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She’d never be helpless again.

Ororo’s vow was sealed in a man’s blood. She was a nurturer and protector. She’d emerged from the dark and exchanged dust-drenched rags and a torn sandal for armor forged in thunder.

~0~

She’d never be helpless again.

This wasn’t recess, this wasn’t homeroom or study hall, and she wasn’t on time-out. It was no longer a question of whether Lorna belonged, only of where.

~0~

He’d never be helpless again.

He’d die before letting them take him down, and he’d take them down with him when they tried. They’d wounded him to watch him heal. They’d wounded him to watch him bleed. In the end, they’d made Logan unbreakable.

~0~

He’d never be helpless again.

They’d tremble before his wrath before he crushed them. Erik smiled.

~0~

Henry stirred and twitched on the floor of the laboratory. Pain prodded him awake and sang through every limb and nerve, his ears still ringing.

“She’s her father’s daughter,” he grumbled, struggling to rise while the floor seemed to swim before his eyes. He snuggled and coughed, tasting copper.

Dr. McCoy?

Henry winced, groaning at the fleeting mind touch that still felt like nails on a chalkboard.

“I need you to tell me where Erik has gone.”

I can’t, sir. Mindee sounded contrite, and Henry read panic and dread through their psychic link. I can’t get a lock on him. There’s a barrier around his mind. He keeps throwing me out. Esme and Sophie both got nosebleeds when they tried… She was sobbing, and there was no comfort left for him to offer her.

“Then take me to Miss Munroe.” Despite the pain coursing through his body, Henry’s lumber quickened to a leonine sprint through the sublevel’s emergency exit. There were times when the most feasible actions Henry could take on behalf of mutantkind happened in Congressional chambers. This wasn’t one of those times.

It was just like summer. Every time you swatted a fly in the house, ten more would come inside once someone opened the door.

This was Forge’s fault. Ororo tried to cast the nagging mantra from her mind, but it echoed and grew louder until it was a throbbing tattoo. Her frustration warred with concern for the inventor ensconced in Cerebro’s containment unit, knowing his location in the seemingly impenetrable room was no guarantee of his safety. Damn him, she thought. The vision of his dark eyes, open, sympathetic and pleading with her filled her vision for a moment before she got back to the task at hand.

Piotr took exception to strangers darkening the school’s doorstep. Stryker’s invasion had unsettled him; the trauma flavored his dreams and made him more diligent in supervising the children. He enforced a rigid buddy system and often encouraged the students to participate in group activities to better keep track of where they were. Bobby jokingly muttered “Big Brother’s watching you” one night when he’d caught him with Rogue in the garden, chatting and breaking curfew.

He aimed to show them whose house it was before the day was done.

He administered his first lesson in etiquette by walking directly into a hail of exploding projectiles that peppered him in shrapnel. Beware of offending your host. The Prime unit stared at him coldly and raised its hand, readying a different tactic.

“Mutant 1010-777. Ident nomenclature Rasputin, Piotr. Class Three. Status, active. Resolution processing. Termination imminent “ “ His steely voice was cut off by a swift uppercut that sent him sprawling back from the porch.

“Nyet, tovarisch.” Lesson two: Never outstay your welcome. They’d harmed Katya and pissed off the wrong mutant.

“Colossus! Hostile at three o’clock!” Bobby shouted, and he barely managed to duck a beam of sparking current as it arced through the air. As he’d learned from Logan’s account of what happened to Kitty, he couldn’t afford to rely on his armored form to counter every attack. The Prime units were highly adaptive, and assumptions like that were deadly. Bobby didn’t hesitate to aim a barrage of ice toward Piotr’s attacker wile it focused its attention on him, but he wasn’t fast enough. The Prime units’ chest cavity opened, offering a chilling view of circuitry interspersed with probes and implants obscuring where his organs should be. A shining bolo shot out and expanded in volume, spinning a web of fine steel cables that snared Piotr in a struggling grip.

Bobby moved to freeze the cables, intending to make them brittle enough to break. A taller, leaner unit descended on him from the air and blasted him with the same nerve disruption laser Piotr managed to avoid. He staggered to his knees, jerking as he struggled for breath.

“BOBBY!” Kitty was heedless of her slip, not caring that she’d skipped his alias as she bolted for him and clutched him, phasing him before another beam of energy struck him. It passed through them both harmlessly, but his blue eyes were glazing over and his pallor turned gray. “I’m taking you out of here,” she hissed, and she plunged them underground, whispering to him to hold his breath. She, too, had learned from her previous mistake, and she planned to regroup and restrategize. An IQ of one hundred eighty had to come in handy for something…

It was Charles’ worst nightmare come true. The war on mutants that Erik had always promised erupted on the lawn of his family manor, and the odds weren’t in their favor. Their own kind were being used to hunt them down and eradicate them, and the man he’d treated as a brother, who’d once shared his vision of a world where their kind could live without fear had signed their death warrant.

The wind whipped through Erik’s silver waves of hair and buffeted him, and he felt exposed without his trademark trenchcoat and helmet, but power still surged through him, waiting to be unleashed. He felt the magnetic tug of energy emanating from Lorna, nourishing him and replenishing his strength; she wasn’t just the welcome balm to his soul. Her young face was determined as she turned to face him. The pawns go first…

“You know what you must do,” he advised, the corners of his mouth curling wryly. She nodded.

“It’s calling me,” she confirmed. Feeling the various minerals and alloys of the metals he’d described to her was a rush, challenging and new. They felt like the same substance lining the scary-haired guy who she’d dumped on his head.

“Then answer its call, my dear.” A flank of Prime operatives were approaching the house and already firing mini missiles through the front picture windows, showering the foyer and drawing room with glass shards and turning the hardwood floors to rubble. Lorna stood firm and tall, unafraid as Erik squeezed her hand. Her wisteria green hair danced in the breeze as she gestured toward their attackers.

One by one, they jerked and emitted shrill, guttural squawks as she began to tear them apart. Two of them fell to the ground, spasming and wearing disbelieving faces as their bodies rebelled against them. They seized in pain while their implants were disrupted, working their way out through muscle, sinew and flesh. Lorna’s face was contorted in a mixture of confusion and nausea, but she didn’t hold back. He didn’t tell her that they’d die. Betrayal pricked at her spine. She tensed, extending her magnetic field to encompass them both. She’d just broken Erik free, and she wouldn’t watch them pry him away from her again.

Ororo watched in mute horror from her vantage point in the sky as modules of bloody circuitry were extracted from the twitching bodies on the ground. Blood leaked out from the corners of slack mouths, and they screamed in human voices and true pain.

“Nicely done,” Erik purred, as he blithely showed his daughter how it was done. “Fragile creatures, aren’t they, without their sophisticated trappings?” Three more operatives held them in their sights, and Erik was calm and collected as the red laser site appeared on his cheek an instant before he activated his mutation.

The sickening sound of flesh slamming into flesh assailed Lorna’s ears as she watched Erik drag the three of them together, crushing them into a heap and exerting strangling, smothering pressure against them. He increased the density and gravity of the adamantium implants until they couldn’t withstand their weight or stay erect. They flailed their limbs and sputtered their directives.

“Resolution process…SQUARK! Status hostile…ident designate…” ZZZZTTTT! Their bodies warped and twisted as though merciless hands were cavalierly molding them and squeezing them inside out. Their implants worked free; the tallest male operative’s face was twisted and a gaping maw of bloody tissue as its ocular implant slithered loose from its mooring, leaving behind macabre fibers of torn skin and exposing the orbital bones of the socket.

“They won’t catch us napping again. Learn what you can of your enemy the first time, Lorna.” His voice was dispassionate and cold, telegraphing malice in his silver gaze.

“Okay.” Protectiveness toward him and pride stiffened her spine and fortified the magnetic bubble around them. She flinched when another cartridge of ammo was fired, ricocheting and exploding upon contact. The scene before her would color her dreams with more violence. The image of Windsor bleeding and rotting in the dark hadn’t left her.

“Boszhe moi!” Piotr grunted, feeling the air being crushed from his lungs as the bolo binding him tightened even more as he struggled. He fought to force blood flow into his limbs, which now felt icy cold and leaden. Despite being armored, he felt himself breaking out into cold sweat and saw colors exploding behind his eyes with his efforts…

His heart nearly stopped in shock when Kitty phased through him as she emerged from the ground, tugging Marie behind her. The bolo web dropped to the ground, now inert. He shook himself and wobbled back onto his feet.

“Brought in reinforcements.”

“How’s Bobby?”

“He’ll live. Even let me take one for the road,” Marie explained, and he saw tiny frozen puffs of air escape from her lips as she spoke. “He had yer back, sugah, and so do I.” Piotr didn’t pry any further, ducking the barrage of another round of ammo and slamming into both girls. He dragged them beneath him, using his body as a bulwark and shield. The bullets made clanging pings against his back, shredding his shirt.

“And I, yours,” he offered before he gave them a hearty shove and faced the behemoth towering over him. This Prime unit easily topped him in height by four inches, even in his armored form, and Piotr assumed he’d originally shared a similar mutation, namely dense body tissue and enhanced strength.

The Prime operative grinned at him cruelly before proving him correct, his enormous fist hitting a home run with Piotr’s face. His body arched as he was flung back, crashing through the veranda as he landed. Before he could advance on him again as he recovered, Marie was as good as her word. She carefully generated and sculpted a glittering wall of solid ice between them, impeding his attack. The being’s eyes glowed a menacing red right before it fired a beam, sizzling through the ice and melting it within seconds. It cracked and gave way, shattering into jagged chunks that flew back and pummeled her vulnerable body. The knowledge of how to freeze her body to a molecular level and make best use of Bobby’s abilities had not been fully imparted to her during their brief kiss. She was additionally burdened by his fears for her when she told him she was going outside.

“Mutant-111. Ident designate…unknown. Class Four. Active. Resolution pending.” The being didn’t sound so sure of itself, and it cocked her head toward her almost quizzically. Her powers, combined with Bobby’s were throwing it off, she realized. Then the thought occurred to her…

Ms. Munroe had said during the briefing at the assembly that these were mutants. Human, for all intents.

Vulnerable.

She iced her hands, coating them with thick, rocky sheaths of ice and wielding them like heavy boxing gloves. She cocked one and gave the Prime operative her best Sunday, hope to heaven punch. The being didn’t even flinch, and it grinned at her savagely as the protective layer of ice fell away. Taking the brittle remains of her opera-length glove with it…

He hoisted her, struggling, up over his head by her throat, and her face was suffused with color as he tried to strangle her. Using intimidation as just one of its many weapons, he slowly drew her toward its stony visage, nostrils flaring. The eyes that stared at her were wholly inhuman, but its flesh was still lax enough for her to see fine, bluish veins throbbing and pulsing beneath the services, muscles and nerves working as the corners of its mouth twitched.

“Termination imminent,” it intoned.

“Ah don’t think so, varmint! This’ll shut yer lyin’ mouth!” She clapped her palm firmly over his cheek, her fingers digging into his temple as she began to leach his powers away. She was rocked by excruciating memories if his life, from the most mundane and naïve remaining from his childhood, to the savage, relentless nightmares of his time in the NSC’s labs, being tested and prodded like a rat. She suffered his indignity of his body being invaded and the last traces of humanity being stabbed and burned out of him, leaving his body along with his screams. He was no older than she was when he was taken. They were going to give him one of the implants, they told him, to cure him of the tumor growing on his thyroid and his adrenal glands so that he’d stop growing. All he wanted was to be normal. To live. To be loved…

His thoughts. They were a mockery of any she’d ever experienced and immersed herself in. So much like Logan’s, that night that she’d borrowed his healing gift, watching in horror as his skin stretched tightly across his bones, recoiling as the life in his eyes began to flicker, the canny wisdom and empathy she’d found in them being snuffed. She’d drawn back quickly, breaking the contact before she’d drained him dry. She relived Logan’s immersion in the tank, his body violated by wires, shunts and probes. Felt the warm fluids rolling over her as she bobbed in its murky depths, large bubbles faintly tickling her flesh. The press of an air mask was heavy against her face. Her nerves itched in anticipation.

Burning, tingling pain. Screams torn from her chest that no one heard below the depths of the tank, echoing in her own ears. The feed…someone please…stop the FEED!

“Feel…your pain,” she moaned aloud, and the iron grip around her throat weakened and fell slack. She tumbled to the ground, and the giant holding her slumped to its knees. Its eyes were hollow and dazed as it stared at her. Blood then trickled in grisly runnels from its eyes, nose and ears. Its lips moved incrementally, and she strained to hear its words.

“Th-thank…you,” he groaned, “take…pain from me.” Tears dripped like quicksilver down her face as he toppled back, giving up his last breath.

“Oh, mah God!” She crawled backwards on her haunches and elbows until she backed into Piotr. She cried out and fought to avoid touching him. “Ah killed him! Ah just wanted t’borrow his powers, Pete! Ah didn’t mean it!”

“Calm down, Rogue!” he hissed.

“Killed him,” she insisted through trembling lips. He fought to bring her back, but when she struggled against him, she actually broke his strong grip, confirming that she’d succeeded in steeling the operative’s gifts.

“We need you now,” he reminded her, standing and leading her with him into the fray. And now that she’d absorbed two new abilities, the X-men could be more places at once.

Some of their attackers favored the same sky that Ororo considered her second home. She was giving two airborne Prime ops a run for their money. She dipped and dove, flying in an evasive maneuver pattern she’d worked on while Jean was still alive, musing how ironic it was that Erik had choreographed it himself during his tenure at the school. More than anything, she wanted to lead them away. She heard the rush of her wake being broken by her pursuers, riding her own jetstream and avoiding wind shear that might slow them down. They were sharp. She would have to factor that in…

She heard the discharge of one of their projectiles, unmuffled by the wind, and it was time to get down to business. She spiraled, leaning right into the tunnel of air she created, then left, watching the shells fly past her. Their piercing whistle battered her ears, but she continued her flight, careening so fast she felt the pull against her skin, the friction making it feel weatherbeaten and raw. She’d ache, if she ever made it out of this.

“Halt, mutant!”

“Never,” she grated through clenched teeth, eyes sparking. They were tailing her for all she was worth. She nearly felt their breath kissing her soles as they kept up. She jack-knifed at the last split second, when it seemed like they’d overtaken their prize.

“RO!” She heard Logan’s guttural cry, faint from that high above the ground, but she tried to ignore the fear twisting his features. She rode the current they’d kicked up, allowing it to drag her behind them. They couldn’t slow their own momentum fast enough to react. Lightning charged and danced at her fingertips. She was almost grateful that she couldn’t see their faces as long streams of crackling blue electricity launched themselves from her hands and hit each of them squarely in the back. They jerked and seized, and thunder rolled across the air, declaring her intentions for anyone who crossed her path, looking to threaten the children. They hurtled toward the ground, their bodies limp. Before she could recover a lower altitude, she saw red lights glowing and flashing from the eyes of two more Prime units as they, too, leapt up into the sky.

The first two were merely tiring her out. She steeled herself and harnessed the energy from the earth and air, channeling her awareness of everything around her into the coming storm. Hail. These new combatants required a different approach. She knew from her previous conflict downtown that they were adaptable. The winds whipped up, swirling into nascent cyclones speckled with dime-sized hail. The air became frigid as the weather system drifted down from the ground. The Prime units weren’t impressed.

“Termination imminent. Resolution processing.” They cut through the oncoming gusts like warm butter, flying expertly through it, their bodies aerodynamic and resistant to pressure and friction. The hail pelted them, growing in frequency and size until hard, icy golf balls drove them back. They persevered, fighting the barrage and closing the breadth separating them from the weather witch. It was a risk, she knew, using such a passive attack.

Inside the Cerebro complex, Forge was fuming helplessly, raging at the monitor.

“Damn you, Ororo,” he hissed.

She was buying him time. He read the readings on her power levels while she was airborne, simultaneously watching the changes in the signals that he was trying to isolate and trace.

Each time one of the Prime units was deactivated, the signal rerouted itself to the remaining flanks. Forge watched each time as the signal would flare, growing stronger before it disappeared, no longer having an intact receiver when the Prime unit was shut down. He watched the monitor, toggling until he used a schematic view of the school’s grounds to watch the activity and location of each mutant signature.

Rogue’s signature was erratic and fluctuating. He calculated that her ability to sync with mutations by direct contact was affecting it. Roughly two hundred signatures were secured in the Danger Room. The rest of the mansion was devoid of any mutant occupants, with the exception of one flashing light showing up in the infirmary. Bobby Drake. He scowled with worry and maintained a vigil at the monitor, preparing to go to him if necessary. His biorhythms were weak but steady.

He keyed in different code sequences, attempting to communicate with the satellite feed carrying the signal. Just when he thought he had it narrowed down to a specific location emitting it, the flow was interrupted and rerouted to throw him off the trail.

It was like playing checkers. You moved right, you were jumped. You moved left, you were jumped. You couldn’t turn back, and you eventually ran out of pieces. Forge didn’t want to think of what the implications of running out of players on the field meant for the school.

Veterans. The government he’d sworn to protect had mined its veterans like any other commodity and used them up. It appalled him and made his flesh crawl. He watched the failing biorhythms of those who had already fallen, and feelings of hopelessness and impotent rage welled up within his breast. He felt again the heartbeats dying in the chest of his infantrymen as he begged them to hold on, and it tore pieces at him.

“I’m holding you accountable, Gyrich,” he swore as he keyed in more sequences. He continued to rewire Cerebro’s mainframe, attempting to disrupt the signal from appropriating more data on the Prime units’ targets. So much data…so much liability.

Cerebro didn’t just find mutants. It offered the school the best means of helping the students deal with their powers, revealing clues about how they were activated, and how the host could control them most effectively. Prime conditions, physical limitations, weaknesses. Gyrich was never meant to be privy to such information. The Prime units were still unexplored and unknown quantities. The X-Men didn’t have the “inside tip” yet on how they could be beaten, and they couldn’t waste precious time on trial and error.

The signal was still strong, connected to the network of Prime ops and communicating without interruption. Without interruption…

That was the key.

Henry had stumbled directly onto a battlefield. He roared in pain as glass shards dug into his feet, despite their protective coat of fur.

“HANK!” Logan bellowed. “It’s about friggin’ time!”

“I was indisposed,” he shot back as he jumped into the fray. Instinctively, his feral side took over, and guttural growls escaped his lips as he attacked an operative aiming for Piotr’s back. His teeth tore at flesh as the being stared coldly at him, mouth open in surprise.

“SQUARKKKK!”

“Shit,” Logan spat, before he plowed his claws into his own dance partner’s chest, watching in disgust as it grinned up at him. Its wounds were already regenerating as he planned his next move.

A cloud of gas erupted from its mouth, tearing roars of agony from him as his flesh and vulnerable eyes tingled and burned. It got the drop on him again, pressing its advantage and stomping a booted foot into his back, grinding him into the ground. Each time he fought to get back up he was pinned back down, dragging less air into his lungs with each blow. All he needed was a split second.

He rolled to his back and caught its ankle, neatly flipping him back and hurling him through the air.

Overhead, Ororo was losing steam. She was closer to the ground, more easily visible and showing signs of exhaustion. He felt the stinging hail pelting his body as it littered the grass with icy chips. One of the Prime operatives had been weakened enough by the searing cold and couldn’t stay airborne. Gusts of wind forced it back to the ground, where Henry and Piotr moved to deal with it and block its path to the mansion.

A long, gleaming silver coil whipped out from the wrist holster of Ororo’s second pursuer, snaking around her waist and cinching itself tight. It cut into her flesh and burned, tearing a scream from her lips. “AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!”

It was using her powers against her. Megavolts of electricity invaded her body; the whipcoil acted like a conduit, except it drained the energy from her lightning and fed it back to her, attacking her nerve endings. It was going to burn her out. Resolution probability pending, 86.75%, approximately 2.2 minutes…

The air was burning with each breath she dragged into her lungs. She smelled smoke and ozone, and all around her thunder crashed, rebuking her. Her heart seized and pounded, tripping and about to burst. Her hands flew to her throbbing head as though trying to keep it from splitting apart. She hurtled toward the ground, dragging her captor with her.

“ROGUE! Catch her!” Piotr cried, knowing it was their last-ditch hope. She didn’t hesitate. In a twinkling, yards of softly packed ice resembling drifts of snow formed an enormous cushion, expanding and widening to accommodate her trajectory as she fell. Her body plunged into the snowy drifts with a wet, rushing sound, and Logan was already sprinting toward her, his heart pumping as he traced her path with his eyes. He almost couldn’t see her buried beneath all that ice; her slender form was obscured to where he could only see a hint of blue from her shirt. His claws flashed as he began to cut his way through the icy morass. He swung his arms tirelessly, snow pitching up behind with his efforts. ’Ro…they took down ‘Ro. “I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’!” he panted raggedly. Frostbite added itself to his body’s woes and suffering, but he didn’t feel it. He had to get her out.

His senses didn’t lie to him. He caught her scent. Henry must have, too, judging by his efforts with his own claws and brawny strength as he came in from the opposite direction. He could hear the splash and crackle of something moving ahead of him.

The long whipcoil lashed out at Henry before he could even blink. He leapt back neatly, his muscles surging with strength as he flipped himself out of the way before it could clip him. It followed him, and he led it on a merry chase, drawing it away from Ororo as Logan continued his recovery.

He choked back a mournful cry when he found her. Her clothes were hopelessly torn, and her body was lacerated with more cuts than he could count, bruises already beginning to surface on her arms and face. Her lips were blue, and that petrified him. ‘Ro couldn’t get cold…

His hands scrabbled through the ice, becoming more firmly packed the longer they occupied it. He ignored the excruciating bite of ice crystals into his flesh, which decorated it in droplets of blood while he dug her free. Ororo groaned at the sensation of her body being shifted as the ground seemed to buckle and collapse beneath her. A rush of air coated her back as she was lifted up into someone’s insistent grip. She wanted to sleep. Her body ached to rest and welcome peaceful oblivion. She felt herself falling into the cushion of darkness, drifting in its currents, caressing her with velvet fingertips…

“No. Nononono…oh, God! ‘RO! Come on, darlin’, snap out of it! Don’t do this, baby, wake up! I know ya can hear me, damn it! ‘RO!” He shook her, trying to jostle her awake, needing to see her open her eyes or wiggle so much as a finger. His meaty palm slapped her cheek, smarting against her vulnerable flesh, and he hated himself for it. Helplessness and rage fed his tirade as he cried for her to hear him.

“Yer not gonna do this to me, Ororo! Do ya hear me? Yer gonna wake up, ‘cuz we need you! Ya’ve gotta come back! I won’t put up with yer shit, woman! C’mon! Don’t play possum with me, ‘Ro, ya know I need ya, and I’ll crawl, darlin’! I’ll get on my fuckin’ knees and beg ya ta just wake up…darlin’…please,” he pleaded. Tears burned his cheeks as they spilled from his eyes. “Yer not leavin’ me, Ororo!”

“Ororo?” Erik approached, wisely keeping himself at arm’s length from the feral, not wanting to provoke him and tensing at the heavy stance, his body bristling with rage.

“Oh, my God, Ms. Munroe!” Lorna whimpered. “What can I do?” she pleaded to Erik, tears welling in her blue eyes. He whipped his head toward Henry as he continued to lure the Prime operative.

“Lend our friend Dr. McCoy a hand,” he ordered before he directed his attention back to the Wolverine. Charles’ protégée lay limply in his arms, and Erik was thrown back through time. Magda barely weighed anything as he scooped her up, his lungs pumping fit to burst as they ran through the forest…nothing would happen to her as long as he drew breath. The same determination was etched across Logan’s features, and he saw the veins in his jaw throbbing, daring him to make a move against him or to try to take her from him. His hold on the weather witch tightened as Erik drew closer.

“Ya happy now, ya twisted fuck?” Logan hissed. “This is what yer fuckin’ handiwork did! Ya helped ‘em build a better weapon out of us, and look who it fuckin’ hurt!”

“I didn’t mean…” His words died. Logan’s eyes were dilated. The only thing keeping him in check was the feathering whisper of Ororo’s pulse, so weak that he almost couldn’t feel it.

“Save it. Can ya take the rest of these things down?”

“I’m still not at full power. Lorna isn’t strong enough for the task.” Up in the sky, amidst the rolling clouds and sleet, the dark shadows of more Prime operatives appeared, filling those below with despair.

“Figure out a way, ya sonofabitch!”

Forge thought he’d stumbled back into one of his worst nightmares. Blood and rubble tripped him and he almost lost his footing. He kept a firm grip on the module in his hand. The sounds from outside were almost deafening as he made his way down the broad corridor, past the War Room and study.

There was another crash as the windows in Ororo’s office imploded, offering one of the Prime units entry into the house.

“Holy shit!”

“Scanning…scanning,” it hummed, pinning him in its black gaze. “Ident nomenclature Forge. NSC designate, Contractor. Inactive,” it announced, making Forge’s blood run cold. “Mutant status: Active. Resolution processing.” It lurched toward him and stretched out its palm, and he saw the golden glow of energy readying itself to fire. “Termination imminent.” His blood ran cold. Gyrich. So he’d decided Forge was a liability from the onset of the project. How long had he labored under the delusion that he could trust his superiors? How much of his career had been a lie?

He’d fought for his country, for fuck’s sake…

“Kiss my ass, Gyrich!” he breathed before he aimed his module, a compact firearm, and squeezed the gleaming trigger.

It was a neural disruptor. State of the art, portable, and still in development. Designed for mutants whose powers were out of control or that endangered their lives once they manifested, the disruptor had different applications he hadn’t explored yet. It had to work.

The being was bathed in energy, enveloped in a glowing nimbus.

The being fought to stay in control, its body wavering and swaying, still attempting to attack Forge, but the blast was already affecting it. It began to spew a babble of directives, garbled and hoarse as it weakened like the other units had.

He didn’t approach it until the glow faded from its hand and it was lying supine across the rug.

“Processing…processiiiiiinnnnng…help…meeeee.” Forge’s gut lurched.

“Where did you come from? I already know how you found this place. I need to know where the signal’s coming from,” he barked, kneeling beside it.

“Processing databanks…recording…executing recording,” he rasped. Forge paused in feeling the operative’s pulse as the being’s face hardened. His lips formed words in Gyrich’s voice, ridden with static but no less cruel.

“We knew your loyalties weren’t with the Council, Forge. The United States Department of Defense doesn’t take kindly to traitors within its ranks. You’re being charged with treason and aiding and abetting a national threat. All of the privileges you’ve enjoyed in your post with NSC are being suspended and annulled forthwith.” He suppressed a wave of nausea and felt gooseflesh sweep over him, making him rock back on his haunches. He plowed his hand through his hair dazedly, but his ears pricked up as Gyrich continued. “I always had a bad feeling about you, mutie. No more pretending to be a man and pulling the wool over our eyes. You and your kind are going down, and this time we’re finishing the job.”

“A traitor,” he choked. The being rolled its face toward him, weak as a rag doll.

“Help…you,” it gargled. “Port…chest.” It tugged at its vest with clumsy fingers. Forge obliged him by tearing it open. A clean expanse of flesh met his eyes.

“Look,” he demanded hoarsely. His fingernails pried at his own flesh, tearing open a small seam that resembled a scar between his ribs. “Network,” he continued. Incredulously Forge examined the fibers of microcircuitry housed in a module so tiny that he’d need tweezers to extract it. “Red light…press it.” Forge yanked out a pen from his pocket. His hands shook as he probed the tiny red light with the tip.

“What did it do?”

“Block,” he gasped. “Network. Shut down…network.”

“How?”

“Synced…with network.”

“But where’s the signal?” he cried.

“Termination…unit…shut down,” he rattled, and his head jerked spasmodically several times before the light in his eyes died.

He gathered up his gun and leapt through the decimated window. He spied Henry and Piotr first, both of them staring up at the sky.

The Prime units were retreating. The ground around them was littered with bodies and a blood-dappled glacier. Marie was huddled with Kitty on the veranda, sobbing miserably while Lorna sat watching by Erik’s side.

“Forge,” Henry blurted as he spied him. “What the hell are you doing out here, man?”

“It worked,” he replied. “The network shut down when I used this.” He handed him the disruptor by the stock. Henry handled it gingerly and with interest, questions written on his face.

“That’s why they retreated.”

“The signal depends on a powered host, as well as the integrity of the implants.”

“But did you trace the signal.”

“No.” His shoulders sagged, and Henry felt the pain of his defeat. Then his eyes darted around the lawn. “Blue, where’s Ororo?” Panic gripped him, and his knees nearly buckled as he caught sight of Logan on the veranda, his face stricken as he rocked her on his lap.





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