Thirty two miles S/SE of Carrizozo, New Mexico
The Blackbird streaked toward its destination; Los Lobos Calamitoso, an abandoned missile base deep in the Chihuahuan desert. A secret defense installation during the Cold War, it now silently baked away in the desert sun, a bleak reminder of simpler times when humans drew lines in the sand based on political agendas and ideological differences. A fitting refuge for the Lost Souls, Spirit Clan of the Neo. Daedelus had called this place home since the day of his birth.
From the air, the installation looked like little more than a handful of abandoned buildings with remnants of a small landing strip. Cyclops brought the Blackbird down to rest smoothly in the desert sand, close to the main cluster of buildings. Beast took a few quick preliminary readings.
"No life forms, other than local fauna. But, I believe the majority of our search will be conducted underground. I am reading a base that runs at least a mile below, both vertically and horizontally."
Cyclops lowered the ramp as the team moved into their positions with a fluid efficency only achieved through years of repetition.
"Bobby." Beast tossed an liter bottle of water at his friend, a long strap fastened to its neck "Zero humidity, 94 degrees and climbing."
"What would I do without you, Hank?" Iceman smiled back, draping the bottle over a shoulder and across his chest. Why am I such an idiot? Bobby asked himself, not for the first time. He knew he would never have remembered to bring it himself, until it was too late to do anything about it. After more than a few harrowing experiences, he should have been more aware. Iceman in the desert - duh - bring water stupid! At some point wasn't there supposed to be an instinct, or something, for self preservation that would remind him of these things? He was still waiting, impatiently, for it to find him.
Wolverine took point, weaving his way between buildings, studying the ground and, sniffing the air to no avail. If there were signs of the attack above ground, they had been scoured clean by six weeks of wind blown sand.
"Cyke, I got nothin'." Wolverine pronounced over the com.
"Beast, do we have an entrance, or do we make one?" Cyclops looked back as Beast and Shadowcat tapped thoughtfully at their scanners.
"Ten yards ahead to the right, there's an energy source." Shadowcat directed.
She led them to a small bunker with solar panels jutting from the roof. Kitty stepped inside, disappearing into the inky shadows. A minute later, the sound of gears grinding to life with a squeal of metal against metal. A blast of stale air erupted from the missile silo, it's bay doors moaning in protest as they painstakingly withdrew from one another in the desert floor.
"I guess we go down." Iceman peered over the edge of the gaping crater, sand cascading around his feet.
Wolverine took the lead, descending a worn steel ladder into the depths below. For all his senses all that came to him were the scents, and sounds, of his teammates. Beast was sweating something fierce in the desert heat. Iceman was mumbling something to himself under his breath. Emma was strung tight as a bow, unrelenting levels of stress hormones saturating the air about her. Cyclops was in full command mode, by the scent of sweat infused with that odd, metallic tang he acquired when leading his team into battle. Shadowcat was putting on her game face, adrenaline just starting to kick her into gear. He reached the ground floor and took up a defensive posture until his teammates were safely grounded.
Beast handed out flashlights before he and Shadowcat began surveying the space, scanners in hand. It was apparent this would be little more than a fact retrieval mission. It quickly became apparent that the base was deserted.
As they tracked through the narrow, corrugated steel tunnels they formulated a clearer picture of how this particular Neo clan lived. What were once conference rooms and offices now served as living quarters cluttered with scraps of salvaged furniture, bits and pieces of personal belongings. Outdated machinery from decades before stood side by side, and in stark contrast to, sleek, cutting edge technology that peaked even Beast's interest. They wound their way through more tunnels and passageways before finally nearing the heart of the installation.
Wolverine was suddenly stopped in his tracks by a familiar odor, it's heavy scent washing through his senses with a faint hint of revulsion. The heavy scent of decay, decomposition. He raised one hand to halt his teammates as he sniffed the air, discerning the possible source. Good, it's not bodies. He lowered his hand, relieved, and continued on.
"Whoever attacked 'em caught 'em at dinnertime." Wolverine reported as they neared a four way intersection. Beast directed them to the right just after Wolverine, following his nose, made the turn. They passed through a mess hall with plates of half eaten food covering the tables, in the kitchen large pots sat on the stoves their contents rotting. The electric burners were still on when the power was cut.
The mess hall led to a short passageway that opened into a large room, cavernous, judging by the echo of their footfalls. Beast and Shadowcat examined a few computer stations and settled at a console, apparently hardwired to its own power source.. In mere minutes they had restored power to the base.
As the lights came up, the Xmen were astounded by the site before them. What had once been the control center for the missile base now resembled a technological holocaust version of a pagan temple. Every wall and ceiling surface was adorned with intricately painted murals of some unknown epic battle. Sculptures made from bits and pieces of metal, wire and plastic, both abstract and eerily realistic in form, lined the walls. Sophisticated electronics blended with arcane artifacts around a central circle painted onto the cracked and faded linoleum tile floor. The entire space permeated by a sweet, herbal scent that still hung thick and lush in the air.
Beast and Shadowcat sat down at facing terminals and began tapping away at the keyboards. The Lost Soul's maintained an extensive computer network, but the main computer core had been dumped to an unspecified server at some point during the battle. It was a desperate fail safe maneuver to protect the system, but the download was incomplete.
"We're going to have to hack it." Shadowcat announced with a sly glance in Beast's direction. The good Doctor returned her look with a smile, taking up her silent challenge. Nothing spurred a hacker on like competition. The pair settled into their seats, attempting to breach what was left of the Neo's protected systems. Cyclops smirked, it was good to see his team enjoying themselves.
"Fan out people. Let's see what we find." Cyclops directed Emma to his right, Iceman and Wolverine flanked to the left.
"Scorching over here, Cyke. Fire fight." Iceman noted as he took a long pull from his bottle of water.
"Here, too." Cyclops confirmed.
Wolverine closed his eyes tight in an effort to wade through the massive overload of scents clinging to this place. Tangled amidst the sweet aroma were lingering traces of dozens of people. Most overwhelmingly pungent, vast quantities of stress hormones that hadn't yet fully dissipated in the stagnant air. The battle was definitely here.
Emma moved to the head of the room, centered her thoughts and, with a small amount of trepidation, preceded to scan the area telepathically. The unexpected psychic static she encountered caused her to wince. A myriad of strong psionic impressions purposely left in the heat of battle volleyed through her mind.
"The Neo had telepaths. Several of them." She put a hand to her temple, attempting to sort through the psychic clutter and focus on the relevant bits of information. The telepaths of this clan left psychic fingerprints even a novice would have been able to detect.
"Any traces of our telepath?" Cyclops regarded her closely, watching for signs of distress.
Emma just barely shook her head, negative. The impressions she was receiving were confusing. The most recent events were, naturally, the most persistent, the most vocal, but there were many other layers of psychic data humming steadily in the background. She focused on the information deeply imbedded in the heart of this place, the focal center of the Lost Soul's faith. They wove a rich, thick tapestry of images that sung to her like a chorus, luring her into their depths.
"I need to see this place in the Astral," Emma pronounced, settling herself into a dusty, overstuffed chair in the middle of the room.
"Cyke." Wolverine called from the other side of the room. He stood in front of a massive statue, nestled into an alcove, its features obscured in shadow. "You gotta see this."
Iceman and Cyclops both joined him just as he raised his flashlight, illuminating the length of the metallic icon. The massive figure bore a crook in one hand, a flail in the other, upon its' head the combined crown of the asp and the vulture, the symbols of Egyptian deities come to rule on earth. And there was no mistaking the countenance. Cyclops went rigid, the fight-or-flight response dumping adrenaline into his system instinctively at the sight.
The gleaming metal statue was of En Sabah Nuhr. The Neo were paying homage to Apocalypse.
The industrial outskirts of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Storm brought the mini jet in from the south, looping it back around from the west. Combined with the low trajectory, the tactic would hopefully mask their arrival to the industrial wastelands languishing north-east of downtown Cheyenne. Vast tracts of cyclone fenced warehouses, belching smoke stacks and steady streams of big rigs hauling freight to and fro painted a dismal landscape; the unseemly underbelly of modern society. Here, in a long abandoned chemical plant astride a defunct strip of railroad, nestled amid the remnants of urban decay, the Shockwave Riders chose to make their clan stronghold.
The Neo boys knew little of this clan. The scant information Domina had provided them did little more than direct the Xmen to their last known whereabouts, colored with some sketchy history. The Shockwave Riders were the largest of the five clans, yet more secretive than even the Stealth Clan. They were known as the Justice Clan of the Neo, though they were no longer regarded as such. Originally the judge, jury and executioners in all interclan disputes, their role quickly devolved into that of interclan messengers, information merchants and hoarders of clan lore as the clans segregated early in their history. By Domina's account, they were paranoid to the point of delusion. Although, now it would seem, they may have been justified.
Storm brought the jet down in the central yard of the complex, camouflaging it amid pipelines, smoke stacks and storage vats. As she lowered the ramp, an acrid breeze wafted into the jet, sending all but Jono into a coughing fit. Their burning lungs protesting the chemical intrusion. Storm immediately called up a stiff wind from the north to whisk the offensive air away.
"Jubilee, scanners, if you please." Storm handed the backpack to the girl as she strode down the ramp, her white locks and cape whipping in the sudden wind.
Jubilee was about to begin complaining but stopped herself short. Storm was trusting her to gather the data for Beast. That would mean she would have to prepare the reports, attend the meetings, help with the analysis and provide the team with her opinions. Slacker, mall rat Jubes grated at the long, mind numbing prospects. But the kid-that-wanted-to-play-grown-up for so long recognized the implications immediately. Only trusted, experienced, members of the team were handed this level of responsibility. The realization finally, fully, dawned on her. Storm had just handed her a promotion. Slowly, she smiled wide and began digging through the pack as she followed her teammates down the ramp.
Storm willed the gusting northerly winds to dissipate, the debris whipped up in its passing fluttered down to litter the ground once more. As her team fanned out behind her, Jubilee was already tapping away at a scanner. The maze like structure of the chemical plant loomed around them like a sleeping, mechanized goliath.
"Gambit, take point. If this clan was as paranoid as the Neo boys would have us believe then there are bound to be some unorthodox security measures in place. Nightcrawler, if you could take the high ground and find us a suitable entrance."
Her team snapped to their tasks. Nightcrawler disappeared in a billow of sulfurous smoke, reappearing high atop the girders of the plant's superstructure. Gambit took to the steel lined walkways adjacent the main building, his crimson eyes warily scanning the path before him. Colossus fell into step with Storm, looking very much like a hired bodyguard and feeling just as useful. Jono hung back, his gaze a million miles away.
"Storm, I'm tryin' here but I'm getting a lot of static. I think there's too much machinery around to get a clear reading on this thing." The frustration was clearly evident in Jubilee's voice. Great, my first time out and I'm blowin' it. Jubilee smacked the side of her scanner in the vague hope it had a wire loose. Or maybe it was just trying to spite her and needed to be taught a lesson.
Storm paused, clearing her thoughts, refocusing her senses. The entire structure hummed with a static electrical charge. She had seen this phenomenon before. The effect could have been caused meteorologically but, more likely, it was a side effect from the use of certain mutant powers. Her shoulders tensed as the unsettling thought coalesced; the amount of power necessary to charge this entire complex was staggering and the implication, foreboding.
"This place is alive with electromagnetic energy." Storm reassured the frustrated girl. "Perhaps we will have better luck once inside. Everyone, stay alert."
Gambit passed his team leader a concerned look. If she felt the need to remind them to keep their eyes open then something had her worried. As always, Storm radiated confidence and determination but also a hint of apprehension. He returned to his task, sharpening his focus, a bit more wary in response to her unexplained reaction. Tense minutes passed as they made their way through the complex.
"Dis is jus' too strange." Gambit stopped up ahead, kneeling down beside a small rift in a metal panel along the wall, his fingers carefully tracing its edges. "Dere be plen'y a nasty surprises wired t' dis place, but dey all rigged de wrong way. Pressure plates, motion sensors, good ol' fashion trip wires. I'm guessin' dey all wired to a central system. But dey all rigged to blow as we leavin'. I ain't even seen so much as a security camera." Gambit looked back to Storm, vexed by his findings.
"The best mousetrap snaps shut after the mouse is already inside." Colossus proclaimed sounding very much like the voice of certain doom.
"Well, if they are wired to a central system, we may be able to disarm them once we are inside." Storm offered the alternative, already knowing it was a longshot at best.
As the team discussed their approach, Jono kicked mindlessly at the dirt under his boots. Staring blankly, he replayed this morning's conversation with Emma in his mind. He still wasn't sure what Emma expected of him.
'ow am I supposed to find somethin' that isn't there? If she can't bloody well find dis bird then 'ow am I supposed to do it? He didn't possess the telepathic disciplines necessary for this mission and Emma was well aware of that fact. Wot de 'ell does she want from me?
As he unsuccessfully tried to make sense of something that seemed so senseless, his pensive stare suddenly snapped into sharp focus. He quirked his head at the realization that the ground was black. And not just filthy black. He spun slowly around in a circle. The steel walkways, the pipes disappearing into the ground, the abandoned vehicles littering the compound, all black. He slowly tilted his head back, eyes scanning upward. The undersides of the overhead walkways, the pipelines, all carbonized by some sort of blast from below. Black streaks feathering up the sides of beams and pipework like soot from a candlewick left burning too long. Spinning again in an exaggerated circle, the troubling evidence seemed to extend in a wide radius that engulfed the entire central yard.
Uh, Storm. Mebbe you wanna take a look at this. Jono mentally alerted his team as he swiped a finger through the powdery black coating along a beam, offering it to Storm for her inspection as his eyes again traveled upward. The team's eyes followed suit, the light of recognition flaring in them. They had seen this before. In the satellite images from this morning's briefing.
"Oh shit." Jubilee mumbled, always the master of understatement.
"Storm" Nightcrawler called over the com. "I found our door."
En route to The Pacific Ocean, eighteen nautical miles SW of Astoria, Oregon
Northstar streaked across the plains of the American heartland, slowing down just enough to enjoy the crystal clear skies and the crisp spring air rolling down from Canada. Chasing the sunrise was always a pleasure in a purely aesthetic sense. The colors were vivid in the dawning light, the landscape racing by below him relatively serene. He left the hanger bay in Westchester fifteen minutes after the jets had departed and he would still be at the Oregon coastline fifteen minutes before the Blackbird reached its destination in New Mexico.
As he closed in on the Cascade Mountains, he slowed to make a pitstop, rechecking his coordinates. Choosing a known landmark, he touched down on the summit of Mount Hood, retrieving the GPS unit from his backpack. The coastline loomed grey and dreary far in the distance.
I knew it was going to be foggy. He mumbled a few curses, as the GPS homed in on his target location. The weather would not aid in his search.
Why the Neo chose a ship to house their clan was still a mystery he couldn't fathom. The Goth were the smallest Neo clan and the boys spoke of them with uncharacteristically solemn respect. They were known as the Sigil Clan. Their secretive, arcane reputation used to instill fear into the hearts of unruly Neo children. Daedelus was the only one to actually meet a Goth, and all he could report was that 'the guy was creepy'. Considering Northstar's growing reputation among the students at the Institute, it was oddly apropos that it was he sent to search for this enigmatic clan.
Moments later, Northstar hovered over the rocky coastline, the ocean waves roaring in their continuous assault on the shore. The search was going to be nearly impossible in this dense curtain of mist. He perched on a high outcropping just off the beach, again checking the GPS, and the time. It was barely 7am Pacific time. The sun wouldn't burn off this layer of fog until almost midday.
He sighed in resignation. The search along the coastline might prove more fruitful until the skies cleared enough for the ocean recon. He took off heading south.
Just as Beast had predicted, he began seeing greasy, foamy trails of flotsam and jetsam clinging to the rocky shores. Scattered pieces of debris bobbed helplessly in the surf as stringy globs of oil lodged among the rocks. He flew in closer, seeing little he could retrieve as evidence.
Just around a pointed jetty emerged a protected, sea worn cove. It's small, secluded stretch of sand proving more promising. He landed high on the tiny beach, a swathe of jetsam hugging the high water line. He kicked through the debris, the sharp odor of diesel fuel fouling the air.
He was about to take to the air again as a glint of something caught his eye. He prodded through more debris with a sneer of disgust as he approached a particularly foul smelling heap draped in broken strands of kelp. From just under the pile, again the glint of something metallic, a small beacon light flashing weakly against the dense tarp. He swallowed hard, the recognition of the offensive odor causing his breath to hitch in his throat. Closing his eyes, he turned his head to the side, inhaling deeply as he prepared himself for the sight that he knew awaited him. He grabbed the edges of the battered fabric and hoisted it aside in one fluid motion.
The stench assaulting his senses was only fractionally worse than the sight. He turned his back, stomach rebelling, threatening to purge its contents. He choked back nausea through pure force of will. When he regained his composure, he steeled his nerves and slowly turned back around.
The sea had not been kind to the corpses that lay, battered and broken, on the sand. The bloated bodies were in various stages of decay, invertebrates feasting on the unexpected bounty. Once again his stomach rebelled and again he forced it into reticent submission. The pair looked to have once been a young woman and, still clutched tightly in her grasp, a child, perhaps five or six years old by the size of the half exposed skull. Tatters of black clothing clung to their bodies and the delicate black patterns that adorned the remains of the young women's arms and half of her face must have been tattoos. Draped at her side lay a metallic canister the size of camp bedroll, a keypad panel of dim green lights in its center, and two halogen beacon lights at either end, blinking tenaciously with their dying breath. It looked very much like this mother and child had given their lives to preserve this simple object.
Again, Northstar clamped his eyes shut, turning his face into the wind, sucking in a deep breath to bolster his flagging resolve. He opened his eyes and quickly reached to unhook the container's strap from its guardian's grasp before his nerve deserted him. The clasp, thankfully, snapped free and he tugged at the canister but the strap snagged somewhere under the corpses. He gave another sharp pull, the strap hesitated but then broke free. With it, the child's head rolled free of the shoulders to land in the wet sand with a sickening 'splat'.
Northstar conceded the battle, his stomach purging its contents violently onto the sand. Tears freely streaming down his face as he heaved over and over again.
Forty miles S/SE of Bridgeport, Alabama
Angel brought the mini jet down on a deforested bluff overlooking an abandoned strip mine. It was the closest, most accessible, landing site to their target location just over two miles away. Just over the bluff, the Tennessee River meandered lazily southward. He reviewed the site map and the satellite photos one more time before moving his team into action.
"This site still shows clear signs of a fight so I want everyone frosty. No slacking." Angel commanded as his team gathered behind him.
"No fair takin' pot shots at Bobby when he ain't here to defend himself, Ange." Rogue quipped with a laugh and a playful smile. Angel whipped around, his annoyed expression clearly stating that he was unamused at the ill timed joke. Her expression immediately soured in response.
"Paige, Rahne, you're on scanners," Angel directed as he turned back to peruse the console one last time. He dropped the aft ramp, his team exiting the craft and assembling at the edge of the bluff.
"Rogue," the moody team leader called over his shoulder. She turned to join him at the head console. This was just a simple recon mission, nothing for him to be so tense about. She slipped a gloved hand past his wing, resting it firmly on his shoulder.
"Warren, what is it? Why you so nervous, hon?"
"Rogue, I want you to keep an eye on Paige." He leveled his voice, trying to make the request sound like a mere directive from her team leader. Rogue wasn't fooled, she shook her head as she deciphered what she believed to be his true intent.
"She's a big girl, more than capable of fendin' for herself in a fight, if it goes that way. She wouldn't be wearin' the 'X' if she couldn't." Usually it was Angel who handed out this speech, or his version of it anyway. How many times had he derided Gambit for being unworthy of the uniform after she pulled the Cajun's fat outta the fire yet again.
He turned to her, eyes almost pleading. "Rogue, I'm team leader. It would be inappropriate for me to show favoritism by hovering over her shoulder. Not to mention, she'd smack me if she caught me doing it. Please, just promise me you'll watch over her?"
She regarded him for a moment then smiled warmly. She kissed her gloved fingertips, transferring the gesture to his cheek. She envied Paige at that moment. "Ah'll take care a her. Ah promise."
"Thank you." He placed a quick peck on the back of her gloved hand, offering her a weak smile.
They joined the team on the bluff overlooking the crumbling remains of the manmade cliff face. It resembled a poorly healed scar, it's edges jagged and frayed, a permanent reminder of a wound that may have healed, but would never truly go away.
"There are cave systems throughout this area. It seems the Stealth Clan literally went underground." Angel began handing out marching orders. " When we reach the site, Cannonball, you'll take point. Your mining experience might come in handy. Everyone else, stay close." He then scooped Husk into his arms, took two long strides and launched off the cliff, his broad white wings catching an updraft as they soared higher. Sam blasted off in close pursuit. Marvel Girl and Rogue looked between each other then to Wolfsbane.
"Ye know I 'ate to fly." Wolfsbane nervously regarded her friends. She knew she would be perfectly safe with either of them, but that still didn't squelch the sinking feeling in her stomach. She turned to Rogue. "C'n I hold on?" The usually ferocious wolf girl looked positively sheepish as she approached.
Rogue smiled wide, turned her back and crouched down a bit. Wolfsbane wrapped herself around her piggy back style and the trio was off to catch up to their teammates.
The short flight along the Tennessee River was pleasant enough, though Angel barely noticed it. He was still troubled by the conflicting information Scott had on these Crimson Pirates. In the Xmen's experience, they were slave traders; cold, ruthless and driven by profit. But the picture Friction painted of his life as one of them was more like the mutant version of Robin of Sherwood. In his world, the Crimson Pirates were known as the Stealth Clan of the Neo, the clan the others turned to when someone had to disappear, or when something hidden needed to be found. They were infiltrators, corporate spies, mutant-powered black ops, the rebuilders of lives and the destroyers of paper trails. Capable of making anyone or anything vanish without a trace. They worked as mercs, thieves and babysitters for Neo run afoul of the law. Their pleasure in life came from proving themselves by taking up and conquering ever bigger and riskier challenges. And when the issue of slave trading was broached, Friction simply continued extolling the virtues of his clan.
There was something about jumping to the rescue of mutants of such dubious intent that made Angel's skin crawl. He tucked the thought away as they approached their destination.
Dense forest sheltered a rocky precipice jutting from the hillside, the time worn entrance of a natural cave blending perfectly into the surroundings. The terrain was most definitely disturbed, massive trees uprooted, others with splintered trunks and still more broken and burnt. The Xmen touched down just outside the cave, the coarse soil crunching under their boots. Footprints scattered in every direction, spent shell casings littered the site in surprising quantities.
As Wolfsbane dropped to the ground, she immediately assumed her feral form, hackles bristling, lips curling into a sneer. Something wasn't right. She sniffed the air and listened intently. Something beyond her senses was alerting her to a danger she couldn't identify. A low growl of frustration escaped her throat as she paced along the tree line, her amber eyes staring deep into the forest trying to identify the source of her irritation.
"Wolfsbane, you have something?" Marvel Girl asked as she telepathically scanned the immediate vicinity for surface thoughts sensing nothing.
"I don't know. I just feel wrong." Wolfsbane resumed her human form, suspiciously eyeing the terrain as she retrieved her scanner.
Husk was already surveying the battle site. "I think this thing is broken. These readings can't be right."
Angel and Marvel Girl hovered over her shoulders. The bio signature readings were off the scale. She took the readings twice more with the same results.
"Can't send a machine to do a Marvel Girl's work." She smirked, centering herself to psionically rescan the area, narrowing her focus, feeling for the rippling energies left in the wake of telepathic energy expenditures. The sensation she was rewarded with was anything but pleasant. She gasped aloud, stumbling back a few paces as she slammed her psychic shields shut.
Rogue rushed to her side but was waved off. "I'm fine. I was looking for a whisper and found a roar." Marvel Girl rubbed lightly at her temple. "If this is Emma's telepath, I can see why she's freaking out." She glanced back to Husk and Angel. "I think you're readings are right. Our telepath was here."
"Angel!" Cannonball beckoned from just inside the cave entrance. As the team leader walked in his direction, the shadowed outlines of machinery came into view. Just inside the shadows, machine gun batteries sat broken and strewn across the rocky floor, discarded toys in a sea of shell casings.
"They weren't foolin' around." Cannonball scratched his head as he looked around. "This is sick." Two cannon sized guns were imbedded in the ceiling of the cave, one with it's barrel exploded, the other crushed in on itself and fused solid. "I got a bad feeling about this."
Husk and Wolfsbane continued their scans, following invisible traces of energy, Rogue lingering just behind them. Husk caught a sudden energy spike from just inside the tree line and bolted off in pursuit of the fleeting reading. Just as she darted out of sight, a sharp yelp echoed off the trees.
Rogue rocketed into the woods only to find Husk on her ass, sunk up to her elbows in mud. The edge of the small crater she was walking along had unexpectedly given way, sending the girl tumbling. Rogue laughed out loud at the blonde's misfortune as Angel streaked to the site, near panic in his eyes. He shot Rogue a hard look as he reached to extract his lover from the mud.
"Are you ok, sugah?" Rogue giggled.
"Paige, are you ok? Do you feel alright? Maybe you should wait back on the jet." Sure Angel was worried about her but this was overkill, even for him.
"Warren, I'm fine. The only thing hurt is my pride." Husk looked at Rogue with a smirk. "Glad to amuse you, 'sugah'." Rogue just giggled even more.
Marvel Girl, Wolfsbane and Cannonball all converged on the site, laughs breaking out all around. But as the teammates bantered back and forth, Marvel Girl began walking the edge of the crater Paige had been mired in. The edges were smooth and regular. The base was a solid flat plain albeit a bit muddy. She hovered just above the depression. It was perfectly round, a matching depression sat just ten feet away. She took to the air, above the treetops . The trees directly behind the depressions were broken and crushed as if under an enormous weight. The pattern imbedded in foliage vaguely resembled a human with arms outstretched. A green and brown snow angel on a gargantuan scale.
Marvel Girl cupped a hand to her mouth as her memories pulled forth an image like a puzzle piece to be fitted into a larger picture presented by the evidence She returned to her teammates, the seriousness of her expression halting their jovial moment. Again, she looked between the depressions, wishing her conclusion was wrong but knowing all too well that it wasn't.
"Sentinels." She half whispered the abhorrent word.