X-Men Sagas: Psylocke

Violet Dawn

Elizabeth Braddock (going by the codename of Psylocke which was apt considering her telepathic powers) had her eyes wide open and yet she was completely blind to what was going on. Her body was suspended upside-down in a liquidated canister, movement only slightly restricted by the cuffs around her ankles. Two men observed her activity while a team full of men and women in lab coats seemed to constantly jot notes down. She didn't know who any of them were or how she had ended up in this darkened facility. It harkened back to Wolverine's description of the Weapon X Project. There, Wolverine had been experimented on by scientists with less than noble intentions, aiming to turn him into a feral beast whose every thought was of murder. Psylocke shuddered. Whatever ambitions and prospects these scientists had for her seemed similarly bleak. 

"Matsu'o, you and your associates are trying my patience. Is the process finished yet?"
"Almost, Lord Mandarin, almost. We need only to implant the false memories in the woman and then you will have a spy capable of reading the minds of any would-be enemies and then ending their lives with but a thought. Psylocke is perfection in human form."
"Perfection indeed, Matsu'o." The Mandarin grinned as he gazed upon the unmoving telekinetic warrior who would soon be his to control. "Perfection indeed." After a humiliating streak of losses to the Avenger Iron Man, Mandarin's reputation in the criminal underworld had greatly debilitated. He saw an opportunity in the woman before him; an opportunity to restore the Mandarin name to its former glory.

Elizabeth's consciousness was overwhelmed, damn near destroyed, by the sudden flooding of memories.  A woman, similar to her in appearance and yet different. Her child being ripped from her breast and taken away. Matsu'o, her lover and one of The Hand's elite operatives. She was made to confront him in combat where she ultimately fell from a cliff. Love was weakness. Mercy was weakness. Her name was no longer Elizabeth Braddock. She was Lady Mandarin, and she lived- and if necessary, would die- to serve her masters.

When next she was able to move, Psylocke found herself staring at a woman who, just like the woman she'd seen in her Hand-induced visions, bore an uncanny resemblance to her. The only noticeable difference Psylocke could notice was she had taken on an oriental beauty befitting the Eastern territory Lord Mandarin's base was situated in. Gone was the indigo bodysuit she had worn prior with a pink ribbon wrapped around the waist. In its place was a metallic suit of armour, accompanied in contrast by an elegant cape that did not at all hinder her movement. She flexed her arms as if she'd never had them before. Psylocke felt a newfound strength coursing through her veins. She had always dreamed of having such power. Now, thanks to The Mandarin and his companion, the devilishly handsome Matsu'o Tsurayaba, she could finally be the warrior she'd desired to be since childhood. A grin grew on Psylocke's face. An even wider one grew on the man standing behind her.

There had been a man standing behind her?!

Psylocke flipped around, her reflexes as fast, if not faster than a flash. Her apprehension quickly faded upon seeing just who the man was.
"Matsuo?!"
"Careless, my love. If that had been a real fight then you would have surely-"
"Matsuo, I apologise." She bowed. The simple mistake may have caused her great shame, but he aimed to soothe her worries by caressing the side of her cheek. 
"It is of no consequence. You will have an opportunity to demonstrate your true capabilities soon enough."
"Yes." Psylocke's voice had lost its British pep and sounded like a husk of itself. "And when that opportunity arises, I shall prove my worth to Lord Mandarin. That, I promise with all my heart."

Fortunately for the former X-Man, an opportunity to restore her wounded pride soon presented itself.  Purple dusk, similar in hue to Psylocke's own hair, had fallen over Hong Kong's streets. While they were bright and cheerful, illuminated by neon signs, the same could not be said for the back alleys. Rats crawled out of open dumpsters, scurrying into shadows before they could be seen. Neglected black bin bags lay about as far as the eye could see. Congregating in this dank, decrepit alley were a group of wild-looking youths. Youths with nothing to lose. Youths who wouldn't hesitate the first person who dared cross into their territory. One dared.