Hellfire for Genosha

January 10, 2018:

The Hellfire Club has sent Emma Frost in person to meet and negotiate business deals with Magneto. (Emits by Nate)

A Genosha Town in the west coast of the island


NPCs: Frenzy, Pipeline, Javitz

Mentions: Sebastian Shaw

Mood Music: None.

Fade In…


It’s a different arrival than the first time the White Queen was here.

Arrangements were made, in the quiet way that were required, for the woman to make her return to the island. An unmarked, six-passenger plane at a small, private airstrip on the opposite side of the island from the densely populated Hammer Bay.

When she descends onto the tarmac, she is in an immaculate winter white. A sheath dress of Jackie Onassis flair, all princess seams and scalloped hems with a boat neckline and a scooped back. A double strand of cultured pearls lays flat at the base of her neck, threaded through diamond studded bars of gold. Small dangle earrings complete that set. Silk stockings with a delicately printed white lace pattern and strappy stiletto sandals that wrap her feet without competing with those stockings. Her sunglasses are large, but tasteful. Her hat wide-brimmed and classic, straw crafted into easy curves that speak of summer warmth and wrapped with a wide satin band.

She’s here in all of her power and glory, but not in that capacity. No, she’s come as an emissary of a greater and darker power still. As a guest, by invitation.

Unfortunately Hammer Bay’s International Airport is still not considered safe for flights. It is too exposed to raids, as the attack on the visiting X-Men revealed almost two months ago.

In truth the Insurrection forces have been almost totally defeated. Surviving anti-mutant militias and renegade Magistrates have gone to the ground and suspected to be hiding among the refugees flooding Carrion Cove. The main problem Magneto faces is Zealot and his growing following among the native mutate population. Why would ex-slaves follow a raving lunatic that wasn’t bothered with they being slaves is quite the mystery.

Emma’s reception committee includes the powerhouses Joanna Cargill a.k.a. Frenzy and Isaac Javitz and a number of serious-looking freed mutates. They escort her to the small building that serves as terminal. None of them know who Emma is, although Cargill suspects she is a spokesman of some important organization or corporation. Apparently Magneto has secretly received a few the last month.

Cormick Grimshaw, Pipeline, is waiting for them, and quick to send them to Magneto through the internet communication lines. Emma and the two Acolytes materialize in what looks like a business building floor. Smart glass walls allow the bright morning light pass through, although not as much as to be uncomfortable.

It is not Hammer Bay, the view outside shows a small town and the cliffs overlooking the Indian Ocean just a few hundred feet away. Magneto himself is waiting at the far side of the room, fully armored, although looking relaxed, his right hand on the back of an armchair, close to a large round business meeting table. Blue glass apparently unsupported, a holo projector in the middle, very high-tech. “Ms. Frost,” he greets, “welcome to Genosha. Mr. Shaw spoke highly of you.”


“Mister Shaw is very kind,” Emma purrs, her inflection properly British to the casual observer.

The journey to Magneto, all of it, had left Frost seemingly unconcerned. Leaving her pilot behind with naught but a small clutch purse tucked under her arm that contains little more than a compact, a thumb drive, and a tube of ruby red lipstick, she was mostly quiet save to announce her identity where required and nowhere else. There was no frivolous conversation or niceties with her escorts. Unconventional travel? Unconcerning.

All the while, she just listened to the thrum of thoughts where they fall, smiling her Mona Lisa smile. Just prior to entering the room with the self-proclaimed Master of Magnetism, she extracted that compact to check the application of lipstick and the unblemished pearled surfaces of her teeth.

That laissez-faire attitude changes as she enters Magneto’s presence. Then it’s all sweetness and subtle charm, that business air bleeding a little something more for the elder man before her. She closes much of the distance, but not all. Her purse is tucked under her arm so that she can extend her right hand, wrapped in a wrist-length cotton glove, in his direction congenially. The tilt of that hand is ambiguous, able to adapt a shake or something a little more continental easily.

“And your hospitality is very much appreciated. We’re a fan of your work. I’m delighted to have an opportunity to speak with you.”


Magneto wouldn’t have used the world ‘kind’ to refer Sebastian Shaw. Doubtlessly Emma knows him better than he does, but really, Shaw has a reputation.

Still, there is no change in Magneto’s expression, which is already hard to read behind the Thracian helmet. When Emma offers her hand, he takes it, holding it high and bowing gentlemanly, although his lips never quite reach the back of her hand. Meanwhile the Acolytes leave the room.

“Please, sit down, Ms. Frost. We had much to discuss and my duties are many these days.” He offers, “I wish I could have received you in Hammer Bay, but the place is infested with spies, assassins and overcurious X-Men. This little town is much safer. I do not wish to expose you to the eyes of the D.E.O. and other American anti-mutant organizations masquerading as law enforcement.”

The helmet seems to give the tall blonde no pause at all, and her smile brightens even. Or darkens, depending on how you look at it. Either way, Frost seems pleased.

To the bow over her hand, Emma tips her chin to receive it and offer her own deference to the power in the room. Her pale eyes slide sideways to regard the departure of those acolytes, although she doesn’t need visual confirmation of their departure. She feels them move through the psychic atmosphere, sentient minds thinking their myriad thoughts in close proximity, and waits until they depart the room before she speaks again.

She fills the intermediate moments with taking Magneto’s offer to sit. She crosses the room with her long stride, perching on the edge of a nearby, comfortable looking seat and setting one knee atop another as her legs cross languidly. Her purse is tucked just beside her and her sunglasses carefully removed and set inside her bag. The hat at its fashionable tilt is removed next, plucked gently upwards and set upon a nearby surface. As she smooths her hair, she opens the formal conversation.

“Oh, you will hear no complaint from me. The improved privacy is worth a great deal of inconvenience to me, and I am very grateful for your considerate planning in that regard. Now. How should I call you, hm? There’s the name you’ve polished to a wicked shine, and I do appreciate that. But perhaps I might be so bold as to ask for something else so that I can speak business a little more comfortably.”

Magneto takes seat in front of Emma with a good deal of regal grace, despite the armor and the cloak. Most men can’t pull that kind of style wearing heavy armor, much less a cape. Again, he seems to smile briefly. ‘How should she call him?’

“After decades under assumed names I have reclaimed my birth name. For a fresh start in a new land. I am Maximilian Eisenhardt. But I have been Magneto since the mid-50s. It was the name the Institute – the Mossad gave me when I became their agent.” Which is something Emma would not have found in Magneto files even if she had access to top secret documents.

“Magneto will suffice for now, Ms. Frost. My nom du guerre until this war is over. And perhaps when peace is achieved here I will be President Eisenhardt. Or perhaps Emperor Maximilian if some of my most fervent followers can get away with it.” But flattering and amusing as it could be an Emperor title is not going to draw as much real respect of the UN Nations as he would obtain if he is elected, and he is politically aware.

“Emperor?” The question draws a lift of Emma’s sculpted brows and an amused chuckle. “My goodness. If I’d known that were on the table, I would have worn a more appropriate dress for the occasion. But…” That amusement is perfectly respectable, but it dulls to something more tuned for business. “Magneto, as you like.”

Leaning across her tiny ruched purse onto the closest edge of the arm of the chair she occupies, the blonde curls forward into the deceptive appearance that her weight is set securely upon it.

“It is my understanding, Magneto, that you have already had some preliminary conversation with my colleague, Mister Shaw, but I am absolutely delighted to be able to discuss the possibilities of a bright future by fruit of a collaboration between our organization and this island. The peace is only the first step, of course… even as large as it is.” Her free hand floats before her in emphasis of her polished cadence, exquisitely manicured fingers artfully arranged.

“Peace does not guarantee the survival of this island, particularly if you are to afford it the singular honor of being the sole mutant power in the world. Our organization wishes to see that such a government find itself secure and in good esteem in the international community. That’s trade deals, to start. Imports and exports. The building of political connections. While we admire your single-mindedness with regards to the protection of mutantkind, there has been some damage done to the public perception internationally.”

Her head drops and leans forward as she stage-whispers, “Coups do tend to breed distrust, after all, regardless of who starts them.”

Magneto is indeed amused by the possibility of being an ‘Emperor’. A normal person does not dress like he does even if he is a violent vigilante (or terrorist). There is no doubt he has both sociopathic and megalomaniac personality traits. Emperor Magneto sounds appealing.

But unfortunately it is not a title the first recognized mutant leader on history should have. At least not the first years of his rule. Perhaps later on, as an honorific title with some political responsibilities. Magneto can be patient. Sometimes.

“Peace will be achieved soon,” confirms the armored man. “One month or two and the current civil war will be reduced to a problem of guerrilla and minor terrorism. Perhaps less if we succeed to find and corner the so-called Zealot. You might not know, but he is mutate with empathic powers that is preying on the weak-willed mutates to pursue an insane xenophobic agenda.” Magneto has allowed some news reporters in Hammer bay, but their reports are often censored by political and corporate interests. And he is not giving interviews. Ambassador Alda Huxley does that for him.

“Then the blockade will come down. Indeed the official reasons of the blockade are gone. Genosha is no longer a fascist estate that enslaves citizens. I do expect the European Union and India to cancel the restrictions soon.” But, of course, they might implement a new blockade because Genosha might be ruled by wanted terrorists. That is a major issue. “The US is… still reluctant. And that is perhaps where your society could help the most. You could still engage on trade through proxies, of course. But I think it would be more efficient if those are unnecessary.”

Emma straightens, and then leans back into her chair. She doesn’t lose her lean to one side, but rather lets her head tilt a degree to that side, too. “Two months? You really think so? My, oh my. I would have put it easily at six.”

“Unfortunately, I do not foresee so easy a way forward. Once the official reasons of the embargo are lifted—the offenses against mutantkind, there will still be your leadership. While we are not intimidated by the possibility, we have seen time and again that the international community tends to have long memories precisely when it is most inconvenient for an unloved minority.”

Slender, bare shoulders shrug. “But, yes. We wish to assist you on that front. In the U.S., certainly. But we can do better than that. We are centered in New York, perhaps, but our reach is far greater than that. Our grasp, further still. We have our ties in with the business communities that can advocate for reopening economic channels. And we have our ways of making certain that politicians find their wayward way to being…”

Kohl-framed eyes lift towards the ceiling as the telepath searches for just the right word. When she finds it, her voice drops sultry low. “Amendable.

A contemplative exhalation can be heard as Emma crosses her legs the other way and continues. “Really, all we need to know is that you will provide a safe place for mutants to reside and work towards becoming a beacon, that our efforts will be appreciated, and where to send the check. Because, of course, we wish to offer our assistance in covering any expenditures that might be required for such a wonderful world of the future to be born. Quietly, naturally. Out of view. You see, Magneto, Mister Shaw, our friends, and I would very much like to be your friends. And we would like for you to be ours. Clearly, as I’ve made the very long trip here. Our interests seem to be rather aligned.”

“Of course,” murmurs Magneto. “Because you are mutants or because it is so profitable?” There is maybe a touch of disapproval in the old mutant voice. But both are valid reasons.

“Business’ side.” He says louder, “there are roughly 30 billion dollars of very high quality steel in warehouses in Hammer Bay and the steel mills in the mountains. The previous government had to halt the production,” he offers. “It was one of the most important exports of the island before the embargo. It will be the first export we openly move when the larger nations restart the trade.”

There were also plenty of high tech components being produced in Genosha a few years ago, but it will be a time before those factories and labs are ready to produce export items. Most were repurposed to the weapon industry when Genosha became a leper nation.

The steel mills alone can jumpstart the industry, though. And bring to the island food and basic items they need right now.

Both are good reasons. And she confirms her thoughts on that matter as she simply laughs again low. “Because we are mutants who know what is profitable. Or what will be profitable. You haven’t gotten there quite yet, Magneto. But that’s the point of an investment, isn’t it?”

Disapproval does not seem to register to Emma, although surely she must hear it.

“We can help you get production started again, and we can help make the export possible. Is your ambassador up for the task of the public relations nightmare that you are handling, or will you need a new aide here? We can find you one if you are discontent with the work so far. I’m more than willing to play advisor if you like, but it would likely be best for you to have someone who stays local for your benefit.”

“Doctor Huxley is quite resourceful,” confirms Magneto evenly. He doesn’t say Huxley doubtlessly has her own plans. Power behind the throne and all that. But the old mutant is also quite sure Huxley underestimates his political skills.

“Nevertheless, I can negotiate the important agreements with Mr. Shaw and you in person, and we can delegate to skilled lieutenants the minor details,” he touches the table and a computer keyboard appears. A few keystrokes and the holo-projector lits up. “Resources are almost limitless, thanks to extensive specialization of the mutate powersets. But some engineering skill sets are scarce, as much of the human elites has left or will leave the island the next few months. You will be given a compiled database of currently viable industrial produce and feasible possibilities. All within the 2018 timeframe. I am quite sure it will keep your people busy the next weeks. By the time they finish the assessments, the political situation here will be greatly improved,” he ensures.

“That sounds perfectly acceptable,” Frost says amiably, smiling. “And then we can perhaps discuss what happens after you’ve regained a sustainable national economy.”

And then her attention turns to the holoprojector, her smile fading in lieu of a look betraying a deeper concentration for whatever appears there. The nitty gritty details—or at least some of them—one would hope. She looks there, even as she continues to speak.

“It might be worth trying to convince one or two of the humans to stay,” she says with a voice a little more distant, although it still contains a thinly veiled disgust. And why shouldn’t it be disgusted? Slavers and their sympathizers, all. “A turncoat might do wonders if you can turn them into a spokesperson to combat the inevitable indignation that will be leveled at your government by a human majority that fears what happens when mutants begin to speak up for their long-denied birthrights.”

“No, you misunderstood me,” replies Magneto, shifting forward in his chair. “Humans can stay, as long as they committed no direct abuses or crimes against the mutates,” which does means a pretty large number of humans can’t stay. “Did you know Carrion Cove city officers refused to use mutate labor? I am already dealing with the local officers and I will allow the city and the province a good deal of autonomy and I hope it will become a hub of trade with other nations. Not so Hammer Bay. It will be a city for mutants and only the humans in the former Resistance movement will be allowed to remain.”

He pauses; then looks at Emma with icy blue eyes. “Only those humans will retain full political rights. Genosha will be a mutant nation, and I do expect in the next few years millions of mutants will immigrate here.” Millions of mutants. Even though only a tiny percentage are the powerful Alphas, it would mean hundreds, maybe thousands of mutants of Emma power level.

She misunderstood. No, she doesn’t think she did. Emma’s head tilts to the side, even as her pale gaze . “A turncoat—someone who has come to “realize” the error of their ways—can be of use if you let him on the public scale. But. We can perhaps find someone who fits the bill on the outside to serve a similar purpose if the ideals of the matter are important to you.”

As they likely are. Ideologues. What can you do?

“Anyway. Yes. I will gladly transport these details back to our little cabal, and we can come up with some preliminary thoughts as to solutions. As to the in-person meetings, perhaps you can come our way next time. Or we can come back to you. Whichever suits you, Magneto. We do wish to show you that we mean to be supportive. The thought of an openly mutant-held country is thrilling to say the least. And we want nothing more than to see it succeed.”

It might be a poor idea for Magneto to turn up in New York the next few months. In particular given that the local Brotherhood is currently in the warpath and his own face in the newspapers every few days due to the events in Genosha. Disastrous for everyone if he is seen in the Hellfire Club. “Perhaps, although not while Zealot is loose. It would be imprudent of me to leave the island right now.”

The holo-projector shows a number of three dimensional models. Large high-tech factories, the assembly robots idle, but looking in good repair. Impressive steel-works buildings, operations not quite halted, but obviously going at a small fraction of their capabilities. Cavernous warehouses full of sheets of steel.

“If you are not staying for long, I suspect conversations the next months are not going to be in person,” comments the armored mutant. “Hopefully we can meet at least one more time before you leave.”

“I can stay as long as you like,” comes the ready reply, Emma chuckling softly, as she leans in to take a closer look at the factory and warehouse images. And then, suddenly, she pauses in her observations to regard her host.

“Within reason, of course. And so long as I can remain beneath the public notice. As I mentioned previously, I do value my privacy.” And with the current climate of the United States, is it really any wonder?

It is not surprising, but it is still a reason of anger that mutants like Emma need to keep her nature and activities a secret. The support for Genosha from wealthy mutants was to be expected, however. In some regards Magneto can see the parallels between Genosha’s rebirth and the creation of Israel - a nation he saw formed when he was young and thought himself human.

“Your guarantee you requests will be respected, Ms. Frost, please stay as long as you want,” replies Magneto after a few seconds of thought. “Now, seeing we are in agreement in the basic matters and we need to consult our aides and allies for the details, I have a few more personal questions, if I can ask. About your ‘club’ and about yourself.”

"Oh, of course," Emma replies, all ease and grace, finally leaving her serious study of the holodisplay and afford the elder man once more the full weight of her consideration. “I would be very glad to answer whatever I can. Whatever is necessary to make you comfortable with this arrangement."

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