I'm sorry it takes me so long to update. Please bear with me. This story WILL be finished. 3, Raven.

Amara Juliana Olivians Aquilla. She scrawled her full name onto the school registration form. Senior year. It was strange to think that she had spent the last few years in this American town, with these American kids, at this American high school. Her life had been so different in Nova Roma. She passed the time with far fewer commoners, if any at all. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what her father would think of her, if he were still alive. She wondered what Nova Roma would look like now, if the volcano that had birthed her powers had not destroyed the city, if she had been strong enough to stop the destruction then. At the thought of her barren old home, she noticed that registration had drawn a thinner crowd this term than in previous years. A voice drew her out of reverie.

"My that's a big name for a small girl like you," the school clerk processing her papers chirped. "You're not from around here are you?"

Amara was a sweet girl at heart, even if she did have a fiery side, literally and figuratively, but she was not without her puckish moods. "No, I'm from a very far away land."

The mysterious tone in her voice piqued the school clerk's curiosity, though really, what "land" could be that far away these days with Boeings and Airbuses crisscrossing the skies every five seconds? "Where's that?" he asked.

"In the Amazon. A colony of ancient Rome, actually."

"Say what now?"

Amara leaned against the table slightly. Other students waiting for their turn in the sparsely populated line watched her curiously. "That's right," she said. "My city is very old. My father was a very important man—I guess you could call him a politician. It has been really strange adjusting to plebeian life, but anything can become your new normal with time."

"And what is this…Roman colony in the Amazon called?" The clerk was sure this girl was feeding him nonsense, but the seriousness with which she spoke…

"Amara!" Jubilee skipped to her friend's side. "You're taking forever. Come on, we need to get our yearbook pictures taken."

Amara waved goodbye to the clerk as Jubilee dragged her away.

"Are you nuts, Your Highness? Why would you talk to him about where you come from?" Jubilee hissed. "As if we needed more attention with all the crap going down lately."

"I was feeling puckish."

"Puckish," Jubilee echoed. "Puckish?"

They walked into the courtyard where various student clubs had set up tables with sign up sheets and treats to entice new members. One table in particular drew the biggest crowd of students and their parents: the Young Friends of Humanity. A woman from the New York headquarters, proud FoH badge on her blazer, was overseeing two Bayville High students at their table. She had a diplomatic demeanor, presenting the Friends of Humanity's most agreeable face to parents.

"Of course we are not a hate group, ma'am!" she was saying to a couple. "We merely want transparency. We will not fear what we understand, yes? That's why the Mutant Registration Act is so important. We must all know what we're dealing with. Mutants themselves don't even understand their own powers. Once they're identified, they'll be able to be directed to the help they need."

"I'm not sure about this," the mother said uneasily. "It sounds so…mid-twentieth century, if you know what I mean."

The Friends of Humanity representative nodded with a concerned frown on her face, "Of course, I can totally understand that comparison. However, we've evolved beyond that time and its mentalities. We're just trying to make everyone understands the new world we're in, with the new challenges we face. The Young Friends of Humanity will give our children the skills they need to confront these challenges, you see?"

"I just can't imagine what those poor kids at the Xavier Institute have been going through," the mother gushed. "Their home, attacked by those lunatics!"

The Friends of Humanity woman cleared her throat, "We would never be involved in such horrendous acts against children, ma'am. That was an outrageous event."

"Yes, it was all over the news. All the politicians condemning it, especially since it was the home of that Charles Xavier. You know he's carried a message of co-existence for forever. He's very respected."

"Oh yes, ma'am, I am well-aware."

"But you know, what good has the public outcry been when the politicians aren't really doing anything about all the violence?"

The father chimed in, "So what is your organization's stance on this new mutant island that was announced the other week? Genosha? Is that the answer to all the violence? You know, our son's girlfriend is a mutant and he's devastated by the idea of her parents taking her off to that place. She's just a kid. And she's been good for our Patrick. Never seen him behave better or get better grades. Does she really deserve to be quarantined off on some foreign island?"

"Sir, it's certainly a serious and very personal decision for mutant families. The Friends of Humanity are ultimately focused on helping normal people cope with the mutant issue. If your son needs some counseling or advice, the youth wing of our organization has plenty of peers with stories to share."

"I suppose that might be helpful if worst comes to worst…"

"I can't listen to any more of this," Jubilee groaned. "Really? Now they're creeping into school and we have to take classes with other students they've turned against us?"

"If I were still a princess and this were my kingdom, I could just outlaw these people from campus," Amara offered.

Jubilee almost laughed, "I wish, Mags. I wish."

"It is unbelievable how they're able to just rationalize everything," Amara noted. "It's fanatical."

"It's bullshit," Jubilee snapped.

"Why so angry, Jubilation?" A boy in a letterman jacket approached them and threw an arm around Jubilee's shoulders. "You shouldn't frown so much."

Jubilee shrugged his arm off with a dry, "Great advice."

He was the star quarterback of the football team, the new senior class's Duncan Matthews. Amara personally didn't see what the big deal was about him. He was barbecue material to her. She also wondered why Jean Grey ever dated Duncan Matthews, who had been such an obnoxious jock. She supposed there was one in every high school, and there was always a girl willing to give them a shot. Jubilee clearly was not one of those girls, and for that Amara admired her.

"So, you excited for senior year?" the quarterback seemed intent on having a conversation.

"Not especially," Jubilee drawled with disinterest

He lowered his voice, "Because of the mutant thing?"

Jubilee stiffened.

"Hey, I don't mind it!" the quarterback said in the most reassuring manner he could muster. "I like all kinds of people, you know. I don't discriminate. I mean, look at my good bud, Omar. He's from Trinidad. Great wide receiver."

"That's great…" Jubilee drawled, "you're super cosmopolitan and progressive."

"I think I am! I mean, check out that mutant island in the works—that's a great idea. Everyone always said that Magneto guy was a super villain or something but I don't believe everything the fake news media says. He's obviously super smart if he can just make a new country, am I right?"

Despite having lived in Bayville for the better part of her post-pubescent life, Amara watched this American youth with the eyes of a foreigner and thought he was the strangest ape she had ever seen. "What are you trying to say exactly?" she chimed in.

He seemed surprised to see her there, "I'm saying that mutants aren't that bad. I mean, there are going to be problems but we'll deal with them."

"Who's we?" Jubilee said, eyes narrowed.

"Probably the Friends of Humanity, honestly. But they'll figure it out. And they'll have the time to, now that all these mutants are leaving. Did you hear that registration is down like a third this year in our school district?"

"What?" Jubilee and Amara exchanged worried looks.

The quarterback, tickled that he had shared such impactful information, went on, "Oh, didn't you hear? It's true."

"Where'd you hear this?" Jubilee demanded.

He huffed, "Look around! Can't you tell all your friends aren't here?"

"Not all mutants know each other, ok?"

"Look, I just heard the teachers talking. It's happening around the state, apparently. Probably around the country. People are packing up and ready to go…." He trailed away as something behind Jubilee caught his eye. "Oh, dang…"

Amara turned and followed his gaze to see Rogue walking determinedly across the courtyard toward them. She did not like the look on Rogue's face. "Hi, Rogue!" she said in a chipper voice. "Aren't you a little old for senior year registration?"

"I need to talk to my sisters here," Rogue said to the quarterback. When he stared silently back at her, "Which means you walk away. Now." He nodded and skittered off, looking back at them a couple times.

Jubilee shook her head as Rogue led them out of the courtyard, "Were there other mutants at Bayville High that we just didn't know about? And now they've run away, instead of coming to us? I mean, they could've joined us as the Institute."

"But we can't really trust what someone like him would say?" Amara offered.

"I don't know…I have a feeling his information is solid, just because I don't want to believe it. And I just feel like we let them down, the closeted mutants at our own school. Why didn't they come to us? All this time, they could have been part of our team. Now they've just…gone."

"Some mutants aren't ready for this reality," Rogue said. "The Professor, Logan, Ororo…they couldn't help us all. Ah'm glad they got us though. Ah never would've made it without them."

Jubilee nodded sadly.

Rogue gave her a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder, "We can talk about this more later if you want ok? Right now we have something urgent to address." Turning to Amara, "You're from Nova Roma, yes?"

An unsettling feeling bubbled in Amara's stomach at the surprise question. She hadn't talked about her old home in a very long time, the interaction with the school clerk notwithstanding. "Yes…" she said hesitantly.

"How much do you remember about it?"

"A lot. I mean, I left when I was like 12. Well, more like rescued… Why?"

"Right. Right. Sorry, sugar, Ah don't know all the details of your history but it's important that Ah find out, all right? Are y'all done here?"

Jubilee and Amara exchanged confused looks. Jubilee shrugged, "I don't really care about yearbook pictures."

"Great." Rogue took both girls' hands and in a puff of sulphurous smoke, transported them back to the mansion's underground bunker. She led them into the War Room, where the computer buzzed quietly in sleep mode and the Professor sat quietly sipping a cup of tea.

"Good afternoon, Amara, Jubilee," he said pleasantly.

"Sorry for the randomness of this." Rogue woke the computer and began pressing keys with rapid strokes of her long fingers. "Ah just need to ask you some questions, Amara. Jubilee, you're free to stay or go. This isn't a secret meeting or anything."

"Uh, ok…I guess I'll stay for... moral support." The younger girls exchanged looks of bewilderment before sitting down.

No matter how much they had experienced, how many life or death situations they had barely scraped out of as X-Men, Amara could not help but wonder if she were presently in trouble. She felt the distinct dread unique to being called to the principal's office. Though in the case of Bayville High, the feeling of dread from this adolescent inconvenience had actually good reason when Raven Darkholme, aka Mystique, had occupied that post. Amara began tracing backwards in her day to see if she could remember doing something wrong.

Then Rogue asked, "Have you ever heard the name 'Selene'?"

Amara snapped out of her thoughts, "What?"

Rogue was staring at the computer screen, where she seemed to be making a video call. "Selene," she said. "Ah met this woman at the Plaza that night. She's a…colleague of Sebastian Shaw's. Ah've been so distracted and occupied with all that's happened that Ah hadn't done my due diligence on her till now..." She seemed lost in thought. Then, "Does this name mean anything to you, as a former citizen of Nova Roma?"

Amara had no idea what Rogue was getting at, "I don't think so? Is it supposed to?" She looked uncertainly at the Professor, who only nodded in reassurance.

"Think harder. Try to even remember stories you might have heard."

The video call finally connected. A middle-aged man appeared on the screen, sleepy but no less attentive. "Hello there!"

"Hello Temür," Rogue said, "sorry about the time difference. Ah had to get all my research together before getting to Amara Aquilla."

"This is her?"

"It sure is."

Temür bowed his head and swept his downward turned hand in a small V-shape in front of his chest, "Princess, it is an honor. I meet your gaze with humility."

Amara's eyes widened. How could he know the proper Nova Roman salutation and gesture with which to greet royalty? "Were you one of my subjects, sir?"

"I'm afraid not, Amara. İ am a mutant anthropologist. A Brazilian colleague of mine led the excavation of the Nova Roma site and informed me much about your people, though you are believed to be deceased. Of course, this information is highly classified by the Brazilian Mutant Control Ministry, so İ can't divulge his identity for his and our safety."

Amara stiffened immediately and glared at Rogue, "How can you just introduce me to him like we're at a tea party?" She was using anger to mask her panic, but she couldn't help it.

"It's all right, Amara," the Professor said.

Rogue nodded, "He's not with the MCM. We can trust him. He was one of the scientists who discovered En Saba Nur and he's a trusted international expert. You can look him up on the United Nations website."

Amara eyed the man on the screen warily. There was no reason for her to fear the Mutant Control Ministry here in New York, but the political tide didn't seem to be turning the right way in America either. It didn't feel as though state-sanctioned extra judicial mutant killings were too far fetched in this country, considering the attack on the mansion not too long ago. Though she trusted Rogue, she didn't like where this was going. But she pushed this all aside, knowing that the X-Men would not be so careless with one of their own, "Fine. What is this about?"

"Ah need your help filling in the pieces of a great puzzle, Amara," Rogue said. She stared into her warm brown eyes with her cool greens, a controlled desperation so clearly visible though it showed nowhere else on her face. How does she do that? Amara wondered. "Because of your position in Nova Roma, Ah think you might know something that could help us figure out what is happening to me, even if you don't know you know it."

"What's happening to you, Rogue?"

Rogue hesitated, then as if thinking to herself 'oh screw it', said, "The woman Ah encountered at the Plaza that night, Selene, she's part of an organization called the Hellfire Club, as is Sebastian Shaw. We have reason to believe they are funding the Friends of Humanity. Not only do they have the ear of many Washington power brokers, they trade in illegal weapons and power negating collars."

Amara and Jubilee gasped. "Like the ones from before!"

Rogue nodded, "And the one they used on me that night. And this Selene…she's a telepath. And she has been penetrating my mind. Sometimes Ah can't shut her out. But Ah don't know if Ah should, because the connection could be useful to find out what her play is. Do you see? We need to figure out her play, Shaw's play, the Hellfire Club's, the Friends of Humanity's. Something big is happening, we can feel it. And we need to find out who she is and what she wants with me, with the Friends of Humanity, before Ah go insane or something terrible happens to innocent people. Ah've spent the entire day searching every public record the Institute, X-Corps, Interpol, Europol—the whole lot of 'em—has access to. Ah reached out to our sources and had sources reach out to their sources. No one knows anything about Selene before she became a member of the Hellfire Club five years ago and got involved in illicit trade and behind-the-scenes politics."

Amara nodded as the weight of this story slowly sank in. She asked softly, "What makes you think I know anything?"

Temür spoke up from the computer screen, "Because my Brazilian colleague discovered the royal Nova Roman seal on an old text about a special group of mutants known as the Externals. These were some of the first mutants ever to exist. And one of them was referred to in this text as 'Selene', described as the one 'formed of guile'."

A subtle chill crept up Amara's spine. "Guile," she echoed. Cunning intelligence.

"We can start easy," Rogue said. "Can you tell me about your home, how you grew up?"

"Where do I even begin?"

"At the beginning. Take your time."

Amara looked at Jubilee, who nodded, then at the Professor, who gave her an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, this is not a test," he said.

She sighed, "Um ok, well, as you already know, my father was King Lucius Antonius Aquilla. He ruled Nova Roma for about a decade before the volcano destroyed the city. That was the day I discovered I was a mutant… because I was the only one who survived. I don't really remember anything about that…. The Professor has tried to help me remember…but it just doesn't want to be remembered, I suppose…I was 12 when it happened." Her voice began to quaver.

"We can stop if this is becoming too uncomfortable," Rogue offered.

Amara cleared her throat and shook her head, "No, it's fine. So, I really never knew anyone named Selene, but in the Nova Roman language that word means 'moon'. And in Nova Roma, some of the pagans worshipped the moon goddess. I don't remember that being something my family did though."

Temür nodded excitedly from the monitor, having lost all semblance of fatigue, "Some of the excavated artifacts reference the moon deity."

"Do you know anything else about this mood goddess, Amara?" Rogue asked.

Amara's brow furrowed lightly as she tried to remember, "I was really bored by the legends and myths they taught us, to be honest. Just silly stories right? I could hardly pay attention. But I guess I remember some things….The's a story that the goddess fell in love with a human, a man called Endymion. But Endymion was in love with Hera, which angered Zeus. Zeus forced Endymion into an eternal sleep, and the moon goddess would visit him every night. That's just a story though."

"Did you ever see your father with a book, ever read anything that referenced mutants called the Externals, or any other word that might mean something similar?"

"I don't think so? I don't remember anything like that."

"Any stories your father told you?"

"Not really…"

Rogue looked at the Professor, "We should try your method."

Amara knew what she meant, "You want to dig into my mind."

"If you're comfortable with it," the Professor said.

Amara shrugged, "Why not I guess. We've done it lots before." She moved to the seat beside the Professor's wheelchair and positioned herself in the familiar pose in front of him. "Ready when you are."

To everyone else in the room, it seemed as though nothing was happening as Amara sat there watching the Professor, whose eyes were closed in concentration. But after a few moments his eyebrow began to twitch, and as Amara also closed her eyes, she began to see in her mind the depths of inaccessible memory he had tapped into.

"What do you see?" she heard Rogue's voice, which seemed far away, like in a dream.

Amara was in a familiar room, familiar in that the architecture of Greco-Roman colonnades lining the terrace overlooking the city had remained unchanged throughout her childhood. But the blurry furnishings were different, the ambiance foreign, of a different time. She strained to bring the details into focus. She could also feel the Professor's telepathy reaching deeper to gain a stable picture. Human memory was never perfect, and an infant's was practically inaccessible. For homo sapien anyway.

"I'm in...my old nursery, I think," she said. In the memory, she saw her father speaking to a man she recognized as one of his oldest friends, Senator Atticus Ligur Placidus. "I'm a baby. I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I'm not." The memory was hazy and fractured.

"What do you see?"

Her father and the senator were speaking in low tones. "My father and Senator Placidus are talking. I can't hear them." Then as if he had heard this complaint, her father turned and looked at her.

"Amara, why are you awake?" As he approached and lifted her from the cradle, her memory self responded with a babyish gurgle.

"The Princess is quite vigorous!" the senator chuckled.

Amara felt tears well in her eyes. Even in his hazy memory she could tell her father looked so young. She never saw him that way. There were no photographs or iPhones or anything to instantly capture someone's likeness in Nova Roma.

Focus Amara, she heard the Professor call to her. I know this is difficult but you must focus.

She squelched the sadness that she had already learned to cope with long ago and focused on what the king and senator were discussing. Their words rose and receded in her mind's ear, clear at times but often muffled. She strained to understand, but felt as though she were trying to listen to voices under water, voices that kept moving in and out from behind sound obstructions.

"…fomenting dissent, Lucius. Her followers…more restless by the day. They believe she is truly the moon goddess."

The king sighed wearily and said with an ironic tone, "Must be her age, finally showing." He rocked baby Amara gently in his arms, moving his gaze to the expanse of Nova Roma below them.

"… is serious," Atticus was saying.

Her father responded, "…. has been our guardian for millennia… founded this city. She has no cause to inspire upheaval."

"…. what she wants everyone to believe, she is no goddess, …no more immutable than ….. don't know what her motives are now, how they might have changed. ….. what she did to Endymion, who but loved her as well as any human could. And she betrayed ….."

"His fate was his own doing. And it is completely irrelevant to our political….."

"Is it irrelevant, Lucius? Is it irrelevant when our founder might be unstable, when she still holds such influence on the affairs of ….invisible to the public? Why does she not reveal herself as a politician …our republic demands? Why do we continue …. her true existence a secret?"

"Because she is a state advisor….know this. …secret for her safety and the republic's. Her knowledge is invaluable, as well as her extraordinary powers …conflicts she has saved us from! …Endymion affair ….. one incident …. more than 1000 years ago. …. not without her faults, since she is as human as you say."

"Yes, one incident 1000 years ago …. accounted in full detail by your ancestor… Disturbing detail."

"…were written by … Nova Roma's least mentally stable king…."

"…not as human as we are. She is External."

"…. one that has guided our city through …. dilemmas through many centuries."

"It wasn't always the case. Remember, Lucius, she once ruled as queen goddess…."

"…. she ceded so that a republic may form nearly 2000 years ago."

"….merely she sensed the tide turning …. unquestioned reign. She is cunning. ….now want that power back….."

"Is that what you fear from her?"

"Some of your ancestors had troubling accusations against ….. throughout the centuries. They sound like myth …. fairytale."

"Of course. She is an External. Her existence is mythical …but she bleeds as well as anyone."

"But Lucius...those evil acts...the lives taken..."

"…. stories have always been unverified, Atticus."

"How else does she sustain herself?"

"… the answer obvious? She is beyond human. …"

"…unexplained disappearances across the city. … not the normal spate of crimes. We have discussed these in the senate."

"….received plausible reports … skirmishes with our neighbors before, though they did not learn of our city. …. outsiders have been a long time threat. One that Selene has kept us safe …."

"…. no longer benefits her, my king. … stealing souls again."

The king's laughter vibrated against his daughter, who giggled with glee. "Atticus!" he said in exasperation.

"…. has never stopped stealing souls."

"…. absurd! She is immortal. What need - "

"These are not only my beliefs. Your grandfather ….. similar concerns. She has not changed …. lead us all to believe."

"…. why now?"

"….don't know….dangerous…."

The strain of maintaining such an old and shaky memory was becoming too much for Amara. She felt beads of perspiration forming on her brow. The mental images began to crumble, her father's face bleeding into colors of skin, cloth, marble, and sky, like too much watercolor on canvas.

It's all right, Amara, the Professor said. Release slowly. I am with you.

She felt herself returning to the waking reality and felt heady, cloudy about where and when she was, as if waking from a deep and transporting dream. She opened her eyes slowly and realized she had been crying. Slowly she wiped her cheeks and turned to Rogue, "I think I have what you want to know."

"It'll have to wait a few minutes." Everyone turned as Logan entered the War Room, tablet in hand. "Stripes, you have a message."

Rogue slowly stood, "From whom?"

"You'll probably want to take it outside."

As Logan handed her the tablet she saw the video message thumbnail: Remy's face.

A pang of discomfort and regret at the memory of just last night. Had it only been last night? Seemed forever ago. And he was gone now.

"Amara, I'll be back in a minute."

Alone in the hall, Rogue pressed play. In the first few seconds of the video, Remy seemed to be adjusting his camera phone. Then, "Rogue… you know what I gone to do. What I promised t'him. And I've found some t'ings out. M' following de clues t' Madagascar. I know t'ings are … strange, with us…"

She could almost still feel him. The memory of his hands her, his mouth. Their bodies entwined. His message continued, "But I needed to let you know, so you're prepared, because Essex will not stop. Guy Spears is dead. A shapeshifter has taken his place. Essex is behind Revive…"

X

X

X

Following Mira Rakansky from the Revive offices was not difficult. She sped through the streets on her red BMW 6 Series like a woman on a mission, swerving around corners and barely abiding by traffic lights and road signs. Eventually she screeched to a stop in front of a one-story house and marched up to the door. Remy watched from the shrubs of a house two doors down. She pounded on the front door for several moments before a tousled looking man in pajamas opened it.

"M-Mira? What—"

"I don't have time for this either, ok, Patrick?" she gritted. "Inside. Now." She walked past him into the house.

"Yes, please, come on in…" Patrick Durst drawled, closing the door after her.

Remy was at the house in moments, following their movements through the windows. They stopped in the salon, where the windows were open to let in the summer breeze. Remy perched quietly in the shadows to listen. Patrick Durst began pouring two glasses of scotch.

"I'm telling you, he's f #&ing lost it," Mira Rakansky was saying. She paced the room, hands gesticulating to punctuate her frustration. "He accused me of being a 'mutant-lover'. What is that? Who even talks like that?" When Patrick Durst handed her the scotch, she downed it in one gulp. "This whole thing is a f #&ing disaster. This isn't even our business. How did a 'tiny favor' for Guy's associate turn into such a f #&ing disaster?"

Patrick cleared his throat, "I never really understood why we got involved in this from day one."

"That's such a helpful comment, Patrick," Mira rolled her eyes. She grabbed the decanter of scotch and poured herself another glass. "He told me to fire you tonight."

Patrick choked slightly, "W-What?"

"Yea. I told you. This is f #&ed."

"But why?"

"The Antananarivo shipments."

"I already explained that! Look, I am not an expert on—"

"I know, I know."

"I apologized! What does he want, my first born child? A guy makes one mistake and—"

"This isn't your fault. Guy has f #&ing lost it. I don't know what's going on with him. I don't even know if what we're doing is fully above board. And if Gerard starts asking questions because he's angry about the delay… I have no idea. I have no f #&ing idea."

Patrick shook his head, "I'll go fix this. I'll explain everything."

"I'll talk to Guy later. Obviously I'm not going to fire you."

"But I have to redeem myself? Did you get the forms?"

Mira reached into her bag and handed Patrick the manila folder. "You must've missed a few."

Patrick cursed under his breath, "I'll take care of it. I'll deliver them myself."

"Don't be so dramatic. A fax will do."

"Fax? What is this, 1990? No. If Shaw is such a close associate of Guy's, enough to put us all in this ridiculous position… maybe…maybe if I go over there and sort this out personally and really apologize, I can save my job. I swear, Mira, I already sent these."

"Shit happens, Patrick. You're sure this isn't overkill? I really couldn't tell you how Guy will take this. I feel like I barely know him these days."

"I don't know. I have to try, don't I? Shaw is a very influential man and probably a very important client of Guy's. Big gestures can mean a lot with these types of people."

"Fine. When was the last time you spoke to Gerard or Shaw?"

"We've never spoken. Just emailed."

Mira sighed, "This is a f #&ing disaster. We don't even know what's in those boxes. Unreal. Totally unreal. And on top of all this, reports that Revive is making mutant kids sick?"

"Is that even verified?"

"We should be trying to verify that, Patrick!" Mira was nearly shrill. "But Guy doesn't think it's a priority. F #&ing hell. Do you think he's actually a mutant-hating racist?"

"I really don't feel comfortable talking about this."

"What do you mean you don't feel comfortable? Why would you be uncomfortable?"

"I don't know, ok? I just—I don't know where I stand on this mutant thing."

"This 'mutant thing'?" Mira laughed incredulously. "Who the f #& are you people?"

"C-Can we just talk about this later? Ok? One thing at a time, Mira."

"F #&ing unbelievable. Fine. Fine. 'Luck."

"That's…encouraging. I have all the contact info and addresses in my email. I'll find the first flight out."

"Fine. Keep me posted on your moves. F #&ing unbelievable, all of this." With an exasperated shake of the head, Mira left.

Patrick acted immediately, searching for flights on his smartphone while grabbing a suitcase and filling it with clothes and other travel necessities. It was several minutes before he realized a pair of red on black eyes were staring at him from the shadows in the corner of the room. He jumped back and gasped in terror, dropping his phone and falling his closet with a flurry of hangers and collared shirts.

"Calm down, mon ami," Remy said. "De eyes, dey're just a harmless mutation."

"M-m-mutation?" Patrick stammered, staring at the glowing red orbs that reminded him of the demons from childhood Sunday school stories. "Y-y-you're one of th-th-them?"

Remy moved slowly to the desk, where Patrick had laid out his travel documents and wallet. He picked up the passport, "Canadian? How convenient, Patrick."

"Wh-what do you want? Please, don't hurt me. I—"

"What d'you t'ink mutants are, homme? Murderers? T'ieves? … Well…" Remy almost smirked. "I will have t'be borrowing some t'ings of yours, Mr. Durst."

"B-B-Borrow? I-I have to be going. I have a business trip—"

"You won't be taking dis trip, mon ami. Now, I'm going t'need you t'tell me some t'ings if we're going to do dis right, d'accord? And don't upset me none, because you see, my eyes aren't my only mutation."

Patrick watched the mutant intruder touch his bed post, watched the bed post burn bright with kinetic energy and begin to smolder. He actually smelled the burning wood.

"I can turn anything into a bomb, Mr. Durst. You understand? And I already know everything about you. So don't cross me, or else…well, m'sure you know how that tragedy would end."

"I u-understand."

"Très bien. Now, let's start with your phone's password…"

X

X

X

It was mid-afternoon by the time Remy made it into Manhattan. He walked into a brightly lit, yellow-wallpapered café in the West Village and ordered an Americano at the counter. He handed the cashier four dollars, an ace of spades tucked between the bills. The cashier took the money and did not react to the card.

Remy sat at a table in the corner, which had a full view of the space. He scanned the familiar pseudo-French 1800s decor and clean-cut patrons who had wandered in seeking a "more European vibe." They had no idea that the entire establishment was just a front.

He quietly sipped his Americano for the next few minutes, glancing causally at the abandoned newspaper at the next table because it was a convenient angle at which to observe the counter.

A few minutes later he saw the cashier toss his ace of spades into the tip jar. The cue.

He finished the Americano and walked to the back exit of the cafe, which led into an alleyway sequestered by dumpsters. He saw a ripple in the brick wall. The next moment, any passerby would have seen him walk straight into the wall and disappear. Those who knew better would realize it was the work of a mutant's power to manipulate matter.

Remy descended the stairs of the hidden basement into a dimly lit burlesque lounge. Sultry jazz music mingled with the sounds of clinking martini glasses and subtle laughter. Every patron was a mutant, but the crowd was smaller than he remembered it usually was.

His contact sat on a dais on the other side of the room, in a plush black velvet chair wearing only burlesque lingerie and bunny ears. Amusement played across bright hazel eyes lined with naturally lush black lashes, a smirk forming on plush lips reddened by the only shade of lipstick she ever wore: MAC Viva Glam 1.

"Bonjour, Asma."

"Salaam, Mr. LeBeau. Strange to see you after all this time. I hope you've covered your tracks." Her words were tinged with only a semblance of a Libyan accent.

"Oui, no worries dere. I'm here f' de usual."

Asma sighed, "How boring."

A green-eyed raven-haired woman approached from behind Asma's chair, seemingly seeping out of the shadows themselves. She didn't try to hide her distaste for Remy, staring at him with the look of suspicion that the more savvy mutants usually reserved for humans. Her name was Nesreen, and she had been at Asma's side for as long as Remy could remember.

"This is Le Diable Blanc," she said, as if she were talking about colonoscopies.

Remy didn't miss a beat, "At your service, madame."

"He's been with Xavier's litter, Asma. Face on the news."

Asma raised an eyebrow, "And you've brought this famous face of yours to my abode?"

"It wasn't an issue."

"You hear that, my love," Asma stroked Nesreen's forearm, which was resting on the back of her chair. "He's so thorough."

Remy needed to take the focus off him or the exchange might turn sour, and he needed Asma's help. They had known each other many years, and though he liked to believe she had a half-amused fondness for him, he did not want to test what was generally just a professional relationship. "I see business is suffering a little, Asma. De Genosha effect, neh?"

Asma bristled, "They're fools. As if that tiny island could house us all."

"Won't stop the idealists from running off to join Magento's ridiculous cause," Nesreen drawled.

"I expect you'd have less demand for y' specialty goods den," Remy said.

Asma sighed and examined her black painted nails, "All right. Let's get this done with so you get out of my hair." She beckoned him forward with a couple impatient flicks of her fingers and disappeared behind the black curtains hanging over the back of the dais.

Remy followed, slightly discomforted by the daggers Nesreen's gaze shot him as he passed her.

"Don't try anything," she said. "You don't know what my power is."

"No worries, p'tite. I always liked Asma." With a somewhat nervous smile, he stepped through the curtains into a warmly lit room furnished with more plush chairs and burlesque lace.

Asma was already ensconced on an armless sofa, stretching like a cat.

He handed her Patrick Durst's passport, "Like I said, the usual."

"My my, haven't we been naughty. Payment?"

He set an envelope of cash on a nearby table. "S'all dere, your usual amount, wit' inflation included of course."

Asma smiled as she began massaging the air above the passport, eyes studying the contours of Remy's face. The photo began to bleed into itself, colors mixing and rearranging until Patrick Durst's face faded away to become Remy LeBeau's. Hers was not an illusion power, but a power to transform matter and reshape it to her desire. "Here you are, Patrick Durst version 2.0. Enjoy." She tossed the passport back to him.

"Merci, cherie." He turned to leave.

"Where you headed off to, Cajun?"

"I'll bring you a souvenir," he tossed over his shoulder.

"That's no way to treat an old friend. You know, there's a lot of muttering about your old gang these days."

He paused, "Old gang."

"The Acolytes, of course. Mercenaries turned Moses, leading mutant-kind to the promised land? A lovely Hollywood redemption story. I always knew Magneto had a god complex but some of the other blokes?" She laughed ironically.

Remy regarded her carefully, "Dere somet'ing you want t'tell me, cherie?"

"I may or may not have heard some whispers involving our good doctor."

Remy stiffened. He hoped it did not show. "I don' work for him anymore."

"Now, now, Remy show some respect. I know you and he don't see eye to eye now, but he did help you with your little…problem. And he's done wonders for my back issues…"

"Be careful wit' Essex, Asma. He can't be trusted."

"Was I born yesterday, LeBeau? I'm moving my operations. He came here just yesterday, recruiting. He said I was one of the Chosen and it was time to leave for Genosha, if you can believe that"

Then he said I was one of 'the Chosen' and my time to leave was soon. Just like what Essex had said to Fiona Wang.

"I'd never heard him be that creepy," Asma was saying. "I do so love this place, though."

"What did he mean, 'the Chosen'?"

Asma shrugged, "He didn't elaborate and I'm not interested. The most absurd thing was he decided to say that Nesreen was one of the Forgotten. Whatever that means, it's absolutely insulting!"

Remy tried to think of any time that Essex had mentioned these words to him, in his presence, anywhere. He never had. But it did not take a genius to guess that Essex was classifying mutants into favorites and not-so-favorites. "What's Nesreen's mutation?"

"She's poisonous. When she wants to be. Why?"

Not the type of mutation that would catch Essex's attention, Remy noted. It did not have enough flare for a sick mind like his.

"She threatened me out there," he said.

Asma rolled her eyes, "She threatens everyone. Stay focused, LeBeau. We've been in business a long time so I'll do you this favor because you've never tried to screw me—one way or another. Essex has his fingers all over that Genosha pie, which means that the Acolytes are in league with him, whether or not they know it. I don't know what your game is these days but I'd think twice before you join up with that old crew again or head over to fake mutant paradise. You get me?"

Remy nodded, taking Asma's hand and kissing it lightly, "I appreciate de warning, madame."

"Mmm hmm. Just don't let anything trace to me."

Remy left the burlesque lounge the way he came in. The bright afternoon sunlight did nothing to clear his mind. The more he learned, the more troubling the picture became. Power negating collars. Essex. Revive. Genosha. The Acolytes. He needed to keep track of it all as he moved forward with his mission. Somehow he knew this was take him right into the center of this maelstrom.