13

Mordo is ready for his next offense against Wong. He eagerly practices with the Staff of the Living Tribunal, and the Vaulting Boots of Valtorr.

He's in a public court in Kathmandu. He's put charms all around himself, so the naive public won't see what he's doing. He leaps. He becomes one with the staff, and uses it as a third pair of limbs. He barely misses the heads of women and children as he practices. He barely misses the heads of local constables.

At long last, he's gotten enough. He opens a portal, and goes back to New York. He opens another portal, and joins his team in the pocket universe. He barely misses out on being seen by Madani, as she's crossing the alley.

Thompson is there to greet him. It sure feels like she's been following him around a lot-and waiting like a lonely puppy for its master to get back from his day job.

She asks Mordo when they'll be killing another sorcerer. As much as she understands the discipline of target practice when she's not fighting, it seems like the only targets here worth practicing on are her teammates, and as a team player, she doesn't think...

Mordo stops her right there. Here, he dumps the bad news on her. She won't be riding Wizardkiller on the next mission. Sterns will be.

Thompson gapes. She then asks why she's still here if he's been so bold to give her job to another villain-who isn't half as pretty as her in a purple dress, if she might add-or any dress, for that matter, let alone a fake beard while singing "In the Jailhouse Now..."

Mordo reminds her that she just complained about not having anything to do target practice with. He reminds her of the four inmates they've just admitted, as well as Murakami's brilliant idea to weaponize them all.

Thompson seems disappointed. For moment, she'd hoped that Mordo had recruited Sterns to do that.

Mordo chuckles, and reminds her that Sterns is hardly a ladies' man. He couldn't even steal Betty Ross from Bruce Banner that one time Banner asked him to do surgery on him.

Thompson didn't follow that. But having gotten to know Sterns a little better, she understands what Mordo means.

Mordo smiles, and starts to leave. Thompson runs after him, and complains that she has a bad hunch about Jones. It could be nothing, but... She might not be weaponizable.

Mordo slows, and turns. He looks at her. His brows are arched. He asks her to elaborate.

Thompson stammers. She's too embarrassed to admit what her hunch is. She remembers having been spooked, somewhat, in the warehouse on the docks when she commanded her to do something, and she didn't do it. Alas, Thompson brushes this under a rug-or tries to, at least-and says that Jones has a prolonged history of being told what to do, and that she might not be as gullible as she has to be to fall for someone with mind control powers anymore.

Mordo chuckles, and tells Thompson that she doesn't have enough faith in herself. Her father didn't even like himself, and he could've ruled New York. Mordo reminds her that she's Kevin Thompson's daughter, and that hence, he expects better from such a glorious bastardess. With that, he starts to leave.

But he stops, one more time, and reveals that she won't be guarding the captives alone, while and and the rest of the team are hunting sorcerers. He smiles, elongates his staff, and taps it on the floor, in a nice rhythm.

Farther away, a man springs into view. He does aesthetic handsprings, and does them all the way to where Mordo and Thompson are talking. He's bald, and looks tough. And Thompson has to admit he's the stock of a stud.

"Ms. Thompson," Mordo introduces them, "meet Georges Batroc. He's graciously agreed to trade shifts with you on guard duty." He bats his brows. "While Sterns might not have a way with women, Batroc does."

Thompson stares, as if confused. Mordo explains that he's promised Batroc replicas of his boots in exchange for his help.

Thompson nods, and admits that she can see why he'd want any. She tries to shake hands with Batroc-but he kisses hers as she reaches out to do so.

"Bonjour, my lady," he says, in his signature French-Algerian accent. "I look forward to working with your," he looks her up and down, "VERY regal poorpelnesse!"

"Good," Thompson says, sarcastically. "Go back to honing your leaping-or whatever it is you do there."

"Leaping is a very complimentary connotation," he admits, "but in France, we call it savate. Not that I would know; I am Algerian!" With that, he obeys Thompson's command, and uses the breadth of the room to practice his savate. And it is a big room; Thompson almost doesn't understand why Mordo has to go all the way to Nepal to practice his bojutsu.

Mordo smiles, and reminds Thompson that at least Batroc always does what he's told whenever Thompson tells him too. She shouldn't expect any less from Jones. Jones is just another lab rat. And if Mordo didn't have faith in Thompson, she'd still be exactly where she was when he first contacted her: a registered sex offender in Toronto.

Thompson sighs, and she and Mordo return to their duties. At this point, though, she'd give anything to avoid addressing Jones with her power...

The next morning, she rises. She yawns, and sleepily lumbers across her quarters in a deep purple robe.

There's a note on the pocket universe's elevated panel that serves as a coffee table in the common room. Thompson reads it. It seems the team has left to go kill another sorcerer without her. But that's just as well; since yesterday, she wouldn't have expected an invitation.

Mordo left another note. She reads it.

WEAPONIZE THE CAPTIVES. (JONES, TOO!)

Thompson sighs, and dishes the note. She'd put on a mask for this...if only she thought she could do it without looking weak to the captives.

Batroc's still on duty. He's doing tricks, to entertain the captives. Wing seems amused. Knight only shakes her head. She tries a weapon in her arm again. It still doesn't work.

"Hey Algeria," Walker mutters. "My Innocent triplet wants to know if you can sing the Malian blues!"

"I thought you said you were a Sokovian War vet," Jones mutters.

Walker shrugs. "Can't a girl be a little exotic...even if she is an Army vet?"

Thompson arrives. Jones rolls her eyes. She calls Batroc off, and relieves him. Batroc skips off to his berth.

Thompson lumbers up to Jones's cell. They stare at one another. Wing watches. Knight turns off the accessories on her arm, and watches. Walker peers, and watches. Why Jones?

"Mordo has commanded that I use my power," Thompson confesses, "to subdue and weaponize you in the wizard-hunt. It's a big responsibility."

Jones grins. "You're not a big girl, I admit. But I believe in you. Your father was a raping mind-controlling son of a bitch who killed a little girl and my neighbor Reuben, just to name a few."

Thompson sighs. "I didn't choose my father. But then, you wouldn't know. I heard that your mother was a terrorist, and yet rather than be the hero and kill her, you tried to codepend her, and run off to Canada with her."

"Mexico, actually," Jones corrects her. "She was a woman with problems. And I was going to help fix her. But then my ex-BFF comes along and kills her with her newly-acquired abominations of superpowers-given to her by a group of people she once tried to rat out, to the news, as kidnappers and murderers."

Walker listens. She doesn't follow much of it, but she knows that Jones often compares her to her ex-BFF.

Thompson smiles sadly. "This feels more and more like a risk," she admits. And she sighs. "But in the grand scheme of things, I suppose there's only one way to find this out for sure."

With her foot, Thompson scoots a glowing cube out of the way. Jones's cell vanishes. Around them, the other captives gape. They watch, in anticipation.

Jones is confused. She demands to know what's going on.

"Bow to me," Thompson commands her.

Jones narrows her eyes. Her former captor's stare is unwavering.

"Bow to me," Thompson repeats, "or attack me. But not neither."

Jones isn't sure about this. Nonetheless, she punches Thompson in the face. She flies across the room, and crashes into the wall. She breaks her arm.

The other captives stare. Jones's fist is hurting...but she's not regretting what she's done.

Batroc returns. He leaps into the room, and stands in a stance before Jones.

Jones scoffs. "Really?! Are we going to do this now? Couldn't you just..."

Batroc tries to punch her. Jones blocks it, and punches him in the face. He curses in French. Jones marches up behind him, and kicks him in the ass. She marches up to him from behind. The fight is on.

Batroc sweeps his own leg, and knocks Jones down. He leaps atop her, and pins her. He punches her in the nose. He rubs his groin against her abs, a little...

Jones flips him over. She stands, and stomps on his groin. He puts her in a headlock, via his legs, and flips her over. Jones's face is in his balls. She bites them. In his pain, she crawls away, and kicks him again.

Helplessly, and from afar, the other captives watch. They wonder if Jones has forgotten about them.

Jones hunts for Batroc, among rows of seemingly crystal columns. (Jones has got no idea what they're really made of; this is a pocket universe.) She calls for him. She swears she won't try to escape until she can rest assured that his Algerian ass won't try to stop them on the way out.

Batroc reminds her that she doesn't know the way out. And he doubts that Knight's arm is programmed to escape from pocket universes.

Batroc waits. Jones stalks around. She's slow. Batroc coils, and leaps.

Jones spins. Batroc lands on her. She lands into the side of a column. She leaves a rocky dent.

She throws him off, and charges him. With his agility, he evades her. He lures her into a clever path. Jones doesn't hear the creaking noises behind her...

The pillar falls over. Batroc caresses her hair. She punches him, and kicks him away. She doesn't realize she's cornered until it's too late.

The column falls. Jones gets trapped under it. It's heavy. So heavy, alas, that Jones can't seem to free herself.

"Aha," Batroc laughs, in his French-Algerian accent. "I am victorious!"

He rushes in, and stands in a stance next to her. She's helpless to defend herself. He prepares his arms for a lethal blow. He draws back his chop, and locks his gaze on her jugular...

"STOP!"

Batroc stops. Jones lies under the fallen column, pinned, waiting for what's about to happen next...