Finally, the next day, Pietro's father had enough time in his busy schedule to see his firstborn son. Pietro tried not to show how much that rankled, and he tried to quell the thought.

'If it were Wanda…'

No, he was an adult, a father himself! That feeling wasn't right or fair - but it still felt that way. He thought one became wiser the older they got. Yet, with every day, especially since Luna graced his life with her existence, he felt like he understood less. It made him want to look to his father for any sort of guidance, but…really…when had that ever born any worthwhile fruit?

He had spoken with Rogue by this point, and the truth of that conversation was still causing little reverberations in him. He hadn't expected a sudden rush of protectiveness that came over him when he saw Rogue. But there it was, as plain as day. Perhaps it was because she had no family connection to be drawn into his father's grasp,and yet here she was. Wholeheartedly, and without any reservations for anyone that was willing to be honest with her.

Such earnest attention to the now, the honor of word and deed, was charming. It did help that she had the strength and durability to honor the courage of her convictions. But then again, from all the data files, it was something she held beyond any doubt prior to that. She had single handedly defeated the Avengers in her debut alone.

If he didn't cease this pattern of thought he would end up writing a letter to Rogue.

Dragging himself back to the now; here he was, entering his father's private study after a stern, typically stentorian, "Enter." And of course, his father was seated at some powerful looking desk. Of course, the room had subtle grandeur on display. Of course, his father would offer him a seat.

Quelling his ever-present frustration at the endless social niceties of life, to perform them at a speed as everyone else could comprehend, oh how it tired him endlessly. He saw hours in a microexpression when he applied himself. He could nearly read and comprehend a book in the space of a huff of irritated air. People were easy to read, and that was why he tried to avoid doing it. It made him appear to be above them, but how could he help it, when their tells were so obvious?

'One must imagine Sisyphus happy…,' he thought to himself, his current mantra. He didn't care how dark it was. "Father, good morning." Despite understanding so much of others, it irritated him that his own mercurial nature was to be acerbically terse.

His father was unaffected by the son's temperament as usual. Like a force of nature, whatever Quicksilver tried, very little would marr that steely edifice. "Good morning. I apologize that I was less than generous with my time last night. I was unfortunately-"

"It's-fine." Pietro rapped out swiftly, wanting to end this farce as swiftly as possible. "I-don't-need-to-hear-any-exc-"

"You don't need to be so abrupt, my son." a mild chastisement, to say the least.

Pietro's jaw clenched. He wanted to remain calm, cool, collected. His father was a monarch now, and he knew how to deal with megalomaniacal monarchs.

"I merely mean to say that I truly apologize and wish to convey my pleasure that you were willing to come here, to Genosha. I was hard pressed to maintain composure at your presence; that you came means more than perhaps mere words can express. Therefore, I have spent some time thinking of a way to show, rather than speak."

"And what is that?" Pietro asked, belatedly tacking on a somewhat respectfully tone at Magneto's arched brow. "Father." It seemed that the kingdom was already going to his father's head.

Magneto's brow lowered. A small miracle in a day full of them it seems. "Trust, Pietro. I wish to give you my trust." The doors audibly clicked, their locks sliding shut. "Ask whatever you wish. I will speak to you with complete honesty."

Pietro leaned forward, feeling daring. It was fun to try and poke his father. Besides, what better to do than to test it? "How was dinner with Rogue last night?"

Magneto blinked. That was all. For Pietro, it was a tell a mile away.

"Emotional attachment." Quicksilver said flatly. "Charles mentioned that term for her once, and-"

"Charles Xavier has nothing to do with-"

"Doesn't he?" Pietro's rejoinder was immediate, giving his father no quarter. "Then why did she come?"

"Pietro, I truly mean that I am not here to trade barbs with you, but if we must endure this endless verbal sparring between us, I requ-...demand you refrain from insinuating anything about Rogue. She is here, on my request." Magneto leaned forward. "As she has repeatedly asserted."

Pietro took a deep breath. Something in his father's eyes was brooking no argument. And hadn't he defended Crystal just as-

"...Forgive me, Father." It was a little strangled, but not as much as he might've thought. If anything, the conversation up to this point prickled his conscience more. His father didn't seem to hold it against him, it was disregarded. 'So magnanimous.' he thought acerbically, but stomped it down. He was the one who was acting poorly, and it was evident his father was appraising his actions. "You're right. Thank you for your honesty." Oooh, but how it rankled.

Shockingly, concern crossed his father's face. "My son…" he sighed. "I call you by this name, command your trust, and yet what else have I given you but an appointment the day after your arrival. Pietro, I truly am glad to see you."

Well, if Pietro wasn't good at processing shock faster than most, he wasn't able to run from Albany to Buffalo in 20 minutes. At a light jog. But it still took a few seconds. "...Thank you. I…really am sorry. I shouldn't cast aspersions. She's not the one I'm most concerned about anyway," the younger man grumbled.

"I trust you speak of Cortez." Another flat statement from his father.

"Does Logan drink beer?" Pietro quipped and the pair traded thin, only slightly strained grins. It was a start, more than anything one could expect, considering their storied past. Their morning meeting continued, and Pietro found himself relaxing, despite himself. His father, too, seemed to enjoy the moment, and Pietro knew that they couldn't continue this amiable chatter much longer. He knew his father had carved this time for them, but he couldn't tarry too much longer.

"Father…" Pietro gathered himself with a force of effort. "Father, I am here because I wish to protect the people of this country. The humans, mutants, and mutates deserve peace and stability. I wish to help you with it. I can't…" he paused and took another breath. "I can't stay forever, Luna needs me, and I need her." He ended with a simple declaration. "I can't be the perfect son you want, but I will do the best I can."

Magneto was silent as he considered Pietro, before rising to his feet, and crossing from behind his desk to his son. He drew him up into a hug, tight and strong. Pietro's arms slowly raised. He hugged his father in return. It was so foreign, so…badly wanted for far too long, that Pietro wasn't quite certain how to react. Following suit seemed safe enough.

"My son, that is more than enough. That is perfect."

Magneto drew back. "You will need to excuse me, there are some simple duties of state I wish to complete before the cabinet meeting. I will see you there." It was half asked, but mostly stated, and Pietro found himself nodding agreement. It helped him work past the lump in his throat.

"I will see you there." the son found himself answering.


Cortez tried not to grimace as he made his way through the public sector halls after parting from a chance encounter with Rogue. It made his teeth grind to be forced to make nice with the hayseed lackwit. Fortunately, it did not have to last too long, and he managed to disentangle himself with little difficulty. However, he needed to maintain a calm, cool, collected exterior. Inside, he was a whirling mass of chaos. He burned to activate their plans.

He wanted the woman dead, and he wanted her dead now. The lack of the collar on her neck made that wish practically impossible to achieve. But he wanted it all the same. He could practically see it from the day prior. He hadn't believed his luck that the naïve fool had put the device on with her own hands. And he had nearly taken her off the board, if it wasn't for Magneto's son's untimely arrival.

Cortez's hands gripped hard at his sides before he willed them to relax. Fortunately, both had been able to be pawned off and he had manufactured a way out without too much suspicion. That no one knew sent chills of glee up his spine, a tingling satisfaction that spread out to his fingertips.

He was making his way to the king of Genosha's offices. Magneto kept his appointments in a timely manner, but Cortez had managed to waylay at least one of the unwelcome additions to his plans. He reminisced about the activity just a few minutes prior. He was lucky to catch Rogue as Pietro was just leaving her. It was a perfect inversion of his last foiled attempt. As he made his way to the leader of the free people of Genosha's office he reflected on his deft maneuvering:

"Rogue," he said, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. He didn't really care if he succeeded, what he needed to do was find a way to divide his enemies.

"Cortez," she said in response, her tone and expression wary. He wondered how many fools had been taken in by those insipid doe eyes.

"Are you running late? Would you care for an escort?" he enquired, grinning.

"Tell you what, Cortez?" she said, matching him, tooth for tooth. "Let me lead this time. I promise, it'll be fun."

"If fun is all you're looking for, Rogue," he said diffidently. "Then look in some other country." He made his move as she bristled. "Some of us have real work to do. Running nations. In fact, I was about to go to Magneto now, offering my services to handle an issue of…negative behavior against the country's Legacy Positive community."

Rogue's eyes narrowed at the mention of the deadly mutant disease. The look was plain on her face, she didn't trust him to take care of the defenseless. "You, Cortez?"

"Do you think you can do better?" he asked, and before she could answer he responded. "Excellent. I'm sure Magneto would be pleased at you assisting some of Genosha's most vulnerable. I'll send the memo along to you with the location and you can quell the concerns," he continued, pretending to marvel. "Won't those poor, sad, sick Genoshans be so excited to see a real hero, and not, you know, the people who will actually make their lives better. Thank you Rogue, I wasn't really up to the photo opportunity. Make certain to smile for the camera" he said as he whisked off, satisfied.

That would be one less adversary in the cabinet rooms. He would just have to handle the prickly speedster, but enough gentle needling should handle that.

It took a moment, because he needed to pause long enough to send a coded pager message on his cell phone. The number would be traceable, but the code, unfathomable. But that was the go ahead for the Zealot to monitor the exits of the residence for either Rogue or Quicksilver. They'd abscond with the person for whatever distraction they had concocted to allow the coup d'etat to succeed. Now it was in Fenris International's hand to bring about the first waves of violence. The Zealot promised assistance there as well.

Arriving, Cortez opened the door and was unable to keep the wide smile from his face.

"Good morning, faithful patriots of Genosha," he said expressively, relieved that Magneto was not there. Pietro was, his habitual glower at home on his face. That made Cortez want to smile even wider. He couldn't wait to replace that look of disdain with one of shock.

Well, that would be soon enough.

Pietro was scowling. What a surprise.

"What has you in such a good mood, Cortez?" Pietro asked, and Fabian knew that the happier he'd be, the more irritated Pietro would come. So, he kept the smile plastered on.

"Why shouldn't I be happy?" the man expounded, acting as magnanimous as a king himself. He spread his arms widely, theatrically. "Our blessed nation is strengthened by the foundation our gracious Lord Magnus has provided. More mutant arrive every day, and look; even one of his children come to his lands. Isn't that right, Prince Pietro?" he asked, feigning innocence. "When can we expect the rest of your royal family to arrive?"

Inexplicably, the speedster's face twisted into anger. As a retort seemed to bubble up to the surface, Magneto entered.

"Enough, Cortez." the grave man said, from a face that was composed very carefully. "We are not here for gossip. We are here for a nation's people, and its future."

The Master of Magnetism sat at his desk, and once he did, others followed suit in the provided chairs arranged in an arc. But until he did, Amelia Voght and Cortez remained snapped to attention, while the other attainers bowed. Pietro did neither, merely remained with his arms crossed over his chest. He was in his battle uniform, and Magneto too was in his armor. Perhaps it meant nothing, perhaps it meant everything. Cortez wasn't certain with that family, sometimes they were so steeped in their important symbolisms that it was tantamount to its own religion.

But then again the red and purple he wore were the exact same colors of the flag of Genosha. It seemed nearly preordained. As if the land was subtly informing everyone of its eventual monarch. Cortez didn't like those thoughts and forced himself back to the matter at hand. Magneto was saying something to likely appease these foolish courtiers that stayed on, possibly to curry favor with their new king. He willed himself to pay attention.

"- and that is final. Equality is the name, spirit, and will of the law. You will follow it, or be properly castigated." The courtiers didn't like that at all. Cortez managed to strangle the smile, as he thought how they could use their antipathy for his fortune. He just needed for the news to explode across the country, and within a few hours…

A door opened. "Apologies, King Magnus. I must interrupt your meeting," a clerk said as they hurried in. The man leaned forward to murmur something inaudible to the rest of the room. It took more than a second, it took a full five. Magneto, a seasoned veteran of many battles, verbal, physical, mental…blinked. That was all.

"Thank you, Mr. Botha," he said in dismissal and the clerk hurried off. Magneto rose to his feet. "My country folk," he said as did. "We are commanded by the United Nations to remain within our waters, halt all traffic, allow all foreigners to depart our borders, and remain in stasis until a contingent of World Health Organization and Mutantes Sans Frontières arrive to provide guidance, surveillance, and support."

The staid members of the council seemed to be in shock and muttered darkly amongst themselves. One stood up as if to say something, but Cortez chose to beat him to it. He didn't stand as this person did, and remained calmly seated.

"Am I to understand that these pissants are trying to assert might over the great-"

"Enough, Cortez. We get it," Voght said with a long-suffering look on her face. "Where do you wish us first, Lord Magnus?" she said calmly.

The clerk entered the room and scurried in once more. Making his obeisance, Mr. Botha informed their monarch of more news, and was politely dismissed. Magneto's face looked grim, and after the news, it didn't improve.

Their king informed them that also there was a base to the west of Hammer Bay that was suddenly reporting their base overrun, while in four separate portions of the capitol city, there were reports of explosions and gunshots. He moved swiftly, directing Amelia to work with Scanner and coordinate the deployment of Acolytes and the general Genoshan army to get them to where they were needed most.

The various members tried to give advice, profess concern, offer advice, and it was all rejected swiftly. Magneto sent them away, just as briskly. Suddenly it was down to only Cortez and Pietro in the room.

"Father," Pietro began, but before he could continue, Magneto spoke rapidly, cutting him off before he could continue.

"Son, I need your help with a task," Magneto interrupted.

"His help?" Cortez snipped and the blank expression on Magneto's face spoke of a father and a ruler's not so hidden frustration. With his son or with Cortez?

"Isn't that why he is here, Cortez?" Magneto asked sharply. With him, then. "To help the free peoples of Genosha?" he asked. "As it is," he said, looking briefly at Cortez and then back to Petro, a subtle reminder that they weren't alone. "Then he shall have no qualms with relaying my orders to the various sections of the city affected by these cowardly bandits," he said in near snarl before looking at his son expectantly.

"Of course, Father," he said promptly before speeding from the room in a silvery streak.

Leaving Cortez alone with Magneto.

Fabian smiled.


Andreas von Strucker gripped his sister's hand. They had new padded armor, with tear-away bits all along to allow for easy skin-to-skin contact. But the armor was well created and could withstand most conventional bullets. Or so they were told. Andreas didn't want to try it with a Kalashnikov pointed at him at any range, despite what the Madripoorian so earnestly claimed. The man had been too keen on trying to sell them on its hardiness. It would be disconcerting, but he had come highly rated from their contacts in the area. Certainly it would do for this little coup d'etat.

Their other operants were reporting in. Mostly they've encountered no resistance. It seemed that Cortez had successfully planted the orders required to put the Acolytes at their weakest positionings, at the point they were furthest scattered in their patrols. It helped to take over key focus points in the city, and allowed them to defend their work as they made their way towards the center of the city.

Where Magneto was.

Andrea and Andreas von Strucker burned with a need that outrivaled the stars themselves to humiliate and destroy the contemptible man. It was the very least they could do to avenge their father against one of his foes. That he was merely an opportune strike at this moment on the very long list of candidates long overdue for some retribution meant little. The twins knew they would cross paths with the man until they had successfully bested him.

And that was now. Andrea gripped his hand and he felt the power they could manifest unfurl from the fire in his belly. He struck out, knocking some stupid flatscan in the way of a speeding motorcycle, causing both to perish in the collision. Who said that having a concussive blast couldn't kill?

Andreas' laugh harmonized with his sister's perfectly. They had practiced to make certain that it would. "Come, sweet sister. Magneto awaits!" They led their little contingent of their best soldiers forward, confident in the path Cortez left clear for them would remain so. His third, then fourth, of five payments went through this morning. The man was committed.

And so too, were Fenris International's expert services.

"To the seat of power! To the throne!" Andrea crowed to their group as they moved forward step by hard won step. Andreas grinned.

Glory would be theirs, and it already tasted so good!


Rogue was trying to ignore the pounding heart in her throat, because the one in her ears was obliterating much other thought than the sound of heavy metal doors slamming shut behind her. There had been many doors slamming shut in her life before, the one in Mississippi, when she left home. The one closing the door on the loving childhood home Mystique and Destiny provided, and now…she was remembering one of her least favorite doors slamming open and shut. It didn't help that she was on the soil that the door had stood on.

Open and shut.

'Can'tfoldwon'tfold-Ah'm Rogue and I'm in charge of me-'

Open and shut.

"Prisoner 9602-"/'Going nowhere genejok-'/-hatemutantshatewhereamI-."

Open an-

"But who are they chief, what're they after?"/"Prisoner 960-"/'in charge of me-'

Another explosion went off nearby, pulling her from her spiral. Rogue stopped counting the explosions after the vehicle she was in flipped over. Her pulse was beating like a kettle drum and the sound of a door clanging in memory only. But she saw the effects. Cars jostled forward but only skidded a bit from the shock wave. People ran, scattering away from the epicenter of the chaos. But some of those were also being wiped out by whoever started this chaos. Rapid gunfire chatter in practiced bursts exploded everywhere, along with spurts of blood and concrete. As Rogue watched in horror, only a handful of the people managed to get away.

Adrenaline subsumed horror, helping her move out of her shock. What could she do? Marshaling her resolve, she started to run forward, but a contingent of mutants wearing the uniform of the Genshan Army came screaming into view in a humvee with its tattered top torn off in a ragged tail.

The mutant powers within the Genoshan Army were mostly held by the forcibly twisted, genetically tortured and modified to become weapons for the state. If these mutants regretted it at any point in their miserable lives, they did not seem to have any remorse here. They used their gifts as weapons - or more conventional weapons that assisted their reformed birthrights and there were a fair amount of enemies who fell fast. Some of the civilians fell and Rogue tried to hide her horror as the battle scene became chaos that snapped almost to peaceful calm between one second and the next.

The Genoshan Army took off, leaving the square silent, but gunfire, screams, sirens and explosions could be heard in multiple places. Where were those armed soldiers going? Wherever it was, Rogue didn't want to follow. Her hand went to the collar, gripping it loosely. It would react if she tried to pull at it too hard; giving her a rather painful shock. Damn her stubborn head! Sure, she didn't necessarily need her powers, but by golly she could use them now! People were dying and would continue to die for her foolish, foolish pride!

'Calm down, gal. Go to pieces later. You crack now, Logan, Momma…'Reenie, the Professor, all of 'em would be disappointed in you. And you can't help anyone if ya do.' Ok, the little pep-talked helped. Some. Rogue set her jaw.

'Gotta get this off, gotta get back.' It helped to have a goal in mind. She had two problems, and she figured she'd start there. She had lost the vehicle when the chaos erupted. It had flipped end over end, and Rogue didn't trust it. She'd have to find somethin-there!

She raced over to a moped and almost sobbed with relief to see a pair of keys that looked like they might work on the ground nearby. She tried not to think of what they were soaked in as she pulled them off and wiped the blood with the inside of her jacket. It'd have to do for now, and she jammed the key and the vespa clicked to life. She took off, confident it'd get her far.

It got her a half a mile.

Cursing her foul luck, Rogue abandoned the vespa and hoofed it, booted feet clapping on the pavement as she pounded out at a brisk jog. Logan's insistence on daily cardio paid off, but she would never tell him that, she resolved for the ten millionth time as she exited the off-ramp for the highway. It would've worked, if it hadn't been bombed to uselessness up ahead. The entire thing was clogged with vehicles anyway.

A mile later, Rogue was starting to hit a small hill in her running, but that wasn't why she abruptly stopped. No, what she saw before her, a chilling tableau, caused her to skid to a stop, and keep herself hidden from view. She had to be careful, time this right, and find a way to fix this, or else the losses would only increase.


Magneto was a man who did not like feeling constrained by anyone. Long ago he swore never again. And he did his best to succeed in that endeavor. Often, he did.

He was not accustomed to losing. And yet, here he was, shackled with a nation, a nation he had demanded time and again of the humans to grant him. They now brandished it like a club, ready to beat him over the head as they tied his hands with his citizenry's lives. Cortez was relaying the orders that Magneto had just supplied, and reporting back the results.

Magneto wanted to go out there immediately, crush the enemies of his people. To stretch his hand over Hammer Bay in projection, like a wrathful god. He would close his hand, and all resistance was quelled. He banished the thought as he always did, recognizing it for what it was. Mindfulness. Despite not being psychic, he understood the mind well, and his own, while a tangled maze, was pathways he understood well. As he looked out over the land he had fought and staked his life for he wondered…he wondered…

He wondered why he felt weak all of the sudden. 'Fool.' he thought to himself, meaning both Cortez and his own foolish pride. Hadn't he, and everyone else warned him of this? For all his satisfaction at his own mindfulness, he had let that same pride blind him to the possibility of Cortez making such an obvious move at usurpation.

"Cortez…" he grated as he turned, but even that was a struggle. What had happened to him? As he turned, he realized what Cortez had done. The fool had used his own powers on himself in a sick self-feeding loop, hyping his own power up to siphon Magneto's. While Magnus had no proof, no real data; he was the Master of Magnetism, and that was a fundamental force of the universe. He understood reality like few others could. Energy patterns could be intuited, and he read them, interpreting this as a truly dangerous situation. It was too late now, though, thanks to his own blinding, foolish pride! "I am going to-"

There was a thick sheen of sweat on his forehead, but Fabian was gritting his teeth into a twisted grin as he interrupted, pretending to muse to himself. "I only need to hold out until Vanisher gets them here…" he said in a low grunt. That disgusting smile took on a triumphant edge and Magneto had to wonder who exactly them were supposed to refer to.

Magneto's legs felt so weak that he had to grip the desk he stood beside, and muster the strength to take a single step. But if the upstart thought that he had sapped Magnus' determination along with his powers, he was sorely mistaken. His foot lifted and moved as he lurched himself forward. If that was how he had to make it to Cortez to rip the traitor's throat out, then so be it!


Amelia ran her hand heavily along her brow, and prepared to get up and get moving. Their troops needed support and she just needed to finish the last task that Cortez had assigned her. She and Scanner had just finished relaying commands and deploying the Acolytes where they were needed most, as dictated by Cortez.

She just needed to check her email one more time before she could set out herself and assist with the mess. She didn't like following these orders; they didn't sit quite right with her, but she didn't have the authority. According to Cortez, these were Magneto's orders, relayed by Cortez. Amelia didn't want to believe it, but she was equal in rank to-

As she refreshed her email, a new message with a purple arrow indicating its importance from Milan caught her attention, she read it and then reread it, processing. It seemed Fabian had dipped his hands into the nation's funds and wired a substantial amount to three offshore accounts in Europe, and five in Madripoor. The amount wasn't enough to bankrupt the nation, but neither was it a small sum. This needed to be addressed, fast.

Scanner had found through their experience that Voght was a devout Mets fan, and if there was one thing a Mets fan knew, was how to let their opinion of a bad move be known. A stream of curses tumbled from Amelia's frustrated lips ending in an explosive "I'm gonna tear that Eurotrash fascist-colluding fucker's throat out!"

"Amelia, what's wrong?" Scanner asked, not particularly alarmed by the language, more by the vehemence behind them. She had heard her Commander say similar epitaphs before, but never with that much…passion.

"Just look." Amelia rapped out, pointing to her screen. Scanner read it, her eyes flashing from line to tersely written line.

"Oh my God," the blonde woman gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "That weasel! The paint hasn't even dried! We just-"

"I know," Ameila hissed bitterly. "And we can't use the communication system to reissue the orders. We can't tip Cortez off that we know his plans, not until King Magnus has been informed of Cortez's betrayal," she said.

"You mean his latest betrayal," Scanner corrected and Ameila let out a frustrated groan. What was the saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

"We never should have let that snake into Genosha," Ameila said as she forwarded the email to Magneto's personal inbox. Not that she expected him to read it. He preferred in person communications over electronic, though he handled either with ease. Still, the attempt was better than nothing. Next, she printed two copies of the email. For the hell of it, she forwarded it to a few of her allies she felt trustworthy enough. "Go, find Magneto," she ordered, handing the message to the other woman.

"Yes, Commander," Scanner replied, saluting crisply while she accepted the papers with the other hand.

"And if you see Marcus, tell him to find me immediately," she added, printing two more copies of the email, tucking them into a pocket that was sewn into her upper arm. Scanner gave her a respectful nod.

"What will you do?" Scanner asked as she folded them and carefully stored it in the compartments on her belt.

"The same, but we'll cover more ground if we split up," she answered.

"Good luck," Scanner said, turning to leave, shrugging her armored, protective vest in Acolyte colors and design. A design that was now sullied by their erstwhile turncoat leader.

"You too," Amelia said, as she watched her depart before she closed her eyes and folded her body within green mists. The Internet wasn't always stable, and instead of risking an attached picture struggling to load, Milan used his powers in ever creative ways.

Within the email there was a simple ASCII drawing that depicted the quarter of the city as a simple overhead blueprint to orient Amelia. But beneath it was an elaborate drawing created with characters. Utilizing simple black and white, Milan sculpted a nearly photorealistic depiction of the crooked alleyway caught on CCTV cameras all around the tiny island nation. Pietro was lying amongst a milieu of Genoshans, while Rogue peeked from the corner. The Zealot stood in the background, and it was more than enough for Amelia to focus her mutant gifts.

She teleported and was behind Rogue in the space of one breath and the next. She was going to teleport all three out of there.

"Glad I've come across you." Amelia said by way of greeting as Rogue spun on one heel, still hidden from sight.

"Amelia!" she said, in a hushed sigh. It was good to see that the X-Man knew how to contain her fear in a tough situation. "Likewise. Look, Pietro's inna world of trouble an-."

"Yes. That's why I'm here. Milan sent me." Amelia reported tersely as she moved a little, to keep a line of observation open. Magneto had trained his Acolytes well. "Any plans?"

Rogue sighed, and pulled a strip of one torn glove off. It was just long enough to knot her hair back in a tight bun. "Yeah. Teleport us in, right behind the Zealot, get Pietro, an' get out. Follow mah lead. When I say run, rabbit. 'Kay?"

Voght nodded and placed one hand on Rogue's shoulder. The X-Man set her jaw. They were gonna get this done. "On three." Rogue said in a sotto voce, before she counted it out. On three the pair disappeared in a tight, controlled whirl of green mist.


Pietro ran through the streets and alleyways at a fraction of the speed he could; he didn't want to outpace sound and action too far, there was too much chaos to determine who was on which side.

'The entire country is in chaos.' he thought to himself. During an uprising, a riot had formed, which spilled into the rest of the city, while at the same time, the Zealot was on every television, PA system, radio, and mass media service in the city, declaring a coup d'etat. As such there was no small amount of disarray.

He pulled a woman from the street just as a rampaging group of seventy people or so stormed down the avenue. She wasn't a mutate, a pure human, and was absolutely terrified into rigid silence. She managed a tiny squeak as she suddenly realized who saved her. " …a…"

"Avenger," he supplied helpfully, smothering his irritation for the twentieth time since comprehension dawned on her face. It was a curse sometimes to live amongst others who are much slower than he, especially in a time he wanted to move faster. "Please miss, do go indoors. The roads are not safe."

The woman began to turn, stammering her thanks, but by then, Pietro was gone, dashing off down another debris strewn street. He thought he heard someone cry out in pain…

He busied himself over the next hour or so, putting out various fires around the city, literally and figuratively. He was an Avenger, and well trained. He knew how to handle the population skillfully, even if it wasn't his preferred activity in these situations. But he was so disgusted by the anarchy he had witnessed, the depravity of humans with faces twisted into fearsome masks, taking whatever they thought they could from those they deemed less. The mutates were still new to independence, and free will. Their reflexes kicked in, and despite their inherent powers, they were often unable to stir themselves to their own defense.

As much as he'd like to blame his father for not instilling better peace amongst the nation, he was ruler for less than a fortnight, and his forces were out looking to regain order. Pietro worked alongside groups that waxed and waned as his attention rose and fell, as well as their fortunes. He had lost the latest group, but he didn't mind. He was better on his own, really. Afterall, wasn't he -

Pietro tripped, and almost fell on his face. That never happened, not unless -

Yes, he was caught; a strange webbing was slung all around the buildings and alleyways, a sort of roadblock, perhaps created by a mutate with the ability. When Pietro tried to swerve past it, he fell into their trap.

The filaments were fine, and they slowed him down enough that the ground, which had been solid moments before, lost all its tension, and slammed one hand into a nearby wall to refrain from falling. He batted as some of the wires that seemed to surround him in a hazy cloud, until they restricted against his upper body, snapping his arms tightly against his torso.

"What th-" he broke off as a shiny head appeared as the group parted. This man looked haggard by hard days prior to the emancipation of the mutates led a group of them. He had a white length of fabric wound around his body; and he wore the torn remnants of his formerly bonded skinsuit. With the bonding process having lost its power source the suits were slowly parting from their former occupants. It was a lengthy process, and was far from painless. There was nothing that could be done, this was the process that had been designed, and there was no safe, painless way to remove the skinsuits. It was yet another travesty the former government had to pay for.

"My children, my brethren." the man before them intoned. "Make him ready to receive the good word. Our country's independence is at hand!" he cried as the mutates closed in on Pietro. Despite his speed and reflexes; he was effectively pinned down, and they were able to land hit after hit on the poor son of Magneto.

It didn't take long from their perspective, but for Pietro especially, it was a particularly long affair. However, in relatively short order he was subdued and dragged before their leader, the one known only as the Zealot. Pietro's blood led a consistent trail the few feet it took to bring him towards the Genoshan.

"Stripling," the Zealot practically cooed as Quicksilver was dragged towards him, a prize catch of the day's haul for the quartermaster. "Rejoice in your services. For assuredly, no harm will come to you today." He grinned crookedly. "Well, none from me, anyway."

"What a relief," a woman said from behind the Zealot and Pietro. It took the downed speedster a quarter of a heartbeat to recognize the voice. As he did a second right next to Voght drawled.

"For a second there I was real worried. 'Cause t'me, it looked more like the ol'fashioned kinda Genoshan greetin'."

The fight began in earnest, the women having brashly, foolishly, teleported in just behind the Zealot and in front of all his people. The Zealot turned with Pietro in his hand, a snarl on his face as he willed his powers to life. The ground slowly responded, slowly, too slowly to knock them off their feet just yet.

And then Rogue acted.


Rogue shoved Amelia with all her strength. She wasn't going to admit to Logan that the daily strength training was a good idea. No siree. It was human strength, but it was enough to barrel Amelia into the Zealot and sprawl atop Pietro.

"Amelia!" she barked, trying to land a jab on the Zealot's face. Though wiry looking and half-starved to boot, he managed to dodge. Rogue was fortunate enough to succeed in the second half of her action; she put herself between the Zealot and Pietro. And Voght. Logan would be proud. He'd still say she was terrible at chess, though. "Go!"

"Don't be a moron -"

"Don't waste time!" Rogue bellowed, dropping low to keep her center of gravity as the ground trembled around them. Though the tremors weren't too strong, it was keeping some of the other sycophants back from joining the fight. For now. "Get outta here now, or none of us're walkin' away!" Her control of her accent was slipping. She couldn't fight this many people forever, no matter how many classes Logan gave. More of the Zealot's people were coming, and some of them would be better fighters than those who came first. Did Amelia really think Rogue had a better plan than -

Someone's powers wrapped around Rogue's left arm and her neck. It tightened, pulling her off-balance and effectively choking her. She gasped for air, dropping to one knee. She didn't have too much breath left, but she gave it a go, and surged up to fight anyway with a vicious uppercut. The Zealot caught it one-handed and smiled at her.

There was a loud curse from the Acolyte as Amelia Voght utilized her powers. "Never…pushed it…this far…" she said, her eyes glowing green and gaseous, the eyeballs themselves obscured so by the wisps that it seemed she had nothing but her mutant power there.

Rogue grunted, despite being restrained, she managed to do a decent hip throw, sending the Zealot flying over her. Unfortunately, he had a grip like iron and she went with him, even further from where she stood a moment ago. She was pulled from her feet and on the ground, and she tried to scramble back up to her feet, cursing mentally all the while. And those stringy energy strips were still wrapped around her neck and left arm, plus the Zealot still wasn't letting go of her other one!

A dome of green fog erupted from the faithful Acolyte as she used her powers in ways she had only dreamed of before. Instead of needing to touch at least one of the people in an unbroken chain, Amelia tried to teleport Pietro, Rogue, and herself. She tried to be selective. She tried to be powerful. She tried to be…more.

She spread her powers and reached out to teleport back to the fortified area the Acolytes were using as their center of command. Some of the Zealots' followers came with Amelia and Pietro, while Rogue, just out of reach, was left behind. Even though some of the Zealots' followers joined her, only portions of others did as well.

It made quite a mess at both beginning and end of the journey.

Rogue only saw the first half of the teleport, not it's destination, of course. She was swiftly losing a battle with consciousness as her airway was blocked off. Black dots were bleeding bright yellow edges that made Rogue think idly of Ororo's lightning, and wondering if her powerful friend would ever visit this island again when the Zealot walked up in front of her.

Oh, right. That guy.

She needed air so badly! Her lungs were burning as she tried to frantically find some slack to give her release. He was talking and she didn't really care, but then the pressure eased and she could breathe a little. It came as the tiniest wheeze, and she had never tasted anything so good.

"-Dwam will assist us in subduing the False King's sinecure!" the Zealot crowed triumphantly.

Rogue's brows knotted in confusion. All of those words were in - accented - English, but they didn't really make sense to her immediately.

'That sounds fancy, but one thing I learned: the fancier the word, the less it means,' Rogue ruminated on this thought as the Zealot's boot swung back before striking her midsection and the impact knocked the wind out of her. As she fell on her side her dazed mind could only focus on how she didn't really think that was necessary; she already couldn't breathe and this damn collar wasn't helping.

That was her last thought as someone's blocky hand cradled her chin. She made eye contact with a set of velvety purple colored eyes under sandy blonde eyebrows in a young, kind looking face. Silver-flecked, the mutant's eyes felt like they contained newly birthed nebulas within. They were so beautiful that she blinked in surprise. When she did, her entire body relaxed into an unwilling, but deep sleep.


Deep in a fortified room in the lower depths of the government residence, Rem-Ram forced his attention to stay focused on his pulse, to calm his breathing. He could do this. He had to do this. 'Don't think like that, keep your attention on the mission, Marcus,' he told himself as he could hear radios squawking behind him, other soldiers running about, reporting in.

He wasn't a combatant like them, using his physical body. Marcus could fight, he'd been trained (somewhat) and he could fire a gun if he absolutely must. But he didn't want to. He'd rather do as Amelia suggested, and to push himself. He had to use his brain, and that meant his weapon of choice put him on a different battleground than the rest.

But he was only one man, one person, one mutant. He couldn't do it alone.

Alone…

'Marcus, we're mutants. We don't just stop what we're doing because of limited vision.' Rem-Ram's mind chimed with the memory of Amelia's mellifluous voice. It gave him a brief moment of hope. Perhaps…maybe with someone else, Marcus could do more, be more.

That resolve helped his shaking hands calm, and his thoughts to clear. He was a mutant. He could be creative. Thoughts were dreams, and dreams were thoughts. Perhaps he could use that logic to…to…to what? Find her?

Sure, why not him? Someone had to find her, and someone would. Why couldn't it be Marcus? But then again, as he reviewed what he knew, Rem-Ram came to the same conclusion repeatedly. He heard the reports over the comms, he knew that Pietro was returned to the citadel, but Rogue was still missing, and it seemed all too convenient. Therefore, he deduced, with the uncanny accuracy of a dreamer born, that she was needed. Aside from that she was an X-Man. With a specific goal in mind, he decided his course of action. He was looking for Rogue, who couldn't be raised via any of the normal or traditional mutant methods. Maybe she was asleep? Not by choice, Marcus knew. Who could willingly sleep through this chaos? That meant that maybe he was the only one who could find her. Ignoring his modest streak to demur and deny this, he decided the best thing to do was to just do it.

Marcus' body stilled to silence, and slumped in its chair as his mind left his body, and he drifted. Those in the room didn't notice as he altered his perception of reality, seeing the world in a panoply of colors. He wasn't really sure how he could describe it, but he was back in the same place of half-dreams he had before. He knew her dream now; he could find her easily.

Those in dream shone with a diamond clarity. It would hurt his eyes if there were pain receptors attached to them. Instead, they twinkled merrily in beats of their own designs and situations. Waking minds were dull, pearls hidden in secret depths.

Rogue's…was oddly cycling. From soft to piercing and strange swirls of combinations between, he was unable to look at, or grasp her dreamsong appropriately. It slid through and around his hands, rematerializing, always out of reach. Marcus was stymied; what could he do? How could he possibly help?

He almost turned away and turned back from the infinite dreamsongs, when he shook his head in dogged frustration at his thoughts. Giving up can't be the option. He'd be more of use here than on the field with a gun in hand. This could be solved with less violence, not more.

So what to do? Marcus considered the options. He needed to find Rogue, share information, maybe get an idea of what to do. But he wasn't able to do that because she wasn't asleep, or if she was, he was unable to access it.

Marcus was so frustrated, how could he do this without power? Thinking back, he remembered the last time he needed strength and had been given it. But it had been from that traitor Cortez; no way that was going to work no-

He had needed the power to fight the X-Men's leader, to trap him. And even then he had to be crafty about it, by using the Professor's powers against him. So if he, Marcus, needed power, strength, guidance, whatever the word was he needed that help now. Maybe…yes. Perhaps he could find Charles Xavier? Even though the man had refused him before, perhaps, perhaps he wouldn't deny Marcus now? Not when there was a country on the line?

Marcus didn't think of himself as a gambling man, or even a bold one. History would perhaps paint him otherwise, but he certainly wasn't thinking of this now. He threw his will into the nebulous reality and sought after one who was connected in bands of intermingled silver, gold, and nerve endings to the leader of his country.

On one side of the planet, the greatest mind in the world; Charles Xavier. And on the other, a young man, too new and unsure of his abilities, but full of determination nonetheless. Asleep or not, Rem-Ram was going to reach the other mutant's mind. Charles Xavier was going to help Marcus find a resolution to this, no matter what.


Professor Charles Francis Xavier was sitting alone in the cocoon chamber known as Cerebro, the device powering down as he removed it from his head. His brow was creased into deep frown lines as he was flagellating his soul, and contemplating how he could have so poorly anticipated this turn of events. The news broke hours ago, and since then, he and the X-Men had worked desperately to find a way past the bureaucratic red-tape, petty politicking, and a cloud of strong telepathic interference. He had run into roadblock after roadblock while trying to locate Rogue. Her mind was difficult to connect to at the best of times, and now, with so much panic and fear creating psychic chaff on the Astral Plane, he couldn't find her at all.

His head throbbed, he had spent the last hour trying to locate Rogue but there was no luck. Xavier refused to despair, but he knew that time was essential, and he would need to try once again. No one could enter Genosha, though the X-Men were in the War Room now, trying to determine a way to spirit in, and help the innocent people there. A coup d'etat was exploiting the panic, and if something didn't change soon, the death tolls will climb sky high. If only he could find Rogue or Pietro, he had searched every inch of Hammer Bay and -

'The-e-...ere -ou are!' Echoed through the back of his mind. It felt like it was tickling somewhere below his right ear, like when he was asleep and had a worry. Years ago he had built autosomatic psychic defenses in his mind to protect him while asleep, and now, while waking, he was feeling a similar ping as the one that would wake him, alert him to some problem. What in the world was that? It felt like a psychic call, but strange, coming from the wrong direction. Outer thoughts didn't generate from within and yet -

A sense of static, another push. Desperation and…familiarity?

Before he could set Cerebro down, he reversed his actions and sat it back on his pate again. It wasn't going to do much there, as Cerebro was still cycling down. He'd have to wait to feed it energy from the Shi'ar light generators once it finished. For now, he would have to use his own skills.

Xavier cast his mind out, feeling for the strange frequency, that strange feeling that felt more like, like-

Like weeks ago, in his dreams. Realization of this other person's method made it easier to establish contact, to link mind to another. Once a person could understand where another's perspective was, it was much easier to build a rapport. Or at least, that was one way that Charles Francis Xavier likened his mutant telepathic abilities. The ability to empathize with another, and establish the connection needed to pass information truthfully from one person to the next.

'What are you doing?' Xavier asked the young Acolyte who slowly faded into Charles' projected landscape on the Astral Plane. The mutant - Rem-Ram, Marcus Andrews, seemed to be made of the three primary colors and blurring together, snapping into full view before fuzzing and fogging at the edges. The boy wasn't a trained telepath, perhaps he could be with time and a proper tutor, but this wasn't the moment for that.

Marcus smiled at Charles, an eager grin that so many students, so similar to him, had flashed before. 'I did it! I really did it! Professor Xavier; I had to find you!'

Charles was aghast as he strengthened the 'world' around them. The Acolyte was there by his very fingernails. One wrong push, one way or the other could - 'You're here too strongly! This isn't your natural state; you're going to kill yourself yong man!'

The mutant's face didn't seem to waver, didn't show fear, though the professor could feel it radiating off of him, before being reined back. 'Genosha's in for worse if I don't do something. Please, Professor. You've gotta help me!' Before the Professor could say anything, the young man threw in desperately. 'I've gotta find her!'

'Her?' Charles asked, perplexed. From the boy came an image, a wrought iron bench painted white on a manicured lawn. Two sets of bare hands clasping, a man and a woman's? Xavier's mind flashed in, filling the memories and thoughts that were being weakly projected to him. He had to stabilize the boy! Marcus' edges firmed a bit more, and somewhere, in his body, Xavier felt Cerebro's abilities finally warmed up and assisted him in building a structure that he would not need to maintain. That structure would shelter the environment to steady the imperiled young man, keeping the adrift mutant as safe as possible in these new, dangerous waters.

'Her - you mean Rogue. Why do you want to find Rogue?' Despite the fact that Rogue was a woman grown, and had been in far too many damaging ways prior to her arrival on his doorstep looking for clemency, he felt a strong need to protect his X-Men as a father would for all his beloved children. Considering Rogue's own powers and history, she was a special case.

Rogue was different from Jean, or Rahne, or any student that crossed his threshold. That difference was something that made her trial, barriers, and difficulties unique unto almost all other mutants he had met through his storied career. No matter how she reached out for connection, each of her acquaintances have come with pain, shame, compromises, and regrettably…distance. She, of all mutants, was alone.

He couldn't dwell on her loneliness as he often would perhaps want to. There were all too often more pressing matters to consider, and Rogue would have to wait. And sadly, right now, there were more important matters at hand once more. But he could still protect her as best as he could.

'We think she's with the rest of the people kidnapped by the Zealot?Cortez?Fenris?' the young man's thoughts were getting jumbled as feelings, past encounters, judgments, and emotions swirled together. Alarmed at the lack of control - had no one taught this child a thing? - he reached out to Rem-Ram with the practiced hand of an educator. It wasn't the easiest of processes, the young man had experienced Charles' rejection after all, but with his many years of experience behind him, Xavier managed to reorganize thought. For a brief moment, connection was made between the two, the thoughtscape shared as minds connected to one, letting memories with distinct borders swirl together, two oils gliding atop gelid water.

'I see' the professor thought to the young man, and took a moment to organize, synthesize, and plan with the new data he received. He viewed Rem-Ram's memories, he saw - felt - the way the young man interpreted dreams and how he had tried to find a way to contact the telepath. It was an exceedingly dangerous gamble - and what wasn't? The young man had risked his life to reach Xavier, even if he hadn't known what he was doing was so dangerous, what else could Xavier do but the same?

'Fear not, Rem-RamMarcusRem-RamAndrewsRem-Ram.' Xavier thought to the other mutant and received shining admiration radiating from the youth. It made the connection between them fray for a moment before snapping back together, even tighter than before, as if the young mutant had already picked up an idea or two just from being around the telepath. Xavier bit back the bitter taste of regretful bile in his throat. He denied this young man the chance to learn, and look at what was flowering without his guidance. What a waste of an opportunity Charles made. For pride. 'We will find her together. You've entered the Astral Plane on your own, I would like to backtrack and follow you this time. Show me the dreamsong you know to be Rogue's. Together, perhaps we can devise a plan.'