First Contact (Betsy)

The small, bright light that hung from the low ceiling flicked a little, its powerful luminescence and then sudden lack thereof causing her to blink a few times, before its harsh, pale radiance stabilised once more. When she'd first been moved into the detention room and the light had been turned on, she'd winced, barely able to see. In the hour she'd been sat there, her eyes had adjusted, and while she was sure it was initially part of the questioning process; to 'stun' the senses and leave people dazed and confused, she hadn't really been either, and had, after suffering from an initially blurred vision, quickly been able to follow the pacing guard captain's shadow as he strode slowly and purposefully up and down in front the desk to which she was loosely chained.

Said light rendered everything in stark, cold hues – and it seemed as though it stripped colour from everything it touched. Greys, whites and blacks where emphasised, where everything else was muted, almost indistinguishable. Even when she glanced at her wrists, at the emerald green fabric that covered her arms, they appeared little more than a swampy grey. The harsh glow made the guard's face look angrier than it already did – and when he turned to her, every frown line was exaggerated, as if drawn upon his brow by a particularly thick sharpie, or as if he was starring in some ancient ghost movie. Even she had to admit that it was an intimidating sight, even if she wasn't all that intimidated.

“I will ask you again,” he said, more than a little curtly, “how did you come to be inside the facility, and who sent you?” He stopped pacing when he spoke, leaning toward his captive a little, eyes narrowing menacingly. By way of response, Rogue just shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling lazily.
“Like ah said, ah just got lost on a tour.”
“Do you think I'm stupid? I know everything that goes on in this place – and we've not given tours in a decade, not unless they're to people of some importance!” the body-armoured man replied, slamming firm, bare fists down onto the table with his last word, pounding it in such a way it shook under her own gloved hands. The mutant's eyes widened in surprise, but it was the only reaction she offered as the loud banging noise echoed about the close walls.
“Well ah ain't changin' mah story. There was a tour for new starters, and ah got lost.”

Are you alright?
The question forced her way into her conscious mind, no doubt prompted by the sudden loud noise. It sounded as if the person asking had been right next to her, whispering in her ear, the voice familiar despite the bearer being in an all-together different room, and perhaps not even within the walls of the facility itself.
Ah'm fine, Betsy. The guy ah'm interrogatin' just got a little huffy is all. Apparently ah'm frustratin' him. Who knew ah could be frustratin'?

Betsy, aka Elizabeth Braddock, aka Psylocke, aka the psychic ninja lady who could lay waste to human minds with her incredible mental power was Rogue's back up, and she'd been incredibly attentive through the Southern Belle's capture and interrogation, and was clearly ready to be a little more involved in proceedings than she had been to that point. Not that Anna Marie, aka Rogue, aka Power Thief and Life-Force Vampire blamed her – when they'd been asked to infiltrate a privately funded PMC facility that they'd heard, through rumour, experimented freely on mutants, many X-Men had been rather desperate to get involved.

Obviously, nothing had been able to be substantiated, as was the case with colossal, secretive corporations. But the fact that most members of the facility had been granted some sort of mental shielding, preventing psychics reading their thoughts...well...that didn't suggest innocence. It was why Rogue had been required; for while her touch could sap the powers from other mutants and super humans, it also sapped their memories and knowledge. One touch, and she would be able to absorb everything the guard captain knew about the facility – including how to get in.

Not that getting into the outer areas was too hard, as she herself had proved. Indeed, with the guard captain living on site and rarely venturing outside the modern, minimalist complex – the X-Men weren't able to apprehend him and allow Rogue to work at their own base of operations. Instead, she had ventured into the enemy's and let herself get caught. She looked suspicious enough to involve the captain, but not suspicious enough to get shot on sight. Indeed, it, to that point, had been the most taxing part of her mission; though sitting handcuffed to a table was a close second. With her fingers unable to reach her ears, it had meant she'd had to listen to the droning voice of her interrogator without any respite.

And he always walked just out of reach.

“My patience is running thin.”
Yeah, ah totally get that feelin'.
“One last chance. Tell. Me. What. You're. Doing. Here.” It was no longer a question, and he punched the table with each word, punctuating them so it was impossible to miss a single syllable.
Again though, Rogue simply shrugged. That seemed to be the last straw. Grunting, the bulky male stepped closer, leaning right over the table so he was face to face with the captive mutant, his dark eyes boring into her green ones. His voice dropped to an angry hiss, and with each word, she could feel spittle splashing against her cheeks.

He was finally close enough.

“I've been playing nice up until now. Out there,” he pointed toward a long viewing window, where three heavily armed guards stood, watching the interrogation. It was the sort of window that looked as though it should have been tinted, not allowing the prisoner to see out, but for the purposes of intimidation, it had been left clear. Indeed, the sight of what looked like fully-armed paramilitary soldiers would have perhaps made most feel like escape was something of a bleak prospect, and softened them up to the captain's brutish line of questioning. “Are a group of men who are much more skilled in working information out of people than I am. But they won't be quite so nice. Former CIA operatives, all of them, and their methods are a little...less than savoury. You aren't leaving this room until I have what I feel is the truth.” Another punch on the table – but he'd been so busy staring at Rogue's face, he'd not noted she'd worked the white glove that sat over one of her hands completely free, wiggling her fingers once they were loose of their cloth confines.
“Anything you want to say now?” he hissed again.

Rogue just smirked.
“Yeah. Gotcha.”

And with that, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and the man's face instantly paled. His knees buckled a second later, and he collapsed onto them at Rogue's side, who shifted in order to better keep a hold of him. Out her peripheral vision, she saw a quick flash of purple light, but was too focused on her target to really pay attention to their origin. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath as memories not her own flooded her mind, and she felt her stomach churn as she learned all the guard had to know about the complex – but also his family. His upbringing. Everything about the man's life that had lead to him being...well...the captain on his side looking only more puce by the moment.

A minute later, and Rogue released the male, who went immediately slack. He would be passed out for some time. Wincing a little, the mutant shook her head and took a deep breath, before moving to reach for the man's side, quickly searching his belt. Upon finding a key card, she fiddled with it for a few moments before managing to work it into the slot between her cuffs – causing them to spring open, freeing her wrists. She rubbed both briefly, before then pulling his pistol from its holster, checking it over as if she were some gun expert – thanks to him, she was, after all – and stood, picking her discarded glove up from the table and making her way to the room's entrance – which was open. Apparently, they'd not been expecting her to stage such a daring escape.

In the corridor beyond, Rogue found the unconscious forms of the three guards who'd been watching, and standing in their midsts, Psylocke, her hand still glowing. Anna nodded, more than a little impressed.
“Ah got the entrance codes. Pretty sure ah know the best way in too.”
Betsy nodded as Rogue lifted her hand to her own forehead, pushing white strands of hair from her face and massaging the soft skin below her palm.
“Any chance you got an advil in that spandex a' yours? The lightin' in that room was threatenin' to give me a migraine before ah started absorbin' some d-bags thoughts. Ah could be nursin' a headache for hours.”

The answer was likely 'no', but it couldn't hurt to try.

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Tag: @betsy