On the grey cloth seat next to Scott, a large map was unfolded and a singular path was highlighted in yellow. "X's" in blue ink were marked incrementally on the road signifying landmarks passed. As another exit sign flew past, Scott leaned over, quickly found the name, and marked another "X." From all appearances, he was nearly halfway there. From what he could tell, he'd started out in Defiance, Ohio, and he was now well into Pennsylvania.

He'd been driving for five hours, and the sun was starting to go down. His legs were cramping, and he needed to use the bathroom. This is ridiculous, he thought. What am I running from? He'd had plenty of time to think over his actions on the road. Here, away from the confines of the hospital, his plan was beginning to feel a little flawed.

I should be going to the police, not trying to hide from them, right? He asked himself. The answer wasn't as forthcoming as it should have been. His mind had a way of going in circles. Nothing was making too much sense. He had no way of knowing if he'd been captured, if everything was an illusion, or even, given the marvelous and seemingly impossible adventures he'd had, transported to another dimension or reality. In any reality, though, the X-Men had always had less than pleasant relationships with the police. There was no telling what would happen if he walked through the door and started shouting "Kidnapping!"

As a pang of pain swept through his bladder, Scott decided to postpone his debate. For the moment, he needed a break. Speeding down the road, he soon pulled off of the interstate at a rest stop. There were few cars in the large parking lot, and Scott maneuvered his Camry near the compound before shifting the gear into "park." He turned the car off and was once again bombarded by silence. A wave of intense warmth flooded over him and with it a shatteringly powerful wave of fatigue. It was Scott's first day out of the hospital bed in weeks, and his body was suddenly, and powerfully, reminding him.

Scott's head bobbed as he tried to fight the onslaught of lethargy, but it was a futile battle. Finally, his tired hand fumbled beneath his seat, and, pulling the lever, he lowered the back. Almost as soon as he'd closed his eyes, he was asleep.

A stab of pain in his lower stomach wrested Scott from his sleep. Struggling to sit upright, he found the steering wheel with his hands and pulled himself up. He rubbed his eyes under the frames of his scarlet-tinted sunglasses and tried to focus his eyes. Looking around him, the rest area was flooded with overhead lights, but night had set in fully. It was pitch dark. Turning the key to "On," Scott angrily pounded the dash when the digital clock faded to life and displayed the time. 1:30, Scott thought. How could I be so careless and stupid? The engine sprang to life, and he dropped the gearshift into reverse when his bladder warned him that it wasn't going to be ignored any longer.

He leaned forward in the seat, cramping, and finally conceded defeat. His fingers found the door handle, and he grabbed the keys from the ignition and shoved them in his pocket. He considered running, but the resulting "slushing" proved too painful, so he walked with a quick, stiff-legged gait instead. The compound housing the restrooms was rather simple in design—basically just a breezeway with the men's restroom on one side and the ladies' on the other. In the middle, a thin wall held a map of Pennsylvania and the surrounding areas and brochures for local tourist traps. Scott didn't pay much attention, though, as he rushed to the door of the bathroom and finally found release.

While washing his hands, he stared at his image in the mirror. His skin was pale and he looked haggard. His hair was a mess and, looking down, he noticed he was still wearing the sweat pants. He rolled his eyes and decided now was as good a time as any to change. He hurried back to his car. On the way, he passed a young woman, he guessed in her early twenties. Her hair was bleached blond, and she had a good figure—attractive enough, but definitely not Scott's type. She shot him a friendly, but nervous smile, and Scott returned the favor. Her nervousness was not unwarranted. He'd heard rest stops could be dangerous for women traveling alone.

Continuing towards the car, Scott opened the driver's door and climbed in. He could change pants as easily in the car as he could in the bathroom. The parking lot was empty except for his and two other cars. It was unlikely anyone would care. He kicked off his shoes and shucked down the sweat pants. Tossing them aside, he glanced up long enough to see a man walking towards the compound. He was tall and, though he had an obvious gut hanging over his belt, his shoulders were broad and his build solid. He wore a black Steelers jacket and his bald head gleaned back at Scott.

Scott watched the man walk for a few seconds. Something about the way he moved seemed strange… Abandoning the thought, he reached into the seat next to him and grabbed his new pants. They unfolded as the fell towards the floor of the car, and Scott raised his knee to his chest to slide his foot through the pant leg. His eyes glanced upwards just in time to see the bald man turn left, towards the ladies' restroom.

Brow furled as Scott considered the possibilities. He certainly didn't want to rush headlong into a situation. He had no way of knowing the man was doing anything wrong. For all he knew, the woman was a prostitute or a mistress, and the meeting had been arranged. The possibilities were endless. With his naked leg still jammed against steering wheel, Scott stared at the door of the women's restroom.

I don't need this, Scott thought. I have troubles of my own. For all I know, the police could be right behind me. I don't have time for this. It's probably nothing.

The rationale came quickly, and Scott was trying his best to turn his thoughts from the events when a quick, stifled scream rang out.

In an instant, Scott was outside of his car. He jumped into his pants, and pulled them around his waist as he ran, bunching his boxers tightly around his legs. His shoe-less feet slapped the pavement, and he pulled the zipper closed as he rammed the door to the women's restroom open.

The large man was lying on the tiled floor on top of the blond, his massive right hand covering the poor woman's mouth and half of her face. Her eye was already red and purple with the startings of a painful bruise. The man's other hand was up the woman's blouse. Her legs were parted, but her pants were still on.

Scott stood, frozen for an instant. All of the horrible things he'd witnessed in his life as an X-Man did little to compare to the scene before him.

The bald man released the woman's mouth, and she immediately started whimpering and sobbing. Scott heard the clatter of metal against the tile, and when the bald man turned towards him, there was silver pistol in his hand. It must have been lying on the floor next to them.

"You don't know what you just did, Shades," the burly man said.

Scott swallowed hard as the man's thumb slid down the back of the pistol and the sound of a bullet sliding into the gun's chamber echoed on the bathroom walls.