Title: SENSE OF PARANOIA, MOMENTS OF CLARITY

Rating: PG-13, language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or the characters. This was written for entertainment purposes only, with sans profit for myself.

Summary: Collection of Lady Deathstrike drabbles. What was going on in the drug-controlled mind of the silent woman during different events?

Author's note: My absolute favourite from X2 was Lady Deathstrike, after Wolverine that is. I'm sad to see there are so little fics that involve her, so I couldn't resist writing these. I've taken some liberties with her personality in this and mostly disregarded her characterization of a vicious baddie in the comics. I've also taken a bit different approach to the subject of Stryker's solution. English is not my native language, so if you spot any errors, please try to ignore them. Since this is my first try at X-Men, feedback would be very much appreciated!

* * * * *

- The White House -

The long hallways of the White House are busy. People are bustling around, going this way and that, having to time to stop. Especially after the incident some odd hours ago that threatened the very existence of President McKenna. If only the President knew what I know… then he wouldn't be so eager to welcome Stryker and his so called advices.

I sit here, on a hard, uncomfortable chair in the lounge next to the President's office and wait, silently observing. That's all I can do these days. Always quiet, speaking only when spoken to, doing exactly like I'm told to. Like a faithful dog, I blindly obey my "master", even though I know there'll be no treat for me when I do as I'm ordered and Stryker is satisfied. There will only more captivity.

My head is throbbing painfully again, but I don't care. What difference would it make whether I cared or not? There's nothing I could do about it, anyway. The drug Stryker keeps on administrating on the back of my neck… it makes sure I'm kept in control. In his control. It robs me of my free will and my personality. I'm forced to do everything he tells me to, and there is no way I can break free of the stranglehold the solution has on my mind. It's simply too powerful.

And yet… I'm still here. I am still myself, somewhere in the back of my mind, driven there by the drug. I see everything, I hear everything and I understand everything, but I have no control over my actions and what I say. And it's the most horrible thing I know. It's almost as if there are two versions of me trapped inside my body, battling over the control. It feels so paranoiac, almost like suffering from a split-personality disorder; me versus the solution. Unfortunately, the other version of me, the one that's spawned by the drug, always wins. That's where the headaches come from, I'm sure; from the constant battle going on inside my head.

That damned solution… it's downright sinister. I swear, sometimes I can hear it speaking to me, taunting me and whispering words that nag on my sanity and make me question myself. It bids me to do all those sickening things I've been forced to execute during the numerous months I've been Stryker's captive. I can still remember the first time I killed under the influence of the drug. I could never forget it, all that blood that spilt on the floor… my claws were stained by it and my clothing was tattered with crimson dots. And the drug made me smile, as if I was actually enjoying it when inside, I was screaming. Screaming from pure anger towards Stryker, his fucking solution and his sick schemes he was striving to complete by using me and turning me into a mindless killer.

The memory still makes me livid, and I get the strongest impulse to get up and find Stryker, unsheathe my claws and stab them into his stocky body over and over again, until he's bleeding, broken and gasping for air, begging me not to kill him… The thought makes me want to smile, but of course, I don't. I can't. Instead, I sit calmly, keep my face passive and wait. I'm still a prisoner in my own body.

//And you'll stay that way//

Not again. It's the drug talking, again… Stop it, stop it, just stop it! Shut the hell up!

//There's nothing you can do and you know it//

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize it's not the actual drug that's making me hear these things. Maybe it's my own subconscious, letting me know not to get my hopes up about breaking free anytime soon.

//Youknowityouknowityouknowityouknowit!//

I so desperately want to block it out, but I can't. I have no choice but to listen. I listen to the taunting for what feels like the longest time, and as it finally stops and leaves me alone, I feel a great urge to exhale out loud. Yet, I remain seated still and keep quiet, my back rigid and straight against the backrest of the chair.

I can feel my fingers getting stiff again. They tend to do that quite often, for the obvious reason. The other part of me obviously discovers this as well, because right then I lift my hands and grab the fingers of you right hand, cracking each of the joints with very audible crunches. From the corner of my eye, I notice the lady behind the desk stop her tasks and stare at my hands. I watch behind my sunglasses as she cringes slightly as I bend my all fingers into hooks, crunching them some more. Calmly, I twirl my fingers yet a bit in the air and lay them on my lap again, offering a very small smirk at the woman. She resumes her job without another look at me, but seems slightly perturbed by my actions. If only she could see my eyes; that would make her even more uncomfortable. Instead of my natural brown eyes, she'd be staring into a cold, metallic grey gaze, courtesy of the solution. Stryker probably added that feature to the liquid to better recognize when the effect was wearing off.

Despite the control the drug had over me, sometimes… rarely, but sometimes, I manage to claim so control, and be aware of my actions again once the solution starts wearing away. They're these small moments of clarity, if you will. This far, Stryker has always been prepared and added another dose before I fully recovered. But one day it'll happen, and when that day comes, Stryker will be sorry. The day of reckoning will come, and turn the situation for better of worse. It's all the same to me, since either way it cannot be much worse than this living hell I'm trapped in at the moment. Actually, I'm looking forward to it.

Suddenly, the door to the President's office opens and Stryker strides out, with another man following him at his heels. I get up and mechanically follow Stryker, falling into step with him. I listen to the conversation between the two men with half an ear, snapping into attention when Stryker introduces me to the other man, Senator Kelly, as his assistant. I offer him my hand and shake it firmly, squeezing maybe a bit too tightly.

"Quite a handshake," Kelly comments with a ghost of a smile. Oh, if you only knew, Senator.

Again tuning out the conversation, I stare at the man I despise more than anyone, thinking about shoving my claws through his head. I feel like smiling again. Instead, my face stays passive. But my day will come, sooner or later.

Oh yes. The day of reckoning will come. And it won't be pretty.

* * * * *

A/N: What did you think? I'm adding more drabbles of other parts of the movie when I get around writing them. Reviews would be appreciated. :)