The World According to Sinister: Chapter 1
Who: Dr. Nathaniel Essex, Paris Bennet, Remy Lebeau, Madonna Kikyuko-Richards
When: Sometime after Sinister takes over the world
Where: The Essex Manor and some random rooftop
What: Mirror has drawn the attention of Sinister through her actions. Sinister sends Exodus to collect her.


It was slightly dark, the light of the stars above barely enough to drive away the dark around the house of Nathaniel Essex. The Essex house was a safe place to be, if you were one of his adherents. Not all of the world was under his control yet, but with the help of his sons, it was slowly by surely falling to him. There were pockets of resistance, most of them there because the Master wanted them to be, that fought against him. He enjoyed the opposition. It gave his sons something to do, gave his adherents something to rally against. Occasionally allowed him to place the governments that he allowed to continue to exist in extremely unpleasant but amusing positions. Sitting behind his desk, he was looking at the latest intel he had received, someone had been doing enough killing among his adherents to actually draw his eye. It had been years since that had happened and from the picture now sitting on his desk, she wasn't terribly old. Barely more than a child in his estimation. Certainly not old enough to know her place at the feet of Master.

Ruby eyes reflected the candlelight from the candelabra on the corner of his desk. "Exodus," he didn't have to look up from his work to know that the young man was standing in the room with him. He had been there for the better part of an hour as Sinister had gone through the various bits of paperwork that were there before him. "I have a job for you."

"I serve." Bennet panned monotone, his brilliant blue eyes dark and evil, a cool reflection of the ruby of his father and creator's. He stepped forward, his time in his full power granting movement too quick for most to follow. It had become his natural state, hyper-accelerated in physical and mental acuity. Granted, he wasn't as fast as speedster mutants... but he didn't have to be. He had other tricks. He was perfect. The perfect creation of his father to paint the world according to Sinister's will. Within a blink, he stood beside the seated man, eyes scanning the intelligence reports, brain locking in the images even before his father spoke. If Sinister needed something that he didn't call his brother for, then it was death. And death was what Exodus excelled at. Passing those from the mortal coil, facilitating their passage... their 'exodus', if you will, to the other world.

There was a bit of a smile on black lips, a sort of cold mockery of the happy expression. His son was perfection in motion, when he chose to move. Often he would stand or sit in silence for long periods. Normal folk found it frightening, Sinister simply saw it as an extension of Exodus's extremely purposeful personality. If it did not have a purpose, he did not see the point. Easily understandable in Sinister's way of thinking. "Study her and bring her to me," it wasn't exactly necessary to add but he did anyway. "Alive." Why would he be the least bit interested in a living subject? Only if there was something that the Master thought was remarkable enough about the subject to warrant close up study. "Her actions have earned her a chance at eternity. If only she can be made to see it." Still that amused expression. What he was asking for was kidnapping, assault first, then kidnapping. Not that these simple moral issues meant anything to him.

Bennet nodded, eyes scanning the pages for an address. It was simple. The intelligence was thorough. With but a thought, he was gone, coat tails flaring around his legs as he settled on the top of a building, the cool night air a pleasant change from the warmth of the Essex House. Miles, Continents, they meant nothing in pursuit of his father's objective. He perched on the corner of the building, a living, unmoving embodiment of the typical gargoyle statuary.

He waited. He would wait as long as was necessary. Sinister accepted no failure. Bennet never failed, simple as that. He wondered as he sat, why him instead of his brother? Perhaps cool logic was required instead of hot emotion? Not that he questioned the order. Sinister's purpose was absolute. He merely questioned the choice for the mission.

Mirror had just finished her work of the evening, climbing the fire escape with the ease of someone who had spent too many years practicing how to make her body move in every possible way. There were bodies in the apartment building below, throats cut some of them, at least one with a rather large broadsword through his forehead. The Knights were useful to her at times. Reaching the edge of the roof, she pulled herself over it and was immediately struck by the feeling that there was someone else there. It wasn't that she could hear them in the traditional sense, but rather just a sense that there was someone there. Mirror didn't like that feeling at all.

One hand immediately went for her blades, trying to turn until she could see the person. One eye white and clouded kept her from being able to see easily. When she did catch sight of the figure, they weren't on the same rooftop as her, too far away for her to usually be able to feel a person. Yet this person was there, clear as if it were daylight. Her sense of unease refused to go away. Then she realized why just the feeling was making her uncomfortable. This was the one she'd heard stories about. One of Sinister's sons. Was it the blue or the red? Yes, the color did matter.

Ah, the target. She was uncomfortable, and she was disadvantaged with her eye missing its sight. Bennet felt all that simply, and filed it away. He watched her watch him, their gazes only breaking for periods when her hair would fly in her eyes because of the wind. He knew what was coming, and she had to know as well. There were enough stories. There would be no escape, only death... except not in this case. Humans fought at a disadvantage in the cold. He knew this from experience. He blinked, an empathic wave of sub-zero feeling flaring outward toward his quarry. He would break her from the top down, from the inside out. But he could not kill her, which would make this battle all the more interesting. How much could she survive before he had to revive her synaptic relays and rebreath life into her broken form?

There were so many stories. The red or the blue, if you must face one, face the red. You can bargain your way free of him at times. But the blue? The blue was unforgiving like winter, he felt nothing, he heard nothing, his touch was oblivion. You can run, but there is no hiding from the blue son. Pray that he send the red, as the first feeling of chill ran across her skin and then down into her bones, Mirror knew that she was facing the blue. Facing the Winter Son, the unbending destroyer. She ground her teeth together, refusing the chatter, knowing the cold would make her numb and quickly. If he wanted to kill her, then he was going to kill her. Mirror would not run.

Indeed, there was actually a bit of pride in knowing that she would die here. To know that the Winter Son had been sent to collect her soul when those below had failed. It would make her a legend. She would still be dead, so it was a false comfort, but at least it allowed her a thin smile in the face of her opponent. In spite of the fact that she knew she would never make it, she started toward him anyway. Mirror would not run.

Exodus watched as she moved toward him. How would she clear the hurdle that was the air between the two buildings? Could she jump that far? If she could, then perhaps this might even be the slightest bit interesting. It had been a long time since interesting had ever crossed his path. Normally everything was over too quickly, too suddenly. Exodus didn't toy with his prey, didn't afford mercy or chance. This time though, he made an exception, though it was easily within his power to strike her in mid air, sending her crashing into the pavement below. He wanted to see what Sinister saw. He wanted to see why he was ordered to bring her alive. Of course, he wasn't about to let her cut him, and raised a telekinetic barrier about himself, just on the happenstance that she managed to clear the jump between them.

Mirror could jump that far and she would. If he wasn't going to kill her immediately, she was going to come at him with everything that she had. There was no other choice, even if she going to die with surety, there was still that little bit of hope that if she fought hard enough she would survive this encounter. A tiny bit of hope that every warrior had going into a no win situation. Still moving, she started to build up speed and she did make the jump, landing and rolling to within ten feet of him. It surprised her that she was allowed this close. Both hands were occupied and the mirrors are her wrists glimmered but only faintly. She didn't need them to be perfectly clear to be useful to her. "I ask one thing before I die," she turned her knives in her hands. "Did he send you only because he could send nothing less?"

Every other person sent to finish her had failed. She bore the scars of their attempts, a broken eye and scarred skin, but she had always gotten away with her life and theirs. Now this time, this time she was literally placed in combat against a god among mutants. The unstoppable son of the unkillable. Her words carried no hint of the usual hubris, only curiosity. The information would not make her life end any better, nor did she see it as being important, but she wanted to know just the same. How high had she risen against the creatures employed by Sinister that the Winter Son was her executioner?

She was close enough to die in vapor at his hands, and normally she would have, had she been any other mutant. However his father wished her alive, and alive she would remain. "I know not the will of my father in this matter. He has sent me because he has sent me. There is no other reason. You are to come with me. My father would have you at his house. Lower your weapons and you will not be harmed. Raise them, and you will be harmed and still be visited by the same fate. There is no choice in your destination. It has been chosen by my father, and no will under heaven can oppose his final say."

You are to come with me. Come with him? What trickery was this? Never, in none of the stories she heard, had there ever been such an offer made. The self-proclaimed Master of all creation was inviting her to his home? Her first thought was that it must be a ruse of some kind, it had to be, but why would such a creature as the Winter Son need a ruse of any kind? The cold was driving away coherent sense, the part of her that wanted to fight was saying if we can be safe why should we not be? Why fight against him? Did she truly want to die? No, Mirror did not truthfully want to die. She had become an enemy of Sinister when they chose to try and recruit her by force. Now this was a different story. The Winter Son, The Master of all Creation, was she willing to stand against them?

In the end, she was still going to die. The few stories that had been told of Sinister said that dissension was not tolerated, and minds were broken under his touch. Better to die at the hands of his son than be broken at the hands of the father. "If you wish to take me, then do, but I will not go willingly." The manifestations were born at her thoughts, a giant knight coming to life immediately to his right, swinging even as she started forward, low, both hands bringing her knives to the ready.

Exodus cocked his head. That wasn't logical, choosing to die instead of live. Of course, it was her choice, according to her. He'd have to show her how wrong she was. Fate was decided by his father. That was the way of things. The manifestation was interesting, though Exodus supposed that it would be easily dispatched of. He caught the blade of the mirror knight effortlessly, his free hand snaking out, pyroplasmic energies beaming from his fingertips, searing the building underneath Mirror's feet, cutting the metal and concrete away. Gravity took hold after that, pulling the tons of material away from the building toward the street, where it exploded in a deafening roar. He tossed the Knight over the other side of the building, mental impulses turning him back to Mirror.

The building was disappearing beneath her and she was falling. Not that it mattered to her, the building nearly cut in half by his motion. The Knight caused her no pause when he disappeared, he was a manifestation so long as the mirrors that created him remained intact, her mind would be fine. Landing on one of the pieces of debris, she used it to push herself upward again, back in the direction of the building, landing on the slippery tile of what was once someone's bathroom. Dragging herself up, she managed to regain her footing and head forward into the apartment. Did she want to try and go back to the roof? She could get back there, she felt it, created by the chill, a puddle of water. Using an unbroken bedroom mirror, she reached through and upward back onto the roof. He would undoubtedly be expecting her, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to run and he wasn't going to have to look for her.

He watched as she teleported back into view. She was interesting. Teleportation, tangible image creation, combat skills... he was beginning to see why his father wanted her. "You've got one more chance to avoid being hurt. Desist this futile resistance and come with me. Your fate is already sealed. You have no choice in this matter, so you might as well spare yourself pain. You cannot hurt me, and you cannot win."

What did pain really mean to her anymore? She'd been burned alive, that had driven her threshold for feeling up to the point where it ceased to work in some portions of her body. The one who had done that to her was no longer alive, Mirror had made sure to repay the favor. Granted, she hadn't burned him alive, she had only made him wish that she had. Cutting him to pieces had been perhaps more satisfying. Then again, it depended on whether or not one looked at cutting or burning as the more appropriate way to end such a run in. She couldn't win, but she had never been in this fight to win. Mirror had given up on winning before the fight even started. He was going to kill her and she'd take that oblivion happily.

"No," it was simple enough to her. She would rather be dragged before the King of Hell than walk into that situation. At least if she was dragged, she had her calm of knowing that she had fought and lost. Not given in. It was nothing more than a trick, her seeming to disappear, it was just throwing an illusion over the self so that she could move. Granted, it only worked for so long. Not even the regular amount of time when dealing with someone who could sense her.

It took a moment for him to reassess his bearings. She'd vanished? He caught her mental signature and teleported behind her, his fists charged with telekinetic energy. With blinding speed, he lashed out, each punch filled with the strength of ten men. He'd break every bone in her body. She couldn't dodge them all, and she couldn't cut through his telekinesis. She was fighting for no reason. Now, it was time to make her hurt for that decision. He aimed his final blow for her gut, trying to drive her to her knees. he wasn't near done, he was only beginning.

Two shots and they drove her back and down. She didn't dodge them all, but did manage to shield her most vulnerable points through creating her own armor. He was so much faster than her, she was in over her head. It was strangely exhilarating. Not that all of her fights had been easy, there had been quite a few where she had dragged herself away to lick her wounds and wait for a better day. This time, she wasn't going to get a chance to wait for a better day. Half driven to her knees, she still didn't seem ready to give in, she wouldn't beg. Her knives had at some point clattered to what was left of the paved roof. She had two more, but they were unlikely to do her any good. Her good eye focused on him, a half glittering mist was turning into armor around her, trying to defend herself as best she could.

Kneeling down beside Mirror, Exodus stroked his fingers through her long dark hair. It was an almost sentimental gesture, or it would have been, if he hadn't tightened his grip and threw her, by her hair, into the far half-wall of the rooftop. She had already armored herself, so the impact wouldn't have been fatal, only painful. He hovered over to his prey, his large boot lashing out into her ribs with the force of a cannonball. He wanted her to beg before he put her under. He couldn't explain why he felt so particularly sadistic. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she was to remain alive. He didn't do alive. He killed effortlessly and easily, without regret or remorse. Leaving her alive meant she was important, and Exodus didn't like anything that was important, save himself. He kicked again, this time driving the heel of his boot toward Mirror's chin. Maybe he'd connect and knock her unconscious. Maybe she had a little bit of futile fight within her to dodge. How much more could she withstand?

The wall broke under her impact, but it didn't fall, simply seeming to collapse around her body as if to hold her in place. Blood was already trickling from the edges of her mouth and the area where he'd grabbed her by her hair, some of it had come loose in his grip. The armor made it possible for her to still be conscious after impact, though it didn't leave her with much. Ribs broke under his kick, not all of them, but enough to make breathing even more painful than it would have been just from the fact that she hit the wall. Driving her further into the wall, yet her armor still absorbed enough of the impact that she could still breath. He tried to connect with her chin, only she was just conscious enough to pull her head to one side, to make him miss. Sadistic was what she was expecting, but there was still something frightening about looking at the idea of dying. Even with the fact that she had reconciled herself to death.

Her teeth were red with her blood, but she still managed to smile. Then she coughed, breath ragged and rasping down her throat. She managed to get herself pulled out enough to drop back to the rooftop. He was going to squash her, she knew it as she swayed on her feet, eye half-glazed. Still, she brought her hands up as if she was going to continue to fight and defend herself.

"Enough!" With a simple wave of his hand, telekinetic force swirled in an attempt to hold the defiant woman fast. He'd long grown bored, and he didn't want to risk Sinister's anger by killing her, even though that was exactly what he wanted to do. Still, he was a man of the mission. His own desires took a backburner to Sinister's mission. "Sleep," he commanded, empathic impulses radiating from him in an effort to force compliance.

There was darkness crowding in on the edges of her vision. Part of her mind, the observant part, was claiming that this was what death was like. It was a comparison often made, the comparison between sleep and death, after all, did you not appear all but dead when you laid down to rest? There was the feeling of something pressing in on her, rather like bonds, though she couldn't see them. Between the confusion of pain and the darkness crawling in toward her, it was no wonder. The command was to sleep, to die, trying to force herself to stay awake. No, there was nothing left in her for that. Even if there had been, what good would it have done?

Eyes slipped shut and her knees gave way under her, refusing to carry her further.

Thin lips curled into a small smile. He knelt down beside the fallen warrior, brushing her hair once more. "I don't know what my father wishes with you, but I'm sure it will be spectacular to watch you resist." His fingers pressed against her spine and they were gone, his power carrying them back to Essex House. His part was done. Let Sinister do what he will.

**

He was not so caught up in his work that Sinister was ever caught unawares. Why had he chosen Exodus to go after this one as opposed to Remy, who by sheer force of charm could have brought Mirror to him without a fight, simple, he wanted the fight. Sinister wanted to see how this woman, who had killed several of his underlings, granted their lives were disposable to his cause but they were hardly weaklings, would behave in a combat situation. Would she turn and run, attempt to hide, stand and fight, be willing to die? Did she have the strength of will to stand against her own fear and face her own death in spite?

Despite the fact that he could easily have teleported where he wished to go, Sinister chose to walk, to take his time about moving through his home. Of course, there was always the ulterior motive for his walking. Another presence he was more than well aware of.

"Remy," he tended to use Gambit's actual given name more often than not, unless addressing him specifically to some kind of work. Exodus was Exodus in practically all facets of his life, there was no need for a difference in what he was called. Just one more difference between them. Standing in the darkly paneled hallway of his mansion, one couldn't actually see the thief. Sinister did not have to see him to know that he was there in the straight and seemingly empty hallway with him. His name served as much as a greeting as hello would have. No other words followed.

The thief materialized from the darkened hallway, appearing to seamlessly detach himself from the wall a few paces ahead of the older man. There was no need to hide from Essex yet one often found old habits difficult to break. This one had taken a lifetime to perfect; there was little imperative to change it now.

If he had any reason to find Remy's habits amusing, this was one. The fact that even after all this time, he still attempted to hide from him as if it were some game. Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly a game, was it? "And how are you this evening, my son," surprise was not anywhere in his features and though he did stop moving, it was obvious from his stance that this was not where his mind was. Not that he needed to keep his mind completely occupied with either of his sons, they were more than willing to indulge the seeming distractedness.

"Curious," he answered, tilting his head to one side as he regarded Essex with that unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. "Y'brought home a new pet."

Very little was kept hidden from Remy, due sheerly to the force of his own tenacity. There was none of the cold detachment of Exodus here. No, Gambit was far more expressive. He always appeared in motion, even while standing completely still as he was now. It was the very nature of the Summer Son. It was also his nature to question, a trait which could very well have led to punishment from the Father in this instance. It had very often in the past. Still, he appeared ever irrepressible in that regard. How very much unlike the Winter.

They were, as Essex had commented upon several occasions, as life and death itself.

"Pet," the terminology was not a surprise to him, not at all. Given that was how he tended to treat just about every creature of the humanoid persuasion that came into his clutches, it certainly was not inaccurate. "No, not this time." He had already decided that this woman he had seen brought in would be more than that. However, he would have to improve her. Recreate her in a way. "She is hardly a pet. More like an adopted child." Mirror was not his in the same way that his sons were, he had not brought her up from her early years by proxy. While he had guided Exodus and Gambit's development, often from afar, this one had been born to a family and grown untouched. In a way, it intrigued him that she was as strong as she appeared. "Why curious?" It was not unusual for him to want to know the why. Exodus cared nothing for the why, but with Remy, that was always a question. One that he certainly didn't have to answer, but often would simply because the why was absolutely unimportant. He would still do exactly as he pleased.

"Why her?" He countered, mirroring the same tone Essex had used moments ago. It was very often a question to answer a question when Remy was involved.

In this instance it was more than that. It was rare that Exodus be called on matters that did not involve carnage in some form or fashion. The stoic mutant rarely dealt with the living. While Exodus would never think to ask such a question of the Father, Remy didn't hesitate. In fact, he did so with a smile, a quick flash of white teeth that conveyed the mischievous nature of the query. "Why him?"

"I'm sure you know of the killings. Also of course the killer, which would happen to be that young lady who sought to stand up to even Exodus." As far as how Essex thought, the fact that this woman sought to stand up to his underlings even up to the most remorseless killer that he had in his employ was worthy of applaud. Also worthy of conscription; after all, Essex liked to have all the trumps in his hand when it came to dealing with anything. Someone that strong, even if they held the usual human frailties, was meant to be on his side. "You wonder why I didn't send you to collect this newest one?" That was no secret that when it was to do with the living, Gambit was far better suited. He had the people skills that Exodus lacked and while Sinister could certainly charm the birds out of the trees in his own time, Gambit was simply quicker at it. Not to mention most individuals, male and female, found him attractive making things all that much easier. "Is that it? Wondering if perhaps your sibling is ousting you from your favored spot?"

The smile only deepened, turning into more of a smirk. It was very like Essex to bring out the rivalry between them when it suited his purposes. Although what purpose that would have was a mystery to Remy. It did not keep him from considering it.

"Non," he answered. "Jus' wonderin' how much y'trusted him to return her intact."

It was no secret that Exodus did not play well with others, unless the others were not expected to be breathing afterwards. Remy was more subtle in his mechanizations, although he had long ago acknowledged Essex to be even more subtle. Even the Summer Son did not boast to presume Sinister's motivations, though he often questioned them.

"Intact wasn't requested. Alive." As if there was much difference in most cases. "And as requested, she is indeed alive. I trust you will take the time to introduce yourself at some point?" Essex folded his hands behind his back in a military fashion, eyes roaming over the decor of the hallway.

Remy arched his brow at that.

"That a request?" He would have done it eventually, no doubt. Though he normally avoided the majority of Essex's new projects in the long term, he did keep an eye on what went through. They rarely lasted long enough to bear acknowledgment. By Essex's own admission, this one might be different. An interesting development that kept becoming more interesting.

What game had the Father found to amuse himself now?

"Consider it such. She's met Exodus, I can only imagine that she'll find meeting you much more pleasant." Essex then continued down the hall, walking past Remy as he went. "She will be remaining. It would be a pity of her to live here without meeting all the residents." He had plans. His sons would play their parts in it whether they knew it or not. "Besides, you've always liked beautiful women." Said in just that tone which meant that perhaps the Father was making a joke. He didn't discourage Remy's interests, just advise him not to mix his business with his pleasure too liberally. After all, things had to get done on some kind of schedule.

**

She wasn't dead, that much she realized immediately. Heaven would not be a place of pain, Hell would hurt a lot more than the feeling that someone was standing on her chest. The world around her was cool, almost a mimicry of the chill the Winter Son had used on her. Trying to roll to one side drew a gasp. Apparently her shoulder had broken at some point, probably when she made contact with the wall. Yet she managed to roll onto her side and then onto her stomach, using her good arm to push up to get her knees under her. Where had he dragged her to? Mirror knew, of course, because the Winter Son had told her that her Fate was chosen for her. His Father wished her presence. So this was the home of the man who drew out the soul of every living mortal and played with them as if they were nothing more than puppets. Labored breathing left little puffs of smoke in the air.

"Awake, I see," his voice drifted across the space toward her and she jerked her head to the side so hard that she couldn't help but wince in pain. "I wondered if perhaps he had injured you too severely." Not that he doubted that Exodus would bring her back to him alive, it was simply a question of how long she would survive after she arrived. After all, his son obeyed the letter of his law if not always the spirit. They both did, his sons.

Mirror had never seen the man, no the monster, who owned most of the known world whether anyone wanted to believe it or not. The stories said that he was simply a living corpse with eyes that hypnotized and a voice that could destroy. The proverbial Devil made to walk the earth and bend the world to his will. Mirror had heard those stories and found herself wondering at the truth of them. This man who stood outside of the bars looking in at her in his tailored suit did not appear so much to be a demon. Then again, looks could certainly deceive. "Why am I not dead?" Your Fate is already sealed. Those were the words that he had used. FATE. Unbending, unyielding, FATE.

"Surely he told you that you were not meant to die," he seemed almost curious, certainly more interested than he should have been. Mirror drew her arms in around herself as best she could, aware suddenly that she was unarmed. How long had it been since she had been unarmed? Years at least, she slept with her weapons at hand. Now, she felt naked without them, even more so than if what she wore had been taken from her. "You were meant to come here." His words, why did she find herself listening in spite of herself? Was it his voice, or just that she was glad not to have been finished off when that was so close to being her portion? "Meant to serve me." She lifted her chin as he watched her, his eyes emotionless plates of redness. "You have drawn my eye with your action and I would reward you for those you have killed."

That seemed backward, after all, the ones she had killed were loyal to him. Each of them sworn to his service. Yet she had killed them. Seven, hardly a large number considering his adherents, but these were not seven humans that she had finished off with a ruthless efficiency. These were seven of the so called 'immortals', mutants of great power. She had not escaped unscathed, but the difference between her and them was the fact that she was still alive and now there master was offering her their place, or perhaps something far different.

"No," she answered him simply, arms wrapped around herself like some lost child, the feeling of pain radiating through some portions of her body though others remained dead to even the touch of pain. "I tell you what I told them," she turned her eyes from him, unwilling to allow herself to be drawn into the pools of those eyes. Fire that sought to consume her if she could draw some parallel to hell. "I will not serve."

"Your fate is already sealed," there was no uncertainty in his voice. Yet he did not press the issue. When she looked up again, he was gone, as were the bars. As if he were offering her escape. There was no way it could be so simple. A simple no and he left her be? No, there was no way that was truthfully the way it was going to happen. Still, hope does spring eternal. If she could find a way to escape, then surely she would be allowed to leave. Or was that the trap? If only the Winter Son had truly finished her off on that rooftop when she was bleeding and broken. Already, just minutes into wakefulness, she wished for that oblivion as opposed to the feeling of being allowed to wander in the house of the devil trying to avoid becoming one of the damned.

The wholesale rejection of him and everything that he stood for by this young woman who had made a reputation off of killing those who were according to the rest of the population immortal, not unkillable, but immortal certainly did not surprise him. In fact, it served only to amuse him. She would come to him. In the end, no matter how strong, how proud, how sure, they all came to him in the end. He had only to wait with the patience that was his own, the patience that watched lesser beings fight and die for ideals that meant nothing anymore and were tied to names that were legend only in the fact of their titanic clashes, ideologies long since blown away with whatever wind moves history. Going back to his study, he snapped his fingers and brought the sconces to light themselves. Hardly more than a parlor trick, but just a small show of what power he had available at his fingertips. Had he chosen to lay his hand upon that girl who stared at him with only one working eye, he could have healed away her wounds. Set the bones that his son had chosen to break for her pride. But he would wait, let her come to him. For now, he would allow her whatever freedom she wished for. Her powers would not work her so long as he did not will them to. She was trapped, effectively, until he chose to release her. Sinister did not lose what he wanted, so the only release she would know would be death. Should she prove strong enough, would he turn Exodus loose upon her and let him finish the job?

Sitting himself once more at his desk, Sinister leaned forward on his elbows and considered the implications of such an action. Exodus would enjoy himself, in what portion he was still capable of enjoyment. A last resort certainly. Mirror would come to him long before his patience ran out, she needed to be lead, her reaction against subservience was only the vestiges of some promise made to another that would not, could not, stand the test of time. She was seeking death, he would not grant it, so she would have to find some way to live. He would give her a way to live, a new reason for being. She would become a work of art under his hands, this scarred beauty, but first she had to come to him. Before he could shape her, she would have to bow to him willingly, as all did.