Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel. The Hunt belongs to me, as does Sara. I've had her in my head for years, and written about her sporadically for my own amusement.

Author's Note: I'm jumping right into what I want to write about, so here's a bit of background. The complete back story doesn't interest me much because I'm not writing this as a fully plotted novel. If people are interested, that may change, just let me know and I'll write it into the upcoming chapters.

What Went Before: Sara Morgan. A Hunter. One of the interdimensional agents that showed up, every now and again, when things went to hell, and fixed things. Mutants with less than a passing familiarity with reality were instantly restored to sanity with a snap of her fingers and a prayer. Supervillians found their schemes unraveled. The Hunt did not seek attention to itself. Whenever possible they worked through the established teams and forces of whatever dimension they happened to be in. Who do they work for? Call it the God, the Goddess, the driving force behind the universe itself. Doesn't matter. Sometimes they are not sure of it themselves.

There is a place between the worlds that they call Home. Home is where you go to learn, to heal, to be with others of your kind. Sometimes a Hunter will not want to go Home when they are hurt. Sometimes you need friends that are outside of the Hunt.

Sara has claws, blades that emerge from beneath her fingernails whenever she wills and a healing factor. She's earned the nickname Cat for this, and for her personality traits. She has a past, doesn't everyone? But such things inevitably catch up with a person, and when it does there's a price to be paid.

No one was sure what had happened; from one moment to the next the woman they had known and fought beside for years was transformed from a laughing-eyed comrade to a bundle of massed nerves crouched under the table. Feet scuffled backwards as she pushed all the way back, ending tucked in the corner, under the table, pulled into a ball as tight as her body would allow.

For a minute nobody moved. They looked their questions at each other. Remy was the first to drop his head under the table, to assess the situation. He saw her head buried in her knees, he saw the white knuckles gripping them to herself tight enough to bruise. "Cherie?" Low, controlled. "Something wrong?"

There was no answer. She must have heard him. She gave no sign of it. He started to get down beside her. Wrong move.

Click. The claws came out. Sara may not have been responsive, but something in her surely was. Ten- no, eight shining razor sharp blades slid out from under her fingernails. The index and third finger blades on her right hand were broken off a third of the way down. The alien metal she had told them was unbreakable, snapped like kindling.

"Mon Dieu, cher, what happened?"