Escape from Wakanda

A bead of anxious sweat trickled down Jean’s brow. She tried so hard to banish the memories and the pain and the guilt that gnawed at the edge of her consciousness, reminding her of what she’d done when she’d been in Mark’s thrall. Perhaps she would have succeeded if Ororo weren’t in here, more a **** to Mark’s whims than anyone except perhaps she herself had been. If Jean so much as hinted that she had broken Mark’s hold over her, Ororo wouldn’t hesitate to subdue her and Scott and bring them both in for reintroduction to Mark’s brainwashing.

If she lashes out at us now, I doubt either of us will be able to stop her. I’m still so… so weak. I’m pathetic. Helpless. Worthless.

“You can’t run away from what you’ve done.” The traitorous voice whispered; smirking lips perched at the edge of her ear.

She couldn’t help but nod as she stared at Ororo. Her longtime friend leveled a steely blue gaze at her as she waited for her answer.

I’m so sorry, Ororo, she thought, her mind echoing with months of pain, of the realization of having been used to twist and destroy everything she loved.

No… I won’t surrender to the pain. I’ll make things right. Before the Phoenix returns, I’ll free everyone and make sure Mark pays for everything he’s done!

She heard her own voice laugh at her mockingly from the depths of her own mind, her memories rippling with an evil that had been buried there, but not destroyed.

[“Jean, we have to go now! Before Emma or Betsy sense something’s amiss!"] The anguished mental voice of her husband struck at the edge of her thoughts, nearly blindsiding her with its intensity and suddenness. It was difficult to hear him, and almost exhausting. Even the slightest use of her powers exerted her more than she could ever remember. The mental battle she’d waged against the alternate personality that had been born in her mind due to Mark’s manipulation had taxed her abilities to their limit, and even then, she’d still needed the Phoenix to save her.

“Jean, is everything all right?” Ororo asked, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. A few of the Wakandans in the hangar had stopped doing their work to watch them curiously. Jean was fairly certain she’d been in all of their heads at one point. She’d free them all now if she could.

If I just concentrate, maybe I can help Ororo. I… the me that served Mark implanted several telepathic pathways and shortcuts into the minds of his servants so that I could seize control over them and make subtle adjustments as needed. Another telepath would never know where to look, and probably would have no need of them if they wanted to brute **** access to Ororo’s mind, but those pathways may just be my saving grace.

[“Jean!”]

She touched Ororo with her telepathy, following the carefully-tread mental trails she’d embedded there over the past few months. They crisscrossed Ororo’s brain like a brand, a perverse symbol of ownership. She nearly flinched as memories and thoughts assailed her consciousness. She tried her best to concentrate and shield herself, but even the effort of entering these carefully-laid accessways was straining her mind to the point of exhaustion. She felt Ororo’s love for Mark. Her reverence and adoration for him. Her rabid hatred for anyone who threatened him. It made her want to vomit. To scream. To cry. She recognized her own mental fingerprints in some of what had been done to her friend and a low sob escaped her lips, her eyes watering with tears.

“Jean?” Ororo curled an eyebrow. Suddenly her eyes narrowed and then widened with realization of Jean’s mental intrusion, and exactly what she was planning to do. She had no ability to resist, so she whipped around to yell at the surrounding Wakandans. “She’s broken free of Mark’s control! Stop her- ulk!”

Ororo dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, ****.

There was a moment of hesitation throughout the room where the Wakandans almost in unison stopped what they were doing. Dockworkers stared at them; tools clutched in their fists like weapons. Soldiers curled their lips in anger. A few pressed a button on their futuristic rifles that Jean remembered being a “stun” setting.

Various craft which had flittered back and forth throughout the hangar now hovered still.

Scott moved.

Blue-green bolts of energy screamed past him as he ran towards Ororo’s **** body scooping her up in a bridle carry like she weighed nothing. His eyepiece glowed with hateful red energy before spitting out a reply, a concussive lance blasting across the room with a mere thought, crashing into a group of soldiers reading to fire and propelling them backwards.

“Jean, we have to go!” her husband screamed, dragging her front her thoughts. She ran up the ramp to the stealth craft. Her husband followed her, optic blasts flashing as he made his way up after her. Jean had already slammed the button that withdrew the ramp.

Blue-green bolts of energy skittered off the Vibranium hull, fizzling into multicolored sparks.

“Here, take her! I’ll get us in the air!” Suddenly, Ororo was thrust into her arms as Scott shoved past her towards the cockpit. Jean sagged at the suddenness of her friend’s weight. She called a miniscule portion of her telekinetic might and nearly screamed as white-hot pain lanced through her brain. But she gritted her teeth and persevered. What she felt now was nothing compared to being a ****.

“It’s okay, Ororo. I’ve got you,” she whispered to her sleeping friend. She felt motion for a split-second as the craft took off, then nothing after the inertial dampeners engaged. She limped to the cockpit, the walls melting around her as tremors of sheer agony wracked her voluptuous body. In that moment, she couldn’t help but be aware of how skimpily she and Ororo were dressed, their “updated” Wakandan royal garb showing off as much skin as possible without being naked. She saw a flash of Mark’s greedy, appreciative eyes which had beheld her naked body so many times and, forgetting herself, a pleased sigh escaped her lips.

“You can have that again. All you need to do is knock Scott out and tell the Wakandans that all of this was just a misunderstanding. I’m sure Mark will forgive you. He loves you more than anyone else. You’ve felt it.” Her own voice whispered seductively in her thoughts, and for a brief moment the ocean of her memories blackened, and all she could see was the person she’d been over the past few months. And she felt no pain.

It would have been so easy to give up, to surrender. Mark and his servants would protect her and give her a purpose, a sense of belonging she’d sought her entire life but never truly found, even among Scott and the X-Men. That was why she couldn’t.

“I won’t. I can’t. I beat you, just like I’ll beat Mark. I won’t… I won’t go back!” She set her jaw. The agony of using her powers to carry Ororo lurched back in full ****, and she accepted it.

She entered the cockpit and found Scott working furiously at the blue holographic controls. The room was matte gray and subdued, a pure military design with no conceit given to the usual Wakandan ceremonial aesthetic. Various seats and stations were positioned throughout the room, enough for over a half-dozen Wakandan soldiers. A seamless viewscreen dominated the far end of the room. It was daylight. Trees and rivers passed beneath them. He suddenly banked to the right, just in time for a bright blue-green blob of energy to sail past. How long had she been standing there arguing with herself while Scott struggled to get them to safety?

“Disabling charge from the city’s anti-aircraft guns,” Scott grunted. Sensing Jean, he looked back for a brief moment, a pained expression twisting at his handsome face for a brief moment. He looked out over the viewscreen again. “Engaging ECM and stealth systems. With luck, they’ll lose track of us over the Sahara.”

The world started to blur in front of her as their craft accelerated to impossible speeds, even by the X-Jet’s standards.

She slid Ororo into one of the seats and let go of her powers. She sighed as pure relief washed over her, like she had collapsed after a month of constant vigorous exercise.

“Are they still following us?” She walked towards Scott and took the co-pilot’s seat directly next to him.

“Trying,” he said. “We definitely surprised them. I’m jamming their comms, but I can still make out a word or two. All they have is word of mouth from Ororo and she’s gone. Apparently, the telepaths were asleep at the wheel or we’d both obviously be slaves again.”

Jean sighed at the reminder of Emma and Betsy, still slaves to Mark’s whims. No doubt they would search the memories of the people in the hangar and learn the truth.

“We should be out of their range now,” she said. “They’re probably confused and disoriented. I was the one who gathered the Wakandan telepaths to create a telepathic network to monitor everyone in Wakanda. Without me, Emma and Betsy will be hard-pressed to reorganize it all. They’ll manage, though.”

“You sound worried.” Scott turned to her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the visor, yet somehow, she always knew what they looked like, even without her powers.

Of course I’m worried! Now that Ororo and I are gone Emma will almost certainly be making a play for the top queen in Mark’s court. She’ll be a far less moderating influence than I was and Mark, angry and scared, will rely on her to keep him safe. She’s just as prideful and ambitious as she’s always been. Hell, even more so now that she’s gotten a taste of what it’s like to help run Mark’s **** empire. She’ll encourage his worst impulses to suit what she thinks is her way of serving him, molding him into the ruler she thinks he ought to be.

“I’m not.” She lied.

We’ll have to move quickly. Get as many people on our side as possible to do what we can to contain Wakanda and then move in and liberate it. Before Mark spreads his influence outward. Scott thinks we’ve escaped the worst of it, but things aren’t nearly so cut and dry.

“Well, don’t,” Scott said, misunderstanding her. “Even if Emma, Betsy, or any of the Wakandan telepaths could reach out this far and attack you in your weakened state, this is a state-of-the-art Wakandan stealth craft. Top of the line. It even comes with its own psionic jammers.”

“I know,” Jean said. Their craft had been meant to be part of a planned attack on the Institute. They would have landed around the Institute and disgorged hardened Wakandan soldiers to distract the X-Men while Jean, Emma, and Betsy arrived separately in their own craft and worked in tandem to subdue Xavier long enough for Mark to use his powers to enslave him. After that, victory would have been a foregone conclusion.

It probably would have worked. It might even work now, with a subtler approach. Emma might not be as powerful as me or Xavier, but that’s not necessarily a hindrance to her. Her relative limitations have taught her to be careful, wielding her telepathic influence like a scalpel to my sword. I could probably beat her in a straight up fight, but Emma knows this. She won’t allow a telepathic battle between us until she’s sure she can win. And once she learns of how weakened I am, she’ll stop at nothing to find me so she can press the advantage.

A knot of worry twisted in her belly.

If I warn the Institute, Emma will know since she monitors their communications closely. She'll probably insist they strike immediately to prevent the X-Men from informing the wider world, and with my powers the way they are now, there won’t be much I can do to stop her. With Betsy’s help, she’ll find a way to neutralize Xavier. If Mark manages to get his hands on Xavier, Cerebro, and the X-Men, that’s game over for us.

“Jean?”

“Huh?” She looked up at Scott. For a moment, his face twisted in distaste before he had time to school his features. Jean wondered if he was thinking about what had been done to both of them. What they had been **** to do and see.

“He’s picturing Mark’s amazing cock sliding in out of your pussy while he watches like a good little cuckold. Do you think he’ll ever work up the nerve to even touch you again? He’s probably seen you naked more times with another man than in bed with him!”

Jean ignored the voice as best she could, even as the memories of pleasure-filled nights with Mark flickered past her consciousness and her sex tingled with a sickening pleasure.

“I said as soon as we cross over into the Atlantic, I’m going to try to contact the Institute and warn them of what’s going on. We need to assemble the X-Men. The Avengers. Hell, even SHIELD. Anyone who has a vested interest in retaining their freedom will want to see Mark kicked off his throne.”

“No!” Jean blurted out. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, but she pressed on. “You can’t tell the Institute what’s going on. At least, not yet.”

Scott raised an auburn eyebrow.

“Jean, are you serious? If we don’t warn the Institute, the only person feeding them information about Wakanda will be Emma and she works for Mark now,” he said. Jean winced at the undercurrent of anger in his voice.

She sighed.

“And as soon as we tell them, Emma will know. She keeps tabs on them to an almost-fanatic degree because she knows how much of a threat they can pose to Mark,” she said.

Scott frowned. The deep green jungle blurring beneath them on the viewscreen soon transitioned into tan, sun-scorched desert as they began to cross the Sahara.

“You think she’ll attack?” he asked.

“I’m almost positive.” She nodded. “She’ll have a plan to neutralize the Professor, even without me. She’s thorough that way. Always a contingency for everything, no matter how improbable.”

“All the more reason we should warn them!” Scott raised his voice, his nostrils flaring angrily. “They need to know what they’re facing. If Mark sends his slaves after them, they’ll have no idea what’s coming!”

Jean straightened in her seat to try to look as authoritative as possible.

“If we warn them now, it’ll **** Emma’s hand!” she said firmly. She reached out to touch Scott’s hand, but he flinched away from her. She ignored the hurt that welled up inside her chest. “Please, Scott. Do you think I don’t want to tell them what’s going on? To see Xavier again and have him tell me everything’s going to be all right? I’m so weak now, and the only thing I want is to go home and have things be the way they used to be, but I can’t!”

Scott’s features softened slightly.

“I get what you’re saying, but what makes you think Mark won’t order an attack anyway? Emma has to know the Institute is the most likely place we’ll end up. She might convince Mark to send his forces there just to pre-empt us from warning them,” he said. “Mystique and the others will back her play if that’s the case.”

Jean shook her head.

“You haven’t been inside her mind without her knowing like I have, Scott. Trust me. I know her. I know her in a way almost no one else can,” she murmured. “She’ll be more focused on cementing her position as Mark’s right hand now that I’m gone. Give her a reason to think we’re trying to overthrow Mark and she’ll turn her attention to us instead. We should make her think we’re scared. Traumatized by our enslavement. That we want nothing more than to run away and be left alone.”

Scott snorted derisively.

“I doubt she’d buy that.”

Jean shrugged. “Why wouldn’t she? She has no idea how I managed to free you and myself, nor has she any idea of how free we are, exactly. Or how weak I am now. Hell, she might even assume I fled Wakanda to prevent Mark from using his powers on me remotely.”

She could see Scott’s doubt begin to chip away.

“Mark will want you and Ororo recaptured as soon as possible, though,” he said. “He’ll send people after us.”

Jean nodded.

“Good. Let him. We have one of the most advanced stealth craft in the world to fly off in a pinch if we need to. We can keep him single-mindedly focused on us until I’ve recovered. Once that happens, Emma won’t be able to do anything to the Institute if we’re present, though she’ll almost certainly try.” A bit of confidence seeped into her tone. She wasn’t certain how much of it was genuine.

Emma will know the moment we warn Xavier about her. If we don’t, she’ll start to wonder why. It’ll make her uncertain, throw her off balance. Hopefully it’ll last long enough for me to regain my strength.

Scott stared at her for a long moment.

“And if Mark decides to attack the Institute anyway?”

Jean **** a smile.

“That’s always a possibility, but we won’t just be a confused couple of escaped slaves on the run. While we move around, I want us to gather allies. People who will fight with us once they realize the danger the world is in,” she said.

For the first time in months, Scott Summers gave her a genuine smile of his own free will. It was small, fragile, faltering, but it was there.

“We still have a few hours to decide,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said.

Behind them, Ororo groaned.

Jean bit her lip and glanced back at her friend. The voluptuous dark-skinned mutant was splayed out rather indignantly in the seat she’d left her in. Her eyelids were fluttering as she stirred.

“She’s starting to wake up. I wasn’t able to wipe away any of Mark’s commands on such short notice. Let me get to work on her. Try not to interrupt me unless it’s important,” she said.

Scott nodded and said nothing, resuming his work at the controls.

Jean got up from her seat and moved toward Ororo. She couldn’t help but admire how beautiful her friend was. The sheer amount of dark cleavage on display was almost enough to take her breath away.

I didn’t used to have these feelings. Are they Mark’s doing or did they develop on their own as a side-effect of us spending so much time in bed together?

She let out a sigh.

I’m getting distracted.

Placing her hand on Ororo’s temple, she lightly stroked the other woman’s ethereal white hair and smiled warmly.

“You’re safe now, Ororo. Mark won’t hurt you again.”

Jean shut her eyes and concentrated. She gritted her teeth as the pain returned in full **** and dove into Ororo’s mind once more, eager to finally have her best friend back.

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