X-Men: A Bright New World (IC)

Laura

Something...wasn't right.

X-23 followed Jean from a considerable distance, tracking the other woman by scent rather than sight. A tactic which, ordinarily, would assure that the assassin remained undetected by her target. Laura had no reason to believe that the present situation was any different; even knowing of Jean's extraordinary abilities, she knew not of the range or extent of them.

But whether or not Jean was aware of her presence was quickly becoming less of a concern.

Bright emerald eyes took an active interest in certain individuals of the crowd: two men, whom after some time of observation could be easily seen as following her former team mate. From her trailing position X-23 couldn't see any distinguishing marks on their clothing; their posture and demeanor, however, struck her as militaristic.

Jean, you're being followed, Laura attempted to project the thought. Which is to say: she thought really hard. She had no idea how to achieve telepathic communication but it seemed unreasonable to not at least try.

She needed to get closer. Laura increased the length of her strides, sight remaining focused on the two men. She'd need to abandon the sidewalk in order to circumvent them, she knew – lest she draw attention to herself and her approach of Jean. The idea of bailing down an alley wasn't entirely appealing, even as it was a logical solution, if only because Laura feared the moment she left the street a move would be made. What if Jean hadn't heard her warning? What if her location had been broadcast by the followers and an unmarked van was already on its way?

There wasn't time to waste on worries. Veering towards the edge of the sidewalk, where the concrete met the base of buildings, Laura slipped through the next available break of the sheer faces. She immediately turned and took off at a sprint. Finding her way behind the row of buildings, the woman changed her heading by 90 degrees. The occasional chain linked fence or other such city-scape obstructed her route; it made the process of catching up all the more riveting for the likeness of an obstacle course. It got her blood pumping, which only seemed to heighten her senses: she could only vaguely pick up the smell of Jean, now, though each time she passed an alleyway she'd be assured that she was indeed making a gain. The run through felt like it was only moments but it must have been a full minute before she broke onto a intervening street.

Laura emerged on a walkway that would be perpendicular to Jean's path. Turning towards the street she had formerly abandoned, the woman adopted a casual pace as she moved towards the intersection. A familiar scent steadily became stronger.

Jean! she tried to reach out once again. You're being followed; we need to break their line of sight.

“This way!” Laura called softly from her position around the corner, just as Jean was passing the edge of the last building. If Jean didn't turn towards her immediately she'd take a hold of the other woman's wrist to draw her attention – as well use the grip to pull her towards the new direction – and if Jean willingly changed course Laura would attach to her in a similar fashion once she was beyond the vision of the followers. Wordlessly, the raven haired woman took to a hurried pace that ushered them between buildings. After several strides she released her hold on Jean, stooping over to pick up a conveniently placed chunk of broken concrete. “Keep going,” she instructed, pointing further down the line of buildings. “Turn into the second alleyway. I'll be right behind you.”

X-23 would give Jean a lead towards their destination; meanwhile, she'd scale a nearby fire escape. She stopped at the first platform and took a moment to observe the redhead's progress. Once the woman was near the turning point Laura threw the chunk of concrete through a window, near to the lock. As if someone had panicked in a need to break an entering, the window was unlocked through the broken glass and swung wide open. A swept hand drew out a portion of curtains, leaving the thin material to drape outside of the shard covered sill.

Laura was quickly off of the fire escape, jumping over the railing and down the single story descent. She followed a tuck and roll with a spring to her feet and within half a dozen paces she was running at full speed. She'd edge around the corner into the appointed alleyway with only a second to spare before the pair of men entered the gap between buildings.

She hoped that her distraction would work. At least long enough for her to hijack or hot wire a get away vehicle...

“What are you doing here?” Laura asked in a hushed whisper, as if the men might hear her from such a distance. “Better yet... Where are we going?” The woman asked as she continued down the alley, at a brisk walk rather than a sprint. Unfortunately, now was not the opportune time for the women to stand around and have a discussion about whatever trouble they might have found. “You can explain on the way.”

X-23 led them back towards the street; pausing before actually stepping out onto the sidewalk, scanning for an method of escape. As luck would have it, a nearby parked car had the tell-tale raised pegs indicating unlocked doors. As if the vehicle was hers, Laura calmly approached and climbed into the driver seat. Her hand grasped at a panel beneath the steering wheel – and when the rigid plastic proved a want to be difficult, she removed her hand and straightened her wrist. Briefly, the woman glanced around to make sure no passerbys were watching. Then, the distinct noise of tearing flesh accompanied the emergence of dual bone claws from between her knuckles, which then were utilized to pry off the troublesome panel.

“We'll be on the road in no time,” she spoke confidently.

Rogue

Thursday evening. [107th Floor. Windows on the World restaurant]

Windows on the World…

She could see where the inspiration had come for the restaurant’s name. Of course it was in the World Trade Centre, but looking out over the city, you could imagine that you were watching a world below you. It was magnificent, the city that never slept, and the lights of that legacy burned brightly in the shade of the night. And then he appeared, perhaps he had already been there, Rogue, too distracted by the beauty of her surroundings hadn’t even noticed him sitting there, but now she did she had to conceal her surprise.

His eyes…

The rest of his appearance was lost on her as she stared at two coal black eyes, with red points of light glimmering with humour. They were eyes that would not have been out of place in a horror film, and yet… and yet, did not seem to carry any menace or threat.

She realise she had been staring into his eyes for nearly a minute, and blushed as she pulled her gaze away. The waiter had just brought wine to the table, and Rogue was grateful for the distraction.

Who was this strange man? So obviously a mutant, yet so relaxed and so at home in this environment. She examined his attire for a moment, a well-cut suit, obviously expensive, though she didn’t know enough about fashion to say what brand. He reached for the glass of wine placed beside his hand and raised it. Rogue found herself doing the same automatically, and once more there eyes caught for a second as she blushed at his compliments.

She sipped the wine, it was good. Mystique and Destiny had cared for her, had raised her, but there had been little in the way of luxuries. When she had done well she might have received a novel, and sometimes there would be chocolate, but those occasions were few and far between. They had never starved her, far from it, she’d always had a good, healthy diet, but the bare mouthful of wine was an experience she had never even imagined. She pressed her lips together as she savoured it.

Then she realised she hadn’t replied to the man, “Ah’m sorry, what was ah thinkin'…”

She lifted her own glass again, almost in a salute to the gentleman sat opposite her, “to new friends.”

NYC - Rogue

Thursday Evening. [The World Trade Center. Windows of the World restaurant. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

"Ah’m sorry, what was ah thinkin'..." Rogue toasted. "to new friends."

The man, from. Across. Nodded, smiling. At her words...

Had this been, perhaps. The real, of a. Date, something. Romantic. Something, promising. Something, with. Any a thing, full of. Potential. Possibility. Genuine and sincere, even. Hopeful...future. Things, elements. An outcome. Could play out, differently. For certain. Instead, of what. It truly was.

A sham.
A stage.
A complete...lie.

Lies were, the. Antithesis, of. Dreams. Because they, in no way. Helped a 'cause'. More-or-less, it was. Giving in, to. Dellusion. Harmful. Hindering. Torturous...

And the girl could never know. No matter what!

After all. It wasn't 'his' job, to do ANYthing. For her. That wasn't the mission. And let one, always remember. Absolute professional. Mission, above all else! No one, not one. Came before that. No exceptions.

Everyone knew this.

She, too, would. Learn. Though, the hard way...
========================================================================
About an Hour and a Half Ago. [Outside the Ladies Room. Upon the Lobby Floor]

"We will be up, having dinner. Remember who your target is. And where. Be on point. Each of you. You will NOT fail me on this..."

The woman, in the heels. Clicked off her phone. And left her daughter, to. Change. Inside of, the. Public lavatory.

Had to shiiiiiiiiiifffffffffft, and. Get, into. Position, as well!
========================================================================
Now.

When the waiter, began. Bringing out steaming hot. Soup bowls. And plates, stock full. Of bread, salad. Various hors-d'oeuvres. Her dinner companion, rose. To his feet. His attention, elsewhere. Before, gaze. Red irises, returning. To the young woman. To her. "Pardon. 'Tween de liquids of de water an' de wine. Need de...men's room. Be back lil' bit!" He nodded, once more. Before, departing his spot. At the table...

'He' could have, told her. The truth. Could have, even said. Goodbye. Maybe even, should have. But. But....what would that, have. Accomplished. In the long run?

No. Must. Stick. Stick, to the plans. Stay the course. Keep to the mis--

"Gambit??"

Someone called out, as he walked by. It didn't phase him, almost didn't register. But...

"Gambit -- Remy, is that -- hey!" the voice continued.

"..enough..." another, commanded.

....3

...2

..1

.

??

SHATTTTTTTERRRRRR-crassshhhhhhhhhhhhh! A figure, in a suit of armor. Comprised of violet and teal. Four insect-like wings, propelled the individual. With flight, through. One, of the many. WINDOWS, of the. Restaurant. The face, concealed. Goggles over the, armor. Too. The being, once inside. Despite the cries, of the. Commotion. Flew straight, across. The room. Toward.....her.

To Rogue!

She recognized, him. Instantly. As The Beetle. What surprised her, possibly. Was what he did, next. "No one MOVE..." His voice, muffled. By the armored mask. He had landed, beside her. And quickly grabbed her. Lifting her, to her feet. His gloved magnanium alloy hands, detaining her. By her arm. And throat. "...or SHE gets it!"

What the--?

Wasn't he, supposed to be. On HER side? Where was Mystique? Where were the other two? Where was her....date?

G-gasp?

She could see, panic. Spread. Across the faces. Of guests. People. Anyone, that was in her vision. Fear, was definitely. Present. People were, scared. No one, wanted. To do...anything. Wrong.

How was she? One moment, a princess. Living life, in. Absolute bliss. The next...?
========================================================================

Gambit

[The Brazen Fox. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

A slew of, similarly. Toned comments. Chimed in. All with the same, voice. Before. Their 'host', the youth. Jamie himself, was able. To answer him.

"Yeah, no problem. I'm fine. Let's get people out before those sirens get here." He then aided in helping out with, their. Older, injured team mate. By the looks of it, regenerative abilities or not. It would be quite, some. Time, before. The Wolverine, would. Or could, be. Seeing anything, other than. A bed, for recovery. At least, in his. Limited knowledge, of the individual. Looks, oft. Could be deceiving...

Still. No sign of the Marine, stranger. Whom, obviously. Was a mutant, too. Hm.

And, once. Outside. The three of them. Companions. The youth turned, to Gambit. After coordinating with his, others. Instructions. "So, what now?"

"If de...ot'er selves find dat Marine. T'ink maybe, it a good idea, to bring 'im to Xavier's place. W'ere dis one ought go..." He gestured, to the 'dead weight' of their team mate.

"..c.anii.tt....f.ren.chi.e.......s.he'.s....ur.h....c.clo.s.e....b.y...."

The Cajun broke, into that. Place, to look. For her. And although it, apparently. Was a trap, which imploded. Upon itself. She was, still. No where to be found. Had she ever been here? But then, the short. Stout man, had keen. Animal like senses. Was he smelling, her. Right now? The sirens were closing in, as his. Hot orbs, flashed.

Logan was, clearly. In pain. But wait a moment. Wasn't the mite, of his. Actual bone, showing. A minute ago?

Blink. Blink.

Before he could inquire, the older X-Man. Spit out, "...n.ott...yer.r....l.ove..bi.rdd.....ar.g.gh......w.i.lson..."

Wilson? Who was..."Madrox, let's go. T'de car. 'elp wit' 'im. Goin' 'ave t'duck de cops. Fast!" Alison's little Volkswagen Beetle, was in view. Up two blocks. As the trio, crept. Closer. To their destination. They could see it.

There. Something...someone, planted.

Not far, in the distance. Near the car. On a bike. Chilling. Eating. A whopper and fries. And drinking a root beer. No doubt from the still, open Burger King. To the right.

This...person. This individual. Was their identity, hidden? A mask worn, yet....was pulled up. Partly. So that food, could be. In taken.

Body armor. Body Worn. Tuffs of black hair, poked. Out, from. Holes, atop. Her mask. The masked figure.

Dead. Pool.

She finally, noticed. Them. As they stood. From across the street. On the same side. The voice, was. Grating, to say the least! "Can't a chick eat without weirdo's starin'...all...weird......like? FUCK. Me. You kiddin' me. YOU three alive? Bangarang!" She dropped her boot, down. Kick-starting her 'cycle.

Va-va-va-

"Deuces peeeeeeps!" squeel-screeched the masked figure, whilst. Peacing out, with her two fingers.

VRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMmmmmmmm! The motorcycle peeled out, taking off. Up the street.

"In de car. Don' let her an' dis lead get 'way!" The white automobile, was right before them...
========================================================================

Interlude - Russia

[Unknown Location, within Russia]

Two.

Two mystery figures. Communicating, amongst. Shadows. Ambition begets, power!

"It appear your...service will be in need, again. товарищ..."

"Who dares?"

"More Американская. More link back to the Rasputin мальчик."

"It matter not. I take care of them. As I did him. None stand a chance."

"Be ready. Soon, very soon."

"Good. I finish her off now..."

One departed, leaving. The lone, figure. None too long after. With a thin, lipped. Smile. Upon the, face. As the sounds, of agony. Filled the chamber, once more.
========================================================================

Mission - Kurt

Mutant.

Carrying the gene, meant. Something. Promised, more. It was, something. Simple, and yet. It couldn't be explained. The how's, and the. Why's. What was known, concise. And realized. Those that WERE, that. HAD, this. Gene. They, whom could be called. Mutants. Well, for better or worse. Definitely were...

Different. Yes. THAT was certainly, one. A way, to come at. And describe, him. Another, hmm. Something, not unlike...the Devil? Let's be, very honest. Here, no holding back. Forked tail, pointed ears. Fangs to match. Why, all need be substituted. Perhaps, the. Darkened blue fur, for more. Crimson red? Or, was he just. A varied sort of. Demon. The different Devil, than be written. Unto the pages of, The Bible?

Wait. Was he practiced, in Religion. Had he known, the any better? Spiritually enlightened? Did this Crawler of the night, did he. Presume to think, that. He could bring, any. The way, to the table. Other than, his being DIFFERENT. Because of him being a mutant. And unexplained....Devil-creature?

Professor Charles Frances Xavier seemed, to think so. In fact, he banked on it. And welcomed the individual, with open arms. Unto his home. To be part of, the family therein. The question's pointed then: was Charles duped, in taking HIM in? Because, what could HE hope to. Bring with him, besides. Trouble? Was there anything, else to consider?

When the professor had gathered, his students to him. In preparation of something, vastly important. Kurt hadn't been around. At least, not in the most. Local of sentiments. He was off, on one of his. Meditative endeavors, which. Called for, the mite of all. His concentration, his. Focus. And when, he did 'return'? The professor, gone. And his peers, also. No longer present.

In the private, of his own. Quarters', however. Lay, one. Singular, plane ticket. Destination -- Russia. No doubt, purchased in his name. Should he come to, just. In time. A small of a note, attached...

Kurt --

Join Sam and the others, when you're able. For Piotr!

Charles

So, then. Did the professor have, this mindset. In dealing with this particular individual: Better the Devil you know, than the Devil you don't know? Hmm...
========================================================================

Rogue nearly fell off her chair with shock when the window shattered and The Beetle rocketed into the restaurant. The only thing that kept her upright was the training Mystique had pushed her through for all those years. She stood, trying to work out what was going on, until his hands locked around her arm and throat. Her mind went blank, she wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t prepared for her teammate to suddenly fly in through the plate glass windows and seize her as a hostage.

She had to force herself to calm down, to take a breath and focus on the situation like Mystique had taught her.

The whole world seemed to have turned on its head one moment the restaurant had been a hubbub of conversation and laughter, now it had gone deathly silent, save for the breath of the wind through the broken windows and the occasional whimper of a diner caught in the explosion of glass.

The rest of the team was nowhere to be seen, the man she had sat opposite? Likewise…

So what did she do?

She did what she was trained to do, Mystique would have planned for that right?

She considered the man who held her hostage, no exposed skin…

That took her abilities out of the equation, which she supposed at least meant she didn’t need to worry about exposing her true nature outside of the base. It did however; make her consider what her actions could be now. Considering the armour of his suit, her ability to actually damage him was limited, but she could at least get him off of her.

She twisted in his grip, bringing her arm up to grip his wrist as she twisted her entire body, shifting forwards and forcing her hip into him, the single smooth movement throwing him over her shoulder…

Now what?

Kurt - Mark 16:15.

Kurt was tired, but not unhappy.

The blue-fuzzed, seemingly-supernatural creature was not as woodland-savvy as The Wolverine, not by any length of chalk. But there came a time, like the vision quests of Indigenous Americans, or the Walkabouts of Aboriginal Australians, or-- hey-- even like the 40-day trek in the wilderness undergone by a certain Messiah after His baptism-- when a spiritual man had to get out and walk Creation for awhile.

He had been camping, and backpacking, and journaling, out in the woods that adorned the Xavier ancestral land, and it was out of those woods that he trudged now, his tail a little droopy from fatigue, but a smile on his gently-fanged face and gleaming in his molten-golden eyes.

As the X-Mansion came into view, however, Kurt decided that-- he'd walked quite enough. And maybe it was akin to The Lord's being tempted to throw Himself from the top of The Temple that angels might swoop in and catch Him-- but it was time to go home. He would greet his fellow X-Men later, once he had gotten his proverbial face on.

BAMF.

And in a puff of brimstone and sulfur, flashbang smoke and sizzling cinder, he emerged from netherspace in his room. Groaning, he let his knapsack slip to the floor, and he stretched his lithe frame, arching his back.

"Ach," he mumbled, "Gott in Himmel, there is no place like home."

With no further ado, he clambered into the shower, shampooing all over, and spent a good long while making sure no bugs had made their own home in his fuzz.

It was only once he emerged, wrapped in a towel, padding lightly across the floor, that he found the message left for him by The Professor.

Lachiyous said:

Kurt --

Join Sam and the others, when you're able. For Piotr!

Charles

Click to expand...

Kurt put his hand into his hair, eyes widening. Piotr-- was he still not home? This was terrible!

Yes, of course, he would--

--he would--

--he would have to sleep on the plane, he reflected with goodnatured ruefulness.

No rest for the wicked.


The Professor, in his infinite wisdom, had not booked Kurt a flight on an airline like he had the others. Kurt would cause much too much of a stir sitting on a flight in his full mutant glory, and while he was not ashamed of his appearance by any stretch of the imagination-- he was not one to hide his light under a bushel --there was a time for discretion. Especially when time was of the essence. Granted, Kurt could wear an Image Inducer watch to conceal his appearance from the public view, but any TSA checkpoints would require him to remove his watch and he would be back to square one.

Instead, Professor Xavier had booked a smaller, private plane.

This also solved the problem of Kurt bringing weapons-- even putting swords in checked baggage would raise an unfortunate quantity of eyebrows, but such things became moot on a chartered flight.

All the same, as Kurt strode out onto the runway tarmac, he wore an Image Inducer on his wrist. Instead of a blue, fuzzy, Drow-ish Elf, he was a Caucasian gentleman with dark curly hair and a priest's collar and a paint-spattered trenchcoat, a duffel bag over one shoulder and a suitcase in one hand.

The pilot, as it turned out, was an old friend of The Professor's named Genji Odashu, a former SHIELD pilot to whom Xavier had introduced the concept of mutants. She was more than happy to talk about her native Japan with the German fellow for a portion of the flight, and she didn't even bat an eyelid when he turned off his watch to just be himself with her. Kurt had long been fascinated with the duality achieved by Shinto and Buddhism in Japanese culture, and with the Bushido code sometimes espoused by The X-Men's own Logan.

Then Kurt curled up in a seat in the passenger compartment and slept as best as he could while he could-- which he had gotten quite good at, given his nomadic showman existence since he had been a little boy. In any case, sleeping on the cushy seats of a private plane proved far easier and more restful than sleeping in a bag on the cold hard ground.

He stirred briefly when the plane stopped to refuel in Zurich, long enough to eat some snacks and have a drink of water from the onboard supplies, but dozed off again after that.

Kurt didn't wake properly until Genji got on the PA and informed Kurt that they were over Lake Baikal, not far from the former site of the Ust-Ordinski Collective where the Rasputins had kept their farm.

Awestruck by God's Creation-- even having spent so much time out in it of late --Kurt gazed wistfully down at the great wide inland sea that was Lake Baikal. But as they got closer to the ground, closer to the shore-- Kurt narrowed his golden eyes. They were not eagle-sharp, his eyes, not even Wolverine sharp-- but they were sharp.

And he could see bolts stabbing up from the ground, sweeping and lashing at the air-- and out of the knot of those laser-streams, he saw the signature, unmistakable RPG contrail of one Sam Guthrie, streaking away.

Trouble!

"There's a civilian airstrip not far from here," Genji came back over the PA, apparently and understandably oblivious to the chaos on the ground. "We should be putting our wheels down in--"

"Don't land!" Kurt protested, grabbing his duffel bag-- the suitcase just had changes of civilian clothes in it, nothing that couldn't be replaced-- his X-Men uniform was in the duffel with his swords, that was what he needed right now. "Don't go any further down, there's fighting going on, don't get yourself shot down! I'll get from here to the ground, you fly safe, you get out of here!"

Genji audibly hesitated. "Do you have a parachute?"

Kurt had to grin at that, quoting the legendary Captain America: "Parachutes are for sissies."

BAMF.

Landing in an all-fours crouch about ten yards from where he thought Sam had landed, Kurt rose, dusted some of the ash off of his beloved coat, and glanced around--

"Samuel!" he hissed. "Sam, are you all right?"

Psylocke

Betsy's eyes, clenched. Shut. Not, unlike. A steel trap. Anger? Her absolute fervor, was. Almost at, a. Boil.

CrackCrackle.

The right, of her hand. Molded tightly, into. A fist. Emanated, a purple. Iridescence. Which, sizzled. And popped. With her....seething. Frustrations, and. Displeasure. At the 'mission'. And her team's, current. Situation. At the complete, lack. Of progress. Or success, of any kind.

Thoughts. So many thoughts. Her team members' thoughts. Everyone was trying. Everyone was seeking. Everyone needed, for her. To hear. To be receptive. To be the link. And key. Between all. Because, she was. In charge. And THE only telepath. Naturally, it was expected. It was her job. Job? A job, she no doubt. Was failing...

Why? How did they, do it? How was it, so. Easily planned? Had these locals. Were they waiting, in the every. Shadow. Whence the X-Men, arrived. On their soil? What they did. They did well. Separating....the...

CracckkkllleFizzzzzle.

Gasp.
========================================================================
[Within Her Mind. Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

Betsy.

BETSY.

"Betsy! I've been taken. Two guys, one really tall, dark hair..."

betsy.

"Betsy? If you're still listening, I'm going to try and give these guys the slip. Look for me in that line of foothills and forest to the north of the what we think was the Rasputin farm"

BETSY.

She -- the purple, iridescent butterfly -- beeeeeeeeeeamed forward, flit. Flying, as fast. And steady, that. Her wings could, carry. Her psionic imprint. Which she projected, in one. Massive effort. Within the area. The range. For any, that could. Indeed.....hear.
<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

Slice! Slice! SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! At the flying insect.

Again.
AGAIN.
Until...it was, hit. And injured. She fell....

Crumbling...

d
o
w
n....hopeless. Lifeless. Meaning, less.

E-liz-beth.

E-LIZ-BETH.

e-liz-beth.
========================================================================
The hand, that. Was furious. Now....open, and. Without vigor.

Eyes, once. Sealed, closed. To block out, reality. In concentration. Tensed. Now...simply....relaxed.

Her body, limp.
Head, slumped over.
Blood, trickled out...from her mouth.

The men, knowing smiles. Upon their faces. Continued, about their business. On their way. With one less, of. A worry, or. Hassle.

The automobile came, to a stop...
========================================================================

Russia - Kitty

The connection -- smart phone -- was, erratic. At best. Clearly, she couldn't rely. On that, for communication. Any chance, to contact. Her team mate, in. Sam Guthrie. Could very well, be. Lost...

No. He was, out. Out of reach. Much like, the others. Theresa. Wanda. Even, Betsy? Betsy! When she, pointedly. Was manhandled. From the one, vehicle. To the other. The men, grabbing her. Against her will. Effectively, kidnapping. The young girl! That's the moment, when she. Called out, for her. Psionic companion.

The lot, that it could ever do. The two of them. Had sparred, verbally. Over something. Significant. It was, after all. Relating to her, best. Friend. Piotr. And what, the older. Woman, had revealed. Almost in spite. Had it hurt? Had it shattered her, from. From the inside, out? Did dreams, end? Because. It sent her, away. From her team mate. And got her, captured. Her emotions. Her injured feelings. Her school girl crush....

It was, a. Weakness. Or...or she wouldn't, be. In this. This. Here, right now.

Pain aside. Tears aside. Safety...first? Yeah. So. What, could she. Do, that was safe?

<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

The message, arrived. Telepathically, from. Betsy herself. But. But. It was cut off! Some, thing. Must have happened. Something must have, severed. The link. Did they, get to. Her team mate? Was Betsy attacked? It all happened, so. Fast.

"You, how you say, in for ride. It be good. No fuss, no fight. Okay Miss Pryde?" the driver, responded. To her slew, of. Questions. His eyes, catching hers. In the rear, view. Mirror.

Piotr. She...the Professor, sent. The X-Men on, this. Very journey, to. Save him. But, if what...Betsy just. Communicated, was true. If a trap, really was. Sprung. Who were, these guys? What did they want?

Shiver.

And. And...where was. Her Pete?

The vehicle drove onwards, humming away. Destination -- unknown, the scenery. So much more rural. Than the, before...
========================================================================

Russia - Jean and Laura

It was, that. Being. That essence. Some, female individual. Which beckoned, to the. Redhead. Was it because, the two. Two of them, could be. So much alike. Almost like sisters? Alike, not just in being. A mutant -- if that's what, she also was. But, in being telepathic. Besides her former, mentor. She'd never met, any. The one, whom. Could delve, through. Another's mind, as. As if, it were. A playground. Because. Of this gift. It was simply, just. Another form, of. Communication, used. At least, on the surface.

One could, do. So much more. Like trace another, some. One else's, location. And in this, Jean. Found herself, almost. Entirely, entranced. Complete to the task. In finding this, person. The no matter, what!

Perhaps, that's why....she could have been, perceived. A tad aloof. So set, in her. Concentrations. She couldn't seek, to see. Or even notice, that. A couple, of locals. Might have been, watching her.

Thank goodness, for. Silent, but deadly. Stalker-like, former team mates. Right?
========================================================================
[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

Flit. Flutter.

She caught sight, of the. Pretty little butterfly, glide. Across the way. Leaving behind, its glittery. Trail, of. Purple iridescence. One which, she'd been. Happily following, thus far. The left behind, debris. Shone, more. Radiant, than it did, from. The before. Where was it, to. Take her? How much further, to. Its destination? She, of course, banked. On it being, the source. Of the person, that sent it -- this psionic imprint -- out. In the first place. A sound notion. A steady plan. And...

And the more, she. Followed. The brighter. And, the. Stronger, a. Connection, she. Felt. Keep going, don't stop. It's only a matter. It's only a matter...

Mm. Yes.

Smile.

It's only a matter, of. Time. Before her, efforts. These efforts. Paid off. Why, it--

PulsePulsePulsePulse.
FlitFlutterFlitFlutter.

For the first, time. Since intercepting, that. Fateful communicative, message. Some. Thing. Something new. Something different. It was...

BeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaammmmmmBRRRIIIIIIGGGGHHHHHTTTTTLLLLYYYYY! Coming right, at her! The psionic imprint. The stamp. The butterfly -- it was, LUMINOUS! As a star, would be. Almost too much, so. Almost too much, so. Almost too much, so....

And what's more -- with it: she was bathed, in the experience! And very receptive, to the message. <>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

...and then.

...and then.

...and then. Nothing. The -- IT -- vanished. It was gone. Disappeared. Almost, as if -- wait....a sec...was that, some. Kind of a shadow, there. In its stead, that...?

POOOofff.

Blink. Blink. Squint.

?

Was....did she, just. Imagine, that? What....just...happened? Because, now. All around, every. Which way. There was, no. Trace. Absolutely, no. Sign. There was, NOTHING, remaining...

Gasp.

...of the purple, iridescent butterfly.

And. And yet. That...last message. For the life, of her own. She knew, it was this. Person's! Jean Grey was, so. CLOSE. And yet, reading into the. Context of the, message. And what, had. Just happened. Well....what exactly DID just, happen? And did some, one. Or, some. Thing, not. Want. Her, to be found?

So...so brilliantly, bright. So alive. And then....nothing?
========================================================================
Back, upon the streets. If the wind, blew. The Siberian, a. Way. Perhaps, some. One, a. Singular, female. Of, an. Individual. A good, of. Natured mutant, in. Jean Grey, could. And should, have. Very well. Been in trouble. If not, for....

A former team mate.
A guardian stalker.
A trained murderer.

Laura may have, been. All of those, things. Along with also, being a mutant. If not, for her keen. Instincts. The most, important -- if not habitually targeted -- of curiosities, maybe. Even in people(this could remain to be seen), would have. Definitely been, in peril. Without her. And whilst, the older. Woman may have been, following. Some unseen, pathway. It was clearer than a blue sky, that. That Laura, herself. Would have, to watch. Over her. And beware, the every. A, one. Around. Because of this.

Good thing, it came like. Second nature, to the. Younger of the, two. Or she'd, not. Have been, fast. To catch. Strangers in action. And keep her, damsel. Out, of harm's way!

And she could, hear. The men. Behind. Whence, she took control. Of the situation, and nearly. Having Jean, elude. Them, with line. Of sight, barriers. Whipping around a corner here. Instructing her to, run. Over there.

And from, behind. The huffs, only became louder. "Черт возьми, она уходит!"

It was, about the time. When both women, had found. The automobile. Loaded themselves, on. Up, and took off. That the, weird. That the strange. That...some, thing. Or rather, some. One -- it wasn't Jean, nor was it Headmistress Emma -- different. Cried out, to the. Both of them. From within, their minds!

<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

??

....what/who the hell, was. That?

Blink. Blink.

HEY! Watch the blasted, road...

Screeeeeetch! SwiiiiIIIiiiiiiirrrrrRRRrrrrrrrrrve! Zoom...

The coast, was clear....?
========================================================================

Russia - Sam and Kurt

Time. How much time, had. Gone by, since. Sam Guthrie, had. Landed in Russia. Was it several hours? Sure, at the beginning. There was, a. Whole team, of. Them. The X-Men. Him, and the girls. The Women. One-by-one: Theresa, Wanda, Kitty, and Betsy. His companions. But. But. Really. But, really. When was the, last. Time. That he actually, saw. A team mate? A friend? A companion? How long ago, had he physically. Took stock, of. One of these, female. Individuals? Could...

Could he, honestly. Without a doubt. Be sure, that he. Even. Came to this place. To Siberia. WITH, any. One person. Much less four, others?

One could, have. Sworn.
One could, still. See.
One could, honestly be. Sure?

Or maybe, that. In itself, was. A ploy, against. Him. Drawing the likes, of. The Cannonball. Here, unto these. Rugged lands. Miles upon miles, away. From his home. Cut off, from. Family. Family and friends. And tha--

"Samuel!" a voice loudly, whispered. There was, a bit of an. Accent, if one could. Make it out, properly. And the source. None, too. Far, the way.

Hm. Yes, that's right. He'd just, bolted. Around the corner. Giving the locals, the. slip, of sorts. And was, catching. The mite of a breather, right? Less traffic, less. It seemed, man-made destruction. On the environment. Whatever had happened, where he. Had originally been. Where the swarms, of. All those local, military-like. Locals, were. The earth, was charred. Ash and soot, everywhere. Here? Not so much. He must have, flew. To the very, edge. Barrier even, of. The...desolation. And just when, he was. Gathering himself. Hearing nothing, from. The no, a. One.

Once more. The voice. Sounded. Close by, "Sam, are you all right?" Same tone, same accent.

Now Kurt, was indeed. The sender, of the. Inquiry. He'd seen, his. Companion, from. Above, during his. Arrival aboard the, plane. What was that, like ten minutes. Ago? Noting the immediate, threat. He sought, him. Out. Because. Because that's what, X-Men. Do. Because that's what, friends. Do. One helps another, in. Need! And if an--

Suddenly, whether or not. They found, the. One, another. Or not. Within each, of their minds. A psionic message, from. A familiar person: <>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

Betsy! She...she was alive. She COULD hear. She FINALLY responded. She...was full of distress...!

Goodness.

Was...did. Did she just, get. Cut off, there? Wha...what happened? What was going on, here? For Sam, whom. Had been here, for awhile. Now. And Kurt, having. Just arrived. Taking into account, what. Exactly, might. Have been, communicated. This wasn't by, happenstance. Now, was it?

The attack, on the X-Men. Who was behind, any. All of this? What was a way, the. Best way, to find that out? And....and, the others? Was Betsy okay? That could be, concerning. If and the smart phone devices, have. Been experiencing, interference. She was, the most. Effective, the. Far superior. If not, easily trusted. Means of staying, in contact. With one another. What now?

And. And...where did Piotr, fit. Into, any of this?

<>We've all fallen into their trap!<>

That's what she said. This may have been, significantly. More dangerous, than. Even the Professor first, anticipated...
========================================================================

Russia -- Sam

Safety was still first and foremost in Sam Guthrie's mind as he got his feet back under himself, literally, after having been blasting for such an extended period of time. Been quite a while fer dat, ta be sure But the nearest flora to what remained of the Rasputin farm was blunted and stifled or, rather, was seemingly in the very early stages of renewal and regrowth after some sort of catastrophe involving great force and not a little bit of fire.

Sam had seen the aftermath of forest fires back home and this reminded him of the same but on a much grander scale. Lahk a firestorm had run through here. Yep. He was still headed over a small ridge towards an outcropping of stone that might have meant shelter and cover should the Russians still be following him when he heard a noise he'd not heard for months and months.

BAMF

Sam turned towards the sound and looked about, but in the failing sunlight of the evening he was having trouble seeing what his heart hoped was out there. Then he heard his name called and broke into a great grin and turned to face his friend and sometime teammate.

"Kurt? Is that you?" Sam exclaimed. "How? Why? Have you seen or heard from the Professor or anyone else?"

He rushed towards the German mutant when the psychic message washed over them both. Sam staggered back a bit, but recovered quickly and the grin fave way to a look of both relief and elation.

Betsy! Finally! whew...

"Yeah, Ah'm jus' fine. Maybe a couple laser burns here and there, and certainly some bruising from smacking into trees and the occasional armored murderous Russian operative. What do you think is going on here? What happened to the farm? To Peter and his family?"

Sam took in a breath and gestured back the way he'd just come.

"Ain't no buildin's or nuthin', but I was hoping those rocks might have caves or something in them. In the morning, we need to start making our way back to town and try to regroup with Betsy. And Kitty, she'd stayed back there, as well. Hope she's okay."

Madrox - The Brazen Fox

VRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMmmmmmmm! The motorcycle peeled out, taking off. Up the street.

"In de car. Don' let her an' dis lead get 'way!" The yellow automobile, was right before them...

Click to expand...

As they watched Deadpool begin motoring up the street, the VW kicked to life and a familiar body leaned itself out of the driver's window to look towards them.

"Am I chasing that person right away or waiting for you guys to pile in?" asked a Jamie.

"I think we're coming along. Give me a hand with Logan," Madrox answered himself.

"Sure thing." The car's driver slammed his hand down and up against the door and the frame of the window, and two Madrox dupes appeared. They rushed over to Jamie-Prime and the three of them muscled Logan into the back of the Volkwagon. He then reabsorbed them and piled in, sitting atop of the shorter man.

"Gambit? C'mon, get in so we can get moving!"

Russia - Kurt - Isaiah 29:2.

Remec said:

BAMF

Sam turned towards the sound and looked about, but in the failing sunlight of the evening he was having trouble seeing what his heart hoped was out there. Then he heard his name called and broke into a great grin and turned to face his friend and sometime teammate.

"Kurt? Is that you?" Sam exclaimed. "How? Why? Have you seen or heard from the Professor or anyone else?"

Click to expand...

"Oh," Kurt breathed at the sight of the blond-haired mutant lad and his wild-yonder eyes, "thank God."

He shook his head, darting his gaze about, checking their surroundings for signs of pursuit-- and the sky, to make sure that Genji had gotten the plane out of firing range. She had, and Kurt decided that was another reason to toast Providence later when the dust was settled and they were nursing beers.

"I believe you know more about what's happening than I do. I received a note from The Professor to meet you here, and the others--!"

Remec said:

He rushed towards the German mutant when the psychic message washed over them both.

Click to expand...

Lachiyous said:

<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

Click to expand...

Remec said:

Sam staggered back a bit, but recovered quickly and the grin fave way to a look of both relief and elation.

Click to expand...

Kurt's eyes widened and his his hand went to his temple in subconscious mimicry of The Professor's signature hand position.

He was pleased, of course he was, to hear Betsy's own telepathic voice in his mind's ear, but he was less pleased to hear her voice drop back out again mid-syllable. Betsy! Elizabeth! Whose trap? Bitte, respond! Are you all right?

But if no answer was immediately forthcoming, Kurt would quickly focus on Sam's spoken conversation. After all, he needed a sitrep like he needed air.

Remec said:

"Yeah, Ah'm jus' fine. Maybe a couple laser burns here and there, and certainly some bruising from smacking into trees and the occasional armored murderous Russian operative. What do you think is going on here? What happened to the farm? To Peter and his family?"

Click to expand...

"God bless that kinetic envelope of yours," Kurt shook his head. "There's not a lot of men who would have survived an onslaught like that in better shape. Armored Russian operatives? What sort of armor--" he hesitated, and perhaps for the first time, registered how ashen the terrain was, how-- thoroughly laid waste. Like someone had taken the term "scorched earth" far far too literally. "--the farm? What--? Is there nothing left?"

Remec said:

Sam took in a breath and gestured back the way he'd just come.

"Ain't no buildin's or nuthin', but I was hoping those rocks might have caves or something in them. In the morning, we need to start making our way back to town and try to regroup with Betsy. And Kitty, she'd stayed back there, as well. Hope she's okay."

Click to expand...

"Yes," Kurt nodded quietly. "We cannot lose hope."

He looked very, very grim as he hoisted his duffel to his shoulder. "Tell me more about these armored persons. What did the armor look like? It could be anything-- some paramilitary force out to throw their weight around-- governments attempting to conscript and weaponize superhumans, whether they know about mutants or not-- if our Bruder Piotr resisted them, well, you know how mighty he is, it would take a great and terrible force to subdue him. Perhaps they used that force..."

Russia - Kitty

A decision had to be made.

She'd learn nothing from the men that held her captive. Not so easily, anyway. Her questions had been dismissed by the dark haired driver, who seemed to think the young woman's compliance was assured. ”No fuss. No fight. Okay, Miss Pryde?” He wouldn't answer as to how it was he knew her name; rather, he'd call her by it with just as much confidence as his blonde counterpart had. She couldn't see the driver's mouth but she imagined a snide, victorious smirk spreading over his thin lips. Their gazes met in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

Kitty's eyes narrowed. Even as she tried to repress the response of her expression... the intensity of her feelings in the moment made it impossible to mask. The man spoke to her as if she were an easily intimidated child. As if he didn't expect her to give them any problems, as if she'd simply be a good girl because the tall scary man had advised that she not cause a fuss.

He knew something about Piotr – he had knowledge of, or worked for, whomever it was responsible for her closest friend's disappearance. It couldn't be coincidence. ...No, not with Betsy projecting to the team that they'd fallen into a trap. Whomever it was that wanted them surely had him.

Could she learn anything from keeping the company of her captors, she wondered? Assuming they allowed her to remain conscious, which perhaps they would if she didn't resist them...maybe she could find out where it was they were taking her. There'd be at least a slight chance that they'd bring her to the same place as where Piotr was being held.

...If he was still alive.

Don't think like that! she chastised herself. Piotr can't be... She felt a familiar burning from behind her eyes: the sting of forming tears. Even if he was alive, how was she supposed to help him? She had been caught by the trap, after all.

Kitty turned her attention to the side, her gaze shifting to and through the window beside her. Their route was taking them somewhere remote, it seemed, as scenery of the man-made variety quickly dwindled. To be replaced by country: large open fields, the occasional house dotting the otherwise empty expanses of land. With a sorrowful, hopeless expression Kitty continued to stare out the window. Several minutes passed.

...And then she saw it. Not more than half a mile ahead of them, nestled close to the road, were ruins. It could've been a house, once upon a time, or a stable, or a church...such was it's state that it was impossible to be certain. The upper reaches of the structure had been torn away, as if the site had been a target of mortar attacks; or perhaps the building had simply been pillaged for it's brick after it was abandoned. It was hard to be certain from this distance but it appeared as if the remnants reached about waist high on an average adult.

Shadowcat watched as the gap between their vehicle and the ruins diminished.

...Now!

Kitty threw her body forward, phasing through the driver's seat. Her hands reached for the tall man's wrists, becoming tangible as they grasped at the cuffs of his coat. The man's surprise was such that he might've jerked the wheel a bit on his own – causing the vehicle to veer off of the road – but it was Kitty that aimed the car directly at the ruins. Before the man had the opportunity to use his strength to force a correction, he found his body sinking.

...But not sinking, really. Falling? Yes. That was the proper term for the manner in which his form suddenly plummeted.

Kitty had used the last of her physical contact with the interior of the car as a springboard. Launching her body forward, her chest pressed against the driver's upper back as her hands moved to grip at his shoulders; her feet left the vertical face beneath her former seat, her legs curling to tuck nearer to her body. Her push had encouraged the man before her to gracelessly topple into a horizontal position, his arms wheeling uselessly, a panicked exclamation of the Russian tongue escaping him. Neither would do anything to prevent him from smacking face-down on the shoulder of the road. Kitty landed on top of him, knees tucked against the small of his back.

“Umph!”

Shadowcat hadn't been entirely certain that she could do it. She hadn't quite perfected phasing with other people... But as she hadn't been concerned for the driver's safety it was worth the risk. And it paid off.

The vehicle, it's momentum undisturbed by the pair's sudden absence, continued to barrel forward. In less than a half a dozen seconds was the sound of a violent crash!

...Would the blonde man in the back seat survive? Kitty glanced in that direction, though her attention was truly elsewhere: on the feel of the man beneath her, her hands frisking his person. He was stunned from the sudden collision with the ground, though the lack of skidding upon contact had left him intact and relatively unharmed.

She felt the outline of a gun on his hip. Without hesitation she drew the weapon and climbed off of her former captor. She took several steps away from him, so as to distance herself outside of his immediate range. Kitty was anything but the type to hold another at gunpoint. But...desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Her hands trembled lightly as she leveled the barrel at the dark haired man. “Where were you taking me? Where's Piotr?”

The man rolled onto his back with a pained groan. Looked up at his unexpected assailant. “I tell you nothing.” A condescending smile came to his lips. ”You no shoot me, little gir--”

Kitty aimed at his right knee and pulled the trigger. Her body gave a small jump in response to the noise, to the feel of the weapon recoiling against the grip of both of her hands.

...The bullet caught him in the left thigh. Still a hit, though, and Kitty was glad for it given her inexperience with firearms. The man didn't cry out in pain, though he tightly clenched his jaw and loudly hissed his disapproval.

“Where's Piotr?!” she asked again, shouting this time.

NYC - Rogue

The Few, of Years Ago. [Undisclosed location]

Raven placed an, ever. Critical golden eye, on the. Girl, hunched over. A man was, in front. Of her. On the floor. The youth was, catching. Her breath. "Again. Let's see it. You need to have this ingrained into your system. Jenkins, get up. NOW."

The man bellowed, out. A complaint. Slowly, rising to his. Feet. Before, assuming his. Position. Bigger gloved hand, upon one. Of her arms. His other, at her throat. The girl, thereby. Contained. In a lock. When they both, saw. The approval nod. She wrestled, within his hold. Adjusting her weight. Around. Turn. Turning. She switched, out. Of his grasp. Shoving her, side. Unto his being. And then -- as practiced -- launching. The man, over. her shoulder!

After he was flung. To the ground.
After she staggered. To rest once more.
After about one. Moment, passed...

"Five minute break. Then we go right back from the top!" Mystique would make, the girl. Eat, sleep, and breathe. The lesson, the no matter. What! This was far, too. Significant. To consider anything, the less...
========================================================================
Now. [The World Trade Center. Windows of the World restaurant. In Lower Manhattan, New York]

The disturbance, resulting. From The Beetle's dramatic, entrance. Froze over everyone -- dining guests, and. Staff members alike -- thoroughly. With fearfulness. And could one, blame. The any, one. Of them? People came here. To get away. To see -- experience, rather -- something. Magical. Up here. It was about, improving. One's own, perspective. On life. It was gaining, a. Glimpse of a viewpoint. From what, one. Might be able to, see. Up above. It ought, to be. One for the ages. Not....at all, filled with. Terror. It was the massive, hush. Which had, almost. Overtaken. The likes of all. At the same, enabling. A creepy, crawler to. Articulate, himself. Through the opened, window. And up....upon. The restaurant's, ceiling! It wasn't until, he came...plumetting down. From the above, that. Anyone. Anyone, at all. Might have, taken. Notice....

THUD.

Someone. Dared, break. The silence, "Is that you, Spider-Ma---mmphhh" A semi-solid, goo-like substance. Covered the individual's, face. Cutting off their, verbalizing!

"No." The figure, adorned in some earthy brown synthetic-fabric. Body suit, with. Storage cannisters, of various sizes. Attached throughout. His arms, and boots. Were amber colored. In his right glove, he carried a weapon. Of some sort. Which, presumably, just. Fired off. That ooze! "The Trapster is far superior." He leered, at the couple right. Beside, where he. Had landed. The frosty haired man. The blonde in the chiffon dress. Aiming his pistol, he. Incapacitated them both. In place.

"Cursed goon! Have you any idea just who you are dealing w---" began the older customer, to his. Assailant. Until, his mouth. Too. Suffered the same fate. As the last, whom. So, ever. Chose, to. Speak to him.

The Trapster turned his helmeted mug, to the. Sapphire eyed blonde. Wisely, she made not a peep. He smirked at this, "Smart girl." Eyes back at her...intended, one. "And yes. I know exactly who you are. "

From a little, distance away and behind -- twenty five feet -- Rogue, could. Perhaps, see. This new, development. Although, as well, she. May have also, been. Too. Entwined, within. Her own, present. Affairs. The whole companion, attacking her. Element. Speaking of which...

The armored man, she flung. Over her shoulder. Had plunged, face. First. Unto the table, adjacent. Hers. When he got, himself. Back, up. She could make out, the. Additional carrot, parsley, roasted mashed potato, or even au jus. Decorate him, all. The furtherment. Not that he, could be. Injured. Not in that suit. Humiliated maybe. Beyond him, she could. Possibly take notice. Of another, some. One!

"..simple enough. Move and I'll burn ya. Don't, and I may not bring this friggin' place down!" declared The Melter. He was wearing, his. Harness, with his golden. Chest, gloves, boots. Which also included, his dome. Shaped, helmet. He had on, underneath. The grass green bodywear. With his signature, protective goggles.

Meanwhile, The Beetle could be. Heard. "You have no idea how much I HATE that move -- enough! Kid gloves are off...'Carol'..." Carol? He lunged, right at Rogue. His left fist, swinging for her. The here, the. Right, now!

...lastly, if and. That weren't, the. Enough. A familiar voice -- if one could, seek to even listen for it -- resounded, to. The whole, lot. Of the hostile environment, of the. Restaurant. "Relax de one, relax de all. Gambit an' de Crime Masters -- goin' be de fun an' joy for dis night!"

Gambit? Who...? Was...was that her, date? The dapper man, with. The red irises?
========================================================================

This was not what she had been expecting, the entirety of the team had introduced themselves rather dramatically, and indeed, violently. ‘The Trapster’ was silencing anyone who tried to speak up, while ‘The Melter’ swiftly set about threatening and intimidating anyone who looked like they had any ideas other than sitting there quietly. Rogue turned back to the man in front of her as he rose, she couldn’t help but laugh as she saw him. He was armoured, so relatively unharmed, although his pride could not have escaped the engagement intact. His head and shoulders had apparently impacted, with some considerable force, in someone’s dinner, blobs of mashed potato festooned his helmet, carrots and other vegetables stuck in it, while peas and parsley had made their way into the small spaces between arms and torso, and the detailing on his chest.

Then he sprung at her. Leaving her little time for any thoughts beyond, who the fuck is Carol?

She ducked desperately beneath his wild blow, backing up, trying to get some space between her and her assailant. He was pissed, that much was evident, but she had no idea if it was an act or if he was really trying to hurt her. Then everything seemed to stop, Beetle halted mid swing, turning to the man who was speaking. Almost the whole restaurant turned to him. Rogue was shocked, her ‘date’?

She supposed it made sense, he was clearly a mutant, and since he’d been waiting for her it seemed, he must know what was going on… Maybe?

She stared at him in confusion, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation.

Gambit

[In Lower Manhattan, New York]

To be, in the. Presence, of one. Jamie Madrox, whence. Specifically, his mutant. Ability, overwhelmed. The naked iris, with its -- his -- phenomenon. One simply, wouldn't just be. Impressed. A mind, would and. Ought, to be. Blown. Witnessing an actual, carbon. Copy, a. Down-to-the-last, miniscule. Detail. Duplicate, of one. Himself. Not to mention, more than a few. Jamie's, roaming around. Engaging, maneuvering. Truly lifelike twins/triplets/quadruplets/quintuplets. Beyond....astounding!

The Cajun wasn't, one. To really, get. Caught up, in the. Dazzle -- hmm -- of his, companion's. Power set. After all, he wasn't. A newly fawn, come out. In the fields, for the first. Time. At the same, he could. Certainly recognize, Jamie's. Resourcefulness, and. Perhaps a hint, of his. Potential. He picked this up, within. The last of the week. Upon their first, meeting. He knew that, his. Team mate could be. Trusted. One could, if anything. Tell that much, of the. Individual. Of course, some. Lurked in, shadows. For far too, the. Long, as. To perchance, have. Such, the notion. Reciprocated?

After the youths, loaded up. The stout, older. And injured X-Man. "Gambit? C'mon, get in so we can get moving!"

He nodded, to the. Youth, now in the. Back, with. The Wolverine. And fastened himself, in. Watching the youth's dupe, speed off. In the direction of, the masked figure. Hmm. The last time, he was in this automobile...

...Alison had been, here. Present. Safe. And accounted for. Why, of all things and locations. Why did they have to come, back. Here? He gave the nod, and allowed. Jamie, at the time, to sit. Shotgun, in the front. With her, behind the wheel. Logan and himself, squinched up. Within the backseat. And he jested then, "sfine by de Cajun. Maybe you help de gal not miss a turn. Once in de city. Eyes a' peeled an' all. 'Course wit' 'er drivin'....heh heh...de entire gang could be in for it, no?"

At that time, the. Short, stout man had warned all. About using their powers. In public. And the danger it presented.

And she agreed. Adding with a tease, of her own. "But I don't think I'm the one you guys should be worried about. You boys are the one with the mood lately, it seems." Her lovely smirk, through the. Rear view mirror, couldn't. Go unnoticed. Doe blue eyes, danced.....

Then. Sure, there. Could probably, be. Concern. Might have, been. But he felt, like. As long, as. She -- as he -- was present. Together. That, her form. Not leave his, sight. Out of protection. Because of, where. They were headed. Because of, what. Happened, the. Before. If and only if, those requirements could be met. Then. Things would be okay. Alison Blaire would be, safe.

Instead...

...of..

THIS!

SKIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD! The Volkswagen Beetle swerved, to the. Right. Struggling, to keep up, make the turn. And maintain. A proper, following. Distance. Or even, not. Lose sight, of its. Target. The person, one -- if anyone -- could. Maybe, give them. Some answers. The 'hostess' back, at The Brazen Fox. The...peculiar, masked figure. Whom had an entourage with her.

Dead. Pool.

Per The Wolverine.

...and from her reaction, back by. The parked car. She wasn't, completely. Put off, in seeing them. Alive or even, in person. What was her deal, anyhow? It...didn't matter. Alison was, much more. Significant, a focus. Now. And if this....person...knew ANYthing--!

"...not goin' lose ya, chere...not like de las' time..." he caught himself, mumbling aloud. As his fiery embers, fixated. On the interweaving, motorcyle. Ahead!

That may have been heard, by. Jamie, the driver. Or Jamie, in the backseat. Even the older, team member....yet by the next -- OOMMPHHH --

SHIIFFFFFTTT-turrrnnnnnn-SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

...Remy couldn't help, but. Bring up the obvious. "W'ere you learn t'drive, 'gain...Madrox -- GAH!"

BUMP - a - bump! The vehicle sped up, upon the. Sidewalk. Was that, a direct. Result, of. Their target, doing the. Same? Or was, the youth's...duplicate. That much, less. Inexperienced, at. Operating an, automobile. Much less, conducting. A high-paced, chase. Sequence. Through the City?

He looked, behind. Past, the crunched up. Jamie, and. Recovering Logan. "...de plan was t'dodge de cops, back dere. Don' need 'em 'ere now, eh?" By the time, his gaze returned. To the front, his eyes. Went. WIDE!

A trash bin container, right in their line of....TRAVEL!

"Êtes-vous fou?" Gambit exclaimed, reaching for the. Wheel, and spinning it. In an effort -- any -- so that, they. Might dodge! "...de breaks. HIT de breaks! Now!"

...in their, 'self inflicted' disturbance. They might not, have. Seen, a. Specific, masked figure. Pull her 'cycle up. Across the street. Before maniacally, moving into. Some establishment. The Billboard above it stated:

C H I N A T O W N * * * * * * F A I R
video........world famous.............video
games....dancing&tic-tac-toe....games
...................chickens............................
========================================================================

“Welp. That didn't go quite to plan,” Deadpool said as she scanned the wreckage and flaming rubble of the club. She stood near the hole she had crawled from, dramatically of course, thrusting one hand into the air and making a fist and everything. Her gear was torn and soiled, ripped in just the right places for maximum sexiness. Nothing wrong with a little fanservice, right? Never! Her mask was just as ragged, with several holes allowing her short brown hair to poke through like ragged spikes. All in all she was a through mess, but at least the DJ took the brunt of the blast for her. Such a nice guy. Well, was at least.


Does anything ever go accordingly to plan?


“Shuddap!” She huffed, giving a piece of wall a kick as she sauntered down through the rubble and leapt deftly to the nearby street.


Meow. Someone's catty.


“I said shut it! Look, at least everyone's dead. That's always a plus in my book.” She said with a certain air of superiority in that gratingly annoying voice.


True. I particularly enjoyed the part when everyone exploded.


Me three. Who doesn't enjoy high explosives in the evening?


“I dunno about you guys but I'm starvin' like Marvin'.” Deadpool muttered with a sigh, slapping her hand across her stomach.


Nothing burns calories like indiscriminate murder and mayhem!


“Inorite!” She said with all too much glee. It was then she caught sight of the glowing sign in the distance. The whites of her mask widened and she let out a high-pitched “Squee!”. She hurried off towards the strategically placed motorcycle and kick started it up.


“Onward! For waffles!” She bellowed, thrusting a hand forward as she peeled out towards the Burger King sign.






“I told you, Ma'am. We don't have anymore.” The man at the drive-thru window could barely contain his annoyance.


“Is this Burger King?” Deadpool growled into the tiny speaker, revving the bikes engine just for effect.


“Yeah it is, but-” The voice crackled over the intercom.


“Then you better have a fuckin' crown up there, pronto!” She shouted before whipping the bike around the lane and coming to a screeching halt in front of the window. A preturbed young man in his twenties opened the door, though the annoyed look melted away at the sight of the masked woman and her torn attire. She flashed a twenty from her satchel and slapped it into his open hand.


“Keep the change, chump! It's not mine anyway. I got it from a dead hooker. Well, I think she's dead. Can't really say for sure.”


You know what happens when you assume.


You make an ass out of you and--


“Oh for fuck's sake!” She groaned and rolled her eyes. Just in time for her food, which she hastily grabbed and then looked expectantly back at the young punk.


“Where's the crown?” She demanded. The kid sighed and explained again they were out. Without missing a beat she switched hands for her drink and whipped out an uzi leveling it at the kids gawking face.


“I said. Where's. My. Crown?”



She finally, noticed. Them. As they stood. From across the street. On the same side. The voice, was. Grating, to say the least! "Can't a chick eat without weirdo's starin'...all...weird......like? FUCK. Me. You kiddin' me. YOU three alive? Bangarang!" She dropped her boot, down. Kick-starting her 'cycle.

Va-va-va-

"Deuces peeeeeeps!" squeel-screeched the masked figure, whilst. Peacing out, with her two fingers.





Wait wait wait! Why are the sentences all broken and hard to read?


Yeah. That's pretty disturbing. Makes my brain feel all fuzzy and hurty.


“What? Oh that. That was a different writer. Don't mind him. We're back in business, baby! And that fuzzy feeling might be from the burger. Not sure if it was cooked all the way through. Blurgh-”


You alright there buddy?


“No. Yeah. I'm good. Focus here, people!”





Deadpool hauled her pert little backside through the streets like a madwoman, go figure. She zipped in and out of traffic with little disregard for safety, hers or others. There were a few close calls but most of them were merely for show. Hey, that guy had a pretty sweet pair of shades, which she snatched off his face as she zoomed past at full speed. They sat over her mask now, along with her crown that she had shoved down from its jaunty angle previously. Can't lose the prize now! Deadpool was up on the street several more times before she took a sharp right, tires squealing and smoking as she shot past a pretty blonde in a short skirt. At the sharp angle of her turn she flung out her right hand, which was currently holding her cellphone. The snap of the camera was lost in the roar of the engine and the screech of the tires. Still, with a causal glance she confirmed she got the perfect upskirt shot possible.


“Oh, Baaaaby! That's goin' on instagram! Hashtag, Dat Ass!”


She barely had time to post the picture before her attention was drawn away by something else bright and flashy. Deadpool squeezed the breaks and came to a skidding halt, leaving a trail in her waking and lifting the back wheel a few feet in the air. She kicked out her legs and tilted her head back slowly, taking in the glorious sight of the Chinatown sign.


“Great googly moogly!” She exclaimed as she pushed herself off the bike and walked reverently towards the flashing arcade sign.


“It's...a sign!”


Yeah. No shit, Sherlock.


“Not that kind. Well yeah that kind, but the other kind! It's calling me! Must I? Yes I must!”


The bike tumbled to the ground with the engine still going as Deadpool pranced forward with girlish glee into the arcade proper.


I think we're forgetting something.


“Hmm. Nope. Pretty sure we're not.” She said without bothering to think. There was no time for that. Not with so many flashing lights and sounds. It was a nostalgic trip back to her wasted youth. Complete with the smell of mildew and cat piss. She breathed it all in deeply, releasing her breath with a dramatic sigh and a snap of her head.


“Let's do this!” She proclaimed before disappearing down the rows of arcade machines. Yeah, someone in full costume complete with swords wouldn't stand out one bit. Nope. It didn't take long at all to come upon the one single machine that could stop her in her tracks. She reverently beheld the mammoth arcade machine, its flashing, digital images a siren's call she could not resist.


“It's. Destiny! I must play!” She proclaimed and brandished a shiny token, holding it pinched between her fingers.


“How can I resist playing with myself?” She asked as she strolled up to the Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3 machine and slid in the token.


In public?


Oh you minx!


She grasped the joystick like a pro and started slapping buttons. Who would she pick? Was there really a question? Deadpool of course! How couldn't she? After all he was the best character there, she knew all his moves! It was kismet. That was until some little brat appeared out of no where and slid his token into the other player's slot. He was barely tall enough to press the buttons, Deadpool scoffed at the little runt and turned to him.


“You just wasted a token you little brat. Don't you know who am I?” She asked, jabbing a thumb at herself. The kid looked up from the screen at her, though his eyes obviously were on more, bountiful parts of her stunning figure. He then looked back at the screen, then back at her. By then she was pointing at the digital version of herself in all his masculinity.


“See a resemblance?” She asked with a little bit more urgency in her tone. The kid just stared for a few moments before finishing his selection, one of his characters none other than Wolverine.


“Hitting a little close to home,” She grumbled, though before she knew it the game was screaming “Fight!”. She hadn't time to react before the kid was upon her. He had moves like lightning! She squeaked and gasped, slamming the buttons and jerking the stick.


“Whoa! Hey! Wait a sec, Gebus! No. Gimme a fuckin' sec—Oh that was just CHEAP!” She bellowed at the top of her lungs, flinging herself about as she valiantly tried to recover. The game was over before she realized it. A perfect K.O. She hadn't been able to land a single attack.


I thought you said you knew all his moves.


That kinda looked like the opposite of winning, you know.


To a kid too. Ouch


That is gonna burn for awhile.


She just stood there as the countdown ticked across the screen, one brow twitching under her mask. It boiled over all too quickly with a frustrated huff and a spray of bullets. She laid waste to the large screen, riddling it with a clip and leaving it smoking and sparking. The kid stood in stunned silence as Deadpool gave another huff and let the clip slide out and clank against the floor.


“Damn game's rigged! I'm gonna go play some skee ball.”

Jean Grey

What would, one. The, any of. One really, truly. Give, to make a. Difference. A difference, in another. Some, one's. Life? Something meaningful. Something outstanding. Something, that -- without help -- could not. Come to pass. Thus, he or. She, would. Be. Reliant...on that help. On that person. On that difference, maker.

So...

What would one give?
What could one give?
What SHOULD one give?

Because, moment upon one. Decision to be, made. The now, or the never. What would, it be?

A difference.

Hope.

For Jean Grey, she. Why, she....might. Consider. Giving it all, away! Making a difference, for someone else. Did it get any better, than that? Could it? Perhaps she, didn't. Have, the lot. Of experience, concerning. Such matters. But, the 'lo. And behold. Should an opportunity -- mm, when one might -- present itself. To her. For her. There wouldn't be, any. Question. Within her heart, as to her. Choice. And, her. Actions.

She'd assist, in. The, any. Way, possible. Without question. Unequivocally. Because? That's the type, of. Gentle spirit, that she had. Always possessed.

The intercepted message, she picked up. In London? Destiny, knocking. Upon her doorstep. And when she had, set actual foot. Down onto Russian soil -- she never felt such. Indescribable...freedom! As if she'd, been. Caged, the most. Of her life. And now. Just now. Could uncoil. Stretch out. And spread those wings, to. Soar across, the sky. Never to look, the. Behind!

It was almost, exhilarating....

...and yet, her focus. Most of her, focus. The lot of it, upon. The female individual. The person, in need. The one, whom drew. Her here. That quite possibly, depended. On her, more than ever. With whom, they could. Share. Something -- a bond -- just in the respect. Of similar, telepathic. Abilities. Maybe this person, maybe she. Was a mutant, too? Could it be?

She allowed herself....to...mosey about. Slowly. Nonchalantly. Almost in a lull, whilst her. Her attention -- her mind -- was. Elsewhere...
========================================================================
[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

She felt in tune -- attuned? -- within. Here. Feeling more, at peace. More at one, with. This mind-scape. All instinct, mayhaps. But a very good, one. And she felt herself. Flowing. Without restraint. Following that steady, course. Of the butterfly's, presented. Pathway. So much, so. That...

...was. Was she, flying?

FlickerFlickerFlaaame.

...and. Was there...fire?

Glance Around.

Hm. Or not....

The glittery trail of her, target. Beckoned her, forth. And she, rushed. Forward. Beyond earnest, to help. This person out!

"Jean, you're being followed."

?

She hesitated, momentarily. Her greens, scanning. The foreground, quickly. All that was, present. All that she, could. See. Was the purple, iridescent butterfly. At this, she sped forth. With renewed vigor. Unaware, of being. Wreathed, in bright. Yellow, and orange...

FLAAAAMMMMEESSSSSSssssssssss.

"Jean! You're being followed; we need to break their line of sight."

That voice. Wait. She turned. Laura? She glanced down. To the ground. Slowly, softly...felt herself. Descend, upon. The 'ground'. The butterfly, would have to. Wait--!
========================================================================
[Russia]

She was being, pulled. Around the corner, of a building. As the complete -- conscious -- awareness, of. Her surroundings, crashed. Over her, like a tidal. Wave.

Gaaaaasp!

"Keep going. Turn into the second alleyway. I'll be right behind you." The protective, familiar voice. Of her former, team mate guided. She was certain -- huff -- to oblige. If only, because. She knew, in the months that. She'd met Laura. There was something, about the girl. She wasn't the most, articulate of individuals. Sure. Yet, the dark haired individual had been, unquestionably. Pulled to Jean, like none. Other. True enough, she'd been like. Her very own shadow. For all intents and purposes. Even when she didn't need one. Heh. And the fiery redhead, always. Felt, like there was. Something about Laura. Beyond the silence. And the...violence. That perhaps, she needed(or even wanted) something. Or someone. Help? And far be it for, Jean to not do just that. When and if she could. Especially to a fellow mutant. And a potential friend...

....admittingly, she didn't know. Whom it was, she -- they -- might. Be, racing away. From. Or even why. Could it have anything, to do. With this mysterious female individual, that she's following?

"What are you doing here" Laura hissed. As if to maintain, a silence. And not give, themselves. Up or away, to their. Assailants. "Better yet... Where are we going?"

The pacing, from full out-right running. To hurried walking. And then back, again. Was a bit, disconcerting. She was taking, the cue. From the younger woman's. Whom seemed, to spark. To life, before her. Once this situation, came around. Had her friendly stalker, been. Involved in, some. Favorable(or not so) dealings, with. Running from -- or toward -- other. Strange, possibly. Unknown quantities of people?

DRUM!
DRUM!
DRUM!
DRUM!

The erratic beating, of. Her heart, made her. Head, slightly feel. Full, and achey. As her cheeks flushed, from. The tension of the, moment. And the chasing. She desperately, needed. To catch her breath. As to those inquiries, probed of her? "...it's....I..." she found herself, not able to. Get out, much at all. Because of it!

"You can explain on the way." Laura had replied.

It wasn't until, they found. Temporary sanction, in the form. Of the unoccupied, automobile that -- pant, pant, GASP! -- Jean could. Take a few seconds. To catch her breath. Phew. And finally respond, as the car took off. "I received, well....I suppose I overheard a telepathic distress call. Back at the Estate. From someone -- a woman -- I've never met. Led me here to Siberia. One that I feel I want -- no, need -- to help! And I've been tracki--"

GASP!

Suddenly a new psionic message. Rang out! Jean struggled with her breath, quieting herself immediately. And closed her eyes. Both her hands, on her temples. In greatest, concentrated manner. As she sought out, passage. Unto the great, expanse. Of her mind once more...
========================================================================
[Upon the Metaphysical Realm]

The purple butterfly radiated, its. Presence, so. Magnificently. It almost, seared her eyes. If and they could be, on this plane. Of existence. And whence it -- and the message -- washed over her. The warmth of the experience, she knew right then and there. She had been absolutely right. About the person. That she was correct about, trying to help her. On the right journey. She could not, have felt. MORE at home. MORE reassured, than right then and there. Than right now. All things falling into place...

<>We've all fallen into their trap! They've separated us from one another. If we have any hope, we nee----<>

Yet. In the blink of an eye. In the release of one, breath. And in take of another. In that...change. Her target. The woman. The purple butterfly -- it all....was....GONE?

Blink. Blink.

What the--? How was that, conceivable? Why? She cast her gaze, to and fro. This way and that. All around. Up and down. Yet, she didn't. Pick up, one single. Evidenced clue....besides the. The....had there been something dark, in her place?

What in the heavens, was happening here? Did something HAPPEN, to this person? If so, what? Did SOMEone hurt her? Who was responsible? Who was potentially out there, hurting this lady...that so desperately needed Jean's help? And, would. Would she be too late...?

FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMESSSSSS licked, at her. Red tresses. As she ascended, once more. Perhaps without, even realizing it. Or the implicated magnitude. She soared again. As she was, meant to.

No.

Not if she could help it.

Not with every, last. Breath, within her chest.

This person. This woman. She would be helped. She would be saved. This, it would be so!

FWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH! The fire allowed her, to blaze. Across the sky, in a great hurry. As she projected her voice. Her aura. Her message, in response. So that it may be received: <>Please hear me. My name is Jean Grey. You are not alone. I'm coming to help you. I'm coming to give you assistance. Hang in there so that I may reach you!<>

Please.
========================================================================
[The Car Ride]

After she had, sent the psionic message. Out -- which her companion was able to, hear as well -- Jean Grey's eyes. Emanated a white, glow. Perhaps resulting, from. Using her powers, as she did. Unhindered, and focused more than ever. It seemed, that the redhead. Displayed a different, air. About her. Was it because of the new, sense of urgency. And direction? As she informed Laura, "Something bad just happened. I can't explain it. But on the psychic plane -- with my powers -- I saw and felt...something. You need to step on it. We have to find this person and fast. Before....it's too late!"
========================================================================

Russia - Sam and Kurt

At day's end, the blanket of night covered. The expanse, of the sky. Yet, not a one. Star. Could be seen, twinkling. Down and, through its. Cloudy veil. It didn't help, in all things visibility. With the human iris. Ominous, at best...

The 'secluded' region, which gave. The two mutants, pardon. From the nearby, local attack. Indeed, afforded -- if a keen gaze could spot it -- the formation, of rocks. Up ahead. Which appeared, to....hm. Maybe that was, just. Imagination, playing tricks on one's mind. But...from this distance. It almost looked like, an. Opening...

And. And sounds. Sounds could be heard. From behind. These were, not. Conventional ambiance, referenced. To this time, of day. To this place, and locale. (or were they, could one be sure?) Sam could perhaps recognize, the. Indiscriminate shouting. And orders. Being, barked off. Some in English --

"Must find him! Find him now!"

"Must find him! Find him now!"

-- some in their, native dialect...

"Он не будет счастлив!"

"Спешите, все. СЕЙЧАС!"

...it must have been, all. Of those locals. From before. The ones that he 'met'. That greeted him, kindly. They could be heard, some. Not loudly. Not terribly close. But, at the same. Their voices, didn't. Resonate. Far off, in the. Distance, either. Would the swarm, eventually. Find the two, X-Men. Here. Out in the op--

...did. Was that a bullet, fired off. In the distance?

Blink. Blink.

?

Then. Within both of their, minds. Once more. A voice. This time, however. Not, familiar. It wasn't Betsy's! <>Please hear me. My name is Jean Grey. You are not alone. I'm coming to help you. I'm coming to give you assistance. Hang in there so that I may reach you!<>

Jean Grey? Whom-so-ever in the world, was Jean Grey? Who was she, 'helping'? Was...was this. Person. This female individual. Was this woman, speaking. Out. To the either. One. Of Kurt and Sam? And...what was her, deal? How did she figure, into. Any of this? Was it a trap? Was she a mutant?

The locals.
The gunfire.
The telepathic communication...

One very well, could. Not. Sit still. And simply, hope for the best. That much was, certain. In this, dark of. Evening....

Not for one's safety. Not for each other. For their companions. For Piotr.

No. Not...tonight!
========================================================================

Russia - Kurt - John 1:5.

The dark descended, with clouds thick enough to mask the stars and moonless sky.

But Kurt was called Nightcrawler for a reason. As the shadows lengthened into night, he almost seemed to merge with them-- becoming invisible in the darkness.

But the darkness was not indivisible to him. His eyes would be visible from time to time, glowing molten golden even in the absence of light-- and he could see in the darkness as well as most any animal.

That cave and the shelter it offered stuck out to Kurt's nightvision like a sore thumb, and he loped across the rocks towards it on all fours, bounding from stone to stone with his trademark agility, his duffel rebounding against his back.

But he stopped-- tail swishing, pointed ears twitching-- at the sound of those voices--

--he didn't speak Russian. English, German, and he could read Scripture in Latin, but not Russian. Oh, for Professor Xavier's mighty mind, to translate Piotr's native tongue for them.

Happily, not all of the orders were barked in Russian. One out of three ain't bad.

What was the betting that the "him" they were looking for was the golden-glowing human firework that was Sam Zachery Guthrie?

And then there came gunfire, a sharp report that rollingly echoed across the rockfalls that littered their surroundings, and the single sound caused all of Kurt's fuzz to stand on end.

"Himmel," he hissed, displeased.

Before he could return to Sam's side, however, another voice echoed in his head.

A stranger's voice.

Lachiyous said:

Then. Within both of their, minds. Once more. A voice. This time, however. Not, familiar. It wasn't Betsy's! <>Please hear me. My name is Jean Grey. You are not alone. I'm coming to help you. I'm coming to give you assistance. Hang in there so that I may reach you!<>

Click to expand...

This gave Kurt some serious pause.

She sounded earnest. Sincere. Pleading, even.

In his heart of hearts he felt as though she meant well. His faith told him to love thy neighbor.

But an X-Man born a mutant from the blood of The Rom, he had to verify before he trusted.

Those eyes gleamed again in the night as he searched out Sam with his gaze, and he called in a harsh hush: "Cannonball. Did you hear that? ...any of that?"

Even though Nightcrawler was not necessarily among those at Xavier's school that Sam Guthrie would earmark as a close friend, or even within his cicle of immediate companions among the other classmates and team mates, he was certainly glad to have him arrive. Until he knew what had happened to Betsy and Kitty (not to mention Theresa and Wanda), just having another person on his side of things was helping his mood immensely.

With the potential shelter so close by, it had been tempting to zip across the scorched, barren fields using his power, but Sam restrained himself and was content to make his way on foot. As they moved towards the rocks and what appeared to be a cave entrance, Sam was aware by how seldom he was seeing the German's eyes and smile that Nightcrawler was automatically falling into his usual role on the team and slipping ahead into the darkness for scouting and recon work.

Sam stopped in his tracks as Jean Grey's message was received. Huh? Who? Did we pick up another telepath recently? He was a bit dumbfounded, although maybe that's why the Professor had to go away so suddenly--making contact with a new mutant wasn't always something he used the entire team for.

Kurt's hissing whisper came to Sam from the darkness. "Cannonball. Did you hear that? ...any of that?" Sam nodded in the direction of the voice.

"Yeah...Ah thought only Betsy had mindspeak on our current roster, though. Any idea who this Jean Grey is? She sounds nice."

Russia - Kurt - 1st John 4:1.

Remec said:

"Yeah...Ah thought only Betsy had mindspeak on our current roster, though. Any idea who this Jean Grey is? She sounds nice."

Click to expand...

Kurt shook his head, remembered with a squint that Sam might not be able to see him, and then replied: "Nein."

"My more immediate concern was, however, the sound of that gunshot-- who was it fired at, one of ours, one of theirs?"

"Do we stay here and wait for this new player to find us, whomever they are, friend or foe-- though certainly she sounded like a friendly-- or do we mount a desperate search and rescue? I for one, vote for action-- if this new woman is zeroing in on our thoughts to catch us, she can find us on the move."