Thanks to Dringer and smearedliner for the reviews!

kmf's stuff: Enjoy ladies and gentleman! Thanks for the reviews!

curt's crap: And it winds down...

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Chapter Eight

She was broken-hearted. She stood there numb, trying to wrap her head round what possibly could have caused all this. She stood listening to the man before the crowd behind his podium, his voice spilling forth his now acidic views on mutants.

Her kind.

Or at least, what she really was.

Not long ago, this man had seemed like a god to her. Warren Worthington had offered something she had wished and longed for more than anything -- a normal life.

And she had come to see what "greatness" a normal life brought: heartache, and a ringside view to sneering distrust and indeed hatred, and to the persecution of those she loved and knew. But could do nothing about it.

Rogue's heart ached because Bobby Drake had left her. She wasn't like him anymore -- she saw what that was code for: You were weak, Rogue. And she couldn't take seeing him and Kitty Pryde happy as clams together. So she had left, running as she always tended to do. And she had ended up here, listening to the poison of a man she had thought was the answer to her prayers, only to come to realise he was the key to her fears.

She felt someone brush rudely by her, but thought nothing of it. It was a large crowd. Her eyes were on Worthington, though his words had become blurred to her.

Then she saw it, a bright red flare or something streaking across the sky. She mused vaguely in the back of her mind tthat it was really rather beautiful...

...And then all hell broke loose.

Screams and shouts erupted. People were panicked, stampeding everywhere.

"Get down! Get down! Get out of the damned way!" She couldn't see the details for the tempest of people about her. An explosion rocked the ground as something impacted with the building Worthington was standing before. Chunks of stone flew out. Rogue turned to try and run, only to be stuck were she was by the sea of people.

The last thing she felt was an explosion of pain as something hard collided with her back.

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John pushed his way through the crowd of humans. Glancing over he noticed Remy throwing down his cards, but was too distracted to care as he jumped up onto the stage and faced Worthington. The man turned to look at him with a strange smile on his face. John didn't even wince at the sight of the burns he'd left him.

"So, you did get my invitation after all. I was wondering if this was just a distraction so you could get to me," Worthington said, watching as John smirked, stepping closer to the old man.

"Yeah, I got your invitation. Decided to take a little field trip with my army... Anyways, now that I've got you're attention, I guess I should finish the job I started," he stated, just as an explosion went off in the background.

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It had all gone pretty close to how they had practised it -- except that the security seemed to have known they were there. But the distraction had worked to a certain extent -- save it had given away Dyna's exact location. A hail of fire from the security men not fooled by her display caught her. She fell to the ground, convulsing. Her eyes lost their blaze and slowly, the convulsions subsided, but she knew what had happened.

She was cured. No longer a mutant.

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"C'mon! Take 'em down! Cover each other! Watch the hell out!" Ian was yelling to the men. He caught a chunk of stone before it landed in a telekinetic field. He focused and shoved it toward the security guards opposing his guys. He caught two of three, but not before one of his own fell. The boy was convulsing upon the ground, changing before everyone.

Fucking cure guns. Ian hated to loose his team this way.

"Guys! To me!" They had taken down a good amount of Worthington's men. Pyro was squaring off with his man. It was time to regroup and back down. Not surrender, just bowing out to fight another day.

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Remy flung a barrage of charged cards at the building behind Worthington. The blast was tremendous. He weaved through the people, easily lost in the chaos. Flying parts of the building rained and slammed down within the crowd. He caught sight of a hapless girl, stuck within the turmoil. She looked out of place, and somehow he knew she wasn't one of Worthington's enthusiasts. He couldn't reach her before a chunk of stone caught her from behind, flinging her hard to the ground. She lay still.

Wincing at what had happened, Remy made his way toward her. She was still breathing. Alive. He hoisted her up into his arms. John was standing before Worthington, invoking images of old western movies. It was just a matter of who would draw first.

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The two were staring at each other, both ready to move at the first sign that the other was. John hadn't glanced away from Worthington since the explosion. In fact, Worthington was the first to look away, glancing over John's shoulder with a smirk on his face.

"John! Mon ami --look out behind you!" he heard Remy yell from somewhere in the crowd. Flicking his flamethrowers on, he turned around and shot fire at the man coming at him, realizing it was Gearson a moment later. The man ducked just as John spun the fire back to himself and turned around, shooting it at an unsuspecting Worthington. The older man didn't duck in time. A ball of fire hit him face first and he dropped to the ground screaming and writhing in pain.

Lighting the flamethrowers again, he turned back around and held a ball of fire up for Gearson to see, bouncing it in one hand. The man stood there, wide-eyed and staring at Worthington, who had stopped moving. He knew the man was dead and looked up into the eyes of his killer, before backing up off the stage. John took one last look at Worthington, before jumping down off the stage and running after his retreating army.

(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)