Exiles in Elseworlds

No his mind isn't immune at all, in fact it's like an open door to her. Endorphins trigger in his mind as her fiery voice echos in his mind.
A shudder of bliss as The Maker's eyes glaze over momentarily causes him to drool slightly. A brief groan of ecstasy escapes his lips.

It's like he's eight and and just realized Christmas morning is here.

Looking around hopefully he makes a fuss of making the room more 'presentable'. The effort is futile given the clutter, but he can't help it.
She is here.

"Mistress!
The procedure was a shining success! The Angel flies in the name of the Summers family now."

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She restrains herself from sneering in disgust as she picks up some of his reaction to her. She might have to have a talk with Xavier about him soon. This isn't the first time she's considered that, and it probably won't be the last. Every time she's seriously thought about it, she has decided it might be better to not bring this to Charles' attention...no telling where it might go.

She almost started into correcting him as to her title, but stops before any words leave her mouth. It never does any good.

"Give me the details, Maker. What are his triggers?"

Her eyes give the warning of what will happen if he lies or leaves anything out.

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Gleefully he brings up a holographic display recording of the operation. Warren is silently screaming as his wings thrash about frantically. The sinister looking chair he is manacled to hold him fast and The Maker’s mechanical grip holds Worthington’s skull perfectly still as the drill sinks messily into Angel’s temple.

"The subject had the jitters right as we were about to start. Monitors detected a sharp rise in adrenalin and heart rate. I think he was worried that we might have been giving him defective parts."

The translucent display then shows Worthington’s struggles to lessen bit by bit as The Maker studiously beings to insert a number of implants.

"I cauterized his panic responses and rerouted the impulses with nanoneurowire to the pleasure centers. Whenever he starts to get scared, he'll feel like he's at Disneyland now.
I also hardwired his sense of doubt to instead result in a intense sense of 'family' associated with images of the members of the Summers clan.
Any of these response can be manually active by remote control, either through my console or telepathically via your or the Master’s psionic signature, as per standard. "

Warren was now lying limp with his eyes rolled back into his head. He seemed to be babbling.

"This is where I implanted the cortex bomb. I didn’t use the standard model, since there's been complaints of the 'splatter' fallout at parties. So instead I outfitted him with an implosive device. All non metal parts of course.

Interesting thing here, the implantation of cortex units tends to evoke a fugue state in the recipient during the procedure. Looks like Warren was extra susceptible. He's fine now, but while he was under he made mention of a daughter. I didn’t know he had a kid."

He licks his metal lips.

"If she takes after dad, I bet she’d be ideal for my the Adamantium wing lacing project I proposed at the last board meeting."

Children were so resilient. Physiologically, they dealt with cyberization much better than adults.

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She watched the display with very little in the way of expression. So far it's just been like all of the rest.

Her brow lifts a bit when he tells her about Worthington's reprograming to fear, a smirk lifting the corner of her lip. He's very obviously easy to look at, and she isn't beyond appreciating the irony of the Maker's sense of humor.

That could prove amusing.

She's brought out of it at the idea of a daughter and turns to look at the Maker with raised brows.

"Indeed. Might be worth looking into. Perhaps I'll have a talk with our new family member."

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He could leap out of his chassis right now, he's so happy.

"Yes Mistress. Of course!"

He continues to skitter about the lab, clearing places for her to sit if she so wished.

In the far corner of the ceiling, Mittens begins to spin a cocoon around one of the guinea pigs she has 'liberated' from one of the Maker's cages.

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She looks up at the altered cat, tilting her head a bit in curiousity.

"You might consider keeping your pets on a better leash."

Hard green eyes lower to look at him, and no, she is certainly not taking a seat. She appreciates his attention to detail in his work. She can't not when she's just as dedicated to her own, but while she deals death, he does things that have given her nightmares. Grudgingly, she admits he has inspired some creativity in her at times.

"Where is our lovely little Angel being kept?"

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Two steel catheters extend from Mitten's upper jaw and sink into the mummified rodent. The guinea pig is quickly exsanguinated and the cat curls up into a ball amid the silken strands and begins to purr.

"Oh Warren's just resting up in one of the regeneration beds. I think he should be done now."

He pouts slightly, now that his scarlet goddess' interest is no longer in him.

Brightening, he adds,
"I can take you to him."

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The pout she caught, both mentally and physically. She can't have that. He's much more pliable when he's encouraged. She just won't think about what he does when he's thinking about her.

The smile he gets from her wouldn't put anyone in their right mind at ease, but it's all she has. She backs it up with a small touch of her fingertips to his shoulder.

"Do that."

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He quivers and holds himself. He'll have to find someplace private to caress the place where she touched him soon.

"Yes! Oh yes yes yes!!" he cries and hurriedly makes his way to the door at the far end of the room. It slides open noiselessly at his approach and he feverishly tosses aside any obstacle that might get in the way of his Mistress.

The room beyond the door, while high-tech like the rest of the Maker's lair, stands in contrast to his other labs. Not cluttered or chaotic, it is a stack white chamber lined with medical bays and soft blue display holograms that hover near their stations.

The maker quickly moves to one of the nearby bays and at his unspoken communion with the machines there, a white cylinder rotates open, revealing the dormant Angel, Warren Worthington III. The scar at his temple can barely be seen.

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She approaches the cylinder, her eyes trained solidly on their Angel. She continues to pace to the side of it, her fingers reaching out to barely touch one of his wings.

"These do not get harmed or replaced, even if Xavier orders your to do so." Her eyes which had greedily been taking in the sight of Worthington now snap to the Maker, hardening with the unspoken threat. "Understand?"

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His head begins to twitch and his left pupil starts to dilate.

"Yes!

I understand compl.....

There shouldn't be any pr"

The Maker's frame collapses limply as his cyber enhanced brain tries to resolve the conflicting commands. Master and Mistress must be obeyed.

The machines in the labs around them switch to the 'Slave' A.I. as their controller when the Maker's mind goes offline.

A synthesized sound comes from the back of the Maker's metal skull.

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She grins as the Maker has a melt down. She loves doing that. Xavier most likely wouldn't want Worthington's wings replaced or it would have happened during the initial process.

She telekinetically moves the Maker into a nearby chair. The overrides should kick in eventually, countermanding the instruction she gave him. She isn't the one in charge after all. Once he comes around, he might mope for a bit...unless she can time it very precisely to give him some telepathic memories of her. If she catches his mind right at the reboot, he'll wake up in very happy spirits indeed.

Meanwhile, she turns her attention back to Worthington. Time to test his responses. She gently runs a fingertip over his lower lip.

"Wake up, Angel."

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Eyelids flutter slightly.

Wings ruffle.

Slowly, he lets the light in once again.

"What.... ?"

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She steps into his line of sight, tapping into this thoughts to assess his awareness.

"Do you know who I am?"

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His eyes blink a few times, shifting around the room, before settling back on her.

Then, a smirk.

"Should I, hot lips?"

He should be scared. Somehow, he isn't.

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That might be a smirk that twitches at the corner of her lips, but it's hard to tell.

"You should now."

She paces around to near the base of the cylinder, fingers tracing along the edge of his feathers.

"How are you feeling?"

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Last thing he remembers is abject terror. He knows something awful has been done to him, and he doesn't know where he is.

The smile widens.

"Pretty damn good. How 'bout yourself."

The eyebrows waggle.

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He gets lifted out of the cylinder under her power and brought close to her. She sets him on his feet, but only releases him so much in case he's still weak from the Maker's procedure.

"Very good."

She's not speaking of herself, but she'll let him interpret how he will.

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He's a little wobbly.

The sudden involuntary movement widens his eyes, but the fearful response doesn't come.

"Hey, excellent!"

He's not wearing much of anything, he's facing down a stranger that could most likely overpower him easily.

What a rush!

"You're a foxy little thing, aren't you?"

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"If you say so."

She paces around behind him to get a good look at his wings. After a moment, she runs her hand down the length of the feathers.

"How strong are they?"

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Suddenly, one wing folds inward, before jutting around behind her, to sweep her up off her feet.

"Strong enough."

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Startling her is typically not a good idea. It tends to lead to all kinds of painful situations. However, in this instance, she is able to restrain the urge to teach him not to take liberties. All that slips out is a quick glare.

It also helps that she's here to put him through his paces. She wouldn't be able to do that in her own way if she retaliated. Instead, she turns her mind back to analyzing, which isn't altogether unpleasant.

Interesting. Many possibilities. Oh, Charles. You HAVE to let me have this one!

She runs her hands along the feathers, observing the movements and reactions. Then she looks back to him with a smirk, her arms stretching out along the edge of the wing.

"What else can they do?"

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