Hi, readers. Boy, I really know how to stretch out the beginning of a story, don't I? Just a few more chapters 'til all hell breaks loose. I'm as excited as you guys to see it develop. Hope you're all enjoying the slow burn thus far.

Hori out.

"Vascha!" Ciara called out to the Russian girl, "Come here, Kukla!"

Vascha smiled and shook her head slightly as she met Ciara on the stone path leading up to Yuriko's home. It was somehow not at all unusual that the two pairs would arrive at the estate at almost the exact same time. Vascha had set a three-day time constraint, and three days had passed.

"Is that still the only Russian you know?" the black-skinned mutant asked, dropping her bulky black duffel bag, putting a hand on a braced hip and looking at Ciara and Gansükh respectively, "Not spending your downtime hitting the books, I suppose."

"We spent the last couple months chasing dead leads in Cambodia," Gansükh explained, shifting his own bag from one shoulder to the other, "Since then we've been keeping sharp in Vietnam, waiting for our shift change."

Vascha nodded. It had been their agreed-upon cycle that two members of the team would always stay at Yuriko's mansion as a measure of protection both to themselves and the old woman, while the other four split into pairs and did their best to track down any information they could find on Logan's last known whereabouts. The intel was rarely reliable, but it was safer from a detection point of view if the team maintained smaller splinter groups that sought out leads individually, rather than have six mutants travel all at once to the same locations it Southeast Asia. Such activity would doubtless bring suspicion down upon them, even in nations that maintained a policy of looking the other way.

Ciara grinned and threw her arms around the smaller girl and squeezed her tightly, as much a gesture of friendship as it was a small jape on her part. She could bear-hug a large tree in half this way, and Vascha's black eyes widened as the breath left her in a gasp. Ciara lifted her off the ground, still holding her tight. Vascha looked down at her and began to laugh, what little laughing she could do with her body so compressed.

"I missed you, Black," Ciara said.

"Nice... to see you... too," Vascha managed, and used a free hand to pat Ciara lightly on the cheek.

Ciara chuckled and released. Vascha landed easily, with as much spring in her step as if Ciara's hug had been like any other. She made a face and twisted her back, a faint series of pops working their way up her spine.

"Thanks," she said, "I've had a kink there since we got off the plane."

Ciara turned and looked at Benjamin. The olive-skinned Israeli boy raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

"I don't need a hug. My back is fine," he joked, though he still regarded Ciara with a measure of caution. Ciara supposed she couldn't blame him. She was known for dishing out her unique brand of affection whether it was asked for or not.

Gansükh walked to Ben's side and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"So how have you two been?" the Mongolian asked, "Thailand still as rough around the edges as it was last time?"

"It was," Ben smiled and looked at Vascha, "But Vasch' smoothed out more than a few troublemakers while we were there."

They all chuckled as Vascha sighed, putting a cigarette in her mouth and lighting it, pulling deeply on it as she filled her lungs with nicotine.

"Boys should keep their hands to themselves," she said, exhaling smoke through her nose in two black streams.

"But not Ciara, right?" Gansükh chuckled at his own jest.

Vascha made a show of looking Ciara up and down, as though she had never seen her before.

"Especially not Ciara," she mused, puffing at her cigarette. Ciara rolled her eyes.

The banter was amusing and came naturally; They had all known each other for years now, and even months apart could not break the bond of kinship that had been forged long ago. But nevertheless, Ciara could smell the nervous energy and anxiety that emanated from each of them. Gansükh, usually the go-to source for a lighthearted comment or two, had been silent nearly the entire three-day trip back to Japan. He had already said more in two minutes than he had in the past twelve hours. Ben, as hard to read as he had ever been, was perhaps even more closed-off and guarded than he had been last she'd seen him. And Vascha... Ciara could practically taste the rage and bloodlust that radiated from her like a perfume, despite her easygoing demeanor. She could relate to that. Her connection to Logan ran deep, and his absence still smarted when she allowed herself to dwell on it.

Without really knowing why, Ciara looked down at her wrist where she had tattooed their sensei's name into the tender flesh almost two years ago. It was both a brand of origin and a reminder. Tattoos did not agree with her healing factor though, and it had begun to fade yet again. She would have to have the work redone soon.

If I even live that long, she thought bitterly and frowned.

In turn, the other three seemed to sense the tension of the moment as well. There was a long pause of silence as each tried to think of something, anything to say. Vascha took another drag of her cigarette and Ciara wrinkled her nose. She often told Vascha how many horrible chemicals she could smell in the smoke alone, but the girl had always shrugged her off.

I suppose we all have our habits. Our eccentricities.

"Vascha Aleksandrov, I know you would never dream of smoking on my estate."

They turned to see Madam Yuriko, flanked on either side by Hunter and Rin. They walked slowly, to keep pace with the elderly Japanese woman, and Rin kept her hand lightly perched in the crook of Madam Yuriko's arm to steady her.

Vascha grimaced and dropped the cigarette into the gravel, hastily crushing it out with her boot and waving her hand in front of her face to clear the smoke that still wisped out of her mouth and nose.

"No, ma'am," she said, and glared at the other three around her, daring them to contradict her.

"Good," Madam Yuriko said ominously and stopped before them, giving each a long, steady gaze. "You're all looking well. Come inside, children. We have much to talk about. And I would have you enjoy a meal with me before you go."


Ciara tore into her fourth rice ball, hardly bothering to chew at all before swallowing, and drained the last of the tea from her small clay cup. If there was one thing she had always missed about being away from Madam Yuriko's estate, it was the food. By the looks of it, Vascha, Ben and Gansükh would agree. They sat on their knees at a long, sparsely decorated wooden table, the contents of which had dwindled down to scraps as the six had sated their appetites on rice dishes, fish platters, miso soup, fried vegetables, tofu and green tea. Rin and Hunter ate slightly less than the others, but they did not have the achingly empty stomachs that could only come from quick travel over long distances. Nevertheless, they had been trained to inhale food like the fuel that it was, and made short work of their own slightly smaller portions.

Madam Yuriko picked gingerly at her bowl of rice with her chopsticks, but hardly ate at all. Ciara was nonplussed by this. Madam Yuriko always seemed to drink more tea than she ever ate. The old woman contented herself with watching and listening as the six had talked and bantered and exchanged stories of their last few months apart from each other. Every so often, she would smile or cover her mouth and give a slight chuckle as Gansükh or Hunter related some humorous anecdote, but as always she remained contented and detached. A motherly, observing presence to the six.

Ciara tossed the last bit of rice in her mouth and chewed. There was a part of her that had been saddened to leave the forests of Vietnam behind. A wild part of her that looked upon home-living and friendship and the world of man with disdain, that longed to shed her vestiges of humanity, but she pushed it into the background and allowed herself, for a short while, to be a girl amongst friends; Happy to have a roof over her head, food in her belly, and laughter in her ears.

"Yeah, and then what happened?" Ciara heard Hunter say, and realized that Vascha had been telling a story the she had only half been paying attention to.

"So I spent the better part of a night trying to find the nerve to talk to her," Vascha said, rubbing the back of her neck and shaking her head with a smile, "I finally buy her a couple drinks, I spend two hours talking to her, wondering if she's at all getting, you know, the signals I'm sending. When finally, Ben comes over and whispers in my ear..."

Vascha turned and looked at Benjamin, nodding at him to finish for her. Ben smirked and said quietly: "She was a kathoey."

Gansükh and Hunter roared with laughter. Ciara quickly sorted through her rusty knowledge of the Thai language, looking for the word's English equivalent, and soon was laughing as well. Even Madam Yuriko smiled and covered her mouth with a hand out of modesty. Only Rin seemed to not understand.

"What is 'kathoey'?" she asked, perplexed, "I don't know that word."

"A kathoey is a Thai name for a type of transgender, Rin," Ciara explained, "A man who dresses and behaves like a lady."

"Oh," Rin said mildly. Then, seeming to finally understand Vascha's plight, turned to her with wide eyes. "Oh!"

Gansükh began to laugh again with renewed vigor, Rin's ignorance, and then her sudden realization only adding to his enjoyment of the story.

"I don't know how they do it!" Vascha said, hands raised above her head in resignation, "I can't even look as good as they do on my best day!" She gestured at her chest, "And I was born with these!"

Ben nearly spit out the tea he had been drinking, and now he was laughing as well. Ciara's sides had begun to hurt from holding in the urge to suppress her own guffaws that threatened to bubble out of her.

The chuckles had finally begun to fade when Madam Yuriko shifted slightly forward on her bent knees and made a delicate coughing noise. It was her customary call for attention, and, slight as it was, each of them heard it immediately and fell silent, their eyes fixing on the regal, elderly woman.

"My father would have been most disappointed in this table," she said with a smile, "He did not care for laughter or colorful stories at meal times. I, on the other hand, am quite happy to see you all well and in good spirits.

"But," she sighed, "Fate would have it that we must delve into darkness at this time, and discuss what lies ahead for all of you."

Ciara felt her full stomach turn slightly, as the grim reality of the situation returned to her. The others likewise seemed to sober from their jovial mood. Backs stood a little more rigid. Jaws clenched a little more tightly.

Madam Yuriko stood and began to slowly pace around the table as she spoke, looking at each of them as she did so.

"I see your master in each of you. I know he would be proud of you all. Both in the warriors you have become, and the people that you are. Though I am deeply saddened that I must watch you go under these circumstances, I am glad to have this time with you.

"I can not and would not ever dream to ask you to stay your hands, abandon your oaths, and leave a death so unavenged. That is not my place, and I know none of you would heed my words if I tried. I ask only that you remember your allegiances to each other as well as to Logan. Look around you. In each face you see, there is a comrade that will go as far as you will go, endure the same that you endure, and when you strike true, so do the others. Such is the fate of ronin. Such is the way of bushido. To set your own life aside for your companions, and the life of your master.

"You are among the last of a dying breed. Not just mutants, but true warriors of principle and honor, as Logan and the X-Men were before you. Our world has become one of tragedy and deceit and shadow, and perhaps it's last remaining chance of redemption rests in your hands. You have this opporunity now to send a message to the deceivers and snakes of this world that profit from the annihilation of a people, that speed the death of an entire facet of humanity, that even the smallest group of individuals can come together to overcome true darkness. Whatever you do in this next stage of your lives, remember always that you must never sacrifice your own soul, your own dignity, to see your mission fulfilled."

With that last sentence, Madam Yuriko stared long and hard at Vascha. The girl's devotion to Logan and the team stemmed from the tragedy of losing her parents and being forced into the bondage of a mutant internment camp before she even entered her teenage years. Logan and the last remaining X-Men had been her one and only salvation from a certain death all those years ago in the United States. Her determination and her rage made her formidable, and her keen mind had granted her an unofficial position of leadership on the team, but Ciara knew as well as any of the others that the Russian-born mutant's anger could blind her at a moment's notice just as easily as it could make her strong as iron. Vascha tried to match Madam Yuriko's gaze, but in the end her black eyes fell to the floor.

"I am honored to come to the last days of my life having known you all," Madam Yuriko finished, bending slightly and bowing her head to them. They returned the gesture and said words of thanks, barely above a whisper.

A panel of wood in the center of their dining table abruptly slid away noiselessly, revealing an artfully hidden computer terminal set deep into the surface. On it, a three-dimensional map of Madam Yuriko's compound came to life, a red light blinking in the empty air above it, indicating a foreign aircraft in the estate's immediate airspace.

"Ah," said Madam Yuriko, "Just in time."


Ciara had to admit that she was impressed with the aircraft that SHIELD had sent to collect them. She had spent so long traveling by relatively dated and low-tech means that she had almost forgotten some of the true marvels that now controlled the sky in much of the developed world. Similar to a large helicopter in size and shape and black in color, it used a system of repulsors and statically manipulated air currents to maintain it's altitude and make it's swift maneuvers through the sky. It made almost no noise save for a low-frequency hum that a casual observer would probably never notice. It sat in the air as though it weighed nothing at all, bobbing lazily this way and that as the pilot counter-steered against light gusts of wind that buffeted it.

They stood in Madam Yuriko's garden, the only location on her compound where it would make any sense to attempt to airlift the team out. The center of the landscaping was a large stone garden the size of a basketball court that had been raked in such a way that patterns in the gravel achieved and aesthetically pleasing flow. Ciara had spent a good deal of time practicing her meditation here, and was slightly perturbed that they would undoubtedly be forced to walk on the stone garden's surface to reach the carrier, but she supposed there was nothing to be done about it.

Each of them carried a bag of varying sizes, dimensions, and weight. From Rin's belongings, which seemed to consist only of a small rucksack of personal belongings and a set of swords Ciara had not seen her use before, to Vascha and Gansükh, whose military-style duffle bags bulged with hardware and various combat-specific supplies. Ciara noted with some satisfaction that Vascha had not packed Logan's claws, but rather kept them, as always, sheathed at her hips.

Ciara was about to ask if someone should try to signal the carrier, when a small piece seemed to break off of the belly and drop slowly and softly towards the ground, landing lights starting to periodically blink on the underside. Where the interior of the larger section of the craft was now exposed, they could see the dim red glow of nighttime operational lights inside the cabin.

As the separated section drew nearer, Ciara could begin to make it out more clearly in the black night sky. It was little more than a floating platform, almost like an industrial lift, though it was attached to nothing but the naked air around it. As it settled inches about the gravel garden, Ciara could see the platform's sole occupant. A young man, perhaps no older than the average age of the team, dressed in a black suit and coat. He wore a specially fashioned headset and eyepiece made of clear plastics and glass, which Ciara knew would relay flight informations and radio messages from the larger carrier.

A section of the railing that surrounded the platform separated and allowed the man to step down onto the gravel, his leather shoes crunching as he walked towards them. As he approached, he gave Vascha a curt nod and extended a hand.

"Ms. Aleksandrov," he said.

Vascha looked at his outstretched hand and, after a pause, took it, holding the handshake for only a moment before releasing.

"Agent Travis," she replied.

Agent Travis looked at each of them in turn, nodding slightly as he surveyed them.

"Madam Yuriko," he said, looking at the elderly woman in kimono and obi, "It's a great honor to meet you, Ma'am. Your father was a close friend of SHIELD many years ago."

Madam Yuriko did not offer a reply, but merely bowed her head in thanks. If Travis was offended by this, he made no show of it.

"Time is against us," Travis said to them, "You'll be briefed en-route to the Helicarrier."

He made a show of gesturing towards the hovering platform. None of them moved. Travis looked at Vascha questioningly, apparently not expecting the cold reception.

Finally, Vascha stepped forward and turned to face the team. She dropped her bag and brushed her black bangs to the side, though they were short enough that they simply returned to their place hanging over her forehead. Ciara had to struggle to see her in the low light even with her keen eyesight, but she was used to that.

"Last chance," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "After this, we're locked in. No going back, no turning around."

Vascha smiled then, her features almost totally dark in the night, and said: "Who's not ready for this?"

Hunter stepped forward first, hefting his bag easily over a muscular shoulder as he walked towards the platform. Gansükh and Ben followed closely after, both nodding at Vascha as they passed.

Ciara began to walk, wincing slightly as her boots dug into the beautifully maintained gravel. She eyed Agent Travis as she walked by him, but he did not seem the least intimidated by her stare. Hunter extended a hand to her and hoisted her up onto the platform.

Ciara turned to see that Rin had embraced Madam Yuriko in a hug. The old woman looked strangely alarmed as such intimacy, but seemed to find herself again and returned the gesture. With her sensitive ears, Ciara could hear Rin thanking the woman. At first, she thought it was simply a generalized acknowledgment, but Ciara quickly realized that Rin was being very specific about something. What, she couldn't be sure. Finally, Rin broke the embrace and picked up her bag, jogging quickly to the platform and leaping onto it. Ciara could see the faintest hint of tears in the small girl's eyes.

Lastly, they were joined on the platform by Vascha and Travis. Vascha tossed her bag over the railing before jumping on herself, and it landed on the plastic and metal floor with a dull, heavy thud. Travis said something into his headset and the platform began to ascend immediately.

Ciara heard a groan and turned to look at Ben, his faced screwed up in displeasure as they gained altitude. His connection to the earth made him less than agreeable when he was forced to travel by air. There was a time when having his feet off the ground for even an hour had made him physically ill, but Logan had managed to train some of that out of him with a variety of breathing exercises and meditation. It was a good thing. Somehow, Ciara didn't imagine that SHIELD's helicarrier would be making many pit stops.

Ciara looked over the edge of the railing and saw Madam Yuriko, growing smaller every second, watching them as they ascended into the small vessel. A sudden wave of sadness washed over her and, despite herself, she raised a hand and waved it emphatically at the woman. To her surprise, Madam Yuriko returned the gesture, and soon everyone was waving goodbye to the old woman who had watched over them these past years.

We must look like a bunch of kids leaving on a cruise ship, Ciara mused.

Soon they were at the belly of the carrier, and as magnetic locks engaged and the platform section was reintegrated and attached, Madam Yuriko, her garden, her house and what little normalcy they had enjoyed when they were there, disappeared with a hiss of pressurized air.