The mind is only meant to stretch so far before it snaps. It can only tolerate so much, loss, grief, before the self decides it has had enough and its stability ruptures. As the sound mind begins to unravel, previously withheld compulsions, no longer meeting resistance, slowly surface in the waters of a head now susceptible to suggestion and persuasion. And when that head so happens to belong to a half-man like Fantomex, there is grave cause for concern.

In his malfunctioning mental state, insanity has drawn out the thief's unsettling shades. That aspect of his existence dictated not by familial bonds but by unfeeling sentinel tech, and the swarm of nanites pumping around his veins, relaying a single message, time and again; do what you were made for. He was meant to be great. Arguably the best, even. Crucially devoid of all flaws, conceived to be the obedient killer with a caustic attitude and narcissistic complex, he did not know what it felt like to be un-special. His massive rap sheet aside, the Skrulls had dealt him a low blow, taking from him his gift of illusion and in turn his sublimity – what made him perfect – and ruthlessly dropped him on top of the hackneyed triers and losers pile, a failed experiment.

Oh how grating that felt! Continuing to spiral, the more he stumbled the worse Fantomex's personality changed. The french-charmer had given way to apathetic executioner, the lingering ghouls of Weapon Plus' suppressed programming bleeding through the cracks in previously impenetrable mental defences. The killings started off small. A few, inconspicuous deaths here and there, targeting minority groups. Particular individuals whose deaths could be passed off as something else, nothing that would warrant a post-mortem. All going unnoticed, until it was no longer possible to do so. The victim was a paltry seventeen years old, gunned down with a very particular brand of ammunition: sentient, ceramic coated bullets. The sliding half-man had overstepped moral bounds when he committed his latest heinous act, inflicting a death so violent it more than once leant grounds for a post-mortem. The teenager's death was particularly striking in that, once the test results revealed the shocking truth, public interest was about to skyrocket into orbit…the felled teenager was a mutant.

Let loose and raging war unchecked, Fantomex wanted to retrieve what was taken from him, with every moment spent fragmented worsening his mental state. The latest police chatter breaking over the comms elaborates that his latest tirade places him outside out an abandoned building…Only it wasn't. And whatever secrets were contained within the building's walls, a demented Fantomex was hell-bent on discovering them.