London's Burning

[Neutron]

Dateline 10 March, 2008. I'm Teresa Glaser and this is BBC Panorama.

With the reports of last week's dirty bomb attacks on King's Cross station in Camden, security across Greater London has been at an all-time maximum alert status.

The Home Office has been given express assurances by the Russian President that this latest act of violence was explicitly not the work of the FSB or any other Russian intelligence services.

Further, an audiotape message from a supposed faction leader of al Qaeda has similarly denied any involvement in the attack that has resulted in thirty seven dead, two hundred injured, and has left Parliament MP Davis Midridge missing and presumed dead.

The Prime Minister condemned the attack, vowing that this act of treachery and cowardice will not remain unanswered, and that the terrorists responsible will be pursued with unyielding vigour.

Already the United States and European Union have pledged their support to track down the terrorists. In an offering of condolances, the Russian President said that he had not yet heard if the Prime Minister would be requesting Russian assistance in the matter. The Premier of China extended his sympathies last week, and is planning on touring the blast site within the month.

The burning question that remains on the hearts and minds of all Londoners this evening is - who is behind this brazen assault, and what is their agenda?


*CLICK*


Aslan shrugged dismissively at the newscast as he tossed the remote aside. He looked down to his heavily-gloved hands, and reached up to pull the cigarette from his lips before dropping it to the concrete floor, where it was snuffed by a bootheel.

He then turned to look at his seated guest, who was looking petulant and bedraggled as usual.

"You, is dinnertime. Brought vindaloo, you likes?"

He set a grease-saturated paper bag across from Davis Midridge, the most outspoken mutant security proponent in the House of Commons, and gave him a toothy smile.

[Veritas]

Henri walked from the bed & breakfast in Enfield to the waiting Volvo at the street corner. His cane rapped on the pavement with a clack - clack cadence as he approached. His other hand held an insulated foam cup. He set the cup on the car's roof before opening the door, carefully negotiating his cane before pulling the cup down and taking a seat next to his comrade.

"Here is your tea." He said with a small amount of piquant French disdain.

It was a rather cold morning, but Henri wasn't going to grouch over it, or the sharp pain in his knee that came about on such cold days. He preferred to stay on topic.

[Pan]

"Tah, man."

Duncan gave the Frenchman a nod of appreciation and cradled the cup in his hands to enjoy its warmth. He'd pushed his seat backwards as much as possible to accomodate for his difficult lower limbs and behind him, his folded wheelchair rested on the backseat.

"So what's the first order of business, boss? Round up some suspicious looking gentry and play Good Cop, Bad Cop?"

From behind his cup, he offered Henri a weak smile, then slurped his tea.

[Veritas]

"Motive."

Henri started the volvo up, and shifted into gear, edging out from the relatively quiet residential road to the more busy outer-metropolitan thoroughfare.

"A sudden bang, a lot of people dead, and one missing."

Henri pulled a folder from his heavy coat and laid it on Duncan's lap.

"This Davis Midridge fellow - do you know of him?"

[Pan]

"I know he's no lover of mutants."

He opened the file and flicked through Henri's organised notes; which included a personal and political profile, snapshots, newspaper scans, and his own sharp handwriting(some of it in bloody French, Duncan noted). He looked up.

"Let's see... he's an all-out Tory. Outspoken former journalist. He had something to do with Higher Education... Shadow Minister, I reckon. He supports West Ham."

He frowned.

"Didn't he have posters of Margaret Thatcher on his bedroom wall?"

[Veritas]

Henri sniffed. "I do not read the tabloids."

They began to work their way into morning traffic, headed into Greater London. They may have made better time on the L, but Henri was paranoid and eschewed public transit when possible.

"But yes, he is no friend of our, eh..."

The former inspector struggled for the english phrasing.

"...society. Politicians are like prostitutes. Their disease is ideology, and they mingle and spread this disease."

Henri adjusted his spectacles.

"Somebody with fewer ethics than myself would be tempted to do something of this."

[Pan]

"Are you saying politicians should get their own Red Light District?"

He grinned. Henri was silent and kept his eyes trained on the growing traffic. He took advantage of the lull in conversation to peruse Henri's file, arriving at a newspaper article which caught his interest. He felt a swell of excitement.

"Did you know he was due to join the Prime Minister on his trip to the White House?"

[Veritas]

Henri quirked an eyebrow.

"He seems to have influence, then."

For a long time, they drove in silence, and Henri at last spoke again.

"One thing troubles me, is this bomb. Why a bomb?"

[Pan]

"It's big, loud, and harmful. A bomb gets noticed."

Perhaps it was being in Henri's presence but Duncan felt sharper than normal. He skimmed a page of scribbled notes and assumed that what he was saying made sense.

"Whoever did it, they wanted to either send a message or make the headlines. Probably both."

[Veritas]

"It seems ridiculous. The type of person who would find Midridge to be an annoyance would hardly need a bomb."

Henri didn't need to elaborate. They both knew the kind of power available to the few "gifted" individuals in the world.

"Something like this is clumsy. It is a big, difficult thing, a bomb like that. Even for common people, you'd expect something easier. A gun, a knife."

They were making headway toward Camden, and as they approached the street leading toward Kings Crossing, the yellow tape decorated the scene like some sort of gaudy festival.

[Pan]

"I don't think we're looking for your average Joe. Whoever has an axe to grind for this fella obviously has bigger ideas with this bomb."

They rolled by the bustling crowds and emergency services while Henri looked for a place to park. Duncan didn't venture into big cities very often and was fascinated by all the went on around him. He rubbed the steamed window to get a better look.

"That is if the two things are connected in the first place. It could be coincidence."

[Veritas]

"It could be." Henri replied flatly. It was true, the possibility did exist.

"A Parliament man could have many enemies. We may be, how do you say, chasing our tail."

The car was stopped by a man in a bright yellow jacket and a checker-pattern cap - the distinctive look of a London police officer.

"Hold it mate, mova round back which you came, we've a bit of a queue and the station's still closed I'm afraid."

Henri looked up at the man, blinked twice, and spoke very carefully.

"Where is your chief inspector?"

The cop gave Henri a funny look, wondering why he expected him to tell him that, and yet, the man began to speak almost as if his mouth wasn't controlled by his brain.

"He's in the trailer over there having a cuppa with some MI-5 blokes."

Henri smiled courteously, cutting the wheels of the Volvo to turn in the direction the man gestured.

"Many thanks, bonjour."

[Pan]

Duncan grinned in spite of himself. Henri's uncanny gift made him extremely uncomfortable yet it amused him and was convinced that somewhere beneath that prickly exterior, it amused Henri, too.

"What are you going to say to the chief inspector after you've persuaded him to spill the beans?"

[Veritas]

Henri parked the Volvo outside of the trailer, and paused at Duncan's question.

"Thank you, I suppose."

He opened the door, stepped out, and gave his partner some help, just in time for the perturbed policeman they had evaded earlier catch up with them.

"You've a bloody cheek, guv. I've a mind to dock you for it!"

Henri paused, and turned around again, a polite expression on his face.

"Young man, what is your most embarassing secret?"

Again, the unfiltered truth spilled from the cop's lips like a bursting dam.

"I once soiled myself while making love to Tammy Perkins."

If Henri was surprised from hearing such a thing, he certainly didn't make a show of it. He laid a finger over his mouth as he stepped toward the trailer door.

"Our little secret, what do you say?"

The cop stood frozen in his own mortification, and Henri gestured to Duncan.

"Let's go have a chit-chat."

[Pan]

Duncan propped his elbow on the arm of his wheelchair and held his face in his hand. His body convulsed and he breathed heavily. When he spoke, his voice was high-pitched and trembled.

"I feel so dirty."

He propelled himself along behind the frenchman with one hand and wiped his face dry with the other. Henri knocked at the trailer door.

"I wonder what if the chief inspector wears womens underwear," he mused.

[Veritas]

"Should I ask?" Henri flashed back the thinnest hint of a wry expression as the door opened. A man with receeding hair and a severe expression met him.

"Who the devil are you? I said no press and I meant it."

"We are not with the media, Inspector. I apologize for the forwardness of our meeting, but I think my comrade and I may be of some help to your investigation."

"You haven't answered my question." The inspector's glare slid off of Henri and fixated on Duncan, causing a silly facial expression as the man completely lost his train of thought.

[Pan]

For a moment, Duncan stared at the inspector, equally perplexed. Then, with a look of dawning shock, he placed a hands on his head. He'd forgotten to wear his hat, his horns were exposed. He cleared his throat.

"We mean you no harm, Inspector. We just want to talk."

There was fear in his voice and perhaps it carried because the tension left the inspector. He stepped aside.

"Come in, but no funny business!"

[Veritas]

"Well perhaps that will make the, how do you say, breaking the ice easier?"

The Inspector offered Henri and Duncan a wide berth and they stepped in. Within the trailer was a collage of documents, pictures, diagrams, and other musings.

Henri extended a hand.

"I am Henri Bertrand, former Inspector with the Gendarmerie Marseille."

With his hand shaken by the still-bewildered British inspector, he continued, gesturing to Duncan.

"This is Duncan McLaverty, my colleague. We represent a community of concerned citizens with, how do you say, special gifts."

[Pan]

"Pleased to meet you."

Duncan also shook the inspectors hand then found himself turning awkwardly on the spot looking for a place to go. The trailer was narrow and didn't afford someone of his shape much room to move. He gave up and opted to continue talking where Henri left off.

"We have reason to believe that the disappearance of Davis Midridge and the King's Cross bombing are related."

"I hope you have more than that," replied the inspector.

"We also have reason to be believe that he was taken by a mutant or a mutant organisation."

"Given his political leanings, yes, anything you want to tell us that we don't already know, Mr. MacLaverty?"

The inspector was getting impatient and Duncan felt sheepish. He didn't dare peel his eyes away from him. His mouth moved for a moment, not producing any sound, until he thought of something to say.

"Well, we have... contacts who could help us get to the bottom of this."

[Veritas]

The inspector let out a long sigh.

"You've wasted enough of my time, and these good gentlemen from the home office. I've enough to do without minding any conspiracy theories."

Henri decided it was probably time to step in, and he asked questions that were to the point.

"The bomb was radiological, yes? How much radiation?"

The Inspector paused, and divulged the inside information.

"The station generally gives a reading of 220-250 rads, with the blast epicenter more around 400."

Henri turned to one of the nearby MI-5 advisors.

"Is this a high level?"

"Absolutely."

The intelligence attache glanced to his peers in surprise at his involuntary reply.

"This level of radiation isn't attributable to rare earth or derivative isotopes. Whatever caused this level of radiation would have had to be manufactured and enriched. Even fuel rods don't do this, unless something goes wrong."

Henri removed his glasses, breathing on the lenses as he took in the responses.

[Pan]

"So whoever made this bomb would've needed significant experience in nuclear... engineering?"

His attempt to cover up his last blunder wasn't flawless but in the space of two questions, Henri had just given them a signifcant amount of headway, and he wanted to make use of it. The advisor gave him a curt nod, distracted by his own breach in confidentiality.

"Does the name Aslan Sagidev mean anything to you?"

All three men looked up immediately, each with the same expression of surprise, and the inspector was the first to find his voice.

"How do you- That's confidential information."

"He's a suspect, isn't he?"

"We're not at liberty to just-"

Duncan gave Henri a nod.

[Veritas]

"Mr. Sagidev has a sordid career, and even caused trouble for us when I was back with Gendarmerie. I believe then it was smuggling heroin for the Taliban."

"We're aware of this."

The Inspector noted with some new anticipation. Apparently he recognized that Henri and Duncan were potentially useful. Henri continued.

"Of course. There is also his involvement with al Qaeda, Shamil Basayev's Chechen mujehedeen, and other Islamist movements.These too are old news.

The news you do not have is that Mr. Sagidev is similarly gifted, though in ways apart from myself and my colleague."

"A mutant?" another MI-5 minder queried.

"Correct."

Henri approached the issue from another angle, prodding the inspector and MI-5 with a question.

"Your forensics teams, how much plutonium did they find in the station? How much uranium? How much of anything like this?"

He wasn't using his gift. They were now legitimately working in tandem.

"None at all." the senior MI-5 man said in a quietened tone.

Henri glanced to Duncan, who knew enough to follow his lead.

[Pan]

"Aslan Sagidev, or Neutron as he is known in some circles, is a dangerous mutant. I say dangerous because he is willing to use what we call gifts to inflict pain and suffering upon others."

While he spoke, Duncan had been scanning the collage and found what he had been looking for - a black and white surveillance shot of the terrorist climbing into a humvee. He pointed to it.

"Here. Do you see his hands? Look at what he is wearing: that is no bizarre middle-eastern fashion trend nor is it a weapon. The weapon lies beneath."

He raised his hands to emphasise his point.

"These are his weapons. Years ago, he was exposed to massive amounts of radiation and recieved terrible burns to his hands and forearms. The meltdown didn't kill him. In fact, the radiation didn't effect him in the slightest. That is his mutation: he is immune to the negative effects of radiation and as such, is able to use his super-charged limbs as lethal offensive weapons."

He dropped his hands and saw that the men were baffled. It was nice to feel like he had the edge over them in the conversation. He folded his arms.

"What I'm saying, gentlemen, is that he can power weaponry with massive amounts of nuclear radiation and it is likely that he is directly responsible for these attacks. That absense of raw materials in the bomb is practically him signing his handy work."

[Veritas]

The Inspector looked as if he could use a bit of fresh air.

"You're taking the p-"

Henri met his eyes and shook his head.

"All this time we've been looking for answers to a Litvenenko or a 7/7, but you're telling us it's worse? We have a walking atom bomb in our boroughs?"

Henri attempted to dampen the shock. Panic was of no use.

"It is not such a dramatic sort of thing. You are thinking atomic like..."

He approximated a mushroom cloud by slowly bringing his clasped hands apart.

"...pow. I do not think this is likely. He is like your Lady MacBeth. Out, out, spot. He is dirty and cannot get clean. Anything he touches is dirty."

"What explains the explosion then?"

A very good question, and one that Henri hadn't found an answer for.

"This is a puzzle to me as well."

[Pan]

"Well, I don't want to get all Dr.Who on you and all but it's like I said, he can power weapons and machinery with this energy. Surely he could find a way to do the same with a bomb?"

Outside he heard a distinct cry of pain, it came from a child and it bothered him. He looked to Henri for support on his somewhat outlandish theory.

"He has access to bomb materials. He's demented enough to try something like this, surely? If he could do this then there's nothing stopping a man with such connections to get such a bomb inside King's Cross and have it detonated remotely. I'm no forensic expert or anything so I'll leave that to you."

There was still that unanswered question that he and Henri had pondered in the car and it was to surface again.

"But what does he want?"

[Veritas]

The Inspector bit onto Duncan's theory.

"A conventional bomb...irradiated by Sagidev?"

He glanced up at the MI-5 head.

"You've got a dirty bomb. Highly irradiated, no weaponized material. Could even be common as ammonium nitrate or household products."

Henri agreed with Duncan as well.

"This makes sense. Cause a scene, play on our paranoia and sensationalism."

"Sleight of hand to conceal a kidnapping. Snatch him in broad daylight and blow the witnesses to bits."

[Pan]

"Were you able to salvage any useful security footage inside or outside the station? Did you find anything conclusive?"

"We were looking for the usual suspects for these kinds of attacks. There was no sign of Sagidev. And outside, there was no sign of suspicious activity. Not even transport suitable for abducting a hostage or-"

"But Midridge was definately at the station?" Duncan interrupted eagerly.

"Yes, we saw him at the platform. We saw him board his train."

"Where was he headed?"

"He was taking the 14:10 to Heathrow. He was due to-"

"The flight to Washington DC. And his train left?"

The inspector hesitated, glanced at his colleagues and answered.

"Well... no. It was delayed and was caught in the explosion."

[Veritas]

Alarm bells went off in Henri's head.

"A switch? Another platform, maybe?"

The Inspector was already out the door, shouting for additional CCTV footage.

Henri couldn't prevent a small smile. Duncan had a natural flair for deductive reasoning.

[Pan]

He glanced at Henri, feeling more comfortable insinuating something than asking for it outright from the inspector.

"I reckon we should look at the timetables. If he did board a different train, we need to know if it was a scheduled departure or not."

A shudder of excitement ran down his back at his next thought. In an instant, he got an impression of the life Henri had lead in France. His gaze fell upon the inspector.

"If it was scheduled, we'll also be able to determine its destination. Could an unscheduled transport get very far without catching attention?"

[Veritas]

"Not at all. It would cause the whole damn queue on the L to go to hell."

The Inspector fussed with a subordinate over a tape as Henri chimed in.

"Even if it wasn't on schedule, it's still linear. You cannot steer a train. A kidnapper would have to appear on a closed circuit at some point down the line. But this seems so obvious, he'd surely know it. I am wondering if all this is simply to annoy us and slow us down.

Slow us down for something."

[Pan]

This was where Henri's experience kicked and Duncan was left blank. He mulled over possibilities while the men talked about security footage from other stations. He frowned and left the issue of motivation to those who understood it.

"Even if he is trying to slow down the investigation, he still had to get off that train with Midridge and if he can't do that without being spotted at every station on the line then he'd have to get off in between stops."

He had been talking chiefly to himself but now he looked at Henri.

"The train needed to make an emergency stop. He could steer anyway he wished after that."

[Veritas]

This was perhaps true. Henri stroked his wild hair for a moment.

"Or they could have left the train while in the tube."

So much for linear restrictions.

"Mon dieu." The Frenchman rubbed at his temples and sighed.

"Sir, channel two has something breaking." a uniformed officer barged into the trailer, getting the Inspector's attention.

[Pan]

The inspector dashed outside, Duncan backed away unsteadily, allowing the others to promptly follow. He waited until there some range between Henri and the stairs leading into the trailer before daring to descend. It was an awkward affair since the steps were made of metal grating and his hoof got caught. Once he was down, he jogged over to a growing crowd of police officials, leaning towards a television screen.

"What is this?" he asked Henri, who raised a hand.

The reporter in the newsroom had finished speaking and a video began.

[Neutron]

A home video was played on the newscast, and a disheveled and very dirty Davis Midridge sat in a chair. On either side were two people wearing ski masks and holding Kalashnikov assault rifles. There had evidently been some amount of post-production through Adobe Premier, as the video featured a multi-lingual text crawl of both the dialogue, and other messages. Arabic, English, Cryllic, German, French, Chinese, and a dozen other languages all proclaiming this day to be Mutant Independence Day. Softly playing martial inspiration music could be heard in the background as the legislator was compelled to speak:

"My name is Davis Midridge. As of 3 March, I have been abducted and held against my will by a group known as the Brotherhood of Mutants. Though the nature of my capture was traumatic, I have not been harmed, and my captors have granted me the time to tell my friends and family that I am alive and well."

He blinked a few times, and continued.

"I wish to go on record of my own volition to the BBC, Sky News, and other media, and inform the body of public that I officially renounce my endorsement of the Genetic Security Act of 2008, and encourage my colleagues in both the Houses of Lords and Commons to follow suit in due method. Such actions represent a clear and present danger to a man's right to the sanctity of self, and the continuing endeavours of the human race."

He looked hurriedly off-camera for a second, and returned his attention front and center.

"The Brotherhood wishes to inform the world that such actions against the natural evolutionary rights of man are an affront to civility. Any institution that respects mutants' rights to sovereignity and self-determination will remain inviolate.

However, any actions to resist or counteract the inevitable march of the improvement of species will be met by the Brotherhood with extreme violence."

His voice faltered a moment, and one of the men behind him nudged him gently with the butt of his rifle.

"The incident at King's Crossing is only an example, and a warning."

[Pan]

When the video ceased and the newsreader returned, the group of huddled officers dispersed and Duncan rounded on Henri, who appeared deep in thought.

"That answers your question then."

He nodded in response. Nearby, the chief inspector barked orders while his intelligence advisors were busy on their cellphones. The cries from the aid station cut through the hullabaloo. He winced and looked to Henri, eager to press on.

"What now?"

[Veritas]

"Now, our suspicions are confirmed. Our wayward cousins are behind this."

Henri glanced back at the Inspector and the other British officials, and made his way casually back to the car.

"I think it is time that we made a call to the Institute. Sagidev is not alone, and even if he was, we're hardly in a position to counter the threat ourselves."

[Pan]

"Whatever could you mean?"

He smirked and went in the opposite direction to retrieve his wheelchair. Wheeling it back, he noticed everyone was too preoccupied with their work to care about his appearance and felt embarrassed for relying on the disguise so much. When he arrived at the car, the engine was already rumbling, and Henri had opened the door for him. He folded the chair, returned it to the backseat, and climbed in.

"I don't know, Henri. Between your walking stick and my stair mastery, we make a fierce dynamic duo. Only drawback is we'd have to wait until Neutron is claiming his pension."

[Veritas]

"I think his half life will remain on the job, even if he does not."

It amused Henri as well, though he was less inclined to show it. They made such a cumbersome, unlikely set of sleuths. Henri was a fraction of a man he was only a decade ago, so he was always eager to dispel any notions that his cane might imply.

"I think perhaps you are in the wrong business, my friend. You are a natural interrogator."

[Pan]

"I don't know about that. I just kept talking so I didn't look stupid."

He laughed, enjoying the release of tension which had been building up since their arrival at King's Cross and he was glad to see the back of it. They were on the move now, slowly trickling out of the city with the rest of the traffic. He mulled over their conversation with the inspectors and grinned.

"Cheers for backing me up in there, man."

For the rest of the journey they didn't say much, it wasn't a contented quiet but an anxious one. Duncan's thoughts were fixed on the next step, what Ethan would order, and if he could help. He imagined Henri felt the same way.

[Saladin]

"To Mutant Independence Day."

There was a carbonated hiss and the sweet scent of champagne. Davis Midridge found a tall flute placed before him on the table.

"It seems our premier is being well-received. A small step, but an important one, toward the cause of ending mutant regulation in Europe. And that is a cause worth drinking to."

Midridge, haggard and sullen, made no move toward the champagne. He heard several more flutes poured behind him.

"It's a pleasure to finally see you in action, Neutron. You know your business well."

Completely ignoring the captive MP, Saladin took a seat in a dusty old armchair, still clad in his shin-length trenchcoat. He took a mouthful of champagne with elegant relish.

"Though we shall have to employ such tactics judiciously. Nuclear fallout has a way of capturing the imagination, but I would like for us to be able to use this planet by the time we're finished."

[Neutron]

"Would you likes for to live here?"

Neutron shrugged dismissively, taking a champagne flute carefully. A teetotaller by Islamic tradition, he sniffed at it cautiously and took a sip, shunning his cultural dismissal of alcohol.

"London is brown stain on the pants of humanity. Dirty, always rainy."

Aslan turned to Midridge, making a gesture by flicking the back of his hand off his chin.

"I just improves the scenery."

[Saladin]

"You have a point. There is something to be said for leaving a mark that will outlast your grandchildren."

His eyes drifted over the TV mounted on upturned crates in one corner of the room. The sound had been muted, but the screen still displayed aerial shots of the relief efforts at King's Cross.

"If Ethan hasn't already set his hounds on our trail, he will now. I think we had better make preparations to move to our secondary location. That should still give us time for the first phase of Mr. Midridge's re-education."

[Spectre]

At the mention of re-education, a delicate flute was lifted out of thin air, hovering like a ghostly candle in a bad horror movie, and accompanied by an equally disembodied voice. "I'll drink to that.." The champange was upended as a woman with silver blonde hair materialized slowly. She drained the flute, setting the now empty glass beside the, as yet untouched, one on the table by Mr. Midridge.

They'd had fun so far, he had been a fairly easy instrument to fine tune.

So many layers were involved with this growing project of theirs. Spectre knew now, from already testing the limitations of this man's mind, that it would be possible to sucessfully implant the suggestion. It was the success of the delayed trigger that would give her some difficulty, but she welcomed the challenge.

[Saladin]

All of Davis Midridge's bravado and protests had been spent during the first seven days of his captivity, which was why he offered no such impertinence to this spectral woman. He'd quickly learned how powerful his captors were, but he was accustomed to power, and he had enough stolid pride in his genetic heritage of peers and officers to defy it.

But this woman unmanned him. He'd often heard of penetrating stares, but hers enveloped him. It imprisoned him and wooed him so completely that he all but lost his sense of self. The outside world seemed to wither away, along with all memory, fear, desire, and reason, leaving nothing but her eyes and whatever fantasy she saw fit to concoct for him.

It was all the worse that she could make herself invisible, because that meant any time he didn't see her, her eyes could still be on him.

It took a monumental effort drive a conscious thought through his gelatinous mind, but he sleepily turned away from Spectre and said, "R-re-education? What do you mean by that?" He had assumed they planned to subject him to a few more public embarrassments, forcing him to further denounce his government and extol whatever pro-mutant rubbish that comprised their rhetoric, before releasing the videotape of his execution.

Saladin tipped back the last of his champagne. "Just a little something to help you keep an open mind. We are civilized, Mr. Midridge. You have nothing to worry about. In fact, it'll be far easier on you if you try not to think at all."

[Neutron]

Aslan slumped into a chair, a restless leg bouncing up and down as he sampled the champagne again. He'd leave Saladin and Spectre to toy with this trapped rat. This political game of shadow puppets bored the Chechen, who was more comfortable with naked shows of force to influence the power brokers.

"Shouldn'ts we for to make ambush on these guys?"

Aslan had a faraway look in his eye as he flexed and unflexed a gloved hand.

"X-Men? Pfah, I make them X alright. You go play politician man. Leave the kafir to's me."

[Zero]

For a place that was used to such a frenzy of human activity, King's Cross Station was eerily silent. Relief workers and special agents drifted over the wreckage like ghosts in their silver haz-mat suits, still laboring to clear the debris and contain any material that had been contaminated. The echoes of their footsteps and power tools filled the arched ceilings like a cathedral hall.

It was an ugly, harrowing business. Even after seven days, the workers still occasionally found charred scraps of clothing, hairs stuck to shards of concrete, or smears of blackened blood among the debris, which was all they would ever find of those casualties who were missing and presumed dead. It was so affecting that, once or twice, some of the workers imagined they could see the faint, ghostly outline of a man crouched and watching from the edge of the platform.

But it wasn't watching them. It was slowly combing the perimeter of the blast area, bending its cyclopean face near the walls and floors as if scenting out a trail.

Zero paid no more attention to the British relief workers than was necessary to keep them from blundering into his camouflaged form. They were non-mission entities, as irrelevant to him as the weather. All his objectives were clearly defined. Everything else was merely incidental.

He sifted through the dust scattered on the platform floor, most of it powdered concrete, charcoal, glass, plastics. Most organic detritus had been incinerated by the blast or scoured by the residual radiation, obliterating the sorts of trails normal humans always left behind - dead skin cells, discarded follicles.

But Zero wasn't interested in normal humans. He lifted a dust-encrusted finger to his ocular lens and scanned.

***** Mutant DNA signature detected. Cross-referencing medical database_

Subject identified. Sagidev, Aslan. Immune to all known forms of atomic radiation. WARNING: subject's forearms are highly irradiated. Avoid direct contact. Threat level calculated as very high. *****

As he suspected, Sagidev's radioactive immunity had preserved his biological wake. But Zero wasn't equipped to follow a trail of microscopic skin flakes over any great distance. Unless...

***** Reconfiguring ocular lens to scan for gamma radiation. *****

At first his ocular was overloaded with the radiation pouring off every surface in the station. Weathering the sensory onslaught, he narrowed his field of view to a microscopic point and scanned the dust again. Sagidev's leavings sparkled faintly on his fingertips.

Zero shook the dust from his hand and stood. Now he had the means to follow Sagidev, but didn't know where the trail began. But he could make an educated guess.

He strode boldly through the relief workers, still shrouded in his active camouflage, his footfalls silenced by the vibranium fibers in his soles. Then he dropped off the platform and ran down the tracks in the direction Midridge's train was to have taken.

[Ghost]

Chris was in England for the weekend. His uncle had passed away and after expressing his wish to attend the funeral service, Professor Daniels gave him four day's leave. The service had taken place at midday and by three o' clock, family and friends were gathered in his uncle's local, The Feathers, to have a drink in his name. It was good to see old faces again but after a few drinks, his cousin asked him to do his party trick and word quickly spread that there was a mutant in the family. Rather than become the cause of any trouble during a difficult time, Chris promptly finished his pint and left.

He refused to let his limited time back home go to waste and after changing out of his black suit, he decided he would have some dinner then visit a place where he knew he'd be safe from persecution. Tucked away down an unassuming side street in the middle of Gloucester's city centre was a mutant-friendly pub called The Darwin's Jeans. It was an old black and white public house dating back to the Tudor era complete with hanging baskets in full bloom, oriel windows with frosted glass, and a sign swinging above the door which portrays a pensive Charles Darwin sat in a grand leather armchair sporting a pair of blue denim jeans.

There was a blackboard in the vestibule full of colourful notices - he was glad he missed karaoke night. It was Saturday, and it being the busiest night of the week, there was no call to host any events to attract punters. He was relatively early and the pub was only just filling up, there were plenty of seats free and there was a pleasant buzz of activity around the bar. He greeted the doorman with a curt nod; he was a bald man of a slight build who sat on a stool near the entrance and failed to look imposing.

Across the pub there was a series of rings followed by a cheer. A crowd stood around an Ooh Ah Dracula fruit machine while it dispensed a large quantity of coins. A tall, lanky man scooped his winnings greedily from the trough and the pub's burly owner scoffed indignantly as he looked on. He snatched a large glass from a rack and swabbed the insides with a tartan teacloth. He muttered to himself behind a thick grizzly beard and his eyes fell on Chris.

"...nay wonder they call 'im bloody Con... what can I get yeh, lad?"

"A pint of Heineken please..."

"Wildeeee! Wildeeee!"

The familiar voice boomed throughout the pub and many heads turned to find the source of it. In the doorway stood a stocky young man with cropped brown hair and long sideburns. His arms were held aloft in the manner of a football supporter. His grin was enormous. Chris gave a cheer at seeing his old schoolmate, his name was Rob Jenkins. He broke away from the group with which he'd poured into the pub and strided over to the bar. They shook hands just as the bartender served his drink.

"Make that two please, mate," he said.

"You alright, maaate?" Rob asked, clapping him on the shoulder, he had a good few inches on him and probably had Chris's entire body weight in muscle. "I didn't think I'd find you here. You too, eh?"

"Oh, yes. I've been waving the freak flag for just over a year now. I'm still waiting for my badge to come through. Oh, cheers. Keep the change."

He paid the Scotsman and handed Rob his drink. They left the bar and took a seat at a corner table, each enjoying a long swig before resuming their conversation. Rob discovered he was a mutant in the week following graduation, he was a teleporter and managed two full-time jobs as a courier. He also hinted that he delivered pot to students from time to time. Chris told him about his Gap Year and his new life in America. As he was started to mention his school, Rob chimed in.

"Oi, forget about your bleeding school, mate. What can you do?"

"Err... well, it's complicated," Chris said, "But the gist of it is... I can become a ghost."

"A ghost?" Rob repeated, he took a moment to think while he gulped the last of his pint.

"Ah well," he said finally, "Nevermind eh, mate? At least you don't have eyes in your bumcheeks or something. Ha ha! Same again?"

He stood and edged around the table. Halfway to the bar he turned and called out:

"Oh, Chris, a word to the wise - try not to get served by Big Scotty in the future."

"What's wrong with Big Scotty?"

"The Tap? He pees beer."

"What??" Chris shrieked, and stared in horror at his empty glass.

"Don't worry, mate, he can't manage a premium."

[Ghost]

When Rob returned from the bar he brought with him three strangers. They had talked while ordering drinks and Chris recognised them as those with whom Rob had earlier arrived. There were two men and a woman, roughly his age, and they were vastly different from each other. Rob sat and passed him his drink as the others retrieved seats for themselves.

"Okay Wildy, I've got some mates I'd like you to meet. This is Rock, Rodent, and Basilisk."

Rock was enormous. He was a foot taller than Chris and had biceps as thick as his head. His face was round, there was a small scar on his cheek, his nose was crooked and his head was flat. He clamped a cigarette between his lips while he shook Chris's hand - given the clientele of the establishment, the owner allowed his patrons to smoke indoors rather than hang around outside, attracting unwanted attention. Rock was a fierce gooner and his Arsenal shirt was comically tight.

Rodent greeted Chris with a timid wave. Almost a foot shorter than him and of a slimmer build; he had long black and white porcupine quills instead of hair and a pair of bulbous red eyes which looked perpetually inquisitive. He had a misshapen jaw to accommodate for an exceptionally wide mouth and a wiry black beard which sprouted from his chin. Chris wasn't sure if it was a by-product of his mutation but Rodent seemed to always smile, and as he watched him lap a pint of Guinness from a bowl, he decided immediately he liked him.

Basilisk sat awkwardly; her knees were pressed together yet her feet were far apart, and her hands, sparkling with silver jewellery, rested neatly in her lap. She made no effort to acknowledge him when they were introduced. He quickly formed an opinion of her. She wore a short dress of black lace, green and black striped stockings, and a pair of hefty leather army boots. Her skin shimmered yellow ochre and her eyes narrowed with scrutiny every time she looked at him. Dangling from decorative chains in her raven hair, a silver medallion with emerald inlay rested on her brow.

The conversation at the table was dictated by Rob, who was confident and likeable enough to bring such a diverse group of individuals together. He told the story of how he came across his three mutant friends, allowing them to interject at times with varying enthusiasm. Rock made rude remarks and laughed boisterously, Basilisk corrected the flaws in his tales, and Rodent cheerfully nodded. It turned out Rob had assumed the moniker of Nomad and that's what his friends called him. Rock nudged Chris.

"What's your name?"

"...Chris?" he answered, puzzled.

"What's your real name?" said Basilisk.

He noticed a hint of threat in her voice, her eyes were fixed on him, and the others turned to him expectantly. He smiled and fidgeted nervously with a beer mat while he contemplated his answer.

"Well... my real name... is... Ghost."

When he reached his conclusion, he smiled. They were silent and exchanged glances. His discomfort was palpable and he stood suddenly, in desperate need of an escape.

"Drinks?"

It took a few minutes of waiting before he was next in line to be served. Fortunately, the frumpy woman who took his order was gifted with eidetic memory and made sure no-one was served out of turn. She was so dour-faced that no-one dared challenge her. While she marched back and forth, Chris pondered on Rob and his mutant friends. He understood that these were the kind of characters who left Dr. Cullen's institute before the end of the first semester. That was not to say they were bad people, except for perhaps Basilisk, he thought.

"If you don't like what I've got to say, do something."

Rock's voice carried across the pub. Chris turned to find him standing at their table, addressing a man with spiky blonde hair. The blonde-haired man stood, his physique as equally impressive as that of his antagonist. Some of his friends tried to dissuade him but he squared up to the loud-mouthed gooner who in response casually snuffed out his cigarette on his face. He hissed in pain and retreated a step, but as Rock started to laugh, he was struck in the chin by a ferocious uppercut. He stumbled backwards and crashed through his chair.

"Nice one, Handyman!" cheered a by-stander.

The roar of laughter from the spectators didn't seem to bother Rock. He picked himself up and gave the man a second look; he had four arms. Rock grinned.

"Handyman, eh? That's the stuff!"

His body tensed and he swelled from the waist up. There were a series of rips and his shirt was torn to pieces, revealing a torso made of granite. Once his head, arms, and hands had turned to stone, Rock threw himself at his opponent, aiming a crushing blow at his head. The pub fell silent and all stared in shock; his massive fist had been stopped dead in its path. He struggled against the air then noticed the small girl sat behind Handyman. Her gaze was intense, and her face glistened with sweat. He scoffed.

"Does your bird always fight for you?"

To his right, Chris heard one of the on-lookers curse in disapproval. She drew her hand back and lashed out; her arm snapped across the room like a piece of elastic and the back of her hand cracked the telekinetic girl across the face. Rock grunted, stumbling forward, free at last. The fight resumed; tables were knocked over, glasses were smashed, and those who tried to separate the brawling pair only ended up fighting themselves. Rock's mighty punches were dodged and every time Handyman struck a blow, he injured himself.

Finally, Rock managed to get his hands on his opponent, and hurled him through the air. He soared across the pub and landed unceremoniously on a pool table, scattering balls everywhere. One of the pool players was so incensed that his game had been ruined, he dropped his cue and cast a bolt of lightning at the burly brute. The blinding arc of light splashed off his obsidian chest like water. Rob stood so fast he knocked his chair over. He vanished with a crack and rendered the lightning thrower unconscious with his own pool cue.

The second pool player threw the next punch and as others joined in, the fight quickly escalated into an all-out brawl. To his disbelief, Chris saw Basilisk, sat sucking cola through a straw, completely unperturbed in the heart of all the violence. Rodent's head popped out from under a fallen chair, and he squeezed effortlessly through a gap that was far too small for someone his size. He joined Chris by the bar.

"Mutants, eh?" he said, sounding as pleasant as ever.

"Where the hell is the bouncer?" Chris shouted over the uproar.

"He's gone to drop off the twins," answered Rodent, pointing a clawed finger at the men's room.

"What?" Chris cried, utterly perplexed, "He's gone to take a dump!?"

"Not exactly."

It was at that moment the toilet door opened and out stepped the skinny little bald man, then again, and again. They shared a disapproving look then with an awful sound akin to exploding beef, they grew into bloated gargantuan hulks and stomped off in different directions, shaking the very foundations of the establishment. First, they apprehended the chief instigators and, dwarfing them by two or three feet, dragged them outside with ease. Basilisk rose and crossed the room, as she walked by she gave Rodent a stern glance and he skulked outside after her. There was a loud crack and Rob stood before him. He looked positively delighted.

"You coming, mate?" he asked, and disappeared.

Chris shook his head and raised his glass to drink. When he turned to observe the rest of the mayhem, he saw an upturned table, flying through the air straight at him. His heart jumped and as colour rushed from the pub, it was replaced by a thick white fog. The airborne table landed behind the bar, dislodging a rack of bottles, sending spirits spurting everywhere and his pint glass shattered on the floor.

[Zero]

Once under the cover of the rail tunnel, Zero switched off his active camouflage to conserve his power cells. The line was out of service after the attack, and he had little concern of being spotted in the dim glow of the occasional fluorescent light. He was well beyond the effect of the bomb, and no one was searching the tunnel beyond a few hundred yards.

He ran effortlessly and mechanically, a perfect, unbroken stride that outclassed the world's best marathoners. His body had been extraordinarily fit before his death and rebirth, but the latest advances in nanotech and cybernetics Vanguard could provide had transformed it into a precisely tuned performance machine. Every motion, every reflex calculated and adjusted by an AI running on cerebral architecture. There was no sense in trying to distinguish between the man and the machine now. They were one and the same in mind, body, and whatever was left of his spirit.

After fifteen minutes, he'd covered better than three miles. And then he slowed and gradually came to a stop. His modified ocular had detected something.

The cyborg climbed up from the rail trench onto the service catwalk and knelt on the concrete floor. The dust on the ground glittered with faint radioactivity.

Zero followed the trail of dust to what appeared to be a disused service hatchway, stained with rust and welded closed, but on further examination he found a hairline seam that ran all the way around its perimeter. This hatch had opened recently, but he could not budge the mechanism.

He drew his sword and, with surgical precision, attacked the hinges. The old, rusted iron was no match for his adamantium blade. The hatch fell from its moorings with a resounding crash.

***** Preliminary scans indicate an extensive network of tunnels beyond the portal. Passageway exceeds current scanning range. *****

Zero cautiously stepped over the lip of the hatchway and ventured into the darkened tunnel beyond. Some of it appeared to be a service passageway criss-crossed with pipes, conduits, and electrical access points. Other parts appeared to have been bored straight through the strata of stone and concrete beneath the London streets. Occasionally he passed a grating or duct that led straight into the sewage systems. Often he encountered junctions with other tunnels that ran beyond the range of his instruments. He had stumbled into a new-age catacomb.

Carefully, Zero sheathed his sword and continued to follow Sagidev's trail, the red glow of his ocular lighting his way.

[Michael Lawston]

“I agree with the Chechen….” A chamber door swung open and sent a cluster of box toppling into a corner. The man that walked through looked like he was fit for the set of an action flick.

Arsenal wore a set of heavy military boots and loose cargo fatigues and that was wear the traditional look ended. A heavy leather hauberk covered his torso, leaving his arms bare. The wild, unkempt hair gave him the look of a wild-man or half-crazed guerilla fighter…..not to mention the large M249 machine gun resting on his shoulder.
<o></o>
“With that little speech, they’ll come charging in sooner than later.” Arsenal cleared off a workbench of debris and planted the heavy gun down with a thud. “I’m sure they will be able to find our network, but they’ll be more cautious without their damned oracle.”
<o></o>
His lips curled into a vicious grin at the thought of the Dupont bitch and waved a hand over the table. Sparks flew between his silver colored fingers and sheets of what looked somewhat like blueprints instantly covered the surface.

[Saladin]

Saladin swept over to the table to study the blueprints Arsenal had recovered. It was a hodge-podge of technical maps and penciled-in passageways, very similar to the network of tunnels and chambers they represented - a catacomb composed both of London's underground substructure and a smattering of makeshift excavations. Mutants were nothing if not adaptive. If they found they were unwelcome in the light of day, they would find a way to live in dark places. Somewhere in London there had been a mutant with a gift for tunneling - he had started the catacombs, and others had built on to them. Only mutants were told where to find the entrances; they were kept safe as a haven away from the mundanes.

When Saladin had asked some of the local mutant leaders to use parts of the catacombs for Brotherhood business, they were only too happy to oblige.

"We entered along this route here," Saladin said, tracing one of the lines with a finger. "If they're following any trail we left, that gives us several natural chokepoints. And even if they find out our location from another source, they'd still have to come through either here... or here... long before they're close enough to do any real harm."

He stood up and straightened his coat sleeves. "Well, if you're that restless, why don't you and Neutron check the perimeter and set up a few surprises to throw the dogs off the trail? I'm sure you have one or two things up your sleeve that might worry even the mighty X-Men. And if some member of the London police is so unfortunate to have wandered inside, I'm sure you'll know how to deal with him."

[Neutron]

"Da."

Neutron nodded eagerly, hopping up from his seat and putting his champagne down with disdain. He gestured to one of the hooded mutants, who tossed him the Kalashnikov rifle. As nearly a reflex action, Aslan pivoted the magazine forward, dropped the safety lever, slapped the charging handle back, inspected the bore, and then slapped the bolt forward again, following up by inserting the magazine once more.

"I think we arranges a party. Give them glow a little."

[Spectre]

Over her shoulder, Spectre smiled at Aslan. He definitely had a way of putting things. Her attention returned to the matter at hand.

Mr. Midridge.

She walked back and forth in front of him, rubbing her hands together, staring him down. Her job was often violent, almost always left her with a headache and sometimes required loss of life, but on occasions like this, when she could dig deep into the very heart of the matter.. She really loved it.

"Mr. Midridge... Did you ever sit on the sidewalk and watch ants scurry back and forth, to and fro? No? Oh, come on, I'm sure you have.. Mostly you just ignore them, after all.. they are not an intelligent species. Not something that would cause you any harm right? What happens though as you sit there, and they swarm a bit?"

She stepped one long silver-white clad leg in front of him, and squished the toe of her heeled white boot back and forth, illustrating her point.

"Well.. we can't very well have them all running around, now can we..?"

She dropped to a crouch in front of him and leaned forward, even as he squirmed away from her. "We especially can't have them talking to the other bugs.. You though. You're going to be the lucky one that gets away, Mr. Midridge. The lucky little ant who flees the scene with it's shiny black thorax free from being crushed into a pile of yellow goo.."

"You are going to scurry back into your hidey-hole with the rest of the workers, and do you know what you are going to do then..?"

She smiled, and dug into his mind hard..

"I'm going to do what my Queen tells me...", he said. A dribble of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth.

"That's right. Whatever I tell you...."

[Zero]

"What'd I tell you, Nails? One week. That's all it took. One ruddy week, and bloody Midridge's singin' a different tune."

Two mutants ambled through the catacombs on their way between boroughs after taking a secretive look at the mess in Camden. Neither of them was equipped to appear in polite company with mundanes - the shorter one, the one who had spoken, had muddy, brown-green skin and a distinctly amphibian face, and the other, Nails, was covered in wicked-looking retractable spines. Both were very familiar with the community that inhabited London's underground.

"But how's that gonna last?" Nails replied. "What, they're going to chuck Midridge back on the streets, and he'll go back like he was before. Or they kill him, an' the sapes just make things even worse. I don't like it, Wart."

"Nails, Nails, come on, mate!" Wart moved to clap him on the back and thought better of it. "Don't you see, things are goin' to change! Now we've got the Brotherhood lookin' out for us, see? An' they know how to get things done. They're finally goin' to get the mutie-haters off our backs. Saladin and his crew... they've got real firepower. Who's goin' to stop them?"

"Thing's'll get worse before they get better," Nails replied glumly. "They always do."

"Lor, you're depressing," Wart groaned. He spat, and the projectile glued a fly to the wall. He reached out, plucked the struggling insect, and popped it into his mouth. "Look, at least they've given us a new holiday. Mutant Independence? I'll drink to that!"

"What's that!"

"What, weren't you readin' the screen?" Wart said indignantly.

Nails grabbed his friend's shoulder and stopped. "Shut up!" he hissed. "Look, didn't you see somethin' move there in the light?"

Wart squinted at the junction ahead where a few broken shafts of sunlight fell from an overhead grating. He was about to tell Nails he obviously didn't need more excuse to drink when he saw something shimmer in the light and disappear down the tunnel to the left, and he had the briefest impression of a singular red eye turning his way.

"What was that?" he muttered. "Wasn't Spook, can't see nothin' when she goes invisible."

Nails stepped forward, and all his spikes came out. "I'm checkin' it out."

"Why bother?" Wart said. "Look, it prob'ly wasn't even there - trick of the light, sewer gas, that sort of thing."

"I'll be right back," Nails said, disappearing around the bend.

Wart sighed and leaned against the wall. He trapped and ate another fly. A minute passed.

"Nails, come on," he shouted. "Want to get back to the pub before Manchester starts playing."

There was a thud and a splash. "Nails?" Wart padded up to the junction, where a thin stream of water ran out of the tunnel to the left. He squinted in the darkness and saw that the murky water was clouded with red.

"Nails? You in there? You all right?"

He stepped up into the tunnel and followed it upstream. A sense of dread came over him as he approached a sharp bend in the corridor.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Just goin' to take a quick look 'round. Then I'm goin' to run for help..."

He inched along the inside wall toward the corner, his heart pounding. Then, very slowly, he leaned his head to look down the corridor.

He looked straight into a glowing red eye.

Wart screamed and threw himself back against the opposite wall as something shiny cut through the air where he'd just been standing. He spat a mouthful of sticky goo all over the figure - looked like a man covered in gray and rust-colored metal. He looked both ways to see where he should run, and he saw Nails lying in a heap further upstream.

That sold it. He ran back the way he came as fast as his webbed feet would take him. But he heard a wet sucking noise as the one-eyed monster broke free of his saliva.

Wart leapt out into the junction when he felt something sharp bite into the middle of his back. He lost his footing and fell face-first into a pool of water, slapping at the whatever-it-was...

It came loose in his hand - a long, thin needle that had sunk almost an inch deep. His vision blurred as he stared at it.

He heard footsteps in the water behind him and turned to look. There was the metal monster with the red eye in the white face like a mask of death. It looked down coldly at him, studying him, and tilted its head as if listening to something.

"Please," Wart stammered. "Oh please... I don't got anythin'... don't know nothin'..."

His vision blurred again, and he could feel himself weakening.

The monster pulled a thin, straight sword from a scabbard at his side. "Where is the Brotherhood?" Its voice was like the rasp of steel on steel.

"I don't... I don't know," Wart gasped.

"Then you are useless to me."

Wart tried to scramble backward, but the monster put a rubber-soled boot in the middle of his chest and forced him down underneath the water, and his scream was lost in a cloud of bubbles as the sword plunged downward.

[Batdude]

The X-Jet had been dispatched two hours ago, thanks to Pan placing a call to the Institute. The small select cadre of mutants at the Institute known as the X-Men responded to the threat that was now revealed...

...and Marty was nervous as hell about it. His suit, while totally sweet beyond his wildest dreams, was still very new, and very stiff. He stretched it out as much as he could, but it still felt like it needed breaking in.

Oh what he wouldn't give for a toke right now. Something to loosen him up. He spent the awkward silence with his face buried in a comic book, but managed to not read a single word. He just stared into it, unable to stop thinking about what he was about to do.

He was about to be a superhero.

Furtively, he glanced over the comic, looking at the other more experienced faces, and adjusted his glasses.

[Michael Lawston]

Arsenal pointed to several intersections along the network of passages leading to the Brotherhood’s lair.
<o></o>
“Tron and I have already set up surveillance cameras at these locations and he can control the sewer gates by remote. But the network that’s set up is shoddy as hell; it’d take him weeks to get a decent system running.”
<o></o>
A few of the mutants in the room blinked at the rambo-looking mutant. It was probably the single longest sentence they’d heard him speak…or maybe it was that he was actually speaking tactics.
<o></o>
Michael tapped at the entrance point. “There are still several blindspots, put a decoy at this spot to lure them in…..” He held a hand over the table and a crate materialized on the surface. A crate loaded with Russian TM-83 mines. “Lay a couple of these down and some other presents around. Kills them or splits them up. Either way our win.”

[Dragon]

John Rhee, clad in his blue and black uniform, stepped back from the Blackbird's cockpit into the passenger compartment and looked over the troops. This wasn't his ideal team to take on the Brotherhood - there were younger faces here than he would like, but a few recent conflicts had left the the ranks of the X-Men thinner than usual, and they needed the support.

He held onto the overhead rail as the jet shuddered through a pocket of turbulence. Then he switched his radio to all team channels so they could all hear him in their earpieces over the roar of the engines.

"I just got off the channel with Duncan and Henri," he said. "They still haven't located the hostage, but they're following several leads. And we have a better idea of the personnel involved. We already knew about Aslan Sagidev, also known as Neutron. There have also been reports of inexplicable behavior among passengers and officers immediately before the blast, which suggest that Spectre is probably there, too. And judging from the size of this operation, it is reasonable to assume that Saladin himself is involved."

He glanced at the students one by one. This was primarily for them.

"You've seen their dossiers. You know how dangerous these people are. Which is why every student will be accompanied by at least one teacher or senior operative at all times. You are not, I repeat, not to attempt to engage any of the Brotherhood mutants by yourselves. If, for any reason, you encounter one of them alone, you are to stay hidden and radio for help."

The teachers looked back at him with grim determination. He knew they would be vigilantly looking after the rookies.

"There's nothing more daunting than your first mission. But I want you to know that you wouldn't be here if we didn't think you were ready. There's not a person here I wouldn't trust with my life. Remember your training. We have two more hours before landing."

[Natalia Fedorov]

Natalia sat ahead of the students, reading a worn copy of Vom Kriege through half-moon spectacles. Her eyes lifted as John gave his speech. What followed was a tense silence. Both the faculty and their pupils had a lot to consider and prepare. Though Natalia was no stranger to conflict, the encounter with the Brotherhood was to be her first excursion under the command of Ethan Daniels' so-called X-Men. She only hoped that her unique brand of talents could be of some use.

[Carlos Calaveras]

“Hey, Marty,” Carlos gave his fellow student a nudge, nodding towards the comic in his hands. “Doing some last minute prep?”

Unlike many of the others on board, Carlos was not nervous. He strained against his seatbelt, flexing his arms alternately. There was too much adrenaline surging through his system, making him restless and excitable. He needed to move around, but the last time he'd gotten up one of the teachers had given him a pointed look – there was, apparently, something unsettling about the sight of Carlos prowling around like that.

He sighed and strained to look back over his shoulder, to where Jacinda was sitting.

[Jacinda Blake]

Jacinda had been listening to Professor Rhee, no wait.. this was an official mission, he was Dragon tonight. She'd been listening to Dragon and nodded. She'd stick by the more experienced teachers for sure. She was a bit nervous, but it was good to know that they were all quite capable of handling themselves for this mission. They'd been training for such an eventuality for some time now and all in all, they were ready.. if a bit green.

She would do her very best. This was her familiy now, she thought, somewhat grimly. The Cullen family, as she had started thinking of them.

She caught Carlos peeking back at her. She winked at him. They weren't too shabby of a pair in combat training, although Jacinda had taken to wearing little shamrocks on her person, superstitiously thinking that she would crash into him less that way..

[Batdude]

“Hey, Marty,” Carlos gave his fellow student a nudge, nodding towards the comic in his hands. “Doing some last minute prep?”


"Heh, yeah." Marty looked up at Carlos, and sighed. He held in his hands his most favorite Batman serial. The Dark Knight of Gotham was iconic to the Jersey comic nerd even before his changes. He held the comic in his hands, hoping to divine some of Batman's essence by osmosis.

"I just realized that I don't really have a...name. Kids from the block called me Batdude and that was just a thing, but now that I'm wearing this suit..."

Marty gulped.

"There really isn't any going back, is there? I've thought about this day my entire life, and now that I'm here, it's trippy to think that this is the most important thing I will ever do. I can't ride the fence and continue to be a delusional loser with a daydreaming complex. I have to make my dreams into reality."

[Saladin]

Saladin hefted one of the dinner-plate-sized landmines, then deposited it delicately back into the crate. "Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to your business, then," he said.

The radio on Saladin's belt squawked, and he grabbed it quickly. "Saladin."

It was Tron's voice on the other end. "Boss, caught something on one of the perimeter cameras - some screaming. Sounded like somethin' dying."

"Where?"

"Islington - near the corner of Lever and Bath. Can't pinpoint it any better than that."

Saladin's eyes narrowed, and he looked back toward Arsenal and Neutron. "Should be on your way. Check it out. If it was one of ours, make them pay."

[Neutron]

"I am gones. Don't wait up."

Aslan twisted his neck to the side, causing several audible pops. Slinging the Kalashnikov over his shoulder, he draped a bandolier of grenades over the other shoulder, stuffed another pair of AK magazines into jacket pockets, slid a night vision monocular over his head, and took off at a quick jog toward the darkness.

[Ghost]

Outside the pub, Chris found Basilisk. She stood in silence, staring vacantly down the long narrow street, her black hair veiled with glistening raindrops. Something thick and sticky seeped down his damp cheek, he wiped the errant glob off with irritation, it had the consistency of wallpaper paste. He stood alongside the petite girl, his hands buried deep inside his pockets, and watched the heavy traffic rumble by at the end of the road; wheels hissed over wet tarmac and white headlight glares scaled the looming city walls. He enjoyed the silence but craved a smoke.

"You haven't got any spliff, have you? No? I didn't think so."

His evening had come to a sudden end he realised, standing outside in the cold talking to a girl who didn't speak, and there was no chance of enjoying one last pint in the Darwin's Jeans. One of the giant triplets stood in the doorway, taking up the entire width of the vestibule, the only part of his face visible was his chin. Chris assumed the rest of the rowdy crowd were being thrown out through the back door, a chorus of raised voices could still be heard arguing inside. He zipped up his jacket and strolled off down the cobblestone road.

"Ghost! Oi, Ghost!"

From an alcove sunken into the wall to his right, a pair of large red eyes glowed in the dark, staring right at him. Chris's sneakers squeaked on the smooth floor as he backed away from the apparition, his startled voice filled the night air with a string of expletives. For a second, Rodent's head poked out and he gestured with long claws for Chris to join him under the cover of his hiding place. The little cockney mutant looked mortified at the sight of rain. Chris slipped into the shadowy nook and pressed his back against a solid metal door. Heavy dance music thumped on the other side.

"What was that all about?" Chris asked.

"Oh, you know, Rock was mouthing off about Mutant Independence Day and all that stuff on the news this morning. He said he couldn't wait to see the Midridge execution video."

"That's pretty grim."

"Well, that four-armed bloke took offense to it and bish-bash-bosh!"

"And why is Basilisk just standing there?"

"She's waiting for someone. We all are, actually, but I didn't tell you that."

The silence beyond the alcove was broken by the rumble of Rock's voice. It came from the end of the narrow road and carried all the way up to the pub; he sounded irate and during his rant, he was heard punching the wall so hard the bricks crunched like sponge toffee. There was a crack nearby and Rob's hearty laughter echoed off the walls. Basilisk spoke, her voice frosty and full of threat.

"How do you expect us to meet your contact now? Our rendezvous has been trashed."

"Relax, alright? She'll be here."

"What's wrong with him?"

As if to emphasise Basilisk's question, Rock marched past the spot where Rodent and Chris were hidden. No longer was his torso made of stone yet the scowl on his large face allowed him to retain a certain mountainous quality. His football shirt hung in thin shreds from his waist like some sort of tribal decoration and his masses of muscle shimmered under the pearly glow of pub lights. He grunted a warning at Rob, his snigger was followed by a sharp crack - no doubt to avoid a clobbering from his friend.

"When the bouncers went back inside, he chased after Handyman with his girlfriend in tow."

"No- mad!"

After a couple more cracks, Rob's laughter rang in the night once more and he continued his tale, occasionally pausing to teleport away from Rock's lumbering efforts to silence him. It turned out that he had been so eager to finish his business with the four-armed mutant that he failed to realise a trash can hovering in the air. Handyman's telekinetic girlfriend successfully planted the bin on his head and tripped him up. While Rock tried to free himself of the take-away-filled trash can, they both made their escape in a taxi cab. Basilisk chose not to respond.

"Where's Rodent?" Rock asked, pleased to change the subject.

"He's hiding in there with Ghost," said Basilisk.

"Chris?" Rob called out.

From the cover of dark, he stepped out into the street and faced the trio in the rain. Rock shook his head and lit a cigarette. Rob gave him a scrutinising once over and folded his arms. His face was stained red from a bleeding nose which had also soiled his shirt. Chris was spotless. He noted the hulking doorman still stood at the pub entrance and felt thankful for it. He shrugged.

"Chris, why were you hiding?"

"I wasn't hiding. I was talking to Rodent."

"Why were you hiding, Rode?" shouted Rob, and a timid voice replied.

"Rain!"

"Aw, don'tcha like the rain either, Ghost?" said Rock, who smirked at his friends.

"No! I-"

"Afraid of a fight?" Rob interjected coolly, "I hope not, mate, if you're going to come with us."

Before Chris could respond, they heard a faint roar which grew louder so fast it sounded like a fighter jet fly-by except it was in the street with them. The thundering whoosh came to a sudden stop and a woman was stood with them. She wore a leather biker's suit and a pair of large plastic goggles. The soles of her shoes sizzled on the wet cobblestones. Chris stared in disbelief as she lifted the goggles to reveal a beautiful face caked in dust. She beamed.

"Hello, Nomad," she said, her accent was rich and alluring.

"Mach!" Rob cheered, and they embraced.

"I thought Mack was a bloke," muttered Rock.

"Most blokes do," she said.

Mach turned to Chris, a ponytail of strawberry blonde hair tossed elegantly behind her. She stared at him from head to foot and frowned.

"You don't look like a Rodent to me."

"He's not," said Rob, "Rodent is over there. This is Ghost. He's our fifth seat."

"You're lucky I have spares."

She unzipped her leather jacket and pulled from a pocket within a handful of tickets. She counted to five in Dutch and passed them to Rob. He used the tickets to give her a casual salute and tucked them into his jeans. She zipped up her jacket and pulled the goggles over her eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't stay, I have more of these to deliver but I will meet you all at the Whitehall House Rally. See you soon."

Before she left, she gave Rob a delicate kiss on the cheek then retreated a few steps, turned and left in a stunning rush of colour and sound. Chris actually felt the fabric of his clothing pull in the direction of her departure. Everyone stood in silence for a moment, staring down the long narrow street, even Rodent had braved the rain to catch a glimpse. Rob was the first to speak.

"Okay, boys and girls, we have a coach to catch."

They all started off down the road, including Rodent who scurried desperately between shelters, and Chris watched them leave. He thought about all that he had seen and heard; he knew what kind of mutants they were and now he knew where they were headed. The rallies at the Whitehall Banquet House were notorious for their Brotherhood supporting propaganda. When Rob looked back at him, he was struck with inspiration and checked his pocket for his cell phone. He grinned in the dark.

"You coming, mate?"

"On my way!" he replied, and jogged after them, his brothers.

"And from now on you're no longer Chris. Got it? You're Ghost."

"I know."

[Slab]

A carbonated hiss resonated from the back seats of the X-Jet. The following sounds of gulping, and aluminum crunching, would probably draw the attention of others, revealing Brian McLanahan, probably the oldest non-resident X-man there, at age forty-one. Crushed in his hands, a can of Budweiser was drained and crushed, then tossed into a bag next to him. He looked to the others and held up the remainders of the "suitcase," a twenty-four pack of Budweiser, now down to twenty three. And the Irish-American was still thirsty.

"Beer?"

When no one answered immediately, Brian laughed, as the next can hissed.

"Good. More for me."

With several gulps, and another crunch and a clatter, the case was down to twenty-two.

Brian was the only one that he noticed not wearing the X-men uniform. He hadn't worn it in years; he would probably have to have some room made for him. The years had been kind to him: he still had an incredible physique for his age. But then again, even at six feet even, his powerfully built frame and muscular structure had a comfortable layer of fat around it. Fat he would probably lose in retirement, the way things were going with the increase in the activities involving his temporary, but perhaps permanent, return to the X-men. Only time would tell.

Another crack-hiss, and a gulp. Brian was happy.

[Ghost]

It wasn't difficult to flag a taxi at that time of night, the weekend was the best time for business and they had success within a minute. The hackney cab pulled over and the five mutants squeezed in; Rock occupied the back seat with Chris and Rodent crammed in either side of him. While Rob gave the driver directions, Basilisk applied clear gloss to her pouted lips, Rodent shook and spattered the windows with water from his bristly hair, and Rock pondered the nature of his friend's relationship with Mach, the superfast bombshell.

After sufficient badgering, Rob caved and explained that they met on holiday in Ibiza last year and had a brief fling but, being mutants, they kept in touch. They huddled close as he divulged how she had fallen in with the mutant underground in London and had used her position to come into the favour of certain powerful yet elusive figures within the mutant community. She promised to introduce him and he suspected that was why they were headed for the mutant rally. Basilisk rolled her eyes.

"So we can join the brainless masses in their stomping, shouting, beer-swilling violence?"

The discussion continued; Rock's interest piqued at the mention of violence but Rob protested that he believed Mach had something else up her sleeve. Rodent suggested they were being dragged along as part of Nomad's master plan to get back into her knickers. Laughter and harmless banter ensued and Chris took advantage of it to send his mother a text message: <o></o>


Won't be home tonight. Going into London. I'll call tomorrow. Night!<o></o><o></o>
When the cab arrived at the coach station, its occupants were quick to pile out, leaving Chris to pay the fare. He sarcastically thanked them for their generosity upon climbing out of the vehicle and hurried to join them as they entered the large boarding yard. Two coaches were parked, and each terminus housed two very different groups of people; a stoic congregation of travellers and an unruly bunch of mutants. The humans stood warily with their luggage, staring across the station at a vast assortment of multicoloured freaks. The mutants were in high spirits; they carried banners and flags, sung anthems and practiced their pro-mutant chants. Clearly, they too were headed for the rally.

The large neon clocks suspended above each terminus read 19:31 when boarding commenced for the mutant coach. Unfortunately, due to the extreme views of the trip's organisers, no humans were allowed and each passenger had to prove their mutancy at the door. It was a slow ordeal and the mood of the masses quickly changed. By the time they reached the door, Rock was already a walking wall of granite and was quite prepared to thump the first person to question his identity. He was quickly ushered inside by Rob, who happened to know both the doormen as Cyber and Spike; he was allowed to board without proof, as was Rodent.

"Hold it, love."

Cyber held a hand out, blocking Basilisk's way, he dressed like an extra from The Matrix. His accomplice also rounded on her and folded his arms. He spoke to her like she were an infant.

"Now now, little girl, you know the rules. If you want to be treated like a grown-up, you have to act like one. Where's your proof?"

"Proof?" she asked.

Suddenly, Spike's forearms and face were skewered by fine silver prongs which gleamed dangerously under the station lights. Understanding, Basilisk ran her fingers through her hair and pulled at the ornate chains which nested there, this lifted the medallion from her forehead. To his surprise, Chris saw that she had a third eye; it was emerald and the pupil was thin like that of a serpent. Spike stared directly into it and found himself frozen to the spot with his mouth agape. Cyber dropped his arm and allowed her to pass. Spike snapped out of the trance and before he could question Chris, he disappeared. A moment later, he was on the coach, sitting next to Rodent.

Five minutes passed before the coach was full and as the engine sprung to life it was greeted with a cheer from the back of the vehicle. Next to him, Rodent was restless and fidgeted with the air conditioning controls overhead. It was clear he was nervous and Chris didn't have the heart to reprimand him, even when he started toying with the reading lights. Instead he turned to one side and pressed his head against the cold glass. Ten minutes into the journey, the buzz of excitement died and listening intently to the soft hum of the engine, Chris fell asleep.

Occasionally, he woke due to a stretch of uneven road or a blinding flash thanks to a driver who'd forgotten to turn off his fog lamps or even once when Rodent offered him a barley sugar stick. During these brief moments of consciousness, he saw signs which read A417, then A419, and then they were on the M4. When he finally woke, Rock informed him they had just passed Slough and would be in London within the next ten minutes. Chris yawned and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw that Rob had swapped places with Rodent and was presenting him with his cell phone.

"Mate, get this!" he whispered.

On the screen there was a text message which read:<o></o>


Change of plan: Tell the driver you want to get off the coach just before passing through Soho. Meet me outside the MGM on Coventry Street. Get ready to play with the big boys, babe. x<o></o>
"This is it, Ghost. This is what I've been waiting for, mate. Mach knows people in high places. Christ, I can't wait!"

"Me neither," he lied.

Finally, they came off the M4 and turned onto the A4 into London. Rob had spent a while staring at the message, his breathing was heavy, and Chris was beginning to realise the extent of his old schoolmate's fanaticism. When he left him to inform the driver of his request, he was taken to one side by Cyber and spent the remainder of the journey holding an in-depth conversation with him and Spike. The urban sprawl began to climb all around them and as the coach rolled into the heart of London, everything was illuminated in a vibrant glow. As they passed Piccadilly Circus, Rob called out to them and they shuffled down the narrow aisle to the front of the coach.

When the vehicle rolled to a stop outside a cinema bustling with life, someone quite rightly called out that it wasn't Whitehall House and fervent whispering spread from the back row. The door opened with a hiss and as each member of the party descended the steps, both Cyber and Spike shook their hands and patted their backs. Chris was last off the coach.

"Good luck, mate," said Spike, "Give 'em hell!"

The door closed behind him and the coach rumbled off with every window filled with faces and hands pressed against the glass. He wondered why they were all staring and suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. They glanced at each other in silence and turned to face the MGM cinema. Stood before them was Mach, her face was filthy save for the clean shape left by her goggles and her blonde hair was dirty and dishevelled. She grinned.

"Glad you could make it. Are you ready?"

They nodded, Chris included, whatever he had got himself in for, he couldn't let his guard down now. She told them to follow her and she led them across the street. They had to move quickly, Rodent's appearance had grabbed the attention of the queues of punters outside the cinema and she led them toward a flight of stairs which dug deep into the pavement. There was a familiar sign above it; a red circle with a blue line through it against a white background, it read: Piccadilly Circus. Chris straggled behind and pulled out his cell phone. From his list of contacts, he selected Professor Rhee, and rapidly thumbed the keypad.



brthrhd. picdly uground. mdrdge? call cops.

As his foot reached the first step, he hit the send key and watched with baited breath. He heard Rob call to him and he hurried down the stairs to avoid suspicion. The message sent and he sighed with relief because at that moment, he went below street level and his cell phone lost its signal. He deleted his last message from the memory and tucked it into his pocket. Whatever was to happen, he was alone, and with that thought, he descended into the dark of the London Underground.

[Dragon]

Plenty of Londoners heard the jet engines passing through the night sky and didn't give it a second thought. Military flyovers weren't terribly uncommon these days, especially so soon after an incident like the Kings Cross bomb.

When the engines chose to hover over a depressed industrial neighborhood, only a few took notice. When the garbage surrounding an abandoned, flat-roofed warehouse began spiralling around in air currents from an unseen downforce, they all immediately decided they had better places to be.

A trained eye might have detected the shimmering outline resembling an enlarged SR-71 descending toward the warehouse roof. An empty aluminum garbage can, knocked over by the wind, rolled lazily across the roof until, of its own accord, it crumpled and flattened itself against the concrete.

Then the air ten feet above the surface of the roof split and unfolded into a ramp.

Inside the Blackbird, the X-Men were unharnessing from their seats and gearing up. Dragon, as was his wont, took little more than his uniform. He'd just grabbed his radio to let Veritas and Pan know their reinforcements had landed when the device beeped in his hand. The LCD screen displayed a text message that had been forwarded from his cell phone fifteen minutes ago.

What the hell was Chris Wilde doing with the Brotherhood?

He keyed in the frequency that Pan and Veritas were sharing. "This is Dragon. The Blackbird has landed, and we're moving out. We just received a tip from Mr. Wilde. Brotherhood at the Piccadilly Underground. I suggest we rendezvous there."

Dragon stowed the radio and motioned to his team. "We're heading to Piccadilly. Move out."

[Slab]

Brian sighed, stowing away the beer. Pulling on his leather jacket, he shuddered as he felt the brisk, night wind blow at his red hair. He swigged the last of his can of Bud, and then crunched it in his hand, tossing the empty aluminum container in a nearby garbage heap.

"Yep. Piccadilly? They got any good restaurants? I could use a steak right about now...I'd even go for a stinkin' hotdog cart...."

[Locksmith]

"Good food in England? You've got to be kidding me," Johnathan Parker's voice rumbled as he descended the stairs. It was the first time he'd worn his uniform on a mission in years, and the black and gray leather was too dry to creak.

At two years older than Brian, Johnathan was technically the oldest member of the team, but he had to admit that Slab had always been more active on missions in the past than he had been, having essentially taken Johnathan's place on the team when he parted ways with the institue years ago. But now he was back, not just as faculty and acting as caretaker of the institute, but as an X-Man. He wasn't quite sure he was comfortable with it, but he had to put on a good front for the new students.

Testing his radio, the bulky, bearded senior member looked to Dragon, then to the rest of the team. "You all heard Dragon," he grunted. "He takes point, I take up the rear." There was little more to be said, and Johnathan thought little of himself as a public speaker since his days at Ford. Besides, this was Dragon's show. He'd earned the students trust, all the Locksmith seemed to have done was make them wary, and fear detention.

[Natalia Fedorov]

Natalia followed just behind Dragon as the team left the Blackbird. Her body shimmered, shifting like a chameleon. Her prim appearance and everyday clothing were replaced with a breathtaking two-piece uniform. The wind swept her dark hair away from her face, as cold eyes scanned the skyline ahead. London by night was a beautiful sight, but there was no time to appreciate the view. They had to get moving.

[Carlos Calaveras]

Carlos couldn't stand still. As he followed John and the others, he bounced on his toes. He cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingertips, adjusting the buckled straps of the guards on his arms.

“Alright! Which way?”

[Batdude]

Marty quickly thumbed about on his wrist GPS to call up the grid for Picadilly square.

"Okay, got it. I'll hang in two kilometer radius and keep an eye out for trouble."

He gave a quick test to his radio headset, flexed a bit in his jumpsuit, and then spread his wings, pushing off the ground in a burst of momentum as he took to the sky. He was being as cool as he could about this, but his heart was racing in his chest.

"Come on Marty, be cool..."

[Dragon]

Piccadilly Circus was aptly named at any time of night. Which was the only explanation for how a team of uniformed mutants could slip through the crowds without causing more than a mild swell of curiosity.

"Are all you here for the Watchmen screening?"

Dragon turned to see a teenaged boy and girl in spandex and leather ensemble and then saw the MGM theatre across the roundabout.

"Promotional thing," he replied. "You'll hear about it later."

"Class!" the boy gushed.

"Love the costumes," the girl added.

Dragon scanned the jungle of neon signs and saw a pair of figures, one in a wheelchair and one in an old-fashioned beige trenchcoat, waiting on the far side of the monument. "This way."

"Duncan, Henri, good to see you."

[Veritas]

"John."

Henri gave a curt nod before looking to Duncan and their third 'associate', who didn't look at all happy to be there. A teen, about sixteen years of age who wore a hoodie and glasses over his head to hide the scales on his face.

"Duncan found a friend who has some useful information for you, it seems."

They had found the kid speaking outside of a pita shop, a little too freely about some supposed happenings going down in the mutant community. From there, it wasn't too hard for Henri to use his time-honed skills as an Inspector to get him to spill the beans.

[Slab]

Brian MacLanahan, watching the reaction of the fanboy, shook his head.

"Yeah, I'm the smart-assed actor who gets to say It's Clobberin' Time. Where's a good place to get a beer around here? You know, for the afterparty to our little promotional deal?"

The kid pointed out a pub nearby, and mentioned something about franks and mashers, or something. Brian didn't get it, other than perhaps it was some kind of really good food. Then he was nudged by Locksmith, and motioned to follow.

"Ah, that's the....uh, bodyguard. Gotta get goin'. Thanks, kid. Have fun at the show.....and don't do drugs!"

Smiling, Slab continued with the group, into the alleyway. As one of the tanks of the group, Slab decided to keep quiet for now. To take mental notes, and prep for their little....what'd he call it? The Show. Slab chuckled silently. A comedian at a time like this.....

[Pan]

"I'd like you to meet Sidney Fulham."

Duncan had his arm around the shoulders of the boy like he was his favourite nephew. His grip was firm enough to prevent him running off. The youngster scowled and nudged irritably at the Scot. Duncan grinned.

"He likes to be called Sticks and he is part of a local underground group of mutants who call themselves the Fawkesists. Poetic, eh? They are helping the Brotherhood evade the authorities. And when I say underground, I mean it literally."

[Dragon]

Dragon stepped in front of the boy. "Thank you, Sticks, that's extraordinarily helpful," he said brightly. "Underground?" He handed his radio to Henri. Its screen still displayed Chris's text message.

"I'm guessing you're not talking about the tube," he said. "Some sort of underground passageway? Hidden?"

From the way Sticks's expression grew even more petulant, Dragon could see his surmise was correct.

"Perhaps you could show us the way in?"

[Saladin]

Saladin's radio squelched again. "Boss, the recruits are here."

"Excellent."

He sat down beside Spectre. "I think we can handle Midridge for now. If you would be so good as to guide them in?"

[Ghost]

Their first obstacle was the staffed ticket office where, according to Mach, a narcoleptic employee was stationed. From where they stood, they could see him sat at the plexiglass window reading a newspaper and after a moment, his bloated wrinkled face started to sink behind the upturned pages. There was a rush of wind and Mach was gone, they heard a knock somewhere inside the ticket office which startled the old man at his station. He stood and trudged out of view.

"Come on!"

Mach hissed at them, she leaned out from behind a wall at the end of the tiled passageway and gestured for them to follow. They ran together and cleared a row of automated turnstiles to reach her. In a pile on the floor was a stack of bright yellow boilersuits and orange helmets. She was already wearing such an outfit and tightened the strap around her chin. They stared at her in bewilderment.

"Suit up. Quickly. They're waiting for us."

They did as they were told and slipped into the boilersuits; Rodent's suit hung from him like a tent and, despite being completely unbuttoned, Rock's was as tight as a leotard. Chris found his to be quite snug although somewhat garish. Once everyone was dressed appropriately, Mach led them down another flight of stairs and onto a platform. There were six people waiting for the next train which, according to the overhead display, was due in five minutes. They followed their guide to the end of the platform, there was a plastic maintenance box suspended on the wall and from it she took two torches; one of which she gave to Chris.

"You will be at the back. Keep it on the track ahead of you so the others can see. And all of you stick to the right."

She descended a ladder from the platform and dropped down to one side of the track. The others followed with apprehension. Chris glanced back at the commuters, only two of which had taken a vague interest in their actions, and was suddenly thankful for their costumes. He descended the ladder and dropped onto hard cement. Already Mach was leading them into the gaping maw of the tunnel, he turned on his torch, and followed them inside.

[Spectre]

With a smile to the man in charge, Spectre nodded. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."

She left Mr. Midridge, in Saladin's capable hands, content in the delusion that he was her happy little worker, absorbing all of the information she'd wired his brains with, then went to find the fresh meat.

They were just going to love this, she thought. It was a deceptive and complex system they had going down here, but not without it's charms.

She exited through a massive door. Actually it was more of a slimy brick wall, with a circular metal hatch at it's center, hinting that the corridor had probably once been connected to the sewers. Of course it looked nothing like that on the other side. It was dry at least. Before continuing on she gave it a turn for good measure, and yes.. it turned, wet and rusty as it was. She wiped her hands of the, all too genuine, slime and continued, white heeled boots sloshing through the damp floor of the tunnel.

Up ahead, the path connected with the rest of the Underground, and voices were approaching. She shimmered out of sight and waited. Even though she was certain they were who she was looking for, it never hurt to hear what people had to say when they thought no one was there...

[Jacinda Blake]

Professor Bertrand at school was scary enough, not one of the classes to slack in, ever. On the field though, Jacinda knew exactly how the boy, Sidney.. no Sticks, felt and it made her grin with a 'Uhuh.. Picked the wrong side to mess with didn't ya?' expression.

She didn't say anything for now, just stuck to the more experienced members sides like glue, taking their cues. She was a bit sorry they were here on business and not pleasure though, she'd never been to London and would have loved to go exploring.. Jacinda had caught a peek at herself in her uniform in one of the windows they had passed. Everytime she saw herself that way she did a double-take. Was that really her?

Mind back to business, she heard 'underground'. That could be potentially problematic for her flying ability, but it wouldn't stop her from sending a few Brotherhood members slamming into walls... She couldn't wait to tell Francoise all about it..

[Michael Lawston]

Arsenal trekked his way down the darkened tunnels outside of Tron’s network where only the faint glint from his silvery finger gave any sort of light. He had split from Neutron and the other mutants a ways back. As much as Michael found himself liking, if one could call it that, the new mutant more than Saladin, Arsenal simply didn’t find conversation a greater benefit. The feeling of terajoules of energy coursing through his body kept his mind on the possibility of expending his reserves.

The tunnels did have some calming effect on the volatile mutant and seeding a whole section of warrens to collapse and funnel prey into kill-zones did ward off impatience for a bit. On the down-side, he was on his last mine, well last of the TM-83s anyway.

Arsenal paused as the light from his fingers washed over a ladder leading to the upper world and crouched close to the moist, filth encrusted floor. A smile crossed his lips as he reached a hand behind the ladder and materialized the high-explosive. If any unfortunate soul were to enter from above or pass by they would fine themselves in bad shape.

Just as Michael’s hand reached for the primer, a sound caught his ear. A soft ringing and the parting of air……a familiar noise to him. Arsenal tucked his body in and rolled backwards just as the flash of steel flew over his head and cut clean through the ladder rungs.

[Zero]

There was an electrical shimmer in the air roughly the size and shape of a man. As the thing turned, the mutant had a vague impression of a single, red, glowing eye.

The invisible sword sliced at Arsenal again and again, cutting trails of sparks against the wet stone. And then the thing lifted a boot into Arsenal's armored chest, sending him back into a wall.

[Neutron]

Neutron paused mid-stride, ears catching one of the many sounds that seemed to travel so well in these subterranean passages. This one sounded different from the ambience though.

"Shekya, shekya..."

Neutron chided the henchmen with him in Chechen, fanning a palm-down glove toward the ground in the universal signal to keep your butt in position until told otherwise.

He lowered the Kalashnikov, and unfastened the ratchets holding one of his gloves fast. Pulling it away, he ran an exposed hand along the magazines of his weapon, the air shimmering as the full wrath of nuclear attrition saturated the bullets within.

[Michael Lawston]

Arsenal recoiled back from the hidden attacker, his mind running on pure instinct and limitless energy to track the shimmering sword. His fluid motion was cut short be a heavy blow to the chest that lifted him off his feet and into slime-covered concrete.

Michael’s lips curved into an aggressive snarl. This was something new, and definitely not an X-man. The thought of facing a foe intent on cutting him into bloody ribbons positively thrilled Arsenal.

He readied his arms into a bracing posture and……..FLASH…..the M249 appeared in his hands. Arsenal squeezed the trigger and the tunnel filled with the chatter of automatic fire.

[Zero]

***** Mutant DNA detected. Pattern not on file.

WARNING: Unstable energy spike detected. Threat assessment: Very High.

WARNING: Weapon detected. M249 SAW. Evade immediately. *****

Even with his cybernetic reflexes working for him, Zero scarcely had time to pitch himself to the ground as the bullets started flying. He couldn't avoid the spray altogether; a few outlying rounds clipped his shoulder plate, gouging the impact armor and disrupting his active camouflage. He was visible now.

He braced against the wet floor with his fingertips and then rolled from his right to his left as Michael tracked him with the machine gun. He landed on his knees and swept his ninjato up toward the gun, locking the flat of his blade against the barrel and twisting it off its aim as if it were a rival sword.

[Ghost]

They came to a stop in the tunnel and against the glare of her flashlight, Chris saw Mach's sillouette climb onto an elevated platform flanking the track. She crossed a safety rail elegantly and extended a hand to help Basilisk, the younger mutant ignored the offer and pulled herself up using the metal railing bars. Rock lifted Nomad up with ease and when he climbed, the guard rail creaked ominously. Rodent opted to squeeze beneath the lowest of the bars and did so with minimum fuss. Chris accepted Mach's help and finally joined the others in facing a gloomy maintenance passage.

"Here we are!" Mach announced, stepping inside.

"This is it?" asked Rock, dubiously.

"It looks okay to me," said Rodent, "It looks... homey."

"Oh yeah, if you're used to living in sewers filled with shi-"

"Drop it, the pair of you!" Nomad said in the dark.

"Guys..."

Chris's voice rang out moments later, he had gone as stiff as a board.

"Is one of you behind me?"

[Spectre]

'No...'

A spectral voice whispered inside Chris's head, unseen fingers brushed the back of his neck playfully..

'That's just me..'

"Don't be alarmed. You're looking for something, I'd say you just found it."

As the blonde fellow whirled around to investigate, and the others did so as well, Spectre shimmered to visual appearance, silver-white and smirking just behind Chris.

[Ghost]

When something touched him, the hairs on the back of his neck may very well have uprooted themselves and become buried in the ceiling like pins. He was too rigid to turn at first.

"I... think... something... just... touched... me..." he whimpered.

Then he definately heard a voice, no longer a whisper, loud and clear immediately behind him. He whipped around and raised his torch. There was a ghastly white face staring right at him and his shriek echoed throughout the endless tunnels. The torch bounced on the floor casting wild shadows of his retreating figure which suddenly disappeared out of sight. He'd fallen on top of Rodent, who frantically struggled to be free, now infected by Chris's fear. Nomad uttered an agitated string of expletives and Rock lifted the two mutants off the ground. Mach fell in line with them and shook her head.

"When you've quite finished, boys, I'd like you to meet Spectre."

[Michael Lawston]

There! Arsenal hadn’t really had any idea where his attacker struck from, but sweeping suppressive fire across the tunnel force his opponent to show his hand.

Michael found himself against an opponent he was not expecting. It wasn’t some mutant with apparition abilities; it looked more like a science fiction assassin.
<o></o>
One that knew how to handle a sword well at that.<o></o>

A grin crossed the transmuter’s face and the SAW disappeared. His other hand was already sweeping towards the suddenly off balance attacker as a saber materialized in his hand.<o></o>

[Neutron]

Aslan turned a corner as the sound reached a crescendo, and found Arsenal locked in combat with some sort of assassin. For a moment, Neutron hesitated, having never seen such a thing. However, he soon recovered, sliding the safety pan down the side of his Kalashnikov as he shouldered the weapon.

"Zadkesya!"

He squeezed the trigger, and the Kalashnikov opened up with a terrible chatter

KRAT-KRAT-KRAT-KRAT-KRAT

The first few shots narrowly missed the assassin, striking the concrete edifice and setting it on fire as the nuclear-altered heavy metal isotopes began to spall and burn with fierce radioactive vigor.

[Zero]

Still on his knees, Zero fell backward so he was flat on the ground, just beneath the arc of Arsenal's saber stroke. He bounced back up and raised his sword to parry his enemy's on the backswing -

And then another enemy appeared wielding an assault rifle. Zero's ocular was suddenly flooded with the radioactive signature he'd been tracking.

***** PRIMARY SUBJECT FOUND *****

He twisted out of the way of the barrage of radiological bullets and engaged Arsenal sword to sword, careful to keep Arsenal between himself and the irradiated mutant.

Clearly, Arsenal was an able swordsman. But his steel-bladed saber would only stand up so long against an adamantium ninjato. Zero aggressively drove his foe back toward Sagidev.

[Spectre]

Spectre barely restrained a chuckle. What a silly boy! As the blond went crashing into the other hopefuls, she exchanged a look with Mach and folded her white clad arms over her chest.

"Hello, Mach.. This bunch seems a bit skittish.", she teased..

White heels clicking across the floor of the passage, the Brotherhood operative paced, eyeing each one up, her gaze locking on them in turn. As her green eyes fell on them, it was clear that she was sizing them up.. knocking against the doors of their minds to see how well they could stand up tot he pressure, and testing for any other psychic mutations among them..

"Well. Who have you brought us?"

[Ghost]

"Alright, straighten up," she snapped, and the new recruits lined up before Spectre as Mach introduced them.

"This is Rock," she said and gave him a nod. The upper half of the ill-fitting boilersuit was reduced to shreds instantaneously by his massive granite torso. He winked and it sounded like grinding stone.

"Rodent..." she said with a hint of uncertainty, he waved and she added, "Self explanatory. This is Basilisk..."

The girl said and did nothing. Mach continued the introduction:

"Third eye. Paralyses and kills. And this stapping young man is Nomad."

There was a sharp crack which broke the heavy silence in the tunnel and Rob stood before Spectre, extended a hand, and said: "It's a pleasure."

They shook hands and Mach made a gesture to Chris, urging him to step forward. She said, "This... is..."

"Er, Ghost, funnily enough" he said with an uneasy chuckle, "And I can... well, it's complicated..."

"He can go invisible," Nomad interrupted and gave Spectre a grin, "Think you can find a use for all of us?"

[Spectre]

She eyed each one in turn, weighing their worth to The Brotherhood and to Saladin. None of them would be turned away of course, they were brethren. They would each be found a place within the ever expanding community, the mutant community - the one that was not in the interest of making nice with the homosapiens. What Spectre was looking for now were those who were possessed of talents unique enough to become front line forces.

Rock fit the bill, she thought. She was half tempted to lift her knuckles and give his bare chest a knock, but settled for letting the image of her doing so flit through his thoughts like a soft breeze. She smiled at his wink and moved on..

Rodent.. Hmmm.. She'd have to give him some more thought.. but gave him a smile anyway.

Basilisk. Their gazes locked, long enough for Spectre to decide immediately that the girl was a keeper. Looks that kill indeed.. She would make a marvelous assasin.. and she had a hardness about her, something in her being that spoke of toughness. Perfect. Spectre nodded..

Nomad - popping in front of her made like that made her smile deepen. Teleporters were always a good thing for quick jobs. If he could be trained up to fight, he would be nearly impossible to stop, let alone hit.. She shook his hand. "Welcome..."

..and then there was...

Ghost?!? The skittish one among them was Ghost? The Brotherhood already had two very disciplined and skilled operatives with the ability to become invisble. One's that didn't squeal and run at whispers.. Spectre was not so sure about that one.. She put her thoughts on him to the back burner for now. They needed stronger spirit than that for their work.

"You are all most welcome. We have temporary barracks here, but those of you who wish to continue on with us when we leave will be outfitted with a Brotherhood cell that will benefit from each of your unique talents. We are stronger against those who would oppress us united. No one will be turned out." She gestured down the hall at her back, toward the metal hatch in the brick wall.

Seemingly a dead end..

"This way..."

[Ghost]

"It looks like you've taken a wrong turn, love," said Rock, the expression on his face was hidden since the torch light didn't reach that high and it was difficult to tell if he had said it with a hint of amusement.

Mach and Spectre gave each other a knowing glance and stepped forward while the others watched, huddled close in the limited confines of the circular passageway. Chris aimed his spotlight at the wall before them; the brick was old and chipped in places, it glistened with mildew and in the centre was a round metal hatch too small for a human to squeeze through. Rodent frowned, it was blocked by columns of steel bars. Nomad spoke up.

"You know, I can scout around if you tell me what we're looking for, it will only take-"

His mouth fell agape at what he saw next; the two women had grasped a steel bar on either side of the hatch and pushed. A loud grating sound pierced the air which made the spectators flinch, next the aching moan of metal masses resonated throughout the sewer and to their astonishment, the wall before them suddenly jerked anti-clockwise with the groan of rumbling stone. The bricks were stood vertical, the metal bars horizontal, and the hatch itself had moved to the left. The women pushed again and with the same appalling din the wall rolled aside until the hatch met the edge of the passageway and a dark gap, wide enough for two people, had appeared to the right where the wall once stood. The women dusted off their hands and turned around to find stunned faces staring at them.

"That was bloody brilliant!" said Rodent, who had slipped from the back of the bunch to peek inside. Several feet away, he saw a floor of level cement illuminated by unnatural light. Someone walked by and he flinched away.

"Well, in you go!" said Mach, and after exchanging bewildered looks, the fresh meat ventured inside.

[Spectre]

Spectre beamed a bright grin at Rodent, then stepped throught the wall passage, all six of the mutants following her lead. Mach had been this way before obviously so she wasn't as intent upon taking in the surrounding corridors and various outposts as they moved deeper into the tunnels.

Some of the rooms off the hall were occupied with members of the Brotherhood who either nodded in greeting to the recruits, ignored them altogether, or there were a few less friendly members that growled a 'hello'.. They had all kinds. Some rooms boasted nothing but weapons racks, seemingly unguarded. Then there were rooms strictly for surveillance with computer monitors, most of the Underground and the 'Underground' were being watched very closely..

Stepping up to one door, Spectre seemed to stop in thought for a moment before opening it. Really she was speaking to someone on the other side, but the recruits didn't need to know that.. When she got the affirmation to proceed, she opened the door and gestured inside..

"If you'll step this way..? I have someone who would like to meet you."

[Ghost]

The hefty iron door that stood before them was a little rusted at the edges, it groaned and creaked as it opened, the hinges screeched in objection. It reminded Chris of the military doors he'd seen while playing Goldeneye a few years ago. They filed into the room behind Spectre and instinctively lined up against the wall. In the corner of the room was a large old fashioned armchair occupied by a man who had the air of a white Morpheus with blond hair. He watched them intently, his fingers steepled, he wore a long leather coat.

In the centre of the room was a large table full of maps and monitoring equipment and at the back of the room, hunched double in a frail wooden chair was the broken shell of Davis Midridge. Chris disguised his surprise well. The politician failed to notice their arrival and instead he stared vacantly at his feet. Once all were inside, silence fell over the room in anticipation of the words or actions of this mysterious man.

[Michael Lawston]

“Hold fire, idiot.” Arsenal found himself having to duck the first burst of the Chechen’s fire himself. though a part of him was thrilled at the extra surge of adrenaline that coursed through his already wired body. Still it wasn’t wise to risk finding out what would happen if the radioactive rounds actually hit him.

A blur of motion and Arsenal found himself force on the defensive with the blade. Whatever the hell this thing was easily surpassed Michael in agility. Good as the mutant was, he could barely match his opponent swing for swing as it drove him back towards Neutron.

CLANNNGGGG-THUNK

Michael stared at Zero’s sword actually embedded half-way through his own saber. The surprise quickly faded and he jerked the sword aside.

A snap-kick to the chest sent the assassin tumbling backwards.

“I think it likes you.” Arsenal chucked the useless blade aside and fell back, a pistol appearing in each hand. “Care to do the honors?”

[Saladin]

Saladin rose to greet the newcomers with a warm smile. "Mach! It's good to see you again."

"And you, too, chief," Mach replied. "I've brought you some more lambs for the slaughter."

"Indeed, and who have you brought me?" Saladin asked, pacing down the line of recruits.

"This is Rock, and Rodent, Basilisk, Nomad, and Ghost," Mach replied. "Nomad's been my contact, and the rest are his mates."

"I see." Saladin met each mutant's eyes. His gaze was electric.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters alike," he said. "My name is Saladin. I've come here to learn the state of mutant freedoms in the UK. From what I've seen, there is much work to be done here."

He turned toward the stricken Midridge, who looked at him glassy-eyed, and went on. "Thanks to bigoted mundanes like this fellow, you've all had to endure unconscionable abuses from a paranoid government. Well, the Brotherhood of mutants intends to change that."

He rested his hands on the back of Midridge's chair. "It's time to bring the cause of the Brotherhood to Britain. Starting with a new cell in London. And I am looking at the beginnings of that cell right now."

Rock and Nomad beamed with pride.

[Neutron]

"Gladly. I kills him!"

Neutron growled in a sneer as he drew the Kalashnikov up again, determined to flush the assassin back down the corridor with a heavy barrage or to kill him. Whichever, really. Even if he didn't kill him, the radioactive spall would probably give him a rash if he thought about sticking around.

KRAT-A-KRAT-A-KRAT-A-KRAT!

All the while, the seasoned Chechen mujehedeen was counting his rounds. He shouted over a break in the din to his partner, making a throwing motion and then gesturing for Arsenal to give him something.

"Kashneska va grenadie!"

It was fairly obvious he wasn't asking for softballs.

[Zero]

With uncanny grace, Zero stayed centimeters ahead of the trail of deadly radiological firepower, spinning and tumbling in midair, occasionally intercepting a round on the flat of his ninjato. But the barrage was still forcing him to give ground.

In a break between the Automat's bursts, he removed a small sphere from his belt and sent it bouncing toward the two mutants. It exploded with a flash and an aerosol ten times nastier than pepper spray.

[Michael Lawston]

Arsenal was prepared for most things, but gas was not something the mutant was used to. It was not long before the burning substance hit his lungs and eye and the mutant double over hacking and coughing.

Next to him, Neutron quickly suffered from the same involuntary spasms. Michael’s mind whirred as his body refused to do as commanded, he couldn’t even see through the water collecting in his eyes. It was fairly certain a grenade would end up killing them both at this point without knowing where to chuck the damn thing.

The two Brotherhood mutants were sitting ducks at this point, there was nothing to stop the assassin from slicing the both of them up.

But an idea did click in Arsenals mind. He was able to choke out a strained “….mine….” between the coughing fits and gestured down the tunnel. Neutron should have enough ammunition left for at least one bullet to hit the explosive, perhaps his abilities would give some added power and kill the creature.

[Spectre]

Bright green eyes locked on the wall at her side, the monitoring room. Something was going on in there.. She excused herself from the introductions and Saladin's impressive oration to see what the buzz was about.

"Explosions and shots, Spectre.." The mutant seated before the wall of screens and monitors announced as she entered.

"Ours? Is it the X-gang?" She leaned forward and zoomed in on a view of a long hall.. The shots were at the far end, but generally the X-men didn't go in with automatic weapons. They at least were a bit more subtle..

"I'll take care of it.", she said and returned to the room full of fresh meat.

They may just get one hell of a hazing..

Stepping in, she looked straight at Saladin.

'Playtime's over.. we have company.'

[Pan]

"Some sort of underground passageway? Hidden?"

From the way Sticks's expression grew even more petulant, Dragon could see his surmise was correct.

"Perhaps you could show us the way in?"

At this, Duncan's arm coiled tighter around the boy's shoulders, he spoke through a grin of clenched white teeth.

"Come now, Sitcks, answer the nice man. Tell him what you told me and the good Mister Bertrand."

The boy muttered under his breath and Duncan shook him once more in that mock-jocular way, "Eh!?"

"Over there," he grunted.

"Over where, my lad? Over where?"

"There!" he hissed, pointed a finger across the road. The men looked over to find a flight of stairs leading to the London Underground with a sign marked: Picadily Circus. Duncan nodded at John.

"We're taking him to the Blackbird. We'll monitor your progress from there and provide you with any directions you need. Good luck!"

[Dragon]

"Thanks, Duncan, we'll keep the channel open. X-Men, with me."

With Dragon taking the lead, the X-Men trooped down the stairwell to the Underground lobby where the somnolent ticketmaster sat guard over the turnstiles.

"Masque," said Dragon, "I think this is your department."

[Veritas]

Veritas followed his Scottish counterpart with their recently acquired prisoner, looking back briefly at the entrance the boy had marked out.

"When we get back, I will look up the municipal authority and find a map of the tunnel complex. No doubt, it will only be a rough guideline."

Henri knew only too well how displaced denizens managed to make a home for themselves in subways, sewers, and whatnot. It was an ideal place like the Brotherhood and other terrorists to hide, and one that was probably full of surprises.

[Batdude]

Marty caught an updraft and started about in a lazy circle, spanning the entire area of interest. He continued to echolocate below him, and suddenly realized something big. Quickly tapping his radio, he chimed in to the X-Men frequency.

"Hey, uh, all of the ambient noise down there is lighting this place up like a Christmas tree. I can hear the subway tunnels down there, and a few others too. Might be touch and go, but I think I can mark it out on GPS if you don't mind waiting a little."

[Natalia Fedorov]

The station was busy, as always, and in spite of their outlandish outfits, the X-Men moved through the crowds without much incident. The hundreds upon hundreds of civilians who traveled aboard the Underground every day just wanted to get from A to B and were willing to overlook some usual fashion choices to do so. Truth be told, an unclaimed bag or package would have caused a greater deal of concern.

As Natalia stepped out of the mass of moving bodies – the others in tow – she took on another identity. She had assumed the appearance of a tall, dour-faced looking man in uniform. A police uniform to be precise, complete with hi-visibility jacket and custodian helmet. The turnstile monitor looked up and, all of a sudden, was wide awake.

“Er, alright. What seems to be the problem?”

“I need access to the Underground.”

“Oh, well... you can go right on through, officer, but your, uh, friends-”

“It's essential that they accompany me. They're important witnesses.”

“What, all of them?”

Natalia tensed, jaw setting tightly. She didn't like the way the British ran their Police force. They always seemed too... polite, caught up in procedure.

“Sir, I don't have time to explain right now.”

[Dragon]

Dragon stepped up alongside Masque. "This is a joint operation between international security forces and MI-5," he said. "Time is of the essence."

The attendant glanced uncertainly between the two men, but it was hard to argue with such serious faces. He stepped out of the booth and unlocked the gate at the end of the the row of turnstiles.

"Er... of course, sir. Right this way."

The team of six X-Men marched through the gate onto the platform with unquestionable authority. As long as they all looked official and were being led by an officer, who would question them?

Dragon slipped a bluetooth receiver into his ear. "Go ahead, Marty," he said. "Coordinate with Blackbird. Pan and Veritas may be able to rough out a map using the Underground blueprints."

They needed directions from Marty or from Sticks soon - they were coming to the end of the platform, and all that was in front of them was a deactivated rail tunnel.

[Mute]

Stood on the platform were four weary commuters waiting for the next train. The arrival of the strangers failed to surprise; they were either coming from Soho or going into Camden and judging by how they were dressed, probably both. One of the commuters was a boy wearing a grey hoodie and a pair of jeans from which a chain hung. In his ears were a pair of earphones and he bobbed his head in time with whatever it was he was listening. The blonde-haired girl caught his attention and he caught her eye, briefly, long enough to give her a wink and seedy grin.

The sound of gunfire and barked orders rang in his ears. In his hand, hidden within the large hoodie pocket was a device resembling a tiny media player. On it there were three buttons; one green, one blue, and one red. He pressed the green button twice, paused, then pressed it another six times to account for the number of gene-traitors he counted. Then he heard a gruff voice in his ear:

"Message recieved, Mute. Pursue target and keep us informed. Over and out."

[Saladin]

'Playtime's over.. we have company.'

There was a subtle tensing in Saladin's features. He looked appraisingly over the row of recruits.

Mach he'd worked with before and trusted. Basilisk was as cold-blooded as her namesake; she would hold her own. Rodent was eager yet circumspect - he looked like a non-combat operative. Rock and Nomad appeared to have mustered all the enthusiasm they'd bring to a drinking contest - useful, spirited, but it remained to be seen whether they were prepared to take on a soldier's mantle.

But the last one, Ghost. Saladin could see the fear in his eyes, as much as he tried to hide it. He would be one to watch.

"It seems," he said, "that our adversaries are already on their way. Adversaries of the worst kind. Fellow mutants. Gene-traitors who would sell out their own kind to the Homo sapiens. We must hold them away from this location until we can move Mr. Midridge someplace safer."

He turned toward the lookout monitoring the screens, who held out all five fingers on one hand and sprouted a sixth.

"Our agent on the front reports six mutants approaching from the Piccadilly entrance," Saladin said, "and an unknown hostile near Islington. Two of our top men are already dealing with that one. I want you to intercept the mutant intruders. You know the tunnels. Box them in. Mach, Basilisk, you're together. Try to outflank them. Rock, Nomad, Rodent, meet them head-on. Spectre, take Ghost and mop up anything that's left."

He walked approached the new mutants again, stopping in front of Ghost, whom he fixed with a penetrating stare.

"Good luck. I know you'll be a credit to your race."

[Neutron]

Aslan wheezed and hacked against the offensive cloud. Between ragged breaths, he coughed out a phrase in Arabic - the Shahada:

"There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his Prophet"

In retrospect, he didn't know why at the time. He'd long-since rejected Islam, but the words were deeply familiar with him as a pillar of his one-time faith. Perhaps there was something tantric about the saying, but he was afforded enough clarity to do as Arsenal suggested. His eyes began to blur as a deluge of tears streamed in them, but he lined up the sight post against the rear dovetail of his rifle and fired...

[Zero]

Zero was not at all affected by the aeresol. He advanced swiftly on the afflicted mutants, his sword held back for a killing stroke.

He saw Sagidev level his weapon and quickly calculated the bullet's trajectory.

His boots skidded on the wet, slimy floor with a sound of grating rubber. And then the TM-83 detonated with a deafening blast and a bone-crushing pressure wave. Zero was flung backwards like a rag doll as concrete and molten steel poured down from the ceiling, burying the tunnel in smoldering debris.

[Batdude]

"Holy crap!"

Marty nearly faltered in the air, and suddenly realizing he was filling up the comm with chatter, he restrained himself, trying to get a handle on what he was hearing. The chatter he'd heard moments before was underground and in the tunnels. He'd initially thought it was construction work, maybe a jackhammer. The sound he just heard had proven that wrong.

"Guys, heads up, something is going on down there and it sounds ugly from up here."

Marty didn't want to say for sure, but it sounded like gunfire and explosions. The sounds were loud, rich, and pulsed down the winding arteries of subterranean conduits, creating a perfect ripple effect in his echolocation.

[Slab]

Slab took up the rear of the group, as he usually did. Being pretty much the only one not dressed in uniform, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He heard the echo of footsteps, and they weren't from the direction of the group. The red hair felt like it was standing up from the back of Brian's neck. He looked to John Rhee.

"Mah guess is we are bein' tailed, Dragon. They prolly got lookouts from exit ta exit."

He craned his neck, the liquid between the bones of his neck bursting in a sickening crack.

"What's our plan, bubba?"

[Michael Lawston]

Dust and debris swirled through the darkness of the tunnels. Echoes from the blast still reverbrated along the wall and was punctuated by the clatter of rocks shifting and falling from the massive pile left in the wake of the collapse.

Coughing, partially from the finely chipped rock and partially still from the aerosol, Arsenal stumbled his way out of the hazy dust storm. With one hand he dragged Neutron out of the mess while the other, still holding onto one of his weapons, warded away the offending gas and dust.

“Not the best time to get religious.” Michael uncerimoniously dropped the Chechen on the floor and collapsed against the wall himself. Despite the ordeal, aside from a heavy layer or grime layering his skin and rock fragments stuck in his hair, Arsenal seemed well off. Not a drop of sweat was anywhere to be found on his skin.

A spark of light and flash of pain drew his attention to a scratch on his arm. Strangley, the wound glowed bright from within and a shower of sparks flew with every drop of blood. Arsenal growled, tearing a piece from his ragged armor and holding it over the cut, hoping that it would close before the leather burned through.

“What the hell was that?” In all honesty he didn't care, but some part of him wondered at the best ways to tear the assailant to pieces, dead or not. Arsenal was just plain pissed.

[Ghost]

In that penetrating stare, Chris stood frozen to the spot, feeling naked and vulnerable before his enemies. Since introducing himself, Saladin had entranced the mutants with his words and the very air buzzed in his charismatic presence. While Nomad, Rock, and Rodent stood wearing gawking expressions of awe, Chris felt his jaw tighten and his entire body turn rigid in a subconcious effort not to illuminate his fear but if he couldn't see it, he thought, Saladin could smell it.

To either side, he heard his comrades accept their orders with hearty reverence but words were beyond him now, he simply nodded. He heard the sound of shuffling footsteps and gladly tore his face away from the heavy glare of the notorious mutant terrorist. He was last of the new recruits to leave the room and just as he reached the door, his eyes met the green gaze of his partner, Spectre, and he swallowed.

"Are you ready?"

[Pan]

A taxi ride made the journey to the industrial neighbourhood prompt and comfortable, what with Henri's walking and Duncan keeping the boy grounded it would've otherwise taken much longer. They climbed out beside a pub and the driver went on his way thinking nothing of it, then after a brisk walk across four lanes of road they reached a tall, barbed fence and beyond, a large warehouse with an empty yard.

The gate was ajar, on the floor lied a snapped chain and a crumpled padlock. They crossed the yard and reached the side entrance, a single door which hung pitifully on one hinge. Duncan frowned - less subtle, he thought - and guided the boy inside. Light was scarce inside but a dull blue shimmer played off the metal staircase which climbed the far wall to the administration office and then further up to the roof.

"Here we are!" Duncan said, and nudged the dumbfounded youngster up a ramp and into a brightly lit room cut into the night air.

[Veritas]

Henri trailed a bit, easing up the stairs with his cane as the others went inside. Once aboard, he made sure that the boy was seated and not going anywhere, then had a sidebar with his colleague.

"I think perhaps we find something of this underground passageway. I will talk to the boy and see."

He thought about it, and looked at a nearby laptop, jacked into a wall conduit.

"The city municipal authority should also have something that may be of some help."

[Spectre]

"Are you ready?"

Spectre only smiled at the one called Ghost, her gaze seemingly boring into his skull. "Are you..?"

She walked past him into the hall, following the other new recruits as they eagerly went off to prove their mettle to Saladin and earn their places among the more seasoned members of The Brotherhood. Truly she was only worried about two of them, Rodent.. who seemed the sort to - for lack of a better explanation - squeak and run like a rat on a sinking ship, and the Ghost at her side, whom she'd already decided had the bravery of a pet store guniea pig.

Rock would be a good front man, she would just love to see the X-men try and get through him. Nomad, and his singular talent would be as she had suspected, too fast to stop once the action started.. and Basilisk, well she just had to stand there and look pretty and they would fall before her.

Spectre smiled.

"Let's not overly exert ourselves yet...", she said as they exited the same hidden door. "We'll lead them deeper away from this passage so they don't come across it, ill fated. Let them come to us.."

[Pan]

Duncan took a seat and the screen of the laptop came to life. Moments later, various windows had opened; minimized images of maps and blueprints overlapping each other. Duncan studied them for a few moments, shaking his head. He spoke into the radio:

"Batdude, can you make out any obvious route for the team to take ahead of their current location?"

He turned to Henri and nodded at the boy:

"Let's find out what he knows."

[The Brotherhood]

Behind them, the wall rolled back into place and the passageway returned to looking completely unglamorous. There were storm drains high overhead and shafts of silver light cut through the dark at regular intervals lending the gloom some definition. Mach disappeared with a rush of air. The rest set off together, Rodent dared to scurry ahead on all fours, sniffing the air cautiously while Nomad and Rock took up flanking positions either side of Basilisk who walked undaunted in the thick of the dark. A cool breeze pushed its way through the tunnels as another train rumbled by somewhere close.

"That's funny," muttered Rodent, his nose poking around in the air, "I can smell beer."

"Well, we were at a pub earlier, genius," said Rock. The little mutant sniffed again.

"No. Not from us. Somewhere else."

These was a sudden whoosh and Mach had reappeared, grinning wickedly.

"Follow me."

[Batdude]

"Uh, hang one for a sec."

Marty went to work on Pan's request, actively pinging the area around the advance team on the ground.

"There should be some kind of hole. Look for like a manhole or a drain or something. I can hear it pretty clearly, about 50 meters ahead. Hang on..."

Marty swung about, straining to hear the action down below.

"I don't hear anymore shooting. Whatever was going on has stopped I think."

[Dragon]

The X-Men were still on the platform when the blast came. It was muffled through several walls of bedrock, but it rumbled through the cement beneath their feet and dropped plaster dust from the ceiling.

The response was immediate - screams, angered shouts, people pulling out their cell phones and rushing en masse out of the platform. The team of X-Men stood like a rock dividing a flood of humanity.

"That was a high explosive," Dragon said with the certainty that came from experience. "Dear God... surely they haven't set off another dirty bomb!"

He motioned to the team, and they charged forward through the rush toward the blackness of the abandoned tunnel. As Slab and Locksmith jumped down and helped the others into the rail trench, Dragon paused at the edge of the platform and looked back over the frightened crowd. For a moment he thought he'd glimpsed a young man standing still among the scattering commuters and watching them intently.

He jumped down to rail level, and the X-Men plunged into the darkness of the tunnel.

---

They were some distance in when Slab approached Dragon and spoke in muted tones.


"Mah guess is we are bein' tailed, Dragon. They prolly got lookouts from exit ta exit."

He craned his neck, the liquid between the bones of his neck bursting in a sickening crack.

"What's our plan, bubba?"

"We've got to keep moving forward," Dragon replied. "The situation has escalated, and it's only a matter of time before the local forces move in. We have to cut a path for them to the Brotherhood."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "Tempest, can you feel how the air's moving? Can you tell if we're getting close to another tunnel?"

[Jacinda Blake]

Although directions had not yet been confirmed by either Batdude, or Sticks, Tempest was pretty sure they had to follow the rails into the tunnel. There was just no where else to go, and it seemed a likely place to hide an entrance. They were sure to find maintenence checkpoints and street level escapes at the very least, Workers had to have access down there, so there was more than one way out. If Marty was hearing noise coming from that way, it was good enough for her - but she would wait for Dragon to make the call..

Her gaze drifted over to the four passengers awaiting their train. Wild night for them, she supposed! The young guy was kind of cute.. in a creepy sort of way. She smirked a bit at his grin but looked away, stepping closer to Carlos..

Breathing in and out steadily, she drew the currents from the tunnel close to her.. There were no trains approaching, but she did hear the sound of distant voices, muffled as though trying to be quiet, and the sound of shufflinng footsteps on concrete.. She would have said so, but that's about the time she covered her ears against the blast.

---

Sticking close to Dragon, she kept listening for other sounds approaching them. She shook her head in answer to his question.

"The main track goes on for a while.." Ahead though, the air was pulled into a smaller space on one side of the rails, a hall of some kind and further down it collected in a rounded area, swirling upon itself and back..

"There are smaller tunnels, for foot traffic I'm guessing, that lead off. Beyond that is a dead end.. There were voices before that blast, but I can't hear them now.."

[Neutron]

“What the hell was that?” In all honesty he didn't care, but some part of him wondered at the best ways to tear the assailant to pieces, dead or not. Arsenal was just plain pissed.

Aslan kept coughing, eventually getting enough air to speak.

"I don't knows. We'd better get back and report."

He rose to his feet, checking his Kalashnikov as he dusted himself off.

[Carlos Calaveras]

As they talked, Carlos struck up a tiny flame in his palm, illuminating a small portion of the tunnel. Some moisture from the tunnel roof feel into the flames and they crackled in protest.

“The hell's going on down here?” he muttered to himself, looking on into the darkness ahead.

[Saladin]

The Brotherhood base camp was a hurricane of activity - mutants packing up equipment, gathering what firearms they carried, and generally dismantling the living space that had served as Davis Midridge's remote accommodations. The MP himself still sat languidly in his chair, watching the proceedings around him with dull indifference.

"So run this by me again," Geryon muttered as he hefted a large crate into a closet. "Why are we moving Midridge now?"

"Because," Tron, who'd returned from his remote lookout position, muttered back, "the X-wipes are moving in, we've already got the cops and jarheads swarming around above us, and that explosion, whatever it was, is gonna get everybody's attention."

"I know that," Geryon grunted. "But if we're done with the geezer, why can't we just let him find his own way out?"

"Because we want him released on our own terms," Saladin broke in, fastening his coat. "Besides, Spectre still needs to turn the key to give him back his mind - most of it, anyway. His party won't very well turn his seat over to a simpering moron, now, will they?"

Tron and Geryon blinked and conscientiously held their tongues. Saladin acquired the look of a man rethinking his last five words.

"Geryon, if you'll do the honors?"

"Sure thing, boss."

The huge mutant took Midridge by both shoulders and hauled him to his feet. The MP offered him no resistance.

As the Brotherhood packed up the last of the portable materiel, Midridge included, Saladin raised his radio. "Neutron, Arsenal, we're moving Midridge. What's your status?"

[Veronica]

Veronica stood silent near Saladin while the chaos swirled around her. All of her possessions were in the two suitcases in her nearby room or on her back. Just a some changes of clothes, several thousand dollars in mixed currency, a dissasembled sniper rifle, some ammunition and several different forged forms of identification. If he told her to do something, she would. Until then, she'd enjoy her cigarette.


http://panicked.org/swf/veronica/4.jpg

Veronica was glad if they were leaving. She hated London. She hated England and it's godawful weather, but she hated sewers even more. "Sanitary" sewers still smelled of mold and water. It was eternally damp and cold. It was disgusting, and while she voiced no complaints to anyone ($3000 a month in euros and dollars in retainer fees alone kept her mouth shut) perhaps only Saladin knew that she was less than pleased with his choice of headquarters. When asked if there were any strategic concerns, she had frustratedly said there were none in particular, and that this section of the sewers was especially easy to defend (and especially damp.)

Veronica exhaled and tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette.

[Batdude]

"Guys, you've got about sixty meters going that direction, and you should be able to hear movement. I hear a whole bunch of activity not far along from your position. The tunnels all intersect in this area, and everything is echoing out from there."

Marty stopped suddenly, aware of a very familiar, very loud sound approaching.

Helicopter rotors.

"Guys, I might need to check out in a little bit."

[Michael Lawston]

"Neutron, Arsenal, we're moving Midridge. What's your status?"

Arsenal trudged alongside Neutron as the pair made their way back through the warrens with the Chechen’s lackeys in tow. The wound on his arm had quickly closed up, looking as if the skin had been cauterized shut, and his eyes were still slightly red.

“We ran into a bit of a snag and had to detonate a charge early.”
He growled at the thought of the red-eyed assassin. Arsenal did not like being at such a disadvantage as had been.

“Assassin in some sort of cybernetic suit with active camouflage and tech I haven’t seen before. His sword cut through my saber like tissue paper; I’m thinking adamantium. We tick off any organization that fits the bill?”

[Saladin]

Saladin stopped in mid-stride, alarmed. At the mention of adamantium, he immediately thought of Ragnarok.

But, no.... he was certain that if they were moving again, his sources would have informed him. This was something else.

"He's certainly not with the X-Men," he replied. "I think he must be working for the humans, trying to disrupt our operation. If you haven't found a body, we had best assume he's still at large. We'll pass the alert to all units."

Saladin glanced back at Tron, who nodded and laid his hand on an open computer terminal. "Done, Boss."

"Good. Veronica, keep track of Midridge. I'm taking point."

[Veronica]

"Allright." She said, immediately walked to the room that had been serving as her quarters. The two medium sized duffles hung off her shoulders, making an X across her chest.

"C'mon then chap, pip pip and all that crap." Veronica said in a mock British accent. "Follow me." She gave the MP a nudge. His passiveness made her uncomfortable. Most of his conciousiness had been brushed aside for a mallable, obedient drone.

The fact that Spectre could do that to almost anyone gave her chills. For now, though, he was more pleasant than he had been at his arrival. The MP had made all manner of comical threats, given his situation.

She nudged him along. One hand held his arm while the other rested on the MP5.

[Ghost]

Mach led them to an intersection of four tunnels. One tunnel was wider than the others and had a row of pillars running through its centre, they followed her into it. Chris hesitated and inspected his immediate surroundings, he disliked the way the light from his torch was swallowed up by the dark and the only thing he discovered was that each tunnel seemed to stretch far beyond his field of vision. He promptly joined the rest of the group.

The pillars supported an ornate stone archway on either side, it gave the tunnel a unique appearance but Chris thought it was wholly unnecessary and only made their surroundings more claustrophobic. Rock had to duck to pass under each archway, there were three pairs in total and once they were through they stepped into a large open space full of sound. Long arms of pale light were cast about, throwing light on damp shimmering walls and a myriad thick lead pipes which snaked upwards from large rusty boilers and disappeared through the ceiling high above them. The metal creaked and groaned, the muted rumble and buzz off city life seeped through the stone and water droplets fell unseen and echoed near and far. Chris noticed a ladder in the far corner but his torch couldn't reach where it lead.

"We spring the trap here?" he asked, and his voice hung in the air.