Writer: Rowland Wells

Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters. 

Alternate

X-Men

#21

"miracle mile"

Interrupted in the middle of a technological assault on Jean Grey's mind and body, Dr. Nathaniel Essex was quick to react through the smoke and fire.  His hidden laboratory in the warehouse district of suburban New York had been targeted by SHIELD agents for a rapid and dynamic attack, justified by the method taken to retrieve Essex's objective, Hawk Spaskyich.  Due to the nature of the original breakout, SHIELD was out in force to reclaim their property, and while Sabretooth, their informant would pay for his crimes elsewhere, the remaining Marauders were swiftly being oppressed with stealthy gunfire.  The lab was quickly put in ruins, Rogue had challenged Essex's domination and won, and Jean had not undergone the intended treatment yet.  Reeling from the initial shock and anxiety of the terrifying procedure, she was half-unconscious, but the Doctor had not succeeded in transforming her. 

Lying among the dashed equipment and broken materials, Essex tried feebly to regain his composure.  Rogue's absorbed abilities from his floored addition to the Marauder's, Gambit, had allowed her to send a volley of charged cards into his large frame, shattering it over snapped wooden boards, and sizzling apparatus.  All around him chaos reigned supreme.  The SHIELD soldiers were steadily advancing through the holes in the wall, and crouching defensively at every turn.  His hired men, as grizzly as they had once appeared were falling swiftly, and only a few remained.  Many of his precious scientists from the Salekhard installation were already dead, and Mystique had vanished from sight.  He might have been giving up hope if not for the unique mutation on his warped body. 

Sensing the loss at nearly every space in his bizarre form, his body quickly reacted and started to replicate the cells positioned at each point along the severed limbs.  Sprouting lengths snaked from the tips of his bloody stumps, and holes gaping through his frame began to seal amazingly fast.  Before long, his entire form was reconstructed in pristine condition, and Essex was able to clamber off the rubble while the soldiers and mercs opposite duelled viciously.  Deciding to avoid further confrontation with the abrupt disturbance of spitting guns and smoky fire, and egress to a safer haven amid the back streets of the gigantic city, Essex took off. 

                                                *        *        *

Stirring from the still embrace of Rogue's coma-inducing paralysis, Remy shook himself off the floor, nearly vomiting all the way.  He jumped at the sudden stop-start spatter of gunfire just in front of him, and gazed at the destructive scene.

Crashing equipment blistered across the length of the room, spurred on by sporadic and thunder-clapping shots.  The SHIELD soldiers had taken up point behind much of the broken wreckage, and continued to pick off the Marauder mercs as they stood like a palisade against the enemy.  The floor was littered with bloody smears, and spurts of crimson liquid spattered over the white lab uniforms of Essex's science team.  Caught in the crossfire, they had no chance to survive. 

Another explosion resonated through the building as a grenade was tossed haphazardly into the fray.  The resulting shockwave blast battered against Remy, and he was thrown back into the shadows.  Desperate to defy the inevitable closing of these American Marine Commando types, Remy shook wildly in mounting apprehension as he threw himself down the steps of the underground warehouse passages.  Whatever had got into Rogue, he would have to find out later, even if she wouldn't want to convey it, but that was if he could catch up with her at all.  As he dashed along the darkened tunnels, the booming thud of gun shots and explosions dying quickly, he reflected on her sudden lunacy.  Whatever it is I can handle it with her, he thought, turning a corner, and then another.  He wasn't that hardhearted after all, and his feelings stretched deeper for Rogue than just companionship.  Right now, he shouldn't be too worried about resolving the issue, for he saw his actions as no big threat to the stability of their already delicate relationship.  Not being able to touch her was as frustrating as it was to become involved with any girl.

He struck a wall at the end of the tunnel, the miasma in his head still present.  'Merde…  Ouvrir!'  He screamed, slamming a fist into the brick.  The light was much too dim here for his crimson eyes to pick out anything, but he knew from experience that the passage ended here.  Deciding to chance it, Remy placed his palm alongside the masonry, and tapped into the potential kinetic energy stored in the objects.  The blockage began to glow, and he stepped back while it vibrated much too intensely for its molecules to maintain.  The brick burst in an explosion of dust, and crumbled the wall with the produced vibrations.  Light flooded in through the gap, and he cheered successfully while making his swift and daring exit.

                                                *        *        *

Rogue staggered uneasily with a disorientated Jean in her arms.  They had managed to wade through the rubble and debris in the opposite direction from Remy's exit and safely bypassing much of the action, but Jean's condition was weak, and she could barely hold herself up. 

During the start of the operation on her body, Rogue had taken care of Essex, but had been unable to stop the scientists from injecting the X-Man with a developed serum.  Having done so, Rogue was able to just interrupt their movements enough while SHIELD took care of the Marauders and the rest of Essex's maniacal entourage.  She parted the restraints, and fended off the laboratory workers so much so that they fled the equipment and ended up in the crossfire.  Dragging the redhead mutant from her captors, Rogue quickly made an exit for the warehouse halls a flight of steps above the large room they were in. 

'Come on, you useless woman!  Pick up your damn feet before I leave you behind, because I have to save my own skin you know!'  Rogue yelled at Jean who could hardly hear the southerner in her delirium.  A sharp tug brought Jean to her flopping feet, and Rogue hobbled toward the Warehouse main entrance.  Two giant silvery roll-doors met her gaze, and she lay the young woman down in a heap while she attempted to free them from this nightmare cage.  The thud of many approaching footsteps and explosions echoed throughout the giant space in the warehouse while Rogue took a timeout from her method of escape to dwell on the anxiety building within her.  Her eyes could only pierce so far into the darkness, but she attempted to scrutinize an image of the gaining ruckus.  'I can't believe a girl like me ever got wrapt up in this kind of crap at such a young age…'  She murmured uneasily. 

'Starting to wish you had never met me?'  Dr. Nathaniel Essex announced from the depths of the darkness that outside streetlamp light could hardly penetrate.  He was beyond her sight in the gloom, but the tone creeping around his regal, yet gravelled voice suggested a newborn strength to his body that she previously thought she had dispatched of.  He groaned precariously, and Rogue felt the shudder vibrate down her spine and roll out of her feet.  'Jesus, why don't you just leave me alone?' 

'Because then my dear, you would never know of my influence on you.  How do you think anyone I've ever met could then live without ever have encountering me?  I am more than an impact on their miserable lives, I shall be the saviour that people turn to in the future, and I owe it all to an operation that you were a part of.'

'Not by choice, you fool!'  She called, kneeling to Jean who lay half-awake, sweating through her clothes.  'Christ, what have your twisted scientists done to her?  She looks like a distanced zombie!'

Essex approached the two of them and the light shed new horror upon his already feared form.  The red mark on his forehead was more prominent than ever, and he forced open the huge silver doors for them.  'This is your way out.  I suggest you take it for your own sake.  I'm not likely to do you any more sportsmanlike favours in the future.'

'Then why do one at all?  Just tell me what you've done to her?'  Rogue asked, staring into his dead face.

'Perhaps I am not the villain you first took me for… Ha!  I shall remain an enigma for you, the world and Xavier's students to unravel in time.  As for the insensible Ms. Grey – I used a potent inhibitor serum specially created for mutantkind – it's still in development, but she should find it keeps her special brand of power at bay until a cure can be found.  Not only is the pain and disorientation she is experiencing from the fruitless attempts to access that inbuilt capability, but the serum is slowly blocking the paths to the reservoir of energy that allows the supremacy to bloom upon sheer acts of willpower alone.'

'Why?  Why did you do these things to us?  Why did you warp Remy, of all people?  He was the one sure rock on which I leant!'  She called out, needing justification and closure from this dabbling evil.

'To the victor go the spoils, Rogue.'  He replied simply.  'I won the battle of wills once Jean shot me.  I got my revenge against Spaskyich, and I'll have had my revenge against her.  My spoils were the liberation of my inhibitions in Genetic Research for Homo Sapiens Superior.  I am now master of the human cell, the very existence of man, an axiom that no other being alive can lay claim too.  My success and vigour is thanks to my freedom from the shackles of simple-mindedness and sustained pursuit of the perfect human specimen.  Nothing can stop me now, young Rogue, not even you; nothing.'

'Essex!  Stop where you are, or we'll shoot!'  Val screeched, finally heading a ragged team of SHIELD soldiers once they freed her from the confines of the warehouse dungeons.  She ran with a gun, the fury and anger welling so deeply inside that it fuelled her aggression.  'I mean it!'

Essex stared at the rushing band of opponents objectionably, and turned tail.  He let them see his grand exit before disappearing into thin air.  By the time Val and the soldiers stopped at the entrance, Rogue had taken Jean beyond the perimeter of the desolate district.

                                                *        *        *

'In another historic nation-wide address earlier today from the Whitehouse, President McCormick Johnston issued an alert to the mutant and human terrorists that run rampant in great cities such as New York, Washington and Boston, explaining how their actions have brought about this engaging and frankly abruptly dangerous decree soon to be implemented, on the streets of many major cities in North America.  Although having no full jurisdiction over many other countries in this continent and the one below, the President was quick to justify his actions and urged the other nation's leaders to follow his example and institute martial law while the mutant/human terrorism still occurs on streets our children used to play on.  We have some footage from his speech earlier if you didn't happen to catch it.'

'… And I say to those men and women who would challenge the very stability and integrity of our great nation: we will not tolerate such insubordinate and reckless dispute on the very streets and in the buildings of our most prominent and magnificent cities.  Such acts of violence and spiralling hatred for one another must at least be contained and put down, not allowed to run riot while the law enforcement agencies step around trying to determine the best way to combat such situations.  To that end, I have no other choice but to impose martial law upon New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Boston and several other key locations along each coast of the United States…'

'Such revelations over the international Sapiens/Superior dispute have immediately thrown the entire country into escalating chaos.  Not even the President himself or any of his advisors were quite prepared for the explosive outcome that carried with it a wave of rebellious defiance on the side of mutant terrorists and human protesting activists.  It seems that each division from the whole in the U.S.A has a slant on in that shows it cannot be contained by simple democratic announcements.  Much of the cities placed under martial law have already encountered huge rebellion, backed with demonstrations of violence, outbursts of broadcasted political unfairness and even such sights as flag burning and the macabre displays of brutal, bloody force within the back streets of once proud metropolises.  Perhaps the decreed safeguards were not meant to follow through like this in any of the politician's minds, but one can't help thinking mutinously as everybody around here for miles stares on in disbelief while more sparks of close-quarter hatred ignite, and the flame of passionate fear burns into the night.  Reporting for CNN, this is Trish Trilby, Madison Square Gardens.'

The television set in Exam Room 3 flickered suddenly, and then the picture reduced to a miniscule dot, before disappearing completely.  Trilby's last words echoed in the minds of the two people watching her broadcast, as the sound cut out at the tv switched off.  Standing in the open door, holding two charts in her hand and wearing a distinctly non-professional long purple coat for a uniform was Wanda Maximoff.  Her hair seemed as familiar as ever, only shorter than in previous experiences, but it still retained the purple splash of dye colouring much of the top half, and leaving the rest that splayed out around her neck black.  It was the first thing Betsy noticed of the woman when she strolled in casually.  Her earrings were rather large metal rings threaded through the gap, and she wore high length black leather boots.  She looked as if she was attending a heavy-metal concert.

Betsy leaned over from her bed positioned, the numb ache still obviously apparent in her two shoulders.  She tuned Scott in to the silent intrusion with a signal from her mind, and swung both legs over the side to sit.  Scott rose from his sleep, and clutched immediately at his left arm, the bandaging squeezing the blood supply in a life-preserving tourniquet.  'It's the Scarlet Witch.'  He announced jadedly.

The X-Man in the bed next to him had never met Wanda before, but an aura encircling the woman gave the impression of calmness and trust ahead of unfounded revulsion.  'Nobody calls me that, Scotty; it's just Wanda.'  She peered at the charts again in her hand, and tossed them to a chair just next to the beds.  Her mission here was one of mercy, not arrogance and happiness at the prospect of two of Xavier's finest locked in hospital. 

'What do you want then?  Come to gloat?'  He asked, adjusting his ruby quartz glasses for any sign of offensiveness.

'Scott let her talk.'  Betsy said, calming her partner in their crisis.

Wanda brushed off his comments with a wave of her hand, and pointed up to the deactivated television set.  'You've heard the news then, I see.  Come to any conclusion about it yet?'

'Like what?'  Betsy asked, running a hand through her own long purple-dyed hair.  'Are we supposed to make it all go away?'

'No, not at all.'  Replied Wanda dismissively.  'What you can to do though, is not get yourselves killed in walking out of here once those injuries have healed.  The public is out for mutant blood nowadays, and they can spot us a mile off.  It's not safe on the streets for anyone.'

'If you're a mutant, how did you get here without being seen then?'  Betsy asked.

''I've got my means – I've got some experience with humans and their hatred under my belt, as you no doubt have been told.  Plus… a little bad luck here and there usually puts off any lager-swilling human tree trunk for a while.  You know how my powers tend to work on the environment.'  Wanda responded, sitting at the end of Scott's bed.  She let a hand creep along the exposed bed sheets before he knocked it away. 

'I'm not drugged up that much.'

'Ha!  Don't flatter yourself too heavily.'  She shouted, offended.

'Stop it, both of you!'  Betsy interjected, annoyed at their bickering.  'Scott – I can feel that she's got good intentions on the surface –'

'Didn't anyone ever tell you not to read people's minds without their permission?'  Wanda asked.

'Well spit it out then, you stupid girl.'  Scott stated. 

Absorbing the comment this time, Wanda stood and walked to the door.  She was almost out before turning around.  'You listen smart-ass – these people outside don't screw around when it comes to nationwide political loathing!  I don't care of you're under lockdown, you two cannot get arrested and kept in jail while my father plays god with the powers of the world down south.'

'Don't leave yet – look, we're sorry for not trusting you… past experiences is all.'  Scott explained, rising from the bed and placing his jacket around his wounded arm carefully.  'Betsy's told me of Magneto's intrusion in the Mansion and consequent kidnapping of the Professor, but what do you expect us to do about it?  The X-Men are smashed!  Logan's ruined us, Xavier's gone, Jean was taken by that damn French fool, and Piotr's probably already serving time for being a cop-killer!  Plus Spaskyich is on the loose again with Sabretooth – it's a wonder we're still even alive.'

'Well you won't be for much longer unless we egress this instant.'  Wanda replied.

'What do you suggest?  We just go ahead and waltz right out the front door?  There are policemen stationed here, you know.'

'Aren't you a telepath?'  Wanda asked staring at the Briton assiduously.  'Use your abilities to cloud the thoughts of every official you walk past until the doors are reached.  It's that simple.'

'Yes, but that's a tremendous strain on me, plus once we're out of the building, what about all the cops on the streets and the mobs quickly forming in ever back alley in the damn city?'

'You just leave them all to my skills.  Trust me; with our combined effort, we can make it back to your mansion in time, and contact a certain somebody.  Make him see that Magneto is alive and well, and as angry as ever.  I don't want him dead, you understand, but his play for power went askew last time… It's not going to go right at all this time.  I can feel it.  There's too much of a political undertow that threatens to overwhelm him and his damn Acolytes.  I know it's a horrendous thing to do to my own father, but the man I once knew is just a shadow.  Something has gone terribly wrong with him.'

                                                *        *        *

A stench of anxiety hung heavy in the throne room of Avalon where Magneto resided.  It was a potent mixture of cautious concern mixed with unwavering determination that emanated from him while he sat atop his pedestal.  It culminated in an enforced perception to defeat the commanding masters of human arrogance-led nuclear power, and by sheer will alone would one man supplant that current and fickle dominance. 

His thoughts, opinions and personality had been altered by Cortez's underhanded ministrations, but the yearning for absolute control over a civilisation which Magneto deemed incapable of handling their own weapons still lingered in the old lord's core.  Threatening to wash away its superior children in a wave of unadulterated hatred and misunderstanding, humanity was on the verge of an apocalyptic finale to its ignorant reign over the Earth.  And although Cortez had somehow ensured that he would be at the forefront of this new age of mutant pre-eminence, Magneto's innermost personality, unmoved by the Acolyte's lust for power yearned to reach out from the mire of fogged memories and declare that his motives were different.  Magneto wanted an end to the butterfingered destruction that humanity continually poured upon itself, and made for mutants to succeed their oppressive masters to become the dominant species on Earth.  Cortez, unfortunately the commanding drive behind Magneto's current resolve, preferred for the useless species to wither away and die while mutantkind could crush the remainders with all the desire of racial wrath, not dissimilar to what he believed might and could happen to his kind after his master confirmed himself to the world at large again.

So it had become a battle of wills, and unbeknownst to Magneto, he was swiftly losing, for Cortez impaired the true, reaching memories more and more every day.  While Erik lay wounded from excursions into battle unprepared, Fabian was able to dull the powers that lay in a huge reservoir below the skin of his master.  Somehow, he was able to slowly and surely cripple Magneto until when it finally came time for the climaxing succession of humankind and Cortez could supplant the very commander who led them. 

Believing that the mutant was truly incapable of ending humanity with a swift blow, Cortez ensured this way that he would be the one to deliver it, and the man who had failed so easily in his first attempt would die at his very hands. 

                                                *        *        *

* Don't make any sudden moves – we don't want anyone attracted to your appearance, however dashing it might be. *  Tessa announced within Kurt's consciousness.  He stood in the corner of the massive waiting area among many holiday-goers ready to depart via aircraft flights from F Wing in the NYC Airport.  Trying to appear nonchalant while dressed in a thick long beige leather coat, Kurt turned to face the wall behind him, afraid that his startling demonic features might spark off a nearby child's imagination to clearly, and then their cover would be blown.  His disguise was pretty flimsy when he thought about it.  The coat's collar managed to cover the lower part of his face enough, but still his yellow eyes and dark blue skin peeked out from the above the material's border.  For it to work, he had stolen a large detective hat in which the rest of his surreal features could hide.  Other clothes were no problem, as he fit perfectly well into them, he just couldn't maintain the straightened stance for such a long period of time.  His tail had to curl up behind his back as the coat draped over it.  'I look like a fool.'  He said to his companion.

'I know, but there's nothing we can do about it now.  Are your eyes as good as mine?  What does that writing say on the multitude of screens up above?'

'Bitte?'  He asked, not quite understanding.  Kurt's grasp of English was still slightly tenuous, but he was developing it constantly.

'Never mind, I picked it up from the people in front of us.  They were thinking along the same wavelength.'  Tessa laughed.

She moved the two of them closer to the monitors, hoping to find the appropriate flight which could send them out of America's borders and somewhere slightly near to the Savage land.  From what she knew, Magneto's domain lay off a huge outcrop from the landmass of Antarctica, but the nearest point to such a location was in the southern-most point of Chile, or somewhere around the Falklands.  With her best efforts, the two of them had only come so far, and still it would take time to reach their required destination.  Tessa didn't even know whether the two of them would be able to make a difference when and if they got there.  But it was worth the effort in her mind.  'I'm confident about this.'  She said, affirming their circumstances for as much her benefit as Kurt's.  'Even though all these terrible things have happened to us, I can still see Xavier and ourselves coming out on top.'

'Keep the faith, then, fräuline.'

A family shuffled past the two mutants as everybody prepared to accept the announced flights on the monitor screens.  Tessa held Kurt back in the weak shadows of the morning light that filtered through the clouds and building windows.  It was preparing to be another heated late summer day, and although the students might have appreciated it earlier in the year, the consistency was becoming tiresome and objectionable.  'I cannot stand this hotness.'  Kurt whispered, pulling at the tight hold of his coat. 

'You keep it buttoned, Wagner, you hear me?  No antics until I say so.'  She responded unkindly.

The beeping declaration of flight times and numbers intoned over the wired siren megaphones hung in each corner of the waiting room.  Eventually, the announcer's pleasant voice drifted throughout the entire airport.  It was a garbled mess for them to pick up on, but Tessa received the instructions via everyone's movement to the monitors.  Her eyes flicked over the details hurriedly, and she selected the perfect craft for their expedition.  'Cape Horn in Chile – it's ready to leave in thirty minutes!  Do you think you can get us on board in time?'

'You understand I cannot teleport always safe to places I have never seen.'  Kurt replied hesitantly, not wishing to break her excited mood.

'We've already taken enough chances so far on our leg of the journey, German; I'm ready to go in for another.  Just take us out onto the runway, and then we'll get to the centre of the plane in one flash.  Make it First Class if you can.  Nice seats in there, you know.'

Kurt nodded, and took her by the hand.  He led them over to the same corner they had previously been stuck in for a good forty-five minutes.  Adjusting the long coat once more to conceal his face, Kurt stared outside at the concrete runway, lit up with morning iridescence of fresh yellow sunshine.  He grasped her shoulder closely, and she watched at the rest of the crowd, hoping not to arouse too much suspicion in their spectacular vanishing act.

'Hold on.  You might feel a little strange afterwards.'  He said.

She was about to acknowledge his pleasantry, but paused as her mouth, tongue and lips went numb from heart-stopping shock.  Out of the corner of her eye, she observed as one final vacation flyer stepped into the overcrowded, screaming waiting room.  To her, the figure seemed familiar, an ethereal presence that pushed her panic buttons in a similar way to her visual encounter with the amnesiac Erik Lehnsherr.  The figure was a vision from her past, recently met with once again.  She couldn't be sure of the exactness, but Tessa thought the man appeared a lot like an older, more drawn Hawk Spaskyich.  His features seemed haggard and hung, like they were dropping ever so slightly of his bones.  He looked gaunt and bent with exertion and stress.  It was only a flicker of recognition before Kurt teleported the both of them to the runway on the other side of the windows.

Staring in disbelief back at the crowd behind electronically activated double doors, Tessa tried to search out the figure.  He had seemed so much like their adversary, only half-dead with residual, lasting agony that had perforated his soul and skin.  He had moved his head disjointedly toward her at the last moment just as Kurt flashed away, and left an eternal gaze imprinted on her memory pushing her to discover whether or not the face matched the individual.  A thin, blistered red scar was dashed down the side of his forehead, just beside the temple, and it was this that Tessa could see in her mind.  Hawk Spaskyich was a ghost, she thought anxiously, he had to be dead.  The truth was that she didn't know; and trying to look back in, he had gone into mystery, becoming a wraith, a spirit of the former tormenter that existed solely in legend.

                                                *        *        *

Fended off from the desolate streets of New York by the incoming loudspeaker whine of high-pitched police car sirens, Rogue dragged Jean to the curb of the opposite pavement, and headed for the long dark alley straight ahead.  It took no time at all for the lawmen to drive past, ensuring the sanctity of their city's blocks with gun-enforced tenacity.  The red-on-blue roof lights shimmered by the alley entrance, illuminating the dark, dank and cramped conditions like a poorly funded disco.  A dance floor would be a place of happiness and immediate joy to the two young women, yet the feelings they were experiencing were far from jovial as Rogue hauled her newfound companion tiredly through the suburbs of one of the largest cities in the world.  The southerner was past perspiring in the summer night heat haze, and the continual warm glow of the buildings and locations all around didn't help to combat the humid atmosphere created all along the low-lying dirty streets.  Rogue was running on pure reserves of adrenalin, stored up from many months of angered servitude and slavery to her many masters.  Now the energy was finally filtering out, and her muscles ached, and her eyes were tired from blind squinting, and she longed to fall asleep in the arms of exhaustion.  All this and more heaped itself upon her young body, but still she was able to escape the sweeping scout for mutant presence by many of the caffeine-assisted night watchmen.  Burning had long since vanished in her arms, legs and strained neck while she hugged a delirious Jean close, and it was currently being replaced by the feeling of dead weight just hanging off her very torso.  Her hair was in a tangled mess, her clothes had been torn, and cuts, scrapes and jabs had become indented as she tried to run off everything pursuing them. 

Her strength was coming to a final burst, and Rogue had to stop lest she die where she stood.  'I can't run anymore!'  She shouted climatically.  Her legs stumbled on the damp earthen ground and she keeled over.  Jean slumped by her side still heavily feeling the effects of Essex's half-finished operation.  Before long, the lack of unpredictable movement allowed for her to end this session of waking agony, and she too accepted the warm embrace of sleep.

                                                *        *        *

A clammy dripping noise of water awoke Rogue later on, but its annoying constancy did nothing to alleviate the straining ache still felt in her muscles and head.  'Where am I?'  She asked, not quite realising her question in such a state of exhaustion.  She rolled her head to the side, suddenly noticing the abrupt sharpness of the surface upon which she lay.  Her eyes were still misted over from disorientation, and Rogue couldn't make out the shapes swirling and moulding just metres away.  There was a low-end murmur of intermittent chatter echoing from small nooks that she couldn't see lying down.  It surprised her, and she felt a need to catch sight.

Her body couldn't quite comply with the mental request, and she lay still on the stony surface.  'Who…?'  She said, trying to make out a timeline of events from her collapse in the alley to the arrival here.  'I'm not a mutant.'  Another sentence rang out from her disengaged vocal chords, and Rogue wondered if she had ever really run from the police for all that time.  Maybe I was hallucinating all that time, she thought.

The drip-drip-drip of water aroused her thirst.

'I need water…'  She mumbled incoherently to no-one.

After what seemed like an eternity, nobody came to her aid, so she gave up and decided to try and die on the stone.  It was better than this surreal illusion.

A hand rested itself on her forehead unexpectedly, and Rogue woke right up.  She called out, but the reply was quick to quell her fears.  The tone was strangely calming, but had the appropriate rough edge to the feminine voice to indicate experience.  Rogue was impressed she could identify all that in her state.

'My throat… it's so dry.'

'Here, here – swallow slowly, you haven't had any for some time.  Too much might hurt you.'

The liquid managed to wash away the ether clouding her brain.  It took time though.  'Where am I?' 

'You're in the Alley.'  The voice replied.

'I can feel it… the ground is not the same… where are the sirens of the city?'

'Calm yourself, child, for you've had a busy day; you're answers will be coming.  Rest now, for you both are in safer hands.'

'There isn't much time left for us all in this world… please…'  Rogue asked suddenly, requiring the trust of a stranger's name.  'Who are you?' 

'My name is Callisto.'

                                                *        *        *

It was already midday by the time Wanda managed to get Scott and Betsy back to the abandoned Mansion on Graymalkin Lane.  The afternoon had darkened overcast skies; the threat of downpour loomed above the vast white vapours like a bird of prey, and for once in the long summer, everyone observing such weather on the ground called down the thunder.  Intense heat, magnified by the water collecting in the pockets miles above the Mansion grounds, radiated throughout Salem Center and the rest of Maine.  The day was to be another stuffy era much like the previous twenty-four hour inescapable sauna sessions before it. 

Taking in the eloquent image of the dishevelled estate mid-stride, Wanda paused to gaze up at the newly made impressions and damage staining the arcane face of the brick walls.  It had seen too much trouble in too shorter time; the black agents of Weapon X, the rioting masses of the Friends of Humanity and lastly the policemen and women of New York had all imparted upon the grounds their lasting physical messages.  Walking the hallways, the three young mutants from different sides come together observed the tags put there by each sect.  Bullet holes, some freshly made and others old and born into the wood were always prominent, but the displays of power that left rubble lying dashed across their paths and walls crumpled to dust were the sights that struck the real fear into their minds.  It wasn't so much their nakedness that created stress, but the fact that all three sides of the law and more had come to wreak havoc exclusively on this one haven for mutantkind.

'We haven't much time to dwell on pleasant memories past and lost, you two.  Might I remind you that my father is containing his aggression only so long, and the more time we take in alerting the authorities of it, the more likely it is that he'll let loose and we'll be too late?'  Wanda chimed compulsively.  She dragged Betsy and Scott, who were both thankful for their escape from captivity and human mob scrutiny, yet wishing to recover fully before having Wanda throw them into the fray.  Much effort had been taken to ensure their departure from New York and the martial law in place there, but only at the expense of Wanda's violent defensive nature and Betsy's flowering capabilities.

Making it past the scattered debris of the ground floor and the narrow corridors made tighter by wreckage, the three entered the conservatory and then went to the small com station hidden just behind several burgundy wood wall panels.  With his good arm Scott tapped at the concealed entrance, and the wood slid out of place.  He then sat at the swivel chair placed in front of a bank of monitor screens.

'You sure you know how to operate all this?  I'm not sure I was ever paying attention in classes when Xavier went over it all.'  Betsy explained, becoming slightly daunted by the tumult of silvery flashing monitors.  'Too busy concentrating on the use of powers and physical dogfight techniques.'  She said to Wanda by way of reason.

The former Acolyte brushed her off noncommittally, and rested her hands around Scott's shoulders cordially.  'Alright… everybody on-line – looking good.'  She pointed to a bank of buttons which his hands quickly glazed over.  'Let's see what we can see.'

                                                *        *        *

A beeping to the right of her arm began to distract Dr. Valerie Cooper and after a moment or two, she clicked the switch just above the small red light.  Little did she realise that the action would result in the colossal collection of monitors turning on, staring every operative within the ground headquarters in the face.  An abrupt shock flowed through everybody down on the control room floor as the face of a weary Scott Summers came to life animatedly.  Cooper gasped at her mistake, and went to flick the image to her screen only.  'Don't switch me off!'  Scott shouted, hoping to catch their attention.

The fantastic speakers positioned beside the huge screen issued a shockwave of sound that hit everyone's ears abruptly.  The feedback whine aftershock that came after silenced the room suddenly, and the young mutant continued.  'I've got to speak to Captain Fury – tell him it's Summers from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, regarding Magneto.'

The Doctor stared down at the small laptop sized monitor in front of her and shook her head amazed.  'Aren't you a little late?  I think the moves have been set in motion.  Nick's taken a huge squad with him – they're off to the Savage land in search of the one and only.'

'Then we have something to add to that –'

Scott was pushed out of the chair by Wanda who displaced him.  'There's one aspect of the assault, as I presume it's going to be, that the venerable Captain Fury might have overlooked and which I would like to shine light on.  How about you patch us through to him?  It's in respect to Magneto's power: he's surrounded the Savage land with nuclear missiles.'

                                                *        *        *

The chainsaw whir of grinding helicopter blades even on the most technologically advanced aircraft the divisions of the American Government had to offer still grated in Fury's sensitive ears when he flew with the agency.  He was beginning to wish he had brought some ear protection with him.

Currently, the convoy of twenty SI-03mk2 SHIELD helicopters was making great coverage over the distanced waters between the tip of Antarctica and the southern-most outcrop of South America.  Under the cover of radar-disturbance, the small army Fury had organised against Magneto's great Fortress caressed the water's edge as it hovered at speed just above the thrashing waves and white-cold icebergs.  It was to make the distance in time, and let out all the troops due to be used in overpowering Avalon's defensive forces.  Utilising sturdy faith, SHIELD was confident in waylaying the rising despot's fanatical desire for world dominance.  The troops were frosty and prepared, weapons had been checked, loaded and rechecked, and their determination was relentless.

Val was with him on this trip, put there on a whim to see more action instead of deskwork in the leader's absence.  She listened to her headphones, and signalled across to Fury.  Receiving the set, he acknowledged the message with a nod.  Talk above the grinding rotation of the helicopter's flight capability was near impossible, so he had to put the com microphone practically in his mouth to speak.  Mumbled interference was all he could hear for several seconds while Dr. Valerie Cooper's explanation of the contact was lost amid the vehicle noise.  Val gave him thumbs up for good reception and he nodded gracefully, not wishing to offend her for the lack of technological inadequacy he was experiencing.

Scott's voice quickly boomed like a car horn in his ears as the Mansion's signal was boosted by the Washington D.C ground headquarters.  'Captain – we've grave news for you.  Magneto has set up a defence system around the Savage land, meant to keep intruders out at all costs.  You have to either abort or make sure you don't trigger his flaring wrath – this man is ready to fire off those missiles, we can tell.'

'Missiles?  What missiles are you talking about – I couldn't hear what Valerie was saying… look, we're flying to the Savage land, and I can't fully understand a word you're saying, Summers!'  Fury shouted staring out the misted window of their transport as if the wide open space beyond had the answers.  His concentration went back onto the conversation, and he rubbed his forehead diffidently.

'You have to evade the nuclear missiles he's put up around the perimeter!  The Savage land is guarded…'  

The signal cut out.

Fury's brow furrowed under stress, and he picked himself off the interior's metal seats.  Val screamed above the incredibly loud engine whir.  'He's still on the line, Captain!'  Fury twisted about, but her reaction sent a chill down her spine.

                                                *        *        *

Betsy felt two sets of large arms wrap coldly around her shoulders, and she winced out a stifled cry as another hand shot over her mouth.  Dragged back, her astounded bucking motioned the other two mutants around.  Wanda flinched in dread as the Friends of Humanity protesters flocked in through the doors of the com station.  'Holy Christ – grab the door!'  She screeched, flicking around to hold Scott.  He plucked the shotgun stashed to the side of the monitors and instinctively raised it for the mass of people.  A gut reaction stole his rational sensibilities away; and with the entire pooling wrath he possessed from experience with an impossible number of former antagonists, he detonated, and an index finger strummed the thin metal trigger.  A thick crimson flood of guts burst out of the leading man's chest.

                                                *        *        *

Val jerked back, recoiling, while a feedback shriek hit her questing ears.  'Jesus!  I've just heard a shot go off from their end!  Nick – what the hell is happening over there?'

Fury stepped towards her, but he caught sight of the streaking flurry of white vapour as it whizzed past his glass window.  Dashing to the side, and before he even knew what was happening, the helicopter opposite theirs exploded over the passing waters in an orange plume of smoke and fire.