So you got yourself a new Minion. A little someone who will do things for you without questioning your orders of questing to destroy you – or other such silly business that usually happens when people of a certain job profile start making use of other, useful people.

If you indeed have a new minion to contend with, then why not follow the instructions included in this very helpful – and not to mention cheap – manual to get along better with your newly hired help.

Firstly: Remember that your new helper is rather unaccustomed to your special demands. Be kind and compassionate towards him.... Martin gave a mental sigh. No, he was not reading such a book. In fact he was not reading at all. He was playing a game of chess. A game of thinking went on inside at the same time. He had indeed acquired new, loyal help. Help that was, so far, characterized only by its profuse uselessness in all aspects of interest. His aspects of interest that were. Not that he had much use for the other kind. He might try having Andrew make a poisoned cake though. That would conform with the young mans stated talents and desires.

Desires. Not that there would be many left of those after a particularly memorable evening a few weeks ago. Said evening had seen Andrew hanging from the ceiling of an old butchery. And it had seen Martin get out the pliers. And, mind you, not the kind of plumbing-repair pliers. The kind of 'I burn, I hurt, I make you scream' pliers it had been. All for the little morsels good, of course. And his own.

Don't think about it. It just was torture. For the higher good. You did not hurt anyone worthwhile.

Sadly, the last part was oh-so true.

A nice and flowery greeting card came to the Mansion. The kind that was perfumed. With a perfume that screamed Old Woman even before coming even close to the letter. Lillies or somesuch flowery. In it a distant female relative of Andrew invited him to come to the location of their last meeting. At evening. It was simply signed 'M'.


For so it begins / with a simple letter
the truth that you read / paper to spare
a poison for eyes / lies being told
carried the scent / the flowery kind
of a death / the grand unifier

It had been some time since Martin's last requested meeting. Time enough to heal from the wounds. Of course he'd deserved them. After all he was supposed to serve Martin and he'd actually been reluctant about it! How ridiculous was that? The man had been nothing but kind to him. Not many people would understand the sort of kindness but it was kindness none the less. It was with a certain amount of fondness then that Drew regarded the well disguised message telling him to report to the butchery once more. Martin was such a clever man that it didn't surprise Drew at all that he'd managed such a ruse. That he'd spoken of his family to almost no one here ensured that they probably would never discover the deception. Since he was done with his work for the day Drew decided to head out.

Those in the mansion that cared to keep track of his comings and goings were now used to Sam's assistant going out every evening and coming back late. It had become a regular part of his routine ever since his power had changed. Drew felt confident and empowered. With that confidence had come a desire to see some vengeance done on the people that had wronged him and his. It felt good to see humans fearful of him for a change. And, somewhere deep down, it made him feel like he was in control for a few brief minutes. Control had been all but stripped from him by Martin and no matter how devoted to the man he was he missed it somewhat. Just enough to enjoy the resurgence of it that occurred whenever he had someone trapped. Perhaps some other equally deeply buried portion of his personality protested at treating other people like that. Drew over ruled it whenever it got the nerve to make itself known.

Evening wasn't too far off so unfortunately he didn't have time to indulge in his newest hobby before meeting with Martin. It wasn't hard to remember how to get there. The place was seared into his memory because of the pain and humiliation Martin had put him through there. He arrived just as the gloom of evening was starting to take hold of the neighborhood. The sidewalks were deserted as usual and he walked casually into the butchery. Once he was a few feet inside he stood at attention and waited for Martin to show himself.

Andrew did not have to wait for a long time. Long for a time though. That little space between heartbeats. An old door opening with a rusty creak into the shadows. Steps, somewhere in the halls. Just nowhere, going. Light was failing to fall through the dirtied and cracked glass panes overhead and shadows lengthened considerably.

Martin was there. Standing not before Andrew, but beside him. Just like that. From the shadows: Birthsong.

“Hello Andrew.” His voice was calm and neutral. His face the same. Barred emotions, bare of them. Just behind the corner maybe, the next one, they could be found. But not here. Not now. Void. Shadows lengthening. Silence. Creeping. Long.

“How do you feel about me teaching you something?” Because: That is what you do to tools. You sharpen and oil them. You care for them. And if they become useless, you discard them.

There was no alteration in his face when Martin appeared beside him. No outward show of emotion. He was becoming used to Martin's little stealth tricks. They didn't scare him anymore really. Well, maybe a bit but he was used to it so he didn't react. The voice and demeanor didn't seem as though they demanded his standing at attention in the manner that he was but having born witness to Martin's sudden mood swings if he did even one thing wrong Drew wasn't about to take the chance and relax. He remained straight as a rail as the question rang out.

"I would be eager to learn anything you see fit to teach."

Chances were that he wasn't being offered a choice in the matter anyway. He would learn or he would suffer. These were the simple facts of his existence as ruled by Martin. Whatever Martin intended to teach him would be learned in an effort to better serve the man. This would hopefully see to it that Drew suffered less often. That was the intention behind his acceptance anyway. That and blind loyalty. Drew supposed that he probably would throw himself off of a skyscraper of Martin's choosing if the man asked it of him.

"If I may be permitted to ask, what will you be teaching me?"

If it was something distasteful Drew would rather know ahead of time so that he could steel himself for it. There was very little he'd done for Martin during their association that he enjoyed for any reason beyond seeing to it that he did as Martin ordered. This time he was rather hoping it would be different.

“I think you will see that soon.” And indeed, he would see, discern some of Martins designs and intentions. Some of the truths he had hidden here. In this building. Just for him, today. Martins voice was just smooth silk flowing. Down. On the ground, creeping vines of shadows. Closing in on you...

“First, I believe, it is time for some hide-and-seek. You'll know when you've found what is prepared for you.” Martins voice sounded mechanical, emotionless.

And he was gone. Andrew might not know how, or even why, but Martin was not there any more. Presence vanished.

But Andrew would be reminded quite soon. From the darkness, somewhere, he would feel a stab, jab, of something hitting him. Painfully, of course. Because: You don't learn quite well if you are not motivated.

Oh, Martin had decided to be quiet about what he had planned for Drew. It didn't make Drew happy to have such information withheld but it was Martin's right as his master of sorts. He'd learn to live with it as much as he'd learned to accept his situation. Other people wouldn't understand it. That and Martin's order not to speak of their association kept Drew some revealing any of this whole ordeal to people. He didn't need help, no matter what that small voice at the very back of his mind said. This was normal. Everyone else was weird.

"Alright."

So now he had to find whatever today's objective was. Drew could do that. Compared to other duties he'd been subjected to at Martin's hands this was practically a paid vacation! Finding something had very little chance of causing him pain. There was still a chance of course. Nearly everything he did for Martin was designed to cause pain to Drew in some fashion. It was never fun but on the bright side Drew was quickly learning to work through almost any sort of pain. It was a trade off. Maybe not the best of trade offs but one he could happily make for Martin's sake.

"Ok."

Andrew relaxed himself only slightly from his at attention stance as he began to move about the slightly familiar setting. Some bits of it he could remember. Some brought flashes of previous visits to the forefront of his mind. Images projected on the landscape by a mind not entirely whole and sound. A broken cry for help that went largely ignored by the conscious mind of Andrew Leroy. Weakness was a sin against his master and he would not show it. Martin was working to make him better and he would not make the man's efforts out to be useless. Drew ignored the hallucinations brought on by remembered pain and embarrassment. He ignored it as he searched, aware that Martin had disappeared from his side but was still there. Somewhere.

He would know what he was searching for when he found it, he'd been told. Drew prayed he was right for he did not care to think on the consequences of failure.

A swishing in the air barely announced it. Something hit the back of Andrew. Hard. Clattered to the floor, where it rolled into the shadows behind one of the pilasters that steadied the ceiling. He might have caught some hint of what it was in his sight. Andrew might. A baseball. Swish. Another one coming. At you. Your heart and mind. Mine. All. Mine. This time Martin had had the courtesy to aim for Andrews head. And he was really good at aiming. Sometimes it pays off if you kill people for a living. “Now...” His voice managed that very useful trick of coming from everywhere at once. And also at something people might have called a low growl that belied his biological age. “...hide.” Swish. This time the ball cam from Andrews left. Plock. Umph. Yes, this was going to be the entertaining part of the evening. At least some of that. Not that that showed in Martins voice. He could make a funeral sound lively. And a carnival look like a threat to public health. Well, a carnival was a threat to public health, but normally everyone was too inebriated to notice. Not here. Not now.

He hadn't gone very far when something impacted against his back. Only a small flash of white caught his eyes before rolling out of sight. A ball of some sort then. Baseball maybe? Andrew caught just a hint of the sound of another incoming before it hit his head. He winced at the pain. Definitely a baseball. Then another with a command to hide. As Andrew moved his brain worked. This didn't seem particularly like another form of torture. Martin wouldn't do something without reason. If Andrew knew anything about the man that held his life with an iron grip it was that. So what was this then?

Training of some type? It didn't seem particularly effective for the simple reason that Andrew wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be achieving here. Yes he'd been given the command to hide and so he was moving and trying to find a place to do just that. However the use of the baseballs made him want to evade the attacks rather than hide from them. Plus there was the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he couldn't hide from Martin anyway so what was the use in trying? Then again lack of understanding of an order really wasn't going to stop him from trying to carry it out. Pain would result if he let that happen and as much as that particular sensation was an old friend that didn't mean he wanted to invite it. It was rather like that old chum that just keeps showing up and eating all your food. You grew used to it if it happened regularly but you never got to actually like it.

A little later: Swish... Clock... Ungh. The pattern was repetitive. And as Martin had suspected somewhat entertaining. Andrew would neither find much respite by hiding nor many balls that missed him in the darkness. Their levels of skill were just slightly too much off balance for that. Before Martin had brused his Assistant too much though, he reappeared before Andrew. Just like that, he was there again, stepping from a small shadow that seemed a bit too light to have hidden him in his entity. In his hand still lay a single Baseball, small moon in the night, which he lazily flicked up into the air and caught while talking. Flick. "Andrew, you are loud and lazy. You could not hide in the middle of the Subway." It was a statement of fact. Rather dry, too. And even though the assessement was slightly inaccurate - everyone but a complete idiot could hide in the subways - he nonetheless chose the image. Flick. The Baseball entered the air again, only to be snatched away in midflight with a gesture of finality. "You need to practice that as well. But I have another thing I wanted to show you tonight."

Martin turned smartly on his heels and began to walk through the hall into a section that their game had not encompassed. Here, illuminated by the pale light of the moon falling through one of the overhead windows, hung something from a chain that was fastened to the ceiling. It looked a bit like one of the things one would have expected here a few years ago - more than a few really - when this place still had been a butchering operation. Something dark and decidedly organically shaped. Hanging from the seiling.

Swish... Clock... Ungh.

The Baseball had found its mark again. This time it had not been Andrew though who had been met by the small leather object. And it had been thrown with a bit more force, too. One of Martins hands made a presenting gesture that would have been at home on some entertainment stage. "This..." With a flourish he stepped up to that appeared to be a sack of cloth... "... is Chandler..." with a quick pull, a part of the cloth was seperated to reveal something. A decidedly human face. A very human face. (With a gag of... was that a sock? Possibly.)

Mr Chandler seemed to be about 40 years of age, going by the fine lines of his face that were visible even in the shadows of the night. He was half kneeling on the concrete floor, while his arms were held overhead by heavy iron chains that fastened directly into the ceiling. Here had hung halves of animals before. Now it was a man. Who blinked.

"Who has graced us tonight to be the second part of our nightly outing. Or rather: Yours." Martins eyes were fixed on Andrews face. He ignored the slowly squirming Mr. Chandler who only now seemed to become fully aware of his situation - if one went by the sudden working of the mouth and widening eyes. Martins voice acquired a stagelike quality. Declaming. "Chandler, as it so happens, hates us inhuman monsters. He is quite a little bigot. Makes life most difficult for helpless Mutants whenever he can." Martin shook his head theatrically. He even tsked lightly through his teeth. "Of course..." Martins voice changed to something that could have frozen water under a midsummer sun... "he is right. We are inhuman monsters. And you, Andrew, are going to show him how much we hate people that pick on small children." Speech ended. Situation composed. Stage set. Everything was ready for the grand opera, was it not. Chandler even began whimpering.

Loud and lazy. The comment hurts more than the many bruises he sports. Somewhere deep down that feels wrong but that part of him has been shrinking by the day. So the loyal servant cringed at the assessment. Stealth and he had never gotten on too well. Drew had gotten by on not being noticed, not actually being good at hiding. Give him a crowd and a little bit of time to remember how and he could blend. Not like an expert but he could. Martin dismissed the stealth exercise with a commandment to practice and they moved on. Or rather physically they did. Drew was busy thinking of ways to practice stealth. Maybe the Danger Room? How did you go about practicing hiding anyway?

Now they stood before something. Someone. Someone in a situation that almost caused a violent flashback in Drew. Pain, blood, promises, and an alleyway. Meeting Martin for the first time. Relearning the lesson of discretion with each new hurt. He had to actually shake himself out of the memories. But he wasn't disappointed. Far from it. The more Martin spoke the more Drew felt he'd been given a reward for all the pain. Drew felt the vicious smirk tugging at his lips as Martin finished his little piece of drama. More for the benefit of the filth hanging from the chains than Drew, he suspected. When he wasn't the target of it Drew could appreciate just how frightening Martin could be. As the target you tended to be more interested in just surviving the encounter.

"With pleasure. Any suggestions or should I just pick a body part?"

It was more latitude than he usually allowed himself with Martin and Drew hoped fervently that he had not overstepped in acting so. More pain would follow for him otherwise. It wasn't his best teacher. Not anymore. But a teacher was better than none and more often than not pain had taken that position.

Martins voice was musical now, his mind clear as to his purpose. He moved. Almost laughing. Almost dancing. Flowing shadows in his grace. Not quite. Not quite alive. Just hinting at death that lay behind the words like a wall. A graveyard. Monuments standing in simple terms. Blocks of stone falling from his mouth. An inch from Andrews ear now he peeled out of the darknedd like a grub out of a dead tree. White, so white his skin. Pallor of unnatural occupations, of his power. Just like that. Martins hand found Andrews shoulder and gripped there. Just there. Friendly. Deathly. Like a feather falling...down his voice.

"Pick as is your... desire."

Chandler had stopped squirming and was gaping at the man behind Andrew. He had three eyes. Once of them set between the other ones. On the forehead. All three had changed their nature, revealing what lay underneath. One white. One blue. One... black. Seapration. Divorce yourself.

Humanity, Martin thought, was something that was severely overrated. (And they call us monsters.)

He was free. In this he was free to do as he pleased to the piece of filth hanging before him. Drew was practically giddy at Martin's pronouncement. So eager was he that he was able to brush off the closeness of the man's voice and breath with ease. Chandler, the piece of meat, was his focus for the moment. Drew strode forward with purpose and circled the man. After a minute or so of this he spoke in a calm, conversational tone.

"You know you are really quite fortunate."

Drew stilled in front of Chandler's face and seized it with one hand about the chin. With this grip he pulled the man closer to him even as he stepped in. They were quite close when he ceased pulling and held the man still. The chain was slightly angled and the muscles that Martin's orders had helped build could be seen at work to keep the man where he was.

"I'm no where near as skilled at this as he is. That is personal experience talking, not modesty. I'm rather familiar with pain but he can still reduce me to something little better than you if he desires to."

Drew grinned widely once more.

"Still, punishment must be served so I shall endeavor to do what I can. I'm my own sort of monster. So, I have a little challenge for you. You'll promise me something, and I won't hurt you."

He released his grip on the man and watched him swing back into place. Drew examined the purported 'man' in front of him before making his demand.

"Promise me that you will escape within the next minute, and I won't hurt you."

Slowly Martins eyes changed back to their usual... hiding your nature, are we? Letting go was easy, time snapping back into order. Chandler though alreaddy was beyond himself. Had seen enough? Probably. He was crying afresh now, tears flowing down his cheeks, disappearing somewhere along the line of his collar. He sobbed loudly as Andrew gripped him. Sobbed and sobbed. Beside himself? The man was terrified witless it seemed, for the contact elicited nothing from him. No promises, just a low hicc as he grasped for air - once- to resume giving a voice to his feelings.

Weightily weightless he was in Andrews arms, as he did not resist though his slightly pudgy flesh dampened by sweat offered a resistance all on its own, slippery it was to the touch. Befouling hands that came into contact with its secretions. The smell - reek rather to be noticeable over the innate smell of abandoned building - was one of stale sweat.

Martin stood silently, watching only for what would happen now. He did laude - internally for now - the creativity of his follower in using his mutation for the amis of the master. It seemed fitting somehow. Of course he determined to keep alert for the cance - however remote - that the fat man would actually do as toled and escape. Never trusting fully. It was part of what he was. He could not trust the others - and there were only others. No one like him. A lonely existence he had become accustomed to again. Again and again as people deserted him. one after the other they all left. Died. Away, forever beyond his reach.

It was the dilemma of the immortals.

Unaware of the ruminations of the man behind him, Drew continued about the work that he'd been set. Orders were orders and when they came from his master they had to be obeyed. Gladly obeyed in this case. Chandler, the fat fool cried and whimpered and was thoroughly disgusted. Drew's face wrinkled up in an expression of that disgust. Human and an utter waste of that humanity at that. If it weren't necessary to properly punish the man Drew wouldn't want to soil his hands by touching him at all.

"That was an order, not a request, Chandler. Since you can't be bothered to cooperate I'll have to make you hurt."

Unlike his master Drew was not an expert at this and he had no implements he would make due with his fists. Drew made use of his fists and feet. They found easy targets on Chandler's soft flesh. He thought he might have even heard the crack of a bone somewhere in the barrage he unleashed on the helpless human.

"Not quite so pleasant is it? Being on the other side of the equation."

Drew finished off his performance by wrapping both hands around Chandler's neck and squeezing. He watched as the man struggled to breathe and only released him when Chandler was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Now Chandler, I'll tell you again. Promise me you'll escape within a minute and I won't have to hurt you again."

The question in Drew's mind, apart from wondering how much more Chandler could take, was whether the fool would respond to the pain and do as he was told or continue to whine and cry in a vain attempt at eliciting sympathy from the devil.