Title: Atlantic City
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be...I just like to borrow them from Marvel and 20th Century Fox for my own amusement and do not profit. And in case you were wondering...I don't own Atlantic City either, shucks...

Rating: R or M

Summary: Scott gets a taste of what it's like to be Logan. While on a mission he disappears, everyone assumes he's dead. He returns two years later with no memory of what has happened since then, only to find that Jean has moved on and now has a child with Logan. Can he find solace with the weather goddess? Who is the mysterious woman who shows up and what does she have to say about Scott's missing time? I admit I drew a lot of ideas from Alias, and this movie about Russians brainwashing this guy to have him kill the president...which I later found out was the Manchurian Candidate...the old one in black and white. Based primarily on the movies—just because they're easier to follow without all the entwining alternate universes, subplots, and spontaneous character deaths/rebirths, and people coming back from the future—but will contain various comic book elements. WIP.

Warnings: Violence, torture, sexual situations (not too graphic,) language.

Chapter One: Taken

It was supposed to be a routine mission. A mutant freedom conference had been scheduled in an abandoned warehouse. There were going to be several prominent keynote speakers from the mutant antiestablishment. It was supposed to be a low key assembly, but that didn't necessarily mean there wouldn't be trouble. Still, chances were good that the mission would be strictly observational. So the X-Men sent the fearless leader to keep watch. Scott was supposed to keep an eye on the mutant freedom demonstration, and call for back up if anything went wrong or got too rough. It should have been easy, but things got out of hand fast.

The demonstration was being held in an old warehouse in the city. Scott was standing in the shadows by the stage where several mutant activists were giving speeches inciting their brethren to take action against being put down by the "human scum". After the first hour things were doing alright, but then the fire alarms started going off. The room started filling with smoke as fires stretched out from behind the stage. The insufficient and out of date sprinkler system did little to quench the flames. People were trampling all over one another to get to the doors. Scott ducked back stage and rammed his body against the emergency exit only to find that it was locked tight, as well as every other door leading to safety.

The fire was spreading and they were all trapped, the smoke was so thick in front of Scott's visor he could barely see in the dark, and narrowly avoided a flaming rafter falling out of the ceiling. He inhaled a deep breath of smoke, as he struggled to find the door again, hoping he could blast it open. He tripped over a piece of stage equipment and hit the ground hard before passing out.

Dozens of people where killed that night. Most of the bodies were scorched beyond recognition. And when the news papers printed a list of those who could have been among the dead, Scott Summers was on that list.

The Professor tried endlessly for weeks to locate their missing X-Man with Cerebro, just in case the paper was mistaken, and the police report was wrong. Just in case there was a chance he survived the fire. Ororo, Logan, Kurt, and Jean all canvassed the neighborhood where the rally had taken place, and for many blocks around it. Endlessly, for days afterwards. But it was all to no avail.

Finally the search stopped, and they began to discuss preparation for a memorial service for Scott. So maybe they would all start to believe, what they knew must have been true. Scott Summers, Cyclops, the leader of the X-Men, was dead.

The school was devastated by the news. Jean was distraught. There was a long period when she refused to eat or sleep, or speak to anyone. But she was human, and every human feels the need to be with other people, and have friends. They finally convinced her to go on living without her fiancé. And after some time, Jean was ready to love and be loved again by someone new. She would always be grateful for the support everyone offered her, and she could never forget Scott.

OOOOO

Scott awoke on the cold floor of a room that was entirely dark, but still, he could just barely make out the reddish outline of a door. His glasses had been replaced by a visor strapped around his head, and he was sure if he could get it off, then he could blast himself an escape route. The only problem was getting the visor off. He pulled at where it fastened behind his head, but it refused to give. He could already feel the effects of the lack of sunlight on his mutation as well as his body. If this room would be his permanent dwelling, he was sure; he wouldn't need the visor much longer anyway.

He was barefoot now, and his usually ensemble of khaki pants and a button up shirt had been replaced by dark sweatpants and a t-shirt. He cringed, realizing that at some point, someone had undressed him. He wasn't restrained, but the room was too dark for him to safely make his way around the piles of rubble that littered the floor. He could make out a rusted wire coat hanger on the floor besides him, a pole running from the floor to the ceiling, and a few cardboard boxes against the back wall. He thought for a moment there might be something he could use as a weapon.

Coat hanger vs. Uzi, he paused to ponder to himself. Then he realized that he would most likely come out of that particular situation with a bad case of tetanus, or a bullet in his brain. Neither conclusion was very appealing to him, so he decided to sit and wait.

He couldn't have been sure how long they left him sitting in the dark, cold cell. It felt like ages, and in that time he had no food, no water, and no human contact. Only the growing pain in his head, behind his eyes let him know that he was still alive. That and the sickness and hunger in his stomach. There were times he thought he was going insane, and times he wished he could just die and end it. Then the door opened.

Scott threw a hand over his eyes, to shield them from the bright yellow glow of artificial light as four people entered his dank prison. The first was a woman; tall and slender with raven hair down her back, and wore a feminine pantsuit. Of the three men, one was a well-groomed middle-aged man with lighter hair and a set jaw, wearing a suite and tie. The other two were apparently guards, with big semi-automatic guns.

"Mr. Summers," the first man started cheekily. "How are we feeling this evening?"

"Go to Hell!" Scott returned as forcefully as he could manage. The statement was retorted by a foot connecting with his face. Scott yelped in pain as he was kicked in the mouth, then reeled back and spat a mouthful of blood in the man's direction.

"Don't waste your breath," the woman warned smoothly. "Soon hell will be coming to you." They left the room with out another word, but unfortunately for Scott the worst was still yet to come.

Whoever these people were, they were obviously intent on breaking him down, and knew exactly how to go about it. He went for days without food or water, which was accompanied by hours of beatings—with everything from bare fists and metal tipped boots to whips and tasers—and the effects that the complete darkness had on his mutation, as well as other forms of sensory deprivations aiming to confuse him—lack of sleep, and the almost constant hissing of a broken pipe in the back of his cell. Things went on like that for, maybe two or three weeks, before they finally got around to introducing Scott to Dr. Kovit.