2013.07.11 - Threads of Conspiracy

The whirring of highly advanced machinery and computer equipment has been the oddly musical accompaniment to Kwabena's silence. He's been in the science lab for the better part of four hours, most of which has been spent reading and re-reading information from his most recent blood tests and toxicology reports. He knew enough about the machinery to get what he needed, and what he learned only served to confirm everything.

Quietly, he withdraws the X-Comm from his jacket and sends a simple code to Jean Grey. It is a request for rendezvous, a strange way to ask her to join him, for sure.

However, what he needs now, more than anything, is discretion.

Slipping the X-Comm back into his pocket, his hand there lingers, feeling the artifact given to him in Hell. He grew up with the cross, and even though the crucifix given to him by Kurt brings some comfort, it doesn't come close to answering the questions that remain unanswered.

And so, he closes his eyes, leaning back upon that which has served him in his darkest times before. Meditation.

The com-summons was odd, to be sure. Only recently back from her vacation, such as it was, with Scott, Jean is still settling back into life at the manor. Nevertheless, the summons piques her interest enough that she returns to the lab -- her usual haunt, truth be told, when she's not in classes. The door whooshes open before her and she enters with crisp steps, head canting to one side as she sees Shift. "Hey. I got your message."

The opening of the door is what first prompts Shift to rise. He lifts his head and draws a sharp but silent breath, effectively whisking away the weight from his shoulders. Always trying to save face, this one is--his shield against prying eyes and minds who might seek to judge him.

"Doctah," he starts, then corrects himself with a smile. "Jean. Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for de strange summons, but..." There is a pause as he carefully considers just how to begin. "Dere have been some few developments, and I believe you are de only one I can trust."

Not wanting her to suffer the curse of suspense, he turns and reclaims his chair. Another one is not far away, and he gestures for her to sit.

"I have just returned from Africa. Genosha, to be precise." He studies Jean carefully, and a frown forms on his face. "What do you know of Erik Lehnsherr... Magneto?"

Jean arches a brow, as she lowers herself into the chair, at Magneto's name. "He's dangerous," she says directly. "The professor and the X-Men have dealt with him several times. He's a mutant supremacist with omega-level electromagnetic powers. There are very few mutants on the planet that can rival him -- or withstand him." She and Charles are among them. On good days, anyway. "His agenda is more-or-less the destruction of humanity in favor of mutantkind. Sometimes he has aided us in the past. But always at great cost to us -- or to the humans around us."

"What happened in Genosha?" she asks, now. "He was responsible for that EM pulse and death cries I felt, wasn't he?" She advised Kurt on his trip with the African mutant to the island nation. She's been following the developments in Genosha as closely as she can without actually going there herself.

Kwabena had expected that one of the more senior X-Men would have proposed the same warning. It was the first of many questions to be answered. "He reminds me of someone," he offers. "Doom, de leadah of Latveria." If Jean were to familiarize herself with Shift's file, she would know what horrors he had suffered under captivity in Latveria. Torture, both psychological and physical, and worst of all, the introduction of nanites into his bloodstream that kept him viciously addicted to opiates.

It was a plague that, with the help of Reed Richards, he had been able to withstand. He had remained impressively clean, in spite of such ailment.

"He did not directly admit guilt, but it is a fair assumption dat he was responsible," answers Kwabena. "He is going to share items related to de research of Humanity First with Kurt." Which is one small benefit that came from their journey.

But at what cost?

"And he has shown an interest in me," he continues. "He showed me just how dangerous my mutation can become. To me. To oddahs." There is a momentary beat where he actually questions whether he should tell her.

"I am capable of taking de form of living plasma."

He turns aside and pulls one of the computer monitors about for Jean to see. Upon it are complex scientific equations that, when disassembled, provide proof that Kwabena's molecule structure had recently taken upon a transformation into ionized gas.

Jean inhales a slow breath, lips pursing faintly at that news. It's good to know Kurt's gotten something useful out of the trip, but she knows that any deal with Magneto is inevitably Faustian. She hasn't had much experience with Doom, however. But, she may need to look him up, yet.

She turns, however, to regard the monitor. Her green eyes flick quickly over it, digesting the data swiftly, as only an expert in her field can. She glances sidelong at him for a moment, and then turns to face him directly. "That's quite the progression," she notes. "How did he show you this?" A beat. "What happened, Shift?"

"I have been studying dis all aftahnoon." Kwabena releases a quiet breath as he considers how to explain it. "Contact with forms of deadly enahgy seem to triggah sublimation in my genetic structure, and I have been unable to withstand it. As it turns out, dere is a powerful chemical reaction taking place during de mattah changing process dat creates unstable magnetic effects, but de X-Gene is designed to hold dem togedah. My..." He produces his hands, trying to gesture for clarity. "...biological structure stays intact because of it. He forced dis change to take place, and bombarded me with gamma radiation. De gas was ionized, and he showed me how to hold it togedah. To keep myself from tearing apart at the seams. De effect, it seems, is dat I can maintain a form of living plasma." He shakes his head. "I have not attempted to do it on my own. It is simply too dangerous."

He breathes deeply then, and looks to meet Jean's gaze. He's troubled. There is guilt upon him. "But... I can't deny. It is tempting to learn. I could prevent myself from being killed by energy weapons. But... this powah could be turned into a deadly weapon."

Jean nods to that, a simple gesture laden with all sorts of meaning. If anyone knows first-hand how dangerous that level of power is, it's her. "It very much could be," she says matter-of-factly. "Particularly if you get caught in any sort of magnetic amplification." Her lips pull wryly to one side. She's destroyed a solar system because of the Phoenix power -- or, rather, some small part of her, the part the Phoenix Entity absorbed, has. She knows what she's talking about.

"You do need to learn how to control it," she tells him. "The challenge, however, is not letting the power take you over." A beat. She grimaces. "I have a little experience with that."

A half smile forms. "Yeah. Kurt mentioned it. It's why he told me to talk with you."

Kwabena turns back to the computer consoles again. Tapping in a series of commands brings up blood readouts from before and after his trip to Genosha. On the left, the scans clearly show thousands of microscopic nanites swimming through his blood. On the right, his blood appears clean.

"I may have no choice," he admits. "Plasma is very hot. All of the nanites are gone, which means dat soon, I am going to suffer withdrawal. It will be bad. Howevah, if I am able to control dis powah, I can use it to replenish myself." He peers toward Jean speculatively. "If I assimilate something organic... a piece of wood, for example... I can force de molecules to become a part of me. Heal damaged parts of me. Survive whatevah torment Doom had in mind for me, should I ever manage to get rid of dem."

He shakes his head then, realizing that he's getting away from the heart of the matter. Turning back to face Jean, a frown comes about him again, and a most serious demeanor.

"The truth is, Jean, I--and I've been thinking about dis evah since I left Genosha--Magneto has taken a significant intahrest in me. He has offered me a place in his country. I do not want to take it, but, it is... an opportunity."

He lifts an eyebrow. Shift's position with the X-Men was one of investigation. Surveillance. He was, for lack of a better word, one of the team's spies.

"If there is need for an inside man, I am willing to take the risk."

"I may be able to help you through the withdrawl," Jean says, as she regards the blood samples and recognizes the ramifications of what he's telling her. "Both physically and, particularly, psychologically." Team medic and one of the world's most skilled and powerful telepaths. Sure, Charles would be better at it, but Jean's no slouch. "I just don't want to risk you triggering a plasma state accidentally because the withdrawal causes you to lose control." That would be worse than the withdrawal, in many ways -- living with the aftermath.

As for playing spy? Jean considers that.

"You're right, there's an opportunity there." Her nose wrinkles as she thinks, however. "But, I'm not willing to send you in there until you've managed the withdrawal process." A beat. She adds, "And, to be honest, it's not my place to send you, in any case. Scott's the one that needs to okay that. It's a dangerous game to play... I doubt Magneto will be all that forgiving, if he realizes what you're up to..."

A soft, and most importantly grateful smile comes to Kwabena. He bows his head, hands coming together before him in a gesture of thanks. "If dere is evah a safe place for me to go through it, it is here. As for toying with fire..." He shakes his head. "Are dere many bettah places to do it dan here? I'm certain Magneto could help me, but I fear he may try to manipulate me. I'm a damned strong willed person, Jean, but I do have my weaknesses."

Naturally, one might surmise that suffering opiate withdrawal would present a number of those weaknesses. One would be absolutely correct. If there's ever a time he'll be most tempted to shoot up, it would be then.

"It may not be your place," he offers quietly. "But considah dis." He seeks her eyes again, and there is a most severe expression within his. "Magneto may have telepaths of his own in company. Even if I didn't suspect it--which I do--it would seem probable enough. It's a risk we must considah. If I accept his offah, it should be absolutely, entirely convincing."

He lets the air breath for a moment, giving her a moment to digest what he's suggesting.

"De only people who should know must be able to defend against any attempts to read minds. If you tell Scott..." He shakes his head. Scott is a good man, but Scott is not resistant to telepathic invasion. "He can't know. And Jean... neithah can I."

Jean's brows rise, as she begins to fully grasp what Shift is suggesting. She is absolutely certain Magneto would have telepaths about, defending him and his people. What the African says... isn't wrong. But, it doesn't feel right, either. It feels very dangerous. A gamble. A very big gamble.

And boy will Scott be PISSED at her, when he finds out about it. (And he will find out about it... eventually. Even if it happens to be at the end of the mission.)

The telepath inhales a steady breath, considering it. "What you're asking is very, very dangerous, Shift. The telepathic manipulation I'd have to do on you would have to be at once very thorough and very subtle. Otherwise, those telepaths will pick up on it. On the 'wrongness' of it -- depending on how strong they are."

She hasn't said 'no', yet, however.

"How are you proposing we make this work. If even you've forgotten you're a spy... we're going to need to set up some way, some trigger, that will still allow you to pass on information. Or at least put yourself in a position where I can pluck the information from your mind." Another thought and another wry smile. "How long are you proposing we do this? And, I'll tell you right now: It's not something I want to even attempt until we know you're completely detoxed."

It would seem that Kwabena is quite aware of the weighty decision he has just placed upon Jean. He seems to understand that what he's suggesting is not only of extreme danger, to himself, to the X-Men, and possibly to those who might end up collateral damage. He also understands that he is asking her, personally, to make a decision that may have dire consequences for herself.

Mingled in his severe look is both understanding and apology.

"I do not fully undahstand what it is dat you do, or how you do it." He straightens a bit, for in the four hours he's been alone in the science lab, he hasn't simply been reading charts. "But I have thought dis through to some degree. The most through way to hide something is to be rid of it. Simply put, you would have to erase--if dis is even possible--you would have to erase the entire idea that I am spying from my mind. Howevah, one cannot simply destroy matter. Matter must be reorganized. If de memory is replaced with something... something similah but different. Perhaps the idea that I chose to leave de X-Men and join Magneto. Such a thought would be like matter... reorganized."

The idea, spoken out loud, sends a chill down Kwabena's spine. It's one thing to consider something, but it becomes more real when your own voice says it.

"I would give you de information on my old mercenary contacts, and I would take jobs from dem periodically. My gear would be stashed in the safe house in Brooklyn that I established last year, so dat if I took any jobs, I would have to go dere first. From there, you could track me. Quietly. And... take what information I may have available, without my evah knowing."

Kwabena draws his arms a bit closer to himself, as if feeling a cold tremor running through his body. It is not only the unsettling idea of what he's proposing, but the first stages of opiate withdrawal coming to him.

"As for how long... as long as you feel is necessary." A pause. "Or until I start doing real damage."

He poses no argument to detoxification. It would seem he wants to get through that before anything else.

Jean nods, flipping a hand almost perfunctorily at his suggestion of replacing the memories. "Yes," she says, brushing it away. "That's usually how its done. I can't leave you with a 'hole'. Especially not when you will be scanned as a matter of course. But, altered memories can still leave a trace. There are always seams. The trick is to know how to hide them." Which she does. But, a telepath of Charles' caliber would see right through that. Fortunately, there are very, very few other telepaths in the world that can truly rival either of them.

She notes his tremor. And she understands the layers it represents. Her lips press together. "Well," she says decisively after a moment. "Let's get you detoxed, first. Once we've accomplished that?" She gives a wry smile. "Then we'll deal with the rest of it."

The detox process will take a bit of time, after all. Not an excessive amount. But, enough...

Kwabena leans to the side, concealing a trio of heavy coughs into his hand. When he looks back to Jean, there's a similarly wry smile on his face. "I've been through it before and survived," he notes. "Lets just hope Doom was bluffing when he said it would be impossible to survive."

There is a pause, and the smirk fades into a more earnest smile.

"I don't think he evah expected me to end up here."

A fair assessment, considering there aren't many people who know that this place even exists.

Silence comes about Kwabena then. He wishes to thank Jean for listening, but in this instance, words are simply not enough. He bows his head somewhat, and murmurs his gratitude in the native tongue of Dagnme. "Mo tsumi. Si lafa, mo tsumi."

Jean understands the sentiment, perhaps even catches the translation in the man's surface thoughts. She smiles gently. "You're welcome." A beat. She regards him directly. "We're not out of the woods, yet, though." Hell, they're just entering it.

She rises and glances around to see what she'll need to synthesize some sort of 'antidote' or 'anti-craving' to his addiction -- though that will likely require a trip across the way to the Medlab. Regardless, there are some things she can pull from here. "The first thing we need to do is start you on some sort of stabilizer." She glances back at him as she starts sorting through chemicals. "And, soon enough, I'm going to need to touch your mind, too." She finds something that should allow her to simulate the binders that the opiates have and uses it as a base. "We also should find some place safe to see about giving you some control over your powers. Frankly, Kwabena, I could probably suppress your new ability -- if you wanted. But, that won't really solve anything in the long run. Especially not if you go to Genosha again." If he joins with Magneto. Indeed, it'd be a huge blinking neon sign that his mind had been tampered with. Which makes it a no-go in that case.

"Mmm," murmurs Kwabena. "No. I have not tried to engage it on my own, so I do not know if it is possible." There is a moment's hesitation though. "Howevah, the last time dis happened, I did lose control."

It was relatively harmless then, shifting from flesh to gas, to liquid, and back. None of those forms could truly harm anyone. Why would it be any different this time?

"Perhaps-" He pauses, and suddenly doubles over, dry heaving for a moment. The withdrawal symptoms are coming along much faster than they should, a suggestion that Doom was not bluffing. "Perhaps we should move to de Dangah Room?"

"Yeah," Jean says, eyeing him as he coughs. She reaches out to lay a hand on the side of his face. It helps her make a stronger telepathic contact. "Just relax a moment, first. Let me see if I can at least buy us enough time to create the binder we need." She adjusts her shields sufficiently to allow the young man's thoughts and being to become more apparent to her, no longer blocked out by those strong bulwarks. At the very least, she can pull suppress some of the symptoms -- for a little while, anyway.

"Let's go," she says, once the suppression field is in place. "We'll get you set up in there and safe enough for the time I'll need to finish the chemical synthesis."

She hopes.

Mere moments before the contact is made, Kwabena has already begun to tremble. Even the pallor of his face has grown more apparent.

The thoughts that are so well kept within the Ghanaian's mind are revealed, and they aren't pretty at first. The addictions of his younger days are like a stain on his soul. There is shame. There is fear. Most of all, there is anger, which can be a good or bad thing, depending on how far the scale tips. Right now, that scale teeters dangerously between anger at himself, and anger at the addiction.

Soon enough, however, the telepathic mastery begins to knit things back together. The beads of cold sweat stop forming, the trembling subsides, and his pallor once again darkens.

Taking a deep and steadying breath, Kwabena rises to his feet. He finds more strength there than he had anticipated, and this serves to invigorate him. "Nevah let de clinics know about this," he jokes. "They'll steal you away and try to patent you."

Humor has its place, after all, even in dark times.

That said, Kwabena takes advantage of what time he has, and makes way for the Danger Room. In there, should he lose control and ignite, there may be a chance to prevent catastrophe.

Jean chuckles dryly at the humour. "Yeah, they can try..." She could bring a whole new meaning to the words 'mind flayer'.

Once he's safely ensconced in the Danger Room, and she's activated the advanced safeties, just in case, she returns to the lab to work on a quick synthesis. It won't be perfect -- she'll need more time for that. But, it should do the trick in the short term.

Of course, from his perspective, worrying about when the psychic placebo might wear off, it like feels like hours rather than the twenty or so minutes it is in actuality.

When Jean reenters, however, she has with her a syringe filled with a clear liquid she believes will do the trick... for now.

When Jean returns, Kwabena is found sitting cross-legged in the dead center of the Danger Room. His eyes are closed and he seems to be in a meditative state again, doing what he can to help fight the few effects of withdrawal that have managed to sneak through. Those effects only render themselves in the form of an occasional twitch.

Slowly he opens his eyes when the door opens, having found himself in a state of near relaxation. He looks warily upon the syringe she holds, but then reminds himself that this will be one time when such an item is of benefit.

"Is that my fix?" he asks quietly, though his words have the slightest of trembles. To Kwabena, the bit of dark humor further serves to steady his nerves. He has a unique sense of humor, after all.

Jean gives the African a wry smile. "Let's hope so," she says. "At least, it should work for now. I'll see about synthesizing something more comprehensive over the next several hours. But, we need to keep you stable for now.

She glances at the needle. She knows it's not his favorite device. "I'd have made you a pill, if I could, but the shot will be more immediate, which is important at the moment." Perhaps in a few hours. She might be able to rig up a capsule with enough juice in it. But, right now, she's not sure.

She crosses to him with it and crouches beside him, looking at him with her bright green eyes. "You okay for this?"

There are few words that come from Kwabena, for his fight stands alongside that of the protective shield she had given to him. "I undahstand," he offers quietly, doing his best to conceal at least some of the tremors in his voice. He meets the woman's gaze for a moment, his eyes briefly touched by hesitation. Then, he nods his head and reaches out to begin curling up his sleeve; both the cuff of his shirt and the much different fabric of the X-Men uniform beneath.

"You'll find my digital consent forms propahly completed and filed," he adds, which is followed in short order with a wry smirk of his own.

Old habits die hard. The African curls his hand upward, forming a fist, and flexes it three times until more of his veins are visible. He doesn't even think of it; it's been so long since he actually used. However, the rigamarole seems ingrained in him. He notices, lets out a quiet sigh, then relaxes his hand. "Sorry..."

Jean lets out a dry, rueful chuckle. "It's okay," she says. "I get it." And, she does. She saw into his head, after all. She takes an alcohol swab out of her pocket at opens it, swabbing down a likely spot on a vein. Then, she checks the needle both visually and telekinetically (molecularly) to make sure she won't introduce any air bubbles or foreign substances into his body. Satisfied, she carefully inserts the point into his arm and pushes the plunger to force the liquid into his body.

Something akin to a grimace forms on Kwabena's face, but it is mingled with relaxation of his muscles. Relief. Knowing that it will take at least some time to reach his brain and begin filtering into his synapses, Kwabena closes his eyes, takes deep, steadying breaths, and does everything he can not to move. He knew from experience that blood pressure could be his worst enemy.

"You know," he says quietly, "Magneto didn't even considah de option of medical treatment. He suggested--of all things--dat I would need to use." He slowly opens his eyes, and a stalwart expression seems to have found its way into them. "I believe... dat is when I saw his true colors most clearly."

Jean grimaces at what Kwabena tells her. "I can't say I'm surprised," she says, withdrawing the needle from his arm. "Magneto is, at the end of the day, all about control -- especially control over others." He's set himself up as defacto king of Genosha, hasn't he? Or very near to. Perhaps that particular re-conquest isn't complete, yet. But, Jean doesn't doubt it will be one day. "He claims to want nothing more than mutant freedom, but the truth is he's as much a controlling dictator as any of the human despots he claims to revile."

Apparently she has strong feelings about him.

She regards Kwabena steadily. "How do you want to deal with this new power of yours? I can very likely teach you quite a bit about control -- and very likely control you if you start to overload." What she doesn't say is the cost to herself, if she tries. It may require her to open herself up to the Phoenix Entity. And that's very, very dangerous. But, since it left her... well, she still packs a much stronger punch than she ever did before.

Kwabena nods his head at what Jean says. He knew quite a bit about the dictators of history, and they all seem to run alike. He begins to consider Magneto as stacked up to men of old, such as Caesar, Hitler...

Abruptly, the African's eyes grow alarmed. Each moment further that he speaks of the despot, it is yet more thought and memory that they will have to re-trace, should they go down that road. "Perhaps it is best... if we don't speak of him too much."

A knowing expression is given. It's easier to change one color than many.

To follow that thought through, he will have to consider being very cautious indeed. Granted, he's never acted completely trusting around Erik Lehnsherr, but. Sometimes sleeping dogs should let lay.

Feeling the effects of the serum at work, Kwabena seems to loosen up a bit further. "I think," he offers, eyes lidding somewhat. "We might leave dat for anodah day. Right now, Jean, I could really use some sleep."

Jean nods to that. "Okay, Shift," she smiles. She rises and takes a step back. "Come see me again in the morning. I'll see what we can do to continue your treatment."

She's perfectly willing to leave him to his rest. She has a lot to mull over, herself... and no one she can share it with.