"I did it." Brian repeated in awe.

To this solitary statement, Logan raised his eyebrow. He put down his bottle of beer and slowly stood up. "John?" He questioned as he slowly approached the boy.

Brian's eyes widened when Logan grabbed him firmly around the shoulders. 'I told ya not to drink," Logan began, a bit distracted by John's suddenly facial twitching.

The twitching suddenly stopped as Brian gave a shout for Logan to wait. Logan did as was requested, pausing to look expectantly at John.

"I...I'm not sure how to say this, but I don't know how much time I have here so I'll just say it flat out. I'm not John." Brian said in a rush, pausing momentarily to let this information sink in.

Unfortunately, Logan did not do this as he had planned. Instead of welcoming his declaration, Logan gripped his shoulders a bit tighter and began to drag him out of the room, muttering things under his breath.

"No! Stop!" Brian shouted. Twitch. This time the twitches grew progressively worse, making their way down to his hands and mildly down to his feet. They were almost becoming seizures.

John's shaking made Logan stop in his removing of the boy; and as soon as Logan stopped dragging him, Brian's twitching ceased.

"I'm sure that didn't sound right, but you have to listen to me! I'm not John, my name is Brian – " Logan's hand clamped down over John's mouth, interrupting him mid-phrase. Panicked, and clearly not thinking right, Brian then proceeded to bite Logan's hand. Later on, he would think back on this and most likely be rather mortified, but right now drastic times called for drastic measures. Logan snapped his hand back, curses flying from his lips. This sudden release of his body caused Brian to promptly drop down to the hardwood floor.

Brian quickly glanced up at Logan and said a quick apology while Logan glared from above.

Brian took this opportunity to continue where he left off. "—I'm a mutant, in…in Base One. I've been…watching you three. I want to help." Brian spilled out between cautious upward glances to the glowering form of the Wolverine.

At this point, Mystique got up from her position across the room, draped gracefully over one of their worn chairs. Slowly walked over with no hurry, all the while giving Brian the once-over. Finally, she paused with her arms folded impatiently directly between Logan and Brian. Her gaze was down turned though, yellow eyes focused on Brian.

"How?" She questioned simply.

Brian stared at her. He actually hadn't considered it, he had been more afraid of Logan turning him to pulp prior to this point. "I...I…" He trailed off, at a loss for words.

Mystique gave what appeared to be a smirk or quite possibly a sneer and her gaze shifted to Logan. "It's not John." She said, backing away.

As she took a few steps away from them, instead of helping Brian up, Logan merely stared down at him. Brian rolled his eyes and moved to get up. He pulled himself into a sitting position when suddenly he realized h couldn't feel his arms anymore. For that matter, he couldn't move them at all either. Looking down in confusion, he could see his fingertips quivering uncontrollably. In panic, he looked quickly back up at Logan and Mystique. "I'll try and get back." He said in a rush as the feeling of numbness spread down his legs. 'Maybe suggest to John that he could be a bit more cooperative next time," He said with a grin as he closed his eyes.

From above, the two older mutants watched as John wriggled and shook down on the floor, his eyes closed tightly and his fists clenched equally as tight. Abruptly, the seizures stopped. John's body relaxed and his eyes opened. With a groan, John sat up and opened his eyes. He glanced up to find two pairs of eyes intently staring at him. His body hurt like hell.

"What the heck happened?" He asked finally, breaking the silence.

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________________________________________________________

"You're sure about this, Rez?" Sadira questioned as she fell into step besides her older brother.

Reza paused, and looked down at her from behind his dark mirrored sunglasses. "Am I ever wrong?" He asked with a smile before continuing to walk. Behind them trailed two discreet but large bodyguards.

Sadira cast a sideways look around the airport terminal. They had just gotten off their nearly thirteen hour flight from Amsterdam and were now searching for the rest of their party through Vancouver's ___________ International Airport. The key members of Mos Etta had long ago made it a habit to travel separately, for security reasons.

They were responsible for nearly a hundred separate privately funded 'terrorist' acts. Their services were in growing demand and went out to the highest bidder. This call was a personal matter though. The treatment of mutants in the United States was making it harder and harder to pull off even the simpler hit jobs nowadays. When they had received a call from a small mutant group in Canada, most of their group's members had been wary. But their leader, the young Reza Khoumani, had convinced them they would profit in the long run.

"There they are," His sister said with a slight nudge. He brought his dark sunglasses down a bit and saw the remaining members of the group scattered around the terminal. He gave a single nod then began walking towards the baggage claim.

Standing at a solid six foot one, Reza Khoumani was the type of guy who could both stand out from a crowd or just as easily blend in. Classic features, nicely tanned skin- all these were traits of the group's leader.

Not many of his group knew the true nature of his mutation. Some had originally believed him to be a prophet, others a sorcerer. In truth though, the mastermind that was Mr. Khoumani was merely an illusion. Well, most of the time. Reza had been blessed with the ability to create lifelike projections of whatever he wished. It was ideal for security reasons. If he wanted, there could be twenty identical copies of himself roaming around the crowded terminal and there would be virtually no way to distinguish the holographic versions from the real thing.

Of course, one cannot raise a small empire with just the power of trickery, now can they? Early on, when their father had passed away, Reza had begun to set up officials and recruit members for his revenge. Somewhere along the line though, revenge had died, and now the moneymaking aspect of the business kept him in it.

But recently, with the trouble this cursed genetic screening had caused his business, Reza had grown concerned. He also knew he wasn't getting any younger. At the ripe age of twenty-seven, Reza was beginning to feel like an old man as of late. Perhaps it was from one too many late nights around the planning tables, or he had had enough worry sending his friends and family in to arrange business deals. And speaking of deals, there was another reason to come here. That bastard McIntosh had cheated them out of 2.5 million dollars and three of his top men with the little shenanigan he had requested nearly two years ago. He or the families of the officers he had lost did not forget things like these.

His bodyguards motioned that they were going to retrieve his luggage from the revolving carousel upon which the offloaded bags sat. He nodded in silent recognition of their movement and immediately, there were three other identical copies of Reza Khoumani, all making their way towards the doors that led outdoors.

____________________________________________________

As they stepped outside, Sadira gave a sideways glance towards her brother. Though he was only a mere eight years older than she was, sometimes it felt like millennia. Behind the high-end shades and designer suit worthy to have just come of a Milan runway, Sadira remembered the weak, struggling boy from years ago. But the boy of those memories had long ago left, having been replaced with this enigma.

She stepped off onto the crowded sidewalk. People were vying for taxis here and there, welcoming loved ones, and busy loading and offloading. Bright beams of sunlight bathed the chaotic scene.

She felt someone brush her arm and looked over to find another member of their group, Amir.

Amir had a story similar to her brother's. His mutation though, was much more interesting. Amir literally grew chemical weapons. Now of course, that was like accusing a poisonous fish of trying to become a mass murderer. Actually, she thought, it would be more like a snake. This poison of Amir's was held in two long, thin retractable fangs in the very front of his mouth- Very similar of those of a biting snake, such as the cobra or the North American native, the rattlesnake.

In appearance though, Amir had everything her own brother lacked, and vice versa. Where Reza had the sort of natural confidence and class many strivved for, Amir was often anxious, nervous, and was lacking in confidence. Physically he was a good two inches shorter than Rez, his skin a sickly pale color from living underground.

Currently, he seemed to be struggling a bit with his bulky suitcase, no doubt filled with the many bottles of antidote he took everywhere with him. She flashed a smile at him. Her and Amir shared a unique bond within the group. They were the two youngest members, though not by a whole lot, it was still enough to cause a small rift. So she tried to look out for the kid.

Suddenly from deep within the crowd of people sprung Reza. Behind him stood his two guards, each carrying the oversized cases the group used for concealing weapons. Reza stepped forward onto the curb and was quickly successful in hailing a taxi. They loaded their belongings into the taxi, and the bodyguards stayed behind with Reza. Or perhaps it was the replica that rode with them.

Sadira sighed. She'd stopped trying to second-guess her brother long ago. As she slid into the musty smelling cab she gave a sad smile to Amir. "You ready?" She questioned.

He managed a weak grin. "You bet," He said in a not too convincing manner.

"Don't worry," She whispered. She had seen the future and knew all too well the events that were coming and how they were about to play out.

_______________________________________________

"So you're saying I'm possessed?" John demanded. The three of them were sitting around the shabby card table that sat near the kitchen. Mystique and Logan had finished explaining to John what had happened over the last hour.

"So what exactly did I say?" John questioned, having already forgotten asking the first question.

Logan sighed. "You said you were some mutant down in the camp," He stated.

John's eyebrows furred. After a second or so of deep consideration, his eyes brightened.

"Maybe it was them…," He said, mainly to himself, as he trailed off.

"Them?" Mystique asked.

"Mos Etta."

"Oh."

John sat up in his chair, "What time is it?" He demanded.

Both Logan and mystique shrugged, almost in unison. With a stricken look, John hastily bolted up, knocking his chair over as he hurried to catch a glimpse of the time. When he did finally discover the kitchen clock, a loud gasp could be heard, followed by a string of profanities.

Moments later, John came bolting back in, his chocolate brown eyes huge. "Their plane landed almost an hour ago!" He hissed before running off.

"Mos Etta?" Logan questioned Mystique, who remained motionless.

As if perfectly timed, the doorbell rang. Before John could do anything, Logan was up and at the door. What he found was not exactly what he expected.