Well, if Xavier's really missing...
Who: Dr. Jeremiah Stryker
What: Capitalizing on Xavier’s Absence
Where: Opening week at the Elizabeth Arkham Shelter in NYC
When: About a week and a half after the Carnival; evening
Interactions: Open
Warnings: None, but I should probably tell you that this post is a little long
Dr. Stryker didn’t hate mutants. He had devoted his life to improving the lives of others, a devotion inspired entirely by his own fascination with humanity. Every human being was a walking miracle, every human life was worthy of saving. Every human brain was wonderfully complex, every human hand a reliable tool, every human heart beat making even, soothing music to his ears as the steady rhythm assured him that this person, yes, this person was still living and still well.
He didn’t hate mutants. He hated their mutations. They were aberrations, corruptions which defiled their human hosts. Regrettably, he remained unable to purge these abnormalities without also killing the person to which they belonged. So be it. He strived to return humanity to this fallen world, by any means necessary.
He did not hate the infant he held in his arms. In fact, he desperately wished that it would not turn out to be a mutant, but that wasn’t likely. Its parents were mutants and their parents were mutants. Stryker restrained his bitterness over this sad fact as he gently laid the infant in its crib. He could not let any of his true feelings show in front of the mother. She was far too young (she claimed her age was nineteen, though Stryker cynically believed her not much older than fifteen), and far, far too obviously a mutant, considering the thin layer of brown fur which covered her body.
She watched how he was careful to pull a blanket over her child’s body and how delicately he adjusted the pillow under its little head. “Thank you,” she said finally, chewing at her lower lip and pulling uncomfortably at the sleeves of her new shirt. She stood next to him, close enough to protect her baby and yet still keeping a wary distance between herself and the man. She was also dressed in the clothes he had provided her, since the ones she had been wearing when she arrived at the Shelter had been dirty and fraying.
“It is no problem at all,” he assured her, taking one respectful step back. “When I heard about the closing- or abandonment- of Xavier’s Institute I knew I had to do something.”
“I never went to that school,” she admitted. This didn’t surprise him; she had accepted his offer of shelter with a street-learned wariness, indicating that she had been on her own for a long time. “What is this place, anyway?”
“The Elizabeth Arkham Shelter is a new outreach of Gotham City’s Arkham Asylum. The Shelter aims to provide care and support for those mutants who need it here in New York. It is actually an extension of our mutant ward in Gotham, which offers free medical and psychological care to financially-troubled mutants,” Stryker exposited. He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, observing her hunched shoulders and tired eyes. “As I said, we decided to establish a branch in New York City when it became apparent that Xavier could no longer protect the mutants here.”
She turned her eyes away from him abruptly and rubbed her arms briskly, stalling for time. She knew what he was referring to, and she didn’t want to talk about it. He waited patiently, maintaining a sympathetic expression. Finally, she looked back to him and drew a deep breath. “I don’t know who they were- those guys who were chasing me. I just don’t know, I didn’t get a good look at their faces. I just ran.”
“They looked like Purifiers to me,” he said immediately.
“I’ve heard of them. On the news,” she said slowly, wincing. “God. They would’ve really killed me, wouldn’t they?”
No, Stryker thought, inwardly amused. Because they were only supposed to shove you in my direction, along with your child and boyfriend. There had been a third mutant his Purifiers had found tonight, and he resolved to ask about him. “You need not worry about them any longer. You are safe here, I promise.” He paused to let her consider that assurance. “Were you alone when they caught you?”
“No,” she answered, bitterness creeping into her voice. “My boyfriend was with us, but he just…” She sighed, retreating back into her thoughts. Stryker glanced down at the fresh bandages around her arm and realized there was only so far she could be pushed on her first night.
“I see,” he said, with only a hint of disapproval. His original intention had been to allow all three mutants to survive, so that word of the Shelter could spread, but such a display of cowardice deserved a quick and painful death. “Why don’t you rest now? This room belongs to you and your child for as long as you choose to remain.”
Stryker left her there, returning to the lower level of the Shelter and wandering into the dining room, where three long tables were set up for the guests. Currently the Shelter only had four, two of which he had discreetly imported from the Arkham ward. These were two of his favorites- or already broken in- and would serve as visible proofs that the Shelter was trustworthy. Both mutants chose to cooperate with the Purifiers in the hopes that they would be spared. Privately, Stryker despised those traitors almost as much as he despised the Rogues which the damn Batman kept dumping in his asylum. The other two guests were, of course, the girl and her baby, whom his Purifiers had chased into the neighborhood right when he just happened to be driving to the Shelter.
Both of the Arkham mutants were seated at one of the tables, obediently eating their dinner. Their eyes flashed up to him when he entered and then just as quickly darted back down to stare at their food with forced interest. They had helped him move a crib into the room and acted like they were completely relaxed and safe when Stryker offered to watch her child while the girl changed into the new clothes he offered. He supposed that was enough good behavior to warrant a reward, and allowed them to go to their rooms without being injected with any of his experimental drugs. They scrambled hastily up the stairs while one of his assistants in the Shelter gathered their used plates and took them into the kitchen.
Stryker considered the now-empty room with a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. The Shelter was developing perfectly. He would only need to stay for a few more weeks.