"My God, Celia, how could you have been so careless?"

Celia squirmed in her chair and looked up at Wesley Dempster, her immediate boss and through some quirk of fate and bad judgment, her ex-husband. They had been working together as husband and wife for five years until both parties realized that the marriage was only a diversion for them. That Wesley had risen to become her superior after their divorce was a source of constant annoyance for Celia; it was almost as if he needed to emphasize the power imbalance that had been present during their brief troubled marriage. He was a handsome man at 42 years old, fashionable and fiercely intelligent. Many of the agents working under him remarked on his cold demeanor and forthright way of speaking, and most wrote it off to arrogance. Celia knew better but out of spite, she did not correct their assumptions.

She cleared her throat and brushed her hair behind her ears. "You know I always bring work home with me," She said calmly. Her voice came out too small in Wesley's huge oak paneled office. Every time she found herself here, she couldn't stop a little voice in the back of her head chanting, this could have been yours. "We're under enough pressure as it is to hand down a report quickly."

He nodded, almost as if he could see her point. Of course, these little concessions were a trick of his. It lulled her into believing he understood her position, when in fact he would silently concede and give nothing away. "We've all been under immense pressure lately," He replied. "And I know you have been pulling extra hours to get through the investigation as soon as possible. But you have to understand how bad this looks. This is a high profile case and a war could possibly be waged on our investigation's findings. Losing an important document like this could be damaging to the department."

Celia met his eyes and she could see he was worried about more than the department's reputation. He was worried that his ex wife will serve him up on a platter out of some skewed need for revenge. Celia had to admit to herself that humiliating Wesley would bring her some measure of satisfaction, but she liked to think that they could both act like adults. Like professionals. "They took my briefcase and my handbag. I would guess that a bum found his way into the building's secure car park and waited until someone left alone. And I'm fine by the way. Thanks for the concern." She pushed her chair back, making sire it scraped over the newly polished floor boards, and stood up. Wesley was already coming around his desk to stop her from leaving, but she held a hand up as he approached.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't…I didn't mean it like that. Damn it, Celia! You know I didn't."

She shook her head. "It's alright, Wesley. This is not the first time you've thought of yourself before anyone else."

"I resent that implication."

"I wasn't implying. I was stating a fact."

His mouth set itself into a hard line and he let out a long breath through his nostrils. She opened the door without looking at him and exited the office before her eyes filled with tears. She stalked down the corridor which led back to her office and tried to let her anger burn through her tears. She did not want Wesley to win. Not this easily. He knew what effect his words would have, and he feigned ignorance when they achieved the desired effect. She did not want him to have even a little victory over her this time. She opened her office door and entered without her secretary, Gina, seeing her. She sat heavily in her chair and rubbed her temples to alleviate the throbbing that had developed before she was summoned to Wesley's office. She shouldn't have been surprised by his behavior; five years of marriage should have taught her that much. She was more surprised by her own reaction. She should have handled the meeting professionally, handled his criticism with the same cool and even tone she used every day on the job. She was so lost in thought that she almost did not hear her phone ringing. Without thinking, she answered. "Your apology is not accepted, Wesley," She snapped into the receiver.

There was a brief silence on the other end, before a vaguely familiar male voice answered her. "Doctor Reece? Did I call at a bad time?"

She frowned. "Who is this?"

"It's Vic Morgan. Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

"Of course, I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere."

"Obviously. Who's Wesley?"

"That would be none of your business, detective."

"If you're going to confuse me with him, I think I should know who this Wesley character is."

She found herself smiling despite her black mood. "Was there something I could help you with, detective Morgan? Or do you randomly call women and harass them like this?"

"That would be telling. I did actually call on a purely professional level. You gave me your card back at the crash site in case I came across any helpful information."

She leaned forward, all pretense of amusement leaving her face. "Yes?"

"Would it be possible to meet some place and talk?"

She gripped her phone and felt her stomach tighten. She wasn't sure if he was baiting her or he actually did have something good. "Sure," She replied. "There's a bar not far from here. Does a mean steak and salad. It's called Cube."

"Yeah, I know the place."

"Say 8 O'clock?"

"No problem. See you then."

Celia replaced the receiver with a smile spreading across her face.



Alex stood up as a holographic 3 dimensional map flickered to life in the middle of the room. It threw colors across the assembled mutants like a huge kaleidoscope. The X-Men and their mentor watched as Alex rotated the image and zoomed in for a more detailed view of a ring-like mountain system that surrounded a city. The tops of the buildings could be seen clawing their way over the mountains in some places. "OK, Genosha 101. What you're looking at here is an aerial view of Genosha's capital. As you can see, it is surrounded on all sides by mountains. These mountain ranges are the first defense the Genoshians have from invasion, and the reason why several neighbouring states will not even attempt what we're about to do."

"Perhaps you could have called this Genosha for Dummies." Hank said dryly. Jean shushed him.

Alex smiled and continued. "Genoshian airspace is restricted, and since the mountains mark the beginning and end of Genosha for the rest of the world; unauthorized aircraft found traveling past will be shot down. Now mostly, commercial airliners do not pass over Genosha for this reason. Several Russian spy planes have been taken down and more US jets than I could count. This is why so little intelligence has been gathered on its military installations. The first hurdle for this mission is getting past the mountains and into Genoshian airspace without detection."

"That will not be a problem," Scott said firmly. "The Blackbird has been fitted with cloaking devices and a stealth mode that renders the plane almost invisible to the naked eye."

Alex looked at his brother for a few moments before speaking. "You'd better hope that they don't pick it up, because you will have no warning before they attack. Military protocol is not their strong point. You probably won't even know they've locked onto you until a missile rips you to shreds."

Logan leaned forward and squinted at the map. "The mountains house cave systems don't they?"

"Numerous cave systems are riddled throughout this area," Alex replied, indicating the areas with a laser pointer. "It is believed the MLF use them evade detection. The Genoshian authorities have encountered many ambushes because the caves have never been fully surveyed, mapped out. The MLF are said to have an intimate knowledge of the mountains and therefore they have the distinct advantage."

Logan nodded, not taking his eyes off the hologram in front of him. Xavier looked at Logan with concern. "What are your thoughts, Logan?"

Doubt etched itself into Logan's brow as he spoke. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. "It's going to be difficult," He said slowly. He rubbed his unshaven chin and stood up, walking around the holograph. He turned to Alex. "Can you alter the view so we can see over the cliffs?"

Alex punched some buttons on a wrist mounted controller and the image pixilated and then came back into focus. The holograph now showed a view of Genosha's capital city from somewhere at the base of the mountains. "The second we deactivate the cloaking shield, which we have to do to land, they will blow us apart." Logan pointed to five metal boxes nestled in a forest of jagged rocks at the entrance to the city. "These are motion-sensor controlled surface to air missiles. They will lock onto us within seconds. Look at the spacing and the angles. We wouldn't stand a chance."

Alex nodded. "That's the first of many obstacles we will encounter when we enter the city proper."

Jean shook her head. "Wonderful."

They fell into silence for a few moments, each pondering the mission ahead of them. Xavier could pick the despairing, the insecurity, and the apprehension. It washed over him like a cold wind. The only one present that showed no discernable emotion, outwardly or inwardly, was Alex Summers, who seemed to sense the mood and snapped off the hologram, plunging them in darkness for a few seconds until the lights in the conference room came back up. "It's not impossible," He said quickly. "It has been done before."

"He's right," Logan said. "It is possible. We will most likely evade detection until we get into the city. But when we're there, we have the Magistrates to worry about."

Cyclops leaned forward. "Maybe I'm missing something, but don't we have to be at a court of law to go against a Magistrate?"

Logan and Alex exchanged amused looks and Alex shook his head "Not in Genosha. The Magistrates are an elite unit of 'protectors' that roam the streets in highly organized patrols. They are skilled, highly trained and armed to the teeth. Rarely would you come across a more dangerous bunch of zealots. They have the powers of police officers, but their arrests are usually carried out in the most aggressive, deadly ways. Usually mutants are dragged back to the jail cells dead or dying. They were set up with the sole purpose of dealing with mutant insurgents, particularly the MLF. We don't know how well manned the Magistrate division is, but we do know that they are a force to be reckoned with."

Xavier nodded. "Thankyou, Alex. That was most informative." The lights came up and they sat in silence for a few moments. "The information that you gathered is the most comprehensive I've seen," Xavier said, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Am I right in assuming they gave you this role because you have first hand knowledge of the situation in Genosha?"

Alex ducked his head and met Xavier's eyes across the room. His blue eyes shimmered and danced for a moment. Xavier did not want to probe the young man's mind for the information; the empathic wave that washed over him was enough. "I have seen it, you're quite correct."

Logan cocked his head to the side, eyebrows knit. "You got out alive." Logan's tone was one of awe, hushed and with an upwards lift to the last word, as if he was unsure if he should have asked a question. The haunted look in Alex Summers' eyes Logan had seen in survivors before, and that look also stared back at himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, I got out alive. One of the few."



Morgan was already seated at the polished chrome and neon lighted bar when Celia entered. She had rushed home from work to lightly apply some makeup and change her clothes, and she felt slightly self conscious as he looked up from his drink and waved her over. Her high heels clicked on the polished marble floor as she walked hesitantly towards the bar. She forced a smile onto her lips and slipped onto the bar stool beside him. "I'm sorry I'm late," She said softly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"No problem. The table isn't ready anyway," He replied with a crooked smile. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt, no tie, under a grey sports jacket and matching pants. Celia looked down at her flowing champagne coloured dress with too-expensive high heeled shoes and felt a fool for over dressing. The truth of it was she very rarely got the chance to dress up, preferring instead her conservative work wardrobe to the feminine excesses that her mother and sister chose.

Morgan swirled his drink once, and sipped. She noticed this as a practiced movement for him; he was self consciously trying not to knock back his gin. "What are you drinking?" He asked.

"Oh, a mineral water will be fine," She said.

"In a pig's eye. After the day you've had, you can have a martini and like it." He waved the bartender over and ordered for her, slapping a twenty down on the bar before she could go rummaging in her handbag to retrieve her purse.

Celia raised an eyebrow at him. "And just how would you know what sort of day I've had?"

He shrugged and took another measured sip. "You know police are terrible gossips. How's the head?"

"Better, thankyou."

"Good to hear. And the passenger manifest that was in your bag?"

She paused before responding. She had deftly sidestepped the issue of the contents of her stolen briefcase when a uniformed officer came to question her. She was vague about the contents, simply stating that it held "important documents." She was impressed that Morgan had put two and two together. The bartender placed the martini glass in front of her, and she raised her glass to him. "I expect if whoever took it realize what they've got, I may be able to buy it back on EBay."

He chuckled and raised his glass, too. "Here's to the commerce of death on a massive scale. If you're close enough to a tragedy, you can sell shrapnel on the internet to the highest bidder!" They clinked their glasses and Celia sipped her drink, realizing as the alcohol hit the back of her throat that she needed it sorely.

She stared into the martini glass and shuddered. "I just hope it doesn't become public knowledge. I don't think I could stand having my professional responsibility questioned in the mainstream media."

He smiled, but the humour in his smile was only slight. Something danced in his eyes then, so quickly that Celia almost missed it. "Try joining the police force."

A waiter approached them, menus in hand, and informed them that their table was ready. They followed him into the restaurant and once they were seated, Celia picked up the thread that he had so tantalizingly dangled in front of her. "You're speaking from experience?"

He looked up from his menu with a slight frown. "Hm? Oh, it's an occupational hazard I'm afraid. You grow to expect being dragged over the coals by journalists, especially if you land a really big case. The higher profile, the bigger the target." He sipped his drink and wet his lips. "I had a case a few years back. Serial killer stalking male prostitutes in the city. It took us a while to realize that the deaths were connected, but in a city this size, a dead rent boy is not cause for concern. Happens every day. But this guy, we think he killed at least seven young men before we were able to work it all out. I was assigned to head up a team to find the guy, and I had the gay rights groups screaming that I wasn't doing enough, the mainstream media all but calling me and my detectives incompetent. We had the victims' families suddenly weeping for the boys they wrote off as worthless fairies on the front page of every major daily. They were grabbing sound bytes on the evening news, on Donahue, even on Larry King Live."

"I can't imagine what that must have been like for you."

Morgan shrugged. "All I was concerned about was finding the animal that was killing these kids."

Celia remembered reading something about the case he was speaking about. "You never found him." It was a statement. She looked eyes with him across the table, and his eyes flashed with that same ripple of emotion she had glimpsed before.

He gulped the rest of his drink down and shook his head. "I never did. We kept the case open for a good year after the last of the known killings, but this guy just slipped through the cracks. He could be still out there, still doing it, but there's no way of knowing. He could have developed a more sophisticated way of hunting; of disposing of the bodies…He could have killed himself. That was the popular theory among my team."

"What do you think?"

He shrugged again. "I haven't thought about it for a long, long time. I think about it sometimes still, when I have nothing else trying to elbow it out of my head. My gut tells me he's still around, flying below our radars, thinking and knowing that he got away with murder. That man became my white whale."

Celia nodded. She knew his frustration intimately. There were cases in her career that still went unsolved, and she was similarly haunted by them. The prospect of a nameless, faceless monster getting away with such atrocities made her physically ill. She had avoided the professional trap that ensnared Morgan, however. She resisted turning each unsolved case into a personal crusade. She gave every case her all and when that wasn't good enough, and the authorities and media gave up, she walked away. There was little more that could be done when all the grieving was over and anger no longer carried her forward.

They ordered another round of drinks and when the waiter was out of earshot, Celia leaned forward. "You said you had something to tell me about the case," She said.

He looked up from his menu and nodded. "You asked me to call if I remembered anything unusual about the day. Anything that could have relevance to the investigation."

"Yes?" She prompted, not wanted to sound pushy but knowing her voice was betraying her.

Morgan sighed and ran a hand over his face. "OK, this could be nothing, but when I was in my car driving away from Newhope in the minutes before the crash, something actually fell from the sky and landed on the hood of my car. I didn't pay it any mind at the time, because it was an ordinary thing…Well, when you're talking about things that fall out of the sky…"

She nodded impatiently. "And?"

Her sat back and reached into his coat pocket, then slowly produced a huge white feather. At first Celia thought she was looking at an eagle feather, but she then realized that it couldn't be. The thing was well over 30 inches long. She reached across the table and took it from Morgan's hand. "This fell onto your hood?" She asked quietly, meeting his eyes over the edge of the huge feather.

"That's what I just said," He replied. "And it struck me as odd. Like I said, it could mean nothing, but this is unlike any feather that I've ever seen. I don't know much about birds, but this either came from a giant, or…"

"Or something that may have fallen from the plane," She said, her voice still a monotone. "Have you spoken to any of my crash investigators, detective Morgan?"

He sat back and frowned, shook his head. "I haven't had the time. I was interviewed by the FBI, as you'll recall, but I didn't tell them about the feather."

She put the feather on the table between them and the waiter returned with their drinks and enquired whether they would like to order. They ordered quickly, almost absent mindedly, and when he receded into the white noise of the restaurant, they locked eyes again. Morgan was trying to discern her mood and Celia was trying to frame the right words in her head. "We've found several of these feathers strewn about the wreckage, in the rotors of the engines. We have been baffled by them for some time. Some of my investigators like the idea of a freak bird flying into one of the turbines, but I don't like the chances of that being the reality. At this point, only those close to the investigation have this knowledge. Now you produce this feather and say it fell onto your hood just minutes before the crash."

Morgan nodded. "So it was significant?"

She was guarded in her response. "I think it's an important piece of evidence, and certainly a very strange one."

They sipped their drinks and did not look at each other for a few moments, letting the noise around them fill the gap that the absence of a conversation had left between them. They were both contemplating the whys of the situation. Morgan had considered the finding of the feather a triviality-a rare specimen, yes-but no more than that. "So what could this mean?" He asked.

Celia frowned. "I think I need to talk this over with a colleague of mine. He's a veteran, someone who's seen it all. Once all the data is in, he'll help me collate it and from there we can draw up a clear story of what happened to flight 706."

"But you don't have that time."

Celia's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance; no more than a slight crease of her brow and a pout of her mouth, but it was enough for Morgan to know his words were redundant because Celia had been telling herself that all along. "I know," She said at last. "God help me, I know."