Post by Stardrifter on Mar 16, 2014 17:21:07 GMT -5
by
Stardrifter
#1 - Pawn Promotion
The silence in the New York City back alley is broken by the sound of scraping metal. A lone, large figure pushes a manhole cover aside with little effort. Steam rises into the cold night air, along with the stench. The man growls in protest before jumping down into the sewer. He lands with a splash, the water and sewer muck going up to his shins and splashing onto his worn black leather pants. The already dirt crusted edges of his brown trench coat fall in and out of the water as he moves, the sloshing sound echoing all around him.
After a few paces, the man stops suddenly. Sniffing the air, he crouches down into a defensive stance, every muscle on his body tensing in anticipation. More sloshing sounds begin to echo from around the corner. As they get closer and closer, the man's lips curl back to reveal his fangs. He spreads his hands out, revealing inch long razor sharp claws at the end of every finger.
Just as the sloshing sounds are about to come around the corner, the man makes an expertly timed leap forward. He collides with another man and tackles him into the wall. Before his victim can react, the man has wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the other's throat, lifting him off the ground and against the wall. His claws dig into skin, causing a bead of blood to drip down.
"Even in all this shit, you stink," the man growls. He looks over the other man, his tiny frame covered in a haphazard assortment of rags and mismatched boots. His skin is a sickly shade of greenish yellow. Small patches of hair cover a mostly bald head. "I'm guessing you're Ryan?" he asks, lowering the man down.
"Y-Yes..." Ryan doubles over and gasps, wiping the blood from his neck. "Sabretooth?" The man grunts in acknowledgement. "Y-You're...b-bigger than I thought..."
"You can get me to the club?" Sabretooth growls, his patience thin.
"Y-Yes!" Ryan yells, happy to be down to business. "This way!" He turn and begins to lead them down the sewer tunnel. The silence doesn't last long. "It's pretty simply, really. The sewers follow the city blocks accurately. If you can envision the surface in your head, then you'll always know where you are. You just have to deal with some gates and such, but you don't seem like the kind of guy who'll have a problem with that. Though the club does have some custom work done down here. Pretty fortified. I wonder why. Heh, probably to stop people like us from doing what we're doing right now, right? So why are you trying to get in there anyway?"
It takes a few seconds for the disinterested Sabretooth to realize Ryan stopped talking. He looks up and sees the man looking over his shoulder at him, waiting for an answer. Finally he grumbles, "You don't want to know, kid."
The limo comes to a stop and the flashes begin. Paparazzi crowd around, held at bay by security, snapping pictures furiously before the limo door is even open. When one of the bouncers finally opens the door, the yelling starts.
Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock sighs and puts her game face on. It's the same song and dance she's played since she first hit puberty and the English tabloids began caring about what she wore and who she might be dating. While it once excited her as a child, the attention both flattering and ego boosting, now it merely bores her.
Slowly lowering one high heeled foot onto the red carpet, Betsy steps out of the limo like a panther stalking it's prey. Every movement is smooth and deliberate. The first step allows her bare leg to escape the confines of her burgundy dress, giving the cameras a flattering show. As she comes to her feet, she stands to the side, holding her head up and her chest out. Always striking the perfect pose, Betsy only lets the cameras see what she wants them too.
After a quick glance in the side mirror of the limo to make sure her long, dark brown hair is still held up perfectly, she starts walking down the red carpet. Everyone calls her name, hoping to get her to look toward their cameras. She indulges a few before finally reaching the door.
A large bouncer wearing a black suit and tie over a blood red shirt, the standard uniform, opens the door and says, "Welcome to the Hellfire Club."
The raucous outside fades away, replaced by the roar of the crowd and the music from the stage inside. Betsy surveys the large room. Three levels surround a giant open middle where the stage is located. Colored lights flash all over the stage and the dance floor. Multiple bars on each level keep the drinks flowing as the party goers mingle and dance the night away.
On stage, Betsy sees a teenage girl with brown skin and black hair strutting and singing. Instantly she recognizes Monet, who is singing her newest hit single, "Betrayal." A surprised smile forms as Betsy realizes Monet is actually singing, as opposed to the last musician she heard at the London location.
"Mmm," she whispers as she reaches up to rub her temples. The noise of the club would be enough to give anyone a headache, but it's worse for Betsy. Not only does she have to contend with the voices, but as a mutant with the power of telepathy, she has to deal with the barrage of thoughts and feelings she can sense from the crowd. Usually easy to block out, the sheer number of people make it a bit draining.
"Ms. Braddock," a woman nearly shouts as she walks up. Her hair is black and cut short, framing her attractive, pale face. She wears a simple yet expensive strapless black dress, with matching arm length gloves. To say she stands out in the crowd of concert goers and partiers is an understatement. "Lovely to see you again. Mr. Shaw will be so happy you accepted his invitation."
"Ah Tessa," Betsy smiles insincerely. "A pleasure as always." Betsy has never liked this cold, almost emotionless woman. She's always a closed book to her, which is more than unusual for a telepath. She's considered pushing her way into Tessa's mind on more than one occasion, only to dismiss it for fear of what she might find. Why Shaw keeps her around is beyond her.
"Do you wish to enjoy yourself for a time, or would you like to see Mr. Shaw now?"
Despite the even, almost monotone sound of Tessa's voice, Betsy is almost certain it's condescending. "As much fun as you must be, I think not." Her voice drips with calculated British snark. If it offends Tessa in the slightest, she shows nothing.
The two make their way through the crowd. Betsy scans the faces as they go, recognizing a number of America's brightest young stars. A part of her wishes she had chosen to remain, but she certainly wouldn't give Tessa the satisfaction of changing her mind now.
Finally the pair reach a double door with two more bouncers in front of it. A line of people stand in front of a third man with a tablet. Some offer names and are allowed through. Others offer money and are turned away. None, however, offer any resistance.
Tessa leads Betsy past the line and straight to the doors. The bouncers nod and hold the doors open for them, leading to a short hallway and another set of doors. As the doors behind them shut, the noise and music from the previous room comes to an abrupt halt. The VIP area gets only the best in soundproofing.
Betsy rubs her forehead again, the soundproofing doing nothing for her telepathy. Tessa turns to her with a blank expression, tilting her head slightly, "Headache?"
"I'm fine. Just...the noise."
A slight curve of the lip appears before Tessa turns to continue. A barely noticeable change if not for the fact that Betsy has never seen such a thing on Tessa's face before.
The next set of doors open and Betsy enters the main hall. The VIP area is separated into a number of rooms that cater to the varying tastes of its members. Music, dancers, gambling, certain illicit substances, you want it they have it. Only those of significant wealth or power make it this far. Or those who inherit membership from their parents. For decades, rumor and gossip about all manner of things have come out. The tabloids especially love to report on ludicrous stories about the VIP areas of the different global chapters.
"Betsy, my dear!"
"Here it is!"
Ryan's shout echoes down the tunnel. Faster than Ryan can see, Sabretooth's hand wraps around his mouth. The large man leans in close and whispers threateningly, "Don't. Speak." Ryan, his eyes wide with fear, nods.
Sabretooth turns back to the task at hand. Around the corner, about twenty feet away, is a thick gate surrounded by bars. It covers the entire tunnel, standing out like a sore thumb. The metal is shiny and clean, probably titanium, unlike the rusted steel and iron throughout the rest of the sewer. Instead of a typical lock on the door there's a keypad with a card reader. It's clear this is not a city workers job.
His back against the wall, Sabretooth peers around the corner, quickly taking it all in. He counts two cameras along the walls, one before and one after the gate. They pan back and forth in tandem, always keeping the entire tunnel covered.
"How're you..."
A glare from Sabretooth quickly silences Ryan. Reaching into the inside of his coat, Sabretooth pulls out a card. It wasn't hard to get his hands on a keycard and a passcode. For the right price, even the happiest of employees will sell out their bosses. A little more money netted him a layout of the building as well, which Sabretooth quickly memorized. From another pocket he grabs a small, cell phone sized device. Powering it up, he begins running a program to hack into the camera feed. Such high tech work is usually beneath him. He prefers letting others handle the technological aspects of jobs like this. However, when your client offers top dollar for a solo job, he's willing to expand his skills a bit. Now it's time to see if his money has been well spent. Only one loose end remains.
Without a word, Sabretooth swings his free hand around, tearing his claws into Ryan's throat. The man has absolutely no time to react. his eyes go wide, blood gushing everywhere, unable to make a sound as he falls. Sabretooth reaches down and catches him, gently placing the body into the water to prevent any noise.
A green light on his device indicates the cameras are hacked. Without a second thought, Sabretooth is on his way.
Betsy turns at her name, a smile on her face. The man who spoke walks up in a plain black suit and tie. It's a suit that screams money, but only if you know about such things. He wears no jewelry or other signs of wealth. His long, dark hair is tied back into a ponytail. "Sebastian!"
Sebastian Shaw walks up with his arms outstretched. He embraces her in a fatherly hug, and places a kiss on her cheek. "I'm delighted you accepted my invitation. It's been some time since you've been to New York."
"I was what? Sixteen. Six years? It can't have been that long." It does seem mind boggling how long it's been, yet as she looks at the older man's face, she marvels at how nothing seems to have changed since then.
"I believe Shinobi is excited to see you again," Shaw says warmly. He takes her arm and turns to walk with her, allowing Betsy an instant to show the apprehension on her face at his son's name.
"Yes I...look forward to seeing him too." If Shaw hears the strain in her voice, he shows no sign of it.
The two continue to stroll slowly through the VIP area, nodding in greeting to others as they pass. Tessa falls in behind them, silently following her employer, always at the ready.
"I thought your brother might be with you," Shaw muses.
"He had other concerns back in London," she replies, sharply.
Shaw pats her hand reassuringly. "So it's true the two of you aren't getting along?"
"It's...complicated." That didn't even begin to describe it.
"Well truth be told, it was only you I wanted to see. I have a...proposition for you," Shaw smiles, his tone gleefully cryptic. "One I feel you may find impossible to refuse."
Betsy smiles back at him. She resists the urge to pry, instead letting Shaw have his fun for now. "Oh really? Well last I checked you were happily married."
Shaw erupts in laughter, deep and hearty. Others turn to look, but he pays them no mind. "My dear, I would never even consider it. I'm old enough to be your father."
A brief noise comes from Tessa, almost like a hiccup, causing Betsy to look over. Tessa looks down and avoids her eyes.
"Sebastian!" an older gentlemen calls out as he walks over, a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. "Where've you been hiding yourself?" When he looks over at Betsy, he smiles and says, "Entertaining, eh?"
"Always," Shaw replies, shaking the mans hand firmly. "Allow me to introduce Elizabeth Braddock, a family friend from London. Betsy, this is Senator Robert Kelly."
Kelly shakes her hand, nodding his head. An older gentlemen in his late 40s, Kelly has a very old timey American vibe. His reddish-brown hair is slicked and parted into a traditional hairstyle. His suit is fine but generic. "Braddock? Brian Braddock's sister?"
"Yes."
"Ah yes. I've heard of your brother's proposed advances in nuclear energy. Some most impressive work."
"I've heard of you as well, Senator. From what I hear, you're not a popular man right now."
A weak smile spreads on Kelly's face. "Ah yes. Well what's best for the country isn't always the popular choice. The people will come around."
"Of course," Betsy replies diplomatically.
"I'd actually be interested to hear what they think of the Superhuman Registration Act in England? Granted your country doesn't have the high volume of incidents we've been having, but I've seen the numbers. Super powered crime and violence has risen there too."
"Barely. America still holds the market share of violence, from what I understand."
Kelly visibly bristles at her comment. Standing up straighter, he raises his voice slightly, "So you believe we shouldn't be doing everything we can to safeguard our citizens?"
"I'm confused," Betsy says sarcastically. She doesn't need her powers to know how to push this man's buttons. "How is state endorsed discrimination safeguarding citizens?"
"It's not discrimination," Kelly says, waving his hand. The cigar, long forgotten, spreads ash over the floor. "There are dangerous people out there who need to be kept track of and held accountable. Just the other day, these so called 'Avengers' stopped a bank robbery. The city praises them, ignoring the massive property damage! City streets ruined, the bank destroyed, normal citizens lives in shambles after their cars are demolished! For what? So these vigilantes can endanger the public fighting a super criminal over some money that the bank's insurance would cover?
"Where's the accountability? Who is going to pay for the buildings and streets damaged? Who is going help the citizens who lose their jobs because they can't commute to work after their car insurance tells them super powered brawls aren't covered? Who..."
"I think that's enough for now," Shaw interrupts, placing a hand on Kelly's shoulder. "I don't think Ms. Braddock came tonight to debate politics. Nor you."
Kelly blinks for a moment, still caught up in his rant. Then he laughs, his stern expression quickly dissolving. "Of course. My apologies."
"No harm," Betsy smiles back. Yet.
"Well enjoy the rest of the evening, Senator," Shaw says, giving Kelly a friendly slap on the back. "Ms. Braddock and I have a lot of catching up to do." They say farewell and continue on their way.
"Such a pleasant man," Betsy groans once they're out of earshot.
"The Senator is...driven. I'll give him that. But I do believe he means well."
Betsy sighs, deciding not to continue the discussion. If only Shaw knew that Betsy is one of the very people Senator Kelly is so against. Would he be so uncaring then? Betsy's mood turns sour, a strong sense of loneliness overcoming her. She walks along with Shaw in silence, offering the occasional pleasantry to those they greet along the way, but little more.
Eventually they reach a set of doors with two guards in front of them. The guards quickly hold the doors open. Once they're through into the hallway beyond, Shaw brings the conversation back up. "He does mean well."
"Hmm?" Betsy hums, confused at the sudden comment.
"Senator Kelly. He believes it's absolutely necessary for super humans to be registered and controlled. A cause I support, but not for the reasons you might expect." Shaw suddenly brings them to a stop, moves to stand in front of Betsy, and takes her hands in his. "It scares you. The idea that men like him will find out what you are and take your freedom, or worse?"
Betsy's eyes go wide in shock. She turns to look at Tessa, whose blank expression offers nothing. She looks back at Shaw, a man she's known her whole life, lied to most of it, and stammers, "I-I-I don't know wh..."
"It's all right, Betsy my dear," Shaw says in a soothing tone. "You have nothing to fear from me. I know you're a mutant. A telepath. I've known longer than you have." Suddenly dizzy, Betsy begins to fall back, but Shaw hold tight to her hands and keeps her on her feet. "I've kept my eye on you for some time. Since you left college you've been wandering the globe, taking on causes without one of your own. Disaster relief, poverty, starvation. All the while using your gift to help in small, ultimately insignificant ways. You've always been an intelligent woman. You know you're charity has done little more than put a band aid on the symptoms."
Taking her arm again, they start walking once more. "What if I were to offer you a chance to use your wealth, influence, and talents to deal with the cause. To step up to the real playing field. To be a part of the decisions that really affect our world."
"I-I don't know...I don't understand..."
They reach another set of doors. Tessa runs ahead and opens them, then stands aside to let them pass. Shaw waves his hand in front of them. "Welcome, Elizabeth Braddock, to the Inner Circle."
The soft sound of bare feet on carpet is all that can be heard as Sabretooth slowly walks down the hallway inside the Hellfire Club. He had to ditch his coat and boots down in the basement to avoid leaving a trail of muck behind him. His infiltration is slow going, security being far too tight for a simple entertainment establishment. Fortunately, Sabretooth's enhanced senses have allowed him to avoid almost every guard he's encountered. It's just a matter of patience. Only one, a stationary guard at the exit of the basement, required dealing with. While he would normally have enjoyed snapping the man's neck, the absence of the guard could lead to complications, making haste all the more important.
He reaches a corner and places his back against the wall. He can smell two men not far away. A quick glance reveals two guards, dressed in the standard black suits and red shirts, standing on either side of double doors. If memory serves, that leads to a large hallway, which in turn leads to the meeting room where his client claims the target will be. If all goes according to plan, the target will be alone and easily taken out, requiring Sabretooth to simply make his way back to the sewer and one of the largest payouts of his life. He smiles.
In a flash, Sabretooth whips around the corner and lunges toward the guards. The first can't react before Sabretooth wraps his beefy arm around the man's neck, spinning him around and completely cutting off his wind pipe. The other guard raises a pistol, only to have it slapped out of his hand and Sabretooth's claws thrust into his throat. He keeps his fingers there, pushing the dead guard up against the wall as he waits for the other guard to slowly choke to death. The guard's frenzied kicks and scratching at his arm do nothing for him.
When the struggling finally ends, Sabretooth tosses the one guard over his shoulder and continues to drag the other by the neck, bringing them down the hall to the nearest service closet. He does his best to keep any blood from dripping onto the floor, letting it all pool onto his filthy tank top.
The bodies disposed of, he sniffs the air and listens to make sure no one else is coming. Then he quickly dashes back down the hall to the double doors. He starts to open one, surprised by how heavy it is, and steps through. Standing in the hallway, assault rifles raised, are a half dozen guards. They're all wearing flack jackets and helmets over their suits. "Fuck me."
The room is huge and open. One half is set up as a dining area, with a long, antique table and eight high backed chairs. Each chair has a chess piece embroidered into the cushion. Two rooks, two bishops, two queens, and two kings. Black and white. The other side of the room is an old fashioned study, the walls covered in bookcases. A spiral staircase leads to a metal walkway that goes along the wall to more bookcases. A sitting area with antique furniture is placed in the middle in front of a large marble fireplace. Hanging over the fireplace is a tapestry showing a large red cicle with a red H inside it. Inside the circle, between the top of the H, is a half circle connection to the top. A line runs down the center, going halfway down the bottom of the H.
Shaw leads her toward the sitting area of the study. Five other men in suits wait there for them, all of their eyes on her. "Some of these men you know, or know of. Some you don't. Allow me to introduce you."
"This is Ambassador Cartier St. Croix," Shaw indicates to an older black man sitting on a couch. His black hair cropt short and sprinkled with gray. "He is the Monacoan ambassador to the U.S. He is also a former CEO of a number of large businesses all over the globe. Though his largest claim to fame currently is being his daughter's father."
"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Braddock," Cartier offers a warm smile. He's a tall man with a well built frame, yet gives off an non-intimidating, fatherly vibe.
"Nice to meet you," Betsy says out of reflex, still overwhelmed at all this.
"Here we have Arthur Cadenski," Shaw indicates to a short, red haired man sitting by himself in a large chair. His suit is white with a green vest and a yellow shirt. He appears to be even younger than Betsy, with red stubble covering his face in what is probably an attempt to make himself look older. A smug smile is spread across his face as he leers at Betsy. "Arthur is something of a child prodigy. He inherited Cadenski Industries when his father passed when he was sixteen. He then changed it to Arcade Industries, realigning the company toward gaming and social media, tripling the size of his company in just two years."
"It's a pleasure, Elizabeth," Arthur says as he leaps to his feet. He walks over and takes her hand in his, kissing the back of it. Betsy does her best to keep from looking disgusted. "About time we get some more young blood in here."
"I believe you know Donald Piece," Shaw says, pushing Arthur aside. Donald stands by the fireplace, sipping a glass of champagne. An attractive man, his skin is fair and his eyes a piercing blue. His blond hair is cut short and styled perfectly.
"Yes, my father had dealings with Pierce-Consolidated Mining, which my brother has continued," Betsy explains, smiling at Donald. "We've met once or twice."
"Always a pleasure when we do," Donald smiles. "Though you've grown quite considerably since we last met."
"Grown more beautiful, of course," a large man with gray hair and a bushy beard practically shouts. He walks over and throws his arms around Betsy, surprising her.
"Of course you know, Mr. Leland," Shaw sighs.
"Of course," Betsy smiles, trying to squirm out of his grasp as he kisses her cheek. "Nice to see you, Harry."
"You are the spitting image of your mother!" Harry smiles, finally letting her go but holding her by the shoulders.
Raising her hands up, Betsy pushes his hands away politely. "Thank you."
Shaw nudges her away from Harry. "Last but not least we have..."
"Kenuichio Harada," the Japanese man introduces himself curtly. He has wavy black hair and a neat beard. He looks her up and down, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Can we get this over with?"
Shaw visibly rankles at Ken's attitude, but remains silent. He turns to Betsy and explains, "Ken here is a well respected businessman in Japan. Though more importantly, he controls the over half the Yakuza in the country."
"What?" Betsy asks, surprise in her voice. Ken simply scoffs and walks over to the bar.
"He's a criminal, yes, among other things," Shaw explains. "We all have our shadier dealings beyond our public images. I believe even you have had some, shall we say, less than reputable acquaintances these past few years."
Betsy blushes slightly, deciding to change the subject. "The Inner Circle?" Betsy moves to sit on the couch next to Cartier, who hands her a glass of champagne that she gladly takes.
"The Circle has existed for even longer than the Hellfire Club," Shaw explains. "It's members have always been those with the wealth, power, or influence to affect change throughout the globe. Or to prevent change."
"So you're the Illuminati?" Betsy quips before raising her glass. It elicits a chuckle from the room. Shaw shakes his head at such a fantasy. "And what do you do?"
"Humanity is chaos. Just look at our history. We would have destroyed each other ten times over if there wasn't someone behind the scenes, keeping the planet from going off course. Silently pushing events in the right direction. And with the sudden rise of the so called 'super heroes,' mutants, aliens...well we're needed more than ever. And we're offering you a part in that."
Betsy looks at the faces around her. Expressions range from sincere, to indifferent, to annoyed. Politics, it seems, plays even a role on this chess board. A thought occurs to her. "The seats. Chess pieces?"
"The original Inner Circle chose to identify with the pieces on the chess board. It was symbolic to our role in society and the strategic game we play. Each of us has a rank."
"And you are?" Betsy asks.
"The Black King," Shaw says with a grin.
"Of course." Betsy looks at each of the men before inquiring, "And where are your Queens?"
It's a question that visibly flusters Shaw for a moment. He shares a look with Ken, who drops his angry appearance for a look of concern, before turning back to Betsy. "Well you would be filing the role of the White Queen. Our previous Queen has...departed."
"Not amicably." It's a statement, not a question. Even without her telepathy, Betsy could see they were all upset about something.
"No. As for our Black Queen she..." Shaw looks around, searching for the right way to put his next words. "She...comes and goes as she pleases. She's a...special one, the Black Queen."
After placing her empty glass on the table beside her, Betsy gets up and walks over to a nearby bookshelf. She idly scans the books while taking a moment to think. She can feel their eyes on her back as they wait. Finally, feigning a calmness that masks the pounding of her heart, she turns and says, "Well I don't really have a choice do I? After all, you couldn't reveal all this to me and then allow me to refuse and go on my merry way. If I say no, then, what? I disappear?"
Shaw chuckles to himself. "We wouldn't have taken you this far if we weren't sure you'd accept. The Inner Circle has lasted for centuries without being revealed. Though there have been the rare...mistakes," Shaw waves his hand dismissively, giving that line of thought no more attention. "We've been watching you for some time, Betsy. We know you're looking for something more. This is what you've been waiting for. Join us."
The conversation is interrupted by the sound of gunfire. The group turns their heads to the far door. Ken leans over the bar and stands back up with a katana in his hands.
Shaw smiles. "Our other guest has arrived."
"What're you playing at, Shaw?" Cartier asks, jumping to his feet. His question drowned out by more gunfire and screams.
"Yeah I wasn't...you didn't..." Arthur mutters as he backs up, only stopping when the fire licks at his heels.
"Gentlemen, not to worry," Shaw assures them, his tone both mocking and confident. He places his glass of champagne down and casually walks toward the door, turning around briefly to look at Betsy. "This shall be your first trial."
Betsy blinks, her mouth agape, unsure what to make of it. She doesn't have long to consider when the door flies off the hinges, sending splinters everywhere. An unconscious, possibly dead guard lies atop the wreckage, covered in blood.
An almost inhuman growl comes from the doorway, causing Betsy to look up. Standing there is what looks like a man, though Betsy wouldn't hesitate to call him an animal. His leather pants and tank top are riddled with bullet holes and covered in blood. His hands, held out to each side of him, drip with blood.
"Now would be the time, Betsy."
Before she can respond, the man leaps forward, as if the sound of Shaw's voice attracted him. Betsy screams, unprepared for anything like this. The feral man lunges, claws out, for Shaw's throat. Then suddenly stops.
It happened so fast she didn't even realize it, but Shaw turned his body to the side, reached out with his left arm, and caught the man by the throat. Holding him off the ground, the man flails like a frightened animal, lashing out with every limb. His kicks hit hard into Shaw's chest but don't so much as cause him to flinch. He pounds and scratches at Shaw's arm, only succeeding in ruining Shaw's suit.
Betsy stares at Shaw, realization dawning on her. "You're a mutant?"
"Fortunately for me," Shaw says, ignoring the feral mans continued struggles. "How about we try this again? Now or never."
With almost disinterested ease, Shaw tosses the man toward Betsy. He lands with a thud. The others all leap back, except for Harry and Ken. The man quickly jumps to his feet and weighs his options. Instinct determining her the smallest threat, he heads toward her as the best direction of escape.
STOP!
Survival instinct kicks in and Betsy screams at him with her mind. His muscles instantly tense up and freeze in place. His mind is like none she's ever experienced before. It squirms and thrashes in her mental grip just as it did in Shaw's physical one. He has such rage as she's never felt before. It almost overwhelms her. It does excite her.
SLEEP.
Instantly his muscles relax and he falls to the floor, unconscious. She looks up at the rest of the group. They give her approving looks. All but Ken, who scoffs and turns to Shaw.
"You brought this monster here?"
Before Shaw can answer, Betsy turns back to the unconscious man and muses aloud, "Monster? Yes he is. Victor Creed. Also known as Sabretooth." A look of recognition comes to the faces of Harry, Ken, and Cartier. "He was sent here to kill Sebastian. Paid rather well." She looks up at Shaw with a raised eyebrow. "By you, no doubt?"
A self satisfied smile spreads across Shaw's face. "A pawn on the board."
"Your plan included killing your own men?" Betsy asks, her eyes filled with fire.
"A necessary evil." Shaw walks up, stepping around the unconscious Sabretooth, and takes Betsy's chin in his hand. "It won't be the last. If you want to be part of this. If you want to make a difference in this world, then sometimes you have to be willing to make the hard decisions. Can you do that? Are you in?"
She holds his stare, her eyes don't leave his. She doesn't even blink. She considers for but a moment before answering. "Yes."
Tension evaporates and Shaw steps back, smiling. He looks down at Sabretooth and pushes his shoulder with his foot. "Good. Because this was only the beginning. Now, my White Queen, beauty must tame the beast."
The End