A/N: Hi guys. I'm sorry again that the last chapter was so short, I was just extremely tired and wanted to put up something to keep the story going. Without further ado, here's Chapter 2 of Danger Ratings.

The X-Mansion

The telephone rang early in the morning, much to the obvious chagrin of the man who answered it, rubbing one eye with his left hand as the other lazily dragged the covers away, clearly not used to being awake at this hour.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Logan?"

The voice on the other end was familiar, but at the same time he couldn't match it to anyone he knew.

"That's me. Mind tellin' me who this is, before I hang up and get back to my beauty sleep?"

A polite laugh echoed down the line.

"I'm sorry to have woken you, but this is an emergency. Does the name Wanda Maximoff ring a bell to you?"

Instead of putting down the phone, he found himself standing there for a terse moment. He knew the name, but it took him a few seconds to put two and two together without making a fist of it.

"Am I talking to the mutant known as Scarlet Witch, presently de facto leader of the nation called Genosha?"

"Yes, you are, although I would be happy if you just called me Wanda. Believe me, being called Lady Maximoff or anything else along those lines becomes rather annoying. I'll speak quickly, for my needs are unfortunately urgent."

Probably for the best, he thought, although he had the basic courtesy to not tick her off. Even given Genosha's weakened state and the fact that Scarlet Witch seemingly bore the X-Men no ill-will, it just seemed a dumb idea. Given the fact that the X-Men themselves were still considered the wild cards in the superhuman community at large, and the fact that Wanda Maximoff could prove surprisingly resilient and tenacious, he felt that it was better to try and play the diplomatic card.

"In recent weeks, I've been doing my utmost to make sure that Genosha doesn't become the new target of an international invasion, but it's been difficult to look after our citizens and see to their, with international pressure for my country to make reparations. It gets worse, I'm afraid."

"Oh, yeah? How much worse?" Again, he was wondering what bad news he was going to get. Was Magneto in the process of launching a coup against his daughter and her seemingly benevolent regime, or were there fugitives that had escaped their grasp?

"We believe somebody's kidnapping the mutants here."

This development made him raise his eyebrows in mild surprise and also stunned him awake. He wondered as to whether or not Sinister had decided to set up shop in Genosha and abducted people on the street, although he doubted that the scientist would stick his neck back in the line of fire so soon after his losses and with the Russian government declaring him a wanted man.

In any case, Wolverine figured that it would be better to investigate and get what little information would be available. The fact of the matter was that in spite of limited recovery in the capital city of Hammer Bay, Genosha as a whole was being treated by the United Nations as little better than a disaster area, with some still unrepaired infrastructural damage, countless wounded on top of at least two dozen dead, and limited order beyond the Acolytes under her command, a few of whom had either left on their own business or involuntarily, as Juggernaut had. Speaking of which, he really needed to decide what to do with their unwanted guest.

"Have you got any ideas as to who might be behind this?

"I don't have any confirmed guesses at the moment. Blink and I composed a list of top suspects which contains people such as Colonel Moss and the Inner Circle, although their reasons for doing so wouldn't make sense as the former's struggling to keep hold of what little power he has left and the latter are on the run. We have limited records, but none of the mutants abducted appear to have displayed any signs of telepathic ability, and acquiring the Phoenix Force was one of their top priorities."

"Genosha's presently an ideal hunting ground for mutants of all sorts, but I suppose that I'd better get down to business. If you're looking for help, I can't spare the whole team, but I could spare a few members if you give me an hour or two to choose them."

The sigh was probably louder than she would have wanted, although he wasn't entirely sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

"Very well, I suppose that will have to do. Get back to me in an hour when you are ready, and I will arrange transportation."

And with those words, the line went dead, although that sort of conversation wasn't the one where you kept exchanging pleasantries with no regard for time. Pulling a jacket on over his shirt and grabbing a fresh pair of jeans from the drawer, he left the bedroom and went towards the command centre.

An hour and a half later, Wolverine's three-man strike team for the mission was assembled in front of the mansion, still rubbing sleep from their eyes and suppressing yawns as their bodies adjusted to being awoken at four in the morning.

"Alright. Hate to have woken you up from your beauty sleep, but we ain't exactly ones to be picky given our kind of lives. I've chosen you three because Scarlet Witch has requested your help with a little problem that she's been having in Genosha, not to mention the little things. Mutants keep disappearin' right under her nose, and she needs help sniffin' out the culprit. Beast, you're one of the leading experts in mutant biology, and right now Genosha's short of doctors- you need to help 'em set up. Nightcrawler, you're invaluable in combat and Maximoff keeps giving you that sorta look so that's an added bonus. Iceman, you'll be combat support and you'll help with part of the infrastructure."

"Wait," called a voice.

Wolverine and his proposed team turned around to see Storm walking towards them.

"You've assembled a good team, Wolverine, but they need a leader for this kind of operation. Don't tell me you were planning on leaving to oversee this?"

"No, but-"

"Charles appointed you to be our leader for this, and I will not see you leaving us on short notice again, even for something like this. You're not a bad leader, Logan, but your place is here, at least for now."

"My place is at the head of the X-Men. That's what leaders do, they lead!"

Storm looked him dead in the eye at that angry statement. She wasn't even irritated and she didn't raise her voice, but nevertheless he took a moment to calm down.

"Yes, Logan, but leaders need to know when stress is affecting their performance. You need a rest between operations. Let me take the reins for this mission. I promise you I won't let you down."

For a moment there was silence as Wolverine let the words sink in, and his breathing slowed back to normal.

"You're right, Ororo. I need to sit this one out, at least for now. I know you'll do alright in the field. Just take care of the team. I'm going back to bed. I'm sorry."

And with that, he slinked back indoors towards his bed, almost asleep before his head hit the pillows. The strike team could only look on in utter surprise, before standing to attention and nodding. It was decided.

At six o'clock, the small plane touched down outside the mansion's gates, with Storm boarding first, followed by Beast, then Iceman, and finally Nightcrawler. The four of them strapped themselves in, before they took off towards Genosha.

The short, stocky man found himself running forwards, misshapen feet weakly pounding against the floor as he struggled to propel himself forwards, his smooth scales feeling rather cold in the wind as the angry people behind him growled and jeered. It wasn't his fault, he told himself. He'd been asked to forward a supply package from one house to another, completely unaware that his fellow gang members had set him up and made it look like he was trying to blow everyone around him to smithereens. If they'd looked closer, they would have seen that the bomb didn't even work properly, but he supposed that such details weren't what you looked out for when a mutant as ugly as he did turned up with a suspicious box.

As he fled through the alleyway, he found himself approaching the main plaza, and he somehow managed to leap over the dumpster in his way, cutting through the war-torn square and skidding past debris, although his feet were feeling the worse for wear, clearly not designed for running. Heck, even walking took its toll on him sometimes, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. If he did that, he was as good as dead.

Eventually, he felt his muscles starting to tire, and the adrenaline coursing through his body seemed to fail as the pain in his body started ebbing through again. In desperation, he saw yet another alleyway leading to a part of the city he'd never been to before. For all he knew, it could lead to gangs worse than this, or even towards the authorities who would surely arrest him for being involved in this kind of business, but at that moment short-term interests managed to override any concerns, and he took another sharp turn into it, hoping that eventually his pursuers would lose interest.

What happened next was completely unexpected. Where one moment he had been running on concrete and past debris, the next his feet touched down on a metallic floor, surrounded by bizarrely shaped, metallic walls that didn't seem to make architectural sense from a humanoid point of view. It was at that moment that he turned his head towards the multi-limbed woman standing in the corner, arms all attending to the various tasks that had been given to her by whoever was in charge of this facility.

As if his looking at her had set off an alarm bell, she rapidly pressed a button, and before he could register it four stun beams slammed into his chest, the agony shooting through his chest. Not a few seconds later, he heard more bursts going off as his pursuers stumbled into where they were, cries of surprise echoing through the room.

Darkness overtook him and the others, and their unconscious bodies were dragged away by more multi-limbed humanoids, their leader angling their head towards the screen.

"Your instructions, my master?"

"We keep up the act until we have the X-Men's attention. Commercial interest in our operations has slumped to an all-time low, but spectator interest in a rematch has reached an all-time high. We snare the X-Men, particularly that obnoxious one with the tail, and our ratings and sponsorship deals will go through the roof!" The high-pitched voice echoed through the room, and Spiral raised an eyebrow as her master started laughing.

"With all due respect, sir, we have plenty of mutants to experiment on and drawing the attention of the X-Men tends to be counterproductive. Why don't we simply quit while we're ahead?"

"In my culture, quitting while you're ahead is bad for business. You can never milk the big hit too much; the critics may complain, but they make an absolute killing." He seemed to relish that word. "If I get defeated by the X-Men a third time, particularly that goofy elf-mutant, nobody will take me seriously, the population will question my right to rule, and I will soon be overthrown! And you know what that will mean, for your position, and your life."

Spiral sighed, turning away from the monitor.

"Yes, sir. We'll keep our operations running until further notice."

She cut off the call at that moment, though she chose not to say anything for fear of the room being bugged, or her boss having the ability to hear the first few seconds after she had hung up. After all, it happened all the time on TV, so why wouldn't her boss insist on it?

A couple of hours later, another man stumbled through, his body clearly not entirely under his control, and the process repeated itself once again.

Looking at the three screens that stood in front of him, Charles Xavier formed an idea about the city that he presently stood in. The first displayed what was essentially a slum, with water leaking into the makeshift huts through the corrugated iron roofs, generally unsanitary conditions, children playing whatever games they could and their parents looking on in concern, if they had any parents left to care for them. The second showed a tidier suburb, although there had obviously been serious damage of some sort inflicted to the area and the reconstruction was taking some time. The third revealed what must have been the area for the elite, with more pristine buildings surrounded by reinforced iron fences and electrified wire, with barbed wire, automated sentries and armoured guards.

Each part of the city was the same in a few respects, however. In every one, pedestrians kept their heads down and quietly went about their business while doing little to draw attention towards them, more Infinite soldiers patrolling the pavements as smaller assault vehicles filled the road. Civilian traffic was virtually nonexistent, save for a few beaten-up cars. It was clear to him that it was likely the same in the rest of the city.

Time was of the essence. He had to move quickly; doubtlessly, the prison would soon notice that he had gone missing. He marched towards a warehouse, noticing its ideal position as a temporary hiding spot. As he did so, a male pedestrian in his way immediately lowered his head and tried to speed up, hoping to escape from his clutches. It didn't work, and Xavier found himself dragging the man through the door of the warehouse, closing it behind him.

He waited a moment to see if anybody would react to him dragging a man off the street, but nothing happened. He sighed in relief, as the man blurted out excuses and begged.

"Please... I've done nothing."

He reached and removed the helmet from the top of his head, revealing his face to the pedestrian.

"It's alright. I'm not a soldier. I just need-"

What happened next was a clear indication to Xavier that things were not alright. The man's expression changed from fear to surprise and outrage, and he slowly backed away.

"WHAT? Are you insane? I can't be seen with you! They-"

"Please, listen to me!"

"Get away!" That was the only reply that he got, and the pedestrian's arm turned to rock, slamming against the armour and knocking the professor backwards. He flew across the ground, to a painful stop. He winced as he looked up, to see the pedestrian running for the door. He sighed mentally. He hadn't wanted it to go this way, but if the man made it out, he would be recaptured and security would likely be tightened even further. He doubted he'd even be allowed the use of his legs.

Xavier extended his hand and concentrated, brow furrowing.

Stop.

On cue, the pedestrian stopped as commanded, remaining perfectly still. As he did so, Charles forced himself to his feet and walked towards him.

I simply want some information, and you're going to provide it to me.

His eyes closed completely now as he immersed himself in the man's memories, images, old broadcasts and newspaper articles passing him by. Then there was something that made him stand bolt upright, eyes flying open as he gave an alarmed gasp.

"No!"

As he took in the newfound- and evidently distressing- information, both men inside were unaware of the transport racing towards the warehouse, six Infinite soldiers gripping onto its sides, the way firemen would with a fire engine. In the interior, an officer stood in front of a scope that showed a wire-frame view of the street, with one green blip flashing inside the warehouse.

"Forty metres ahead, in that warehouse."

The transport skidded to a stop as the soldiers disembarked and rushed towards the entrance, weapons covering the door. As they did so, Charles Xavier heard the noise and immediately scolded himself for underestimating his enemies, Sinister in particular. The soldiers waited for a few, drawn-out seconds, barely breathing as they focused on the operation.

Then he man bolted from the building and ran in the opposite direction, helmet now on again. The two soldiers in the middle of the formation raised their right arms to reveal a different weapon to in the prison; whereas the plasma gauntlets had been designed to incapacitate, wound or perhaps kill, these were exclusively designed to stun, and only used on high-priority targets. Two bursts of energy were let loose, shooting out like javelins.

POOM-POOM.

The two shots nailed Xavier in the back, and he flew forwards, landing in a limp heap. Before he had stopped moving entirely, two soldiers teleported up to him, grabbed him, and hoisted him up, one reaching for his comm. link.

"The fugitive has been apprehended."

Charles Xavier's helmeted head drooped forwards as he once again felt the darkness knock him unconscious.

That just about does it for this chapter. This story has been in the pipeline for three years, but having Storm take the reins wasn't something I planned to originally do. It recently occurred to me that Cyclops could've done that, but that interferes with some character development I have planned for him so Storm's been delegated to leading. I thought "why not" as it's a good way to get her involved in the story beyond shocking people in the literal sense.

Thanks once again. Just gonna give some notice as to one or two things; there may or may not be an irregular schedule over the next couple of weeks as most of my mates are coming back from university, so there'll be a lot more meeting up with them. I've also signed up to do some extra work for some friends of mine at my old work experience place, so I may have less time to get stuff written down. Hopefully the next chapter will be up either before Christmas, or the New Year at the absolute latest. It will probably focus more on Charles Xavier than Storm and the strike team, but not entirely. See you next time!