Chapter Text
The woman’s gait was a bit of a shorter stride than Mystique was used to. It was a clipped sort of walk that she had committed to memory; efficient, choppy, almost robotic in its stride. It took a moment to settle into, but by the time she was inside the building she had it down to an artistic perfection. Anyone who glanced in her direction wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
The likelihood of any of Stryker’s crew being observant enough to notice something off about Yuriko’s walk was low. Mystique highly doubted any of them were intelligent enough to keep an eye out for subtle idiosyncrasies like that. She, however, was not the sort of person to do her work sloppily. Efficiently, yes. Quickly, yes. Sloppily? Never.
She took care with her walk as she made her way through the deserted halls of the building, strategically marking out the few people that she passed. There was a man at the very front of the office building, an older gentlemen that must be nearing retirement based on the lackadaisical way his gun had been strapped to his hip and the crookedness of his security badge; too many years of service had made that one overconfident and relaxed. He didn’t question her at all as she slipped through with a stolen keycard. There was a woman in one of the offices that she passed who didn’t even bother glancing up; tired, rushed movements, an empty bottle of cheap wine tucked into a drawer that she was hastily shutting. On her way out; she’d be gone by the time Mystique was. The only other person she saw in the deserted building was a hispanic man in a janitor’s uniform pushing a cart of cleaning supplies. He kept his head down as he passed her, focused on completing his rounds as quickly as possible. There was a flash of a ring on his right hand; married. Probably had a wife and kids to get home to.
It was laughably, almost insultingly easy. Mystique’s skills deserved to be poured into something far more challenging than this.
She, however, knew the value of easy quarry. She wouldn’t complain if her enemies wanted to offer up her rewards on a silver platter.
The door that she needed was easy to find. She’d paid one of her contacts to get her a day’s worth of security footage from the building the same night that Summers had made his deal with her. Stryker always came in and out of the same room; if the servers of that space had been accessible from afar, Mystique would have had everything she needed within twenty four hours. These computers, however, were operating off of a more grounded network.
There was something hidden behind this door that Stryker didn’t want anyone to see.
The hand scanner at the side of the door would have proven a challenge for any normal intruder. Mystique, however, was nothing like a normal intruder. She’d already made sure to study the fingerprints that Yuriko had left on one of the glasses from the conference. When the scan passed over the hand she’d stolen, it didn’t see a single difference between the fake and something authentic.
The door buzzed, and Mystique pushed it open with all the confidence of someone who was meant to be there.
The room that she entered was large, dimly lit in the late hour, and filled with computers. Mystique didn’t bother with the lights; she strode forward with purpose, keeping Yuriko’s stride in her steps as she counted computers. Second row, third from the end; she settled into the seat that Styker usually sat in, and when she tapped at the keyboard his login came up immediately. All she needed was the password, which was something that she would have needed more time to decipher.
Thankfully, her contact had been able to source enough of the technology to ensure her that there was a voice-lock option. Mystique held down a key, shifted her voice, and spoke.
“Stryker, William.”
The voice that came from Yuriko’s lips was a perfect replica of the man that she’d spoken with at the conference, down to his subtle haughtiness. The password filled in immediately, and the words “access granted” flashed across the screen.
All according to plan.
The man’s desktop was a notable tragedy. Files and folders were strewn across the black backdrop in a haphazard, scattered fashion. Everything from “Personnel” to “Fonts” were thrown together with no organization in sight, with half of the files completely unnamed. It nearly made Mystique wrinkle her nose in disgust; if this was a tactic to throw someone off from stealing information, it was an effective one. She was shocked that even Stryker would be able to sort through this mess.
Thankfully, Mystique was an intuitive woman. She was never one to leave her plans up to guesswork, but she was also skilled in the act of improvisation. Guesswork was a game to her; a set of small risks that lead to small rewards, stacking together until they lead to the results that she desired.
The file titled “Plan B” opened up to reveal a set of blueprints. Some were black-and-white scans, a few images of what looked like an early prototype had been uploaded as well. Mystique recognized the design instantly; a thick silver circlet identical to the one that Nightcrawler had been wearing when he had been sent to attack her. These were the files that Summers wanted.
Mystique pulled a black, unassuming hard drive from Yuriko’s jacket pocket. She plugged it easily into the computer, and copied the file over. The computer was slower than expected; likely a result of the hundreds of useless folders scattered across the unorganized desktop.
What intrigued her was the fact that the inhibitors were titled “Plan B”. If they were as effective and dangerous as Summers had said, then why would Stryker have them labeled as a backup? Why was there no “Plan A” folder on this mess of a desktop?
Probably because the man couldn’t stick to a single labeling method. The files themselves seemed to be well-organized and detailed, if the size of the inhibitor file was anything to go by. The method to find the files though? Atrocious.
That was no concern of hers though. Now that she had Summers’ interests taken care of, Mystique had her own to tackle.
She scanned over the rest of the files on the desktop, and settled on a folder titled “M Files”. An attempt to be subtle was easily seen through; the file that opened up was a list of names, just as Mystique had expected. She even recognised at few; two entries under “Maximoff” that must be the twins, the name “Lebeau, Remy” whom Mystique recognized from some of her more freelance days, one “Maddox, Jamie” whose mother had spoken at one of the council meetings she had been to as Senator Kelly…
Then, there was the name she was interested in: “Lennsher, Erik”.
Mystique moved the mouse, ready to click. She scrolled down a bit first, mostly to see just how long the list of mutants that Stryker had tabs on was. The list was long, longer than she would have given him credit for, and she was about to scroll back up to her target when one at the bottom caught her eye.
Wagner, Kurt.
It wasn’t a name she recognized. There should be nothing that drew her eye to the file. There should be no reason for her to click it.
Mystique was an efficient and focused woman. Once she set a task for herself, she accomplished it quickly, efficiently, and effectively. She was not one to be easily distracted, especially with things that held no benefit to her. Every decision she made was a calculated one, designed to accomplish her own interests in the most efficient way possible.
And yet, she hesitated. There was something about the file that made her mouse slide toward it, curiosity tugging at her like a cat tugging on a mouse’s tail.
She opened the folder as though in a daze.
The file that loaded onto her screen was pages long. Like the file on the inhibitors, it was a stark contrast from the messy desktop; it was neat, organized, detailed in a way that seemed both clinical and passionate at the same time.
“Nightcrawler” was printed at the top of the first page, along with a serial number and a few identification tags. Then, below that, in smaller lettering: “Kurt Wagner”.
The image on the next page was obviously old. It showed a small boy in black-and-white ink, his dark face split in a wide grin as a three-fingered hand raised, like he was about to wave at the camera. He was obviously young, younger than the last time Mystique had seen him. There were no scars on his arms, and there was a glimmer in his white eyes that came across even in the dull, lifeless image.
He looked exactly like the boy that attacked Mystique, and yet so different that Mystique marveled that they could be the same person.
The file was several pages long. At a quick glance, Mystique could tell it had multiple years worth of entries; a compilation of medical notes, test studies, mission reports and important exercises. It was detailed. It was long.
Summers hadn’t asked for this. Their deal was for Mystique to get him information on the inhibitors; nothing more. He hadn’t even asked for more on Nightcrawler.
More importantly, Mystique had no reason to care if he had more on Nightcrawler. She had no reason to give the kid a second thought. She had no reason to sit there, staring at the image of the smiling little boy, and wonder how exactly that little kid had been turned into the dead-eyed weapon that had been sent to slit Senator Kelly’s throat. She had no reason to wonder if the X-Men had managed to bring back a little bit of the glimmer that had once been in that kid’s bright, yellow eyes.
Why was she sitting there, staring at the kid on the screen? The inhibitor file had finished downloading. Her time here was limited. Even with all of her planning, she couldn’t predict when she might be forced to leave. She needed to weigh risks, download what was important, and then leave before the odds turned against her. Magneto’s file was right at the top of the page. She just needed to scroll up, download the prison plans, and then she could start formulating her plan to rescue her most powerful partnership.
Her mouse moved. She grabbed a file. She began to copy it to the hard drive.
It wasn’t the one that she should be prioritizing.
Maybe she was trying to get a tactical advantage. Maybe seeing the contents of Nightcrawler’s file would unsettle the X-Men. Maybe it would be the push they needed to finally stop giving in to Xavier’s pointless dream, and start considering the more effective tactics that they could use. Or maybe the file would just prove to Summers that she could deliver more than he asked for, which could lower his guard and let her lure him into future deals with the devil.
Maybe it was the light that had been captured in the kid’s eyes. Maybe it was that strange tug in her chest; intuition, perhaps, or something else all together. Maybe it was whatever had drawn her to that name that she had never read before. Maybe it was the same thing that had drawn her to drop the kid off at Xavier’s Institute in the first place.
Mystique watched as the loading bar began to fill, and she tried to justify the waste of time. This was a risk. This was cutting into her time to download the files that actually mattered.
She waited for it to load anyway.
As she waited for the files to copy, Mystique found her gaze sliding over the rest of the files. There were titles that seemed useless; a random screenshot, a folder of messages, a log of search history…
Then the word “Cerebro” caught her eye, and Mystique found herself intrigued. This one seemed important. This one seemed like it could be truly beneficial, for both her and Magneto.
She added Erik’s file to the cue, then moved to open up the file on Cerebro. Before she could click, movement caught her eye in the computer screen’s reflection. She turned carefully; not too quickly, lest it seem suspicious, but fast enough that she was able to see the very familiar figure of a woman walking down the hall beyond the room’s windows.
Mystique nearly cursed under her breath, only holding back with years of espionage practice and expertise. Yuriko. Of all the people to return to the office after the day was over, of course Stryker would send his pet mutant.
She was nothing but Stryker’s “personal assistant”, hence why she had made the perfect entry point. Still, it would only be a matter of time before the guard at the front realized that the woman had come in twice without ever leaving. Even worse, Yuriko had no station of her own here; she would only be here if she was picking up something for Stryker, which meant that she would be coming directly to the station that Mystique was sitting at.
She had maybe sixty seconds.
Mystique looked back at the file on screen. The Cerebro folder remained unopened, and the two doced downloads stared up at her. Magneto and Nightcrawler’s files were both trying to copy over to the hard drive, but this computer was too damn slow to get them both in sixty seconds. She had to pick one.
Mystique was a woman who lived off of risk. She prided herself on her ability to weigh options and make her choices quickly, always choosing whatever would benefit her most. She always chose the most beneficial option.
At least, she thought she did.
She justified it with the fact that Nightcrawler’s file was closer to being finished. She tried to make the excuse that it would be better to have one complete file than only half of Magneto’s.
Thirty five seconds since she saw Yuriko’s shadow, the file had finished saving. Mystique ignored any connected documents, and logged out of the account.
Ten seconds later, the login screen was back up and the hard drive was in her pocket.
Five seconds later, the door was buzzing and the click of heels were echoing through the room.
Ten seconds later, there same woman was sitting in the same spot that Mystique had just been. She didn’t even notice the movement in the shadows until Mystique was right behind her. She must have seen the same reflection in the computer screen that Mystique had, because she turned around immediately.
“What are you doing here?”
Mystique stopped, a small smile sliding across her newly stolen face. She hadn’t expected the woman to be able to speak. Sure, her voice was clipped and forced, but it was there.
Hopefully she wasn’t lucid enough to question things further.
“Sacando la basura,” she said, careful to keep the words hurried and heavily accented. She hadn’t had the chance to hear the janitor speak. She had no idea how his voice usually sounded. This was a risk, and a calculated guess; she had to sell her performance, and hope that Yuriko wasn’t familiar enough with the man to realize that her act was off.
Yuriko gave her a blank look. Mystique couldn’t tell how lucid the woman was.
“Garbage,” she clarified a moment later, just to be safe. She held up the wastepaper basket that she had grabbed, as though to prove her point.
Without another word, Yuriko turned back to the station in front of her. She opened a drawer on the side and began to tuck items into the purse she carried, her movements stiff and robotic. A perfect little errand girl and watchdog, all in one.
Mystique turned her back on the woman and stepped back out into the hall without another thought.
It would be a hassle to get the footage deleted, but at least she had Senator Kelly’s bank accounts at her disposal. The security guard at the front seemed too checked out to notice the suspicious double check-in of the night, and she could get her contact to erase the second use of the keycard from his system while they were taking care of the security footage. Not quite as clean as she would have liked, but easy enough to cover.
At least, until the hispanic man whose face she had stolen rounded the corner. His eyes were down, focused on the cart he was pushing, until he glanced up at just the wrong moment and saw his own face reflected back at him.
That would solve her problem with Rushman’s recent bloodlust, at least. The man’s family would be disappointed, but that was none of Mystique’s concern. She’d have him taken care of within the next twenty four hours, and no one would be the wiser.
She should feel more disappointment. There should be frustration that she had miscalculated so carelessly. She should have taken Magneto’s file first.
And yet, somehow, the job still felt satisfactory. There were only two files on the hard drive in her pocket — one of which should feel completely useless — and yet she felt like she had done all she had set out to do.
Neither file directly benefited her. Neither file was something that she personally needed. Yet, in spite of that, Mystique still felt like she had garnered what she had set out to gather; results. Perhaps that was all that mattered. Perhaps the X-Men would manage to use the information in a way that benefitted her, even if she couldn't tell exactly how just yet. She could always turn circumstances in her favor, after all; it was a necessary skill to have as a shape shifter.
Perhaps, somehow, the risk would be worth the reward.