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Hank alternated his time between glancing worriedly at Scott, who sat rigidly at the cockpit, and glancing worriedly at Charles, who sat behind them with his eyes shut in an effort to scan for either Rogue or Warren.

They were nearing midtown. A glimpse outside the window showed the bright lights of the city below. To the left was the skyscraper they were going to try to land on. Hank noted with relief that Worthington Tower stood taller than its surrounding buildings, with a wider area. Once they landed they would all be able to leave the cloaked Jet. Otherwise, Hank would've had to pilot the plane himself. And while he had no problems flying it, he did have considerable qualms about leaving the others to face a Magneto-influenced Rogue.

"There's Storm." Scott pointed. Hank caught an area of mist in the distance. The sight of a slender form in the center of the mist eased the knot in his stomach.

"That was quick," he murmured.

"The Daniels don't live too far, and she's got those winds working for her. Now we just need Wolverine's location to be set." Scott leaned forward in his seat, looking down at the Tower. He seemed ready to jump out.

"He's already inside Warren's suite." Hank looked back at Charles. His face was lined with strain and concern. "It's empty."

"Does he have their scent?" Hank asked.

"They stop at the balcony."

"We can take over from there," Scott said, determination thick in his tone. Abruptly, the plane veered away from the Tower. Hank's stomach lurched.

"Perhaps I should pilot," he suggested after swallowing back his lunch. Seeing the boy about to protest, Hank continued, "Ororo is closing in. You two might do well to take the lower ground, while Charles and I search the higher. I assume Logan's already covering the streets?"

"He's heading southwest," answered Charles. "I'm afraid Magneto may be leading Rogue and Warren to a crowd."

Hank's eyes widened. "Oh, dear." He turned to Scott, who swallowed and nodded briefly before unfastening his belt and moving to the back. Hank turned his attention to the controls.

"Open the hatch, Hank," Scott said. Doing so, Hank heard the swoosh of air as it entered the jet.

Moments later, he looked back briefly. Scott was gone.

"Get out of my way!" Logan growled at the people blocking him. Several pairs of eyes, all behind enormous 2002 party glasses, turned to scowl at him.  

"You get out of the way!" 

"God, what's his problem?"

"Freakin' geezer."

He didn't spare them a glance, even though it wouldn't have taken more than three seconds to slice those glasses off all their pimply noses.

Logan, status?

He rolled his eyes at the timing. A block to the Square. 

Ororo and Scott are on forty-fifth. Hank's nearing the area. When you reach it, stay near the— 

He hated when that happened. Stay near the—crowd? Alleys? Few remaining call girls? Logan vented his frustration by glaring at another group of teenagers near the corner. They immediately scampered aside to let him through.

That was more like it. He was just starting to smirk when the mental call rang through his brain.

We spotted them.