A/N: I don't own X-men. It would be cool to write for them though and get paid. Well if anybody wants to read this and pay me, feel free to! This is just the first chapter, comments would be greatly appreciated!
It was all quiet. Scott Summers had intuition that it was a little too quiet, and he knew that he didn't need to be psychic to feel that something was wrong. He kept his hand close to his visor that covered his eyes; he was ready to shoot at any given moment.
The hallway he slowly crept down was a long stone corridor lined with moist brick walls held up by sturdy arches. Scott felt as if he was walking through the Roman Catacombs or an ancient tunnel. The scent of mold overbearingly serenaded his nostrils and he didn't want to stay in that corridor for long.
"Jean?" He whispered, "Jean where the hell are you?" He knew Jean could hear him. He didn't have to whisper for her to hear him, She could read his thoughts. He just wasn't getting any replies from Jean and weariness was suddenly starting settle over Scott. He needed to find Jean in order to get out of here. He was going to forget about the mission; he was more worried about his life and Jean's. Professor Xavier would just have to understand.
Scott couldn't even remember why he was sent on this mission in the first place. He just couldn't remember; suddenly he just found himself walking down an uncomfortably dark corridor and wondering searching for Jean and it was important that he found her.
"SCOTT!" Jean piercingly shrieked enough to make Scott heart flutter, he turned his head to where the voice was coming from but it was totally silent.
Where are you? Scott thought hoping Jean would hear him.
SCOTT! Scott's head burst with a reply from Jean. He clamped his hands to his head. His temples felt as if they would burst out of his head. He fell to the stone floor crouching in the fetal position to ease the pain.
But then in an instant it all went silent; the pain diminished and the only sound was the dripping of the water from the cracks of the crumbly brick walls.
He slowly arose from his crouching position, his hand was still clamped to his throbbing head. "Jean where are you!" He spat through gritted teeth of pain. His head was hurting so bad that it was hard for him to see straight. Jean wasn't communicating to him anymore, but Scott knew that something was wrong. His head throbbing was evidence to that. He hurried up his pace down the corridor, hoping he'd find a door or another passage way that would lead to where Jean was. Nothing was found.
SCOTT! Her voice filled his head with enough force to knock him to the ground. He yelped in pain and scratch marks we left on his face from his hands clutching his throbbing head.
"Fuck Jean where are you!" His felt as if it was bursting at the seams. He vigorously rubbed his head. He knew something was wrong; something was definitely wrong with Jean. He was feeling her pain. He didn't know how he could free her from her pain; he didn't know where she was. But he knew what was happening to her. She was some how being tortured. He felt it. The pain was unbareable, and he didn't know how much Jean could withstand it. He didn't know how long he was going to withstand it. Her pain was paralyzing; he was blanking out. "Jean…where are…" His words disappeared within him. He laid on the cold damp floor open to anyone.