Deals With The Devil
Well, well - that went exactly as I hoped, and exactly as I expected.
Soon, Shaw Industries will be the primary contractor for Wide Awake - and wouldn't you know that Shaw Industries gene-testers will let a few 'special cases' slip through the machines.
The office now empty, Shaw takes a drink of water - and then he reaches for the desk phone, dialing a number secreted away in memory. Fingers dance over keys, and the receiver is cradled under the Black King's head as he waits for ring, ring, ring.
Seated stiffly behind his desk, the index finger of his left hand tracing slowly around the rim of a stout, amber-touched glass, Erik is squinting down at a small assortment of metal pieces set out before him - right hand occasionally shifting - just a twinge of a finger there, a tendon flexed there. The metal shifts after it. Organizing, reorganizing. And then there is a small burst of electromagnetism, and phone rings. Cool blue eyes flicking up over the wire rims of his new glasses, he pauses a moment before reaching to flick it open. He says nothing.
Shaw's voice is cool, polite. "It's Shaw." A pause. "How are you, Dr. Lensherr?"
A slow breath pulled in through his sinuses, Erik settles back against the cold steel of his chair and reaches up to tug his glasses down the bridge of his nose, and then away. "Sebastian. What do you want?"
"Well, Erik," Shaw says to that, smiling. There is the sound of another sip of water. "Well, under the circumstances. Mandatory mutant detection may sound great when you're an international terrorist already on the run from the law, but when you're living on the down-low..." A pause. "It can cramp your style."
"I suppose, then, I should feel terribly sympathetic that the shortcomings of your female counterparts have risen up to bite you upon the ass." Cultured tones lower a gentle octave, threading colder malice through general observation.
Shaw shuffles a paper, eyeing something, and then responds. "Yes," he says. "I've had the opportunity to thank her for that already. I wouldn't come calling on her for a few days, if I were you - she gets terribly piqued when makeup isn't sufficient to hide her bruises." Shaw's tone has naked malice, there, and sadistic pride. "And yet... there's cause for some common ground, here, between you and I."
Silence is the immediate answer, mild startlement writ out into the lines and angles of Erik's face. His shoulders stiffen. But none of this, of course, is visible to Sebastian Shaw. "I see."
"I've got a folder in my hand, Erik," Shaw says. "More a thick folio, really." Fingers tap against it. "It's got details on the factory doing final assembly and production on the gene-testing devices; it also has the delivery schedule and truck routes for those prototypes already completed." An unseen smile. "I can't really do anything with this information, but then, I'm not an international terrorist."
Jawline flexing hard, and then soft again, Erik's brow presses low over the line of his glare. His glasses are set very slowly and deliberately aside. "You do realize that I will kill you if you are lying to me."
Shaw's smile fades. "I do," he says into the handset. "And I'm not promising that you'll be able to stop implementation - but it's a blow, and one with a very narrow window of opportunity before those trucks roll."
Blue-grey flicks aside onto the wall, and then back to the desk. Erik's nostrils flare. His shoulders roll and stretch and stiffen yet again. "You are holding this folder."
"I am. In an hour, a pawn of mine can be holding a briefcase with this folder in Central Park - you'll recognize the briefcase, on account of the bar magnets slipped in all its inner pockets." Shaw pauses. "He'll never need to see your face, nor you his."
"I am five hours away."
Shaw glances at the clock on his wall. "I'll tell my man to drink some Red Bull."
A softly snorted exhalation brushes against the receiver, and Erik thumbs the 'end' button and drops the phone aside. Steel screeches - the chair scrapes back. Even bootfalls thump slow across the office floor in the direction of the door.
Soon, Shaw Industries will be the primary contractor for Wide Awake - and wouldn't you know that Shaw Industries gene-testers will let a few 'special cases' slip through the machines.
The office now empty, Shaw takes a drink of water - and then he reaches for the desk phone, dialing a number secreted away in memory. Fingers dance over keys, and the receiver is cradled under the Black King's head as he waits for ring, ring, ring.
Seated stiffly behind his desk, the index finger of his left hand tracing slowly around the rim of a stout, amber-touched glass, Erik is squinting down at a small assortment of metal pieces set out before him - right hand occasionally shifting - just a twinge of a finger there, a tendon flexed there. The metal shifts after it. Organizing, reorganizing. And then there is a small burst of electromagnetism, and phone rings. Cool blue eyes flicking up over the wire rims of his new glasses, he pauses a moment before reaching to flick it open. He says nothing.
Shaw's voice is cool, polite. "It's Shaw." A pause. "How are you, Dr. Lensherr?"
A slow breath pulled in through his sinuses, Erik settles back against the cold steel of his chair and reaches up to tug his glasses down the bridge of his nose, and then away. "Sebastian. What do you want?"
"Well, Erik," Shaw says to that, smiling. There is the sound of another sip of water. "Well, under the circumstances. Mandatory mutant detection may sound great when you're an international terrorist already on the run from the law, but when you're living on the down-low..." A pause. "It can cramp your style."
"I suppose, then, I should feel terribly sympathetic that the shortcomings of your female counterparts have risen up to bite you upon the ass." Cultured tones lower a gentle octave, threading colder malice through general observation.
Shaw shuffles a paper, eyeing something, and then responds. "Yes," he says. "I've had the opportunity to thank her for that already. I wouldn't come calling on her for a few days, if I were you - she gets terribly piqued when makeup isn't sufficient to hide her bruises." Shaw's tone has naked malice, there, and sadistic pride. "And yet... there's cause for some common ground, here, between you and I."
Silence is the immediate answer, mild startlement writ out into the lines and angles of Erik's face. His shoulders stiffen. But none of this, of course, is visible to Sebastian Shaw. "I see."
"I've got a folder in my hand, Erik," Shaw says. "More a thick folio, really." Fingers tap against it. "It's got details on the factory doing final assembly and production on the gene-testing devices; it also has the delivery schedule and truck routes for those prototypes already completed." An unseen smile. "I can't really do anything with this information, but then, I'm not an international terrorist."
Jawline flexing hard, and then soft again, Erik's brow presses low over the line of his glare. His glasses are set very slowly and deliberately aside. "You do realize that I will kill you if you are lying to me."
Shaw's smile fades. "I do," he says into the handset. "And I'm not promising that you'll be able to stop implementation - but it's a blow, and one with a very narrow window of opportunity before those trucks roll."
Blue-grey flicks aside onto the wall, and then back to the desk. Erik's nostrils flare. His shoulders roll and stretch and stiffen yet again. "You are holding this folder."
"I am. In an hour, a pawn of mine can be holding a briefcase with this folder in Central Park - you'll recognize the briefcase, on account of the bar magnets slipped in all its inner pockets." Shaw pauses. "He'll never need to see your face, nor you his."
"I am five hours away."
Shaw glances at the clock on his wall. "I'll tell my man to drink some Red Bull."
A softly snorted exhalation brushes against the receiver, and Erik thumbs the 'end' button and drops the phone aside. Steel screeches - the chair scrapes back. Even bootfalls thump slow across the office floor in the direction of the door.