Author's Note

Originally this was going to be one really long chapter but I decided it would probably be better if I split it up into two. Gives me a nice little cliffhanger to play with. Those are always fun.

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It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear blue with no pesky clouds to block the sun as it poured down on the crowds of people walking the streets of New York. Music mixed with conversation to fill ears with unintelligible chatter while the smoky scent of hotdogs and roasted peanuts drifted through the air. Everywhere people hustled and bustled, usually into each other. Curses were made, threats implied, fists shaken. And then it was over. Too nice a day to be spoiled with physical alterations (or a trip to jail). It was warm, sunny, and—

Boring, Rogue thought as she stood atop a small newspaper stand, her gaze drifting lightly over the lurching numbers. She felt a little bit like she was caught in a zombie movie, surrounded by thousands of shambling, brain dead zombies and every freakin' one of them was a vegetarian. That's not to say she was hoping for some kind of incident—she knew better than that. When you wish for trouble you usually get more than you bargained for. Often in the shape of an enormous mutant hating monster or an ancient mutant with god-like abilities and serious world domination issues. She really didn't need any more of that particular brand of trouble. But what was the point of going on patrol if nothing was going to happen? It was like cruising Mr. Rogers' neighborhood for a cocaine fix.

She sighed and blinked a few times in an attempt to make herself more alert. She was lucky she had managed to get out of the mansion at all. Ever since the incident a few days ago Mr. McCoy had practically been following her around, alternating between poking her with needles and checking her blood pressure. Each time he seemed almost angry that he couldn't find anything wrong with her. And while she appreciated his concern for her welfare, he really needed to start thinking about his own. Because if he wrapped that stupid ass contraption around her arm one more time, she was going to rip his brain out through his nose and devour it in front of him.

Gross, she thought, shaking her head slightly. Never should have agreed to the zombie film festival the night before. But seriously, the added attention was starting to make her blood boil and she was almost certain that if it went on much longer, a blood vessel in her brain was going to explode. Rogue blew out another deep breath, shooting a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She should be happy nothing was going on. It would give her time to think back and try and figure out just what had happened that night. Days later it was just as foggy and unclear as it had been. Of course, she was starting to think she didn't want to remember what had happened. It was as if something was whispering into her ear that she didn't want to know. That whatever the darkness in her memory was hiding would be ugly and terrifying. Unconsciously she flexed her fingers. What she should do is go find that slick-talking, chain-smoking, swamp rat Gambit and beat the truth out of him. It would be both enlightening and satisfying. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was almost positive he had something to do with the missing moments of memory. A scowl twisted her lips at the thought.

Most of the people passing by the newsstand gave little thought to the sight of a tall, lanky girl standing on the roof. In fact, between the grasping hands of the homeless, the jerky movements of the hopelessly addicted, and the constant offerings of colorful, distracting fliers, only a handful of people actually even noticed her. Out of that small group, two teenager boys stood nearby, gazing up in hopeful adoration.

"Ask her something."

"What? No—no way. You ask her something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Ask for…..directions or something."

"Directions to where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere!"

Rogue's head turned slightly so that they could clearly see the annoyed expression on her face. Their hopes died down a bit.

"Uh . . . . maybe we shouldn't bother her."

"Yeah . . . .maybe."

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Back at the mansion Scott sat in a chair down in the basement, his eyes trained on several television screens and his ears turned to the voices of his teammates as they came in over the radio.

"Like, it looks like everything's totally fine here."

Scott squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Where is 'here' Kitty?"

Her fresh face popped up onto one of the television and she gave him a strange look as she peered down into her communicator. "Uh, like aren't you at the mansion Scott?"

He gritted his teeth lightly. "Yes. I meant, where are YOU, Kitty."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm right here."

"Where . . . IS . . . . THAT?"

"Where's what?"

Scott stared at the screen for ten full seconds, and then blinked slowly. "That's terrific Kitty. Come on back to the mansion. Before you hurt yourself," he muttered under his breath.

"I totally heard that."

Instead of answering, Scott cut communications with her and then rammed the palm of his hand against his skull, wishing he could ram it against HER skull.

"Vas dat Kitty?"

Turning his head, Scott saw Kurt as he stepped through the doorway into the room, a mug of something in one blue, furry hand. Scott dragged his hands through his thick brown hair and tried to resist pulling it all out and throwing it onto the floor.

"Unfortunately yes."

"Is she still having trouble vith location?"

Scott pointed at the blank screen with one finger, imaging her face was still displayed there. "People have to WORK to be that stupid. It's unnatural."

Kurt nodded and took a sip of tea. "Vell, ve all have our talents. De professor vanted to know if Rogue has checked in yet?"

Frowning, Scott shifted his attention to the keyboard on the desk in front of him. "Actually, she hasn't." He punched a few of the keys and waited. A moment later, Rogue's face came onto the screen. She squinted slightly and brushed her hair back from her face.

"What?" she asked, sounding bored.

Scott's frown deepened. "What do you mean what? You're supposed to check in."

"Why? Nothin's going on down here."

"Well, I want to know that."

"Did Ah call and say something was going on?" she asked.

"No."

"Well then, you should just assume everything's fine."

Scott rubbed his forehead. "I can't do that Rogue. What if you were attacked and you couldn't call for help? What if something happened and your communicator was broken?"

On screen Rogue tapped a finger against her chin and appeared thoughtful. "You're right, Scott. Sorry." She looked straight into the communicator, her green eyes sharp and serious. "Scott. The city's been overrun with zombie hordes. They're eating brains left and right. Gonna need some backup."

Pushing up out of his chair, Scott slammed his hands down on the desk in surprise. "What? Say again?"

Rogue chuckled. "Ah'm just kiddin'. Nothing's—hold on a sec." She disappeared from view and all they could see was a backdrop of the city. But her voice still came in clear over the line. "You boys lost or something? . . . . The Eiffel Tower? . . . Sugah, you in the wrong country . . . . You feelin' alright? You look a little flushed . . . right . . . . y'all have a good day." There was a bit of shuffling and the sound of two bodies smacking into each other, followed by another of Rogue's chuckles. She came back onto the screen. "Sorry 'bout that. What was Ah saying?"

Fire very nearly shot out of Scott's nose. "Just give me an update."

"Right. Like Ah said, everything's—" she stopped in mid-sentence and her eyes shifted on screen, narrowing as she focused in on something in the distance. "Wait a minute. Ah see somethin'. Ah'll have to call you back." Abruptly her face disappeared from the screen.

"No!" Scott slammed his hands down on the desk again. "Dammit!" He turned to Kurt. "You. Teleport to her coordinates and find out what's going on."

Kurt's only movement was to cock an eyebrow. "You vant me to teleport into a crowd of people? Are you crazy? I could end up vith an arm in my head or something. Not to mention the screaming and trampling that vill go on at de sight of a 'demon'. Forget it."

Scott tapped a finger against the desk. "Fine. We'll take my car."