Interlude
Forge sat at his work station, un-blinking as he stared hard at the screen in front of him. …There was something wrong. Defiantly. He could almost reach out and touch this tangible mistake.

Taking a moment to yawn deeply, he reached out and grabbed the calculator beside him as he started to go through the calculations.

After about forty minutes of staring at the screen he turned instead to stare at the calculator in shock. It had to be wrong.

Blinking several times to clear his eyes, he looked at the calculator again.

A one. A single one. He had forgotten to carry the damnable one.

Sighing deeply, he wished for the millionth time that he was back at home, the X-Men around him, bugging him for his attention into such matters as a broken toaster or crossed wire. He would hate it, but compared to this…

The door opened, but he didn't turn around to look and see who had entered behind him. Loud, heavy footsteps with a purpose… Magneto.

"Hello, Sir," Forge muttered, his voice soft and pained due to screaming.

The whole 'try and blow up the base with a bomb smaller then your average toaster' laptop hadn't been his best idea ever. Hell, it had turned out worse then the mishap with the one. And he had gotten good and punished for it too- electrocution this time.

Though, admittedly, it was better then being locked in an empty room with no light, for a week. Electrocution you could heal from- talking to yourself and your inner demons was a little harder to get over.

"How's the programming going?" Magneto asked simply.

"Right now, they aren't going to attack mutants specifically when turned on, but they wont specifically go after un-evolved humans either. They'll go after anybody. I just have to alter the programming a little more so they leave mutants alone."

"And that's it?"

"Then I have to rebuild one of the legs I used for the bomb- but other then that, they'll be ready."

"Good." Magneto replied, "You hurry up on that."

This time Forge turned, watching as Magneto walked out of the room. The door slamming behind him with a resounding clang. Yawning once more, he looked up at the clock. 32 hours with no sleep.

He wanted to feel guilty about what he was doing here, but he was too tired for even that now.

To be Continued