X-MEN ETERNITY

New X-Men #2: "Tempting the Storm"
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke
X-Men Eternity Message Board: http://solofan.proboards76.com/index.cgi

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started (in Uncanny #1: The Shattering) with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. Nothing that happened after that is cannon for our purposes, and in fact a few things have changed. The team is now scattered through time and space.

"New X-Men: Eternity" is a series following the adventures of a splinter group of X-Men whom the reality-shift left trapped in the future.

***************************************************************

St. Louis, Missouri
June 2032
Alternate Reality #502

Ororo Munroe was walking into a trap.

The mutant known as Storm was perfectly aware of this, accepted it, had never doubted for a moment that she would have to do it. She was a leader of the X-Men, and a member of her team was in danger. It was her responsibility.

She moved as stealthily as she could up the stairwell of an abandoned building, by no means in the better part of town, with only darkness and chipping paint to look at and skittering vermin for company. Storm paid them no mind; she had known far worse, in her day. More worrisome was the enclosed space, the sense of being trapped... but that would only last a few moments longer.

While she walked, she considered her situation: She and at least a handful of X-Men had been scattered through time after the events known as "The House of M." (*- In Uncanny X-Men #1) They found themselves in the future, in an alternate timeline where mankind and mutantkind seemed to exist in a state of perpetual war.

Last night, a woman calling herself Lady Sarah-- this future timeline's version of the girl Storm had known as Marrow-- had stabbed her comrade Forge before Storm's eyes and offered to keep him alive if Ororo would meet with her. (*- all in NXM #1) She'd mistaken Storm for this timeline's Lady Ororo, but the two were alike enough that she knew the offer could not be refused.

That it was Forge in danger created... complications. Sarah had called the man her "dear heart" and her love. Apparently in this timeline, the relationship between the two X-Men had proceeded more smoothly. Storm was gratified to know that was possible-- in her own reality, Forge had left her, humiliated her, betrayed her more than once. Yet here she was, walking into aforesaid trap for his sake.

She still cared for Forge, on some level. How could she not? But even if she'd despised him, Storm would have acted the same. It was a debt she owed to all her teammates, past and present. From all Storm had seen, unquestioning loyalty was rare in this strange, twisted world she'd found herself in. Perhaps it would lend her the element of surprise.

Then, too, perhaps it would not...

The attack came from above, a razor-sharp shaft of bone slicing through the space where her neck had been a moment before. Storm turned...

A woman's form, tall and athletic, dropped onto the stairway a few steps above her. Storm could just make out the misshapen lumps of bone that marked her as the lady Storm was here to meet-- and not in one of her better-controlled phases, either. Marrow's runaway bone growth was one of the more unpleasant mutations Storm knew, and had often left its possessor bitter. Even so...

"There you are, Wind-Rider. I was beginning to worry you'd lost your nerve."

"How could I resist your kind invitation?" Storm backed down the stairs, a step at a time, while talking. Marrow followed. "I will have Forge back, my lady."

"One track mind. So like yourself." Marrow-- or Lady Sarah-- grunted softly as she ripped out another bone blade and held it before her. "You haven't changed a bit."

*You'd be surprised,* Storm thought. Aloud, she said, "I do not understand, Sarah-- what is this animosity between us?"

She could almost see Marrow grinning in the dim light. "I think it started when you ripped out one of my hearts."

"Oh..." Storm winced. "I did that in this timeline?"

"You've had occasion to do it in others?"

"Only from necessity."

Marrow laughed. "Here, you mostly did it for kicks."

"Ah. Well..." Storm cleared her throat. "I can understand how that would be upsetting."

"Small stuff." Without warning, Marrow threw the blade. Storm ducked under it-- it sliced her shoulder anyway. She gasped, feeling the blood flow, and kept backing up. "I don't hold a grudge for that, Ororo. You know why I hate you. I should think it's obvious."

"Humor me," Storm said. Just a few steps more...

"Maybe I'll tell the story at your wake!"

In one motion, Marrow ripped out another bone and flung it at Storm's heart. There was no more time to delay; Storm threw herself back from the stairs, folding and spinning as she jumped calling upon all her training and natural agility-- and landed, somewhat roughly, on the building's second level. With Marrow coming fast behind her, Storm turned and ran down the stairs, fighting her claustrophobia all the way, trying to get into an open space where her elemental powers would do some good.

Finally she made it into the lobby, which was cavernous, dark, and just as rat-infested as the rest of the building, but offered more... possibilities. Storm's eyes frosted over white as outside, the wind howled and smashed through the boarded-up windows. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, just as Marrow dashed down the stairs:

"Go ahead and run, Ororo, you can't hide foroh crap, was that thunder?"

Like most mutants possessing a healing factor, Marrow had aged well-- she didn't look much different from the girl Storm remembered. That alone stayed Storm's hand, and she merely called enough wind to pin Marrow *to* the wall, instead of sending her through it.

"Perhaps you need a reminder, child, that you have not trapped some weak, frightened aristocrat. I am not merely Lady Ororo, but STORM, and I am not amused."

Marrow mustered a sneer. "Go ahead and blow with your little hurricane. Minute you lose concentration, I slit your throat."

"Then, child, you will wait a *long* time. Must we really test our wills against each other? You will lose."

Marrow didn't answer; she strained with all her might against the maelstrom. She had to know Storm was using only a fraction of her power; a single lightning bolt would end the struggle rather quickly. She didn't care. Storm wondered just how unpleasant her counterpart in this timeline might be, to be hated so.

"I want Forge," she told the girl, over the roar of the wind.

"We all want things," said Marrow, and grinned. "Have to release me, Wind-Rider, or you'll never see him again."

"If I release you, have I your word that we will speak peacefully, you and I?"

"No."

"Unfortunate," said Storm. "You leave me few options."

It was not only a matter of strength. If she allowed this weather pattern to continue unabated, it would develop into something she could not easily set right; something that might do damage to the surrounding city. The sky outside turned even more ominous as Storm contemplated using stronger measures, after all.

"Let her go!" said a new voice.

Storm half-turned, to behold a gray-headed woman in black, scarred and battle-ready, also fighting the winds. She sported an eye-patch and a nasty-looking blade. Some things never changed.

"Callisto," said Storm, unsure what to make of this. "Are you...?"

"I'm here to collect my own, Wind-Rider. If you're smart, you won't interfere." A sudden lunge, a drop and roll beneath the worst of the turmoil, and suddenly Callisto's dagger was underneath Storm's throat. "Now let her go."

Time to choose: Strike out with enough force to protect herself now-- probably lethal force? Or roll the dice, hope this could still be resolved peacefully? That was no choice at all. Storm gestured, and the winds abated. The sky above began to clear.

Marrow pulled another bone and started forward, but Callisto stepped between them, holding a knife in either hand now-- one for each combatant.

"Back off, girl. Warned you once about pulling a stunt like this."

"How did you--"

Callisto's weathered face brightened. "I always know where you are. No hiding from me, babe."

Marrow's lip twitched; she stepped forward. "You also know what she did to us. She deserves this."

"Not tonight, though." Callisto favored Storm with a glance. "Apologies, Wind-Rider. You can see, she's excitable as ever."

"For myself, I take no offense. But she has wounded someone... dear to me. That, I do not easily forgive."

"I *wounded* one person. Well, at that, we're still far from even." Marrow crossed her arms. "Ask her about her new game, Callisto. Forge claims they're not from around here, but any fool can see..."

Callisto held up a hand for silence, peering at Storm. "What gives, Storm? My sight tells me you can't be our Ororo-- you're at least twenty years too young. But my every other sense tells me you are her, an' my senses don't lie anymore'n Wolverine's did."

"It is a very long story," Storm said. "And I will have Forge returned to me first."

"You want him?" Marrow said, brandishing her bone-blade. "You fight me for him."

"Is that some obscure Morlock law?"

Storm didn't even know if the band of underground mutants known as Morlocks had existed in this reality-- with mutants on top, perhaps it never would have. But so many things about this world were familiar, mentioning them seemed worth a try, if only to see what kind of reaction she provoked.

She got a reaction-- but not from Marrow, as she'd expected. Callisto knocked her off her feet with a backhand, and the next thing Storm knew, the other woman's blade was at her throat.

"You never mention the Morlocks in her presence again, y'understand me?" Callisto breathed. "Never."

"I... yes, of course."

Before Storm could rise to her feet, Marrow stepped right over her, en route to storming through the door. Callisto sat back on her haunches, watching her, and at length, offered Storm a hand up.

"Sorry again," she said. "Figured if I didn't knock you down first, Sarah'd go wild. I'd still watch myself if I was you. You really ain't our Lady Ororo, are you?"

A long, slow roll of thunder growled overhead, a reflection of Storm's mood. She sighed. "No, I am not. Why do you now believe me?"

"'Cause ours would never be dumb enough to say... what you said."

Storm made a face. "I meant no offense. Where I come from... the Morlocks were allies of mine. I even led them for a time..."

"What a coincidence," Callisto said. "You did here, too. 'Till they were massacred. Sold out."

Storm felt a chill; some history, it seemed, was meant to keep repeating itself, even in the most unlikely circumstances. She asked, "Who betrayed them?"

"You did," said the older woman, and she followed Marrow out the door.

That was when Storm realized how very much she still had to learn about this new time and place.

****

The human in charge of the computer station had precisely 1.2 seconds to realize that everything was not as it should be-- a breath of air at the back of his neck, the slightest sound behind his left shoulder...

SHIKT!

He had another 0.5 seconds to be vaguely astonished at the pair of adamantium-laced claws sticking out from the vicinity of his heart, and then he thought about nothing else in this world.

Laura Kinney, the young mutant designated X-23, pushed him off his chair as casually as she might have knocked over a stack of books, and seated himself in her place. Her companion, a large man by the name of Lucas Bishop, looked on with some concern.

"Man was just a clerk," he said quietly. "Some reason he had to be removed with extreme prejudice?"

"Efficiency," X-23 said. "Also, I felt like it."

"You realize that does not fill me with confidence?"

X-23 turned her chair around and pointed at the screen. "Galena, Illinois. It's just east of the Iowa border, in territory the human insurgents just recently liberated from our side. They've set up what they call a Telepathic Processing Facility there."

Bishop nodded. "So they sent Marvel Girl north and us south. Easily fixed. We'll have Rachel free by this time tomorrow night."

"You're kidding, right?" X-23 arched an eyebrow. "It's a secure facility. It's where they build Hounds, and do to telepaths... basically what was done to me. They'll be ready for anything."

Bishop grinned. "They're not ready for us."

"That confidence of yours sure filled up quick. We're just a couple of angry muties in a world full of 'em. What makes us so special?"

"Well, for a start," said Lucas Bishop, already on his way out the door of the human listening post they'd visited, "one of us is me."

A couple of humans in the black and gold uniforms of Invictus-- the self-styled Homo Sapien army-- strolled past the listening post. Bishop and X-23 flattened against the wall and waited. Bishop extended his arm, aimed, and was absurdly tempted to knock the one fellow's hat off his head. After all they'd been through already in this timeline, *somebody* deserved some payback. He decided against it, in the name of stealth.

"See?" he whispered. "That's how it's supposed to work. We do not *follow* the homicidal whims that cross our mind. We only *think* about them."

"Sounds dull."

Under cover of darkness, they crept across a field with several vehicles parked at the far end. Bishop felt like one giant tensed muscle the whole time; a spotlight, a word, somebody glancing in the wrong direction could ruin them. But they made it across the field unseen, taking cover behind something that looked like a cross between a covered-over Army jeep and a flying saucer.

"What now?" X-23 whispered.

"Pop me a claw, girl. If you can get us into this thing, I can arrange a ride."

"You mean hotwire?" she frowned. "This is pretty futuristic stuff..."

"To you," said Bishop. "This thing's an antique where I come from. Now, if you'll pop a claw like I told you, I'll see if I can't get this old Victrola to play..."

A few minutes later, the hover-jeep was on its way. They hadn't gone more than half a mile from the listening post, though, when they came upon a roadblock. You either stayed low and handed out your I.D. or you got shot down by a handy pair of plasma cannons.

Bishop didn't fancy either option. When the uniformed twit beside the road block stepped in front of them and started waving his arms, Bishop gunned the accelerator. The man dove out of the way at the last instant and they smashed the blockade, driving hard for open territory.

The cannons chattered away merrily at them, nearly causing the jeep to flip more than once. The blasted things weren't stationary, either; they soon hovered out of their sockets and started to pursue. Finally, after a glancing blow nearly took out the propulsion, Bishop half-turned in his seat.

"Can you drive, kid?"

X-23 blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"It's real simple, easier than a car. Just wave your hand over this plate; jeep'll move with you. Dodge if you have to; otherwise, stay on this course. I'll be back in a second."

"I'm SORRY?!" X-23 repeated, but Bishop had already popped his driver's-side door; he could barely hear her for the wind whipping past. Grunting to himself, he eased out of the cab and onto the top of the jeep, holding on quite literally for dear life. Didn't get any easier when X-23 had to swerve to avoid getting toasted, or the time she swerved too slow, and they took another solid hit.

*I am too damn old for this,* Bishop thought, *and that's not easy for a guy who isn't born yet.*

He extended his hand, returning fire with his concussive energy blasts: ZAP! ZRAACK! He struck a few glancing blows of his own. The guns stayed on their tail. One unleashed a salvo that struck near Bishop's hand-- he had to let go to save the appendage, and was a couple of fingernails away from losing his grip entirely. Bishop strained, couldn't find his leverage...

SHIKT! A pair of claws came up through the roof of the vehicle and straight through Bishop's thigh. He bellowed and swore, but it *did* stick him in place long enough to get his hold again.

"Okay... now I'm mad," he said, and fired.

BOOM! He struck one of the guns head-on. The other swerved to avoid its debris, bringing it too into Bishop's line of sight. He fired again.

"Boom," he said, and the second cannon followed suit. They streaked ahead into the night, now free of their pursuers.

Bishop pounded on the roof until X-23 retracted her claws, then maneuvered his way back into the pilot's seat and slammed shut the door. He glowered at the girl while clutching his thigh to staunch the blood; she looked innocent-- well, by her standards.

"We need to have you de-clawed."

"It's a flesh wound," she said. "Would you rather be roadkill?"

Bishop considered arguing the point; then he sighed. "Why can't you just give us gray hair by listening to the Backstreet Boys 24/7 like a normal kid?"

X-23 arched an eyebrow at Bishop's shaved cranium. "What hair?"

"Cute. So... convenience store first, buy some bandages. Then Rachel."

"Yeah," the kid agreed. "Then Rachel."

****

Americans used to call the Mississippi River "The Father of Waters," for its prodigious length and the many smaller bodies of water intertwined with it. Rachel Grey could see why: even to someone who had been across time and space and had once touched every mind in the Universe, it was an impressive sight. The morning was perfect for appreciating it, too: Clear and blue and bursting with green plants and flowers, and warm enough in early summer to make a body forget she was stuck outside of Dubuque, Iowa.

But not quite pretty enough to make her forget the part about everybody east of that river wanting to kill her.

"I thought I was used to it by now," she told Nathan Christopher Summers, this timeline's somewhat younger, less haggard version of her brother Cable. "I mean, I'm *from* the ultimate future hell. It doesn't get any worse than what I've seen. Maybe it's just the sheer number of bad timelines that gets me... so many ways everything can go wrong."

"Wrong's a point of view," said Cable with a shrug. "Maybe this is how it's supposed to be."

"War and killing and hatred all the time? My mother never would have believed that, and neither do I."

That made Cable laugh; he started walking down the riverbank ahead of her. Rachel jogged to keep up.

"Hey! Hey, what's funny?"

"You," he said, "and me. We really are alike, *sister*. Your mother was apparently this redheaded goddess of peace, and you'd do anything to be like her."

Rachel blushed. "Well, I didn't exactly mean..."

"Mine... now, mine was a killing machine. The humans feared her more than anything, called her Dark Phoenix in their media, or sometimes The Goblyn Queen-- that was a good one. They actually built a whole line of Sentinels just to contain her. When they finally tracked her down and assassinated her, millions of our people mourned. Alison Blaire played her in the movie version; brought tears to your eyes." Cable shook his head. "That's what my world does-- even the best of us murders without a thought."

Rachel touched his arm. "Like I said, I can so relate. But I also know you have to do what you can to make it better."

"Or just to finish it," Cable said. "That's what I do."

"So you're a soldier? With... the mutant army, or whatever you'd call it?"

He didn't answer right away. Rachel looked out across the river, where a couple of those hovering transports were skipping across the water. They all bristled with guns, as though everything in this future, right down to the pizza delivery guy, had to be heavily armed. Rachel remembered-- rather hazily-- Cable leading a group which had rescued her from a trip on one of those transports, saving her from her nightmare of becoming a Hound again. (* NXM #1) For that, she trusted him-- but it suddenly occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about his position or goals.

"I freelance," he said, looking at the ground. "Some friends and I patrol the line between the humans and our people, helping... those like you, who slip between the cracks."

Rachel didn't have to be a telepath to sense that was an incomplete answer-- but it didn't hurt. "Why not just join up?"

Cable sneered. "Why, so intellectual twits like Henry McCoy can order us all to lay down our weapons and sing campfire songs?"

"Doctor... so the Beast is here?"

"Oh, naturally, he's our great ambassador. They said the humans killed him, the other day. Turned out to be a false alarm. (* NXM #1) Damn shame about that."

"That's not fair!" Rachel said automatically, though she really had no idea whether this timeline's Beast was worth defending or not. But if he was around, he might just be the man to see about hopping timelines...

Cable put an arm around her. "Little sister," she said, though in a certain temporally screwed-up sense, Rachel was older, "you don't understand yet how things work here. But you will-- we're going to take care of you. You have my word."

"I believe you," Rachel said. It was mostly the truth. "But I can't just take care of myself. At least two of my friends were with me when I woke up in this timeline-- Bishop and X-23."

"Cute name," he said, arching an eyebrow. "That one of the humans' genetic experiments? Sometimes they don't even bother to name their pet muties, you know."

"Well, actually, she is," Rachel admitted.

"Heh! And you say your old timeline was better."

"No, I said it still has a chance to be better," she insisted. "That means my friends and I have to get home. They need us there."

His face fell. "You... can't stay a while? I was hoping you would..."

"I..." Rachel bit her lip. "I just really need to find them. We'll worry about the rest later."

Cable shrugged his broad shoulders and started walking faster. "We'll help you if we can-- but you should know, if they've been taken down to Vicksburg or Little Rock, or up to Canada? Lord help them. They might be dead already."

"They're not," Rachel said, refusing to acknowledge the possibility.

"Optimism. You're really not from around here." Cable stopped short. "I have to check the perimeter now. It'll take a while. Why don't you head back and give Neena the specs on your friends? We'll see what we can do to get them out."

"Thank you, Nathan," she said, and smiled. "You know, maybe we're here for a reason. I mean... we're pretty good at affecting timelines. Our's, other people's... yours wouldn't be the first future we put right."

"I'll wait for that," he said, unable to repress all the bitterness. Rachel offered him another smile, sadder this time, and retraced her steps down the river bank. Cable didn't believe, yet, what the X-Men could do. Why should he? She was just some redhead who popped into his timeline with his mother's looks and a crazy story. Once she was reunited with her friends, however, Rachel resolved to prove it to him.

****

Cable waited until his sister was out of view down the riverbank before retreating to a clump of trees a short distance inland. This would be a better place to talk. His benefactor didn't seem to enjoy bright sunlight.

The shadowy thing appeared between two trees, radiating its usual, inscrutable telepathic chill.

--You must help her find her friends,-- it said.

"I know," he replied. "It's handled."

--Do not seek to deceive me, Nathan Summers. Everything you know about deception comes from me.--

Cable frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

--There are more than two,-- it said, changing the subject. --I will show you where to find the others. One, in particular, must be approached carefully...--

Images appeared in the shadow: A dark-skinned woman, tall and powerful, commanding the very atmosphere around her...

Cable frowned. "The sky-witch? When you make enemies, you go all-out, don't you?"

--Afraid, Nathan Summers?--

"Hardly," he snorted. "You want her, you'll get her. Just remember: If you so much as try to *touch* Rachel, I'll..."

The dark cloud billowed. --Bravado. How typical of a Summers. You're all alike, boy.--

"I'm glad you realize that," said Cable, his glowing left eye piercing the darkness around it. "I trust you also realize what happens when we get angry."

The shadow said nothing, just faded away, and Cable breathed deeply for a moment. He had the distinct feeling the creature had just taken his measure. He wondered whether he'd impressed.

Whether or not he had yet, Cable decided, soon enough he would.

****

Early morning, the second day after Forge's capture.

Despite her best efforts, Storm had not been able to find Marrow and Callisto after their sudden departure the previous night; the two women had simply vanished, and Storm had begun to despair of finding them in time to save Forge-- until Callisto appeared at her motel room the next morning, bearing a message: Lady Sarah wanted to talk.

Far from being the disadvantaged Morlock urchin Storm remembered, the Marrow in this bottom-rung-on-top timeline really was nobility. Storm followed Callisto to an enormous Victorian mansion rivaling Xavier's in grandeur, in the city's traditionally affluent Lafayette Square neighborhood (now renamed Guthrie Square). Callisto passed it off as "one of Sarah's holdings," which made Storm unhappy. She did not approve of many of the choices made by her own Marrow, but at least that girl was acting from a life of desperation. What was this woman's excuse?

"Is it not dangerous, to remain here?" Storm asked Callisto, when they stopped before the mansion. "This city is on the front line. Forge and I fell victim to a human raid only a few miles away. If she has other places to go..."

"Try tellin' her that," Callisto said. "She's determined not to get chased off. That damn Colonel Gregson leadin' the local strike force might be at her door any day-- Sarah's only consolation is, she'll take a bunch of his grunts with her."

"Small comfort," said Storm, and could tell from the other woman's face that was an understatement. "What happened to her? To me? To...?"

"To the Morlocks?" Callisto guessed. "Well, it's like this: Morlocks here were a pack of mutants unlucky enough to get caught in New York when the Normals first hit us, ages ago. Overnight, we went from the cream of society to the dogs. Didn't give in, though. Kept together, fought 'em from underground hideouts. Those were the days, Wind-Rider. Then you came along."

"I deposed you as their leader," Storm said. Not a question.

"Yup. Did real good at first-- you got a mean streak, woman, when you've a mind to show it. Then you got captured on a raid. Next thing we know, our tunnels are crawlin' with Hounds. Most of us died, including Sarah's whole family. The rest wished they did, only *you*-- you came out in a prisoner exchange, good as new. Smart money says you sold us out."

"I do not believe I would do that," Storm said, "in any timeline."

"Really?" Callisto grinned. It was not a pleasant expression. "You're a goddess by nature, Ororo. Goddess gotta protect herself. Who cares about regular folks?"

"You underestimate me."

"Maybe." The older woman shrugged. "An' you underestimate Sarah. She an' I made it out of that hell, all by ourselves. Saw things that'd turn your stomach. It scarred her, worse'n me. Since then she's gone all-- forgive the expression-- Bruce Wayne on us. Spends every penny of her family's money hunting you down, for revenge. Thinks about nothing else. She'll kill you, kill Forge. For a while, I kept her in check, but she don't listen to me anymore."

"Paragon of self-control that you are..."

Callisto heard the question she didn't ask. "Yeah, I want my own back, too. It's too pat, though, smells wrong. I want to know the whole story first. My people deserve that."

"One question more." The sky overhead rumbled as Storm's eyes frosted over. "What happened to this other Ororo? Where is she now?"

Callisto shrugged. "Last rumor I heard, she fled to Africa and sought asylum in Wakanda. Nobody's heard from her since the fighting there got heavy."

Without warning, a bolt of lightning struck between the two women. Callisto jumped.

"If she yet lives," Storm said quietly, "I will have words with her when this is done."

"Bet you will," said Callisto with a nod. "Maybe I'll join you."

They approached the house cautiously, Callisto's senses primed for an attack. But nothing came until they climbed the steps leading to the front porch...

"Come on in," said a voice through the intercom. "Let's play on my turf, Ororo. If you're willing."

The door swung open. It was pitch-black inside. Storm caught a raised eyebrow from Callisto, answered with a frown of her own. She stepped inside.

The foyer and the chamber beyond were also dark, but Storm saw a doorway on the other end, faintly glowing with light. Although conscious that Marrow could assault her from anywhere, or that Callisto could easily put a knife in her back, Storm made her way to the door and opened it...

"Forge?"

He was in the center of the room, tied to a chair and nearly cut to ribbons, the floor wet with his blood. Storm couldn't tell if he was conscious, but the pain would have been tremendous if he was. Instinctively, she ran to him... and he disappeared.

"Not that easy, my lady," said Marrow's voice. "I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of a Danger Room-- a place for our kind to hone our skills. Well, that's what we have here. And a game."

"No--" Callisto said, but she was too late. She disappeared. Everything disappeared.

The light went out; the walls closed in on Storm. She was stuck between narrow walls that seemed to stretch out before her unto infinity, branching off in all directions. A maze.

"Here's the thing, Ororo," Marrow said. "In the 'real world,' Forge is probably right in front of you... but you can't see him. The only way to get to him is to run the maze. You find him, you can take him home. But I'm in here, too... and if I find you before you find him... well, sudden death in a dark, confined tunnel sounds like poetic justice to me. Don't you think?"

Storm sighed. "Marrow, listen to me..."

"I listened to you once, and everybody I cared about died."

CREAK-- Storm flinched as the walls to either side of her seemed to shrink-- nearly touching Storm on either side. She felt her breath coming quicker, threatening to overwhelm her judgment. She forced herself to step forward...

"I hope you'll be nice and snug-- oh, that's right. You're a claustrophobe. That's got to suck for you. But don't worry-- it won't last long. I'll be seeing you soon."

Her voice fell silent. Storm drew a shuddering breath. The maze felt *very* close, and dark. She took another step...

****

"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"

Hank McCoy, known to one and all as the Beast, had heard that question more than once in this new timeline. As before, he could only nod his massive head. He stood on the roof of Denver's Xavier Memorial Institute, with the Colorado skyline and the Rocky Mountains spread out before him, and tried to look old. It was easier today than it might have been a week ago; he *felt* pretty old.

The makeup helped, too. Hank's friends had dyed his muzzle gray and done what they could to make him look like the wizened Beast of this timeline, whom he was stuck impersonating. The rest would be an acting job, which Hank would have to pull off sufficient to fool the future-Beast's closest friends.

It helped to know Tessa, this timeline's older version of the mutant known as Sage and, apparently, his own X-wife here, pun intended. She'd done what she could in a night of heavy cramming to instruct Hank as to how his alternate self would act. The rest was up to him.

*Of course, being a star is nice, but my real ambition is to direct...*

Specifically, Hank would have liked to direct this timeline onto a more peaceful path, achieve a settlement to the war between humanity and mutants, and then go home where things made sense and humans only sent giant robots to kill his people *sometimes*.

Hank sighed. Too much pessimism, too little sleep. Normally he'd have left the snarky commentary to Monet St. Croix, the young woman known as M, who stood on Henry's other side looking cool in dark shades and, presumably, hoping not to run into anybody who knew she was twenty years younger than she was supposed to be. Tessa had assured them Monet was not a major player in this timeline (somewhat to the girl's chagrin) and should not have a problem fading into the background. Whether they could trust Tessa was something else to consider.

Hank spied something gleaming in the distance; the aircar they were expecting. Tessa gave him a tight smile: Here goes nothing. Their trial run before the big show was underway.

Monet frowned as the aircar approached. "Wouldn't you think they'd elect someone who could fly? I mean, what's the point of having a mutant society if the impressive mutations can't come to the forefront?"

"Such as yours?" Hank said with a smile.

"For *example*. 'Not a player'... I swear, if I had my future self here, I'd throttle her..."

Despite Monet's objections, the aircar made its approach, causing to whole roof to shudder, and finally settled on its landing gear. Hank stepped forward, expecting the ramp to open...

A woman's form phased right through the hull and leaped to the ground, throwing herself into Hank's arms in a bear (or perhaps a giant cat) hug. Hank arched an eyebrow at M: *Impressive enough for you?*

"Kitty!" he rasped, trying to sound two and a half decades older. "Delightful to see you, my girl! But shouldn't you have waited for your bodyguards?"

They separated; Minister of State Katherine Pryde was thin and graying, with a gaunt, lined face that barely reminded Hank of the girl he knew back home, but the twinkle in her eye was familiar enough.

"C'mon, Henry, bodyguards for me are a waste of payroll. Who can assassinate what's not even there?"
"There are those who'd try," Tessa put in.

Kitty ignored her and hugged the Beast again. "Besides, I couldn't wait to see for myself you were alive. You gave us a scare the other day, old friend."

"I was rather taken aback myself, Kitten. But fear not! You should know, all us cats have nine lives to spare."

"Same old Hank." She laughed. "But that's the last of that nickname, d'you hear? It's Katherine now. People don't take a Kitty seriously."

"Their loss, I'm sure," said Hank, guiding her to the elevator while her bodyguards brooded from a distance on their summary dismissal.

A few minutes later, in Hank's office-- or rather, his counterpart's office-- he poured Katherine Pryde a drink while Tessa and Monet looked on. Kitty exchanged pleasantries with the former, then paused in front of the latter.

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

Monet smiled, mock-sweetly. "Perhaps you knew my grandmother; she'd be about your age."

Hank cleared his throat. "She's... my aide. The daughter of a friend."

"Really?" Kitty returned the smile. "I'd have thought she was raised by wolves."

"Wouldn't that be par for the course?" said M, with a glance at the catlike Beast.

The two women circled each other, a little warily. Hank stepped between them. "I was... surprised to get your call."

"I'll come to the point," the Minister of State said. "I know you're supposed to meet with Matt Murdock tomorrow, to continue your peace talks. I've been sent to ask you not to keep that appointment."

Hank frowned. Monet looked relieved. Tessa showed no reaction whatever.

"Why is that?" he said. "I was assumption..."

"Things change, Hank." Kitty smiled-- again, a familiar expression, if with a few more laugh lines than he remembered. "Look... they hit us hard, two days ago. Killed mutants all along the front lines. They also tried to kill you, personally. The administration feels we have to respond in the strongest terms. In small words, Hank: They can take their treaty and shove it. We're not negotiating at the point of a gun."

"It's my choice," he said. "I hold no official position."

"That's true, and I can't order you not to go. But I am asking you... hold off on this. Appearances are everything... in politics, and in war. Don't make us look weak."

Hank stepped around his desk, sipping his drink. "Is this Katherine Pryde before me? For a moment it sounded like Emma Frost."

Kitty make a face. "Now, that was nasty."

"Sorry, dear. I calls 'em like I sees 'em, as the saying goes. The Kitty I knew years ago would have shared my starry-eyed idealism. I miss that."

Her eyes flashed. "The Kitty you knew years ago hadn't watched her world go to hell."

"Fair enough." Hank started to scratch at his muzzle, then remembered the makeup. "Katherine, I can end this. I can bring about the Professor's dream, just the way we always wanted..."

"Charles Xavier was proved wrong a long time ago."

"I'm sorry you think so." Hank drained his drink and set it aside. "You must let me try."

They stared at each other for the longest time. Taking a deep breath, Kitty rose from her seat. "Okay. But you promise them *nothing* officially, understand? And if it goes wrong, no offense... we never heard of you."

"But of course."

Kitty rose from her chair and hugged him again. "Be careful, huh, you big, dumb Beast? I don't want to lose you too." She wiped a tear from her eye. "Well... I have a busy schedule."

"I'll see you out," said Tessa, and she guided Kitty to the door. She pointedly opened it, rather than allowing the minister to phase. Kitty looked rather disappointed.

When the door closed, Monet gave a little derisive snort. "Well, *she's* lying."

"Based on what?"

"Oh, nothing. She's telepathically shielded, and she's very good. But it takes one to know one, and that woman's a witch. Charitably spelled."

"You're mistaken." He frowned. "It's *Kitty*."

"Not *our* Kitty. Frankly, Doctor, the sooner you get through your head that these are not the people we know, the less dead all of us are likely to wind up."

Hank started to object again, but at that moment Tessa reappeared, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"She's lying," she said, and her powers made her a pretty fair natural lie detector. "They're going to try to kill you."

"Oh, dear." Hank picked up the bottle again, poured himself another drink, and drained it dry. "Already I can tell it's going to be one of *those* days..."

****

Ororo Munroe couldn't breathe.

On some level, she understood that was silly, that she was in a normal room filled with holographically projected walls, and even the holograms were not *actually* closing in on her. The knowledge did not help. She wanted more than anything to scream, to curl up into a fetal ball and beg for it to end. She kept moving forward on pride and determination.

She forced herself to detach, to think clearly. She could not win under these conditions. Marrow could reshape the room to suit her will; she had every advantage.

Storm could change the conditions, of course, freeze or superheat the room in hopes of disabling the mechanism and driving Marrow into the open. But suppose Forge really was right in front of her? How could she be sure that her actions would not hurt him, as well as her adversary? For the time being, she would have to rely on her wits.

"Sarah," she aloud. "Listen to me, child-- I understand your anger. I have lost everything, just as you did. But I am not the one who hurt you."

"LIAR!"

Storm's instincts, honed by years as thief and hero, barely saved her life. She nearly bent in half as a bone boomerang whistled by at decapitation height. Storm tried to turn, but could find no room to maneuver in the cramped space. Even as she struggled, another shaft pierced the small of her back, knocking her down. She heard Marrow drop down behind her, her footsteps approaching...

Storm pulled the blade from her back, rolled, and threw it low. Marrow jumped over it, and Storm funneled a blast of air straight down the length of the corridor, disrupting her landing. Storm climbed to her feet, approaching carefully, her hands crackling with electrical energy...

"I am trying not to hurt you, girl," she said. "But..."

The words died in her throat. The labyrinth was gone. Instead she was facing Marrow in a chamber, wide and dark. Storm felt a tremendous relief at the extra space, but wondered why the other woman would surrender her advantage. Then she realized the chamber seemed oddly... familiar...

"Don't mind all this," said Marrow, climbing to her feet. "If we're finally going to have this out, I thought you might like an appropriate setting."

She drew another bone and charged, before Storm had a decent chance to process her surroundings. Storm dodged, her back screaming in pain as she used Marrow's momentum to throw her against the wall...

Storm gasped. The wall was already occupied. There was a blond man nailed to it, his wide, beautifully angelic wings skewered with metal spikes. He was bleeding... dying...

"Warren?" Storm said, thinking Sarah must have somehow called an image from Storm's own timeline into being. Then she realized the details weren't exactly right-- this was not Warren Worthington as he would have appeared when he was injured during the Marauders' massacre in her own time. The Avenger Thor had saved him then, but this Warren was clearly beyond all help. His uniform was different, and he was not surrounded by evil mutants... but by human soldiers and their Hounds.

There was also a woman, standing beside the human officer in charge-- *smiling.* She had Storm's face.

"Remember him?" Marrow asked. "He was our angel... came down here to save us... fought you, to buy us time, while we watched. He didn't have a chance against you, witch, and he knew it. We all knew it. Traitor! YOU KILLED HIM!"

"No," Storm breathed, dodging almost half-heartedly as Marrow attacked again.

The younger woman knocked her down, drawing back a blade for another strike, reaching high...

"No!" Storm said, hardly seeing her.

The blade stabbed down--

"NO!!!"

Lightning burst from her hands, knocking Marrow across the chamber, chasing itself around the walls, blowing out the holographic systems, making the illusions fade. Somewhere outside, thunder crackled and rolled. Wind and rain and sleet hammered home all at once, blasting out nearly an entire wall. The weather outside wasn't any better. Storm called more lightning, ignoring Callisto's hands on her from behind, striking out again and again to destroy this abomination...

"Ororo."

Storm flinched. Took a breath. Forge lay in one corner of the room, his chair having been smashed in her hurricane and his bonds broken. He wasn't as badly hurt as Marrow's illusory version; the bandages around his stomach were red with blood, however, and he struggled trying to regain his feet.

Storm ran to him, helping him, her sense of relief beginning to calming the weather...

"Gracious, Ororo," he said. "You do make an entrance..."

"I... apologize. I forgot myself. I..." She remembered Marrow, and turned.

Callisto already knelt beside the younger woman, cradling her in her arms. She offered a lopsided smile: "She's alive, Wind-Rider... lucky for you. You just knocked some sense into her, hopefully. Almost forgot what you could do, after all this time..."

"Callisto, I... that last image. Was that... accurate? Did I...?"

"Yup."

Storm's anger summoned a peal of thunder that would have made Thor himself jump. "You saw it?"

"Sarah did. You claimed you were under their telepathic control. Hounds do it all the time, turn us against each other. But your old pals know you too well, Ororo. You're stubborn as steel. D'you really think they could have made you do that?"

"No," Storm said. She walked out into the open, the rain and wind intensifying again as Storm took it under her conscious control, a whirlwhind made from her rage...

"If she is me, then her crimes are my responsibility," she said. Lightning flashed, punctuating the words: "I *will* find her. When I do, perhaps the Bright Lady will have mercy upon her soul...but I will not."

****

After a day on the road, Bishop had come to the conclusion that there was entirely too much farmland between northern Mississippi and Galena, Illinois. He never wanted to see another stalk of corn as long as he lived.

X-23 was much better at home. She liked the camouflage and the relative scarcity of people. She hardly said a word during the trip, but Bishop could almost see her ever-present "fight or flight" edge softening. Until around dusk, when they started nearing her target: then she perked up her ears like a predator on the scent and became ever more jittery as they approached.

They did the last mile on foot, creeping along the line of the Galena River toward large, geodesic dome in the suburbs of town. It was either the Telepathic Processing Facility or Epcot: Midwest.

They saw a couple of grunts, easily enough avoided, but the real concern so close to this facility would be Hounds-- brainwashed telepaths, being used against their own people.

Fortunately, Bishop thought he had a solution. He'd figured their commandeered ride-- probably all of Invictus' vehicles-- would be telepathically shielded, and damned if X-23 hadn't been able to cut out the mechanism, which Bishop now kept in his pocket. As long as it didn't give out suddenly, the humans' own telepathic inhibitor field would protect--

X-23 stopped short, sniffing the air.

"What is it?" Bishop asked, dropping to the ground beside her.

"Trouble," the girl said. "Be back."

"X, no..."

But she'd disappeared into the night. Hunter's natural instincts were hard to overcome, even if leaving his side meant leaving herself open to the Hounds. On the other hand, X-23's mind was from all accounts no theme park, so...

*Two possibilities,* he thought. *Either scanning her freaks 'em out so bad, they give us time to slip away again, or she comes right back at me like a heat-seeking missile. Either way, there goes surprise...*

A stirring in the underbrush, a few meters away. Bishop whirled--

"Betsy?"

A couple of human guards had arrived, all right, with their Hound on a leash-- this timeline's version of Elisabeth Braddock, still in her original Caucasian body, now gray-haired, and with the glassy-eyed stare Bishop had seen in his nightmares...

"There's a good old girl," said a patronizing fool of a guard, hefting his radio. "Base, this is Eagle. We got him."

"Sorry, boys," said Bishop. "Spoke too soon..."

He blasted away, careful not to hit Betsy but nailing the guy with the radio. He found his feet, started to run...

SHIKT. Bishop froze, turned slowly...

X-23 was standing behind him, snarling, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead as she fought their telepathic control...

"Better pack it in, mutie," said the remaining guard. "Else we do this the hard way."

Bishop fell into a defensive stance. "Guess that's how it'll be, then. Think you can take me, boy?"

The guard snorted. "I don't have to try. Your friend's a clone, mutie. One of our genetic experiments. They usually program 'em with a trigger scent in these cases-- something to make 'em kill automatically. I wonder what'll happen if-- thanks to my Hound-- she thinks she smells it on you?"

"Oh--" said Bishop, but he never got to finish his thought.

With an unholy roar, X-23 went berserk.

END

In Issue Three: Bishop versus X-23? The Beast versus Kitty Pryde? Storm versus... Storm? You'll have to read to find out...

See the other X-Men Eternity Titles: Uncanny X-Men, X-Force, X-Factor, and eXcalibur-- online now!

Scheduled Next: X-Force #2: "The Lion's Heart"