2013.10.24 - Proof

The summons had gone out on the most secure channels. The emergency channels that only Strilka, Mystique, and a half-dozen other mutants in the entirety of Bastion's population are aware of. It was set up as an extreme last-case scenario, particularly if Magneto had been detained somewhere or was otherwise more or less incapacitated.

Oddly, the summons had come nearly three days after Magneto's dramatic disappearance, and the explosion that had left several hundred dead in the aftermath. Critical staffers and Magneto's inner coterie had been evacuated, but there were many still unaccounted for.

The intermittent pulses had led to a 'backup site' that was some distance from The Spire, and accessable only to a handful of individuals in the government. Inside, computers whirr and hum, backing up the vast data accumulated daily by the security and science teams, and dull flourescents gleam over arsenals of weapons and boxes of rations, everything a militant force would need to strike back at a conquering force.

A dark-haired man wearing slacks and a button-down shirt sits at one of the command consoles, operating the controls and doing some sort of medical research. His features are... disturbingly familiar.

Mystique's got a lot on her mind these last few days. A -hell- of a lot. When she happens to get that distress call, days after the event and -from the island,- she isn't sure what to expect.

She's most certainly not expecting to find an unfamiliar man sitting at one of the terminals, working away. The data lifeblood of their entire cause..and someone clearly -not- of the Brotherhood's inner circle is accessing the data. Of course she's going to have something to say about this.

Or allow something else to do the speaking for her, as could be guessed by the sound of a pistol's safety being disengaged from the other side of the room.

"You have ten seconds to identify yourself and explain your purpose for being in this room," comes the cold, emotionless lilt of two different pitches harmonized into one voice.

Not far away from the metamorph is even more fire support, called upon very soon after the signal had been triggered.

Strilka has heard rumours. There are some that say a single wall of steel has reformed in the glass crater that was once the Spire. Add to it the fanaticism that's sprung up in the wake of the Imperator's martyring and... Ye-ah. Unhappy archer.

She's been pretty good about reining in her growing irritation, however. It's not like she displays her emotions openly, anyway. But, most people have been learning, when Strilka tells you to hop-to, just start hopping.

Thus, when the EM beacon starts flashing and Mystique says, "Come with me," the archer is quite happy to comply. Because, seriously... If this is some sort of hoax -- or anything that will incite the masses to further fanaticism, she's going to start firing arrows into people without regard to who they are, what they can do, or why they're even there in the first place. It'll be a simply case of "Kill them all and let God sort it out."

As a result, regarding the stranger at the controls, the archer's eyes are flat, emotionless, and hard, her weapon already raised.

"I do love hearing you speak so authoritatively, my dear," the man at the control panel says. He turns his head minutely, a smile flickering across his face in the dim glow of the console screen. "If you would like to threaten to shoot me, you may. I know you do enjoy executing would-be trespassers."

The lights in the room all come on at once, and the console chair swivels in place. A face looks back at Mystique- a face she likely has not seen in four decades. Black hair, slicked back- bright blue eyes with a nest of smile lines creeping around them- and a resolute posture that could make a naked man look dressed, and a man in full armor naked in the fact of a superior personality.

"Olena, my dear, you are looking well," he says, smiling at Mystique's companion. He makes a short hand-waving gesture, beckoning her to lower the weapon. "You will not be shooting anyone this minute, I think."

Let's look at the facts, here. Mystique knows that Erik died. She knows some weird things can happen regarding mutants. She knows that mutants can have a wide range of powers and that it's entirely possible that someone else could have magnetic control. She knows that Bastion, and all of Genosha, are in shambles, and that anyone could step forth and attempt to claim power for themselves. If they managed to get past these two, which this man effectively has.

She also knows that people don't tend to reincarnate, suddenly lose several decades' worth of life, and that the -real- Magneto would be able to stop a bullet flying in his direction.

She also knows that he would never count on her to be the one pulling the trigger. Which is exactly why she's pulling the trigger.

The .40 caliber USP jerks back into her palm with a sharp snap of the bullet exiting from the suppressor threaded onto the barrel, almost dismissively flicking a single jacketed hollowpoint straight toward the man's forehead.

If this man really is Erik Lehnsherr then he will have to prove it to her. To Strilka. Here, and now.

Olena doesn't lower her arrow. Not immediately. Nor, however, does she fire it. A second look at its tip will show that it is not a piercing arrow. It is a relatively powerful, if tightly compacted, explosive. One of the Imperator's own designs, actually.

Her plan is not to shoot the intruder. Her plan is to blow the whole frickin' place to hell, and everyone else along with it, if he proves a greater threat than what Mystique can handle. Because, there's no way in hell she's letting the sensitive information of this facility fall into someone else's hands.

Really, Magneto should appreciate the simplicity and finality of that plan. Doubtless, Mystique already does.

The lead round stops six inches from the barrel, hovering in place as the man walks towards Mystique. He smiles at the blue-skinned woman, the expression earnest and compassionate. "I do so admire your directness," he says in a clipped but formal European accent. He gestures at himself. "Has it really been so long? Do you genuinely not recognize me?" he asks Mystique, grinning almost boyishly. He clasps his hands behind his back, stopping a few paces from Olena and Mystique. The detonator point on the explosive round unscrews itself from the explosive and floats in the air, suspended on nothing.

"If you need more convincing..." the man says, tongue in cheek. He leans forward a few inches, well in Mystique's personal proximity. "Budapest, 1974. You were drunk from trying to seduce the Argentinian ambassador, and... well. We did promise we would speak of it never again," Magneto informs the woman, eyes twinkling merrily.

There the bullet hovers, as does Mystique's unflinching stare. Well, there's one item confirmed. She doesn't react as the man walks toward the pair, yellow eyes aglow within the dimmer environment.

"Recognize, yes," she starts in before perfectly mimicking Erik's own voice. "Trust, no."

That he can hold the bullet spinning away in the air -and- unscrew the explosive tip right off of Olena's arrow, well... There's their proof.

And the memory.

"I was acting," she curtly replies while lowering the pistol back to her side. "I don't get drunk."

She's also not understanding how they're even having this coversation.

"What happened, Magneto? Where did you and Jean go, how did you get back? How are you -younger- than before? And why..the..HELL," she growls with a further narrowing of her eyes, "did you allow -Sinister- to experiment on my -Son.- -Right here- in Bastion!"

Olena's eyes flick to both the bullet and the arrow tip. Yes. There's their proof. The archer's shoulders relax and her arm lowers. She walks forward and plucks the explosive tip from the air, screwing it back onto the end of her arrow. Because, seriously! Do not waste perfectly good and useful ammunition!

Beyond that, however, the taciturn archer merely watches the two. After all... there's more stuff to learn here. About each of them.

Magneto's face grows serious. "That answer is... complicated." Magneto takes a step away, hands still behind his back, and paces a few steps. "I ... died. That was not a charade. I was dead, and gone," the Imperator explains. "Jean Grey unleashed the Phoenix, and it took the full measure of my powers to counter her. The resulting blast was... cataclysmic," he hedges.

"And then I was awake again, in a place that I cannot describe. Pure energy. Pure intention, raw potential. Jean was there, too," he adds. "I do not know how long we were there. A few days. A subjective century. It took me some time to reassemble myself. To remember who I was," he says. "And when we finally returned to Earth, it took the efforts- the /combined efforts/ of four Omega-level mutants to reconstitute ourselves as flesh-and-blood beings."

"As for Kurt..." Magneto shakes his head, looking at Mystique. "I have nothing to offer but my apologies. Sinister's work was bringing our research into genetics forward by centuries. He convinced me that the occassional... sacrifice needed to be made. I began to look the other way as he conscripted test subjects. I had no idea whatsoever that he had transformed Kurt," he tells Mystique, with all the sincerity he can muster. "Nor that he had done it to that extent. I had thought he'd explore the X-gene. Expand our understanding of evolution- help our youths control their powers. Then I discover he had /perverted/ his test subjects into those monstrosities," he snarls. "And at the moment I found out, I was rather occupied with the X-men's invasion to deal with his gross excesses."

"We've all noticed," Mystique coldly replies. There's kind of a glassy crater full of melted chunks of metal where the Spire used to be, and everyone on the island knows it! Heck, most of the -planet- knows it by now. 'Complicated' doesn't begin to describe it. At least complicated is also something that she's familiar with, as are many mutants out of principle.

It's the next part which really catches the metamorph's interest. 'Somewhere else.' -With Jean.- Jean..as the Phoenix. After witnessing just what the Phoenix was capable of, plus knowing what team Miss Grey happens to be working with...

Plans are further taking shape. Sinister must pay. It's going to require superior strength to do the job. Superior strength can be had. All Mystique has to do is put the pieces together. Fortunately, she knows exactly how to approach such a situation.

"We have much to discuss," she replies at first while slipping the pistol back into its holster at her thigh. "Speak of this 'Church of the First Mutant,' of your mindless 'Vanguard' army, of what it is you are hoping to achieve with Genosha. You have much to answer for, Erik, and I have been left in the dark having to pick up the pieces from the mess which you have created. Now that you are back Genosha returns to being your responsibility, I have yet more of your mess to attend to."

And a son to save.

The narrowed glance that she passes to Olena on her way out is not a trusting one. The 'Imperator' will be picking up these pieces for quite some time.

"Welcome home, Magneto."

Magneto's face goes unreadable, his hands hanging limply at his sides. His expression is flat and emotionless- at least, to anyone who doesn't know him as intimately as Olena and Mystique do. Injured, deeply, deeply injured at the accusatory tone in Mystique's voice- and the way she spins on a heel and walks away. Youthful, revitalized, and yet still a very old man, Magneto looks at Olena- neither begging nor asking- and meets her eyes for a moment, then strides back to the command console, settling back into the seat and letting Olena decide who she will follow.

Olena remains silent, as is her wont, throughout the exchange. Her dark eyes flick between them. She replaces her arrow in her quiver and meets Magneto's eyes as he gazes at her. He breaks away. Mystique walks out. The archer lets out a soft breath and her shoulders fall. She'd look defeated, or at least resigned, except that the annoyed expression that flits across her face belies any sense of such passivity.

Their dispute is not hers. Not the personal aspects of it, anyway. Is she cross with Magneto for all of this? Yes. Yes, this is most definitely all his fault. But as to whom she will follow? Well... That is the question, isn't it? It always has been.

"We each," she says quietly in Ukrainian, conviction in her low voice, "must follow the impulses of our own hearts. You taught me that." Both of them, actually. "We each must abide by the dictates of our own consciences." She straightens now, and perhaps there is a change in the woman's demeanor. Subtle, but significant. "I know my purpose, now. My heart. It is to see mutants free from oppression -- all oppression, whether human or otherwise. To find and build for them places of sanctuary and safety. And that is what I will do."

To hell with the rest.

Expression clearing for the first time in days -- possibly weeks -- the archer... smiles. And makes her own way out.