Walter Royce was a man of sixty-five years. He had been witness to the entire second half of the twentieth century, a fact he accepted with quite a bit of mirth. One story he was very fond of telling was of a driving trip with his own father and hearing a new song from a then-unknown singer by the name of Elvis Presley. Upon hearing his name, Walter remarked aloud, "Well, he'll never go far with a name like that." Of course, Walter had also seen the future in computers and cell phones long before either became culturally pervasive. His first real career had been that of a teacher at a private school for gifted children. He had enjoyed the job thoroughly, however, after twelve years he had abruptly quit, enrolling in seminary school and earning a Doctorate of Ministry. He had found the dogma of the Unitarian Universalists to be exactly what he was searching for, and had been preaching ever since. He was not without his vices, however, often enjoying a glass of Scotch Whiskey while writing sermons. He had married only once, to a woman named Catherine Hall, for close to thirty years. Catherine was a fifty-nine year old social worker who helped women and men deal with sexual assault, a job she loved despite its overwhelming emotional toll. Neither of these occupations was overly lavish when it came to pay, however it had allowed the two to purchase a modest one-story bungalow in the Northern California suburb, where they had lived for almost as long as their marriage. There was only one dark side to their marriage, and that was Catherine's inability to have children. They had tried for years with absolutely no luck, and they had given up almost all hope when they, by some fluke, happened to be at the same social function Father Allen Barker, a priest who often volunteered his time at the same shelter that Catherine sent many of her clients who were in danger. Father Barker had recently taken in an abandoned child that was left in front of his church. Nineteen years from that night, and Walter was currently watching that abandoned child, now his daughter, as she slept on the couch, a Playstation controller next to her head and her paused video game still glowing on the television screen.

"TJ, time to wake up," The only sign of movement from the blue-skinned girl was the sluggish exhale of breath. Walter's bearded lips, gray with only the slightest brown left, contorted into a cross between a smile and a grimace, both amused and annoyed at TJ's complete lack of motivation. "Come on, you don't get to sleep late just because you were playing video games all night." Her pointed tail twitched as TJ slowly, lazily lifted her head, her mouth opening as wide as possible in a large yawn before she repositioned herself on the couch, now laying on her back and staring at her adoptive father with heavy yellow eyes.

"What time is it?" She asked after several seconds, her dark blue-black hair mussed from sleep. TJ's mutations were physical as well as genetic. She possessed three fingers on each hand and two toes on each foot, rather than the five that most were born with. Her skin was blue, along with her hair, and she also had a long, thin tail, the same shade of blue as the rest of her with a sharp point at the end. Despite this unique, almost demonic look, Talia was a beautiful girl, her odd physiology only adding to her allure.

"I'll tell you what time it is, it's time to get up," Walter announced in a voice that, to someone who had just entered consciousness a few seconds earlier, could lightly be described as annoying. Walter smiled, clutching his cup of coffee as he settled into a Cherry wood rocking chair across from the couch. Noticing the steaming cup of brown liquid in her father's hand, she bolted into an upright sitting position.

"Coffee? Kitchen?" Her father just smiled.

"Go get a cup; we can talk once you're awake." Talia leapt from the couch and bolted down the short hallway that led towards the kitchen, leaving her father sitting alone in the living room. He stood, gazing out the front bay window with which the couch lay flush.

"Morning, Mom." Talia kissed her mother on the cheek before trotting over to the black coffeemaker and, pulling the clear glass pot out from its hotplate, filling a red ceramic mug to near the brim with dark, steaming liquid before replacing the pot under the drip, mixing three packets of sugar in with the coffee.

"So, Talia, how late were you up last night?" Catherine asked once Talia had sat down at the kitchen table.

"Not that late." She muttered, staring into her cup. Her mother gained a small, knowing smirk, peering over her bifocals as Walter walked into the room.

"Right. And do you work today?"

"Not until three. I've got plenty of time." She leaned back into her chair, clearly content with her unplanned plan, taking in a large gulp of coffee. A worried glance passed between Walter and Catherine.

"If I were you, Talia, I wouldn't sound so proud of that," Walter frowned over his glasses, a look Talia merely ignored before taking another sip of coffee. "Now, would you like some breakfast? There's some bacon and eggs left."

"Actually, I was going to head over to Jeanette's place before work, unless you need me around here." admitted Talia, referring to her best friend since high school.

"Well, I have work, so that's my day's plan. I'm not sure what your father has planned," mentioned Catherine, shooting another smile at her husband. "Do you have anything big planned for the day?"

"Me? No, I haven't got anything on my plate," said Walter, sitting flush with the back of the chair, a position that eased discomfort on his spine, a problem that had plagued him since his mid-fifties. "I did want to see if I could spray the bees under the awnings again; I'm pretty sure I didn't get the whole hive last week." Talia gulped down the rest of her coffee, savoring the hot, bitter taste.

"Well, alright, guess I'll take a shower, then, "Talia tucked a lock of tangled blue hair behind her ear before rising from her chair, strutting off in the direction of her bedroom with her tail swishing behind her the entire time.

"Well, Cathie, more coffee?" Catherine crossed her arms on the table and sighed before answering.

"Sure. I've got an early meeting, and I could use all the caffeine I can get." Walter obliged, picking up both coffee mugs from the finished bleached oak tabletop, filling them with the last of the coffee. Cathie took a sip of her black coffee before turning to face Walter.

"Are you going to talk to her?" Walter grimaced.

"I've tried, but everytime I do, she just shoots the argument down. It's almost like she lost all motivation the minute she graduated high school."

"Well, it's unacceptable, a straight-A student working part-time in some record shop."

"I have a tvin sister? Since vhen? Vhy haven't I met her?" Kurt was incredulous at the discovery Scott and Wanda had made in Mystique's bedroom. Those three, plus Xavier, were gathered in his office, the two baby pictures laying face up in front of the professor.

"I am curious about that as well, Kurt. Wanda, you're positive this girl has never been in the brotherhood house?"

"The only blue person ever in that house was Mystique, and she's not big on guests." Wanda had barely finished her statement, however, when Kurt shouted out.

"Are you positive, Vanda? Maybe Mystique found her an image inducer, like mine?"

"I'm positive, Wagner! Why the hell would I say I hadn't seen her unless I hadn't seen her?!" Wanda shouted back, her face only inches from Kurt's. Scott watched the exchange with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Professor, you should be able to find her on Cerebro, right?" The professor leaned back into his wheelchair, clutching his chin with a single hand.

"Theoretically, yes. However, it is entirely possible that Mystique has taken the steps to shield the girl from any telepathic intrusion. If that is the case, then I'm not sure what we'll do." Xavier explained, directing the last of his statement towards Kurt, whose dour expression fell even more, if such a thing was even possible.

"Professor, zhere has to be a vay to find her." Kurt pleaded, desperate to try and connect as much of his natural family as possible.

"I am not going to give up without trying, Kurt. If your sister," the professor checked the photo again, making sure of the name written. "Talia, uses her powers even once, I will know about it. I'm going to use the X-gene signatures of both you and Mystique as a guide," The professor hit the lever on the arm of his chair, the motor humming to life as he wheeled around from behind the desk. "Scott, I'm going to leave you and Logan in charge while I am in Cerebro. I would prefer you only to interrupt me in case of a dire emergency," The three mutants followed Charles out the door of his office, the sounds of their walking muffled by the oriental carpeting, only the whirring of the motor audible. Logan waited just outside the door, his arms crossed across his barrel of a chest. "Logan, I see you received my telepathic message."

"Loud and clear like always, Chuck. So what's so important you gotta leave me and slim in charge of these rugrats?" Logan shot a lopsided grin through the toothpick clenched in his teeth, a small, ineffective substitution for the cigars he usually smoked but were disallowed inside.

"A peculiar discovery made by Scott and Wanda at the brotherhood house. It appears Kurt has a twin sister; however, her whereabouts are currently unknown." Logan plucked the damp piece of wood from between his incisors.

"And you ain't seen him, Witch?" Wanda's eyes narrowed menacingly at this comment.

"For the last time, no! Are you this distrusting of everyone, or did you just save it for me?"

"Nah, I got some for the Cajun, too." Logan quipped in a monotone, not missing a single beat.

"Logan, Wanda, please," Charles interrupted. "Wanda has said no one matching the girl's description has been in the brotherhood house, and I believe her. Right now, any hope of locating the girl lies with Cerebro, which is where I am heading. Try not to assign too many Danger Room sessions in my absence, Logan." Charles grinned and Logan returned in kind.

"Hey, it ain't my fault these kids are soft. All I'm doing is helpin' em out a bit."

"Be that as it may, many of them are still enrolled in school." The professor looked as though he was going to continue, however Logan merely waved off the comment.

"I got ya loud and clear, Chuck."

"Wait, how long are you planning to be in there, professor?" The professor was already wheeling towards the elevator, but he spoke over his shoulder.

"For the rest of the night at least, Scott." The four watched as the professor's seated form retreated down the hall until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight entirely. Kurt simply teleported away in a cloud of dark smoke and foul sulfur, obviously too wrapped in the information he'd just received to engage in any conversation. Even Wanda didn't question his abrupt departure. Scott was the first to speak.

"Uh, Logan, have you seen Rogue anywhere?"

"Not since lunch, but I'd say find the spot a far from the Cajun as she can get without actually leaving the mansion."

"Remy's looking for her?"

"That's what my gut says. I'm goin' outside for a smoke, ya want one?"

"Uh, no thanks, Logan. You enjoy." Logan shrugged his eyebrows, flicking his gnawed toothpick at the nearest trashcan.

"Suit yerself, slim." With that, Logan stalked off in the direction of the nearest door leading to the outside, leaving Wanda and Scott alone, staring awkwardly at each other.

"Um, I guess I'm going to go find Rogue. Uh, see you." Scott stammered before walking off, leaving Wanda alone with nothing to do.

"Time was I could torture Toad whenever I was bored," Wanda sighed. "I hope there's something good on TV."

Talia stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel before quickly running across the hall to her room, shutting the door behind her. Her bedroom reflected her somewhat unmotivated nature, no part more so than her bed. The sheets merely lay on the bare mattress in a pile, the naked pillow propped against the wall. A laptop was laid next to the cream-colored mattress, covered in stickers from her favorite bands, mostly classic rock bands. Posters dotted the unpainted walls, all attached with either duct tape or thumbtacks, and quite a few were crooked. The closet doors lay open, revealing a state of the art stereo system, designed to play CDs, vinyl records, and cassettes. The shelf unit it stood on was filled to bursting with albums on all three formats, and CD cases lay scattered about the room. Several articles of clothing hung loose on plastic hangers; however, most of her clothing was either hung over the backs of one of the chairs that stood about the room, and shoes dotted the floor like small land mines. A full length mirror stood next to a long, squat bookcase overfilled more so than the shelves that held her music. This two-tiered shelf unit held books ranging from classic fiction to biographies to non-fiction, and even two dictionaries.

Approaching the mirror, she pulled a comb through her lengthy hair several times until it hung loose around her face, framing it well. She had no makeup, seeing no real reason to wear any, figuring years ago that it probably wouldn't show up on her skin anyway. After pulling on a pair of underwear and a bra, she threw on the T-shirt that was closest to her before sliding on a pair of jeans, drawing her tail through a hole she had made specifically for her extra appendage. Bending over to find a pair of shoes to wear and some clean socks, she felt something hit her tail. Brushing it off, she resumed her search, only to feel something smack it again. Annoyed, Talia turned around to find a small grey tabby cat, its eyes following the swishing tail. The cat attempted to dart at its prey, however, Talia scooped the tiny mammal up, grasping it under its front legs.

"My tail is not your toy, Imp. We have discussed this," Imp was a two year old stray Talia's mother had found wandering behind the house as a kitten. The creature was filthy, caked in mud and festering with fleas and ear mites. It intrigued Talia at times, the way both her and this cat had been taken in after being abandoned by their respective parents. However, right now, this kitten was finding the closed widow to the right more interesting than the person clutching him. Talia sighed, "You don't even know what I'm saying, do you?" Talia walked over to the door, letting the cat down in the hallway before shutting the door again.

Once she had managed to locate a pair of socks and shoes, Talia dug next to her bed, coming up with a black cell phone and dialing the number for Jeanette.

"Hey Tj," came a female voice after three rings.

"Hey, Jeanette, do you still want me to head over?"

"Of course, dude. When don't we want you over here?" Tj snickered before answering.

"Usually when you and your boyfriend are feeling frisky." She teased, referring to Jeanette and George, who, despite sleeping together several times, had yet to admit their feelings for each other, at least according to Tj.

"Or when you refer to him like that," Jeanette said, annoyed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Right, you just go to the movies, and dinner-"

"Once!"

"Admit you like him and I'll leave you alone."

"Drop the subject and I'll give back your copy of The Big Lebowski."

"You said two days ago you didn't have that!"

"You left it over here last Saturday after the party, and now I'm holding it hostage." Tj glared into the phone, despite knowing that her friend could not see it. However, she was certain that her friend was as smug as ever.

"Fine." Jeanette laughed.

"Oh, come on Tj, don't pout. Are you heading over now, or what?"

"Yea, but I've got work today, so I can't be there all day."

"Hey, that's cool. I'll see you in a few."

"See ya." Hitting the red End Call button on the phone, Talia dropped the electronic in her purse before grabbing the long strap off the doorknob and slipping it over her shoulder. She exited her room, but left the door gaping open, as if to display the state of disarray. She turned, almost smacking straight into her father, both making exclaimed noises.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"Waiting for you. I was going to see if you wanted a ride to your friend's house."

"Oh, that's ok. It's not that far. I don't want you to waste all that gas just to drive me a few blocks." Her father merely waved that off, walking over to the front door and grabbing his car keys from their hook.

"It's not wasting gas; I have a few errands to run anyway." Tj sighed, figuring out her father's ulterior motive in an instant.

"We're having another talk, aren't we?" Walter smiled.

"Got it in one. Come on, get in the car."

Rogue brushed a stray lock of white hair behind her ear for what felt like the thousandth time before turning back to her book. With no missions, she was left with little else to do but catch up on her reading. However, her solitude was about to be interrupted, something that, while a frequent occurrence around the mansion, was still something that irritated Rogue every time it happened. She heard soft steps plod into the room, but she kept her focus on the dog-eared copy of the Books of Blood lying in her lap.

"Bonjour." It was a simple greeting, but the accent, the voice, and Rogue knew there was only one person that could be in the room with her.

"What tha hell do ya want?" She refused to take her eyes off the lines on the page.

"Moi? Not a t'ing. ' was just wonderin how yi been." His voice was calm, almost milquetoast, and he was keeping his distance, leaning against a window frame about ten feet from Rogue. He was acting nothing like the arrogant, confident man who had kidnapped her. It made her curious, curious enough to draw attention away from Clive Barker and towards this intruder.

"Ah've been fahne, though Ah am trayin ta read hehre." Rogue's answer was short, and she held up the book with one hand, her thumb acting as a bookmark. Remy acknowledged this with a curt nod of his head. Rogue turned her attention back to her book, only to be interrupted again.

"Ain't read anyt'ing by him. He a good aut'or?"

"Are ya hehre fohr a reason? Ohr did ya just feel lahke annoyin' meh?" Rogue shouted, slamming the book down on her lap. Remy's eyes widened momentarily, and, immediately afterwards, his mouth opened for several seconds, but no words came out, as though he was debating whether the thoughts in his head would be worth the breath necessary to say them.

"Ne'ermind, chere. T'ain't 'mportant." Pushing himself off the widow frame with his own shoulder, Remy walked out of the library with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and quick steps. With an angry sigh, Rogue redirected her attention to her book.

"Yi still got de Queen o' hearts? Dat card I gve yi?" Again, Rogue was jolted out of her imagination.

"What? No, Ah tossed thaht as soon as Ah gohht outta thaht gawd-forsaken swamp ya cahll a home." Rogue poured as much anger as she could into that sentence, in the hopes that it would chase Remy out of the room as quickly as possible. However, when she made eye contact with him, he actually had the slightest hints of a grin on his face.

"Figured as much. Silly a me ti even ask." That, and he was gone. Rogue stared at the empty doorway for several seconds, confused, before turning back to her book, figuring that whatever Remy had meant, it wasn't worth the minutes it was taking away from her free time. As the air of silence swirled around her, Rogue found herself falling deeper into the book, until, again, there was a voice.

"Hey, Rogue, I-

"What in tha hell do ya-Scott, what ahre ya doing hehre?" Scott Summers was standing in the doorway of the library, a brick of photographs clutched in his left hand.

"Did I catch you at a bad time, because I can talk to you later, if you want?"

"Nah, Ah'm fahne. What do ya need? Do we hahve a mission?" Walking over, Scott answered her question, handing her the photographs once he was close enough.

"No mission, at least, not right now," Scott answered with a smile, a small joke at the unpredictable lives they led. "No, uh, you heard about Wanda me checking out the Brotherhood house, right?"

"Nah. What were ya doin at thaht dump, anaway?"

"The professor wanted us to see if we could find any clue about where Mystique's disappeared to. Anyway, I, uh, found these and I thought you should have them." Upon hearing this, Rogue actually took a look at the photos for the first time. Within the first second, Scott could have sworn he heard Rogue's blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Are these…baby photographs? Of meh?"

"Look, I know how you feel about Mystique, I just thought-

"Ah ain't mad, Scott, just…look, Ah'm gonna head upstairs. Th-Thanks fohr givin' thse ta meh, Ah appreciate it." Her voice cracked slightly at the end.

"Well, no problem. I just wanted to make sure you got them. Uh, hey, You haven't seen Jean anywhere, have you? I haven't seen her anywhere."

"Huh? Nah, Ah ain't seen her." With that, Rogue was gone, hurrying upstairs as fast as her legs would carry her, leaving Scott standing alone in the library with Rogue's paperback, abandoned to the floor.

As soon as she was in the passenger seat of her father's compact car, a small silver-green Hyundai, she was flipping through the radio stations, her fingers twisting the knob as fast as it would spin. Her rationalization was that, if she couldn't drive, she could at least decide on the radio station.

"No radio," her father directed as soon as the car was moving, a direction that earned Walter a glare from his daughter. It was ignored. "We need to talk about your plans."

"I'm going to Jeanette's house, and then to work. I'll home after work, same as always." Talia smiled, hoping this would end the conversation, knowing full well it wouldn't.

"You know what I mean. Have you given any thought about college?"

"Why do I need to go to college? I'm fine here. I have friends, I have a job-

"You work part-time at a record store, Talia, is that what you're going to do for the rest of your life?"

"No, but college isn't going to help me do what I want. I don't know what I want to do, so why should I go to college just to take a bunch of classes that aren't going to help me? It'll just be a bunch of people staring at me and whispering anyway." Walter's knuckles began to turn white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Don't even try to use that as an excuse." His voice was calm, but his face betrayed his growing emotions. Talia's eyes grew narrow in an instant, the yellow orbs turning into tiny slits.

"What excuse? It's a simple fact! I've lived here all my life, and people still look at me funny wherever I go! Now you and mom want me to go somewhere to be stared at and judged, without anyone I know to talk to!"

"You made straight A's all through high school. You have your pick of colleges, Ivy League universities! You could do college in your sleep and still pass," The minute car pulled to a stop in front of a rundown brick apartment building, a small, rusty wrought-iron sign the only identification for the seventeen-story building. Apart from the rusty sign, which had read "Monument street apartments" in better days, there was little apart from one's own imagination to signify that the ground bordering the thin concrete walkway leading up to the entrance was, indeed, a lawn. The only green was possessed by some children's playthings, tipped over and abandoned in favor some unknown distraction. "So why are you so insistent on not doing anything with that?" Tj climbed out of the car, fixing her father with an angry glare which he returned in kind.

"I am not wasting my life." Tj finally replied through gritted teeth.

"I never said you were. I'm just worried you're not going to continue your education." Tj's expression softened slightly, but not completely.

"Dad, I can go to college anytime, it's not like there's an age limit. What's wrong with me waiting?" Walter's expression relented, but Tj could tell this was in no way the last she had heard on the subject.

"Fine. Are you going to be able to get to work?"

"Of course."

"Alright. Have fun with your friends." With that last, concise exchange, rage threatening to boil over the entire time but never actually doing so, Tj slammed the car door shut and her father sped off, leaving the nineteen-year-old mutant alone on the sidewalk. She walked up the sidewalk quickly, her boots making loud, hollow noises on the cheap, cracked concrete. The screen door swung open and clattered with the bricks, the metal vibrating violently after the collision. The small lobby was illuminated by a single florescent light that constantly flickered, bathing the room in a sick mustard-yellow. The walls were decorated solely with small brass doors, mailboxes, most of which were covered in grime of a indeterminate origin. Tj had made a steadfast vow to herself upon her first visit, the vow that she would never attempt to discover what exactly was covering those mailbox doors.

"What's up, dude?" Without so much as a glance behind her, Tj knew who had spoken. She turned to face her friend, who was sitting on the floor of the lobby, her arms wrapped around her shins. Jeanette was nineteen, the same age as Tj, and looked like a cross between your stereotypical hippie and your stereotypical Goth. She had long, light-brown dreadlocks that hung from her scalp to just above the small of her back. She had her left nostril, the middle of her lip, and her tongue pierced, as well as twelve piercings total in both ears. She was usually clad in a t-shirt promoting some sort of band, and usually wore an open zip-up hoodie over that shirt. Jeanette only owned one pair of actual pants; the rest were cut-offs. The pants, a pair of paint-splattered khakis, were her, "dress pants," in her own words. Her frame was slight, although this had more to do with childhood gymnastics than eating habits.

"Hey, Jeanette." Tj returned with little enthusiasm, to which Jeannette cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, shit, glad you're happy to see me." Jeanette voiced in a sarcastic tone, but in the same slow, paced voice as before. Tj pursed her lips together, staring over her friend's shoulder toward the door, still gaping open.

"I'm sorry; it's just my dad's on me about college again."

"I thought you told them you didn't want to go right now."

"I did, they just don't listen."

"Dude, no worries. We can watch a movie, hang, calm you down a little bit before you gotta work. Cool?" Tj smiled at her friend.

"Sounds great. I just want to have two hours where I don't have to think about college."

Piotr trudged down the hallway, his steps slow and measured even when not weighed down by his armored form. He was joined by Illyana, the small blonde girl bouncing circles around her taller brother. Her lengthy blonde hair whipped and spun about in coordination with her movements, and she kept a small brown stuffed rabbit clutched close to her chest the entire time. Piotr grasped the brass doorknob firmly in one massive hand and, upon pushing upon the door, was greeted by the pungent, acrid odor of smoke. Despite having lived with a chain smoker and a pyromaniac for several years, Piotr could still not tell the difference between different clouds. As quickly as he could, Piotr dug a coloring book and a handful of crayons out of an open bag and handed them to his sister before rushing out to the balcony, shutting the glass door behind him.

"Remy, vhat are you smoking?" His teammate and friend, a title Piotr bestowed upon Remy somewhat reluctantly, was reclining in a cheap plastic folding chair with his feet propped up on the wrought-iron railing. Stubbed out cigarette butts were littered across the floor of the balcony; Piotr was able to count twelve without so much as a second glance at his feet.

"No worries, mon ami. Dis only de kinda cigarette dat kills yi." Remy was still staring out toward the estate grounds, not even bothering to make the briefest of eye contact with Piotr.

"Zhat does not make me feel better." He stood with his spine straight and his thick arms slack at his sides, as though existing solely as a living antithesis of his Cajun friend.

"Talked ti Rogue taday, Petey. Been t'inking bout it evir since," Remy paused, staring off into space again. Piotr opened his mouth to speak, however, before he could speak, Remy continued on a stream of consciousness rant as though Piotr's presence was acknowledged but not necessary. "Ya know. Petey, 'm not sure bout dis femme. T'ought she could relate ti me, yi know? Both o us dealt wit' de same type o parent, seems like we should just gravitate toward eac'otha, raght? 'M willin ti admit dat her mere screwed her ova in ways dat no one should know, mais dat ain't de point. Yi t'ink dat de whole kidnappin' t'ing was a bad idea?"

"I do not know, Remy," Piotr cast a glance through the door, satisfied that his sister was still engrossed in her coloring book. "Have you perhaps apologized to zhis woman?" Remy took in another forceful drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt over the balcony. He stared out into the distance and the setting sun for several minutes.

"Yi tink dat'd help?"

"I believe it vould be a start." Remy continued staring out into the distance, Piotr continued to stand at attention, and Illyana continued to doodle in her coloring book, showing little regard for the lines she was supposed to filling. She would continue to be enraptured by this for several hours. Piotr and Remy, however, were not so lucky. In mid-conversation, albeit an awkward one, the Professor's voice boomed through both their heads.

"All X-men please report to the War Room immediately."

Author's note: So this is chapter four, right? Usual stuff, I don't own these characters, Marvel does. I'm not making any money off of this, and also, this story is rated M for a reason. Next chapter will be up as soon as it's written. Please review this story, let me know what's good, what's not, what should be changed and what should never change. Outright praise is also accepted. Until next time folks, keep reading.