X-Men: New Class

by Ambaryerno

Set in the Earth-10005 Universe, a new class of students arrives at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Inspired by Agents of SHIELD, X-Men: New Class loosely adapts Kyle and Yost's New X-Men as a hypothetical live-action television series. (Note: This story only accounts for up to X-Men: Days of Future Past, and will not be updated for Apocalypse)

14. 1x12 - Childhood's End: Treason

1x12

Childhood's End Part II

Treason

###

Act I

###

"How is he, Henry?" Xavier asked, as the furry blue mutant stepped out of the medical bay and into the waiting area outside. Marie, Bobby, Scott, and Jean were with him, and Marie stood as far from the others as she could until the powers she had absorbed from Kevin Ford wore off.

Henry's expression was a peculiar mix of troubled and fascinated, in a way that usually made Xavier nervous. He resisted the urge to reach out and pluck the answer from his old friend's mind, however, and waited for him to deliver the news himself. "The damage done by Mr. Ford has completely healed. However I really think you need to see this for yourself."

Xavier frowned. "Has he regained consciousness, then?"

"Yes, if you could call it that." Henry opened the door to the medbay, and gestured for them to enter. Scott took hold of the handles of Xavier's wheelchair and guided him in as the others filed through the door behind them.

The boy lay on one of the exam tables staring blankly at the ceiling, with various pieces of medical equipment around him. Sensors were attached to his bared chest to monitor his vital signs, displayed on Henry's various apparatuses, many of which were custom designed to monitor far beyond the typical range of data. Jean let out a surprised gasp as she reached his bedside, and even Xavier was taken aback by what he saw.

Josh's skin from head to toe had turned a nearly metallic golden color.

"Hank ..." Scott began, and trailed off in astonishment.

"Yes, I know. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Scott rounded on him and glared through the lenses of his ruby-quartz glasses. "Fascinating isn't the word I would use, Hank," he said.

Henry raised his hands in a gesture somewhere between defensive and apologetic. "That's not precisely what I mean ..."

"Did Kevin do this?" Jean asked.

"Not at all," Henry said. "As near as I can tell, Josh did this to himself."

"How?" Marie asked? "Ah mean he was healin' himself by the time Ah got to them, but he didn't look like this."

"Josh's ability to heal injuries is actually a gross simplification of the true extent of his powers; that just happens to be how they initially manifested. In actuality, he's able to fundamentally alter all biological matter down to the molecular level."

Xavier fixed Henry with a look. He could feel that there was something he was holding back. "What aren't you saying, Henry?"

Henry hesitated a moment, and worked his hands nervously. "I've analyzed the potential of Josh's powers, Charles, and I've come to the conclusion that he may be a Class Five."

The silence that filled the room at his pronouncement was deafening, and the implication hung in the air like a specter. Xavier looked back to the boy lying virtually comatose on the table, and carefully reached out to his mind. Josh was there, listening and aware, and processing everything they said about him. He just didn't want to talk, and instead lay still and silent, smothering himself beneath a blanket of anguish and sorrow so heavy Xavier thought he might suffocate.

"Class Five," Scott said, and glanced sidelong at Jean, who said nothing. "Hank, you know there's only ever been one mutant of that level."

"That we know about," Henry said, and raised one finger pointedly for emphasis. "It only stands to reason that the potential for others exists. However do keep in mind that even if this is the case, I'm only speaking relatively; while Josh's control over biological matter may be Class Five, that is another thing entirely compared to someone like Jean."

"But if Josh has that much power, how come ..." Bobby began, but trailed off at a sharp warning look from Xavier. News of Laurie Collins's murder — in spite of the precautions they took to protect the students — spread like wildfire upon their return from Salem. That it could happen so publicly was almost as much of a shock as the death itself, and as Xavier lightly probed Josh's mind he had no doubts as to what was burdening the boy.

"We're talking potential only, Bobby," Jean said, before Henry could insert a paw in his mouth with his own explanation.

"So what do we do now?" Marie asked, and hugged herself tightly. Xavier reached out to her and could feel the depth of her guilt over failing to prevent Laurie's death or Kevin Ford's breakdown.

At a nod from Xavier, Scott pushed him back towards the door leading out into the waiting area, and the rest of the group filed out with him at the unspoken command. Henry was the last to leave, and closed the door behind him.

"This is the second attack on our children within a month," Xavier said, feeling his own frustration getting the better of him. "We must be able to protect our charges. I am convinced that whoever is responsible for these attacks has more planned, and I will not be caught off-guard again."

"Where do we even start?" Jean asked. "You and I have been checking Cerebro almost every day, and there's no sign of the missing mutants or anyone who might know something about the disappearances or the attacks."

"I've heard from most of Logan's people, but none of them have had any better luck than we have," Scott added. "Even Logan hasn't been able to turn up anything, and I can't tell you how much that bothers me. There is one who hasn't responded yet; she goes by the name Psylocke, but where she is and what she's doing I have no idea."

"Whatever threads you have, keep pulling at them," Xavier said. "The answers are out there, it's just a matter of finding the right one on which to tug."

He turned his attention to Marie. "Henry, how is Marie?" he asked, preferring Henry's clinical opinion over her own assertions under the circumstances.

"Aside from that little bit of embarrassment when she first absorbed Mr. Ford's power, she doesn't seem to be adversely affected," Henry said, and Marie blushed fiercely at the reminder of her clothes disintegrating off her body. "I suppose it's either a secondary power that keeps Mr. Ford from harming himself, or as she absorbed his powers it weakened him to the point it neutralized whatever effect his touch would ordinarily have. The effects should fade in a few more hours."

Xavier nodded. "Bobby, Marie, I want you to go back to Salem and find Kevin. I fear the damage he might do if he's allowed to run loose in his current mental and emotional state. Bring him back safely and unharmed; he needs our help, and I dare not leave him at the mercy of local authorities after what happened."

The pair nodded, and murmured "Yes, Professor," together.

"Good. I will see if I can pinpoint him on Cerebro to help you find him." He turned his attention then to Scott. "In the meantime, as little as I like giving in to such acts of terror, I want a curfew back in place until further notice. All students are to remain on the property where we can keep them accounted for."

Scott nodded. "Yes, Professor."

Xavier sighed, and clasped his hands. "And it seems that I'm left with no other choice but place a phone call I'm loathe to make."

"Do you want me to contact the Salem police?"

"I'm leaving it all in your hands, Scott. However you feel it best to proceed."

Scott nodded. "I'll see what we can get from them on their examination of the gunman's remains. Hank, I'd like you to offer your services to the Salem authorities; whatever there is on him I want to know it."

Henry nodded. "I've collaborated with them before, I'm sure that won't be too much trouble."

Xavier gathered them all in with a significant look. "I want this to be the last time I have to tell a parent their child will not be coming home, and we will not bury another here so long as I'm headmaster. I want to know who is responsible for this. If we must turn them over to the local authorities after we find them, so be it, but I want this to end here and now."

###

Melita shut off the lights of her car as they approached the warehouse. It was dark and she could barely see the road, and had she not had a map telling her right where to go she would have easily missed the turn even in broad daylight. The owner clearly didn't want someone to accidentally stumble across it.

Braddock sat quietly in the seat beside her. She hadn't said a word since they started out, and just watched the road, withdrawn into herself in a manner not entirely dissimilar from what she'd seen from Logan when he was focusing on a problem.

Melita felt an uneasy churning in the pit of her stomach as her car bounced along the road, and over and over again the thought kept spinning through her mind: What the hell am I doing? She wasn't a mutant. She wasn't even a detective, or a spy, or a commando, or any one of a dozen different professions off the top of her head that would be better-suited to the task at hand. She was a goddamned reporter, yet here she was about to break into what was likely a well-guarded and almost certainly heavily-armed clandestine facility operated by a man who very likely casually blew up thirty school children for no better reason than being born different.

I must be out of my mind.

"No, you're not," Braddock said from the seat beside her, and Melita fired a sharp look in her direction. Braddock glanced sidelong at her, and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but your thoughts are so loud you might well have been shouting."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to think more quietly," she said, and turned her attention back to the road. If she squinted she thought she could just make out the trees lining either side of the narrow path ahead threatening to jump out in front of her and kill them both.

"I've seen some of your work," Braddock continued offhandedly, more, it seemed, to fill the silence and distract Melita from her own thoughts than any real need for conversation, "You can handle this."

"Well, thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Besides, one way or another you won't have to worry for long. Either we're about to bollocks the whole thing up, in which case we'll probably be dead before sunrise, or we'll have Stryker's hide nailed to the wall."

Melita rolled her eyes, and the queasy feeling returned. "Great."

They continued the drive in silence, and Melita squinted into the darkness ahead of her, desperate to distract herself from the butterflies trying their best to escape the confines of her belly.

I don't care what she says. I must be out of my mind.

###

Act II

###

Sooraya made her way along the dormitory hallway, fighting against the tears threatening to well up and stain her niqab. Just when she thought there were no more left to cry, another tragedy had struck the school, and news of Laurie's murder that evening tore through the mansion like a sandstorm. It wasn't fair. They were finally starting to feel a sense of normalcy again, and now with one cruel act of blind hatred it had been torn from them again. For a moment — just for the barest moment — her faith in Allah faltered and she found herself asking, "Why?" She mentally chided herself for the lapse of conviction, but no matter how she reminded herself it was all a part of His purpose, she just couldn't let go of her budding anger.

Laurie was perhaps the kindest, most gentle soul of all of her classmates; someone whose unique gift made her almost painfully sensitive to the emotions of others, and one whom might have used her powers to help people share and express their true feelings.

And now she was gone.

Sooraya reached her destination and hesitated a moment. She stood outside Jay's door, and debated with herself whether or not she ought to intrude on his privacy, as he had retreated to his room almost as soon as he and the others returned from Salem bearing the news. But the need for someone in whom she could confide on an equal level overruled propriety and her doubts, so she heaved a sigh and knocked heavily on his door.

"Jay?" she called softly through the door when there was no answer. "Jay, it's Sooraya, are you there?"

The only answer was silence, and Sooraya chewed her lip a little. "Jay, if you're there, I could really use someone to talk to. And maybe you do, too."

Again, there was no response, and Sooraya sighed and leaned against the wall. She wrapped her arms tightly beneath her breast and hugged herself as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I suppose I wished to know that you are all right. Talk to me, please?"

Nothing.

Sooraya took a ragged breath, and felt a sharp pang through her heart at the thought of him ignoring her. That, of course, was immediately followed by a stab of guilt at such a selfish response, but she could not help but feel rejected.

"There was something else I wished to speak with you about, as well," she said, not even sure now if Jay was listening. "But it can wait. More than anything I just wish to know that you're okay."

Silence.

She heaved a sigh and lowered her head. "Goodnight," she whispered and started away from his door, but didn't make it more than a few steps when a sudden voice behind her made her nearly jump clear out of her abaya.

"It is true?"

Sooraya spun around, clutching at her chest to settle her heart as it slammed itself against her breastbone, and found herself face-to-face with Laura. "Oh! Laura! I didn't hear you there!" she said, breathless from the sudden fright.

"I startled you," Laura said, her voice subtly colored with contrition, though her face was, as per usual, mostly unreadable.

"Yes, but it's all right. I suppose we are all on edge again."

"It is true, then?" Laura said, repeating her earlier question. "Laurie is dead?"

Sooraya nodded glumly, and reached beneath her niqab to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm afraid so."

Laura balled her hands into fists, and to Sooraya's astonishment the expression of frustration and anger on her face was as plain as if it were any of the other students. It was the first time Sooraya could recall the other girl's feelings being so clearly on display, and that made her stomach quiver with apprehension. "You were not there? I thought you and Cessily were going to Salem tonight?"

She shook her head. "I did not go. I wished to verify the truth of the rumor, I do not trust Quentin Quire's projections." Laura's face twisted again, this time in obvious disgust.

Sooraya, for her part, could sympathize. "That was hardly the most sensitive means to break the news to everyone," she said with a small nod of agreement.

Laura regarded her closely for a moment, in that manner that tended to make any subjects of her scrutiny feel as if she were looking right through them, and Sooraya shifted uneasily under her green eyes. "You came to speak with Jay?"

"Yes," Sooraya said, and leaned her back against the wall. "We've been talking some. I guess because we share such a close relationship with Allah, each in our fashion, I find that he is someone with whom I can share with in times like these."

"You should stay away from him."

Sooraya blinked and looked sharply in her direction. The warning tone of her voice caught her as off-guard as the anger on her features a moment before, but whyever would she say such a thing? "I beg your pardon?"

Laura paused and looked away as she considered her words for a moment, but then as if deciding her initial statement was the best choice after all, met Sooraya's eyes again. "You should stay away from him," she repeated.

Sooraya straightened indignantly in spite of herself, and glared at her in irritation. "Whom I associate with is none of your business!"

The other girl flinched back at the anger seeping into her voice in the rebuke. "Something is wrong," Laura said, and again Sooraya felt contrition in her voice.

"What do you mean?" Sooraya asked.

Laura scrunched her face as if she were struggling to find the words to best express whatever it was she felt in that moment. "I do not know, but something is very wrong. Jay smells wrong."

Sooraya blinked in confusion. Her defensiveness over Laura's insistence she stay away from Jay hadn't passed, nor was she feeling much up to deciphering her riddles under the circumstances. However she recalled to mind Allah's espousal for patience, and forced herself to not storm off in a huff as she recalled her observations that Laura seemed to respond quite strongly to scent. "Smells wrong?" she asked. "What do you mean, Jay 'smells wrong?'"

She hugged herself tightly, and it was clear that something was bothering Laura immensely. "He smells of death," Laura said, and her troubled expression quickly made it clear that even she wasn't quite certain what that meant. "He is acting very strangely, and you need to stay away from him."

Sooraya felt a sudden chill work its way down her spine at that. "Laura, Jay is our friend," she said. "None of us are in our right minds after what's happened."

Laura shook her head, and the other girl's green eyed bored straight into hers, as if peering all the way down to the depths of Sooraya's soul. She shifted uncomfortably as the chill running the length of her spin built to a full shudder. "I do not believe Allah wishes you to die. You must stay away from him."

Sooraya's heart froze up in her chest at the sincerity in her voice, and she could only stare at Laura as confusion and dread warred for control. Laura said nothing more, and just tore her eyes away and slunk off, leaving her staring slack-jawed at her back as she tried to make sense of the entire bizarre exchange.

###

Jay sat on the edge of his bed and listened to Sooraya's knocking. Somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach it hurt to hear her pleading with him to talk to her, and a part of him desperately wanted to. She understood his connection with God better than any of the others, and it pained him to hear the cracking of her characteristic serenity as she was weighed down by the burden of Laurie's death on top of the horror of the bus attack, but Jay couldn't bring himself to answer the door. Every time he thought to get up and let her in — and a small part wanted to cast aside propriety and just gather her into his arms and just hold on tight — he saw Julia's face gazing down on him in disapproval. Only it wasn't Julia anymore. Now it was Laurie, her eyes gazing sightlessly at him while blood smeared her brow, pouring from the hole in the middle of her forehead.

Sooraya tried to get his attention for a few moments more, and for a few moments more he remained silent, until finally she abandoned her attempts and walked away, leaving him alone and grasping at the crucifix around his neck.

The feel of the metal against his skin came as no comfort as he heard the gunman's words over and over again in his mind. Jay's thoughts drifted back to his first meeting with Stryker; his fear of standing in the Reverend's presence, and the memories of the rhetoric that once upon a time he was so certain meant the man was calling hellfire down on his people.

Jay mopped his face and tried to force the thoughts from his mind. He had been wrong about Stryker, hadn't he? Never once in all their meetings did Jay feel that there was any truth to the things the staff and students had said about him, and much of Stryker's criticism just made sense. They had only just gotten some semblance of normalcy back in their lives, and now here they were, being shut away from the world again in the wake of Laurie's murder. The curfew was back and no one was to leave the grounds. It was wrong to keep them here like this, and it was wrong to react to every tragedy by locking themselves away. If nothing else, Stryker was right about that.

Then why is it that Jay was feeling so ill at ease as the words of Laurie's murderer echoed in his mind?

Jay sighed heavily, and grabbed his phone off his nightstand. He stared at it for a few long moments, then made a call.

###

Melita stopped her car at the very edge of the clearing, outside the circle of lights illuminating the motorpool surrounding the warehouse, and pulled off the road as best she could given the foliage closing in around them.

"Well, that is an awful lot of activity," Braddock mused.

Trucks and SUVs were clustered around the loading doors, as men in fatigues loaded up equipment, boxes and crates. Melita swept her eyes across the crowd, but couldn't make out any individual faces to determine if the members of Stryker's clergy were present. Nonetheless, everything was being done with a particularly martial discipline, and there was no ignoring the rifles and carbines slung across the backs of the guards securing the perimeter.

"Do you have anything?" Melita asked. The butterflies in her belly had laid a few thousand eggs that were all incubating at once. Somehow even the idea of being embedded with a rifle squad in Kandahar sounded like an enviable posting.

"Nothing, Braddock said, with a shake of her head. "They're all blank to me. In fact I think whatever Stryker is using to jam telepathy in his office, he has another one here. I'm even having difficulties picking you up."

"So what do we do now?"

"I am going in for a closer look. You stay here and keep the car warm; depending on how this goes we might need to get out of here in a hurry."

Melita scowled at her. "I'm not your damn chauffer. Besides, what if you get into trouble in there?"

Braddock quietly popped the car door and stepped out, sweeping her eyes across the compound and watching the patterns of the guards. "I said I'm having difficulties reading you, not that I can't read you at all. I don't mean any offense, but right now you're wishing you'd stayed in bed this morning."

"Don't patronize me. If you've decided you don't think I can handle it after all then—"

"I've decided I don't think you can handle it after all," Braddock said, before Melita could add a "just say it." Melita heard as well as felt the woman's sympathy, but couldn't help but chafe with professional pride over being held back. "Just sit tight, this won't take long."

And with that, she shut the door and vanished into the darkened foliage. Melita heaved a sigh and settled in, her eyes carefully watching the grounds for any sign either of them had been spotted.

###

Stryker leaned on his cane as he limped along with Matthew through the warehouse. There was little at the moment he could do beyond issuing a few orders, and even that was unnecessary: Matthew had all of his Purifiers well in hand as equipment was loaded onto the trucks, and the men were operating with expert military precision. He allowed himself a tight smile as he watched the operation unfold. God had given him his army, now it was drawing near the time to use it.

His observations were interrupted when he felt his phone ring in his suit coat pocket. Stryker twisted his lip in frustration, and motioned to Matthew. "If you will excuse me a moment, Matthew. Please continue."

"Yes, Reverend," Matthew said with a nod, as Stryker fished his phone from his pocket and hobbled off to a private corner surrounded by palettes of equipment and stowed weaponry. He checked the number and sighed in annoyance: Jay Guthrie was calling. Nonetheless, Stryker forced down his disgust and tapped the button to pick up the call.

"This is Stryker," he said.

"Reverend?" Guthrie said. Though distorted by the phone signal, the mutant's voice was still quite clearly uneven. "It's me, Jay."

"Good evening, my son! What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to be callin' so late, sir, but somethin's happened, an' I just really needed to talk."

"What is it, my son?"

"There was another attack tonight, in Salem. One of my friends was killed! An' the guy who shot her was sayin' things about how it was God's will, an' I just can't stop thinkin' about it."

Stryker heaved an exaggerated sigh for the boy's benefit. "Oh my. Are you alright?"

"I don't know!" Guthrie said, and it sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. "I just ..." He trailed off, and Stryker could hear him swallowing on the other end. "I know it's late, but can I see you? I really need to talk to someone about this."

Stryker scowled into the phone. The boy was rapidly becoming something of a pest. One, he decided in that moment, he was finding little further use for. "Of course, my son," he said. "Why don't you meet me at my church in an hour."

"Your church, Reverend?" Guthrie's voice was clearly confused, but there was no suspicion that Stryker could hear.

"Yes, my son. The office I'm afraid is closed for the weekend. But I was going to be doing some preparations for the weekend services, so it's no bother for me to get started a little early."

There was no response for a few moments, and Stryker held his breath. "Ok. I'll meet you there in an hour or so."

Stryker smiled. "Very good. Do you know the address?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I will see you shortly, then. I'll send a car to the corner of June and Graymalkin to pick you up so you need not fly in this cold. And don't worry, my son, it will all be alright."

And with that, Stryker disconnected the call. He pocketed his phone and leaned on his cane as he made his way back to rejoin Matthew, who was busy directing several of his men as they lifted one of the crates to carry it outside to the waiting supply trucks. Matthew placed them in the charge of a lieutenant, and hurried to meet him when he saw the look of urgency on his face.

"Matthew, I'll leave the rest of the preparations in your hands. I have to get to the church," Stryker said.

Matthew frowned. "The church? Is everything all right, Reverend?"

Stryker waved off the concern in his voice. "Oh, everything is fine. I merely have a loose end to wrap up, and I believe some of the men were gathering there rather than coming to the warehouse. Have my car pulled around, and I'll meet—"

He was cut off by someone calling him from across the warehouse, and when Stryker turned away from Matthew to follow the voice to its source, he saw a man in dark fatigues hurrying across the floor, weaving through equipment and bodies with a concerned expression etched on his features that made him more than a little nervous. When he reached the two of them he sketched a stiff salute — which Stryker returned — and waited for his order to speak.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Sir, there's a problem," the man said, and held up a tablet displaying a security feed from one of the cameras hidden on the property.

Matthew and Stryker both leaned in to watch, and Stryker frowned at the sight of a woman slinking towards the compound. A very familiar woman.

"Matthew, remind me on Monday I must have a very stern talk with Ms. Braddock about her conduct," he grumbled. "Though I must admit I'm not surprised. After the tip about Garner's research it really is obvious she was the most likely source of the leak. Still, I'm rather disappointed."

"Whoever she really is, she's good," Matthew observed, and motioned at the tablet. "Look: she's spotted most of the compound cameras and is moving to avoid them. It's only the perimeter cameras we hid in the trees surrounding the warehouse that are picking her up."

"Yes, indeed." Stryker's frown deepened as he watched Braddock slowly approach, slipping through the outer patrols like a shadow. As she approached the fringes of the compound an alarm sounded on the tablet, and Stryker blinked in surprise. "Matthew, were the detectors placed with the compound cameras?"

"Yes, sir," Matthew said. "I supervised the installation myself, and we used some of Dr. Abrams's subjects to verify they were calibrated."

"Interesting. Maybe it's not so coincidental we just happened to find Ms. Braddock so highly recommended after all."

Matthew grunted. "Considering she was probably the worst secretary I've ever seen this actually makes sense. Do you want us to take care of her, sir?"

Stryker shook his head. "Patience, my son. I do believe we have an opportunity here. Let's just wait, and watch."

A grin slowly returned to his face. The Guthrie boy may have outlived his usefulness, but Ms. Braddock's was only beginning.

###

Betsy made her way between the guards in silence, and carefully watched their patterns to pick her approach. Ordinarily, she would just reach into their minds to disguise herself or cloud their awareness of her, and under the right circumstances she would be nothing more than a ghost, if they even perceived that much. But thanks to those damned crucifixes, and whatever means Stryker was using to block her telepathy in the vicinity of the warehouse, she was left to do things the old-fashioned way. And unfortunately, killing a guard or two on her way in would only tip off the rest that something was amiss.

Of course, that's also what made her job so fun.

Betsy reached the perimeter without challenge, and scurried up the fence encircling the compound. She paused at the top, and carefully pulled her head up so she could peer over and into the grounds beyond.

Men in dark fatigues and carrying assault rifles and carbines slung at their backs patrolled the yard inside the fence, while others moved between the warehouse and the trucks — most of them military surplus, from the looks of them — carrying equipment. A quick count came up with perhaps some three or four dozen altogether, all moving in a very ordered, professional way. Even without being able to poke around through their minds it was clear to Betsy that these were no mere parishioners: as with Stryker's clergy, these men were professional and well-trained. Whether they were mercenaries or former military she couldn't be sure without an interrogation, but stealth ruled out that option.

Betsy carefully pulled herself the rest of the way up and, staying as low as she could, slid over the top of the fence and dropped silently into the yard behind a stack of crates. She carefully swept her eyes across the compound, taking note of every camera, guard, and watch post. So far no one showed any sign of having detected her presence, and for the moment she had a relatively clear path right to a side door of the warehouse.

She frowned. Perhaps a little too clear; it was practically an invitation, without even a guard standing posted to challenge anyone approaching that entrance.

Instead, Betsy broke out into a crouched run along the shadowed inside of the fence, circling towards a gap in the cameras and floodlights illuminating the motorpool further around towards the back. She ducked behind a stack of discarded palettes, and listened intently as a pair of guards making their rounds strolled past while chattering quietly over some inanity about a recent football game. She waited until their voices faded from hearing, and edged around the palettes to check the ground around her.

Her hiding place was perhaps thirty meters from the side of the warehouse, in a place where the bulk of the building created a narrow wedge of shadow between the floodlights. There was no sign of anyone heading her direction, nor was she within the coverage of any of the security cameras. A small smile spread across her lips.

Well, Stryker, your security is quite military, but not perfect. Thank you so much.

Betsy called her power to herself, infusing her limbs with telekinetic energy, and broke into a run at the side of the warehouse. She might not be capable of silly overt displays of power like lifting trucks with her mind or other such spectacles, but none of that would be of any use for what she actually needed.

Faster than any normal human was capable, Betsy sprinted across the space between her hiding place and the wall of the warehouse, and made a TK-enhanced leap, vaulting upwards and catching the edge of the sloping roof. She quickly pulled herself up, and flattened herself against the corrugated surface; cameras and lights or not, up here a blind man would be able to see her standing upright. She waited and listened for any sign she had been spotted, and when no alarm was raised, began to crawl towards a skylight near the top.

###

ACT III

###

Jay quietly made his way through the darkened grounds of the school. It was cold; the winter chill bit his exposed skin, and despite his secondary adaptations for flight protecting him from the cold air at altitude he had no desire to try to fly to meet the car the Reverend was sending.

Upon slipping out of the school he immediately struck out through the groves of trees clustered around the mansion, and avoided the better-lit paths winding through the Xavier estate. He wasn't sure where the school's security cameras were, but if anyone were to see him trying to leave, it would be by the main gate. So instead he headed for the privacy wall well away from the Graymalkin entrance.

Jay threaded through the trees clustered between him and the wall, and muttered silently in frustration as he blindly groped past dark trunks lost in the deeper blackness of the night spread like a cloak across the grounds. Although his vision was keener than most of his classmates, he wasn't a damn owl and was adapted for daylight flying. On the other hand, his hearing was certainly not bothered by the darkness, and Jay paused at what he thought was a sound behind him.

He turned and looked over his shoulder, vainly sweeping his eyes back along the direction he had come, but there was nothing to see in the shadows between the trees. His heart began to race in spite of himself, but Jay just turned back to his path and continued for the wall, straining his ears for any sound of pursuit. But aside from that one moment he thought he heard someone following, there wasn't another sound except for his own stumbling steps among the tangled roots of the trees towering above him.

Thankfully he reached the privacy wall surrounding the estate without tripping or twisting an ankle. It loomed up in front of him; a black barrier made of pure shadow between him and the world outside. A barrier between his kind and the world beyond, and the biggest obstacle Jay felt prevented true understanding between mutants and normal people. He had spent the entire walk from the school wrestling over whether or not he ought to turn right around and talk to someone — Mel, Paige, Sooraya, or even Jubilee — about what had been happening, but seeing that wall just steeled his resolve. It was wrong for them to hide themselves away. The only way for the people outside to accept them was to tear down the walls — philosophical and otherwise — between them. He had to go.

Jay stripped off his coat and stretched his wings. He shivered in the bite of the winter's air, and his breath hung like a cloud in front of him. Then, with a few powerful downstrokes of his wings he vaulted into the air, and gently glided to the ground outside the wall again. Jay folded his wings tightly against his back again, enjoying the warmth of the downy feathers around his body, and slipped back into his jacket. Then, hands stuffed in his pockets, he started off towards Greymalkin as it made its way to join June Road.

###

As Jay turned his back to the school, he missed the shadow quietly slipping over the top of the privacy wall behind him.

###

Betsy slowly dragged herself up the peaked roof the warehouse towards a skylight near the top, and peered inside through the dirty panes of glass. She could see little from her position here, but there was a metal catwalk within easy reach. She could at times see movement on the floor below, but nothing clear enough to answer just what Stryker's organization was doing with this facility.

Well, time for a closer look, then.

She studied the frame of the skylight for a few moments. It was secured by a simple pressure alarm that was even simpler to disable, and soon she was dropping lightly to the catwalk beneath it. Betsy carefully and quietly made her way to a juncture with another walkway, keeping to the shadows to avoid being spotted by anyone watching from below. She took note of the rows upon rows of palettes laden with crates and boxes, some wrapped in plastic to keep their contents together, while others were being removed from the warehouse and taken out to the trucks waiting beyond the open loading doors.

Her attention was drawn by a cordoned off area in one corner of the facility, separated from the rest of the warehouse by plastic sheeting. Betsy frowned as she studied what was clearly an improvised cleanroom, complete with independent heating, lighting, and air scrubbers. She could make out movement within but could see nothing from her vantage point, so staying low and hugging the railing of the catwalk, crept in that direction for a closer look.

What she saw when she got there made her want to throw up.

Men in scrubs and surgical masks were at work over the heavily-sedated bodies of men and women strapped down to gurneys.

So this is what's become of the missing mutants...

Betsy's lip twisted into a scowl. Stryker's history of experimentation on her kind — along with the U.S. Military's complicity in his work by turning a blind eye to the activities of his special operations units — was a well-known horror story at home, but in the years following the Alkali Lake incident the government had insisted the experiments had been permanently ended. And yet now she was looking down on helpless men and women being studied like laboratory specimens. Most were having fluids drained from their bodies, but at least one woman's head had been shaved while a man in glasses and mustache performed some sort of minor operation on her skull.

She reluctantly tore herself away from the sight of the atrocity being committed below, and forced herself to complete her survey of the site. No matter how much she wanted to put an end to it, Betsy had to acknowledge that there was nothing she could do by herself against the sheer volume of firepower between her and liberating the prisoners — especially as none of them looked to be capable of escaping under their own power any time soon. Logan, perhaps, would try to do something, but without her telepathy she lacked the raw power of a Jean Grey to take the installation herself.

There were times when absurd raw power could come in handy, after all.

Betsy slipped around a corner of the catwalk, and turned down a walkway leading towards the middle of the facility where several men were gathered there directing the flow of traffic moving into and out of the warehouse. None of them appeared to be Stryker, but one she clearly recognized as Matthew Risman.

Well now, I've been wondering where you've been hiding since the bus attack.

As she watched the discussion between Risman and several of the other men in fatigues, a figure dressed in scrubs approached from the clean room. Betsy placed a Bluetooth headset over her ear, and withdrew a small wireless device from one of the pouches on her belt. She tapped a few commands into the touchscreen, and the device began sweeping the warehouse for a signal, locking on to the iPad in Risman's hands. She twitched one corner of her mouth into a satisfied smile, and moments later had tapped into the tablet's microphone.

"...nk we've got all we can from this batch," the man in scrubs said.

"Was there anything useful?" Risman asked.

The other man shook his head. "Nothing much, but then again I don't know exactly what they're looking for."

"You'd have to ask the Reverend, Jack. If our benefactors are looking for something in particular Stryker hasn't told me."

Her smile faded. Jack Abrams must be running that horror show. And benefactors...?

"Regardless, I'm just about done with this group, so they'll be ready for transport in a couple hours."

"Thanks, Jack," Risman said, and turned to one of the other men with him. "Get a squad together to prepare the specimens to be moved. They're to report directly to Dr. Abrams."

"Yes, sir," the man said, and hurried off to see to his task.

A couple hours? Damn, that doesn't give me much time...

Betsy removed her headset and shut down her listening device, and stowed all of her gear away again, before hastily retracing her steps back to the skylight. A sudden sense of urgency washed over her; whatever Stryker's long game was, she had no choice but to get help now, or those people strapped to the tables would never be seen alive again. Betsy didn't know who exactly those benefactors were, but she knew she couldn't let the prisoners fall into their hands.

She only prayed it wasn't already too late.

###

Melita flexed her hands around the wheel of her car, and watched the activity in the warehouse beyond. A car had left a few minutes earlier, and her heart had nearly jumped clear out of her throat in fear she might be spotted, but fortunately the darkness and foliage had been enough cover, and they drove right by without so much as slowing down for a closer look. It didn't really help her nerves, but she was willing to accept anything that went her way under the circumstances.

Braddock had been gone for some time, but so far everything in the compound beyond was quiet. There was no sign of an alarm having been sounded, and the men working in the yard continued moving equipment from the warehouse into the trucks, like a trail of ants dismantling a discarded cheeseburger.

Melita shifted to relieve a cramp in her leg, and was just preparing to begin another silent count of the small army within when she heard a sound that had all the million butterfly eggs being laid in her belly hatching at once: An alarm sounded within the warehouse, and the guards outside dropped whatever they were doing to respond.

"Oh shit!" she murmured, over and over, as the pop of gunfire shattered the peace of the night. Braddock sprinting for all she was worth towards her hiding place, dodging faster than Melita thought any human was capable between bodies and using them to shield herself from return fire. A group of Stryker's men formed a firing line and opened up with automatic rifles, and Braddock threw up a hand in response. A faint arc of pinkish energy went up between them, and the incoming fire splattered harmlessly against the shield. Her sword was in hand as she carved a path towards the cover of the woods, but even with her powers Melita realized she would never make it; another squad was moving to cut her off, and soon she would be surrounded.

"Well, Ms. Braddock," Melita murmured as she started up her car, "You might not have thought I could handle it, but now it's my turn to play cavalry."

She slammed the accelerator all the way to the floor, and her car lurched as its engine roared and tires scrambled for purchase on the loose gravel and dirt beneath it. Then she was off, slamming through the gate of the privacy fence (and Melita winced at the damage and the thought of how she would explain it to her insurance) as she barreled towards the line of men driving Braddock into their comrades.

The squad saw her at the last moment and scattered. Two of their number weren't so quick and she struck them both; one was thrown aside by the left fender while the other she struck full-on, and his body was flung unceremoniously backwards. He rolled across the ground a good couple yards where he lay limp and unmoving, though Melita found herself with little sympathy or regret having twice escaped death at these peoples' hands. Payback's a bitch.

Braddock took advantage of the momentary distraction and dove through the passenger's side door, hauling herself the rest of the way in just as a hail of fire from the quickly reforming mercenaries tore into the vehicle. Melita yelped and ducked under cover of the dashboard as the windshield exploded in a shower of glass, and she could hear the rounds chewing up the console, or zipping past her and slamming into the seats behind her. Another group came in from the driver's side, but Braddock lifted her hand and threw up another barrier of telekinetic energy just in time to shield Melita from certain perforation.

"Need a lift?" Melita said, more out of a need to settle the bile threating to climb up the back of her throat than a need to actually ask the question.

"No time for quips, love!" Braddock shouted over the roar of gunfire. "Get us the bloody hell out of here!"

Melita slammed her foot back on the gas and cut the wheel hard to the left. Once more the car lurched, and the back end swung out as the tires spun for purchase. It seemed to take an eternity for the car to start forward again, fishtailing slightly as it slowly accelerated up to speed and roared towards the gate. A sound disturbingly like hail on a metal roof echoed in her ears as more gunfire pelted them from behind, and the rear window shattered, with only Braddock's power saving them both from being struck.

"What happened!" Melita demanded, as they rocketed back out onto the road. She switched on her headlights and discovered to her dismay that the left one had been shot out.

"Patrol outside as I was making my exit," Braddock said, her expression a mix of frustration and, Melita was alarmed to realize, exhilaration. "Thank you for the ride."

Melita gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "Don't mention it," she said, willing her heart back into her chest and panting as adrenaline surged through her. "Now what?"

"Westchester, as fast as this heap can go. Don't worry about the police; they won't even see us. Just get me there now!"

She risked looking away from the road long enough to regard Braddock, and a queasy feeling filled her gut as the excitement over their escape faded from her face, and a troubled expression settled over her in its place. "What is it?"

"I've found out what happened to the missing mutants Xavier's people have been looking for," Braddock said, and there was something hollow in her voice that bothered Melita even more than her grim expression.

Melita didn't press her further, and just turned her attention back to the road as she stepped on the gas and willed her car to move faster.

###

Matthew watched the action on the tablet, and listened to the rattle of gunfire from outside. A few of the men fell, either to Braddock's sword, or the sudden appearance of her escape vehicle running down two of his people, but nothing the Reverend wouldn't view as an acceptable loss. Then their vehicle disappeared back out of the compound gate, and was lost in the darkness outside.

He turned to his lieutenant, and gave him a nod. "It's done. Be ready."

###

Cessily sat with her knees drawn to her chest on the couch in the lounge, and watched the news with the rest of the student body. She should be crying, now. The tears ought to have been flowing in rivers, but no matter how much she tried or wished to, they just couldn't come. She felt horrible; all the grief that had just started to fade over the last month, to slowly be replaced by a sense of optimism that things would be ok in the end, came flooding back. All she could see was Laurie lying motionless in a pool of blood, Josh's futile desperation to put her back together again, and Kevin...

Her shoulders heaved and she buried her face in her knees. And Kevin had completely lost it.

Over and over again in her mind she saw Laurie's killer rot before her eyes, and the look on Kevin's face as he used his power. It was beyond anger and grief. What Cessily saw in that moment was rage mixed with satisfaction, and it terrified her.

And now he, too, was gone, and if Quire was to be believed the Professor had ordered him hunted down.

She felt a weight settled down on the couch next to her, but didn't move, and just sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and hugging them tightly against her.

"Cessily?" came the voice accompanying the weight beside her, and Cessily raised her head to find Melody Guthrie looking up at her. "Are you ok?"

Cessily sniffled — a purely instinctual reaction, and one she knew wasn't an actual physical response — and shook her head. "I'm not," she said, and looked back to the television, where a report on the Salem shooting was playing. Santo and Julian were nowhere to be seen, and for that matter she hadn't seen Sooraya, either. Most of the rest still gathered in the lounge watched the report with a strange sense of apathy. Cessily was desperate to cry and couldn't only because of the mutation that left her questioning day by day whether she was even alive. Her friends just sat dumbstruck because they had no tears left to shed.

"What's going to happen?" Melody asked, and hugged herself tightly. "First the bus an' now this? We're supposed to be safe here."

"I don't know, Mel," Cessily said. "I wish I did. I wish it was all just a bad dream and we could wake up and it would all be gone, but it's not."

"I haven't seen Jay since they brought us back. Somethin' didn't seem right with him, an' maybe Paige is fine givin' him space, but I'm worried about him."

Cessily hugged herself. "To be honest, I'm not sure anything's going to be right again."

She turned her attention back to the television, and for a long time just watched and said nothing more.

###

The car pulled up next to the curb in front of the converted theater Stryker had used to build his church, and Jay got out. The street was illuminated by the light of streetlamps, and crossed by dark shadows behind which Jay's imagination saw any number of demons looking to leap out and drag him away. He forced those feelings aside as best he could, but couldn't shake off a sense of unease. Meeting Stryker in his office had been one thing, but this was the true heart of the Reverend's ministry, and the source of much of the dark and fearful rumors spread by the staff and students of the Xavier school. It gave him a small thrill, but formed a lump in his throat at the same time.

Stryker's own car was already there — clearly, the Reverend was waiting for him — and Jay was lead inside to meet him by the driver who brought him from Westchester.

He made his way through the former box-office, which now served as the vestibule, and on into the auditorium beyond. The theater's seating had been replaced by wooden pews, with a pulpit on the stage at the far end serving as the altar. Stryker waited there, leaning on his cane and dressed in a dark sweater beneath a military-cut woolen jacket, talking to several men in fatigues. That gave him pause, as there was something almost martial about their stance which seemed wholly out of place, here.

More men dressed in similar fashion stood about the interior of the church, with others standing in the shadows along the walls. Only the stage lights were on, leaving much of the auditorium bathed in darkness, which made it hard to make out the features of the men gathered within, but Jay felt their eyes following him with aversion as he made his way down the aisle. The churning in his belly only got worse the nearer he drew to the stage, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

Jay reached the stage and climbed up one of the flights of steps on either side, and warily approached the Reverend. Stryker offered him a mirthless smile, and the hairs at the back of Jay's neck stood on end.

"Ah, there you are, my son!" Stryker said. "I was afraid you would change your mind."

"No, sir," Jay said, and nervously eyed the gathering. "I thought we were talkin' in private ..."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm just concluding some business and won't be long. Now, if you will—"

Stryker was cut off by a sudden commotion at the far end of the aisle, as the men scattered throughout the auditorium all responded to a shadowed figure standing in the doorway. Jay squinted, but could make out nothing of his identity. Stryker's face was immediately twisted by a scowl, and when he turned his eyes on Jay they were filled with anger.

"What is this? Did you bring someone else with you?"

Jay just gawked at the figure as it paused at the end of the aisle, and carefully scrutinized the men gathered within. He couldn't help but feel the newcomer's eyes fix on him and Stryker in turn, calculating and processing everything that was happening within the church. "No, sir! I didn't even tell anyone I was leavin'. Not even my sisters!"

"Don't lie to me, boy!" Stryker snapped, and the sudden wrath in his voice made Jay take a startled step back.

This is wrong, this is very, very wrong...

"I'm not!" he protested. "I swear, I didn't tell anyone!"

Stryker just ignored him and turned to one of the men standing on the stage. "Take care of this," he said, and pointed at the figure with his cane.

"Yes, Reverend," the main replied, and at a signal Jay heard a sound that froze his blood: the quiet clacking of safeties switching off as the gathering leveled their guns.

Before Jay could call out or the intruder could even think of fleeing the scene Stryker's people opened fire, and Jay could only watch in horror as the figure silhouetted against the dim lighting of the vestibule jerked as a hail of bullets ripped through him, splashing blood across the walls and floors, before he collapsed and lay unmoving in the doorway.

Jay wanted to throw up, but could only stare slack-jawed at what he had just witnessed.

Two of the gunmen carefully approached the still body lying in the doorway with their weapons lowered, but then they shouldered their carbines and hefted the body between them, retracing their steps back down the aisle to the stage. Jay felt the bile rising up in his throat as they climbed up the steps and dumped the body at Stryker's feet, and he found himself staring down on Laura Kinney's pale face.

###

Act IV

###

The door of the school was flung wide open, and everyone nearby scattered as the two women stormed in. Scott was in motion the moment Xavier and Jean had detected their approach, confirmed mere seconds later by the school's security cameras. Their vehicle was battered and riddled with bullets, and that alone had Scott's heart pumping as he quickly issued orders to the rest of the team.

Melita Garner wearily stumbled in supported by a tall, striking woman of Japanese descent, the former particularly looking a little worse for wear, but showing no obvious sign of injury. Nonetheless, Scott's hand went to the controls of his visor at the sight of the stranger.

"That's far enough!" he ordered, as Jean and Peter closed ranks around him. The distinct metallic clacking of Peter's armor encasing his skin rang through the hallway, punctuating the warning. A small knot of students formed behind them, drawn by the unexpected commotion. "Don't even twitch or I'll blast you off the lawn."

For her part, the woman stood away from Garner and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "There's no need for that, Summers," the stranger said, in very proper received pronunciation wholly at odds with her appearance. "I'm here to see Charles Xavier, it's urgent."

"She's telling the truth, Scott," Jean said as she closely scrutinized the woman. If the woman thought anything of Jean probing her mind she didn't say anything, and merely watched him with a peculiarly cool and detached patience.

Regardless, Scott wasn't prepared to back down quite yet. "Who are you?"

"My name is Betsy Braddock, I'm a friend of Logan's." She quirked a grin. "But as I'm sure that may actually count as a mark against me, Cyclops, I also go by Psylocke."

Scott slowly took his hand away from his visor. "He's been trying to reach you."

Braddock nodded casually. "Yes, I was a tad indisposed. Where is the Professor? This is important."

"I'm right here, Betsy," the Professor said from behind him, and maneuvered his chair through the knot of students gathering to watch the confrontation. Xavier glanced up at Colossus and gave him an amused smile. "Oh, come now, Peter, is that the way to greet visitors? As for the rest of you ..." He turned his head to regard the students behind him. "...I think you have better things to be doing right now. That goes double for you, Mr. Quire."

The crowd slowly broke up as the kids went back to whatever they had been doing before Braddock and Melita had burst into the school unannounced, but Scott suspected that none of them would be able to shake their curiosity over the visitors. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded the two women. "Cessily, Melody," he said, as he took note of the Melita's exhaustion — whatever the they had been up to, the brave façade the reporter was putting up was beginning to fracture, "would you please take Ms. Garner to the lounge?"

"I'm alright, Scott," she said in protest as the two girls started towards her. "You might want me there."

He glanced at Jean, who gave him a subtle nod. "All right. Girls, go on back to the lounge with the others."

"Yes, Mr. Summers," they both said together, before following the rest of their classmates as they dispersed.

"Well then," Xavier said, "you've stirred up quite a bit of a commotion tonight. Would you mind explaining to me what it's all about?"

"I would be delighted," Braddock said coolly, "though I must say I'm rather alarmed by the reception. I thought all our kind were welcome here."

Xavier sighed as he started towards his office, with the five of them falling into step behind him. "You've caught us, I'm afraid, at a very bad time."

"Clearly."

Melita frowned. "I've been a little busy tonight, have I missed something?"

"There was a shooting in Salem tonight," Jean said, and there was no missing the pain in her voice. "Laurie Collins, one of our students, was killed."

The woman gasped at the news. "Oh, god ..."

Braddock scowled. "Another child. God damn Stryker."

Scott rounded on her and eyed her closely. Whatever she knew was hidden behind a stony mask across her features. "Are you sure it was Stryker?"

"Very sure," Braddock said, and swept her eyes across the hallway. "Best we discuss this further away from prying ears lest we give someone cause to go off and do something rash."

Scott nodded, and they followed Xavier as he turned into his office, and shut the door behind them.

###

Jay stood transfixed, his mouth agape and eyes wide in horror. For a moment his brain couldn't even begin to process what he was seeing.

Laura lay on the floor. Her small frame was riddled with bullets, and blood poured from what seemed to be dozens of wounds to spread in a glistening pool across the stage. In some distant part of his mind that still functioned through the shock he knew she was dying. She gurgled and coughed, spitting up blood, and even more blood frothed from her nose.

Stryker stood over her and looked down dispassionately, his utter disregard for the girl's life wholly anathema to everything Jay knew in his heart about what men of God should be. He then looked at Jay, and his features twisted with disgust and thinly disguised irritation.

"Who is she?" Stryker asked.

Jay didn't respond, and just kept staring at Laura as her life drained away. Despite her small size — even Melody, a good two years her junior, was taller — he never realized until now just how tiny and fragile she was.

"Who is she?" Stryker said again, an edge of impatience in his voice. The repetition was finally enough to clue Jay into the fact the reverend was addressing him.

"Laura," he said numbly, unable to tear his gaze away from her and feeling tears welling in his eyes. Her fair skin had lost its healthy color and was now deathly pale, making the blood dribbling from her mouth and nose stand out as brilliant streaks of crimson. "Laura Kinney."

Had he been looking at the reverend Jay might have noted a subtle flare of recognition in his expression. "Kinney ..." Stryker said, repeating the name quietly to himself a couple times as he turned it over and tried to place it. After a moment he gave up, seeming to file it away for future perusal, and turned his attention fully back to him. "Why is she here?"

Jay didn't respond. He felt sick with remorse. This was his fault. He didn't know why Laura followed him, but nonetheless this was his doing. It was he who led her into this trap. He didn't pull the trigger, but he was her murderer.

When he failed to answer, Stryker strode forward and cuffed him across the cheek, and Jay stumbled a bit under the blow. "Why is she here!" he snapped impatiently.

"I don't know!" Jay said.

"Did you bring her? Don't lie to me, boy!"

"No!"

"Is this some kind of trick?"

"No!" Jay repeated, shielding himself from another blow. "Why?"

It was Stryker's turn to ignore him, and he turned to one of his lieutenants. "Gather the men and prepare to move out. If all goes as I suspect, I believe Xavier and the other adults will be occupied for quite some time. I expect limited resistance from the rest."

Realization suddenly washed over him. "Laurie ..." he murmured, and the numb feeling as he watched Laura die was consumed by something new.

Wrath.

"It was you," Jay said, anger and hatred building inside him. Stryker turned, and the kindly and warm expression he so often favored him with was gone, replaced by that of a man who walked through the kitchen door to find a rat or some other sort of vermin gazing back at him. "Julian an' Jubilee were right. You had Laurie killed. All our talks about my friends an' the school; you used me to help you kill the others!"

"You have done me and mankind a great service, my son," Stryker said, and there was no mistaking the mockery in his voice. "Not enough to erase the sin of your existence, but perhaps you will find some comfort in the knowledge that your actions have helped to save the human race."

"You murdered Laurie!" Jay roared, hands clenched into fists, and even Stryker was taken aback by his sudden expression of rage. "She was a child! We're all just children. All we want is to be left alone an' be allowed to live our lives, an' you sent someone to walk up and put a bullet through her head! Now you killed Laura who couldn't even defend herself!"

"Do you not understand the will of God, my son? Man was created in His image. You are perversions. A cancer to be removed by whatever means necessary."

"'There is only one lawgiver an' judge, he who is able to save an' to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?'" Jay shot back, his whole body trembling. "You are no man of God, Reverend. You take the words of the Lord an' twist them." Jay felt the fury building into righteous rage as the faces of Mark, Laurie and Laura, of Sooraya, of Sam, Paige, and Melody rushed through his head. "You lied to me, an' you tricked me into helpin' you murder innocent people! My friends!"

He vented his wrath with as fierce a cry as he could manage and rushed for Stryker, his hands seeking for his throat. He never made it.

Two shots rang out, and Jay felt as if he had been punched in the chest. He suddenly couldn't draw a breath, and he stumbled and crashed to the ground. Blood frothed from his mouth, and he felt a curious numbness in his breast spreading towards his limbs. He lifted himself up onto his elbows and attempted to crawl the rest of the way to the reverend, but Stryker casually rolled him onto his back with the toe of his boot. That was when Jay saw the two bloody holes just to the right of his own breastbone as Stryker glowered down on him through the sights of his pistol.

"It seems you will get the chance to learn the truth from the mouth of God himself soon enough."

"I'll just heal," Jay murmured. His voice shuddered under his efforts to draw a steady breath.

Stryker just smiled coldly as he made a show of ejecting the magazine of his pistol. "Carbonadium rounds, my son. Though I'm sure that word means little to you; You see, this wonderful metal has the peculiar property of nullifying most forms of healing factor. I could even kill the Wolverine himself with these." He pocketed the magazine and slipped another one into his gun in its place. "Quite rare, of course, so I have to save them for special targets. Though I suppose you'll not have much appreciation for that, either."

Darkness began to encroach on the edge of Jay's vision. The floor beneath him felt cold and distant, and his breath was labored. His head lolled to the side and he looked at Laura, lying motionless in a cooling pool of blood. She seemed at peace, more so than he could remember at any other time at school.

I'm sorry.

Above him Stryker motioned to two of his men. "Dispose of them," he said, Jay's ears only dimly registering his words as he turned to the others. "The rest of you, mount up. It's time to go to war."

###

"We're all here," Scott Summers said, and folded his arms across his chest as he took his place behind the Professor's right hand, a subtle bit of body language that made it perfectly clear what the hierarchy was in this room. Jean Grey stood behind Xavier's left shoulder, completing the symmetry. The enormous Peter Rasputin leaned against the back wall of the room. "So what's going on?"

Betsy stood with Melita — matching Cyclops's posture but rocking a bit on her feet in a valiant effort to keep fatigue at bay — across the desk from him, leaning casually on the sword hung at her hip. Only four others had joined them in Xavier's office. One — Ororo Munroe — she knew by reputation. The other three were women of all roughly the same age: one of Chinese descent with short, spiked hair, a hard-rock fashion style, and a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. A diminutive young woman who immediately took up a place next to Colossus, who managed to make her look even smaller if such a thing were possible, and the third was trying a little too hard to overcome a rustic upbringing.

All of Xavier's people stood behind him, and regarded her with varying measures of curiosity and suspicion, though seeing her with Melita seemed to put them much more at ease than the boorish greeting she had received at the door. She tried to reach out with her mind to probe their surface impressions, but was immediately stymied by Jean Grey, whose own telepathy buried her beneath a numbing blanket so thick she couldn't even touch Melita standing next to her.

"This is everyone?" Betsy asked, and she couldn't keep her concern from her voice.

"This is everyone at the school right now, yes," Xavier said. "Marie and Robert Drake are currently looking for one of our students, who ran off after the shooting, and I have Dr. McCoy assisting the Salem police with their investigation. There are a number of others, but they have assignments away from the school."

Betsy frowned. Stryker's men had a substantial amount of firepower at his disposal. It will have to do.

"Well, you might as well recall McCoy, then," she said. "Melita and I have located your missing mutants, and answered quite a few more of your questions."

Xavier's people looked among themselves, apparently privy to some psychic communication Betsy was not invited to. Well, that is quite rude.

"What were you able to find?" Scott asked.

Betsy folded her arms beneath her breast. "They're being held at a warehouse not far from the New Croton Reservoir; Ms. Garner found it while investigating a lead I gave her." She sobered abruptly. "You won't like hearing this part; they're being used for test subjects, but I don't know what sort of experiment."

Jean gasped, and the Chinese girl's expression darkened considerably.

"And we have to hurry," Betsy added hastily. "It appears they were being prepared to move in a few hours, so if you want them back we need to move quickly."

"How many are there?" Storm asked. "Are they hurt?"

"I wasn't able to get close enough to tell for certain, but there were several of them. Nor could I determine their condition. And like I said in the hall: It's Stryker."

"I knew it!" the Chinese girl snapped, and almost at once plasma began to dance along her arms.

"Jubilee!" Xavier said in warning.

"I knew it!" she repeated, her voice rising in anger, and the energy she was gathering to herself intensified until it was whining audibly. "I told you guys, but none of you would listen to me!"

"That's enough!"

Jubilee balled her hands into fists and her body was shaking, but as she met the Professor's eyes, she slowly reigned in her outburst and the energy sizzling around her faded away. The anger, however, remained etched on her features, accompanied by some distant pain Betsy managed to feel even through Grey's smothering of her telepathy. "For the record: I told you so!" Jubilee muttered crossly.

"Are you sure?" Jean asked. "We can't just go around accusing Stryker of kidnapping and human experimentation without proof."

"It's Stryker, all right," Betsy said. "I was doing a little undercover work as a secretary in one of his offices. The man in charge at the warehouse is one of Stryker's clergymen. He goes by the name of Matthew Risman, a former member of Delta Force, where he served as a sniper and SpecOps."

"Almost all of Stryker's clergy are former military," Melita added. "Professor, I've looked through every file Ms. Braddock was able to give me. Any one of his people had the knowledge and expertise to plant the bomb which killed those kids." The reporter's voice broke at that.

"There's more," Betsy said, when it was clear Melita would need a moment. "Stryker has the materiel to carry it out as well. Melita?" Melita nodded, and dug around in her purse to retrieve the crucifix they had taken from one of the men who attacked her. "He sent men to have Ms. Garner killed after her boss tipped him off to how close she was getting, and we took this off one of them."

Scott frowned. "What is it?"

"An answer to another of your lingering questions, I'm sure," she said as Melita laid the crucifix on the desk. The others leaned in to study it more carefully. "I think all of Stryker's men have them. It's not my area of expertise so I'm not sure if there's a concealed mechanism of some sort or if it's just the material it's made from, but it's able to block telepathy."

Jean looked at her sharply. "You're sure of that?"

Betsy nodded. "I tested it with Ms. Garner myself. When she had it in her hand I couldn't get so much as a dirty thought out of her. It doesn't stop there, though. Stryker has found a way to shield entire areas from telepathy; his office downtown and the warehouse are complete dead zones. As soon as I walk in I can't sense anything."

Storm frowned as she picked up the cross and studied it closely. "Where could all this have come from?"

"Some of it I have no doubt Stryker helped to research himself. A lot of this has Bolivar Trask's diminutive fingerprints all over it, and Stryker may well have been his protégé."

"One of the names Ms. Braddock gave me was a man named Adam Harkins," Melita said. "Unfortunately, I didn't have much better luck finding anything about the man than she did, other than that Stryker has been in almost constant contact with him. I think I was able to link him with an unlisted phone number, but even that was a dead end. Whoever he is, he's a ghost, but I think I could link him to some of the equipment deliveries that were received at that warehouse."

"What sort of deliveries?" Cyclops asked, his face frustratingly unreadable behind his visor, particularly without the help of her telepathy, but Grey still hadn't relaxed her securing of the room.

"Weapons," Betsy said. "Some of it I think is equipment like this." She motioned at the crucifix in Storm's hand as she passed it to Colossus for his inspection. The big mutant turned it in his hand and indicated his inability to make anything of it with a quiet shrug. "But Stryker is stockpiling a significant cache of materiel. Unfortunately I can't say for what, but I've heard him toss around 'our benefactor' so many times I have reason to believe he's not entirely acting on his own whim."

"This Adam Harkins?" the not-quite-dwarf woman with Colossus asked, her expression thoughtful as she took her turn studying the crucifix.

Betsy shrugged. "Possibly."

Xavier considered carefully, and steepled his hands in front of him. Everyone awaited what he had to say as he processed the information, and Betsy found herself holding her breath. Logan had told her once just how profound his respect for the man ran, and she knew just what high praise that was coming from him. As she swept her eyes across the gathering crowded into his office Betsy saw the same esteem mirrored on all their faces. Whatever disagreements they might have with what he decided now, she had no doubt they would carry it out.

"Scott," he finally said. "Take Jean, Storm, Colossus, Shadowcat, and Psylocke to that warehouse." Xavier looked to her. "If, Ms. Braddock, you would be agreeable to accompanying them."

Betsy quirked a grin. "Why I was afraid you wouldn't ask."

Xavier returned the smile. "Whatever Stryker's plans, we cannot in good conscience leave those poor souls prisoner to be dissected like laboratory rats. They are people, first and foremost. And I want as much information as you can find about where these weapons and equipment are coming from."

Cyclops frowned as Xavier gave the order. Betsy felt the blanket smothering her telepathy lift as Jean relaxed her block, and the thoughts and feelings of all those gathered came to her in a rush. Foremost among them was Summers's hesitation over what was sure to end in a direct confrontation with Stryker's people.

"Professor," he said, giving voice to his concern, "You realize that if she's right, we'll be walking straight into a war."

"I feel I ought to point out at this time Melita and I didn't exactly make a clean getaway," Betsy noted, "though I'm sure you already reasoned it out for yourself when you saw the shape her car was in."

"Yeah, about that ..." Melita said, and trailed off when she realized her attempt at levity fell on deaf ears.

"I know, Scott," Xavier said, and his expression grew hard. "But we have lost thirty children to Stryker's actions. Even if we turn over everything we find there, along with Ms. Garner's research, to the authorities to take control of the matter afterwards this must end here and now."

"I want in, Professor," Jubilee said, her jaw set in determination.

"No, I need you here—"

"Like hell you do!" she snapped, and a high-pitched shriek filled the room as her power flared again during the outburst. From the expressions on the faces of the rest of the gathering, Betsy concluded that the woman wasn't exactly given to this sort of backtalk. "Look, I know I've had issues with how to use my powers, ok? But this is Stryker! I owe him for what he did to me, and I can't just stand by while he puts others through it, too!"

Xavier's expression softened. "I understand, Jubilee. But I need you and Paige to remain here with me to keep watch over our charges. Whatever Stryker has planned, if he's amassing an arsenal of the size Ms. Braddock is suggesting I can't risk leaving the children unprotected."

"But—"

"The Professor's right, Jubes," the other woman, whom Betsy assumed was Paige, said. There was the barest hint of a drawl in her voice which she couldn't quite hide from her trained ears. She cracked a grin. "I know I don't want to babysit them all by myself. They'll drive me up the wall."

Jubilee reabsorbed the energy dancing across her skin, and her expression darkened considerably as she backed down. Her unhappiness was clearly evident in her thoughts, but she reluctantly nodded. "All right, all right," she grumbled. "But next time Marie and Bobby get to stay home."

Xavier's expression never changed from one of profound sympathy over her frustration. "I pray, Jubilee, that there won't be a next time."

She just nodded, folded her arms across her chest, and slumped against the wall.

Xavier then returned his attention to the others, and leaned back in his chair. "We must move quickly; if Ms. Braddock is correct then the prisoners will be moved soon, and once they are we may never find them again."

Melita coughed for their attention, and raised her hand. "What about me? I can't even begin to tell you how long of a day it's been between my boss selling me out, a bunch of Stryker's thugs trying to kill me in my office parking garage, getting shot at, and I'm pretty sure my insurance isn't going to cover my car, but if there's anything I can do to help ..."

"I think you've done more than enough for us already, Melita," Xavier said with a smile. "In fact right now I find that we owe you quite a bit. But if you wish, I want to know as much as we can about this Adam Harkins; who he is, and what his connection is to Stryker. But that, I think, can wait another day. From the looks of it I think you could use some rest." He turned his attention to Jubilee and Paige. "If you would be so kind as to take Ms. Garner in hand while she's here?"

"Yes, sir," Paige said, and Jubilee nodded glumly.

"If there's nothing more, then Scott I'll leave the team to you. I don't need to tell you all that the lives and safety of not only our children here are at stake. If Stryker is not stopped now, I fear Laurie and the others may only be the beginning."

###

Act V

###

"Grab her feet," Paul said, motioning to his companion while the Reverend gathered the rest of his men around him and led them down the aisle to the front door of the church. Joseph complied, seizing the girl by her feet and together they lifted her and carried her to an area backstage. She was a little thing and incredibly light, but carrying her corpse still went easier with two.

"Why do we get trash duty?" Joseph grumbled as he kicked the door leading backstage open for them to pass through.

"I don't know, you want to go ask the Reverend? Let's just get this done."

They reached the back room, a spacious area with an open ceiling supported by metal scaffolding, where they dropped the girl's body unceremoniously to the floor, then headed back up front to get the other. Ralph grabbed the boy under his armpits as Joseph took the legs again, and they effortlessly lifted him to bear him away.

"Damn, he's a light bastard, ain't he?" Joseph said.

"I overheard the Reverend when he was talking to Matthew about the kid," Paul said. "Something about hollow bones, kinda like a big bird, you know?"

Joseph chuckled. "Well, the Reverend's 'angel' won't be doing any more flying now, will he?"

They carried him through the door, and as they reached the place where they left the girl Paul frowned. All that remained of her was a smear of blood on the floor.

"Where's the girl?" Paul said, voicing his confusion.

And that's when a shadow detached from the scaffolding supporting the ceiling, landed heavily around Joseph's shoulders, and he cried out as he was rolled into an arm lock.

"Shit!" Paul blurted out as he dropped his end of the body they were carrying and grabbed for his sidearm. The girl used her leverage to turn Joseph and place the bulk of his body between them, snatched his Beretta from its holster, and fired four shots in rapid succession over his back. She moved so quickly and so fluidly Paul might have been impressed, but then the rounds struck him in a tight grouping dead-center in the chest. His body armor took the brunt of the hit, but his breath was forced from his lungs and the weight of the impact put him to the floor.

Even before he hit the ground, and as the edges of his vision blackened from the brief moment of hypoxia while his lungs struggled to overcome the shock of impact and draw a breath, he saw the girl plant the muzzle of Joseph's gun against his chest and fire off another four shots point-blank into him. Then Paul was on the ground watching stars spiral overhead.

###

Laura stood over the body of the mercenary, the weapon leveled at him in a combat grip as he collapsed. She flipped him onto his back with her toe and gazed down on him through the sights of the pistol. A cluster of four bullet holes stared back at her, weeping slightly, but his body armor absorbed much of the impact. He now lay groaning and writhing on the floor.

Beretta M9 chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum, insufficient muzzle velocity and weight of fire for reliable armor penetration even at close range. Shoot center of mass to incapacitate, finish with round to unarmored area.

She coolly readjusted her aim and put a single round through his forehead, and the target immediately stopped moving. Laura then went to his companion. This one attempted to plead for his life as she approached, which she mercilessly silenced with a clean shot to the head. The slide locked back now that the magazine was empty, and Laura tossed the spent weapon aside.

"Laura ...?" a weak voice called, and her head snapped in that direction. Jay lay on the floor between the two guards with blood pumping from the two bullet holes through his chest, and more blood ran down his chin as his right lung filled and his breathing expelled it again through his nose and mouth.

Colt M1911, .45cal ACP, severe internal bleeding, right lung penetrated, probable damage to heart musculature due to secondary cavitation. Prognosis unfavorable. Why is he not healing?

Laura knelt at Jay's side as her mind worked through a number of possible explanations for the failure of his healing factor. "Do not move," she said.

Jay ignored her, and seized her by the shoulder to lift himself off the ground. "You can heal," he said around a mouthful of blood.

"Yes," she said.

"I'm so sorry." Jay's strength failed him and he sunk back to the floor. "My fault. All my fault. He'll kill them all! Sooraya, Melody, please, God! Don't let him win." He seized her by the hand, swallowed, and labored to speak again. "Please, Laura! You have to ..." He coughed and gurgled, and Laura knew he would not live much longer. "Please help them!"

She felt hot moistness around the corners of her eyes, and hastily wiped away the tears threatening to form. Laura knew grief only too well, and it would accomplish nothing now.

Laura forced the feeling back down and nodded. "I will," she said.

Jay smiled as his strength left him entirely. "Thank you. Julia is waiting ..." he whispered, and then he died. Glassy eyes stared past her at some distant point, and his expression seemed peaceful.

No, that is just an illusion created by the relaxing of the musculature of the face.

Nonetheless, she gently closed his eyes for him, an instinctive act she did not quite understand, but felt right to do. Then Laura stepped away from his cooling corpse and left him as she turned her attention to more practical matters.

She cautiously approached the door leading back to the stage and listened. From the street out front she could hear orders being shouted and idling engines, and though the scents of dozens of different people lingered in the building the only ones near at hand were those of Jay, her own, and the two guards. She heard no sign that the scuffle backstage had been noticed.

Mission: Alert the school to Stryker's arrival and intentions if possible, and provide combat support to neutralize threat.

She considered for a moment. The quickest way to the street would be through the front door, but this would also expose her to Stryker's bodyguard.

Elimination of targets in direct assault possible, but not without high probability of attack being reported to other hostile assets. Stealth advisable.

There was a side door near the backstage area, and Laura chose this as her exit after listening at it for a moment to ensure it was not guarded. She slipped out and found herself in an alley, and hurried along it to the street. The hour was late and most of the city was asleep, allowing Stryker a window for loading the small convoy of trucks and SUVs with his men.

Laura watched the operation for a moment. She counted twenty with Stryker altogether, all in body armor. They moved with well-trained precision, quickly and efficiently loading their vehicles. She allowed a frown to cross her features. These men were professionals, which would make countering their assault a challenge.

Mission update: The church and its laity are a public front, Stryker's actual militant forces are drawn from professional sources. Former military personnel, military contractors, and police forces probable. Lethal force appropriate and recommended.

She swept her gaze across the convoy. The last vehicle in the line was an older Hummer H1, and was not yet being loaded or under guard. Laura kept a close eye on Stryker's men, watched their patrol patterns, and when an opening presented itself bolted from the alley towards it in a low crouch. As she reached the curb she dropped to the ground and rolled along her side to slip beneath the vehicle, her small body easily fitting through the gap between the street and the Hummer's frame. Laura grabbed hold of the underside of the chassis and pulled herself as close to it as she could and waited, hands and feet wedged into place.

###

Stryker walked up and down the line of vehicles, limping heavily on his cane as he shouted orders and directed the loading of men and materiel. A large van outfitted with surveillance equipment occupied the middle of the convoy, and there were a few surplus Humvees and civilian trucks and SUVs. He felt a thrill course through him, invigorating his aging body with the experience of preparing to ride into battle once more.

The men were eager and ready. They were hand-picked and well-trained, men who knew the business of dealing with such abominations as these. These freaks of nature that had stolen his life and career from him, and that affronted God with their very existence. Well, that time was at an end and he was the tip of the sword once again.

His benefactors, however, desired additional samples, and the ones he had provided thus far had proved merely a minor curiosity. Adam needed something better. Stryker pulled a tablet from a pocket of his jacket and flipped through the list he had compiled from their databases and cross-checked with information from Guthrie. None of the other students were reported to have a Healing Factor, but this Josh Foley and his ability to manipulate biological material, and Cessily Kincaid's liquid metal construction — particularly its malleability and durability — seemed to have potential.

Stryker approached the gathering of his squad leaders with the tablet in hand. "Gentlemen," he said. "Instruct your men that they should make every effort to take these two alive." The officers looked over the images and committed the faces to memory, and Stryker sent the pictures to each of their smartphones so they could relay the instruction to their squads. "Consider them high-value targets."

A chorus of "Yes, sirs!" followed the order, and the officers dispersed to relay his instructions.

The men hastily finished loading up and clambered aboard their vehicles, while Stryker himself was eased into the seat of his personal vehicle by an aide. With everyone aboard and their equipment stowed he gave the signal and the convoy started forward.

###

Unseen by everyone, Laura clung to the bottom of the Hummer as the convoy started moving, her face inches away from the driveshaft as the street passed beneath her back.

To be concluded...

---

A Note From The Author

The board is set, the pieces are moving...

From the start I knew I wanted to build to Stryker's attack on the school to conclude the season, and set things up for the second season. However how that would actually progress has changed slightly from the original plan as the story continued to evolve. Originally, much of the climax of this episode was planned to be the opening of 1x13 (specifically, all events at Stryker's church in Acts IV and V). However as I needed to adjust the story to account for changes required due to the setting (particularly the elimination of the Nimrod subplot that underlay the first three arcs of Kyle and Yost's New X-Men), I found that this worked best instead as the cliffhanger of the penultimate episode.

The introduction of Psylocke to the story actually helped solve one of my biggest problems: Stryker's attack in the books largely worked because Stryker was able to attack the school at a time where the X-Men themselves weren't present. I needed a way to get them out of the picture (because Stryker attacking the school when fully manned would be suicide), and Betsy and Melita's subplot turned out to be a superb way to do just that. Many other developments over the latter half of the season (such as Stryker's technology) also addressed a number of questions on how to make it all work together. My evil plan then fell in place quite nicely from there. Mua-ha-ha.

This is also the first episode in which we get to see Laura as a POV character. I knew right from the start I was going to delay showing her thought processes from her perspective until the end of the season, because frankly they're downright spoilery. And with the way I was setting up the season arc I wanted to keep as much mystery about who and what she is (for those of you not familiar with the books, at least) as I could. Needless to say, the audience will finally be getting some answers.

Some. Not all. :-P

So stay tuned until next time for the explosive season finale!