Gabriele was out for less than two minutes, but when she regained conciseness the situation in the boatyard had drastically changed. She could feel blood dripping down the back of her neck, but she gave it no attention. The wound had surely began to heal by now. Instead, she focused all her attention on the current events on the ship. The upper level had already been destroyed, raining down debris on the floors below. Bits of stripped wood and broken fiberglass covered the deck around her. The culprit, a large heavy anchor chain, was still at work.

Some how, the chain moved through the air and crashed into the next level of the boat. More debris crumbled to the deck below as the chain cut through like a knife in butter. Gabriele didn't stick around to see the magical chain destroy the last level, the level in which she stood upon. She didn't even bother to re-holster her gun, which was laying carelessly on the floor before she jumped over the polished railing and dived back into the cold Atlantic water.

When she was a safe distance away from the destroyed yacht and the floating anchor, she finally stopped swimming and assessed the situation. Obviously, she would be unable to complete her mission. The target, or targets, would have already escaped or they were dead in the rubble of the boat. She wondered for a second, as the Coast Guard sailed closer to the destroyed ship, whether her distraction had cost her an opportunity to do her job effectively. The woman finally concluded that there was nothing she could have done to prevent this outcome. Too many unforeseen variables had intervened themselves into Gabriele's already clumsy plan. Gabriele was never one for to deny responsibility for her failures but all that had happened was out of her control. No one had told her of the Coast Guard's plan to interfere nor was she aware she should have prepared for floating anchors. She didn't even know who she was suppose to keep from escaping.

As Gabriele began to swim towards the American military ship, she planned out her list of complaints about this abstract mission the CIA had recklessly thrown together. She climbed the metal ladder that was welded onto the side of the ship prepared to ask for a salary increase and a vacation. When her feet touched the ground she saw a familiar face looking back at her. If she had to call someone her boss, it would be G.W. Bridge. But before Gabriele could air her complaints, another CIA agent, Moira MacTaggert, joined them, followed by two men who she had never seen before in her life. Both were out of breath and their clothes were soaked.

Charles Xavier studied the woman in front of him. Her wet clothes clung to her thin but athletic frame. Her short brown hair became more untidy when she ran a gloved hand through it. She didn't look to be a day over twenty but the way she carried herself displayed a sense of wisdom. Charles decided that there was something odd about the young CIA agent. He found his desire to read her mind overwhelming. But he had already invaded one person's privacy that night and Charles wasn't interested in making that a habit. But his curiosity got the better of him.

Agent Bridge was a short, stocky forty-something man with dark hair which matched his boring black suit. He was the only constant in Gabriele's fluid life. She wouldn't consider him a friend, but he was the closest thing she had to one. The man knew practically everything about her, from her past to her mutation. "Richter, I was beginning to think you had died." Bridge said offhandedly.

"Sorry to disappoint." She said quietly, adjusting her wet gloves.

"Once again, you made the front page." Bridge produced a newspaper from his jacket pocket and passed it to her as another person, a young blonde woman, joined the group. Gabriele ignored the newcomer just as she did the rest of the group. On the newspaper big, bold letters easily caught her attention. DOMINICAN DICTATOR ASSASSINATED. A large black and white picture of Trujillo in his military uniform was placed directly beneath the front page.

"Too bad his son will just replace him." She said mostly to herself. She was in the midst of reading the article and admiring her handiwork when Gabriele felt an extremely odd sensation. It felt as though someone was poking her brain with a stick. The feeling lingered. It took her a moment to realize what was happening. Her hand instinctively rushed to her hip and withdrew the remaining gun from its holster. She aimed the weapon at one of the unnamed men, the shorter of the two. He was the same height as Gabriele, perhaps just an inch taller. His once neatly combed hair was messy due to his swim in the harbor and his bright blue added to his already charming face.

This was the first time Charles had ever looked down the barrel of a gun and, not quite fond of the view, he hoped it would be his last. "Do that again and I'll shoot you." The woman said with the utmost sincerity. There was a slight accent there, but he couldn't quite place it.

Charles immediately regretted his decision to pry into the girl's mind the moment he did so. He wasn't expecting her to be able to detect his presence let alone keep him out. For the few seconds of access he, Charles learned that he woman was, indeed, a mutant but she wasn't a telepath. He discovered that her name was Gabriele Richter, but the presence of the name in her mind seemed too fresh for it to be her real name. When he was about seek out more information, particularly about her past, a wall sprouted up out of her subconsciousness. Literally, an iron wall wrapped itself around her mind before Charles could proceed farther. The harder he pushed the thicker the wall grew.

Charles figured since the mind was defenseless when he first started to snoop that the woman had no control of her mind's ability. Her subconsciousness was protecting the mind on instinct.

To avoid being shot, Charles apologized for his actions. "I am deeply sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was only curious." The woman studied him for a second before lowering her gun and putting it back in its place. She then went back to reading the newspaper. Charles again silently commented on oddity of the woman.

The man spoke with a thin English accent and with a polite and sincere tone. He was clearly an educated man. After a minute of awkward silence, in which the man never took his eyes off of her as Gabriele continued to read the article, Bridge felt it was time for introduction. "Uh, Richter, this is Charles Xavier. Charles, this is Gabriele Richter. She's the agent I was telling you about." The woman casually flipped to the next page, barely making note of the man called Charles Xavier.

She continued to only half listen as Bridge introduced the blonde woman, who was apparently Charles' sister who went by the name of Raven. She gave Gabriele a half-hearted greeting in return which she assumed was a product of the threat she had just made to her brother. Still, her attention was placed on the newspaper in front of her. The article described Trujillo death as an assassination by a gang of rebels. Gabriele smiled slightly at how effective her plan was. She had made a deal with the leaders of the rebellion; they would claim responsibility, thus increasing their power and popularity with the rest of the oppressed nation while ending any suspicions of foreign intervention, especially on the part of the United States who was still experiencing international criticism for the failed intervention in Cuba the previous year.

"Richter, I have something to talk to you about." Bridge voice broke into her reading. Usually, when Bridge wanted to talk it was about a job but something was different this time. Her boss had never introduced her to anyone before. She wasn't a regular at the Christmas parties. She had seen MacTaggert during some of her rare trips into the office but she and Bridge were the extent of Gabriele's socializing. Whatever Bridge wanted to tell her, these people had something to do with it.

"Can I at least change clothes first. It's a bit cold out here." But she really just needed a break from all the talking and people.