Disclaimer: Do you think if I owned them I'd be wasting my time here?

Oh, and the song isn't mine. It belongs to Dave Carter.


When I go

by

Ink Angel

Rating: PG13 for blood and dismal settings

Warnings: A great deal of Toad Bashing

Summerary: Mortimer Toynbee didn't die after Liberty Isle, but you couldn't say he lived either...

Reviews: None


To my wonderful readers,

I've seen many an attempted version of how life played out for Mortimer and Victor after the Liberty Isle incident. Most all of them have been true works of art… A few have been disasters….(A very, very, VERY few) And it seems as nothing can fall in between. For this reason I am shy to add this story to the archives, as I'm not sure how it will come over with the readers/reviewers. I'm not sure how I feel about the other two I have written, so I'm anxious for you to relate your thoughts back to me.

A note of caution, however. I won't claim this story is a Kleenex case, but it is relatively sad, (in my own humble opinion.) Readers that dislike Toad damage had best not continue… You've been warned.

Sincerely,

Ink Angel

:prologue

The Liberty Isle incident, as they called it, had produced more than one mutant for William Stryker's containment facility.

Two years. Two years they had kept that lowly mutant under lock an key, questioning him occasionally (where was Magneto now that he had escaped? Did he have Mr. Stryker? Had he killed Stryker? Was he aware of how serious his situation was?) and applying severe and cruel forms of punishment when he refused to speak. Now the broken wretch lay beaten on the floor of his cell, sweat and blood pooling about his face and matting his emerald hair.

Other mutants leered at him from behind the walls of energy that confined them to their otherwise mettle clad cells. A few of those dull eyed gazes might have even been laced with sympathy. Those who were had seen the lifeless creature before the countless beatings, the starvation, the same ordeals they were forced to endure, but pushed a great deal further.Thus was the punishment for serving under a master such had been his.

Heads turned, bodies flinched, as a metallic door slid open… Two men, leather clad, armored in gleaming black, strode down the numerous isles, boots clicking against the concrete floor. Most, those who had the strength, shied away from the menacing soldiers. Some glared, others trembled, but their haughty gazes and feeble whimpering went unchecked as the silent figures continued on, stopping only upon reaching their set course, glancing casually it the number posted beside it.

"Mutant 67G, respond." The young man's body shifted slightly, glazed eyes drifting in the direction from which the soldier's voice had emitted. The armored menace shifted under the layers of mettle and leather, speaking with a robotic and uniform tone. "Your presence is required by your superior- aw hell, up an atem, mutie. Th'boss wants yeh." They disabled the energy barrier, training their guns on the immobile body. "Time to go, bub."

:When I Go:

Come, lonely hunter, chieftain and king, I will fly like the falcon when I go
Bear me my brother under your wing, I will strike, fell like lightning when I go

The humans all but dragged his helpless form down the long and twisting corridors, heedless to the blood running from countless wounds upon his fragile body.

The room they lead him towas dank and musty, and damn well familiar to him. Usually, only his hated captor would be awaiting his arrival, but today a small group of men and women, appearing, all of them, pompous and arrogant. They regarded him with looks of disgust.

The constant abuse had left him pale and bruised, victim to unattended broken bones, partially blind and nearly deaf.

The solders shoved him roughly into the same cool mettle chair, pulling the same leather restraints tightly enough to wrestle a gasp from his lips. A rough hand came to rest on his shoulder, spider like fingers bearing hard into the torn and stained cloth of his prison garments. "Mortimer Toynbee…" He heard the ghostly tones, hatred and fear welling in his chest.

And when the sun comes trumpets from his red house in the east
He will find a standing stone where long I chanted my release

From behind the ailing mutant stepped the quiet form of a man well known amongst the mutants of the concentration camp; The warden. One of William Stryker's lesser known of, but equally deadly, colleagues, Dr.Luther. Mortimer never saw the blow, just felt his head snap violently to the side as the warden's fist connected with his jaw. A second blow followed, questions flung at his silent form in sharper tones than usual, probably to impress his company. Another blow, to the gut, to the ribs, laughter, pure, hateful, malicious laughter. The cool blade of a knife negotiated it's way across his neck, never jabbing, never piercing. He swallowed. The blade glinted, slipped like a snake down the length of his body, and the restraints were gone. Powerful hands pulled him roughly to his feet, jostling his newly acquired wounds. He bit down the cry off pain threatening to emerge.

Now he was glaringat the cool and hateful gaze of his 'master', before he was whipped around to face the blood spattered wall. The warden nodded to a by standing solder. The young man raised a night stick above the mutant's head, unbeknownst tohis victim. Mortimer's eyes, glazed though they were, came to rest on the security camera projecting from the wall. He fixed it with a demonic stare, awaiting the whiplash that the warden's grave attitude promised.

He will send his morning messenger to strike the hammer blow

Once again, he never felt the blow coming.

And I will crumble down uncountable in showers of crimson rubies when I go

Mortimer's knees crumpled under him, scarlet droplets spraying the walls as he fell. A puddle of red was all that met him as he hit the cold stone floor. There he lay, his eyes trained the ceiling. His vision, blurred and faded, began to darken. His body jerked as he tried to draw air, but only drew blood. The last thing he saw before he finally gave in, was the shining lenses of a security camera… Fade to black.

Sigh, mournful sister, whisper and turn, I will rattle like dry leaves when I go
Stand in the mist where my fire used to burn, I will camp on the night breeze when I go

"Eric… You might want to look at this." Eric Lensure's steel gray eyes followed those golden orbsRaven's to the muted screen of the television set, glowing eerily in the darkness of his bed room. He pushed away thoughts of mischief as Mystique found the sound. " - Tape that was smuggled from a government monitored mutant containment facility." Eric's eyes flashed angrily, almost in anguish. Watching you brethren die often had that effect. Mystique buried her pretty face in his shoulder, trying to evade the next words to spill from the television's speakers. "-Victim has been identified as mutant terrorist, Mortimer Toynbee."

In his own room, Victor Creed took a swig of liquore from an near empty bottle. The screen of his telly flashed with the same scrolling text as Magneto's. He downed the last of his hard beverage before hurling the bottle into the wall.

In Xaiver's School For the Gifted, the usuall posse stood staring at the t.v. screen, the clip of the nightstick crashing down onto Mortimer's skull replaying without relent. Xaiver bowed his head, his loyal x-men soon following suit. Scott's hollow voice echoed through the room, "My God."

And should you glimpse my wandering form out on the borderline
Between death and resurrection and the council of the pines
Do not worry for my comfort, do not sorrow for me so
All your diamond tears will rise up and adorn the sky beside me when I go...


Song : When I Go, written by Dave Carter and Tracey Grammar