#sinister thread

“Haven’t you heard, Charles? Duplication is against the law.“

Not that it had really stopped him. Sinister’s great work, for better or worse, was near complete. Oh, certainly, it had changed. And frankly Charles had done most of the work. But a world under the charge of mutants? That was always his goal. He’d accepted it would never be under his dominion, but on a long enough timeline he could change things. 

Manipulation was his greatest skill. 

He understood, of course. Charles had taken this burden on himself. Sinister would never have done it. Not for all the wealth in the world. Because this, Charles Xavier nearly unhinged and on the edge, this was all he’d wanted. From the first moment he had walked through that gate, Sinister had been playing his own game. This felt like a turning point.

He watched, a rare moment when he wasn’t wearing his cape and grand attire. He was simply wearing a loose fitting black tunic and pants. He leaned forward, tentative, resting a hand on Charles’ knee.

“Office hours are between four and five, Mr. Xavier.“

Oh, no, he’s trying to be funny. This can only lead to tears.

Nathaniel wasn’t at all surprised by the arrival of Charles, of course. Sinister was the odd man out, so to speak. At least among the Council. There were plenty of heinous mutants welcomed onto Krakoa. But none of them had been given a seat of power. Nathaniel, of course, knew he was only welcomed because of what he brought. 

Immortality, it turns out, fetches quite the hefty price. 

Mister Sinister was nothing if not pragmatic. He knew the laws, and he knew how much damage he could do to avoid murder. He also knew Charles was going to have opinions on all of this. It did not mattered. They both lived, that was what was important. Yet somewhere in his fervor, Sinister had missed something. He looked back at Charles, a wounded fledgling bird, caught in his cape. There was so much pity in his expression, then. A flash. Just a moment, before it was stamped out.

Leaning down, Essex put an arm under Charles’ legs while the other cradled his back. The weight of a limp human body was nothing to him. He hefted Charles carefully, holding him as gently as a newborn pup. 

For all his bluster and affected foolishness, Sinister found himself glad Charles was still alive. But it was a pragmatic gladness, surely. A desire to avoid the tedium of everyone on the island moping. Nothing more.

“Yes, Charles, we surely will. And aren’t you fortunate you are still alive to hate me.“

He stepped out of the room, walking over the screaming and crying bodies of permanently mangled human bodies. They weren’t even people to him. Just meat. In the hall he reached out, finding panicked minds everywhere. And more importantly, little pin pricks of thought he couldn’t penetrate. Telepathy might not be able to control these killers, but it could still be useful in tracking them. 

“Darling. My pretty, pretty pet. Do you want to tell me what the meaning of this is?“

Sinister held up the cape, which reeked. Some of it’s plumage was gone, shorn away. The real problem as far as he was concerned, was the smell. He was sure as fuck that it was Wild Child. Marking. 

Virion was a most useful tool, but she was a tool nonetheless. Her powers, and knack for acquiring skills, made her incredibly important to his work. Even relatively unaltered she remained his most valuable Marauder. Too valuable to risk, even with cloning a possibility. 

His attention barely faltered from the work station as she sought his attention. “Sleep is a weakness of lesser lifeforms, beloved.” On the slab before him was a mutant man, limbs splayed open, throat vivisected. Sinister was learning very little. This was mostly for his own amusement. The subject thrashed, but neither his legs nor his arms were functional. He spent the next few seconds resting a probe on the man’s chest, which began to burrow into muscle. He never tired of the sound of bone cracking.