At first, Mercy was pretty cool with the new digs. Nothing drastically different from H.Y.D.R.A, nothing shockingly dissimilar to her Academy training. At least not at first
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"That seems to be the general consensus, from what I gather."
The voice from behind her was quiet, almost spoken only to the speaker. Sinister was simply commentating. He was on his way through the mess hall toward the kitchen to make himself tea; though he recognized Mercy from the files that had come through the medlabs he didn't push an introduction. Not directly.
But she would have to come in for a new member check, wouldn't she? Gravitational distortion, now, that was interesting. And something that Sinister was glad for--the place sometimes felt simply overrun by ferals and their hair.
The sudden appearance almost startled her, but thankfully, she held herself together, turning to glance at the speaker. Average build, average height, average appearance.
It was strange to find such a thing in a camp of mutants, that she was sure of. "Seems so," she nodded, "so why stay?" If so many of them hated it, why not bolt. Why not level the place -like she knew a good handful could do easily- and get the hell out.
One mutant on the run out of an entire population wouldn't be the military's sole interest. And one mutant on the run could take care of anything or anyone sent after them. Surely. If they knew their powers well enough.
Either way, she was staying. She knew that much. At least until she'd gotten what she'd come for and then it was just a case of stepping through a portal back to headquarters.
Pausing a few tables away, Sinister ran his fingertips over the formica and thought about her question as he held her dark gaze. Finally he shrugged. "A fair question, and one that I don't have an answer to. I am not one of the multitude." A small smile turned his lips upward. "What are your reasons?"
"For staying?" It was interesting that he wasn't looking to get out, and Mercy shrugged, "I just got here. Might get more fun." She grinned.
Truthfully, she had work to do herself. And she was selected for it because she was truly the only one capable of keeping it secret. Psychic barriers were all good an well, but a natural ability to stave of psychic intrusion was just the icing on the cake as far as her superiors were concerned.
Stryker's operation was drawing attention. Mercy was sent in to get the skinny. "So, why are you so content here?"
Hands were spread slightly. "I am a doctor interested in mutant genetics." There was amusement in Sinister's words. "Where else would I want to be?" It was actually the truth--or at least part of it. He had followed Jean but being surrounded by willing samples was a happy byproduct of his being stationed in the ass-end of the world with this team. "Nathan Milbury," he added.
Doctors, oh boy. This was going to get interesting, or fucking wild. Mercy didn't have anything against doctors, least of all fucking handsome ones. But guys who all out admitted that mutant genetics was 'interesting' just didn't wholly bode well.
"Mercy Dyer," she replied, getting the feeling that maybe this wasn't the kind of doctor she wanted to play nurse with.
"So you've pretty much got your hand in the cookie jar?" Or was locked in a candy store.
"Up to the elbow," Sinister murmured, keeping his smile quietly bemused. His hands were pushed into her pockets, his eyes still on Mercy's face. It wasn't hard to imagine what a mutant would think about a geneticist. "The team keeps me busy," he offered. "There never does seem to be a dull moment around this place."
Life without dull moments was the story of her life, since she hit eighteen anyway. Not that people needed to know that. She had her cover story, and while it was dangerously close to her true life, there were a few dull moments in it.
"Well, maybe the fun will start soon, and I'll stop thinking I'm nuts for stopping here." Because like they'd be able to contain her if she decided to keep going.
Even if he was relatively friendly -it wasn't like he'd come at her with needles and swabs, Mercy wasn't offering too much. "So, Doctor, is that all you are?"
Sinister's smile notched up a small bit and then relaxed again. "I don't think anyone can be defined by a single parameter, do you? Though I suppose in terms of this camp... it is mostly all that I am, yes. A human in a camp of mutants."
His grin was ironic, though Mercy wouldn't know it.
The grin made her wonder, but she smirked back. "Not worried one of us might kill you in your sleep?" Some of the H.Y.D.R.A operatives sometimes spooked the the non-mutants in on the operation.
Although that was incredibly limited.
"It does kinda make sense." She half mused aloud, mostly about the fact that he was 'normal' and in a camp of mutants, interested in their genetics. Oh, this was definitely something to report back. "Cookie jar and all that."
Sinister leaned back against a nearby table's edge, keeping his hands in his pockets. He laughed quietly even though Mercy's smirk didn't exactly make her question a joke. "No, I am not. Though I have found out that a rather large number of mutants dislike doctors simply on principle. I've had to assure several people that I am not in the practice of taking anyone apart to see how the pieces work."
There was a light shrug of his shoulders. "Not that many believe me, I am sure. But I am more of a long-term man. Following the X-factors through generations, seeing how latent mutations are passed on."
The tension he'd been carrying around with him over the growing situation with Jean and Victor was finally being dealt with, given an outlet. Sinister felt inclined play mild-mannered for a while.
Instead of taking a seat, Mercy went for the table, sitting on it with her boots on the chair. She didn't rightly care, and it was how she usually went about meetings and the like anyway. "I can see why that would be a concern."
For the most part, she knew what happened to operatives within her own organisation when they proved useless or died. And it was people like Milbury that went about it. Either way, she didn't plan on ending up like that. "So you're all about the origin of the X factor?" She hadn't read much, but she'd been told to figure out the science behind mutation, or at least understand them.
She sipped her water, waiting for the answer. She'd never bothered to speak to the lab types on base at H.Y.D.R.A.
Sinister laughed very quietly. "Yes," he agreed. "I am. And the evolution of a species, you could say." The X-factor, in fact, had been named for him after his discovery of it--the Essex Factor, butchered by time and slang and impatient mouths--but he no longer looked anything like Nathaniel Essex anymore. It had been two hundred years ago. Darwin; dead. Essex; dead for all intents and purposes.
"And what are you all about, Miss Dyer?" His faint English accent was mild as it turned the conversation to her.
"Not big on the doctor stuff, no." She smirked, shrugging. She was only to tally up the non-mutants and their uses. Milbury was a doctor, a geneticist, and that was it. Someone else could do the leg work on why he was there.
With a shrug, she dropped the joke. "I'm called Vortex. Guess what I do." It hadn't been terribly creative, but then, none of the H.Y.D.R.A codes were all that inventive. "Gravitational vortex distortion and manipulation; that's what it said on the file." She shrugged again, "I couldn't say about family."
As far as she was aware, they were all insanely plain. Save for Jake. But he was just abnormal because.
"Dear, you don't have to give me your family tree," Sinister said with a laugh. "I do genetics in my spare time; I am here to be a doctor for the team, a surgeon. Now if you have a habit of getting into fights? I am your man."
Yes, he was interested in her family tree. He was going to look into it once he'd gotten his tea.
"I dunno, maybe you could put to rest my theory that my eldest sister was adopted." Not that she believed it, but sometimes she had questions -and it was a standing joke.
"Fights, only sometimes. Usually I'm not the one needing medical attention." And the others needed a body bag. Or they'd end up on milk cartons. She wasn't above using her powers for such things. She felt ill afterwards if she used the holes to vanish them, but dropping them from great heights was nothing to question. "But it's good to know who's holding the scalpel."
The voice from behind her was quiet, almost spoken only to the speaker. Sinister was simply commentating. He was on his way through the mess hall toward the kitchen to make himself tea; though he recognized Mercy from the files that had come through the medlabs he didn't push an introduction. Not directly.
But she would have to come in for a new member check, wouldn't she? Gravitational distortion, now, that was interesting. And something that Sinister was glad for--the place sometimes felt simply overrun by ferals and their hair.
Hazel eyes glanced in her direction.
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It was strange to find such a thing in a camp of mutants, that she was sure of. "Seems so," she nodded, "so why stay?" If so many of them hated it, why not bolt. Why not level the place -like she knew a good handful could do easily- and get the hell out.
One mutant on the run out of an entire population wouldn't be the military's sole interest. And one mutant on the run could take care of anything or anyone sent after them. Surely. If they knew their powers well enough.
Either way, she was staying. She knew that much. At least until she'd gotten what she'd come for and then it was just a case of stepping through a portal back to headquarters.
She met his dark eyed gaze with her own.
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Truthfully, she had work to do herself. And she was selected for it because she was truly the only one capable of keeping it secret. Psychic barriers were all good an well, but a natural ability to stave of psychic intrusion was just the icing on the cake as far as her superiors were concerned.
Stryker's operation was drawing attention. Mercy was sent in to get the skinny. "So, why are you so content here?"
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"Mercy Dyer," she replied, getting the feeling that maybe this wasn't the kind of doctor she wanted to play nurse with.
"So you've pretty much got your hand in the cookie jar?" Or was locked in a candy store.
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"Well, maybe the fun will start soon, and I'll stop thinking I'm nuts for stopping here." Because like they'd be able to contain her if she decided to keep going.
Even if he was relatively friendly -it wasn't like he'd come at her with needles and swabs, Mercy wasn't offering too much. "So, Doctor, is that all you are?"
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His grin was ironic, though Mercy wouldn't know it.
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Although that was incredibly limited.
"It does kinda make sense." She half mused aloud, mostly about the fact that he was 'normal' and in a camp of mutants, interested in their genetics. Oh, this was definitely something to report back. "Cookie jar and all that."
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There was a light shrug of his shoulders. "Not that many believe me, I am sure. But I am more of a long-term man. Following the X-factors through generations, seeing how latent mutations are passed on."
The tension he'd been carrying around with him over the growing situation with Jean and Victor was finally being dealt with, given an outlet. Sinister felt inclined play mild-mannered for a while.
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For the most part, she knew what happened to operatives within her own organisation when they proved useless or died. And it was people like Milbury that went about it. Either way, she didn't plan on ending up like that. "So you're all about the origin of the X factor?" She hadn't read much, but she'd been told to figure out the science behind mutation, or at least understand them.
She sipped her water, waiting for the answer. She'd never bothered to speak to the lab types on base at H.Y.D.R.A.
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"And what are you all about, Miss Dyer?" His faint English accent was mild as it turned the conversation to her.
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With a shrug, she dropped the joke. "I'm called Vortex. Guess what I do." It hadn't been terribly creative, but then, none of the H.Y.D.R.A codes were all that inventive. "Gravitational vortex distortion and manipulation; that's what it said on the file." She shrugged again, "I couldn't say about family."
As far as she was aware, they were all insanely plain. Save for Jake. But he was just abnormal because.
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Yes, he was interested in her family tree. He was going to look into it once he'd gotten his tea.
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"Fights, only sometimes. Usually I'm not the one needing medical attention." And the others needed a body bag. Or they'd end up on milk cartons. She wasn't above using her powers for such things. She felt ill afterwards if she used the holes to vanish them, but dropping them from great heights was nothing to question. "But it's good to know who's holding the scalpel."
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