September 4, 1974

One of the students cried out. Jean rushed to their side. She had given most of the students some aspirin and penicillin. For others she had given them some morphine and painkillers, achingly realizing that there was nothing else that she could do for them.

She swabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. Jean could feel his temperature even beneath the cloth. He was burning up. The fever seemed to start around the same time that the gray veins became prominent around their eyes. She knew that, unfortunately, the next step was that black spit would start gathering in their throat. It would quickly turn thick and they would have to sit up to breath.

Across from her flames began wrapping around a student's body. Jean got up and started to move other students away from him. There was no way that he could control his powers, and it was obvious that the use of his powers was causing him pain.

Jean wished she could do something for him, but she didn't know what. She already had the unaffected delegates, humans, helping out. They all had masks on. Jean didn't know just how the virus was spread. Jean had her own suspicions, but until she figured it out for sure, she wasn't taking any chances.

Even then she was short-staffed. Many of the younger members of the conference were in a deep state of shock. Jean didn't blame them. They weren't in their world anymore. They were in her world, and she considered herself lucky that she was well-equipped to handle emergencies.

She glanced outside. Jean could see that the soldiers still ringed the building. The press were out there, as well as several law enforcement officers containing the area. She knew that Sean had talked to some friends to keep the SWAT teams out. If too many people went in then it would be a giant mess. While she knew that people would be confused by the lack of SWAT teams around the building, Jean hoped that the government had the good sense to stay out of things.

Jean finished wiping the student's forehead and got up. She felt exhausted. Jean looked at her watch. It was a few minutes past midnight. That morning she had thought that, by then, she would have been asleep, excited about the conferences that would take place the next day.

Now she was almost dead on her feet, trying to halt a disease that confused her. Her boyfriend had been captured, along with several others, and everyone else she knew was fighting for their lives. She hadn't heard anything from the Professor or the rest of the X-men. As such, she had no idea what had happened to Scott. She knew that she was alive, she could almost feel it, but she didn't know how much longer he would remain so. Not with the man who had done this to peaceful students holding him.

His best protection, and she knew that it wasn't a very good one, was that Sinister was fascinated with his bloodline. It meant that he wouldn't kill Scott or Alex if he didn't have to. Jean guiltily knew that that didn't protect Warren, Moira, Magnetrix, or the other girl who had been taken. Jean felt guilty that she couldn't find it in herself to care very much about the Brotherhood members, and even worse that she didn't worry as much about Warren or Moira as she did about Scott. The only reason she really worried about Alex was because he was Scott's brother. At least she knew he could take care of himself though.

Jean sighed and looked over at the rest of the students. She had always prided herself as being smart. In a team where everyone else was stronger than her, at least she had that. She had recognized that she was never going to be fast like Clarice or strong like Ororo. Her powers were valuable, but they were weak.

So she had sought to compensate them. She had begged Dr. McCoy to teach her to act as a medic to the team, pushed herself to learn the codes that they used. She studied hard, always afraid of being left behind by the rest. In time her mind and her medical abilities made her a valuable member of the team.

Now neither were doing their job. Jean had no idea what to do about the virus that was running rampant in the young mutants. She didn't know how to stop or contain it. All she could do was treat the symptoms, and the symptoms were alarmingly vague. It frustrated her that, no matter how much she had thought she knew, it turned out that she didn't know very much at all. Not enough to help them.

"Now, it's time for some education," Sinister said.

Warren looked warily as Sinister turned one of his feathers backwards and forwards before yanking it out. Warren gritted his teeth as Sinister walked away.

"Back in the day, people were very stupid," Sinister said, "Stupid and superstitious. I believe that mutantkind first appeared many, many years ago, but people didn't recognize them. They made up silly little stories about them or tried to fit them into an existing theology or mythology. This is where we get the Cheyarafim."

"I could care less!" Warren spat.

"They were very unique, if the writings are any indicator," Sinister said.

Warren looked at him disbelievingly. He turned to Scott.

"Does he always go on like this?" he said.

"He does," Scott sighed.

Sinister ignored both of them and placed the feather in a petri dish. He fixed a microscope over it and peered in. Warren could see that the Brotherhood girl was watching him too, her breaths short. He wondered if she was new to all of this, how frightening it must be for her. Warren had been fighting for years, and even he was feeling the fear creep in.

Then again, she belonged to the Brotherhood. He couldn't afford to have too much sympathy for her.

"Now, I do believe that Scott, with his primary mutation, is unique among mutants," Sinister said, "But that doesn't mean that there aren't other special mutants out there too."

Warren tried his bonds. The idea of being tortured and experimented on was not one that he relished. However, he didn't like the idea of spending hours listening to Sinister gush over how special Scott was. There was already enough of that at the Institute where the golden boy led missions. Not all of them had turned out perfectly, but no one else had done that.

"There is an old legend in Europe in the Alps that there was a secluded valley where Angels and Demons dwelled, the last soldiers of the war that cast Satan down," Sinister said, "They said that no one ever told them the war was over. Some rubbish like that."

He abandoned his microscope and put the feather in an airtight container. He leaned over it and began writing.

"They called these two groups the Cheyarafim and the Neyaphem," Sinister said, "The Cheyarafim looked like, for lack of a better word, Angels. The Neyaphem traditionally looked quite a bit like Demons."

Warren kept his eyes glued on Sinister. The man was speaking as though he was giving a lecture. Warren didn't trust his casual speech.

"My theory is that they were a group of mutants that inbred so much that certain traits became predominant," he said, "Because each race had to survive the other, they adapted. And they fought so much that, well, many of them and their specialized mutations died out. I saw a Neyaphem not too long ago with the Brotherhood."

He frowned.

"At least I think he was one," he said, "There are some mutants that, unfortunately, just so happen to look like Neyaphem or Cheyarafim but lack certain qualities. I never got the chance to find out about him. Black Tom was sloppy even on the best of days."

Warren thought about Azazel, wondering if he was the one that Sinister was referring too. He certainly couldn't think of anyone else. As he wondered he saw Sinister pick up a scalpel, looking at it thoughtfully. Warren swallowed.

"While I'm waiting, I really can't afford to waste another opportunity," he said, smiling at Warren.

He lunged out and stabbed the Brotherhood girl in the arm. She cried out as Sinister removed the scalpel, leaving behind a deep gash.

"Stop it!" Scott yelled.

Sinister sighed before grabbing a petri dish and walking over to Warren. He was prepared for the blow when it came, but it still hurt. Warren gritted his teeth as Sinister collected his blood in the petri dish.

The Brotherhood girl whimpered. Warren could vaguely see her bone.

"Oh do be quiet," Sinister said.

He put the petri dish down and picked up some bandages. Warren stared as he began to dress his wound.

"She's going to bleed out at that rate!" Scott yelled.

"Not if I'm right," Sinister said, "And if I'm right, I can't afford to waste any of this."

He finished tying the bandage and picked up the petri dish. He grabbed a swab and walked over to the Brotherhood girl and dabbed the swab in the blood. He began dabbing it on the girl's injury, despite the fact that she was gritting her teeth against the pain.

"The hell?" Warren demanded.

"Shhh," Sinister said.

He withdrew and watched. Warren looked at the girl, who had her eyes closed. To his surprise he saw her wound begin to close up.

"What...?" Warren asked.

Sinister put the petri dish down and began laughing, his shoulders silently shaking. Warren stared as his silent laughter became full blown, his sides shaking and his eyes glowing. He turned to the two of them, his face twisted and pulled into a manic smile.

"I've found one," he said, "After all these years, I've found one."

He turned to Scott, his face still glowing.

"I feel a little like I did when I found you and your brother," he said, "Not quite, but it's the closest thing that I'm going to get to that feeling."

For a moment Warren felt irritation that he was, yet again, second to Scott. He pushed down his feelings though, almost disgusted at how ridiculous they were in the current situation. Who would want to come first in a mad scientist's attention?

Sinister walked up to Scott, his face still glowing.

"This virus is only thanks to your genes," he said, "It's only thanks to the fact that your family, remarkably, passed down this mutation from generation to generation."

Warren watched Scott turn his face away, possibly with shame. He wondered if Scott thought that the virus was his fault. He couldn't. Warren might not like Scott, but he knew that he was smarter than that.

"Thank you so much," Sinister said.

Scott bowed his head further. Warren stared. He did believe it. Something burning started in his throat. Scott was a panderer, a person who was so perfect they became annoying, but no one deserved what Sinister was putting him through. Sinister opened his mouth to speak, and Warren snapped.

"Are you done yet?" he snapped, "Are you done being off your damn rocker? Are you? Because there are a lot better things we can be doing right now, trust me."

Sinister looked at him, affronted.

"I wasn't talking to you," he said.

"No, but you were flapping your lips about a million miles an hour about absolutely nothing!" Warren said, "You know what, don't thank Cyclops for what you're doing up there. Thank yourself you twisted piece of insanity! Only someone like you would see the original mutation and think 'deadly virus!' Some scientist you are!"

Immediately Sinister moved forwards and curled his hand around Warren's throat. Warren choked under the pressure.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy," he hissed.

"Let him go," Scott snapped.

Sinister didn't even turn around.

"You all think that you're in the position to make demands," he said.

His smile curled up further and Warren felt chills run up his spine.

"Maybe it's time to remind you who's really in control," he said.