Professor X was dead.

The news swept through the Institute like wildfire. He was simply lying peacefully in his bed. Not breathing. With his eyes open. His glassy, unfocused eyes, staring blankly up at whomever came to see whether the rumors were true.

Shadow Cat wept quietly in her room, Nightcrawler disappeared, Wolverine went into the nearby woods, Cyclops comforted Jean Grey, Jean Grey sat dumbly in disbelief. Gambit stalked the halls, Beast hid himself away in his lab, Archangel flew off somewhere, Psylocke pretended it never happened, Jubilee went back to sleep, Marrow gazed out her window. Everyone tried to cope in their own way, but they all knew that without the Professor, everything was going to crumble.

In the next few months, the Institute was made government property. Cyclops tried to take the place of the Professor, but despite his most valiant efforts, he couldn't fill his shoes. After just a few weeks, Cyclops had a nervous breakdown.

Cyclops had to take a vacation from the stress, and naturally Jean accompanied him. The X-Men were leaderless, and had lost their home. Things looked dismal. Storm took over, but lacked complete control. Gambit left, Marrow turned to freelance work, Psylocke became an assassin. Wolverine and Bishop continued their own battles as a team of two, and Beast retired from fighting altogether, sticking with his scientific work. Rogue left to follow Gambit, wherever he went, and Archangel tried to hook up with X-Factor.

Even though the team was essentially disbanded, they all had one last uniting goal: to discover who had killed the Professor. Beast's autopsy resulted in more new questions than answers, and there was little other evidence to be found. The entire question began to fade, though, as life continued it's inexorable pace into the future.

Storm had become the leader of a team with no teammates. The X-Men were no more.