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There was no getting any sleep for her this night.

Resignedly, Ororo rolled off of her bed, scrubbing her eyes with her fingers. Lurking in the background of her mind was the conversation she had earlier that evening with Longshot. Like obsidian fingers, shadows of doubt were creeping into her heart and mind--shadows that had always been there, she confessed to herself, but were now making themselves more prominently known.

She wrapped her arms around herself in a vain effort to ward off the inner chill she felt as she approached the large bay windows on the far side of her room. She pressed her forehead to the glass, her soft sigh fogging the windowpane. When had everything become so cloudy? She wondered. When had she lost her way? What had started out as simple, angry retribution for her fallen friend had taken a sudden and dramatic turn today, and deep down she knew that something fundamental within herself had changed. For better or worse, she couldn’t say. That remained to be seen.

Faced with her phantom reflection in the glass Ororo let her thoughts wander back to earlier that evening…

earlier

She had only just left Magneto’s dining hall when Arthur had knocked on her door. “Come with me,” he had said when she reluctantly opened it-- only after his incessant pounding and the threat that he could get in whether she liked it or not.

She was in no mood for more psycho-babble and she told him so. “I’m not in the mood to listen to anymore of your anti-human propaganda. You and Magneto and your quaint little mutants are superior bullshit tagline can rot in hell for all I care. I want Mojo and justice for Ali. That’s it.”

Longshot had reached out, offering her his hand. “Come with me. See what I have to show you, and then, if you still want to walk away after we hunt down Mojo I’ll help you.”

One brow lifted skeptically.

He leveled her a dead stare. “I swear on Ali’s grave.”

“Fine.” She hadn’t taken his hand but instead gestured for him to lead the way. She was more than a little doubtful that anything he would say to her would matter. She hadn’t known. Nothing could have prepared her for where he was taking her.

“Where are we going?” She’d asked when he began taking her through hallways she had not seen prior. Hallways that were heavily guarded. Even more so than Magneto himself.

“To the civilian quarters.”

Incredulous, Ororo swung her head around. “You have civilians here?”

He ignored her. “It’s a tight fit,” he warned at the elevator station. “I know you don’t like being closed in.”

Before she could ask how he knew of her fear, she knew. Alison. She must have told him. How much did Longshot know of her, and she so little of him? The lies ate at her. Deceit and untruths never sat well with her, and they never would. There was so much of her friend that it seems she hadn’t known at all. She felt resentful of that fact.

“I’ll be fine,” she said icily.

Longshot pressed the call button.

The cylindrical elevator’s doors hummed open, allowing them entrance. He hadn’t been kidding, she realized. It was a very snug fit. Ororo’s shoulders had pressed flat against the wall to allow him room in the elevator with her. Despite her assurance that she would be fine, Ororo had closed her eyes and counted slowly beneath her breath as the elevator descended, focusing on anything but the strict confines. She had made it all the way to one hundred before they had stopped.

“Are we underground?” she asked, sensing different energies surrounding them. Wherever they were the soil was rich with metallic minerals. The air practically hummed with it.

“About a thousand feet.” Longshot confirmed.

The door opened.

Ororo’s mouth dropped.

An underground city lay sprawled before her. An amazingly developed underground city. Subterranean suburbia would be an accurate description, she thought, slowly stepping from the shaft. Petite houses lined a vast semi circle area, complete with small yards, drives and mailboxes. Hundreds of homes.

And hundreds of people.

“Who--?

“Are they?” Longshot finished for her. His voice was tight with hostility. “Refugees.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Victims of a war they didn’t start, casualties of the Genoshan government‘s twisted tortures for mutants. People we saved from the depraved and indifferent clutches of the flatscans you so eagerly defend.”

A young voice caught their attention before she could respond. “Longshot!”

“Hey there, big man.” Longshot crouched low, swinging a frail looking boy up onto his shoulders. It was a child of no more than eleven, with a pointed tail. The boy reminded Ororo of Kurt--only Kurt was covered in soft blue fur where the child was covered in green scales

“Who’s she?” The boy asked with childlike curiosity, intensity and trepidation all rolled into his small voice. His clawed index finger pointed at Ororo.

“Her name is Storm. Storm, meet Foster.”

“Hi.” Ororo said for lack of anything else.

“Hi.” The child turned to face her squarely and she had to force herself not to recoil. Ugly, rigid scar tissue rose across the scales on the boy’s forehead; the words and symbols Mutate: 17684-A had been burned into his flesh, the wounds long healed, the remains irremovable.

Seeing her stricken expression, Longshot put the boy back on the ground. “Run along now, Foster. Go play with your friends.”

“Okay! Bye!” And just like that the boy was off and running, whooping with that irrepressible joy that only kids carried.

“What happened to him?” Ororo asked the very second she believed Foster to be out of earshot.

Longshot met her gaze steadily. “On Genosha all mutants are branded. Tagged.”

Ororo had let her eyes travel over the people around them, really taking them in. Almost all bore scars across their foreheads and for those that didn’t, she got the very distinct impression that all had been victimized in some way. She recognized the hollow look in some of the eyes that flickered her way. It was a look of desolation, of souls ripped clean from the body. In most, however, she saw a burning ember of life. Whether it was hope, or sheer resilience she couldn‘t say. Whatever it was, she felt it clear to her core. “So many…” she whispered.

“There’s more.” He took her by the elbow. “Come.”

Longshot had taken her to a building designated The Lost Children House--an building selected for those children with no one left to care for them. Orphans.

Babies.

Tiny, helpless souls with their lives, homes and families raped and torn from them.

Familiar pain knocked against her heart. A part of her didn’t want to see…didn’t want to know. The stronger part needed to see. That part of herself put one foot in front of the other and forced her to face truths she had preferred kept in shadows.

Inside the home, the two of them had been greeted by a matronly woman in her mid-forties. Her plump face split into a beaming grin. “Here to visit, Arthur? Good; the children have missed you.” She gave Ororo a once over. “And you brought a guest.”

Longshot bestowed a warm smile on the matronly woman, the first Ororo had ever seen him really give. “Dolores, this is Storm.”

Dolores had granted her a tentative smile. “Any friend of Arthur’s…” She motioned towards a set of double doors. “Go on in. Tammy and Bryce are doing some feedings, but otherwise activity is at a minimum right now.”

“Thanks.” He grasped Ororo by the elbow once more. “This way.” The beige and white double doors swung behind them and Ororo was a bit surprised by the homey feel of the place, despite its very hospital-like design.

Children of varying ages milled about the rooms, some curiously observing, others apparently oblivious to the newcomers. Ororo followed Longshot as he led her from room to room, introducing her to one child after another. Eyes that should have been alight with mischief and youth were flat and dead as the adults she had seen outside.

“So young,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Longshot agreed. He stopped at a cradle.

Curious, Ororo bent over the side, staring at the angelic face of the tiny occupant. The baby was breathtakingly beautiful. Shiny blond curls, and aquatic blue eyes glinted beneath the overhead lights. The baby girl, unfamiliar with Ororo, let out a muted wail.

To Ororo’s infinite sadness and instant anger it became apparent the baby’s tongue had been cut out. She looked toward Longshot, horror on her face. “They cut out her tongue,” she hissed, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Her parents did,” Longshot acknowledged quietly.

Ororo gasped, appalled. “Her parents?”

At her horrified intake of breath, he quickly added, “To save her life.” He stood beside her, cooing at the young baby. “If they hadn’t a much worse fate would have been bestowed upon little Alice. For their efforts, her parents were executed.”

Icy apprehension twisted along her spine. “Executed?”

“They defied Genoshan law.”

She sent him a hostile look.

“By law if you bear a mutant child you are to tell the government so they may remove the ‘unclean’ one from your home. Alice was born with a forked tongue. It wasn’t something they could hide, as they did with their son.”

“Where’s he?”

“Dead.” Longshot’s voice was flat. “Shot in the head like his parents. He was sixteen.”

Ororo closed her eyes, a hot tear scalding her skin. She wiped it away visciously. “How did Alice survive?”

“Despite the fact that it would cost them their lives, her familu hid her when they saw the soldiers coming.”

Ororo could only imagine the kind of courage that had taken. “And all of these children…” she gestured towards the other rooms.

“Victims. Simply because they carry a ‘defective’ gene.” Longshot straightened, his right eye glowing. “This is why I fight, Ororo. These are the people to whom I answer to. Not Magneto, not some government agency. I have to look at their faces every day and ask myself, did I do enough? Did I fight hard enough? Will what I do today make a difference? And if that answer is ever anything other than a resounding yes, then the fight is lost.” He lifted baby Alice from her cradle. “You may not agree with the doctrine behind all of Magneto’s actions, or his methods, but can you look me in the eye and tell me your Xavier does as much for mutant-kind? Can you look at Alice and honestly feel like the dream of co-existence is the right one? Ask yourself this, Ororo. Who have the X-Men really helped? Who are they saving?” He settled Alice back into her crib. “I’ll tell you who--whoever General Fury tells them too. Whoever can fork up the dough for their services, that’s who. Xavier talks a big game, Storm, but where are the results?”

Ororo ran her hand through her hair, hating the way his words echoed in her own mind. “Mutant-human co-existence won’t happen overnight, Longshot. It takes time…time to change perceptions, and make permanent changes.”

“Time is something these people don’t have in abundance.” he reminded her. “Their lives are being lost as you and Xavier’s precious X-Men sit on the sidelines, waiting for--for what I don‘t know. People are dying. Our people are dying. If mutants won‘t stand up and fight for each other, no one will.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe Magneto does this all for altruistic means. He’d cut your throat if he thought he could take advantage of your death.” She’d thrown at him.

“I don’t doubt it. Magneto believes mutants are superior than flatscans. Seeing what I’ve seen and the horrible things flatscans do to us, I’m inclined to agree. However, I don’t fool myself into thinking Magneto is the mutant Savior. He is a means to an end for me just as I am for him. He gets my ‘luck’ and I get to help my people. Tolerating his arrogance is a small price to pay.”

“And if he gets you killed?”

“Then at least I died making a difference. Will you be able to say the same?”

She had no answer for him. He didn’t press for one. Instead he continued to show her around the subterranean area, showing her the shelters and houses of the occupants. It was far from a thriving utopia, but it was safe haven for many that hadn’t felt safe in a very long time.

Ororo had taken her time, looking around the city, focusing on each childless parent and parentless child. Each person was a potential lost soul, pulled from the carnage of their lives by Longshot and his ruffian crew.

Longshot had shadowed her tour through the underground city, but had refrained from doing any more speaking, unless to answer a direct question. Once complete he had taken her back to the upper levels and left her at the threshold of her room. His parting words were what were keeping her awake now. “The choice is yours, Storm. Stay and help fight Mojo and those like him, or have your revenge and wash your hands of it all.”

Currently

Ororo stared out the window into the darkness, her mind unsettled and no answers forthcoming. She wished she had Ali to talk to. Ali always told it to her straight…well, not always, she reminded herself sadly. Ali had kept a part of herself carefully hidden away. Was there no one she could trust?

Logan.

The answer to that particular question was immediate.

Ororo closed her eyes, the pang in her heart causing her physical pain. She missed him. So much it terrified her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his arms around her, almost smell the warm, male scent of the wild that clung to him…she could almost forget…that she’d left him. Almost.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. She wondered if a person could die of a broken heart, and then she wondered if he missed her like she missed him. Did he miss her touch? Her scent? Her love?

She had been trying fruitlessly for days to push him from her mind, and realizing the foolishness of that endeavor, she had resigned herself to the aching longing she kept in her heart.

Her last image of him was forever burned into her mind. Scorched, charred, broken and still he tried to reach her. He would have crawled to her, she knew. His pride alone demanded that he not fail. He was strong, stubborn and unfailingly loyal.

And how did she repay that? She stepped into a helicopter with their enemy. She forsook their chance at reconciliation for revenge. The simplest truth was the hardest for her to swallow. She betrayed him.

She sighed, heading back to her bed. “Goodnight, Logan. Wherever you are.”

175 Miles Southeast of Magneto’s Stronghold

“So what’re we going to do when we get there?”

Logan ignored the voice trailing him, focused solely on using his surgically sharp blades to cut through the thick undergrowth blocking his path.

“Yo, Wolverine! I said--”

“I heard what you said,” he growled.

“So, then answer. What’s the plan?”

“Look, I didn’t ask you two to tag along, so the last thing I have to do is answer your fuckin’ questions.”

Alison wiped her brow, swatting at the insects swarming her. “Well, too fucking bad,” she swore right back. “We stowed away. Deal with it.”

“I think what Ali means is, we’re here. Whatever the circumstances, so let us help.” Lorna provided, quickly trying to avoid yet another shouting match between the two. “We all want the same thing, so let’s work as a team.”

Logan snarled. “I work alone.”

“Well, not right now you don’t,” Ali snapped. She stopped, wiping at her forehead again. “Damn it, these suits are heavy.”

Lorna smirked. “They look it.”

Ali huffed. “Just because you don’t have to wear one--”

“Shut up!”

Ali whirled. “Look, assho--”

She hit the ground hard with Logan crouched over her. “Shut the fuck up. Listen.”

They all sat silent. Footsteps, scurrying rapidly on the ground.

Six blades were immediately poised. “We got company.”

Lorna screamed as fangs exploded from the foliage around her. Instantly the large head of a lizard dropped to her feet, blood spewing out across the fronds. “What is that thing?”

“Modified raptor,” Logan informed them. “Magneto’s personal pit-bulls. We’re getting close.” He resumed his slicing of vines. I’m coming, Storm. I’m coming to take you home.





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