-5 Months

"So," said Proxy Blue, scowling slightly, "who was surprised that one of the most influential men in politics today turned out to be a mutant of sorts? Mason Eckhart has been ousted, and in the true tradition of war, a tradition for which the Nazi's were condemned, a tradition that goes back through history, to before the Vikings raped and pillaged their way through England's fair countryside, before the Roman's stamped their eagle on Europe, right back to cave men that fought over food, everything that had Eckhart's name on it now belongs to… wait, let me see... LexMor, Morrisen Corporation, Langley Finance, Genomex and a few others I could name. Wonder if dear Mason has figured that out yet.

"Actually, it seems as though an awful lot of mutants are having their worldly goods confiscated. Remember Dirk Van Hansen of the Van Hansen coalfields? He's a mutant. Apparently. Not even his own family knew. If fact, not even he knew, so he claims. He thought he just had a natural talent for finding coal. Apparently. If his birth certificate isn't lying he's a little old to be a New Mutant, but what the hell, it's a good excuse to appropriate finance.  And given the mysterious re-routing of certain unhappy campers' funds, they're sorely needed to buy essentials such as caviar, champagne and oh, what a surprise, SGFlex's.

"And since when did mutants get arrested just for being mutants? Check out your local cop shop and you'll find out someone slipped a law through when no one was looking. Don't forget to send me postcards, kiddies. There's no beating those seaside pix."

*****

The perimeter alarms propelled Jesse out of his VR world and into the real with a sudden shock. A quick glance at the security monitor and he leapt out of his chair to check the windows. His worst nightmare had come true. Even now, soldiers with gas masks were running from the peripheral barricades that had been set up with canisters in their hands. This was no random raid; they'd come here searching specifically for him, which meant they had a fair idea of what he was doing.

Reinforced glass was no match for high-powered rifles, and the canisters crashed through, releasing their poison. But he couldn't escape, not yet; his team, all his contacts - he needed to destroy everything that would connect anyone else to him, while preserving everything he'd put together. It was fortunate that he'd set up for various scenarios, his capture or death included.

He could feel the gas seeping in through his skin, and massed to try and buy himself some more time. But the gas still buried determinedly through, resulting in biting pain as it split his skin apart, forcing him to de-mass.

A few keys and his personal stores of information were locked and keyed for access only by particular people who might stay alive and free. A quick pre-prepared coded signal to his team with instructions on keeping a minimum-risk operation going without being compromised by forced diversification was sent out.

Phasing was worse. Not painful at all, but the gas was just there, inside, bonding with his cells.  He could feel it, invasive and parasitic, and knew it was a gas that had obviously been made especially for him.

And then the final key. He hesitated over that one, as it would mean the end of his short but powerful empire, and that part of him he'd been fighting was screaming at him to die defending it. But there was more than his own selfish needs and wants here, other people who could carry on the fight, and he would much rather die defending them.

He pressed the key and fell to his knees as the gas attacked his nervous system, wondering if a three-minute time delay was perhaps a little much. But whatever happened, no one would get their hands on his work. He fell to the floor, and the last thing he saw were Doc Martens crashing in and stopping an inch from his nose.

*****

Brennan knew he'd never get that picture out of his mind. He'd arrived in time to see soldiers wearing gas masks dragging Jesse's limp body out of the flat and bundling him into the meat wagon.  But the thing which would always stay in his mind was the fire that started suddenly in the basement and reared up to consume the entire building, sending soldiers and government tecchies screaming as they were ruthlessly immolated for daring to violate one molecular's sanctuary.

Cursing violently, he left the scene. He didn't know how to get in contact with Adam or Emma, but in any case his first priority was to sever any and all connections that either of his teams had with Cyberteam, for their own protection. Until someone in Cyberteam broadcast a universal all-clear, they had to be considered compromised.

*****

Mason Eckhart stood in the middle of a burnt and barren space, looking somberly at what had been his smallest and most out of touch center, hiddeb in the heart of the hard, wind blown deserts of the Sudan. Razed to the ground.

He'd found every possible haven destroyed or taken over by Morrisen, or Langley or one of the other Inner Circle members. He'd tried staying in hotels, and then motels, but only hard cash was acceptable in most places, of which he had none.  And he'd found out the hard way that his credit cards were blocked.

He had nowhere, and no one to run to. Except maybe one, one who might accommodate. Equally, that one person might kill him, but at least that person's hatred was honest. Perhaps it could be made to see reason.

He had one last favor he could call in that would get him to where he needed to be. But then he would truly have nothing but the clothes on his back.

What a joke.

*****

"Emma!"

The psionic stood still, halting mid-word the discussion she was having with one of the patrols. Julie came to stand next to her, fully aware that she didn't need to speak the words for Emma, but doing so anyway for the benefit of those without psionic abilities.

"I'm sorry. All reports indicate that the AV's terminated all prisoners. We didn't find her body among the dead, or any of her core team, but the AV's we caught were adamant that… well, I'm sorry."

"And those that we caught? What of them?"

"The usual."

"Of course." Most AV's were surprisingly easily converted to the Freedom Fighters, or at least convinced to step out of the war, go to one of the refugee camps - not the nicest of places, but the Underground Railway made sure they were clean and looked after, while Cyberteam kept supplies running in. A very few AV's, however, chose to commit suicide when caught. They were normally the extreme of the extreme, many of whom were too convinced that they had nothing left to live for.

"There's more," Julie said quietly. "I picked this up from coms on the way in." She held a piece of paper forward.

Emma's eyes were already blurring with tears at the knowledge that her best friend, hyperactive and wildly passionate in all things, must be presumed killed in action. The sorrow radiating out from those nearest to her was almost too much for even her shields to bear. "Read it for me," she said softly.

Julie cleared her throat. "Cyberteam have issued statements from different sections, all saying pretty much the same thing. Cyberteam Central Control has been destroyed, the team leader taken or killed. Without the unifying core, Cyberteam will no longer be able to perform as expected. They will, however, continue to provide services as and when feasible, and regular supply runs that were not directly coordinated from Central Control will continue unaffected. They thank you for your consideration in this matter."

"Jesse," Emma whispered, tears falling freely now, before she fainted.

*****