As Scott drove them down to the city, it occurred to Storm that this was the most content she'd seen him since he had returned. He always seemed completely at home and fully at ease behind the wheel of his car. She still remembered how furious he had been with Logan when he'd found out that Logan had left his Mazda RX8 sitting in the driveway of Bobby's house in Boston. Granted, his anger was probably just a way for him to vent his grief after losing Jean. Even so, he'd flown out to Boston himself in order to retrieve his car from the police impound.

Watching Scott shift the gears out of the corner of her eye, Storm wondered what it was about driving that meant so much to him. Scott had been a natural leader for a long time; maybe it was the feeling of being completely in control that made him so happy behind the wheel.

As they rounded a corner on the streets of Manhattan, Storm got her first glimpse of the Hellfire Club's New York headquarters. A couple of well-dressed men were making their way up the steps that led into the wide brick building, but aside from their expensive clothing and the two large bouncers guarding either side of the door, there was little about the exterior that called attention to itself. It seemed like any other structure on the outskirts of downtown; someone could easily mistake it for an apartment building or an office complex.

Scott pulled up in front of the entrance and turned off the engine. As Storm stepped out of the car, she ran her hands down the sides of her black dress, straightening herself out. The spaghetti-strapped dress came down to her knees in what was originally a rather tight-fitting skirt, but Storm had opted to cut a slit up along the left knee in case anything happened tonight which required her to maneuver quickly. She turned back towards the car and reached behind her seat, withdrawing a tiny purse made of black leather. The only thing it held was her cell phone, but it's not like her dress had any pockets on it, so the accessory was a necessary burden. Closing the door, she looked over to Scott. She could see his face fall as he handed the keys to his car over to the valet — clearly not something he was comfortable doing.

Storm walked around the car and wrapped her arm around Scott's elbow. If he was supposed to be a rich, eligible bachelor and she was to be his date, they needed to act the part. Looking him up and down, she was struck by the thought that he filled out his black suit and white dress shirt rather well. Granted, he had gone against her advice by opting not to wear a tie, but the look kind of worked for him.

"You look very nice, Mr. Worthington," she said softly, smiling at him.

Scott turned his head towards her, his glum expression rising into a smile of its own. "Thanks," he said. "You look pretty good yourself."

Storm grinned to herself as the two of them headed up the steps. Coming on the heels of her exchange with Scott, the grin initially came about naturally, but as her mind wandered onto the task at hand, she had to focus to maintain the appearance. Happy and carefree, she thought to herself. That's us. She didn't want to betray the slightest concern over their mission; she just wanted the men standing beside the double doors to think they were out for a night on the town.

Both of the Caucasian bouncers at the entrance looked like they could be linebackers for the Giants. "Your identification, please," the large man on the left murmured. His bearded face retained its stoicism even as he spoke. His red hair was cropped short, and his companion on the right was shaved completely bald. Other than that feature, it was a little difficult to even tell the two men apart, given that they were of similar build and wore identical tuxedos.

Scott handed the bearded man his card. The guard immediately turned around, facing a computer atop a marble podium that had been hidden behind him. Deftly, he typed Scott's information into the system with one hand. It was less than 10 seconds before he turned back to Scott with a pleasant smile on his face.

"I see your father is a regular," the man said. "Is this your first time to one of our clubs, Mr. Worthington?"

"I'm afraid so," Scott answered, returning the smile.

The bouncer bowed his head, extending the ID back towards Scott with his right hand. "I'm sure one of the butlers would be happy to give you and your guest a tour of the facilities."

"I'd appreciate that," Scott told him cordially, taking his card back. And with that, they swept into the building.

Upon stepping into the massive foyer, Storm had to admit she was impressed. The entryway was a marvel of Victorian Gothic architecture, its vaulted ceiling launching at least 40 feet into the air. White stone columns ascended on all sides, bracing the second-floor landing that wrapped around the room. Red carpeting covered not only the floor, but also the dual staircases before them that curved up to the next level, forming a sort of half-circle. The light from the massive overhead chandelier glinted off of the walls so brightly that Storm would have almost thought they were carved from marble. However, a simple touch as she brushed past confirmed that the effect was generated by a glossy paint. And of course, both the main floor and next level were covered with patrons of obvious wealth. Dressed in suits, sport coats and dresses that probably cost more than Storm's annual salary, they stood drinking martinis, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and, as Scott has predicted, chatting on their cell phones. Servants of various genders and colors maneuvered around the guests, taking up their empty glasses and serving them additional refreshments.

Scott took Ororo's hand, keeping up appearances as they headed for the stairs. Circling around the left staircase and into the shadows underneath, Storm was momentarily taken aback at the sight of a corpulent older gentleman kissing — and groping — a tall, young brunette. The couple barely afforded their new witnesses a half-second glance before resuming their amorous pursuits.

Scott leaned close to Storm. "This is good," he whispered to her. "Now nobody who looks back here will notice us anyway."

Storm smiled tightly at the remark as Scott pulled his cell phone out of the right pocket of his suit coat. Rapidly, he pushed one of the speed dial commands. As he raised the phone, Storm leaned her ear as close as she could to Scott's in order to catch as much of the conversation as possible.

"Make it fast," she heard the tinny voice of Emma Frost command.

"Sorry," Scott answered. "You doing okay?"

"Yes," Emma's voice replied. "You?"

"We're in," Scott told her. "Any info?"

"Yes," Emma said, sounding awkward.

"Can you talk about it?" Scott asked. Storm got the impression that both of them already knew the answer.

"No," Emma said quickly. Yeah, that was the answer she had expected.

"I have to go," Emma added suddenly. "I'll call you back."

Scott lowered the phone from his ear, giving Storm a significant glance. "She's probably with them right now," he said.

"Probably," Storm admitted. Even so, she was still a little worried about what their new ally might be up to.

Scott peaked out around the back of the staircase, searching along the walls on both sides of the room. "There," he said, pointing towards the men's restroom on the far wall. He reached into the left pocket of his coat now, drawing out something too small for Storm to see.

He glanced back at Storm. "I'll plant it," he told her. "You know what to do."

As Scott headed casually for the men's room, Storm reached into her purse, drawing out her own cell phone. She went to the menu and gently keyed in the selection for Logan's number.

Bringing the phone to her ear, she heard the telltale buzz as it attempted to connect. After only one ring, there was a click.

"Yeah," Logan said.

"Scott's planting it now," Storm told him. "Is everything all right?"

"Peachy," Logan grumbled.

"Remember to wait for the order befo-" Storm began.

"I know, I know," Logan responded, cutting her off. With that, the connection went dead. He seemed even testier than usual. He probably wasn't enjoying his current assignment too much.

As she returned the phone to her purse, Storm noticed Scott already making his way back towards her.

"It's done," he informed her. Then, he smiled. "Let's mingle."

Storm smiled back and took his arm once more, stepping with him back out from behind the staircase. Turning, they made their way slowly up the stairs to the second floor landing. Scott greeted each person they passed on the way up, stepping aside at one point to make way for a tuxedoed butler carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

Storm, meanwhile, smiled and nodded as they passed other couples. As they approached the second level, her eyes drifted towards the surrounding walls. According to Emma, the public face of the club made up the outer perimeter of the building. The farther you moved towards the interior, the deeper you got into the private rooms and employee facilities. The third floor was restricted from the public entirely, so naturally the Inner Circle chambers sat somewhere in the center of that top level. This meant that it would behoove her and Scott to keep their eyes out for any "Employees Only" doors they might pass.

"I'm liking the glasses, friend," a voice said from Storm's left. She turned to see a thin man in wire-frame glasses gesturing towards Scott's shades. He was leaning on the banister of the landing and sporting a bad comb-over — although, now that she thought about it, there wasn't really any such thing as a good comb-over.

"Very cool look," the man added. "A little bright in here for you?"

"I, uh — I have an eye condition," Scott said. He reached up to adjust his shades, looking uncomfortable. Not entirely untrue, Storm mused.

"They didn't dilate you, did they?" the man inquired. "I had that done at my last exam. Couldn't stand it. Seems like it takes forever for the flamin' things to go back to normal. Say now, what's your name?" he turned and looked at Storm, giving her a quick up-and-down appraisal that she did not appreciate. "And surely you're going to introduce me to your beautiful companion, yes?"

Storm attempted to smile politely, but it came off more like a grimace. Inside of her head, she just kept repeating the same thought: Please, Emma, please call back soon.