The guard responded to this by blowing a whistle, which summoned more guards.

And the next thing she knew, she was cuffed behind her back, thrown into a van, and being driven off.

"There's always at least one of you." she heard.

"Don't know how to shut up, or what's best." they growled.

"It's almost like you WANT to die!"

"That is an unconfirmed rumour!" one of them responded.

Suddenly, one of the others started to feel her up, checking every single part of her clothing and body, as though they were searching for something.

"No wires or devices." they said.

The first one then laughed out loud.

"Then it's with our secret weapon. You'll see soon enough." he told her.

They just laughed.

"We don't utilize a mutant." one said.

"We utilize a TOOL." they corrected her.

"An implement. A thing." they went on.

"That is all. And soon you will feel what our weapon can do." they finished, as the van came to a stop.

The response was swift.

She was slapped. Hard. And thrown out of the van.

She was then dragged roughly to the room she'd been in before, and thrown up against one of the statues. Ironically, the body she'd inhabited earlier.

After another few minutes, she saw Jackson get brought in again.

And he looked no different than before.

"..................." Jackson was silent as Sierra spoke to him, and said what she did.

His eyes seemed to be as dull and lifeless as before. Yet... something seemed different.

They were shaking a little less than usual... and he was looking intently at her. As intently as he could, in that state, anyway.

He then opened his mouth to say something, before one of the soldiers spoke.

"NOW!" they barked.

This caused Jackson to grab her once more, and she felt her world turn grey, then black, and found herself expelled from the body, yet again.

"Looks like we'll need a little extra 'fine-tuning' tonight." one of the man said with an ominous and cruel chuckle.

Meanwhile, at the morgue, the man had sighed, as he shelved another body.

"So many killed." he said quietly.

"Why?" he asked, looking at a fresher one. A new one. A young lady that had taken ill, and it had gotten the better of her... because she was refused treatment.

"You poor thing." he mumbled.

"You had no reason to die..."

"Over there." he replied, gesturing to a gurney with a sheet over it, not missing a beat.

"Welcome back." he said.

"Expected you a bit earlier, to be honest." he admitted.

He then sighed, and looked in the direction of the new 'container'.

"So. How did it go?"

"I'll remember that." he replied.

"And... really?" he then asked.

"That's... encouraging." he commented.

"Hm." he then muttered, thinking about it.

"I wonder..." he said, trailing off some.

"It's possible he put up strong partitions in his mind, and sequestered away a part of himself." he theorized.

He sighed deeply.

"Poor thing was suspected of being a mutant, but there was no proof." he replied.

"So when she was stricken ill, they refused her treatment." he lamented.

"And she was so frail, the sickness... took its toll." he told her further, sounding angrier down.

"These damn people." he snarled, sounding near tears now.

"Okay." he replied.

"And how well known?" he asked.

"Fairly." he told her.

"Which is to say, if she showed up in the streets again suddenly, she would be recognized." he went on.

"Why...?" he then asked.

"Is that... something you're looking for?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.