It's All In Your Head: Part Fourteen

by sevenall

It was, of course, completely useless to be angry at Remy. The man had not survived on the streets and in the service of Sinister, by being helpful or loyal. Elizabeth found anger giving away to embarrassment. What a fool she had been. Remy would be laughing somewhere now, satisfied with having suckered her and led her to believe he'd come to help. He would probably treasure the expression on her face for years.

She went back to the bed, sat down and examined her smarting knuckles. The wound was shallow, but a small trickle of blood still seeped out of it, soaking her sleeve. Fortunately, the swing at the door had been

half-hearted, or she could have broken her wrist. She had held back, the way she always did, afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of doing nothing. The way she let others decide for her until there were no good choices left. At that point she would pick a bad one in desperation, and end up with nothing.

Running from the X-Men had been stupid. Elizabeth had known that for some time. She had wanted to spite the Professor and anything X-related by refusing all he could give and throwing it back in his face. Somehow, the impact her death would have on him had become more important, than her chances of survival. Since she had left, she had come to terms with dying, but never considered that she might live,

and now, living scared her more.

<I hate to interrupt your little act of introspection>, Kwannon remarked, <but something is happening in the hallway.>

The door opened fully. A man with a big cylindric device slung over one shoulder stood on the threshold, and Elizabeth recognised one of the men from the car. The vulture-like one. Her gut knotted up. This one was bad news.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing towards a chair.

Elizabeth nodded, and he sat down, arranging the cylinder on his lap so that the muzzle pointed towards her. He was out of her reach, she'd have to take at least two steps on the floor, and during that time he could shoot her at his convenience.

"I see you've hurt your hand", he said.

"I can't move my fingers", Elizabeth answered dully, as if she was too dazed to realise who she was talking to.

He looked at her again, then made a strange cackling sound.

"You wouldn't expect me to fall for that old trick, would you? Believe me, miss Braddock, I couldn't care less about your hand being broken or not. We've accessed the hospital records. You're dead meat."

A laugh. It dawned on Elizabeth that the sound had been a laugh.

"Anyway, Miss Braddock, just to prevent any suicidal actions on your part to take me with you as you go down or any other heroic notion, I brought my friend here."

He patted the cylinder. Bad news indeed.

"Enough voltage to keep you twitching for hours after you're actually dead", he told her cheerfully. "Do I make myself clear?"

Elizabeth thought he had made himself pretty clear. She also thought that if the first shot only grazed her, she could still take him with her.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded.

The vulture looked mildly amused.

"A heartbeat, for now, and for the next twenty minutes or so. After that...we'll see."

He adjusted something in his ear. A com unit ?

"However, Miss Braddock, I would like to emphasize that I'm nothing like the supervillains you're accustomed to. I'm not going to volunteer any information through ranting and raving, and I'll shoot you down at first sign of trouble."

Elizabeth scarcely heard him. All her attention was on the cylinder, she encompassed it, felt it. When it lifted ever so slightly, she was already moving, throwing herself flat as blue flashes passed over her, jack-knifing up and lashing out with her long leg. She felt her foot connect with metal, and she put all her weight behind the next kick, the one that made him drop it, with a clatter. The gun went off again, spinning madly on the floor, he scrambled for it and she came down on top of him. That close, she couldn't kick him, but on the other hand, he had no advantage of his longer arms. He slapped her across the mouth so hard that it stunned her, but her fingers were already closing on what Logan called the Vulcan deathgrip, and his whole body convulsed, then went limp.

The Vulcan deathgrip had its drawbacks. First, it wasn't really a deathgrip. What a pity. Second, you were lucky to get it right. An electrical stunner was infinitely better, she thought, picking up the gun and turning down the intensity. She had a splitting headache, and she could only guess at what damage the physical effort had caused, but she wasn't dead. A quick examination of the door yielded that it was sealed from the outside. She would have to wait. Oh well. There was some things she'd love to know and a source of information was lying at her feet. She bent down and jerked the com unit out of his ear to put it into her own, then directed the gun at his head and fired.

His eyes flew open and he screamed. Elizabeth put the gun to his head to show that she meant business.

"I want answers", she said. "Tell me about Victoria."

He had received his share of intel training. He spat in her face. So she had to fire again.

***

"Why are you interested in that bitch?" he asked, later, in a slurred voice. "Bitch with mutie child. Can't imagine how de...dedicated she was. Wanted to try the transplant herself. I said no. Only animals and muties, not real people. Pro'lly a latent mutie, was why the kid turned out the way she did."

That was all he would say, and he said it over and over again. Conditioned as hell. The logical thing was to kill him, and get it over with. She turned up the intensity of the gun, and put the muzzle to his temple. There was a lumpy scar along the hairline, disappearing into the hair. So the transplant had worked at least once.

"Ain't gonna kill me", the man whispered. "'nother transplant. Be as good as new. Bitch."

She had never killed anyone in cold blood before.

<But I have>, Kwannon said. <I like it. Now kill him.>

<You're insane!>

<That's what Matsuo said. My lover. Our lover. Make him proud. Kill this man.>

< I'm not an assassin like you. I won't.>

<Oh yes, you are. Remember Kaptain Briton? You didn't have to kill him, you had him on the ground, but you just kept going until nothing was left. Not even a ghost cruising the astral plane in his way to nirvana. And you say you didn't like it? I know you did.>

<Get the hell out of my head, Kwannon.>

<You cannot make me. I am the reason you are alive. I, and only I, am keeping the tumour from sentience.You invited me to your house, to the Braddock Manor of your childhood. I am there, on the gravelly road, and you cannot get rid of me.>

Elizabeth looked again at the man on the floor. He seemed only half-conscious. There were practical reasons for not leaving him alive. There was revenge to be had for Victoria's death, there was her personal disgust for the idea of one brain moving from body to body. The world would be a better place without him. She thought about all the food he was going to eat during his remaining years and how someone else could eat it if she fired. And Kwannon was right, she had killed before.

She didn't fire, but she didn't turn down the intensity either. When the door opened again, she turned around, smoothly, reflexively and shot Bishop squarely in the chest.

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