Seyta sat in the break room of Lord & Taylor, sipping a coffee and watching the clock. 1:34 AM stood out in bold red, Jeff was late again and Seyta hated trying to unload the trucks alone. On the other hand when the graveyard shift helped her keep her closet stocked with the best and brightest fashions. All of her coworkers, and even her boss, wondered how she could afford everything. She had been accused of stealing before, which was true, but the books all matched up on the shipments so nothing was legally missing.

>> “Hey Seyta! You in here? I got something to show you.”

She turned towards the door to see Jeff and snapped her fingers to get him to focus on her. ”Took you long enough... What is it?” He blinked a few times before handing a pamphlet to her. Mutants are an advanced form of human life. Seyta scanned the first few paragraphs, her eyes widening. ”Ho-ly s***.” She folded it up and stuffed it into her pocket. This was going to be something big. ”I'll finish it after we restock everything.”

>> “Hope it won't keep you from working here. I'd take forever to do all this by myself.”

Seyta rolled her eyes, she wouldn't leave unless she was fired. Finishing the coffee she stretched and pulled Jeff behind her. The sooner they finished the sooner she could get her own stolen goods home.

----------------------- A few days later -------------------------

She read the pamphlet again. A bit over zealous but it was right. The attack from the police on the girl had cause a cry of rage from both sides. I was the Salem Witch trials all over again, except the witches where real this time. Mutants vs. Humans and The humans actually had the upper hand.

The pamphlet would change all that. Especially if it got sent to a larger audience, say the readers of the New York Times. To pull of something like that she would need the authors help for sure in getting a digital copy. Getting into the Times Factory was an entirely different matter. Her own mutation could cover most of what she needed but Cameras where beyond her ability.

The first task was to find the author though. Which is why she was waiting in the Sanctuary. It was the most likely origin but so far the residents didn't see who made them, the pamphlets just appeared in stacks everywhere. Figures no one wanted to talk to her...

Giving up with asking people at random Seyta turned to the front desk and sighed tapping on the counter and holding out a pamphlet. Lisa, do you have any idea who actually made these?"

>> "Those? That would be Dorian, here's his room."

Seyta nodded taking the small slip with the room number on it. Making her way to the room she shivered, it was a bit creepy how much Lisa knew about her for only being in the Sanctuary a few times. Reaching her destination She knocked twice and waited.

Dorian threw his head back and let out a series of short, rasping wheezes. They would have been laughs, if his vocal chords were intact.

How I Suppressed My X-Gene With the Power of Prayer

It was a real book. A real book that people were buying. The mute mutant was strongly considering getting a copy for himself, for those times when he needed a good chuckle, and when the usual animated .gifs of cats on the internet wouldn’t do it for him. In fact, he was just in the middle of finding out which local bookstores had it stocked, when he heard a knock on his door.

Once he opened the door, he completely failed to notice anyone standing directly outside of it, waiting for him. The tall, slender mutant looked down each end of the hall. Still failing to notice anyone, he began to close the door to his room again.

The look on his face was, like most people she met this way, a humors gaze of confusion. The lack of any “Hello?” was a bit odd though, but it happened sometimes. Even more amusing, when Dorian failed to find Seyta he ducked back into his room and closed the door.

This also happened a lot. Seyta was in a good enough mood to be more than slightly amused by this. While she didn't want to annoy him she felt like having a little fun and knocked again, stepping back before the door opened, so he wouldn't bump into her.

Dorian stopped.

Was somebody doing something in a nearby room that sounded eerily similar to knocking at his door? Or was someone trying to pull some kind of stupid prank on him? With a sigh, he went back and opened the door again. This time, he saw

absolutely nothing of interest on the other side of his door.

Once again, he looked down either end of the hallway. This time, he was watching out for one of the younger mutants. He knew several mutants at the Sanctuary who could knock on his door undetected, but the 14-year-old telekinetic was his prime suspect. He could just imagine him knocking on people’s doors from a distance, and laughing as the other residents answered their doors repeatedly, finding nothing each time.

I’m on to you, Devin, he thought to himself.

Seyta chuckled watching Dorian look around in vain. If she had been in a particularly mean spirited mood she could probably do this several more times, however she had come here with a plan. Pulling out the pamphlet she took a step forwards to catch the door before he could close it a second time.

“Right in front of you, happens to everyone so don't feel singled out.” Ironically, she did single him out. She held up the pamphlet and looked between it and Dorian. “I really enjoyed your thoughts. They gave me a few questions and was wondering if you could talk.”

Seyta smiled politely. Despite being a member of the Order she didn't live in the Sanctuary and did not know much about any of its residents (members or otherwise) besides Abyss and David. Not that it should matter but without knowing how a person would react it wasn't exactly smart to start asking questions about sensitive topics. Luckily she agreed with what Dorian said, that was good right?

When Dorian noticed the woman standing right in front of him, he almost leapt in surprise. Then, he smirked, making a fairly unpleasant noise which might have resembled a chuckle.

What a funny mutation, and what an unfortunate choice of words. He could definitely answer questions, of course. He could answer questions about his writing until he got carpal tunnel from answering all those questions. But could he talk?

His hands moved rapidly to sign the words ‘Only if you count this as talking.’ He’d need to grab a pen or a marker from his desk if he wanted to communicate effectively. As it was, the best he could do was use sign language, which the woman in front of him probably couldn’t understand. He gestured towards his throat and shook his head to get the idea across that he was mute.

Seyta took the the grin followed by a hollow empty wheezing to be a laugh. It was winter, probably a bad clod or something wrecked his voice. This assumption was tossed out for something more serious like bronchitis as he signed something at her. She didn't take ASL in high school and had no idea what he said.

He then gestured to his throat and shook his head. Confirming her idea that for some reason he couldn't speak. "Alright, let me rephrase that, do you have time to answer a few questions?" Hopefully the answer was yes. Putting Dorian's writings into the New York times had been a vague idea at first but as she had read them it appealed to her more and more. Without any specific work to do for the Order pulling something like that off would probably still help the grand scheme of things.

Dorian nodded, then turned around and walked further into his room. He snatched a marker off his desk and began to write on an invisible whiteboard, his words seeming to float in the middle of the air. He may have been a mute, but that certainly wasn’t going to stop him from talking this woman’s ear off.

Sure. Take a seat if you want.

He gestured towards his neatly made-up bed and the swivel chair by his desk; either would be appropriate for sitting on.

I’m Dorian.

Pause.

as you probably already know b/c you found me. Might I ask y

Another pause. His guest’s mutation sounded familiar. He looked at her face for a few seconds, then erased the sentence he was in the middle of before continuing.

You must be Seyta.

>> Sure. Take a seat if you want. I’m Dorian. as you probably already know b/c you found me. Might I ask y

The floating letters made her do a double take. Without knowing Dorian's mutation it seemed just plain odd. Seyta nodded and moved to the chair at his desk. As for why she was here. She bit her lip thinking of a good way to answer that. Political hijacking wasn't exactly a great conversation starter after all.

>> You must be Seyta.

"Yeah. I just had some thoughts on your writings, and was thinking about the impact they might have." Global impact actually. But she would take her time getting to that.

He grinned.

Please go on, he wrote. Then, he pushed the invisible marker board back a few feet, and pulled out an invisible chair. It slid audibly across his carpet before he turned it around and sat down, watching Seyta expectantly.

It had been too long since he’d had the chance to talk politics with another Orderling.

>> Please go on.

The "chair" Dorian sat on was as invisible as whatever he was writing on, and just as unusual. Seyta shoved the questions she had about his mutation to the back of her mind. There would be time for those later if her idea worked out.

"Well, I'll start with an easy one. It's a small number against the large population but, reading this through I just wonder what about the humans that are fully accepting of mutants?" She leaned back in the chair looking over the pamphlet and then back to Dorian. "My folks back in Salem for example." That made it a bit personal, maybe that would make him think over the answer more, not that it mattered in context.

Dorian nodded, and turned in his seat to the invisible markerboard. Seyta’s relationship with such people wouldn’t change is answer.

’Such people exist. They have good intentions, but most of them still think we can assimilate and coexist. That ship sailed about five years ago. Acting like it hasn’t will only make things worse for everyone in the long run. It would be better if they realized assimilation isn’t in our best interests.’

He didn’t include that kind of message in the pamphlets, and in retrospect he probably should have. It seemed like a better idea at the time, for the sake of brevity, to present Humanity as one big oppressive monolith instead of talking about the different nuances of human oppression. He still though the pamphlet was true, if it was a simplified version of the truth. “Tolerance” in this case was just veiled oppression, unwitting or no.

>> ...It would be better if they realized assimilation isn't in our best interests.’

She nodded. It made sense. And gave her another question to ask before getting to the main point of publicity. "Related to that, what about the even smaller minority that want to actively help our cause and agree with what you're saying here? I would assume you want those humans to go the M drug route?" That would fit best with the ideals and the situation but it would put both the humans and mutants at huge risk legally even if all other obstacles where avoided.

Shrug.

’M doesn’t do good things for everyone. It’s a human recruitment tool more than anything else. I don’t care whether our supporters are using it or not, just that they’re supporting us. Giving us money for M is still a great way to support us, and transcending human law to share our power verifies their sincerity.’

>> ...and transcending human law to share our power verifies their sincerity.

Fair enough, Seyta had her own opinions on those people but most of that was from the community in Salem. "So, About the pamphlet itself. Other than handing them out and leaving stack in random subway stations, how are you getting the message out in the public?"