She opened her eyes blearily, nothing coming in focus for a moment. Slowly she realized she was on her side, and when she tried to get up, she found that there was wood, sheetrock, plaster, and other building materials weighing her down. Her heart contracted and impulsively she rolled over on her side, and to her amazement a bunch of the rubble rolled off, though more was overhead, like an impenetrable canopy. Her arm seemed to catch fire as it was jostled, a fierce pain ripping through it that made her gasp and cringe.
It was dark, so dark she could barely see anything, but she crawled forward, feeling with her hands as she made her way forward, quite frequently things falling on her, the air so thick with dust she had to stop crawling sometimes, coughing violently as she tried to ignore the pain in her arm.
Ahead of her she suddenly saw a small beam of light, faint as if it were night out. Unconsciously she started to fly, off the ground towards the light, finding a hole just barely big enough for her to squeeze out of ahead of her.
Head hammering she managed to pull herself out, crying out as her arm was jostled. But then she was free, flying above what appeared to be a wrecked building in the moonlight, the pale stars above her looking dull somehow. She pulled off her jacket in midair, finding herself unsurprised that she could fly, then looked at the coat curiously. Why would she be wearing a coat when it was so warm out?
Suddenly an even worse question hit her. Where was she? Who was she?
She started searching the pockets frantically, looking for any clues to who she might be. A wallet fell out, and she snatched it with her injured arm before she remembered it, and again the pain was so bad she failed to muffle a cry. But by the dim light of the glowing orb above her, she found what appeared to be a driver's license. The name read "Steph Logan McCoy" and there was a picture by it of a young woman. Was this her? Was she Steph? Must be, if she had the wallet. She could check later for the picture to match.
Suddenly a beam of light shot out of the dark.
"Hello?" called a voice. Steph ducked low and then slowly floated around a pile of debris, then shot down low again, all instincts telling her to remain hidden. Beyond her hiding place there seemed to be a virtual army of flashing lights and shapes cautiously moving around them, at the edge of the ruined building Steph had crawled out of.
Steph gritted her teeth, putting the coat back on and the wallet in the pocket again, then held her injured arm close and shot off, just skimming the wreckage. She didn't want to be caught by whoever was in front of those flashing lights, she didn't know anything right then except that. Right then she had to find someplace, anyplace, to hide.
Steph landed as she reached a street a few miles from where she had woken up, looking around. She recognized nothing, but to her surprise there was no one on the roads at all. She was obviously in a city, shouldn't there be people out, even at night? Ahead of her she saw the only signs of life since the flashing light men, what looked like a bar.
Steph walked closer and then turned away, it looked sketchy at best, she'd find someplace else... when three men rounded the corner down the road, flashlights in their hands and, glittering in the moonlight, guns and clubs at their waists. Steph immediately ducked into an alley, listening as the men walked past, talking in low voices.
"It's not right, keeping the city under curfew," one said.
"It's not right mutants killing the Prime Minister, or the mutants bombing every major government establishment in England," another replied.
"I heard they hit America too," said the third. Steph pressed closer to the wall. If she was a mutant, judging from the tones of these men they wouldn't be too happy if they found her, plus their talk of a curfew told her she was probably out past it, offence enough for a human. It didn't surprise her she had no clue what the men were talking about, it she couldn't remember who she was how would memories of matters like bombings stay in tact?
As soon as she was sure the men had left Steph hurried out of the alley and pulled on the bar's door, surprised to find it open.
As she walked in the heavy smell of smoke and alcohol hit her, making her slightly dizzy and her forehead sting slightly.
"Hey lady, you get mugged?" said a voice. Steph pulled her coat around her tightly and looked up, seeing the few men in the bar looking at her curiously. The bartender spoke again. "Are you alright? Are you still bleeding miss?" Steph's mouth opened.
"Do ya- do ya have a bathroom?" she finally said. The bartender nodded, not taking his eyes off her as he pointed towards the back.
"Second door on your left, you sure you don't need to go to the doctor?" he said. Another man chortled.
"Wouldn't fit her in, too many casualties today," he said, sipping his beer. Steph lowered her head and hurried to the restroom, hearing the word "American" behind her as she found the dingy bathroom and walked in, shutting the door behind her and letting out a long breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. Then she found herself looking in the mirror, and gasped.
The face was that of Steph Logan McCoy, she must be her, it made sense if she shared the portrait and the wallet. But that's not what drew her attention. Running across her forehead was a large gash, blood from it mostly dried and spread across her face, some fresh blood still glinting dull. Steph raised a hand to the wound with her good arm, then quickly turned on the tap and found a towel, carefully wiping away the dried blood.
She looked at herself again, her brown eyes and shocking orange hair, wondering how these features seemed familiar to her but were still so alien.
But now the lights were making her dizzy, and her head was hammering worse than ever while her arm ached. The men in the bar were right, she needed some medical attention.
Walking out she carefully nodded to the bartender.
"Thank ya," she said in a small voice, reaching the door before the bar tender stopped her.
"Wait miss, don't you know about the curfew?" he said. Steph stopped and looked at him. "Just imposed a few hours ago, no one's allowed outside after eight, even with your head like that they'll still throw you into jail."
"Why?" Steph asked.
"Because," the man that had spoken earlier said. "Mutants attacked today, us and your own country. You'll be lucky if you can get home any time soon, miss, they've put all of England in a lock down, the mutants responsible are still bombing places, last I heard."
"I'm in England?" Steph said. Of course, that would explain the accents, and her obvious lack of one. The men stared at her.
"You were hit bad by something," the bartender said. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you need anything?" Steph shook her head, regretting it as her head thumped worse.
"I- no, can I stay here then?" she asked, not wanting to end up jailed when she had no idea who she really was. The bartender nodded.
"We're all stuck here for tonight," he said. "Sit down, you want a coffee?" Steph nodded dumbly and sat in a booth in a corner, a moment later the bartender put a cup in front of her.
"Thank ya," she said, looking at the cup.
"If you need anything else, ask," the bartender said kindly, eyes lingering on her cut before he straightened and left. Steph wondered what she was going to do, stuck here in this awful bar. The men didn't look like too much trouble, but the place scared her, her situation scared her. She may live somewhere in America, but where? Did she have any family? How would she get back if the country she was in, England, was in a lockdown?
Sudden frustration hit her and before she knew it a tear had fallen down her cheek, Hunkering down in the booth as another fell, Steph bowed her head, letting her hair hide her face. This was all wrong, and she knew it. Something big had happened, something to do with the collapsed building where she had woken up, but with no memory, how could she hope for any of it to become any clearer?
"Hank! Hank! Oh my god, Hank where are you?" Jubilee raced down the hall and beat on Hank's door, greeted a moment later by the blue bare-chested man himself, who was yawning.
"My dear Jubilee, you must quite less you wish to wake Sam," he said sleepily. Then he saw the young woman's face. "Why, what has happened?" Jubilee looked ready to cry.
"It's Steph, and the professor," she said. Hank's eyes narrowed.
"What happened, are they alright?" he said. Jubilee shook her head.
"Somethin' happened, like, a whole bunch of attacks all over the capital, an' now they won't let the professor leave," Jubilee said, biting her lip. "And not just here, over in England too, the news said they hit the place Steph was given her speech-" Hank went pale and he hurried back into his room, grabbing the phone, his large back trembling as he dialed the number of Steph's cell phone quickly, almost breaking the phone in his death grip as he waited for her to answer. -Surely nothing has happened to her- he told himself-she'll pick up her phone and assure me she's quite alright... pick up Stephanie, please...-
"Bobby already tried that, hasn't stopped trying either," Jubilee said softly from the door. Hank really did crush the phone at these words, loosing his breath as Sam woke up in her crib near the bed, crying. Automatically Hank walked over and picked his child up, holding her close to comfort her while she snuggled in, quieting quickly.
"Is it still on the news?" he said in a quiet voice.
"Are you joking?" Jubilee said, her eyes wide. "I dunno about the part about Steph- but the rest-" she was cut off as Hank hurried out of the room, and she followed quickly behind.
Down in the recreational room all of the adults had gathered, watching the news in a grim, disbelieving silence as it alternated between pale reporters talking quickly as more recent information came in, then pictures of different collapsed buildings. Everyone turned and looked at Hank as he entered, stopping and staring at the television screen, his jaw slightly hanging open. Sam was looking about cautiously, aware something was amiss but not quite sure of what she huddled in closer to Hank.
"Hank-" Bobby said, getting up, his usually amused face pale, like the others. Hank noticed Scott pacing in the corner with a phone up to his ear, trying to reach the professor. The man stopped when he saw Hank, his face gaunt with worry.
"Wait," Jubilee said softly, and all eyes snapped back to the television with a wreckage of a building on it. The camera was in a helicopter, swinging around as tentative search crews poured over it, the reporter speaking.
"...Was hit, the highly acclaimed University was holding a lecture, given by the becoming well-known mutant activist Steph Logan McCoy." A picture of Steph appeared in the corner of the screen. "More than five hundred students were at the meeting when bombs around the outer wall went off, imploding the entire structure. Still no word of how many are alive as sources report the rescuers are still working, twenty bodies have been recovered so far. McCoy is still missing, though presumed dead." The screen went back to the hassled looking reporter. "We are told England had shut down completely until the mutants responsible are apprehended-"
The X Men stared at the screen, not one of them hearing anything else, until all eyes swept over to Hank. Scott had dropped the phone, his face unreadable as he stared at Hank for some kind of reaction. The blue man looked ready to collapse, blinking rapidly as he sat heavily in an armchair, hands holding Sam to him so tightly she started to whimper.
Jubilee sniffed and buried her head in her hands, and Bobby put a hand on her shoulder, unable to look at Hank, who's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
"I'm going- she didn't-" he said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "I'll go, I'll find her-"
"Hank," Scott said carefully, looking greatly troubled and pained as he spoke, "They said England is not allowing anyone to get in-" he stopped as Hank went slack and fell backwards, staring at the television, his eyes wide as his throat tightened.
"Steph," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.
