Case of Mistaken Identity: Chapter 12 Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel, the Coda to Wildstorm, and the story to me. A week later: In one way or another, Victor Creed has been a prisoner his entire life: born with a genetic time bomb waiting to explode when his mutant abilities first sprang forth....raised like an animal, chained in a cold, dank basement by his hate-filled parents....grown to adulthood, an all to willing participant in his own mental instability and violent rages. And perhaps, for all those reasons, that neither he, nor the residents of the Xavier Institute, who were as his 'hosts'--some would say "keepers"--would care to agree with...the man called Sabretooth felt oddly comfortable in this strange asylum he now called home! The big, brutish mutant stewed in his "juices", testing the techno-organic restraints that had been placed upon him... Psykeye moved like mercury, an ever-fluid, ever-moving flash of quicksilver. And for Liz Braddock, those moments were to be especially cherished, for they were the only times when she felt her restrained passions could run free: burning anger, smoldering resentment and a deep seated need to be in utter control of every facet of herself, coupled with kinetic movement provided an ideal release from the emotional straight jacket in which she customarily wrapped herself. And though the sabre she wielded was only a practice blade, the precise manoevers she negotiated between the needs of her body and the confinement of her passionate soul--is, by the very nature of the participants of that holodeck exercise, the approach of a warrior who was unafraid of killing or maiming her opponent. Her subtle grace and speed surprised the observers who huddled in the control booth far above the melee. They had not thought her so skilled, nor had they had the opportunity to see a full Sister of the Coda in combat, in perfect control of herself and her situation.... Psykeye chose her attacks as she skilfully maneuvered Creed into what *she* wanted rather than what the berserker would have thought was his element. A sulky Sir Warren Worthington peered over Professor Xavier and Dr. McCoy's shoulders, hoping to get a glimpse of their exotic guest. He was disappointed. She eschewed the scanty garments of the Coda assassin, Kwannon; in favour of her suit of armour, sans cloak. "Professor, Hank.... " he began, "Not that I want to butt in, or anything... But are you sure this was a good idea?" The bald telepath glanced up over his reading glasses from the display where he was monitoring Creed, "Warren, you point is well taken, but we couldn't have Creed develop the control he requires, over his psychotic tendencies-- by confining him to a cell 24 hours a day, could we?" A spike from the sensors implanted into the techno-organic restraints caught Xavier's eye on one of the monitors, "Hank--note the rise in Creed's endorphin level. It's accelerating at an astonishing clip...." He turned back to the billionaire playboy-mutant who helped finance his aspirations, "...Hank, Bishop and Forge developed the restraints, which should prevent Sabretooth from injuring any opponent--and Psykeye agreed to test their effectiveness by sparring with him.... I am to understand that she has beaten him on two occasions in the past, even before she was an expert in close combat. It gives us an otherwise unavailable opportunity to analyse her as well..." The armored telepath tagged Creed repeatedly with her sabre, rending holes in the fatigues he'd been provided with, while she swiftly dodged his powerful, but seemingly uncoordinated bearlike swipes at her. It was as though he were moving in slow motion, as she somersaulted over his head, kicking him in the back of the head on the way... Hank watched her, the psibernetic sensors he'd persuaded her to wear giving him more detailed feedback than he'd originally hoped for, since she was invisible to "normal" earth level sensors and technology--Forge had cooked up something out of the Shi'ar spare parts bin.... His grim countenance softened as he noted the increased levels of psilomine in her neuro-chemistry, the lower body temperature and fluctuating metabolic rate. He looked up at Warren, his old classmate and occasional friend, "As a matter of fact, my skeptical bird-of-a-feather, the Lady Elisabeth actually preferred that Creed fight without those techno-organic neuro-biological inhibitors! But who are we to be cleaning up the entrails of such a lovely lady on such a fine Thursday afternoon?" Warren pouted as he watched her, part of him fearing what she could do with that sword if properly motivated, so he settled on his usual flippancy, "We'd never get the stains out in time for Saturday's open house...." Xavier continued watching Creed's endorphin levels spike from time to time, as he telepathically monitored his school's long time enemy. His dry remark caught them off guard, "You humour, gentlemen, is rather misplaced, isn't it?" Hank raised an eyebrow at the stuffy older man, "Is it, Charles? Oh, dear... You're right! and I could have sworn I had it with me when I woke up this morning!!" And below, the brutish berserker had caught Psykeye in an arm lock, at a seeming disadvantage... until she twisted like a cat, driving the armored heel of her foot into the side of Creed head, making him howl in pain... She almost instantaneously came to her feet and followed through with a series of powerful, turning kicks to his midsection before she punched him hard in the solar plexus and drove an armored fist into face--knocking him hard into the unyielding holodeck wall nearly six feet away. He slid down the wall, the wind knocked out of him. She calmly retrieved her sword without turning her back on Creed. She knew better than that. Her telepathic senses and her Sight were on him, even though she could see him. Because she knew, that in precisely 15.27 seconds, he would regain his wind.... She also caught Xavier's thoughts, << (sigh)...Sometimes, I long for the days when their report cards could be used for blackmail.....>> As Creed neared her, she sidestepped him, bringing her sabre into a powerful arc that sliced into his midsection-splattering the floor and her armor with blood. The utterly impassive look on her lovely face chilled the observers as Creed went to his knees, clutching his abdomen... "Not bad, girl..." he growled, his pain showing in his eyes and his voice. He'd once thought the British telepath soft, and weak...but she'd beaten him, without benefit of weapons or expertise in martial arts--not once, but twice before. Something no one else he could name had lived to tell about. This was the third time. He was the predator, wasn't he? Her mind voice intruded on his doubts, <> Creed looked up at her, a new respect in his eyes as he realised that his would be prey was a predator in her own right... "Y'managed t'tag me, even without that psycho-blast of yours...." Her amethyst eyes narrowed dangerously, <> As he waited for his healing factor to kick in, he sought to bait the ice telepath and buy himself some time, "Yer my kinda gal, Psykeye...." She dissipated the holodeck generated practice sabre, as she turned to leave, <> He lunged at her, the scar of her sabre-cut still visible and raw in his abdomen. Hank rushed to trigger the emergency restraining field around Creed, but it was not in time... The observers watched as the 'butterfly mask' Aspect fanned over Liz' face and Sabretooth's simultaneously.... He thudded to the floor in an untidy heap, howling in agony as the raw power of Psykeye's telepathic abilities hit him in a full power psycho-blast...shredding his synapses, turning his mind inside out against itself.... Hank had old Cerebro records of the time she'd hit Logan, when he'd snuck up on her after Sabretooth's first encounter with her. She'd nearly killed Logan, and had repeatedly been able to give Rogue a serious headache, even though the girl's dual psyche had prevented the Professor from getting through. Now, when he compared the level of her power: past and present, his eyes widened. The difference was obvious to him, but apparently she was hiding her true capability from the Professor, who was ostensibly the world's most powerful --human--telepath. The psycho-blast had ended a minute after it had begun, but the resulting neurological trauma to Creed, even with his healing factor, might take months to recover from.... Warren's sky blue face crinkled up with distaste, "What was that all about? Kwannon just ended her flirtation with Scott--don't tell me that Liz is starting up with Creed of all people?? Would someone care to explain this to me?" The Professor turned to Warren, who had so conveniently distracted him from Hank's direction, "In matters regarding Psykeye, I fear there is little guidance I could give any of you. Her level of mental shielding prevents me from gaining an accurate impression of anything other than her general emotional state.." Hank had taken the opportunity provided by his feathered classmate to encrypt and store the readings on Psykeye. What ever was happening to her, as her physician, was no one else's business. And as a physician, Hank took his Hippocratic Oath very seriously. He would respect her privacy while satiating his professional curiosity.... But he couldn't resist jibing Warren either, "I presume things with the good detective Charlotte Jones are at something of a romantic standstill then, War?" The playboy snorted, slumping his shoulders, "No more than between you and the intrepid journalist, Trish Tilby..." Hank muttered to himself as he gathered his things, heading back to his labs, "Touche, birdy..." Warren shrugged in mock indifference, "Well, Psykeye certainly seems to like them lively, doesn't she?" Henry raised an eyebrow, "War, you aren't actually jealous, are you?" "No..." he grudgingly admitted, "More like--childishly upset, maybe--that no one of the opposite sex is paying any attention to *me*.... and then I look at someone like the lovely Baroness Braddock--and gents, let's just say that a guy starts to get mighty lonely...." Behind their backs, where neither man could see, a faint, satisfied smile crossed Xavier's lips... The "poor, little rich boy" was utterly infatuated with their guest...that made him doubly useful. Warren stalked off to the upper floors of the mansion, where from one of the salons, he saw the preparations for the Xavier Institute open house were going on.... Ororo was making the weather more bearable for the workers, a mild but crisp spring day in the middle of February in upstate New York, while Valerie Cooper and Lorna Dane oversaw the actual operation.... he thought, running his fingers thought his still blonde hair, The pounding of sledge hammers driving the pegs for the pavilion into the still frozen earth echoed the hammering of his heart in his ears, The sound of the door bell, admitting the mail man, briefly intruded on his brooding and self pity, His thoughts were again interrupted, this time by Jubilee with an arm- load of mail she was passing out. Her roller blades echoed eerily on the marble and parquetry floors as she skated into the salon, "Like, mail call {crack}.... Hey, looking slick today, Birdy!! All dressed up for tea and i-scream cones with Ivana Trump, or somethin'?" Warren bristled at her flippancy, "They're called 'scones', Jubilee. And I thought the Professor talked to you about rollerblading in the house?" She snorted indignantly, "Well, if Drake, the human icecube can keep drippin', an' McCoy can keep sheddin': I can keep skatin'....." Warrren harumphed, hoping if he ignored her, she'd go away, but she didn't. "I got somethin' for you here... Les'see now.... Bills... more bills.... junk mail, junk mail.... hair club for men: that's Prof's...National geographic, that's Storm's.... Penthouse, that's for Drake... Gem & Minerals... Lorna's. Aha, here ya go Tweety! Audubon Society... Sierra Club... Fortune 500..." Jubilee muttered something to herself, as one envelope fell to the floor, smelling of Davidhoff "Cool Water". "Smells kinda perfumey.... nifty in a Fabio kinda way..." "Nothin' from Wolveroonie, though... " she muttered, "Still don't know if he's gonna make it to the open house.. like I care if he does.... I'm so shoor...." She skated out, down the hall to the kitchen, "Heeeeyyyyy, Draaake??? Time to be master of your domain...." Warren muttered to himself as he checked the stocks on Worthington Enterprises and it's subsidiaries, ".... and don't skate in the house!!" Liz was foraging in the kitchen for some of Ororo's curry chicken leftovers and the Moroccan couscous, as she heard Jubilee rumbling through halls, <> "Hey, yer ladyship...." she hollered, "Here ya goes... Smells like Fabio or some one of those guys..." <> Liz replied, instinctively mindspoke as she took the letter, and another letter from Brian, directed at Kwannon, whom he still thought to be his sister. She'd have to call him sooner or later.... Liz thought, "Speak of the devil..." Liz' whispered as she tore open the envelope that faintly wafted the scent of Cool Water up at her. Emma laughed gently in the back of Liz' head, <> <> Liz replied to the psyche of the White Queen, who currently shared her body, <> <> Emma observed. <> I used to *love* going to the London branch.>> she replied with a soft chuckle, <> Emma started, <> Liz laughed again, out loud, <> She felt Emma's assent, <> <> Liz mused as they considered the invitation. <> Liz finished for her, <<...and it all ended, when members of the old Inner Circle were being mysteriously picked off one by one.... Shaw was killed, and you were the only one left: White Queen against an unknown piece on the chessboard....>> <> Emma supplied, <> Liz shrugged outwardly, as she took the left overs out of the oven, and headed out to the patio, past the areas of the ground swarming with landscapers, caterers and others who were hired on to prepare for Xavier's little soiree. She nibbled on the food, discovering as she neared the boat house, that she was far hungrier than she'd thought. <> Liz wondered as she grabbed 3 apples and a couple of yogurts out of the fridge in her little domain of exile from the mansion. A sultry male voice answered her, "Come now, chere. You prime recruitin' material... You be beautiful, rich and you father was d'Black Bishop of d' European side o' th' Pond." Liz growled softly as Remy slipped his arms around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck, <> He buried his face in her purple hair, still damp from her post workout shower,