit made his bid for freedom with the excuse that she was checking up on one of her contacts in Florida. Her ID card had passed inspection and her Passport had been cleared... she hadn't expected Gambit to move this quickly, and she hadn't known how bad Pietro had gotten.

Her piercing blue eyes were fixed on the remains of the young woman; her blood was on Jesse's hands.

It had been her who had turned off Gambit's null cuff, giving him a chance to escape. She'd done it so Primal wouldn't have to keep going down there and torturing the bastard... had she known this was going to happen...

She should have put a bullet in the back of that Cajun's head when she had the chance; she should have shown a bit of spine and done what Magneto had been too sadistic to order. In that moment of weakness though... she couldn't bring herself to kill someone in chains, and that action had cost this girl her life. She wondered who else was dead or injured because of her.

“Yes. You proved particularly convenient, my dear.”

Yanked from her thoughts, she spun to see a middle aged man standing beside her, a grim expression on his face as he stared at the remains of the teleporter.

“Such a waste,” he continued, “I've always admired the way Selena was able to open wormholes... the effect was very pleasant aesthetically.”

Jesse looked from the stranger to the body and back again.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man looked at her from out the corner of his eye without bothering to turn his head, “I'm the only thing keeping Magneto from finding out about your treachery, my dear.”

“Treachery?” Jesse replied, the color draining from her face.

“Now, don't insult me Jessica. I'm fully aware of what what you did, and I'm simply saying thank you. I didn't have to lift a finger to provide Quicksilver with a way out.”

She fought panic and looked around to make sure they weren't being overheard. “What the fuck are you talking about,” she hissed.

“Don't worry about them,” the man replied. “By the time I leave, the civilians won't remember this unfortunate display at all... and the guards have already forgotten about both of us. According to them, we were never here.”

Jesse stared at the man, dumbstruck for several moments before replying, “What did you do?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side as he continued to stare at the teleporter's remains, “Not much, in all honesty. Insanity is quite strong in the Lehnsherr blood. All I really had to do is give Pietro's mind a nudge. He did the majority of the heavy lifting.”

“What?” Jesse asked, not really understanding what he was getting at.

“It doesn't matter,” the man said, turning on his heals so that he faced the opposite direction of Jesse. He finally looked at her for the first time, his piercing gray eyes seeming to inspect her as if she were a lab rat. "I simply wanted to say thank you for the part you played. I couldn't have done it without your help. I'll be watching.”

He started to take a step and paused, leaning toward her slightly, “A word of caution... that genetic throwback you're so attracted to? He suspects something.”

Without another word, Nathaniel Essex headed for Depot Three's exit. Jesse's recollection of the man was already beginning to fade save for the final warning he had given her.

By the time Sinister vacated the room, he had disappeared from her mind.





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