"Is everyone here?" Reza questioned into the thick darkness. He was met with several positive replies.

He stepped down slowly from the sandy mound where he stood. He surveyed the small crowd before him the best he could through the night. Arizona's hot air made his black T-shirt cling to his body as he slowly approached the waiting crowd.

The seven of them were grouped together on a small hill several hundred yards away from the tall gates that encircled the camp. They had each been brought one by one by his personal teleporter, Helga. Helga was a rather manly body builder from Northern Europe who he used upon occasions such as this.

Reza approached the spot several feet away where Logan, Mystique and John stood. He went seemingly unnoticed until he placed his hand on John's shoulder. John flinched, dropping a small metallic square, which he rushed to retrieve from the sandy dirt.

"What's that?" Reza questioned, gesturing to the object as John stood up. John looked down and immediately put the object back into his coat pocket.

"Nothing." He said shortly.

"Ah. Well anyway, I was wondering if we had been contacted yet by that kid." Reza said, changing the subject as his focus drifted to the older members of the group. Logan merely shrugged and Mystique stared with a slight smile.

"Okay, I guess I'll be over there finishing the last details. Be ready to go in about ten minutes." Reza said before turning and walking over to where his men sat in a loose circle on the ground.

Once he was gone, John took out the lighter again and immediately began flipping it open and shut.

Logan rolled his eyes. "And here I was, beginning to think you'd stopped that." He muttered. John glared at him.

"Look, I've got a bad feeling about this," John began.

"Shut it Pyro." Mystique snapped. "You've been talking about this for months."

John glared at her. "But –" He began but was cut off by Logan.

"You're just upset because you're not in charge anymore. Let's just get this damn thing over with." Logan growled, and with that, turned and began walking over to join Reza's group. Mystique gave an annoyed look to John before turning and doing the same herself.

John stood there alone with his back to the group behind him. He flipped open the lighter and ignited a tiny flame. He smiled then slammed the lighter shut and placed it back into his pocket. This would all be over soon enough. That thought ran over and over again through his head as he turned and rejoined Reza's troops.

It would all be over soon enough.

___________________________________________________________

Amir sat watching, his eyes drifting around the circle. To his right was Reza, and on his left was one of Reza's bodyguards, who was running a worn rag over the edges of his old revolver. Then sat Logan, with the other guard next to him. This guard was busy checking through their arms inventory. Then there was Helga; her short-cropped blonde hair casting spiked shadows across her pale face. Mystique then sat between Helga and Reza, bringing the group full circle.

As Reza and John debated tactics, with the annoyed looks from the other adults, Amir was lost in his own thoughts. He wondered where Sadira had gone, and why. Had she maybe foreseen their failure and left? But why would she do that with out speaking to him or anyone for that matter. He cast a sideways glance at Reza, who was gesturing wildly with his hands and trying to restrain from raising his voice at John. Perhaps she had told Reza. He seemed so determined to pull this off; maybe he had ignored her statements. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had done so. Amir snorted as he remembered the many times Reza had let his ego get the better of him.

But still the fact remained, Sadira was gone, and Reza was going to take down the camp even if he had to do it himself. He ran his tongue slowly over the skinny fangs that lay horizontally across the roof of his mouth.

Reza sharply nudged him with his elbow, and his focus turned back towards the conversation, led mainly by Reza.

"John will be the diversion. The rest of us shall enter in two groups, Helga and Mystique shall enter from the front. Mystique shall disarm the security functions and Helga will provide a safety net incase things become too troublesome. Then Logan, My guards, and Amir shall enter. You five will have about twenty minutes until the system is fully restored. In this time, I advise you to free whom you can. When the twenty-minute window is nearly closed, I will contact each group via radio and send further instructions. Does everyone understand?" Reza asked, his eyes focused on John.

"Yeah, I have one. Why aren't you going in?" John asked.

Reza's face remained neutral. "I will stay out here and keep watch over everything." He said in a monotone. To this, John snorted.

"Okay, fine then. John, you will stay here with me." Reza snapped.

John sneered. "Yeah right." He muttered.

"Alright then, we may proceed. Boys, show me what you brought." Reza commanded, gesturing towards his two guards. With stony faces, they each picked up the large cases they had brought and opened them in unison. Within lay cases of top of the line handguns and small explosives. Reza gave a nod of approval. He leaned across the circle to take a further look at the small arms cache, then slid back.

"Let's do this." He said; mainly for effect, Amir noted. But that was the way Reza was. Everything was a charade and everything was an illusion.

He felt a pair of large hands clap down on his shoulders. Amir stiffened, terrified. Then he heard a deep but short laugh from behind. "C'mon kid," Logan said as he began to walk in the direction of the camp. "We got some damage to do."

___________________________

"Holy…. Look Midge, look!" a middle-aged security guard yelled, nudging his sleeping partner. Midge mumbled as she sat up and pulled her graying muddy brown hair back under her beige guard cap.

"What you talkin' bout?" She grumbled, wishing to go back to sleep.

"Look!" He persisted, pointing out into the distance.

Midge leaned forward, squinting off into the distance. Her muddy brown eyes quickly scanned across the darkened horizon, seeing nothing. Then her eyes widened. Small bursts of golden orange light were flying and jumping across the horizon line, just outside of the camp's walls. She turned to her partner. "You don't think…" She began trailing off as her eyes followed the balls of fire as they changed size and appeared to be in the process of being juggled by an invisible juggler.

"Oh yeah I do think," Came her partner's reply as he dialed the phone. "Yeah, this is Ted, down in Sector 2 dash 47. We got on hell of a problem brewin' down here." He declared into the phone. A moment later, he rejoined midge by the window, watching the mysterious tiny blazes.

"They're getting bigger," Midge began to say, but never finished as they just barely saw the fireball that consumed them and the station alive.

_______________________________________

"C'mon already!" John yelled into the darkness. He had been throwing these stupid little fireballs for nearly fifteen minutes already, and had he gotten even a hint of a response? No. Nothing! Not even a damn searchlight.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. No more of this cautious cat and mouse game. With a grin he flipped open his lighter again and poured the fire out into his waiting left hand. He shaped it into a spherical fireball and let it grow. And grow. And grow. And as it did, John's eye's reflected the golden flame as he laughed.

Finally, when the ball of fire had grown beyond all natural sizes, John hurtled it with all his might towards the camp. He watched with a smile as the orange glow from the fire cast a luminous glowing streak across the sky as it peaked and began it's descent. Then, with a sudden speed, the fireball slammed into a small building, with such a force, the building shook and collapsed.

He watched for a moment, admiring his handiwork. And yet, besides the nearby fire of the building, nothing had changed. He was still alone, placed right outside the camp's border, in clear view of any one with the eyes in their head to see. John rolled his eyes before opening his lighter again to grow another ball. Much quicker this time, He hurled the fully-grown ball at the closet thing he could find. He was going to distract these idiots no matter what it took.

Several minutes, and quite a few fireballs later, John was finally able to hear the alarms going off and the whir of helicopter blades in the distance. To this he smiled and poured out another ball.

"Bring it on," He whispered.

________________________________________

"Ja, you ready, missy?" Helga asked with a heavy German accent as she walked up behind Mystique. At the later end of the question, Mystique's yellow eyes narrowed and she fought back the urge to beat the overly buff woman to a pulp. Instead though, she merely turned and through clenched teeth told her companion that yes, she was ready and had been so for the last ten minutes.

Once getting the proper approval, Helga reached a muscular arm over and wrapped it around Mystique's shoulder. At the gesture, Mystique barely had time to stare down at the woman's arm wrapped halfway around her chest in an expression as close to horror as Mystique could get before they were gone.

A half-second later, they were standing in a very sterile looking hallway. The hall was dark, despite the shiny linoleum and stark white and steel interior. The two began walking down the hall with Mystique in the lead when Mystique suddenly turned around to face her follower.

"Why don't you," She began, realizing that she actually had to slightly look upwards to look this beast in the face. "I've got a new plan. Why waste so much of the guy's outside when you can just teleport them inside?" She said as sweetly as she could manage. Helga stared down at her for a moment before nodding. Immediately, she was gone.

Mystique turned and smiled. Too easy, she thought as she began to morph.

A few minutes later, when she passed a doctor clad in a pair of teal blue scrubs, she gave a nod to him. He hurriedly nodded back, distracted. He had no time to converse with the typical twenty-something-new recruit the base got.

As he left, Mystique smiled as she ran her hands down her front, straightening out her new baggy military uniform. And as she passed a short stretch of steel paneling in the hall, she saw her self in her new form. She paused and examined her pale skin and adjusted her hat, then kept on walking.

__________________

Several minutes later, Mystique was siting coolly in the camp's main control room. With a few precise keystrokes, she had disabled the security systems on one screen while monitoring John's tempting of the guards on another. She withdrew a small radio from here pocket and set it to the frequency of the receiver Logan was supposed to be holding.

"Yeah," Came the static reply.

"I sent the teleporter over to let you all in. You better hurry. There's some sort of alert coming from the mutant quadrant." Mystique said simply before shutting off the radio and replacing it in her pocket.

__________________________________

Brian opened his eyes slowly and coughed. He then surveyed his oddly familiar surroundings, with a sense of unease. Though he had seen pictures of the rooms probably hundreds of time and footage from the news and movies, it felt distinctly different to actually be here. Sitting in the desk, heels perched on the dark wood desk.

With a sigh, he slowly put his feet down on the floor a stood up. He turned and looked sadly out the window. Below him stretched out the also oddly familiar stretch of perfect green grass, resembling a mini golf course. His eyes drifted over the bulletproof vest wearing guards that were placed sporadically through out the lawn. To this, he snorted. A lot of good they had done.

With that thought, Brian walked out from behind the desk and walked in to the center of the room. Then, he remembered why he was really here. He could admire the scenery some other time…or then again, perhaps the view wasn't really what it was cracked up to be. He turned back to his desk and hit the intercom button.

"Yes?" A waiting secretary asked cheerfully.

"I need something. It's for an old friend of mine." He said slowly.

"Anything, sir." The secretary said, with a tinge of impatience.

"Ok, I need a gun." Brian said flatly.

"Excuse me sir," The secretary began.

"I don't care what kind. A gun that fires should work."

"Alright, Sir, I'll see what I can do…" The secretary replied.

"Make sure it has bullets." Brian said quickly before switching the intercom switch off. He turned and began to walk around the office, feeling good to be able to freely move around again.

Brian reflected on what Sadira had instructed him. If they didn't change something, everyone on the base plus many more were destined for death. Well, they were certainly changing things around. He withdrew a piece of blank stationary from the desk along with a navy blue fountain pen. Brian gently bit his lip as he began to write.

About half an hour later, he was disturbed by the creaking sound of the office door being opened. His head snapped up.

Cautiously, a young man in a dark suit entered, holding a lacquered black tray. He approached the desk where Brian sat, and set down the tray.

Brian looked up and smiled at him. The man quickly averted his eyes.

Brian turned back to the tray and cast his gaze downwards. On the tray sat a polished revolver, with a small cup of spare bullets next to it. Beside those two items, sat a thin manila envelope. He questioned the many what it contained.

"Your speech, Sir." The man replied quickly.

"Speech?" Brian questioned, with a distinct sinking feeling.

"For tonight, sir." The man replied without hesitation.

"Tonight?" Brian questioned, beginning to feel like a parrot.

The man smiled. "Yes, the televised speech. It's all in there." He said gesturing to the envelope. Brian simply stared. "Is that it, Sir?" The man questioned.

Slowly, Brian nodded.

The man gave a quick, forced smile and a quick bow-like nod. "Glad to be of service, Mr. President."

Brian sat back, considering this speech. This could work to his advantage. He leaned over the desk and picked up the gun. He cradled it gingerly in his fingers, watching his changed reflection amid the gun's contours.

Staring back at him was the middle-aged face of one Peter McIntosh, President of the United States of America.