The Grand Genoshan Experiment

Posted on Mon Feb 17th, 2025 @ 5:27pm by Kurt Wagner & Maeve MacKenna

4,643 words; about a 23 minute read

Mission: Episode 6: X-Fernus Agenda
Location: Flesh Factory | Genosha
Timeline: December 5th, 1990

The drones descended into the heart of the Flesh Factory, their cargo hanging limp beneath them. The facility was already on high alert, the usual sterile efficiency of the place replaced with a thick tension that crackled in the air. Lights flashed red along the corridors, and guards moved with tight, urgent purpose. Whatever had happened before their arrival had left the staff shaken, their moods particularly sour.

Maeve and Kurt were unceremoniously dropped onto the cold metal floor, the heavy thump of their bodies echoing through the cavernous chamber. The Machine loomed before them, its core pulsing with unnatural energy, casting eerie reflections across the polished steel walls.

A slow, deliberate clap rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

President Moreau stepped forward, his pristine white uniform untouched by the surrounding chaos. His grin was equal parts delight and calculation as he studied his newest acquisitions.

Beside him stood a tall, statuesque African woman with piercing blues, wavy white hair, and an expression of quiet authority. The storm that had torn through the pier was mirrored in her cold gaze, though there was something distant beneath the surface.

Moreau crouched before them, tilting his head as he inspected their bruised and battered forms. "A teleporter and a geomancer," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Now, isn't that interesting?"

He reached out, gripping Kurt's jaw and tilting his head from side to side as if inspecting livestock. "You'll be fun to dissect," he sneered before turning his attention to Maeve. His smile widened as he noted the remnants of defiance still flickering in her eyes.

"You, though..." Moreau's voice dropped to something almost reverent. “You put on quite the show back there. A real force of nature, weren’t you?" He chuckled darkly. "But we'll let the Machine have the final word, hmm?"

He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands as he turned to the white-haired woman. "Chief Magistrate, prepare them for processing."

Despite being given the order, the Chief Magistrate did not carry it out herself. She nodded at lesser Magistrates who dragged the energized nets to the Machine while technicians activated it.

Maeve felt exhausted. Not only from being attacked, shocked, beaten and then dropped at the feet of what seemed like a madman, but from whatever had taken hold of her in her previous form. Her crystal blue eyes peered up at the dark skinned woman, pleading with her almost. "Please." Her voice crackled, her throat felt dry. "You don't have to do this. You're hurting your own people!" She exclaimed as tears rolled down her face.

The Windrider met Maeve's tearful plea with a calm, impassive gaze. "You do not understand," she said, her voice smooth as silk yet firm as iron. "I did not know peace until I was made to see my proper place in this world. The power I once wielded freely brought only chaos through perpetuating the natural imbalance of power in this world. Now, my power serves order. Prosperity. Balance. In time, you will come to see that as well."

Maeve recoiled as if struck, her breath hitching. But before she could force out another desperate protest, Kurt's voice cut through the tense air.

"Nein," he rasped, still weak from the fight but steady in conviction. "You speak of peace, yet you stand amidst chains and cruelty. You speak of balance, yet ze scales are tipped in favor of zhose who hold ze whip. Tell me, vhere is ze justice in zhis?" His golden eyes, though weary, burned with righteous fury.

He pushed himself upward, even as his shackles restrained him, lifting his head toward her. "St. Augustine wrote zhat zhose who vield power visthout love are but predators. And St. Thomas Aquinas taught zhat no evil can ever be justified by claiming it serves ze greater good." His gaze bore into hers, pleading, demanding. "Power, vhen stripped of compassion, blinds ze soul and deceives ze vicked into believing zhey are righteous. But if you cannot hear ze cries of ze suffering—if you must ignore zhem to maintain your peace—zhen vhat you call order vas only ever tyranny."

The Windrider's face betrayed nothing, but something flickered in her eyes—something fleeting, something buried deep.

Moreau, however, had heard enough. "Silence your tongue, or lose it," he snapped, his voice laced with irritation.

Kurt met his gaze without fear. "Killing ze messenger does not unsend ze message, Herr President," he countered. "You may close your eyes to ze truth, but you stand condemned by ze evil you hef svept under ze rug."

Moreau's expression darkened, his amusement finally souring. He turned sharply to the Windrider, his patience thin. "Put him in the Machine."

The Machine loomed over the chamber like a temple to perverse science, its sleek metal casing thrumming with power. At its core, an ominous cube pulsed with shifting hues of violet and indigo, its surface crackling with energy that defied logic. The entire structure radiated an unnatural presence, as if reality itself bent in its proximity.

On command, a gust of wind swept Kurt into a whirlwind and slammed him inside the pod.

The stasis pod, mounted at the Machine’s front, was an enclosed capsule of reinforced glass and steel, its interior lined with conduits that glowed faintly in sync with the Machine’s pulses. Strapped into the pod, one could feel the subtle vibrations of the energy coursing through the walls, creeping into the skin, the bones, the very essence of being. The purpose was clear—this was not just a diagnostic device, but something designed to strip its subjects bare, to lay them open on a fundamental level.

Kurt struggled against his bonds as the pod sealed with a hiss, his breath fogging against the glass. The hum of the Machine intensified, the cube flaring as unseen forces wrapped around him like spectral fingers. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest as the energy pulled at something deeper than flesh, deeper than bone.

The technician monitoring the display adjusted his glasses, eyes darting across the cascading streams of data. "Subject's teleportation signature is highly anomalous," he reported, voice clinical and detached. "We’re detecting transdimensional energy patterns consistent with extra-spatial displacement. He's not just moving through space... he's breaching dimensional barriers."

Moreau's eyes sharpened at that. "Fascinating," he mused. "Pull him out and place him in confinement next to the Darkforce teleporter. See if proximity yields any… unexpected results."

The Machine powered down, its unnatural light dimming as the stasis pod unsealed. The glass retracted, and Kurt slumped forward, barely caught by the waiting Magistrates. His body was wracked with exhaustion, limbs trembling as if he had sprinted for hours. His breath came in ragged gasps, his throat parched, his vision blurred. The world felt distant, surreal, as if he had left some part of himself behind in that infernal device.

As they dragged him away, Windrider stepped forward, her gaze settling on Maeve. "She has promise," she stated. "Take her to the induction center. She could serve well as a Magistrate."

Moreau turned, considering the suggestion. His lips curled in a smirk as he studied Maeve, still on her knees, still defiant even through her exhaustion. "Yes," he decided. "She was quite… passionate in the field. Perhaps she can be shaped into something useful. And if not…" His tone darkened. "If she proves an unsuitable enforcer, she can always be put out to pasture as a test subject."

Windrider inclined her head in understanding, and the order was given. As Kurt was hauled away to join Ty in confinement, Maeve was seized by a pair of Magistrates and dragged after Windrider in the opposite direction, toward a fate that might be worse than death.

Maeve watched what they did to Kurt. Her eyes unmoving from the machine he'd been put into and her mouth agape as she just couldn't believe what she was witnessing. That people could be so cruel and that fellow mutants would stand by and let this happen under the pretence of it being order to chaos.

As Kurt slumped out of the machine Maeve mumbled, "I'm sorry Kurt... this is all my fault.". She knew he'd hear her, his hearing was a little better than most. Sadly this is how she felt, if she'd been in more control then he'd never have had to come to try and save her, he'd be safe. She'd really gotten herself in with a bunch of courageous, and selfless people. Maybe even what she'd slowly consider to be becoming her second family.

Feeling a little strength come back to her she fought the Magistrates who were dragging her away. "Let go of me!" She barked. "I'll never be one of you. I hate you! You hurt everyone you touch!" She continued as her eyes flickered slightly from blue to wholly white but then back again like she was trying to light a fire with not enough kindling. There was a low rumble underfoot that not all would feel but someone paying attention would.

One of the Magistrates moved a hand up to Maeve's shoulder and on instinct to try and break free she bit it, hard. This caused the Magistrate to let Maeve got and she fell to the ground as the other Magistrate struggled for balance. Now she lay on the floor trying to crawl away, her weak arms and legs would try for as long as she could to be free. She didn't want to be what they wanted.

Windrider led her into a stark, clinical room, motioning for the other Magistrates to leave. The door slid shut behind them with a hiss, locking Maeve inside with the woman who had brought the storm down upon them. The woman who had captured her. Windrider silently reached for the fastenings of her uniform. With measured, deliberate movements, she peeled away the upper portion, exposing her bare shoulders, her back, her arms.

Maeve's breath hitched involuntarily.

The scars were intricate, deep, twisting across dark skin like grotesque tattoos. Burn scars, whip scars, wounds that told a story of pain she couldn't begin to fathom. Some looked ancient, others newer, as if this suffering had been a constant in Windrider's life, never truly ending, only evolving.

“I fought,” Windrider said at last, her voice quiet but unwavering. “I resisted, just as you do now. And for every day I fought, they broke me in ways I never thought possible. I swore I would never bend, never yield.” She turned slightly, meeting Maeve’s eyes with a look that was neither pitying nor cruel—just tired. “But in the end, it was not my body that surrendered. It was my mind that understood.”

Windrider exhaled slowly, explaining a lesson to an unruly child in hopes of sparing them the rod. “Life is pain. It is suffering. That is the nature of this world. You know it already.” She gestured toward Maeve’s own bruises, the fresh wounds still throbbing along her skin. “Pain is inevitable. The only question is its purpose.”

She stepped closer, unflinching as Maeve glared up at her with all the defiance she could muster. “Would you have people suffer without reason? Without meaning? Or should suffering be controlled? Directed? Made into something... useful?”

Maeve could only use her imagination to think of how long the woman had been subjected to torture. Those scars were a journey from whomever she had been before to the seemingly helpless person in front of her. Someone who'd given up on hope, given up on freedom.

She felt that maybe the woman was once like her. Passionate, someone not defiant but wouldn't down without a fight. A survivor. Her words of pain and suffering rang truer in Maeve's ears than maybe she knew. Years on the streets, how she got to the US were all preying on her mind but she survived that because she didn't bow down to people, because she fought. It was who she was. At least for now...

Maeve forced herself to her feet. Shakily she stood in front of this woman, someone trying to accept her fate but still very much the person keeping her in the prison she found herself in.

"Life isn't just pain and suffering." Maeve confidently if not a little out of breath. "If that's all you've seen in life then I feel sorry for you. There is more out there and what keeps you stuck here. Where I am now there is purpose in helping people, all people. There is friendship, there could even be love." She reached out towards the other woman. "Here you prey on your own kind in the name of order but you are just hurting them the same way someone hurt you. You are keeping them from love, from happiness for what? That weird guy with the lab coat? I've seen what you can do, I've felt your power. You could make this place into something beautiful but instead you hide under him, hide with the magistrates because you've given up. I've seen a life without pain... you just have to want it. Break us free, I know someone who can help you. You don't need to be anyone's slave because that's all lab coat man sees you as... a thing that's his." Again Maeve's eyes flickered from blue to white and back again. It was as if something beyond them was trying to reconnect with her, to reconnect with the earth.

"I won't be his, or any man's..." Maeve said defiantly.

Windrider's expression did not change. "You assume much about who I was," she said softly. "But who I am now is the only thing that matters." She leaned closer, her voice lowering just slightly, a whisper only Maeve could hear. "And yet… you are right about one thing. The only chains that truly matter are the ones in here." She tapped a single finger against Maeve’s forehead. "If you still believe you are free, then I cannot force you to kneel. That is a choice only you can make. But I can help you make it." She looked almost sad at the statement. "In the end, you will thank me." Then, as if changing the subject, the Windrider asked, "If I told you that you could walk out of this room," she said, voice smooth and strong, "would you?"

Windrider's whispery breath on Maeve's skin made goosebumps appear along her arms. She still felt the impression the light touch of her finger left on her forehead. "Thank you?" Maeve questioned incredulously. "You've trapped me in here like some lab experiment." She added as Windrider it felt like she ignored her. Windrider's question about walking out gave her pause, "I don't believe you'd just let me walk out of here..." she frowned as she spoke.

"And why not?" Windrider asked, genuinely curious. "Because you are like the mighty elephant," she posited. "Tether it to a tree and it will not leave despite being more than strong enough to break the rope that binds it. Whether or not you are free to go is inconsequential when you believe that you are not." She canted her head to the side, her blue eyes piercing Maeve's in driving home her point. "Conversely, those who do not see their cage are still ensnared by it. Do you understand the nature of your cage, young one? I think not, for if you did, then you would not insist on becoming enlightened the hard way. You would walk right out of your cage and into the glorious purpose which awaits you here."

"The only cage I see is the one you've put me in, and the prisons you help lab coat guy build." Maeve replied. "Are you happy how he treats us? Did you see the look in his eyes when he saw what Kurt could do? He was carving him up without the need for knives." Maeve sighed. "Are you so sure you didn't just trade one cage for another?" she posited back at Windrider. "I understand you are trying to get me to expand my mind but through cruelty is not the way... I can't give in just because you ask. If I do then what kind of X-Man does that make me?"

Windrider sighed, shaking her head with an air of disappointment, as though Maeve were an unruly child struggling with a simple lesson. "You still do not understand," she said smoothly. "You see only bars and walls because you refuse to open your eyes to the truth."

She stepped toward the door and, with a graceful flick of her wrist, the reinforced locks hissed and disengaged. The heavy steel barrier slid open, revealing the sprawling compound beyond—rows of neatly ordered Magistrates patrolling pristine corridors, scientists moving with quiet efficiency, and mutants moving in designated groups, each performing their assigned tasks under the ever-watchful gaze of their overseers.

Windrider extended her hand toward the open doorway. "See for yourself," she said, her voice both challenging and patient. "If you still believe you are a prisoner, then go. Walk freely through these halls and tell me—who stops you? Who truly holds the key to your cage?"

Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Maeve’s, waiting, testing. She did not need to physically detain Maeve; the weight of the system, the enormity of Genosha's control, was restraint enough.

"Freedom is an illusion," Windrider continued. "One you were taught to chase by those who would see you lost to chaos and blind to your purpose. But here, you have a purpose. A place. A raison d'être. You need only embrace it."

Maeve moved forward and peered out the door. The urge to run was real, but when she looked out upon what was in front of her, the vast scene itself, she could tell it would be fruitless. Where could she run to here? She could try levitating like she had done before but she didn't feel strong enough, or even sure how to do it.

"So you're saying order and purpose free you from the cage of the illusion of freedom?" Maeve asked as turning back to face Windrider. Maybe there if she agreed with the woman more she could find a way to escape and save Kurt. Although there was a serene feeling of calm watching everyone go about their business with such efficiency and purpose. "Where I come from, our village, everyone had a job, chores to do. Most were happy, life was simpler but wider world is messy, dark, and people are horrible to each other... but at least they are not slaves to be beaten or punished because they miss a step or have a disagreement." she looked back out at the people.

"Why do you take orders from a Human? Don't you think you should be running this place?" she asked further. "Would you not be kinder to those down there instead of cruel? Instead of what was done to you to make you toe the line?" Maeve gestured to the scars on Windrider's body.

Windrider’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker—something just beneath the surface, something old and buried deep. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a steady, measured calm.

"You are still shackled to the past," she murmured, stepping away from the open doorway as if the choice to leave was truly Maeve's to make. "Still clinging to notions of kindness and cruelty as if they are the measures of power. But power is not kind, nor is it cruel. It simply is."

Gaze sweeping out toward the facility beyond, Winderider took a moment to consider her response. The order, the discipline, the efficiency—it was a masterpiece of control. "You see a prison, but I see balance. A world without it is one that devours itself. Your simple village, the place you came from, had order because it had structure. The natural world enforces equilibrium where we fail. The predator culls the weak. The seasons dictate harvest and famine. But where there is no natural order, it must be imposed. Otherwise, chaos reigns. And chaos is wasteful."

She turned back to Maeve, stepping closer, her voice softer now—imploring. "Do you think the world beyond these walls is just? That it will embrace you simply because you are strong? The humans fear us. They hate us. You know this. The cages they build for us are not made of steel, but of fear, of laws, of whispered lies that turn neighbor against neighbor. If we do not impose order upon ourselves, then they will do it for us. And they will do it with bullets, bombs, and hellfire."

Windrider reached out, not forcefully, but in something resembling an offering, her fingers stopping just short of Maeve’s temple. "The system I enforce saves lives, young one, if you would only open your eyes to the truth. I can help you see beyond the illusions they have forced upon you. But you must let them go." Her voice held neither anger nor malice. Only certainty. Only inevitability. "My recruitment rate is impeccable because I always present this choice. You will be free of your illusions, one way or another."

The past was all Maeve had. Looking to the future was only something she had began to do at Professor Xavier's school. "If I had power I don't think I'd use it like this." she commented.

Maeve looked back at all those in front of her, almost like little ants with a singular purpose. Provide and protect the nest, protect the Queen... or in this instance, King. "So if you control those people, say what they can do and when, that stops all the chaos? Just because they have a purpose and know not to stray from it?" Maeve asked this time with genuine interest.

"I think the world beyond here is... intense. It's not perfect, but there are people who fight for justice but wouldn't use slave collars with power dampeners or big machines that do what happened to Kurt. Do you think that is just? To abuse and torture someone and potentially hurt them? What makes your boss any different from the Humans who are scared of us out there? He's using his fear as an excuse to cut us open, mess with us anyway he can and call it science. I've seen what desperate men can do and its always those who are less powerful that suffer... I didn't feel all powerful at all when I was caged at the bottom of a ship." she said with emotion that betrayed her confidence. She'd never really talked about her trip over to the United States.

Maeve sighed, "But I do understand what you're getting at. "A controlled mutant leaves no chance for them to draw outside the lines. Here they are safe, safe from Humans and the rumours that may come to cause more harm than good. They have purpose, they don't have anything to fear because they get up and do the same thing everyday. Is that freedom though? You're still ran by a Human who fears us, or sees us as a lab rat. You may not use bullets or bombs but you use those collars, whatever you hit me with to cause pain and suffering. You drug your own kind with that 'sugar', force them into submission. How can you say that's not just as cruel as what any Human would do if they had the chance or technology to do it?

She turned to face Windrider once again and placed her warm hands on their arms. One hand on each and looked up at the stoic woman with soft eyes, pleading eyes to get her to see this was not the only way to have order. "Who is to say what I know is the illusion? Maybe here is. If you all worked together towards making Genosha the best it could be free of the strict control you enforce, the fear people have of you, it would be a much better place to live instead of just 'be'. My village had order, we knew what was expected of us, and most of us did it. Those that didn't got a visit from one of the matriarchs and were set straight. Working together because you want something to succeed, working for each other instead of working because you'll be punished if you don't, or disappear under lab coat mans lights. You strip them of the very thing that makes them who they are. How did you feel when you had a collar on? I assume you did? Did you feel empty? Hollow? That's how I felt. You deny those people down there who they are meant to be. You can be in control with rules, with order, but you don't have to enslave people to do it. If they know there are severe consequences they'll stay in line. This isn't life, this is simply existing. All you do is exist here. How is that a life anyone deserves?"

Windrider sighed, a slow, measured breath as she shook her head. "It is always the strongest ones who choose the way of pain," she murmured, almost to herself. "So it was for me, and so it must be again."

She raised her hand, fingers splayed, and the very air in the room seemed to hum. A subtle charge crackled through the space, invisible yet oppressive, making the fine hairs along Maeve’s arms and the back of her neck stand on end. The room smelled of ozone.

Windrider's gaze was steady, almost sorrowful. "The air around you is now a conduit, young one. The charge is so great that the moment you step from that spot, you will feel it. If you are fortunate, the jolt will only knock you unconscious. If you are not..." She let the words linger, unsaid but heavy.

Hand remaining aloft, Windrider's expression was calm, almost gentle, as if she were offering a lesson rather than a punishment. "You have spoken much of freedom, of life, of choice. Now, you will choose." Her piercing eyes locked onto Maeve’s, unyielding. "You will stand where you are, unmoving, and we shall see how long your convictions hold before you collapse… or beg for reprieve."

The feeling that washed over Maeve's skin was strange. She could almost taste what she could assume was electricity piggybacking the air around her. She had to believe that the right to choose was meant to be universal. Yes, some Humans were ignorant and did unimaginable things, especially to mutants, but there were those capable of great kindness and love. No-one should live like this. She'd been taught some history before abandoning her home, this place had the feel of oppressive regime, much like that of World War II. She wouldn't bow down to tyrants, she had fought most of her teenage years to survive. What she could see out there was not survival, not even living. It was just existing.

Maeve's eyes met Windrider's with a sadness. Not for her, but for the woman in front of her. She felt sorry that this was how she saw the world and that she would be someone who would torture innocents, even teenagers to keep the appearance of order in place. Balling her fists she tried to bring her powers to back, willing them back and internally praying to be heard by those she had faith in. "My freedom is not what needs choosing. It's yours."

"See you tomorrow," said Windrider, utterly unfazed. "Perhaps you will be wiser by then."

She left Maeve to her defiant stand.

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