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Scott, Ororo, and Doug were resolved. They would do as they could to defend their home. To Ororo and Scott, it was the only home either of them had known in a long time. Even Doug, who appreciated his parents and home, found something here he did not there.

But the mansion sprawled. It had dozens of entrances and that was assuming they did not teleport inside.

'They're coming in the front door.'

The Professor's voice in their minds was familiar by now. With that came knowledge of their visitors: Emma Frost, a telepath capable of turning to diamond; Angel, who flew and spat fire; Azazel, a teleporter; Riptide, who created miniature tornadoes; Prism, with a crystalline body.

All of the students thought some degree of thanks and attempted to hide a heavy degree of fear.

What choice did they have? Scott felt himself shaking inside, but forced himself to walk forward. The floor was so cold under his feet, the air making him shiver, but this was his home. He did this for willingness to die rather than lose that. What was cold?

As he walked, he knew they needed to even the numbers as quickly as they could. There were five adults against three children-one whose powers were severely limited indoors, one a translator. Against the X-Men these jokers wouldn't stand a chance. But the X-Men weren't here now.

"We're going to have to do something I don't like," Scott murmured.

They did not continue to the front door. Instead, he led them up a narrow staircase, a servants' stair from when such things mattered and a good slip today.

"Where are we going?" Ororo asked.

Doug murmured back, "He's sure." That, for him, was enough.

"How could Raven do this?" Ororo wondered.

"You think it was Raven?" Doug asked.

"Of course it was Raven," Scott said. "They're here the one night Ruth and Alex and the others are all gone."

Doug hesitated to answer. Then, "They could've been following her."

The looks of skepticism on the others' faces should have been answer enough. At least one of them would have commented, too. They never had a chance.

Scott led them into a room filled with sheet-covered furniture and dust.

"Doug. C'mere."

Doug crossed the room.

Scott ran across the room. He opened one of the windows, then held up his hand, telling the others to wait. It felt like a long time to their frightened hearts and minds, then he motioned Doug back to the door.

"They'll send the teleporter," Ororo realized. It wasn't about the ordering of the sounds, only that they were heard. They would create suspicious sounds, and the teleporter would be sent to investigate.

Scott nodded. Then he motioned Doug forward.

Doug tried not to let on his feeling of terror. It was all he could do to walk forward calmly. Each breath and heartbeat stung his body all over. He knew the others felt the same. Scott was quivering like a guitar string. Ororo was tense, but angry also.

Scott confirmed that he saw Doug's fear when he laid a hand on the older boy's shoulder.

Doug wanted to express gratitude for the kindness, but instead felt a knot growing inside him. Why was he so frightened? He was eighteen, an adult legally. He didn't-shouldn't-need comfort from a boy. He shouldn't be out-manned by a 13-year-old girl.

And then, in a sickeningly familiar puff of brimstone stench, a demon arrived. He brought another with him, Prism, from the way his skin glinted.

Scott zapped the demon. The light of his power bounced off Prism, but it struck the other. Azazel fell back, thudding into a sheet-covered chair.

Prism ran at Scott, identifying him as the attacker, but Doug tackled him instead. He latched an arm around Prism's neck and punched him, repeatedly, in the side. Prism tried to throw him off, but Doug held fast. He was what one might politely call chubby and had been taught to use his weight to his advantage.

A singed smell filled the air, but a fork of lightning only struck the empty chair from which Azazel had teleported. The brightness startled Doug, causing him to loosen his grip. Prism threw him to the floor, where he landed with a thud and a crunch.

Scott punched Prism in the center of his chest. It was enough to drive the air out of him. The blow to Prism's head dropped him.

For a few seconds, Ororo and Scott looked at one another and tried to catch their breath. They tried to absorb the reality of what had happened: there were intruders in their home; one knew where they were; one was unconscious at their feet.

Then they went to Doug.

"He's unconscious," Scott observed. "That arm's broke."

"Hey, why wasn't I in any of that noise-making stuff?" Ororo wanted to know.

"'Cause you make about as much noise as a cat."

It was true: Ororo was simply too accustomed to making no sound. She wasn't a thief anymore, but she still moved like one.

A sudden arrival and a smell of sulfur interrupted them. In the center of the room stood Emma Frost, Angel, Azazel, and Riptide.

The children instinctively moved closer together, placing themselves between the Brotherhood and Doug.

"That's sweet," Emma commented. Her voice was rocks and blades and syrup.

"We're not here to hurt you," Angel added. "You can go and hide in the bomb shelter-that's where everyone else is, right? Go ahead and hide. We'll even forget about..." and she nodded in the general direction of Prism, crumpled on the floor.

The offer was tempting. Ororo was ready to refuse it only because she was too angry to accept. Her hands moved, toying with something behind her back.

"How do you know about the bomb shelter?" Scott asked.

"All these old places have-" Angel began.

"No. No, this place wasn't built in the 1940s, it was built 200 years ago, before bombs were even possible. You knew."

The others looked at Angel, who sighed. "I trained here. For a while."

"You..." This was clearly a lot for Scott to absorb.

He blasted Angel through the window.