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The Evils of Necessity	By : Ksennin Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 13050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ultimate X-Men or any of the characters associated with the franchise. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
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“This is Captain America. All Brotherhood members neutralized and accounted for.”
No cheer went up in the control room. They’d already seen the fight and the Ultimates’ success was evident. Only a few were left alive, including Cyclops. Mojo was pleased. He knew his viewers would love to see that man being hunted.
“Bring them here for processing,” Mojo ordered, forgetting himself and his recent queasiness now that the situation is in hand. “I’ll… see what I can do about getting free DVD box-sets of the show for you and your men.”
“Copy.” There was a pause. Mojo could see the Captain America on their surveillance footage looking almost… ill at ease. “I’ve been instructed to ask that you release the X-Men into our custody, in exchange for the Brotherhood.”
“The X-Men are Genoshan criminals!”
“That’s true. But my government would be much more comfortable with you hunting down a bunch of terrorists than our citizens. Rest assured, if you give them to us, they’ll be duly punished.”
Mojo pressed his lips together as thinly as they could go. “I’ll consider it. Bring the Brotherhood here. You did promise, remember?”
“Yes, Mr. Adams. We’re on our way.” And Mojo watched as the Captain on the screen gave a hand gesture and his troops frog-marched the Brotherhood survivors off-camera.
Mojo shut off the feed. “He is not getting the X-Men. Call our diplomat, tell him to get in touch with Washington. If Captain America leaves here with a single mutie in his possession, I want the President up his ass!”
***
This might actually work, Mojo thought. As the Ultimates brought the Brotherhood survivors in, he realized that he could always get them to recapture the X-Men running loose in his facility. He just had to throw them a bone.
After all, it wasn’t like Cap would be throwing a shield around when he was forty. He’d need to get into another line of work, and what better than TV personality? Mojo could swing that. Start him off slow with a commentary gig on Genosha National News, a few rounds on the interview circuit, then his own talk show. To say nothing of the chicks! Mojo could get them a music video played twenty-four/seven. And every woman wanted to star in a music video. Mojo knew the ladies.
He watched with an almost masturbatory glee as the Brotherhood members were sorted, each on a different screen, each shouldered along by an Ultimate. Captain America himself was bringing Cyclops up to the control room. Mojo cued up the footage of Marvel Girl and Wolverine’s little love nest. He was in a generous mood. He’d stream it again for everyone who missed it with a special insert of Cyclops’ face.
The heavy door to the bunker opened and Captain America shoved Cyclops through, the leader of the Brotherhood looking around through his creepy red visor. Mojo marched right up to him, hemming and hawing. “Captain America! Captain, Captain, Captain! Genosha owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“Where are the X-Men?” Captain America demanded. “I had assurances—“
“Don’t be so hasty!” Mojo said cajolingly. “Let’s talk it over first, haggle a little. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Donut hole?” He gave Cyclops a look. “Nice shades. Don’t think you’ll be too popular with the audience. Lack of eye contact. Hurts your ratings.”
“The X-Men!” Captain America insisted. “Where are they?”
“Well…” Mojo wheedled his fingers together. “They’re somewhere in B-wing, we are having a bit of a locationary issue—it’s our leniency, really, we practically give them free run of the place, they go and cause trouble, we’ll sort it out eventually, maybe you could help? First things first—how would you like an hour every day to talk about family values to an international audience? In primetime?”
Captain America scowled. “So you don’t have them?” he asked.
“You seem awfully fixated on that,” the old man said, speaking for the first time from his recessed position—almost a hiding place. “Mr. Adams, are you sure it’s wise to allow a man that shoots optic blasts from his eyes into your control room?”
The Captain laughed out loud. “Cyclops? Please. He’s harmless. His hands are bound, and he needs them free to work the dial on his visor.” Captain America pointed to it—a small, svelte control on the side of Cyclops’ eye-wear. “See? Like this.”
And he turned the dial all the way.
Cyclops juked and pivoted, moving the uncontrollable stream of destruction with smooth precision. He’d already planned out the path it would take—wrapping around the room to destroy or disable anything that was a threat, as well as compromising the facility’s functions. In ten seconds, it was over, a swath of destruction having literally almost halved the room.
Now mostly herself aside from the white and red stripes on her belly, Mystique turned the dial down on his visor before moving to undo his handcuffs. What few monitors hadn’t turned to broken glass or static now showed the Brotherhood on a rampage; the Ultimates who’d been escorting them fading away like desert mirages. And the Quinjet on their runway had faded from its noble silvery silhouette into the cruel, dark angles of the Blackbird.
Cyclops didn’t pay attention to any of it. He went to the green screen from which Mojo filmed his host segments, cued up the stream with a few strokes of the keyboard, then looked at the camera and its blinking red light. He said nothing. Just let his red-sighted visage stream over wi-fi and broadband to anyone who might be watching.
Then he blasted the camera apart.
“That’s a wrap.”
Mystique rolled her eyes as she bound Mojo’s hands. “Are we doing quips? We’re doing quips now?”
Mojo just had two questions. “How? How?”
“Simple,” Cyclops said, never one to pass up a lecture. “You never shot us down. Just an illusion. The same as your men being taken out during our ‘attack’. We simply jammed your communications while showing you the illusion of the Reavers dying en masse.”
“Mutants are smart like that,” Mystique grinned.
“Then, when you were desperate, Mystique here made a phone call as Captain America and you gave us permission to land, right inside your facility. The rest is, well—academic.” That was all the time Cyclops had for Mojo Adams. Now he focused on the old man who was of such obvious importance, not to mention enough intelligence to hide before the room was barraged. “And who might you be?”
It was Mystique that spoke, her eyes clouding over in sudden realization. “Dr. Cornelius.”
He almost clapped, his look of admiration was so strong. “But how did you cast your illusions both on your aircraft and on Krakoa?”
“Illusionists.” Cyclops allowed himself a rare smile. “I have two.”
***
“I loved your big battle scene with the Reavers, Mastermind. I could barely even tell that Wanda got killed three times.”
“And good work on the Quinjet, Lady Mastermind. It almost looked like it wasn’t a really big toy.”
“You know what? That tears it. Get your own mutant name, sis, I’m tired of sharing one with you!”
“Who’s sharing? I’m Lady Mastermind because, much like Lady Judi Dench, I am classy, elegant, and feminine, while you’re Mastermind because that was father’s mutant name and you’re uncreative.”
“First off, it’s Dame Judi Dench, second, you realize he didn’t call himself ‘Mr. Mastermind’ or ‘Mastermind Man’ so it’s entirely sexist for you to need a gender pronoun added on. Not that I’d expect you to care for your fellow women.”
“Like you care that I had to let Pietro carry me into Krakoa so I could cast the illusions that got your fat ass inside?”
“You’re one to talk about fat asses, considering you show yours off to anyone with an X-gene!”
“At least they’ve found a genome for people who like my ass. I think the only guys that could like you would be, like, the Kree!”
“We’re identical twins, idiot!”
“Only because you keep using your power to make yourself look like me. I.e., hot.”
“You’re the one who uses her power to look like me!”
“God, you’re such a little bitch. You know what you need? You need to cast yourself an illusion of a guy with a big dick and. Get. Laid!”
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The Evils of Necessity