「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(259) Mutant 143

Charles' POV

"Just one year after Jason returned from your school, my wife..." Stryker recounted in an eccentric tone, regaining his stance as he let out a cynical laugh.

"You see, he resented us. He blamed us for his condition, so he would toy with our minds, projecting visions and scenarios into our brains," Stryker described dramatically, illustrating his point with repetitive hand gestures circling around his head.

"My wife, in the end, she took a power drill to her left temple in an attempt to bore the images out," he claimed with his tone drowning in pure anguish but bitterness and rage rapidly dominated his face.

"My boy, the great illusionist," Stryker announced mockingly and extended his hands to his sides, as if to flaunt, inadvertently granting me sight of his peculiar henchwoman's uncharacteristic behaviour.

The once neutral and compliant lady stared suspiciously at her own hands, panic bleeding onto her blank face like petals unfolding in the spring. Her grey eyes, frantically darting around the room, spelled confusion clear as crystals. They scanned her surroundings quickly, eventually sweeping back to her palms, trembling.

Studying her as intently as she was scrutinising her own creepily long nails decorated in unusual matte silver paint, I mulled over the sudden and bizarre conducts exhibited by her and Lynn. Wondering if there laid any possible connection in between, I probably frowned, alerting Stryker to my fortuitous discovery and he scrambled over to his apparently unhinged underling.

"For someone who hates mutants, you certainly keep some strange company," I commented in bewilderment.

Faithfully wrestling to uncover the multiple layers of mystery stacking over the unexplainable turn of events like an endless pile of wreckage, I was finally honoured with some insight as Stryker hurriedly whipped out a tube from the inner pocket of his trench coat.

Yanking on his assistant's glossy hair, Stryker forced her head towards the ground, hence bending her posture forwards, and released the piping mechanism of the miniature cylinder, dropping two goblets of liquid onto the back of her neck.

Sizzling with mild waves of steam emitting from where it contacted her skin, the unknown substance acted as if burning through the superficial layer but she conveyed no sense of pain essentially like the torturous procedure was commonplace.

"They serve their purpose, as long as they can be controlled," Stryker maintained calmly, proudly watching his subordinate reattain her composure as she stood up straight, wearing an emotionless face.

Secretively, Stryker mumbled something into her ear and upon comprehension of the supposed instructions inaudible to me, she submissively nodded. Obediently exiting the room, she inevitably reenacted the jarring noises and harsh glares that accompanied the highly defective door before leaving only Stryker in our presence.

"You arranged the attack on the President," I leaked in a threatening tone but Stryker raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed by the revelation that was rather evident with just plain intellect.

While no solid proof could be garnered for his despicable deeds with Erik and gang with regards to the Liberty Island incident, the clues gradually unveiling since then only continued to point in the direction of the one and only, William Stryker.

Ever since we determined the alleged assassin to be a dutiful son, a righteous X-Man, and above all an honest individual, pitifully converted into a mere tool for exploitation because he belonged to a special race, it was undeniably obvious that the recent display of defiance was a premeditated bloodshed fuelling the selfish man's prejudiced beliefs.