"Explain to me what we're doing here again!" Scott shouted above the din. He and Wolverine were crowded in a dank, dim chamber beneath a warehouse. Steel barrels of rocks were oddly stationed here and there, and abandoned tires were piled in the corners. The throng was rough: thick, hairy bikers and red-eyed gangsters hopped up on all kinds of drugs, kids with the wildest hairstyles and piercings Scott had ever seen. Money was exchanging hands in all corners, and everyone was screaming at the ring, a pit in the center of the room resembling a miniscule arena, in which the largest and maddest were set against each other in a ruthless cage fight.

"It ain't pretty, bub," Wolverine's grin was decidedly sly. "But I gotta say, it's my kinda party!" He roughly jostled a sweaty spectator aside to get a better look at the ring.

On the opposite side was a short platform stretching unobtrusively over a portion of the pit. On it stood a heavy, sour-faced man in a white suit, flanked by several menacing-looking bodyguards.

"That's him, ain't it?" Wolverine gestured to the man. "Solomon Teake, the godfather himself?" He smirked at his own joke, but Scott remained passive, studying the man across the ring.

"You're right," Scott answered. "But this place is packed. We'll have to get closer…"

A microphone hung from the ceiling near Teake, but all eyes were on the action below. An agile-looking woman with a twisted tattoo running down her neck and right shoulder and her hair braided into a long, dark whip running down her back was in the ring. At the moment she was delivering a well-placed kick to the chest of a drunken man in a flannel shirt while another grisly-looking man in a leather vest looked on, swinging a chain.

"NO-GOOD MUTIE SCUM!" Someone screamed nearby.

"RIP 'ER A GOOD ONE!"

"BIG MONEY, BIG MONAAAY!"

"GET 'EM! GET 'EM!"

The noise was deafening, and seemed to rise with every spike of action in the ring. Voices peaked when the woman snapped her hair in the face of one of the men, drawing blood. The jostling became rougher and people began jumping up and down in frustration and excitement. The man with the chain threw it violently at the woman's knees, momentarily knocking her off balance, and the audience seemed to swell with bloodlust.

"THATTA BOY! TAKE HER OUT!"

"KILL HER! KILL HER!"

"I ain't played the ponies in ages," Wolverine yelled into Scott's ear. "Didn't Chuckles say that anyone can have a go at fighting a dirty mutant here? Whaddya say?"

Scott recoiled in horror. "That's not funny, Logan."

"I could create a diversion," Wolverine began, cracking his knuckles. "Whatever you need while—"

"The answer is NO." Scott cut him off.

At that moment, the man in the pit swung the chain sharply, catching the woman in the head. She grabbed at her face and stumbled backwards, and the man pounced, finishing her with a shattering blow to the face, and a disgusted kick when she fell, before raising his hands to the joyous audience above.

An indistinguishable door set in the smooth walls of the ring opened and a pair of lanky figures in masks quickly dragged the injured woman and the unconscious man in flannel out of the ring. The victorious man in leather exited slowly after them, taking his time waving to the roaring crowd. Money was flying fast.

"What a dirty fight," Wolverine grumbled. "Two on one. I have half a mind to take down this entire operation tonight."

"Just take it easy, okay?" Scott said. "We're not here to start anything."

Wolverine gritted his teeth in irritation, and at that moment a low, guttural voice boomed over the sound system.

"ESTEEMED PATRONS" it thundered, "OF THIS FINE ESTABLISHMENT!" Wolverine and Scott both looked across the pit to the platform where a smiling Solomon Teake was theatrically addressing the frenzied crowd through the microphone hanging from the ceiling.

"We have saved the BEST FOR LAST! Our next and FINAL warrior is UNDEFEATED CHAMPION of this ring AND…THE MOST DANGEROUS MUTANT ON EARTH! In FACT, I am offering a grand CASH PRIZE of $1,000 and a PERSONALIZED TOUR of this facility to ANY MAN that can best my CHAMPION MUTANT!"

Scott felt Logan's elbow jab enthusiastically into his side, and the roar of the crowd mushroomed in appreciation.


Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Jean's concentration was broken as three armed guards approached the cell across from hers. The man in the lead was carrying chains.

"Guess what time it is?" The lead guard's voice was excited, teasing. "YOU." He addressed the teenaged girl. "No powers. Stand right over there. No talking. Don't move."

The girl did as she was told. The command of the drug in her bloodstream left her powerless to resist the orders, and she could only hang her head submissively as the guards unshielded the cell and entered. They snickered at her and turned to the figure on the cot, which had still not moved.

"You, on the bed." The guard said clearly, a hint of smile in his voice. "Don't move unless I tell you to. Stand up."

Without a word the child obeyed. She rose slowly and turned. Her visage was still empty and expressionless, unchanged and unchanging. Jean noticed yellow and green spots on the young girl's face, old bruises and small dried scabs. The only sign of real expression Jean could detect were the girl's unfriendly gray eyes, which were now fixed on the lead guard, and glaring daggers at him. Her clothes were similar to her teenaged cellmates—gray, ill-fitting, threadbare. She was barefoot, and had short, dishwater-blonde hair that was chopped unevenly with two stubby pigtails poking out from the sides. Jean could feel her pulse quickening in anxiety and recalled old Cinderella movies she'd seen, where the young girl was always dressed in rags and mercilessly abused. That was fiction, though…fairy tales. Right?

"Little shit. Hold out your fucking hands. No more funny stuff, you ugly little mutie." The lead guard ordered the child in a frank and bored tone of voice.

The child dutifully held out her hands and Jean felt her heart drop…both the child's wrists were identically bandaged. A hundred scenarios of horrific torture flooded Jean's imagination, and visions of razors and hunting knives bubbled through her head.

The guard grinned a tight, twisted smile at the young girl. "Got somethin' special for you." Suddenly he didn't sound so bored anymore. He held out a syringe towards the young girl, and chuckled. "A booster!" The other two guards snickered softly.

"Take it," the lead guard said curtly, the laughter dropping abruptly from his voice. "Administer it to yourself, that's an order."

For a moment Jean thought the girl was somehow resisting. Her hands, hanging hopelessly at her sides, quivered uncertainly. Her steel eyes bored bulletholes into the guard's face. But no, she was taking the syringe, she was twisting around to reach her shoulder, she was plunging the needle into her own arm, she was looking the other way, a flicker of sorrow passing across her blank countenance.

"You filthy coward!" Jean shouted at the guards before she even realized what she was doing. "You're sick! SICK!"

The lead guard smirked, snatching the emptied syringe out of the girl's arm. "I suggest you shut the hell up, missy," he drawled, slapping the empty syringe lazily in his palm, and taking a few steps towards Jean and Peter's cell. As he spoke, the guards remaining in the cell began moving, expertly securing a leather collar into place around the child's neck.

The lead guard stopped in front of Jean and Peter's cell shield, gave Jean a long, pointed look up and down, and added, "Maybe come time for your booster, you just might discover how sick I can be."

"You don't TOUCH her," growled Peter lowly, and the guard smiled broadly.

"And just what," he said smoothly, "do you intend to do about it, Robocop? Hit her."

Without warning, Peter turned roughly and did just that. Jean felt her cheek split and staggered backwards, her hand to her face and her mind reeling. "PETER! What---stop it!"

"I am sorry, Jean!" Peter suddenly looked very much like a frightened little boy. He clutched his offending arm and took a tentative step back from the shield door. "I…I cannot help it! He---I had to---"

The lead guard laughed nastily, and guard in the other cell proceeded to shackle the child's hands, snapping manacles over her bandaged wrists. He fastened a steel ring to the center of the cuffs, and the other attending guard attached a chain from the collar to the ring. With this they led her out of the cell, reinforcing the shield behind them.

"Feel free to move again, freak." The lead guard mentioned to the teenager remaining in the cell. "And you two…" he turned to Jean and Peter, "Don't even think about escape. THAT'S an order."

With that, they turned to move down the corridor, cackling openly, the child collared, cuffed, and leashed between the three of them.