Disclaimer: X-men © Stan Lee

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Vacuum of God

Introduction:

WHITE

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Naked and clean shaven, the woman wakes by an eerie humming, imprisoned in the womb of a machine.

The veneer of scrap metal and remnants of outmoded tech cuts into her feet and butt. Electrodes are inserted into her scalp, measuring her brain waves, wires connected to the computer chamber. Her knees are drawn to her chest in a replication of a foetus. She dry heaves as memories floods her disorientated mind. Previous events have left her skin eggplant toned. Wobbly like a toddler, she gets up. Voltage grills her marred soles. Her singed nerve endings spasm. The glass is technologically tinted. She looks out because they want her to.

The woman bangs her bruised knuckles against it, lips parted in a horrible grimace, emitting—

Sound.

Vibrations carried through air, effectively blocked by a 45cm layer of glass. Most wars are fought in silence.

The corridor Erik Lehnsherr is walking through is silent and pristine.

Never mind the cells on each side and the captives within. Each is 3x3m. One meter in between. Fed 05:00 and 21:00. One tenth doesn't survive a year. Svalbard's climate prevents mass graves and cremation. Manufacturing an acid pool inside the mountain facility solved the issue of body disposal. At least they're fed thanks to Svalbard's global seed vault, and warm since nuclear winter doesn't affect the guts of the Earth.

(Most of the captives have given up, allowing themselves to be subjected to inhumane treatment and tests, curled against a corner of their separate little bellies. Some pace back and forth, mouth foaming and injuries haemorrhaging and leaking pus. A few newcomers torture themselves with hope.)

Today, they all see him. Dead eyes. Mad eyes. Hopeful, hateful eyes.

This is requested by Shaw to check that Erik's lips are still around his cock, metaphorically speaking. Shaw has become more vicious, overweight and paranoid in his old age. Erik does not allow him the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. There is a practised stillness to his face. He'd learned it early, when Shaw had lined up children and told Erik to choose one or Shaw would shoot them all.

Erik is dressed in black, contrasting his surroundings. Why are cruel men so insistent to paint everything white? To make an illusion of purity? He finds himself preferring the barbed wire, darkness and grime of the battlefield. The suitcase containing a hundred names is suddenly heavier in his hand.

After it is clear Erik will not respond to the ghastly prisoners, the glass goes white again, as if they had never existed at all.

"Mr. Lehnsherr," a uniformed man greets. The personnel here have the look of someone who'd score above 72 on the Milgram Obedience Examination. "He's expecting you."

Heopens the door for Erik, revealing a waiting room in the same minimalist fashion as the rest of the facility. The furnishing and colouring are simplistic and symmetrical. Loudspeakers play musique d'ameublement. Riptide and Azazel wait for him, wordlessly guiding him to the office. The last incident was four years ago, but none of Shaw's bodyguards trust him. They think him feral.

"Erik. How nice of you to join us."

Shaw's chair is in leather, complete with a designer glass desk. The plastic chair in front of it is small and uncomfortable, as to make the one sitting there feel just that.

Erik does not sit until Shaw gestures for him to do so. The man is eating blood sausage with honey. The dish has a tendency to fall apart or become bloated during roasting. If Erik did that to Shaw, would all the human juice inside spill over the white of his office? That'd be a pleasing sight. Erik meets Emma Frost's gaze and projects the image to her. All the indication that she saw is a small nose wrinkle.

Shaw smiles, lips wet with blood. "Want some?"

"No."

"Ah, yes, you've probably seen enough blood for a lifetime." Another bite. A sluck! noise as the sausage implodes between his pomegranate red teeth. "Excellent job staging that massacre in Liege. Wasn't what I requested, but it produced great results."

"...Massacre?"

"Didn't you know? The humans you sent to that bunker never got out. As you know, it was a major safe zone for civilians, compact enough to withstand nuclear war. To avoid detection by radars, they had to turn the light off, leaving them in utter darkness. Elderly, children, ill people, and pregnant women. What could happen? Panic did. It spread like a virus. Sixty harmless individuals became savages. We don't know what triggered it. The bombs above? Human nature? Perhaps there was something else down there? Soldiers stationed outside came to their rescue as soon as they heard the screaming, but the door was locked from the inside. And then... silence. Not a sound. Nobody has managed to get the door up. Paranoia ate the ranks. Soldiers started killing each other. This is what happens when you try saving people, Erik."

Erik's jaw tightens. This is what he chooses to tell Erik after no contact in 4 months. He still knows exactly what to say to get under his skin. "I completed the missions. I did not disobey."

Shaw dries his mouth with a napkin. Oddly demonstrative, he lets it fall.

In a flash a boy captures it; a mutant with the power of super speed. His plump face is terrified, dishevelled hair platinum (as in the ore, not the blonde variant) and clothes reserved for obedient prisoners, although his 70mA shock collar tells that he can be rendered harmless at any moment.

"Good boy, Peter. Erik, tell me all the things you've done these past months."

It extinguishes him. The stillness returns and settles. "Sabotage. Bombing. Blackmail. Manipulation. Assassination. Warfare."

"See, Peter? The real monsters are out there. Not in here. Now scram." The boy obeys. As soon as he's gone, Shaw leans back. Erik is settled and has become Shaw's pet monster again. "You had something for me," Shaw says softly.

Erik presents the suitcase. He opens it, takes out folded paper copies, an USB and a computer. Shaw chooses the USB, gesturing something to Azazel. The mutant is badly disfigured after the battles in Thailand, neck scarred, left arm amputated. He's expressionless and does as commanded. A hologram map appears above them. Red dots blink beside names.

"With this information it'll be easy to target the opposition. Emma, begin the procedure, please."

Erik rises.

Shaw does, too. "I did not say you were finished yet." He speaks German, which he only does during the nasty experiments and exercises Erik's forced to partake in. "Leave us." Azazel, Frost and Riptide do, albeit reluctantly. Shaw does not move until they're alone. He proceeds to circle Erik, admiring his handiwork, until he stops in front of him. "I have a special mission for you. However, I do believe I need to punish you."

After a quick scan of the room he sees 26 methods of mortally wounding Shaw through metal telekinesis. But Erik doesn't. He lets it throws Erik through the room.

The impact crushes three abstract statues. Pieces slide into his thigh. He releases bursts of absorbed energy, and Erik is again smashed against the wall, again and again. Shaw coordinates the eruptions, sometimes dragging the moments out, other times sending an everlasting avalanche on Erik until he screams. He curls into himself. It feels as if his body's very cells deconstruct. An eternity passes. When Shaw is finished, Erik is black and blue with bruises. His worth is the same as a lab rat.

"Come here."

Erik doesn't hesitate. He stumbles forward.

(This is the only life he's ever known.)

"No." And then Erik is on his knees, walking on them, until Shaw pushes once more and he's on all fours. "I want you to crawl."

Erik does this too, a bruised and broken creature, worming forward until he's with Shaw's feet. He leaves a trail of blood. "Tch tch. Get up." Erik struggles to stand, swaying back and forth, trembling. He does not wish to see, but forces himself to greet his fate and see Shaw's fist in the air. "I have missed this."

It collides with his face with inhuman force.

His jaw fractures with a loud, awful crack!

For a millisecond, Erik considers fighting back. But he doesn't.

(This is the only life he'll ever know.)

"Do not worry, we have a healer here. Like I said, I need you for something big. I want you to travel to northern Russia to buy a particular telepath for me. Now get out of my sight. You're drooling blood all over the floor."

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Erik isn't two steps out of Shaw's office before Azazel appears out of nowhere, grabs his arm, mutters "Do not take this personal" and teleports into an unknown room. He leaves as soon as he's finished. It is dark except several light bulbs screwed into the roof. It is 100% stone, and the nearest metal is too far to reach.

"They used to use this place for execution. They'd fill the place with gas, letting the subject into a deep, eternal sleep. Sounds relaxing?" Emma Frost reveals herself. "Don't worry. We're in the facility. Shaw won't know, and you won't tell him. I'm doing you a favour, Magneto."

She uses the name to spite him.

"I will not sugar coat it. I know that one day you'll finally snap and kill him. And he'll let you. The reason I care is because if Shaw dies, his work decays along with him. That means all the children he has in his care, too. And I know he doesn't care for them. But he keeps us alive. You are a murderer. You are the dog for him to point in a direction, not a leader. Your trade is death. Should you murder Shaw, then I will murder you afterwards."

This is not a threat, or a warning. This is a promise.

"You will kill me," Erik concludes, although his jaw hurts like hell.

"Yes," Emma Frost agrees. Then, quieter: "If you are smart, you'll never come back with the telepath."

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Shaw's jet is luxurious. It is like sitting in a cinema—when those things existed in other places than in literature or ruins—in which the windows are screens, showing a documentary of a war long since passed. They avoid combat zones, but every now and then they pass over burnt cities and villages. Three stops: the Rödenberget Fortress in what once was Sweden, and two secret bases somewhere in western Russia. Shaw has allies everywhere. Members of Shaw's inner circle go off and on. Erik is not allowed to leave. He spends his time reading.

The jet lands two kilometres from the final destination, a distance he must walk. Russian soldiers collect him halfway, exchanging no words until his ID has been scanned and Erik has said the codes. They lead him to the fortress. Erik feels a surge of power—because the construction is made of metal. It sings to him. Unlike Shaw, who is very reliant on his power, Erik prefers to use his as a surprise momentum. They do not know.

Erik carries another suitcase. As cash has become obsolete, the suitcase contains a biological weapon: a disease that makes the organs start their post mortem process. Antibiotics are expensive and they'd get a ton of soldiers by saying "fight for us or rot". More than enough to pay for a single mutant, so this one must be quite exquisite.

General O greets him; a land whale too scared to tell Erik his real name. In these ages, all bosses are fat and delusional. His buttons are about to burst. One can see the flabby skin underneath. Erik is more repulsed by him than of a decomposing corpse, but does not show it as he hands General O's assistant the suitcase.

This is all very...

Quiet.

The last time Erik was truly awake was four years ago, when he'd broken Shaw's nose. He walks in a coma, answering questions, blasé. The soldiers marching after them do not unnerve him. Their helmets are made of steel. Erik twists his thumb and a tiny bulk appears in the nearest man's headgear, reassuring him that he could squelch their little heads when he so desires.

"I think you would like a demonstration of the mutant's power, yes?" General O does not wait for an answer. "Prisoner number seven is ferocious. Killed over a hundred men. Thankfully for you, we have done the hardest part of the job: categorizing him, restraining him, surgically implanted tracking devices, among other things... He is very weak at the moment."

In another life, Erik might've reacted with rage at the inhuman treatment of a fellow mutant.

"Good. I'm glad this is not a lengthy affair."

General O smiles a wet lipped smile. "Yes. He is ready for you to take away."

Erik is led deeper into the fortress. Hadn't he been blanketed in stillness and steel, there'd been a sinking feeling twisting in his gut. This seems to be the scientific part of the construction. Unlike Shaw, who likes displaying his enemies-turned-experiments, there are no indications of evil deeds but the stink of hospital and blood.

"What are you to Shaw?" General O smiles even wider. This is the first thing Erik can't answer without thinking. "Are you his pet? A dog, yes? Because it'd be fitting to send back your head as a token, Mr. Frost. If you don't survive, that is."

Frost?

Why on earth do they think—?

Ah. They believe he's Emma Frost.

'Oh for fuck's sake.'

An invisible door opens, and Erik is thrown into it before he can object. It slams shut after him, and voices ring from the loudspeakers, but he blocks them out and starts banging on the door. It is completely dark around him. He stops as he recalls the woman, face gnarled with horror.

Something rustles behind him.

Someone turns the light on. Bright, unbearable, blue. He shields his face. Turns around. Sees a silhouette of a man. He has his hands in the pockets of his scrubs, facing Erik.

"Hello. My name is Charles Xavier." It is toneless, and he speaks with a British accent. "I'm a telepath, and they want me to kill you."

The man tilts his head to the side, listening to the Russian gibberish spewed over the loudspeakers. Erik adapts to the light. Xavier is a pale, skinny, and brown haired. Nothing odd in particular except massive injuries. His wounds have wounds, and his bruises have bruises. Xavier looks to have been maltreated regularly in a long time. A distinct example is his black eye: a dark purple eye lid, reddening circularly, until the last ring is yellowed as if greased with iodine. A cut goes from the upper bridge of his nose to eyebrow, cutting through the brow in the middle, ending about 5cm from the end of it. It is sewn shut with black thread. Too precise to be done in anger. Xavier has been tortured by someone cold and calculated.

However, the man is not broken, nor is he scared in any way. Instead there is steel in his eyes, and Erik wishes he could—

The voice cuts through Erik's thoughts and defences, slicing into his brain like a cold razor sliding across an eyeball.

They say you're a telepath, too. I don't think so. Xavier walks closer. However, I do believe you're a mutant. Do you work for them?

Erik thinks of all the things he can say to this man and settles on, "Fuck you."

Xavier smiles, but his split lip makes it ugly.

Meanwhile, the Russian continues until two distinct screamed words separate themselves from the rest. Erik doesn't know much Russian but knows this: "KILL HIM!" Xavier jerks. Smoke rises from his neck and wrists, where a metal collar and matching bracelets reside to keep him under control. God knows what else they've sewn into him. When he doesn't immediately do as ordered, an ear splitting sound erupts. Aural torment: a torture strategy. Like a dog whistle, for humans. Xavier falls to his knees, clutching his ears.

For Erik, it's an alarm clock. He stands up straight and holds out his arms.

The loudspeakers explode. What has been Xavier's room for the past months caves in on itself. The polished steel walls turn bulky, form twisting like jelly, and the thick door curls. It strains him. It is his turn to fall to his knees.

"Amazing," Xavier mutters, but the awe only lasts so long—then it turns ambitious and cunning. Erik feels him tryingly probe his mind, not quite as sharp as before. "Fascinating, too."

"Get out."

"Your options are limited. You're not strong enough to go on. Too many mental locks. There have been other people meddling in your head, haven't there?"

Gunshots echo on the other side of the ruined door.

"We don't have much time. Listen to me and—"

Erik hisses and clutches his head while Xavier follows, even if the steel still chants and curves.

—allow me to enter your mind, Erik. Please. Let me in let me in letmeinletmein...

It is a combination of stress and persuasion, because Erik bars his teeth and shouts, "Fine!" His defences drop like an atom bomb. Xavier reacts by slamming his hand flats against Erik's head.

This will be rather painful. I'd say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie.

His world goes white.

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When Erik comes back to consciousness, the first thing that hits him is the cold. Rather obvious, really, as he has snow up to his waist. But there is a different cold, also, one he hasn't felt in a long time. Never mind that he is sticky with blood that isn't his—so much in fact that his hair is soaked and it runs into his eyes—and never mind that there's a half dead telepath beside him in the snow.

His mind is cut open.

Clear.

He is free again.

Erik does not recall what Xavier did with his body, but he can't go back. He supposes he should feel empty or frustrated, as he has served Shaw since he was eight and that is now over. But instead there is icy calm. There is no turning back. If Shaw does not kill him, Emma Frost will.

"This is your fault," Erik says matter-of-factly to the unconscious mutant, briefly considering leaving him there. Why would he choose to stop here? Exhaustion? Has the cold killed him? He's stolen thicker clothes, so no. Erik looks around. They're on top of a hill. The facility or the jet isn't anywhere near them. But west of them, there is a village. That's where Erik heads.

Or, takes three steps towards it.

Then he turns, watching Xavier lie there. He's going to die. And if he doesn't, the Russians will collect him. That isn't an option. His arm is outstretched, revealing numbers. Unlike Erik's, they're not tattoos, but carvings.

Erik walks back to him immediately.