Sinister Discoveries - Simon and Sinister
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ax_mainSimon gets a Sinister call. And an ultimatum.
It was an innocuous thing. Simon's phone, buzzing faintly in his pocket as he sat through a lecture far beneath his actual qualifications. Then again, in a lab he could have successfully completed with his eyes closed and only half-paying attention. Again, when he was in the library, checking out books of required reading, the accomplishment of which he had already long surpassed. Always the same anonymous caller. Always the same, unfamiliar number.
The final call came when Simon was idle, killing a few, brief minutes before his transportation arrived to teleport him back to the Institute. Even after being shunted to voicemail, the phone continued to vibrate agitatedly. Again. And again. And again.
Simon had been in the middle of an email to a professor on his phone, sitting beneath the shade of a tree on the lawn. It had been nice and peaceful, at least until the phone started up again, and his jaw tightened in annoyance. Even, somehow, after blocking the number, it continued to plague him, so that finally, all he could do was answer.
Lifting it to his ear, he spoke sharply, "You have the wrong number."
"Do I?" replied a familiar, faintly-accented voice, full of equally-familiar, oily good humor. "I don't think so, Simon. I'm trying not to be offended that it took you so long to answer, but I suppose we are both very protective of our privacy, aren't we? Mine was disturbed quite violently in the recent past. But you already knew that." The toothy leer was practically audible over the phone.
Sinister.
It was a visceral reaction, the cold that instantly spread through Simon's lungs...the chill that ran down his spine and forced the spread of goosebumps along his skin, even in the warmth of a sunny afternoon. Simon's head immediately came up, his gaze sweeping the quad on all sides in a paranoid scan.
"I heard," he replied, somehow managing to sound casual - even flippant, despite the instinctual disgust and fear that Sinister inspired in him. "Somehow I don't feel sorry for you."
"It's fortunate, then, that I wasn't expecting any particular sympathy," Essex returned. "Still. I had hoped our little detente could last a little while longer. More the fool I, for assuming leaving your school to its own devices would garner me the same courtesy. Still, it was a learning experience." He paused a beat, then, "We should always be learning, Simon." His pleasant tone just barely glossed over an undercurrent of pure venom.
The implication there, that the school might have been put in danger by the attack on the lab, should have struck Simon sooner. In fact, he felt numbly moronic for having the naivete to think it might always be safe, despite the activities that X-Force was engaging in. It was chilling, even, that he hadn't thought to warn against it. The students there all thought they were safe because they had power in numbers. But they were just teenagers, and teenagers were prone to believing they were more invincible than they were. Simon felt his heart thumping against the inside of his ribcage, but he knew, too, that Sinister would need time to plan - to recuperate his losses.
Carefully, he told the man, "If you go after them, they will never leave you be. You'll never have a safe haven for your work. The more you pursue them, the more focused they will be on finding and destroying you."
There came a chuckle from the depraved scientist. "Possibly. But even if they can find me, I can assure you they'll never destroy me. I, meanwhile, have entire lifetimes to harry them, either directly or by proxy. If my Marauders can't simply murder them outright, I can always strike through their friends, their families, their vices. Their government, their society. I've been playing this game for a very long time, Simon. Working the system is child's play, for me. Your school chums chose to cast our relationship into one of kill-or-be-killed. I'm sure you know which option I would elect."
He paused again. "So. Is it the path of scorched-Earth war, or can you offer some assurance that would convince me to focus my attentions elsewhere?"
"I'm not Scott Summers, or Charles Xavier." Simon told him tightly, glancing down to realize that his nails were biting through the leather of the gloves he wore when in public. "What makes you think that I can offer you any assurances at all?"
"Because yours is an opinion I think I can trust," Sinister told him bluntly.
"Charles was an excellent student, but his idealism was always a fatal flaw--one shouldn't blind oneself to reality, no matter how great one's resources. And Scott is a supreme pragmatist, even when the pragmatic option isn't the wisest. Give me your assurance, and I will be satisfied you will put in the necessary effort to realize it. If you cannot, well," the sounds of strange machinery thrummed in the distance through the phone, "I can always take matters into my own hands."
"Even were I to agree with this, or have any power over X-Force at all," Simon breathed, "I know you. I know the depravity you will continue to inflict on mutants. Turning your attention elsewhere isn't a solution for any of us. No one will ever agree to let you continue hurting people the way you have for...for hundreds of years. It's untenable. No matter how immortal you may think you are, there is going to come a point when your crimes will pile so high that they cannot be ignored."
"You see them as crimes only because of your limited perspective," Essex argued. "A perspective which I am certain will expand, with time. For now, I will promise to gather interesting new genetic data through only the most circumspect methods--no extreme experimentation. That seems more than reasonable to me."
Simon frowned. "What is your definition of circumspect methods?"
"Blood banks, accident reports, incidental uploads to Ancestry.com," Sinister replied. "That manner of thing. For now, for the moment. In truth, two of your compatriots have provided me with a fascinating new line of study that will require the bulk of my attention, so I cannot say I will miss the active field work. Though I can't neglect my database, for all that."
The young med student wasn't blind. He'd already deduced Sinister's new interest. "You're going after the Summers bloodline."
"You're exactly half-right," Essex said. "Scott and Alex do possess much greater potential than I originally realized. My own folly, I suppose, for letting them both slip from my fingers so easily. But now it occurs to me that a combination of their genetics with those of Jean Grey could potentially produce a mutant with powers unparalleled by any current specimen, or any other projected specimen. It's like nothing I've ever seen before, and I would very much like to devote to it my entire attention," one could practically hear his ironic smirk, "assuming I weren't embroiled in some idiotic blood-feud with a school full of children."
"I'll give them your terms," Simon told him, glancing over his shoulder as though the man might be standing right there. "I can't say whether they will be accepted or not."
"I hope you'll be more persuasive than the last time I asked you to intercede for me," Essex noted ironically, "for the sake of your little friends. I won't be taken by surprise twice, and I promise my hospitality will be an extremely dire thing if they should test the limits of my patience a second time."
"And why should I even believe you'll keep your word?" Simon demanded quietly. "This...this obsession you have with Scott and now Jean? You can't convince me that you'll just turn your attention to their Ancestry.com profiles."
The whole thing chilled Simon to the bone, especially because he could follow Sinister's genetic premise, and yes, of course, the idea of the combined bloodlines of two extremely powerful mutants? It impregnated a host of questions in his mind, not to mention related theories that had to do with other students at the school. He even started to wonder if a system of identification of power levels could be formulated for mutants who had manifested the gene. And, once again, the fact that Sinister inspired all these thoughts in him was terrifying.
"I have sufficient data to pursue a strictly theoretical course, for now," Sinister said. "Enough to keep me occupied for some time. As to why you should believe me? When have I ever lied to you, Simon? I've only ever told you the entire truth. Even Professor Xavier cannot claim to have been as forthcoming." There was a pause. "I will miss our interactions, I admit. I still think we could have done great things together. Advanced the species together."
Simon suppressed a shiver. He couldn't even say that Sinister was wrong. They could have done great things together. Incredible things. The mere glimpses he'd gotten at the man's work alone had already turned Simon's own theories in a new direction. And no - he'd never been lied to by the man. Perhaps that was the most chilling fact of all. Simon could see himself working with him. And yet he knew, at his very core, that what he'd been doing was inherently sadistic.
"It is not a species. Not yet. We can still interbreed with humans, therefore we're still categorically human, despite our mutations. Whether we do develop further...that will happen whether you will it to or not," Simon told him quietly.
There was silence on the end of the line for a brief moment, then, "Don't let Lensherr's rhetoric confuse things. I have always been interested in the human species. I was born entirely human--if you remember. Lacking any of the gifts you and your friends possess naturally. All I am, I have made of myself. All that humanity might be, I strive to make it. As to my will ... I think you'll find, if you should take the time to look, that my work has hastened the advent of beneficial mutation in the general populous. It will continue, with or without me, yes, but it would be a much uglier process."
"I'd hate to see a process uglier than yours," Simon huffed softly.
Sinister's laughter was a thin, eerie sound, a mad cackle as much as an expression of genuine mirth. "Spoken like a student who's never stepped out of the lab, and seen the way nature decides who lives, and who dies. But I suppose you'll have your chance, now. You and Xavier and Lensherr and the rest are free to squabble over the way your variety of human will interact with the baseline set. I have much more significant matters to occupy my attention, now."
Simon ground his teeth for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I'll relay your ultimatum."
"Thank you, Simon." Essex paused, and then added, "You will not hear from me again. Although, if you ever need to reach me ... I'm sure you'll find a way." And with that, the line went dead.
It was an innocuous thing. Simon's phone, buzzing faintly in his pocket as he sat through a lecture far beneath his actual qualifications. Then again, in a lab he could have successfully completed with his eyes closed and only half-paying attention. Again, when he was in the library, checking out books of required reading, the accomplishment of which he had already long surpassed. Always the same anonymous caller. Always the same, unfamiliar number.
The final call came when Simon was idle, killing a few, brief minutes before his transportation arrived to teleport him back to the Institute. Even after being shunted to voicemail, the phone continued to vibrate agitatedly. Again. And again. And again.
Simon had been in the middle of an email to a professor on his phone, sitting beneath the shade of a tree on the lawn. It had been nice and peaceful, at least until the phone started up again, and his jaw tightened in annoyance. Even, somehow, after blocking the number, it continued to plague him, so that finally, all he could do was answer.
Lifting it to his ear, he spoke sharply, "You have the wrong number."
"Do I?" replied a familiar, faintly-accented voice, full of equally-familiar, oily good humor. "I don't think so, Simon. I'm trying not to be offended that it took you so long to answer, but I suppose we are both very protective of our privacy, aren't we? Mine was disturbed quite violently in the recent past. But you already knew that." The toothy leer was practically audible over the phone.
Sinister.
It was a visceral reaction, the cold that instantly spread through Simon's lungs...the chill that ran down his spine and forced the spread of goosebumps along his skin, even in the warmth of a sunny afternoon. Simon's head immediately came up, his gaze sweeping the quad on all sides in a paranoid scan.
"I heard," he replied, somehow managing to sound casual - even flippant, despite the instinctual disgust and fear that Sinister inspired in him. "Somehow I don't feel sorry for you."
"It's fortunate, then, that I wasn't expecting any particular sympathy," Essex returned. "Still. I had hoped our little detente could last a little while longer. More the fool I, for assuming leaving your school to its own devices would garner me the same courtesy. Still, it was a learning experience." He paused a beat, then, "We should always be learning, Simon." His pleasant tone just barely glossed over an undercurrent of pure venom.
The implication there, that the school might have been put in danger by the attack on the lab, should have struck Simon sooner. In fact, he felt numbly moronic for having the naivete to think it might always be safe, despite the activities that X-Force was engaging in. It was chilling, even, that he hadn't thought to warn against it. The students there all thought they were safe because they had power in numbers. But they were just teenagers, and teenagers were prone to believing they were more invincible than they were. Simon felt his heart thumping against the inside of his ribcage, but he knew, too, that Sinister would need time to plan - to recuperate his losses.
Carefully, he told the man, "If you go after them, they will never leave you be. You'll never have a safe haven for your work. The more you pursue them, the more focused they will be on finding and destroying you."
There came a chuckle from the depraved scientist. "Possibly. But even if they can find me, I can assure you they'll never destroy me. I, meanwhile, have entire lifetimes to harry them, either directly or by proxy. If my Marauders can't simply murder them outright, I can always strike through their friends, their families, their vices. Their government, their society. I've been playing this game for a very long time, Simon. Working the system is child's play, for me. Your school chums chose to cast our relationship into one of kill-or-be-killed. I'm sure you know which option I would elect."
He paused again. "So. Is it the path of scorched-Earth war, or can you offer some assurance that would convince me to focus my attentions elsewhere?"
"I'm not Scott Summers, or Charles Xavier." Simon told him tightly, glancing down to realize that his nails were biting through the leather of the gloves he wore when in public. "What makes you think that I can offer you any assurances at all?"
"Because yours is an opinion I think I can trust," Sinister told him bluntly.
"Charles was an excellent student, but his idealism was always a fatal flaw--one shouldn't blind oneself to reality, no matter how great one's resources. And Scott is a supreme pragmatist, even when the pragmatic option isn't the wisest. Give me your assurance, and I will be satisfied you will put in the necessary effort to realize it. If you cannot, well," the sounds of strange machinery thrummed in the distance through the phone, "I can always take matters into my own hands."
"Even were I to agree with this, or have any power over X-Force at all," Simon breathed, "I know you. I know the depravity you will continue to inflict on mutants. Turning your attention elsewhere isn't a solution for any of us. No one will ever agree to let you continue hurting people the way you have for...for hundreds of years. It's untenable. No matter how immortal you may think you are, there is going to come a point when your crimes will pile so high that they cannot be ignored."
"You see them as crimes only because of your limited perspective," Essex argued. "A perspective which I am certain will expand, with time. For now, I will promise to gather interesting new genetic data through only the most circumspect methods--no extreme experimentation. That seems more than reasonable to me."
Simon frowned. "What is your definition of circumspect methods?"
"Blood banks, accident reports, incidental uploads to Ancestry.com," Sinister replied. "That manner of thing. For now, for the moment. In truth, two of your compatriots have provided me with a fascinating new line of study that will require the bulk of my attention, so I cannot say I will miss the active field work. Though I can't neglect my database, for all that."
The young med student wasn't blind. He'd already deduced Sinister's new interest. "You're going after the Summers bloodline."
"You're exactly half-right," Essex said. "Scott and Alex do possess much greater potential than I originally realized. My own folly, I suppose, for letting them both slip from my fingers so easily. But now it occurs to me that a combination of their genetics with those of Jean Grey could potentially produce a mutant with powers unparalleled by any current specimen, or any other projected specimen. It's like nothing I've ever seen before, and I would very much like to devote to it my entire attention," one could practically hear his ironic smirk, "assuming I weren't embroiled in some idiotic blood-feud with a school full of children."
"I'll give them your terms," Simon told him, glancing over his shoulder as though the man might be standing right there. "I can't say whether they will be accepted or not."
"I hope you'll be more persuasive than the last time I asked you to intercede for me," Essex noted ironically, "for the sake of your little friends. I won't be taken by surprise twice, and I promise my hospitality will be an extremely dire thing if they should test the limits of my patience a second time."
"And why should I even believe you'll keep your word?" Simon demanded quietly. "This...this obsession you have with Scott and now Jean? You can't convince me that you'll just turn your attention to their Ancestry.com profiles."
The whole thing chilled Simon to the bone, especially because he could follow Sinister's genetic premise, and yes, of course, the idea of the combined bloodlines of two extremely powerful mutants? It impregnated a host of questions in his mind, not to mention related theories that had to do with other students at the school. He even started to wonder if a system of identification of power levels could be formulated for mutants who had manifested the gene. And, once again, the fact that Sinister inspired all these thoughts in him was terrifying.
"I have sufficient data to pursue a strictly theoretical course, for now," Sinister said. "Enough to keep me occupied for some time. As to why you should believe me? When have I ever lied to you, Simon? I've only ever told you the entire truth. Even Professor Xavier cannot claim to have been as forthcoming." There was a pause. "I will miss our interactions, I admit. I still think we could have done great things together. Advanced the species together."
Simon suppressed a shiver. He couldn't even say that Sinister was wrong. They could have done great things together. Incredible things. The mere glimpses he'd gotten at the man's work alone had already turned Simon's own theories in a new direction. And no - he'd never been lied to by the man. Perhaps that was the most chilling fact of all. Simon could see himself working with him. And yet he knew, at his very core, that what he'd been doing was inherently sadistic.
"It is not a species. Not yet. We can still interbreed with humans, therefore we're still categorically human, despite our mutations. Whether we do develop further...that will happen whether you will it to or not," Simon told him quietly.
There was silence on the end of the line for a brief moment, then, "Don't let Lensherr's rhetoric confuse things. I have always been interested in the human species. I was born entirely human--if you remember. Lacking any of the gifts you and your friends possess naturally. All I am, I have made of myself. All that humanity might be, I strive to make it. As to my will ... I think you'll find, if you should take the time to look, that my work has hastened the advent of beneficial mutation in the general populous. It will continue, with or without me, yes, but it would be a much uglier process."
"I'd hate to see a process uglier than yours," Simon huffed softly.
Sinister's laughter was a thin, eerie sound, a mad cackle as much as an expression of genuine mirth. "Spoken like a student who's never stepped out of the lab, and seen the way nature decides who lives, and who dies. But I suppose you'll have your chance, now. You and Xavier and Lensherr and the rest are free to squabble over the way your variety of human will interact with the baseline set. I have much more significant matters to occupy my attention, now."
Simon ground his teeth for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I'll relay your ultimatum."
"Thank you, Simon." Essex paused, and then added, "You will not hear from me again. Although, if you ever need to reach me ... I'm sure you'll find a way." And with that, the line went dead.
