Ah! more reviews! It makes me want to write more!

'The Tranquilizer' consisted of a non-lethal gas that usually left it's victims drowsy and docile, and often very agreeable. It was with out color, taste, or scent, and the only hint of action in the cell that suggested the gas's presence were the tell-tale plumes of fumes, curling from the ventilation shaft - A shaft that was exclusive only to Mortimer 's cage. The bad contaminated air would leave back out the duct with ten minutes after he had been subdued, and properly cleansed by the mansion's air sanitizing facilities, and recycled back into the outside world.

Ororo watched painfully as Mortimer eventually went slipped to the floor, where he sat, dazed, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Scott had already begun to drain the bad air from the cell, and as soon as the minute glow of red beside the door turned green, signaling safety, she went to enter what she had always referred to as The Cage.

But before she could open the door and cross over the threshold, there was suddenly the familiar scent of brimstone in the air, and Kurt was beside her, a three fingered hand wrapped protectively and with a tone of restraint about her arm. She turned, her eyes cool and defiant, to meet his gaze with an ice-woman glare to assure him that she would have no distractions from her task. But her irritated stare melted as eyes of blue met pleading eyes of gold. She touched his hand gingerly, "It's okay Kurt, he won't hurt me." Kurt nodded sadly, glancing eerily at Mortimer's slumped form.

He did not speak very often, least of all when he worried. Ororo had learned to understand the flood of prayers obviously flickering about in his moon-stone eyes. He released her, stepping away to indicate he would not impede her. Before stepping inside the cage, she just barely noted his lips mouthing the cherished words; Our Father, who is in heaven…

The others shifted uncomfortably, obviously still disturbed by her walking into the midst of a 'heartless killer'. The professor said nothing though, just sat with his hands folded upon his lap, his eyes, flooded with they usual fatherly warmth, trained straight into nothingness as he focused on Mortimer's weakened mind. She took a determined breath before stepping bravely into the cell.

Mortimer sat drearily on the floor, his better and worse half battling each other feebly and at the same time fighting off the effects of the tranquilizer. Storm came gracefully to his side, kneeling beside the drowsy man. As soon as her hand came to rest on his shoulder, his muscles instantly relaxed, his childlike mind taking control once again. He turned to look up at Ororo, and she forgave him all sins.

In the eyes of a child, one will see his emotions openly - A free to read as an open book, and all stirring about intensely; The forewarnings of a coming storm or a sunny day. Storm took his hand, pulling the sleepy eyed Mort to his feet and leading him, staggering, to where Scott was waiting in the door way.

Ororo's eyes darkened threateningly when the visored man attempted to slip a pair of restraining cuffs onto the unsuspecting man's wrists. Scott, whom often thought better of arguing against a woman, matched her stare, as she knew he was doing even with out actually seeing his eyes. "Storm, you know it's necessary. There are children in this building, and he's killed with out a second thought." Without a single word more, he clamped the restraints onto Mort's wrists, pinning them behind his back. He obviously would have liked to add a muzzle and leg shackles to the list, but the fight that would have ensued after making the suggestion was enough to subdue his pride - He left it alone.

Storm lead the sleepy frog-man down the long hall of cells, stopping when she came to one suited for his needs and mutation. Wolverine, whom had accompanied her down the hall, for no apparent reason, offered a bestial growl as she stepped into the cell behind Mort.

This would be where Mort would stay whilst they repaired his original quarters. Mort was asleep on almost instantly, Storm kneeling beside him and dabbing at the cuts and bruises he had caused to himself in his fit. When she had considerably bloodied the hem of her night gown, she stood, leaving the cell and locking the door, as required behind her.

A note on the comments about Schizophrenia;

I'm really not sure what it is Mort has, and if I said some where in there that he was schizo, I didn't mean it. Because of a morbid fascination with Schizophrenia I've been going through, or at least was when the seventh grade year began, I've done a great bit of research.

If your assumptions of Schizo come from the split personality bit I previously mentioned in the story, please understand that there is a difference between Schizo and Split personality. If anything, he might be both... But I'd have to say, to be sure, he has split personality.

Any way, thankyou to all my readers and reviewers! This has made my seventh grade year a great deal more easy, you know, just being able to retreat to read and write... Kind of nice!

Bronzeiris