What is reality? Is it truly the world around us, all that we can see, hear, smell, taste and touch? Is what your sense perceive reality, or do your senses only think it is reality?

Last week, in Paris, a man dropped dead of a heart attack while crossing the street. He thought he saw a truck bearing down on him. Thought he could feel his bones shatter on impact, taste the blood in his mouth. He thought he was dead, and the shock of that was enough to stop even his perfectly healthy heart.

There were half-a-dozen similar cases in the last month. Some people think that draws attention.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing!” Toad rages, spit flying from his overly wide mouth. “So many unexplained deaths in the same city draws attention!”

I just smile up at him and cross my legs. “I thought you wanted attention. You want people to know about you, fear you, respect you. In a way, that’s what we all want.”

“You’re drawing attention to the area, Martinique.” Unuscione stands behind me, acting all smug. “The X-Men know about this monastery.” You should know. You were defeated with the rest of the Acolytes in that encounter. “We can’t compromise our hideout.”

“The babe’s right,” Blob adds. “I like this place.” No, you just like the walk-in refrigerator in the kitchen.

“You see Martinique,” Toad says. “You’re compromising all of us with your urges. We aren’t ready to deal with the X-Men or Avengers. Not yet.”

“Relax, Toad. Even if somebody came here to investigate, all they would find is an empty monastery. I’d see to that.”

Honestly, I thought he’d strike me. “You’re too confident! Xavier is powerful enough to see past you!” That’s what you think. “The point is, if you wan to kill humans, take if off-continent. Just like the rest of us.” Blob smiles and pats his large stomach.

I just roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll see all of your tomorrow. Be sure to watch the news.”

Then my illusion fades away. I can just imagine the looks on their faces. Toad and Unuscione, of course, would be rather angry. And while it would take Blob a few minutes to understand what happened, he’ll be just as angry.

But I can deal with them easily. Blob will forgive anything for food, and a nice illusion of prime ribs with the illusion of feeling almost full will be more than enough. Give Toad a few nice dreams about lording over a groveling Magneto, and he’ll quickly forget about my lack of respect.

As for Unuscione, well, I’m not above blackmail.

“Okay Vanisher,” I remark to the bald man ‘floating’ above me. “Take me to Manhattan.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Surprise me.”

He smiles. “You got it.”

The Vanisher touches his hand to my shoulder, and we both vanish.

We reappear in Manhattan, on the roof of a building. If Vanisher knew this wasn’t the destination he’d planned on taking me, he’d be surprised. It was simple to snatch his thought, and subconsciously make him take me where I truly want to go.

An instant later, he vanishes, with the satisfying sight of watching me drop ten feet into the East River. I’ll have to remember that, and give the illusion of a stench when I have him teleport me back.

Alone, I observe my surroundings. For me, this is where it all began. So much happened here, at the at the infamous Hellfire Club.

I stride down the stairs, into the building itself. Servants and members pass by me, unaware of my presence. However, though my illusions easily handle these petty humans, they are useless against the building’s security system. I must move quickly, before my intrusion is discovered.

Psychic impressions, years old, flood my thoughts. The celebration of the bicentennial anniversary of the New York branch of the Hellfire Club. The X-Men infiltrating the building, unaware that they were being led into a trap. Led by the Phoenix, then a mere puppet at the command of Jason Wyngarde.

And so, the X-Men fell, and victory was in the grasp of the Hellfire Club. Until Wyngarde made the fatal mistake of almost killing Cyclops in front of the Phoenix.

He had meant it as a final test of her loyalty. Unfortunately, for Wyngarde, she failed, and to fail at such a crucial moment cost him everything. His position within the Hellfire Club’s Inner Circle. His fantasies towards Jean Grey. His very sanity.

Wyngarde thought he was dealing with Jean Grey, a mere mutant with human frailties and emotions. Little did he know that he was manipulating a creature of incalculable power, a being that had only recently discovered emotions, and readily embraced the dark emotions Wyngarde introduced her too.

At last, I turn the corner, entering the room where it all took place. An event that took place years ago, yet because of the psionic nature of the players involved it appears to my eyes as though it happens now.

The Phoenix, in the guise of the Black Queen, has Wyngarde pinned to the wall with a claw of telekinetic fire. Her intentions are clear.

“Jean--no more--I beg you!” Wyngarde cries in fear and desperation. “You’re...killing me!”

“I intend to do a lot worse than that, Mastermind.” Phoenix states, her hatred and disgust evident in her every breath. “But, first, I want to know how you reached into my mind. You’re an illusionist, not a telepath.”

Fighting through the pain, Wyngarde struggles to tell Phoenix everything, eager for whatever mercy she may offer. “M-mindtap mechanism--White Queen’s design. Allowed me to project illusions directly into your mind...as well as monitor your thoughts...” The pain is too great. He nearly passes out with those last words.

“Use a telepath to ensnare a telepath--ingenious. This device enabled you to tailor your illusions to fit my most private fantasies--the repressed, dark side of my soul.”

Phoenix reaches out, and seizes the device from Mastermind’s jacket. “You gave me what I secretly wanted--” She smashes the device into dust. “--and used that to destroy me!”

I know what happens next. I try to find pity for Jason Wyngarde. I have none.

Phoenix stares deep into Wyngarde’s eyes, her hatred frightening him more than any previous demonstration of her power ever could. “It’s only fair that I return the compliment. Through me, you sought power. Very well, then, I’ll grant your wish.”

“No.” Wyngarde whispers, feeling Phoenix enter his mind.

“I’ll give you power, Wyngarde--”

“P-please--no!”

“--such as no living being as ever dreamed of!”

And so, Phoenix, in her infinite power and compassion, made Jason Wyngarde’s mind one with the universe.

And Jason Wyngarde, in all his limited power and mental capacity, screamed as his mind literally shut down.

I have seen enough, and so I dispel the illusion. Wyngarde had been given a great gift to witness the true secrets of the universe, yet his encounter with Phoenix was so much more. When she entered his mind and granted him true cosmic awareness, did Phoenix know the true consequences of her actions?

Unfortunately, my reflections are interrupted by the hum of high-powered plasma rifles behind me.

“Hold it right there, mutie!” A harsh voice barks out. “Now turn around, slowly!”

Another speaks softly. “Hellion eight to central. We found the intruder, and we have the situation under control.”

I turn slowly, the ghost of a smile on my face. “How cute. You know what I am, and yet you hold onto the delusion that you have control.”

“Shut up!” One shouts nervously.

“Hmmm, let’s see, if I was an X-Man, I would probably stand her for about five minutes, trying to reason with you and convince you that mutants aren’t so bad. Then, when it became clear that you were sane, I would knock all of you unconscious and continue doing whatever I wanted. Of course, I would make sure to destroy half the building in the process. Being an X-Man, I would have to make sure people knew it was me.”

“Shut up!” Another cries out angrily. He’s trying to hide his fear, but I can feel it almost without trying.

“If I was Magneto or Apocalypse or any other psychotic world-conquering mutant, I would make some speech about my superiority. Then I would probably make some grand display about my power and kill all but one of you. After all, what be the point of showing off if nobody else heard about it.”

“Shut up!” They all have fear now, and are all on the verge of firing.

I smile. “Go ahead boys. Shoot. Kill me before I decide to stop toying with you and kill you like the puny humans you are.”

Three triggers are pulled. Three high-powered plasma rifles fail to fire.

“Oops, too late.” I reply from behind them. They quickly turn around in surprise. “While I was toying with you and you thought I was standing still, I turned on the safety of each rifle. Don’t bother turning them off. You won’t be needing them any longer.”

Each of the three Hellion guards searches in vain for the safety on his own rifle. I manage to contain my laughter as I begin my latest illusion. The fools don’t even know where the safety is! Well-trained humans may have had a marginal chance. These ill-equipped flunkies were dead the moment they were sent up here.

“Goodbye boys.” I say. “It’s too much to hope that your replacement will be any better.”

Then they all think they’re on fire.

I hear them scream in agony. I can imagine the coordinator in the control room communicating to them that they aren’t really on fire. But they either don’t listen or try to disbelief and fail. After all they can hear the crackling of the flames, smell their own flesh burning, and feel the fire eat away at their body.

The pain must be excruciating. Luckily, as a fail-safe, the mind shuts itself down long before the body actually dies. One-by-one, the three guards fall to the ground, still twitching from the shock.

With a sigh, I dispel the illusion. Once there’s no longer a mind to torment, there’s no longer a point to it. A pity they aren’t actually dead. The pain and suffering they’ll experience for years is some consolation, of course. But nothing beats the thrill of taking a pathetic human’s life.

But I did not come here tonight to kill humans. Nor to witness Wyngarde’s great failure, as educational as that experience was.

I look up at the ceiling, suddenly receiving a telepathic impression. The reason is up there, back on the roof. I can hear him calling to me.

Martinique.

Driven by some unknown force, I retrace my steps to return to the roof. Along the way, I hastily slip into the mind of each human I encounter. Tonight, many of them will see this formal dinner party as just another prostitute-filled orgy. It’s a pity that no blood will spill, and even the enjoyment of watching humans give in to their carnal desires isn’t enough to satisfy me.

I smile as I read the tall young man that strides past me. Quickly and cleanly, I implant a nice little illusion set to fuel his bigoted thoughts. In the party below, he will stand next to the display of fencing swords when an angry black man crashes the party. As the other party guests flee, he will find himself with the courage to take action.

I open the door that leads to the roof, smiling at the thought of that poor young man running through his own uncle.

I step out into the clear night sky, and I view my contact for the second time.

“Martinique. How kind of you to join me.” Luke Dawson steps forward to greet me. In sharp contrast to our last encounter, he is dressed in a tuxedo, his manners impeccable. “I was beginning to worry that my subtle message was lost on you.”

I look him up and down, disgusted at what I see. “I must admit that when you allowed me such easy access into your mind, the pain it caused me almost drowned out your true intentions. However, I am here, and as you suggested I watched Wyngarde’s defeat at Phoenix’s hands. You promised me answers.”

Luke smiles. “Tell me, Martinique, what do you remember of your childhood?”

I sneer. What a stupid question. “I am the daughter of Wyngarde and a carnival woman who died in childbirth. An unwilling and unable parent, Wyngarde trapped me in a constant illusion of a perfect childhood. Until his death from the Legacy Virus, I was happy and unaware. Upon his death, the illusion shattered, and the shock of this awakened my own power. For the first time, I saw reality, and I was determined to make my reality as happy as my childhood.”

Much to my surprise, Luke throws his head back and laugh. “You are far less intelligent than I thought, to actually believe such a weak illusion. Aren’t you aware of the numerous holes.”

I nod. “I am now, because of you. Wyngarde was incapacitated at least twice before his death, when the Stranger transformed him into a statue and when Phoenix shattered his mind. Also, if I had been trapped in an illusion for nearly twenty years, why didn’t I starve to death? The illusion of food can’t sustain a body.”

“And yet, you never suspected?”

“Of course not. I cared nothing for my past, and so I accepted whatever answer I had. Whomever it was that gave me these illusions of memory, also ensured that I wouldn’t question these memories, that I would barely even think of them.”

Luke steps forward, his hand offered to me. “Martinique, I offer you answers to your past, to your very birth. Do you wish to know?”

I look down at Luke’s hand, not even hesitating before replying. “No.”

His smile vanishes. “No?” He asks, truly surprised. “I offer to educate you on your past, and you refuse?”

“Why should I know or care?” I ask. “My past has nothing to do with my motivations. I am a mutant, infinitely superior to the cattle that populate this world. What does it matter whether I was raised in an illusion, cared for by gypsies, orphaned in Cairo, or manufactured by the government? The past is meaningless to me, and it’s certainly not worth whatever price you would ask of me.”

“And what of power?” Luke asks. “Or are you content with merely altering the perception of reality? Martinique, with the proper knowledge, you can tap into the full extent of your power, and literally become the Master of Minds.”

I wave aside this offer like the insignificant, worthless gesture that it is. “Mr. Dawson, you know as well as I do that reality is nothing but perception. If I can manipulate people into believing anything, then I will have accomplished something far greater than manipulating reality. Trapping every individual on earth within their own personal realities, forcing them to do my will while making them belief they serve their own ends, that is true power. Playing god, forcing reality itself to suit my needs, is far too simple and unsatisfying for my taste. Subtlety, manipulation, causing true human suffering, that is what I desire. I welcome the challenge, the very thought of good people doing cruel and heartless things without realizing it, and the look on their faces when they come to realize it. Reality is an illusion, and because I am the master of illusions, I already have control over reality.”

I look him over again, and I give the ghost of a smile. “And even if I wanted such power, I certainly would not accept it from you. Destroying faith in higher powers and teaching humanity to depend entirely on themselves just doesn’t interest me.”

Luke Dawson hides his surprise well. “You have me at a disadvantage, Martinique. I am capable of shielding my thoughts from all telepaths, no matter how powerful. And yet, you have succeeded in uncovering my true intentions towards you.”

“It wasn’t telepathy, Mr. Dawson,” I answer. “Rather, it is the ability to see past the lies, past the illusions. Whatever your appearance, I always see the tainted Israeli child that you really are. Whatever lies and half-truths you tell me, the full truth behind them are made perfectly clear. My perception or reality is clear and untainted, Mr. Dawson, and totally immune to alterations.”

I smile sweetly. “Perhaps it is a sliver of the true extent of my power.”

“Perhaps,” he replies. “Nevertheless, my offer should still intrigue you. As a mutant, you are living proof that humanity was not created by a higher power, but rather evolved naturally over millions of years.”

“Ah, but there is still a higher power on this planet, and humanity should worship and grovel before it.” Suddenly, the roof is full of people that are clearly humans, all bowing in reverence to me. “Mutants are the inheritors of this planet, Mr. Dawson. Humans should be worshipping us, granting us the fear and respect that we so clearly deserve.”

Luke sighs. “I so hate it when I have wasted my time. I am sincerely sorry for this, Martinique, but I’m going to have to kill you know.”

Before my ‘startled’ eyes, Luke Dawson raises his hand and bathes me in flames. Though I do feel some slight measure of pain, my only visible reaction is to laugh. Luke’s face scrunches up in fury.

“No! I am defending myself against your illusions!”

I continue to laugh. “Sure, now you are. But while you talking five minutes ago, I had already contacted Vanisher and had him pick me up. I had an idea of your intentions should I fail to cooperate. You’ve been talking to an illusion ever since.”

Luke smiles and nods his head. “I salute your resourcefulness, Martinique. Should you ever come to your senses, the offer is always available.”

Slowly, I begin to dispel the illusion. “Yes, the offer to educate me about my past. I had Vanisher take me on a quick detour to Muir Island, and found some interesting psionic impressions from Wyngarde’s death. His powers were erratic and at their peak, allowing him to do things he had never dreamed of. Curious, I looked closer, and I discovered that when Phoenix opened Wyngarde’s mind to the universe, she left an ember of her essence within him. This ember flared to life thanks to the Legacy Virus, magnifying Wyngarde’s powers dramatically. So dramatically, in fact, that with his dying breath he inadvertently gave life to his greatest desire, creating his most perfect illusion.”

I smile as I begin to fade. “I suppose it’s poetic justice. The greatest illusionist of all time, nothing more than a living illusion herself. It’s almost as hilarious as what I really look like.”

Dispelling the illusion entirely, I give Luke Dawson a brief glimpse of my actual appearance.

A fleeting vision of bright red hair, blowing in the wind.

Next Issue: Spend a night out with Avalanche, Pyro, and the Blob! Enjoy a beer with them as they reminisce about their days with Freedom Force. Try your hand at a round of bowling while they discuss just why they do what they do, and if they have any regrets about their actions.

Stephen Crosby