Mystique's Perspective

Written in collaboration with DogDog (They wrote the vast majority!)

Raven Darkhölme, the infamous, feared Mystique, knew very well her stay here wouldn't stick. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have the authority, means, or capabilities to restrain her for too long. Erik's magnetism alone could certainly cause this metallic infrastructure to crumble. Though whether he or the Brotherhood would get involved with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s or the Avengers' affairs is a question in and of itself, she still had many ties that made her position here, temporary at best. Her current alliance with Hydra, while just a covert means to an end, in order to establish leverage within the group that the Brotherhood could greatly benefit from later, was also a great factor. Not to mention the bill she's rung up calling favors on AIM's tab; the yellow and black themed organization run by a giant floating head wouldn't be able to cash in her debt if she's sick fed under the ocean in the RAFT or wherever S.H.I.E.L.D. intended on placing her.

On top of all that, she's still a mutant at the end of the day. The X-Men, as annoyingly persistent as they can be, weren't the kind to let other mutants be placed under the thumb of an agency whose tactics are unknown to them. Despite how many times she's betrayed, infiltrated, and manipulated them, the X-Men still shockingly treat her as some form of family, pulling their punches in ways she wouldn't reciprocate, and giving her chances despite her backhanded tendencies. Maybe they think she could be converted into running around like one of them? As if they were family? It's laughable, but admirable regardless; perhaps, deep down, she does find some amusement or pity in their views. She's had many opportunities where she could pull the trigger... slash the throat... inject a toxin, and she simply chose not to. Was it a hesitance to do what must be done? To eliminate a threat? Perhaps. Others certainly have called her weak, for the many times she ''accidentally'' misses a shot.

But she doesn't do... 'accidents.'

If she lets someone get away, there's a reason. Each life 'spared' when encountering her adversaries might simply be a tactical decision she's chosen not to share with her associates. Some would consider this weak. She considers it adaptable. The X-Men have had her cornered many times, yet their weakness, their idiocy to give her leeway, ends with her escaping moments where there'd otherwise be no escape.

Simply put, she's always. Always. One step ahead, playing the long con, one step at a time.

And, again.

She doesn't make mistakes.

Which is why, in those days ago... her mission was to capture the boy. During her infiltration of Hydra, no less, it still took priority. She scoped the area, analyzed the threat, and studied the situation. Executed her encounter based on all prior research. And…

Here she is?

It didn't make sense. By all accounts, it would seem like she lost to an eighteen-year-old, a child compared to her. Someone who failed to fully understand the length of their power. He had help; that pesky agent, Maria Hill, was a rather impressive operative when it came to covering her tracks. Despite all the planning that went into it, the agent still managed to sneak up on her. Of course, even so, she still had the annoyance just one trigger pull away. And unlike her 'friends' at the X-Men, there wasn't a deep repressive drop of familiarity in her heart that would stay her hand.

She had no reason not to kill that woman.

But she hadn’t. That boy. He got her, he got the agent, he got the whole situation flipped into something else.

She was at his house, dancing to his tune, shifting her form at the will of his perverse desires, submitting to his massive member and even larger ego. And why wouldn't he be thrilled? He had her. He had Mystique; she was quite the prize. She made sure her reputation spoke for itself.

He messed with her mind, had her as his toy. To the point where she couldn't even tell what ideas were her own or not. When she danced, she shook her hips, changed forms to his words. Was that her plan? She didn't know what was what exactly, but she knew his powers were clearly at play; the voice in her head sounded like her own, but the actions contradicted her past wants. It was strange, but his power nonetheless. And for that, she'd kill him.

Maybe she did, partially care for other mutants. Not to any absurd degree as the X-Men, but if she could choose to avoid ending a mutant life, if it wasn't even an inconvenience, she'd prefer to go a route that didn't end like that. She isn't good, doesn't care to be, she's just effective and efficient. And keeping this brat alive, after what he did, after how he changed her, it should be simple; he's now an annoyance. Annoyances must be handled. And she's good at making annoyances shut up for good.

She left with a glint in her eye, thinking of how she'd get him back after her inevitable escape. Shaking her hips with a sensual certainty, to tantalize his ignorance, though a part of her questions if shaking her butt as she walked was needed. That part was quiet enough to not matter, over the sounds of her future laughter as she imagined herself reminding him who he messed with. But then... a thought had entered her mind.

One that came before she was taken away.

One that caused her devious smirk to falter, if only for a moment.

She heard a void, HER voice. Echo in her head.

''You want to and will strive to protect John. You hate the thought of harm befalling him. You will do what you can to protect John. Johnathan is special to you, and you are his bodyguard.''

And it was that command, planted deep within the recesses of her mind by the very boy she'd sworn to destroy, that had been a constant, thrumming undercurrent to her captivity. At first, she fought it. Why would she protect him? HIM? After what he did? After the unabashed gall he showed in interfering with her well-crafted and greatly organized operation? But as time passed, she questioned. Why is she fighting her own idea? It was her voice she heard, not his. Her mind said protect John. But. Why? Again and again, she wondered why he, protected? But again, and again, she countered. Why not? Jonathan was special to her; if he wasn't, why would she spend so much time trying to recruit him? She could've just killed him, she was studying his moves, techniques, and powers for weeks before confronting, if she wanted to, if he wasn't special to her, she'd have just killed him. If he's special, she should protect what's special to her. It just made sense. The only thing that didn't make sense was trying to fight that sudden thought.

But again. She knew she was trying to ignore it, for a reason. She knows his power, and thinking back on it, Hill didn't put on the monitor or power dampeners when that voice... her voice, spoke to her. Technically, it could be his power at play. It made sense to be his power at play. Just like it made sense for her to be his bodyguard. It just made sense. Yet she knew she was trying to resist something; she was trying to resist a thought that made sense, for a reason, maybe it didn't make sense, and a part of her knew that. But why didn't it make sense? Why didn't she want to be his bodyguard? Did she not like him? Well, she didn't have any sexual bias for the boy. Sure, his dick was very impressive in size. But she's been with many lovers, maybe not many with such length and girth, but she's past the point where a large tool could sway her core principles. There was no romantic, no sexual, no real, genuine care that made him special to her. Yet, it didn't matter. He was special, even if she didn't know why, she knew he was special to her. If he wasn't, she wouldn't have spent more time thinking about him than she would about escaping.

Her mind, a labyrinth of deception and self-preservation, built walls around this new directive. She compartmentalized it, treating it like a foreign agent, a virus she was studying even as it infected her. But it was insidious. It colored her perception. Her initial, seething desire to see the boy suffer and die was now... muted. Tainted. It was like trying to feel hatred while looking at a photograph of a loved one—the two emotions could not coexist in the same space without one warping the other. So one was just ignored, not forgotten, but not relevant. Being his bodyguard was what mattered. Protecting him. Mattered. She had her own directives, her own missions, her own goals, and they were important; she won't forget them, she won't ignore them. But she could do both; she could protect him and further her goals in establishing her and the Brotherhood's prospects.

If anyone could do both, it was her.

That said. It would be hard to protect someone while locked in here. Initially, she was fine waiting for the right moment; she knew it would come and knew she'd be able to strike. It would be far better to use that time to fight off these thoughts, to focus on ignoring the voice, refusing to be changed, and just forgetting that immediate thought and instead being this boy's bodyguard. And once that was accepted, her desire to wait for the perfect moment adjusted to creating the perfect moment so that she could be sure that Jonathan was protected.

Yet, her immediate options were limited; she tried to find some way out of this, but Agent Hill was good. Too good. She didn't let anyone but herself and the absolute elite agents down here. The Black Widow was the only other person she saw in this sector, and trying to manipulate her in any way was so pointless that she saw no point in trying. As much as she hated the feeling, not knowing if her target of protection was safe, she just had to wait for a moment.

And that moment would come, she knew good and well someone was going to poke her head too close into her bubble. Whether that be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, far too deep for their own good; someone from the Brotherhood noticing her absence, Hydra, AIM, the X-Men, or any other villain that might decide that they need her help. Her reputation was too profound, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was far too unorganized to let her stay, her presence was anything but temporary.

But out of all people, she didn't expect The Wasp.

She isn't a mutant. She isn't even remotely tied to her 'family,' aside from the Avengers and X-Men meeting up for the same Christmas Party. Which means she could kill her, rip that shrinking tech she's so famous for off her cold body, and both literally and easily, walk right under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s noses and out of this facility. She could kill Janet. Without a second thought.

But of course, what she said before the door opened. About Jonathan. About being his bodyguard. It's why she didn't rip her throat out. The command to protect him was too strong, and her mind had already accepted that helping Janet meant helping Jonathan. That doesn't mean she trusts Janet, or hell, even likes her, but her goal for now is to protect Johnathan, and if Janet claims she is doing just that, Mystique will play along. She has to play along.

But that didn't stop the woman from giving Janet a look that promised a thousand deaths as she stepped out of her cell. She was not a prisoner anymore, but the tension between them was as thick and heavy as a shroud. Mystique, once fully out of her cell, was able to get a stock of the situation, where she did a wordless doubletake, yellow eyes fluttering from genuine surprise seeing Agent Maria Hill herself with both fingers in her ears, chanting like a simpleton. "La la la, I'm dum dum dum~" The melody was monotonous, but the conviction was absolute.

Mystique's face, a perfect mask of condescending amusement, didn't change, but for a nanosecond, her composure flickered. She had expected... something else. She had files on Hill. She knew the woman was a living weapon, a mind like a steel trap, a pillar of unflappable professionalism. And faced as much in person. In a world as chaotic and crazy as theirs, Agent Hill's ability to be one step ahead of everyone, even the smartest people alive, and bring order to the madness. Was a power in and of itself.

This... this was a performance. A display that somehow, her little Jonathan was at play. He must've left a command in Hill's mind the same way he didn't put one in hers. By now, she realized that if he had tried to control her, she would've resisted it with her vast training and preparation, but in front of her, watching this bronze-skinned symbol of authority acting like a brainless robotic idiot, she saw what happens if he does use his power on someone. It was... quite the sight. Quite the power. It proved even more why she must keep him protected, this ability. This can be used to further the Brotherhood’s ambitions; HER ambitions. Johnathan was a tool, and tools need to be kept safe.

"I assume this is... his work," she commented dryly, a thin, cruel smile stretching her lips as her yellow eyes surveyed the scene. "Effective. I've read her file. It's very impressive."

Janet beamed, "Yep, all John~! She's an idiot. But, she's a useful one." She winked at Mystique. "Now, let's get out of here. We've gotta get to my place and talk."

"Right. But if he's not there. I will kill you." Mystique admitted with blunt honesty. "I have no loyalty to you. I don't care about anything else. But his safety, is that clear?"

Janet didn't even flinch; she simply shook her head, a grin that seemed to be plastered permanently on her face. "I know. But you won't. Because he'll be there. And you won't kill someone who's on his side." She added with a smirk, "Besides, you could try."

Mystique didn't give that a response; she didn't find much enjoyment in talking when it wasn't leading to finding and protecting Johnathan. She looked over wordlessly. Hill stood beside her now vacant cell, her back ramrod straight, her fingers still firmly planted in her ears, her face a mask of stoic concentration. "La la la, I'm dum dum dum~" She was a living monument to obedience, a statue waiting for a trigger. One witnessed first hand by the way Janet approached so casually, only to unceremoniously slap the light-brown buns glazed in skin-tight latex with a SMACK that echoed through the sterile hallway. With the action, Janet giggled and stepped away, as if it were nothing.

Maria's chanting stopped instantly. Her fingers withdrew from her ears. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes refocusing, processing the world again. A faint, almost imperceptible pink blush colored her high cheekbones, a ghost of an emotional reaction her logical mind couldn't yet process. Only before her eyes focused in on the criminal outside of her cell. The speed at which she reached for her gun was impressive, really, but instead of grabbing the weapon, she took out her phone when it pinged, and upon reading it, she placed it back in her side pocket around her curvy hip and nodded to herself, saying, "Action complete. Waiting for new directive." Her gaze cleared, and she looked at Janet, then at Mystique, then at the now vacant cell. The scene was illogical, but her actions were justified. "Objective achieved. Asset acquired. Potential threats neutralized through tactical auditory isolation. Mission parameters are within acceptable parameters. I have not failed. I have adapted."

"Excuse me?" Mystique raised an eyebrow.

"Wow, I had her say her thoughts out loud. I'm just curious how she was going to excuse what she saw. His powers are really cool once you get to know them, your mind just makes excuses for him!" She tapped her headphones, "That's why I got these on. Anyway, she's ignoring what we're saying right now.." She turned back to Maria. "Director Dum-Dum, you're going to escort us out of here. No questions, no detours, no alarms. You're going to make sure we have a clear path all the way to the parking garage. And when we get there..."

As The Wasp gave her instructions, Mystique took in what she's gathered so far. His powers, how the mind justifies it, is interesting. It's like the voice, tries to convince the rest of the thoughts that it's one of them. Meaning it's masking itself among the others. It would make it so that his commands would be almost impossible to spot.

She paused, a sudden, crystalline realization cutting through. Her mind making excuses. The voice sounding like her own. The sudden, unshakeable urge to protect him over everything else.

He had done it. He hadn’t failed to control her, he had planted the thoughts flawlessly, bypassing her legendary mental strength, and she had spent the last several days justifying the compulsion as her own brilliant tactical decision.

But as the realization settled, the anger she expected never came. Instead, a cold calculating amusement washed over her. It was actually a remarkably good thing he had done it. A boy with this level of insidious, untraceable power was the ultimate weapon. She would have chosen to protect such a valuable asset anyway. He had simply streamlined the process. The fact that his mutant power was strong enough to bypass her defenses only proved his immense worth. This tool was becoming more special by the second.

But acknowledging his worth did not mean she would ever submit to being his puppet. She absolutely could not let an idiot child influence her thoughts again, no matter how truly special he was to her. She would NEVER let that happen again. If she were going to protect him, SHE’D need to be the one making the decisions. Her piercing yellow eyes flicked toward the small device at Janet’s ear. She’d make sure to get one from the Wasp as a non-negotiable condition of her helping.

After giving her instructions, with another slap and a grope to the ass, Agent Hill saluted like an idiot with one hand, while the other began outwardly stroking her clit through the skintight jumpsuit, and... they were gone.

The walk out of the lower sub-level holding area was a surreal experience for Mystique. For weeks, her world had been a small, sterile cell. Now, she was walking free, side-by-side with one of her enemies, and another one was making a fool of herself. The trio, a bizarre assembly of a billionaire heroine with wings, a saluting moron, and a blue-skinned shapeshifter, moved through the sterile corridors. Maria, still in her self-imposed sensory deprivation, led the way, her posture a perfect military caricature. Mystique followed, her movements liquid and predatory, her senses on high alert. Janet strolled between them, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary; she was clearly content with how things played out. And truthfully, as far as Mystique could care, as long as Jonathan could be guarded, she was content too.