X-Men

87

The Depths of Darkness and Despair

Brought to you by Stephen Crosby and Will Short

Imagine that the only world you had ever known was one of darkness. For as long as you remembered, you’d had to feel your way through the wet, cold, pitch black tunnels that was your home. The life that you knew was nothing but darkness, confinement, and pain. Oh yes, the pain.

Your skin felt as if it was constantly on fire, something that wasn’t hard to imagine with it’s blackened burnt appearance and the light smoke which emanated from your body. All it took was a simple touch, and you could make another feel your pain. You wanted to hurt the men in the white cloaks, the ones who had raped your mind and body, made you into what you were. But you could not hurt them, could not help but follow their commands. You were their protector, and you didn’t even possess the mental capacity to realize it.

You were not alone. Many like you, the undesirables of the world, had been desecrated and mutilated in this fashion, so that few of them resembled anything that could have been called human. Even children had been violated by those true monsters, though you hadn’t seen any of them for a while. Freedom and escape was a concept unknown to you. The only way to end the pain, so far as you knew, was in the cold embrace of Death herself.

You and several others were out in the tunnels that day. There was one you especially didn’t like, a jittery little man-thing that had large eyes and a massive dent in his head. Every time he looked at you, you remembered things you had tried to forget. Things that the white cloaks had done to you, things that still made you whimper in fear at night. If you could, you would have stayed as far away from the memory man as you could have. Sadly, you had no choices where the white cloaks were concerned.

Something else was in the tunnels. Something that the white cloaks feared, had sent you and the others to meet. Five dark figures, two of whom resembled experiments, while the others reminded you of white cloaks. If you were able, you might have wondered if perhaps the white cloaks were now fighting amongst themselves.

But such a thing would have been impossible, you would have realized. The dark man with the pale face and the strangely stripped cape commanded the white cloaks. They seemed to fear him even more than you feared the white cloaks. Once, when an experiment had gone crazy and began attacking everybody, the pale face killed him with little effort. It was then that you knew why the white cloaks feared, and so you came to fear as well.

Whomever they were, those intruders to the tunnels scared the white cloaks. You had been ordered to kill them, as had the others. When you had first faced those intruders, the memory man had hurt them, and badly. He had them on the ground, shaking and screaming. One, a beautiful intruder, screamed something that had hurt your eyes. How could a sound hurt eyes?

It had been white, and very bright. If you could have remembered your past life, before the white cloaks took you, you would had recognized this as light. The woman had screamed light, something that had caused you and the others great pain.

Frightened by this pain, you ran. The water hissed as you waded through a flooded tunnel. Looking behind, you had made out a faint glow of red. Whimpering, you tried to move faster. Then there was pain in your back, as though you had been struck by a brick thrown very fast. Falling beneath the water, you struggled to breathe, and to get out of the warming water.

Trying to swim, you shuddered when you felt a cold breeze. Hissing filled the air, and you saw the other experiments ahead of you fall. You cried out in pain when something small but sharp jabbed into your shoulder. Your arm had become numb. Then your knees.

Even if you still had the strength to struggle, you could not, for your body refused to respond. Helpless, you sunk into the water. Deep within your mind, you were thankful that the pain would soon be gone forever.

Cyclops flipped the body over with his foot. Looking into those lifeless eyes, he still felt the effect of the creature’s power. The moment when he’d held his dying son before the Askani woman. She had said she could save him, but only by taking him into the future forever.

Not a day had gone by that Cyclops hadn’t thought of that moment, questioned his decision. But then the memory became twisted slightly, with him forcing the Askani to take Nathan away. Rage boiled up within Cyclops. He opened his visor wide, and destroyed those damned eyes with a single optic blast.

Closing his visor, Cyclops looked up at Archangel. "You didn’t have to kill them."

Arms crossed over his chest, metal wings glinted maliciously behind him, Archangel just smiled. "That sounds rather hypocritical coming from a man that just smashed a corpse’s head. They’re animals Cyclops, in both mind and body. We have no way of knowing how many they are, what powers they possess, or how they might react to possibly being freed. We’re also in no position to take prisoners, or to leave behind potential threats, weak as they are."

"He’s right Cyclops," Dazzler said. An aura of light shone around her, illuminating the tunnel for hundreds of yards. "Under the circumstances, we can’t afford to be soft."

Cyclops looked at Dazzler, completely blown away by the changes she had gone through. The Allison Blaire before him was certainly a far cry from the light-hearted, colorful disco-queen from years before. She had grown darker, more militaristic as a result of losing her memories from the Siege Perilous and living for years as a rebel on Mojoworld. She had even taken to carrying a portable CD player with rock music instead of disco. Claimed the louder music allowed her to generate brighter, more powerful light.

"When we get to the main hideout," Cyclops said at last, "I want casualties left to a minimum. Make enough noise, and we should be able to cow these poor creatures into submission."

"Speaking of which," Blockade, the large Irish mutant, cut in. "Wolfsbane is back from her scouting."

Cyclops looked past Blockade, whose frame filled the tunnel. Peering down the tunnel, it’s darkness virtually nonexistent through his visor, Cyclops easily made out Wolfsbane rushing towards them.

"I managed tae trace their scents," Wolfsbane panted, trying to catch her breath after having raced through the tunnels. "The things they be doing, ach, those awful things, they be doing them in the Alley!"

Cyclops nodded. Of course, where else in these tunnels would there have been room for such horrendous experiments. "We’ll rest for a few minutes, then move on. Wolfsbane, you’ll take the point. Blockade, you come in behind her, and I want you both to deal with those poor mutations. Archangel, I want you to go high up the moment we get there and rain down your feathers. Just go for paralyzing them, not killing them"

Archangel nodded curtly. His wings, however, rustled disturbingly. "I’ll do my best, but I can’t make promises."

"Then I will," Cyclops says. "If anybody dies in there, I amputate your wings. Dazzler, I want you to light up the area as soon as you can. Then you and I demolish all the equipment there is."

"Better make sure nobody gets caught in an explosion," Archangel quipped. Cyclops gave him a cold look.

Robert Drake, the Iceman, smirked in self-satisfaction as he looked on at Longshot. "I don’t know about you, but I think the session is over," said Iceman. "Computer, end program."

The setting of a devastated city faded away, revealing the presence of the advanced Danger Room. This vast training area was as long as a football field, twice as wide, and was completely empty save for two individuals. One was Iceman. The second, Longshot, was stuck against the wall. He was encased from the neck down by a thin sheet of ice.

"I’m impressed, Longshot," said Iceman. "Even Wolverine can’t help but shiver just a little." As Iceman advanced slowly on the imprisoned Longshot, the ice that made up his body swiftly melted away. Revealing, or perhaps becoming, flesh clothed in civilian clothes made from unstable molecules.

Longshot shrugged. Or at least he cocked his head to the side the way many do when they shrug. "I was made to handle a lot worse," he said. "Physically, I’m sure my circulatory system is slowing down, and hypothermia is setting in, but I can barely register it. A lot of feelings like fear and pain just don’t reach my brain, courtesy of Mojo and his makeup artists. After all, how else could I be expected to do all that stunt-work and death-defying action?"

"A little luck doesn’t hurt either, I guess," said Iceman. While he approached Longshot, he reached out towards the ice sheet. "I had better let you out though. Dazzler would probably turn me into a giant prism or something if certain extremities were permanently affected."

"No need, thanks," said Longshot. "I can let myself out just fine." Longshot smiled. "And we’re still on the clock."

The ice over Longshot’s right leg cracked and shattered, and Longshot’s leg shot out. Iceman had no warning, and caught the boot of Longshot’s foot solidly on his normal jaw. As Longshot freed himself from the cracked and melted ice, Iceman was sent sprawled to the floor with a jaw that ached terribly.

Before Iceman could have reacted to the sudden change in his situation, two small blades thudded into the floor on either side of his head. Each was exactly level with his eyes, and less than a centimeter from his head. Longshot smiled, placed one foot on Iceman’s chest, and flashed four similar knives in each hand.

"Bang Bobbo," said Longshot. "You’re dead."

Iceman just shook his head and chuckled. "That’ll teach me to be overconfident against a guy with luck on his side. Okay Longshot, you win. Now get off me."

With a starry twinkle in his eye, Longshot leaped off Iceman. As he somersaulted, Longshot plucked the two knives from the floor and slipped them with the others into the pouches strapped across his chest. Longshot then landed in a twisting roll, back-flipped to his feet, and bowed before the rising Iceman.

Iceman laughed. "Figures. You can’t do anything simple without showing off."

"That would go against my upbringing," Longshot shot.

Before Iceman could have responded, his mind suddenly exploded with a pained cry. "Argh!" Iceman cried. He almost lost his footing as the echo of anther person’s pain washed through him. When it passed, Iceman noticed that Longshot had felt it too. "So much for luck," Iceman muttered.

"Ughn. Did you happen to recognize the voice screaming in your head?" Longshot asked.

"Aw damn," Iceman muttered. "It felt to me like a general, indistinguishable voice, but I’m sure that wasn’t what you felt."

"You are correct sir," replied Longshot. "The voice I felt was female, and I think I even saw the mental image of Jean screaming."

"No fair," said Iceman. "You hardly know her."

"Well, as the one in this house who knows her best, maybe you should be the one who should go see what’s wrong?"

Iceman nodded, and rapidly shifted his body from clothed flesh to smooth ice. "And you go check out anybody else who felt that mental scream. All those kids must be bawling their hearts out."

While Longshot leaped into action, Iceman slid down the patch of ice he’d formed along the floor. He’d merged his feet with one section of ice, and created ice behind it to propel himself forward. In this manner, it had only taken him a few seconds to exit the Danger Room and reach the Med-Lab. Much faster, Iceman noted with satisfaction, than it would have taken Longshot to cross the same distance.

Inside the Med-Lab, Iceman found Jean Grey sprawled semi-conscious on the floor. Next to her form, lain out on the bed, was the monstrous and, thankfully, unconscious body of the woman that had been Jennifer Walters. The She-Hulk.

Very concerned at the state in which he found Jean, Iceman rushed inside and knelt down next to her. "Jean," said Iceman cautiously. "Longshot and I felt your scream, as I suppose everyone in the mansion did. What happened?"

"Ugn," Jean muttered. Iceman decided that she was still too disoriented to answer his questions clearly. Icing up his hand, Iceman lightly patted Jean on the cheek. With a start, she sat up, her eyes wide and very much awake.

"Bobby!" Jean Grey screeched. She rubbed her cheek hard, and gave him an exasperated look.

"Sorry, but I had to snap you out of it," said Iceman with a shrug and a smile. "So again, what happened?"

"Give me a minute to catch my breath at least," Jean said. She rose unsteadily to her feet, then sat down into the chair that was close by. Jean then looked down at the She-Hulk’s comatose form, a saddened expression on her face. "I had entered Jennifer’s mind, with the hope that I could discover more about what it is that has happened to her. I found myself in vast, desolate plains. It was empty and dark. I searched the mindscape for what felt like hours, but I couldn’t find a trace of Jennifer’s old self."

Her eyes still focused on She-Hulk, Jean Grey shuddered. "And then, as impossible as it seemed, the ground shook. Again and again, it shook, more forceful each time, until at last I saw it. This, the primal mind that has taken dominance within Jennifer’s mind, was leaping towards me. I tried to stand my ground, but when she reached me, when she attacked me with a cry of ‘She-Hulk smash!’, I was hurled from her mind amidst a backlash of pure raging emotion. The pain was so great, I almost couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry Bobby, I must have instinctively spread the pain out to the rest of you."

"Don’t worry about it Jean," Iceman said. "A little pain is nothing to most of us, though the children will need a lot of soothing. And who knows what might have happened to you if you hadn’t spread the pain out."

Jean shook her head. "It’s not that Bobby. I mean, I am sorry for what I did, but what concerns me most is that making contact with She-Hulk’s mind hurt me so much. I’ve seen into the minds of my highly emotional and mentally dangerous individuals, including the Hulk. None of those experiences affected me as much as this one did."

"So....maybe whomever’s responsible for doing this to her including some sort of mind-trap?" Iceman suggested.

"I would have detected something like that. Also, I’ve been noticing the signs these past few weeks." Jean rubbed her temple, as though massaging a headache. "My rapport with Scott has been waning, and I’ve had trouble even with surface mind scans. It’s not just my telepathy. I’ve been having difficulty with my telekinesis also. My mental powers have been diminishing, apparently in conjunction with my pregnancy."

"Well then there you go," said Iceman. "If it’s a side-effect of the pregnancy, probably the result of a hormonal imbalance, then it’s temporary. You’ll be taking a leave of absence from the team anyway."

"I suppose you’re right Bobby," said Jean. "A little discomfort is an easy price to pay. And at least I won’t feel so unused when I’m left out of missions. Still, with the Professor and I out of commission, it’ll leave the X-Men with virtually no telepathic resources."

"Trust me Jean, the X-Men have been through worse situations." Iceman offered Jean his hand. "Now what I take you upstairs and make you a triple-banana-split with hot chocolate, nuts, jelly, and fifteen different flavors of ice cream?"

"Yeah, that sounds great," said Jean. As she stood up, she took another look down at the unconscious She-Hulk. "Seeing her like this, Bobby, it scares me a little. For all we know, this change she went through is the result of the radiation already in her body. She could just be constantly mutating, becoming more like the Hulk because of the radiation. It could be nobody’s fault, and something that just happened."

Iceman looked down at She-Hulk, and shook his head. "I honestly doubt that Jean. Jennifer had been pretty much the same hot self for years. And let’s not forget she was with the Fantastic Four for a while. If Reed Richard could find signs of future mutations, odds are there wasn’t anything to find. If this change is the result of the gamma radiation already in here, it’s because those bastards triggered it. Just don’t worry about it now Jean. When Scott and the others come back, we can call in Moira and the Professor to help Jennifer."

Iceman went quiet for a minute before he added a final thought. "I wish we could call in Hank though."

Jean nodded, her face saddened. "When we get the chance Bobby, we’ll go see Hank, and then we’ll deal with this new Brotherhood."

Iceman slammed his fist against the wall. A large section of it immediately iced up. "We should be on this now Jean!" he said loudly. "As soon as we heard about Genosha, we should have been there to deal with it! The mutate rebels are armed and running rampant over the island, killing everybody they can find. Hammer Bay is rubble. All the Legacy Virus research is gone, taken during a distraction that cost thousands of lives. Then the Toad announces this new Brotherhood on Evil Mutants on national TV, and we do nothing! What’s the point of selling ourselves as a sort of mutant police if we just sit around while mutant terrorists kill people."

Jean placed her hand on Iceman. "Take it easy Bobby," she soothed. "They started it, but we’ll end it. They hit one of us, but we’ll hit all of them. When they move again, we’ll be ready for them. But until then, you just have to wait."

After a minute, Iceman smiled. "I wait better with ice cream. Let’s go."

Moira MacTaggart hurried down the hallway, exhausted both physically and emotionally. That day had been another in a long succession of active days, with Moira speaking before thousands to educate on genetic mutations. At colleges, city council meetings, and campaign rallies, Moira had been run ragged, doing her part to help Professor Charles Xavier.

And in all that while, Moira had been working hard to avoid a myriad of questions. How did she and Rahne escape from their self-quarantine on Muir Island? How could it be that she was cured of the Legacy Virus? Unfortunately, the recent cure that Apocalypse had released served only to escalate these questions, and gave the suggestion that Moira had possibly dealt with the devil himself.

Fumbling for the keys to her hotel room, Moira laughed at the thought. No, she hadn’t dealt with Apocalypse, but sometimes she wished she had. Moira had been infected with the Legacy Virus, given a death sentence. It was gone now, she was alive, but at what cost? Shrouded with secrets, lying to her friends, Moira was ashamed of herself, and afraid. Afraid that eventually, when she least expected it, the marker would be called in.

Blinking back tears, Moira MacTaggart opened the door to her hotel room. She took several steps inside before she paused in horror. It wasn’t her room.

Frightened, Moira turned, but the doorway, the hall, was all gone. She was surrounded by a smoky darkness, a place she had been to once before.

"Greetings Mrs. MacTaggart," said a cold voice behind Moira. "I’m so pleased that you could come. Please, I would prefer it if we spoke face-to-face."

A cold chill enveloped Moira, and she found herself turning against her will. There, seated before her in a vast chair that had not been there before, was a man she had prayed to never see again. The long strips that were his cape crept and moved around him, as though if their own free will. His dark clothes and hair were sharply contrasted by his pale white skin. His eyes glowed blood red, and as brightly as the large red jewels imbedded in his chest and forehead.

The gentleman, of course, was Mr. Sinister.

Mr. Sinister met Moira’s eyes, and beckoned her to come closer. "As you know, Mrs. MacTaggart, we had come to an agreement. You’re life had become mine, and thus you would do my bidding until you fulfilled one of two stipulations. One is, of course, that you save my life."

Mr. Sinister laughed. It was long, deep, and curdled Moira’s blood. "The second would be that you give me the life of another. As the first stipulation is impossible for you to accomplish, that leaves you with the second as your salvation."

Mr. Sinister raised his hand, and on both sides of his chair the darkness subsided. On one side, bound by the strips of Mr. Sinister’s cape, was a young boy in the early stages of puberty. On the other, bound in the same way, there knelt a small, middle-aged woman. Both their eyes were glazed over, and Mr. Sinister looked down at each one with amusement.

"Nanny here thought that she could steal some of my experiments," said Mr. Sinister. "When she realized her mistake, she sought the protection of the X-Men. I have been spending the past few days teaching her and her young charge that when you steal from me, nothing can protect you." Mr. Sinister’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a snarl. "Nothing."

"The saints have mercy," Moira gasped. "Wh-what have ye done to them."

"That is not for you to know," Mr. Sinister replied. "However, in her attempts to make me stop. Nanny here has been telling me some interesting things. Apparently, the Summers clan is about to gain a new member."

Realizing what Mr. Sinister was driving at, Moira quietly wept.

Sparks still flew from the shattered pieces of equipment. The thick, rancid smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Worse than the smell, there was the faint sizzle of cooking meat, and the sight of the faint smoke curling from the dead bodies. Death and destruction filled the area that had once been the Morlock Alley.

Wolfsbane stood crouched over the sea of corpses. Her sense were virtually overwhelmed by the sensations of death that had surrounded her, and she felt sick to her stomach.

"They all be dead," Wolfsbane wept. "It could nae’ve happened but recently. Oh lord, tae bodies still be fresh!"

Archangel strode over the bodies of the dead towards Wolfsbane, the other three X-Men behind him. "She’s right Cyclops." He breathed in deeply. "The rats haven’t even come to feed yet. I’d say this definitely happened after I arrived in the tunnels. Maybe even after our initial encounter with those mutates." Archangel barked a rough laugh. "Now I don’t feel so bad about killing them. Wherever they went, they have lots of company."

Wolfsbane turned to Archangel, her teeth bared. "Shut up ye monster! These poor souls be dead, and ye mock them!"

"Quiet, both of you," said Cyclops. He gazed out at the smoldering bodies; used the advanced circuitry of his visor to alter his perceptions. "Focused plasma bursts. For many of them, their organs were incinerated instantly. I’m picking up some minor ion traces in the air, meaning whoever did this fired on these people from above. From the number of blasts and trails, and the fact that several overlap, this was the work of several individuals."

Archangel knelt next to a corpse, and rose holding a white sheet. "Not all of these are mutates. Looks like a few of the human scientists were caught in this massacre. Looks like they died as quickly as everybody else."

"More than they deserved," Dazzler said.

"Who did this though?" asked Cyclops. "This equipment is completely shot. Something tells me Shadowcat wouldn’t be able to get any data out of the computers. From what I see, these mutates were killed in such a way that any attempt to extract information on how they got like this would be useless. Look at how quickly they’re decomposing."

Indeed, the bodies did appear to be breaking down on a molecular level, turning to dust before the X-Men’s eyes.
"At this rate, they’ll be nothing left inside of an hour," said Archangel. "I see what you’re getting at Cyclops. This wasn’t just as massacre. This was a cover-up."

"That does nae tell us who did this," Blockade said.

"T’is awful," Wolfsbane cried. "I cannae stand this anymore! T’is nae else for us here, let’s go!"

"In a minute Wolfsbane," said Cyclops. He peered upwards, and frowned. "Dazzler, light up this entire shaft. All the way up."

As Dazzler raised her arms, Archangel spread his wings. "You think we aren’t alone Cyclops?" Archangel asked intensely.

"Just be ready for anything," Cyclops replied. "Light it up Dazzler."

For a moment, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana blared throughout the Alley. Then the music disappeared, and light shimmered around Dazzler exactly in beat with the song. Dazzler looked upwards, and the lights spiraled up through the shaft of the Alley, fully illuminated the area.

High above the five X-Men, their presence revealed by the light, floated two Prime Sentinels. They gazed down at the X-Men with eyes that glowed a deep, sinister red.

"Presence detected by five mutant designates," one said coldly.

"No kill order no longer applies," stated the other. "Anonominity must be maintained. Preparing to terminate subjects."

In unison, the two Prime Sentinels raised their arms. A burst of plasma shot out of each palm. The X-Men scrambled to avoid the plasma blasts.

Archangel swung his left wing in front of him. A plasma burst splashed harmlessly against the metallic wing. "I love how these machines explain everything they do." Swinging his wing back, Archangel fired a hail of metallic feathers at the Prime Sentinels.

Numerous feathers thunked into the Sentinels, but they barely reacted. "Paralytic drug ineffective. Physical contact required to counteract techno-organic matter."

"Blockade, fastball special with Wolfsbane on my signal," said Cyclops. "Take the one of the left Dazzler."

Opening his visor, Cyclops fired a crimson blast of concussive force. Nearby, Dazzler had let loose with a barrage of multi-colored lasers and solid photons.

However, an instant before the concussive blast struck the Sentinel on the right, an opaque red plate slid over it’s chest. "Initiating ruby-quartz layering." The concussive blast struck the plate head-on, and was harmlessly absorbed.

Dazzler, however, seemed to achieve more success against her target. The barrage of varied light blasts slammed into the Prime Sentinel. "Warning! Inability to counter act all threats! Sustaining extreme damage!"

Most of the Prime Sentinel’s outer layering had been torn away by the laser and photon blasts. After one of it’s legs was sliced off, the Prime Sentinel fell out of the sky and crashed amidst the bodies of those it had slain only a short time ago.

"Forget the fastball special," Cyclops shouted. "Blockade, tear that thing apart until there is no chance of it repairing itself. Archangel, go slice the other one apart. Cover him Dazzler!"

"Gladly," Archangel and Dazzler both said at the same time. As Archangel leapt skyward, Dazzler unleashed another volley of varied light blasts.

But this time, the Prime Sentinel was ready. "Energy signatures analyzed." A thing shield of energy formed in front of the Prime Sentinel. The lasers and photon blasts slammed into the shield, but it was holding. It also held against a volley of Archangel’s metallic feathers. "Source of assault found. Countermeasures initiated."

The air around the Prime Sentinel rippled for a moment. Suddenly, the light shining around Dazzler faded. Shocked, she opened her mouth to yell something. However, nothing came out. Cyclops quickly understood what the Prime Sentinel had done, and dived towards Dazzler. He tackled her to the ground just as a plasma burst struck the ground she’d been standing on.

Rolling to his feet, Cyclops motioned Dazzler to keep moving. Opening his visor, Cyclops released a concussive blast to intercept the plasma burst that had streamed towards Wolfsbane. Fortunately, while Blockade had been struck by a blast, it appeared to have no effect on him. He just continued pounding and ripping into the remains of the Prime Sentinel at his feet.

Rushing about randomly, Cyclops looked up with his visor’s infrared scanners activated. He saw the image of Archangel dodge one plasma burst and deflect another with a wing. Cyclops then saw the faint images of metallic feathers hurtled at the Prime Sentinel, but they failed to connect. Wolfsbane leaped out of the path of two falling feathers.

For the next few seconds, Cyclops saw Archangel flying around the Prime Sentinel. Clearly he attempted to out-maneuver the Sentinel, get in a position where his feathers could connect and possibly cripple the machine. Unfortunately, while the Prime Sentinel was slowly, it’s computerized mind was allowing it to remain out of any trap the Archangel may have lain. At it still managed to pepper the ground with rapid plasma fire, keeping Cyclops and the others on the ground off-balance.

Rolling to avoid one blast, Cyclops fired a short concussive burst up at the Prime Sentinel. That the blast had no effect told Cyclops that the Prime Sentinel was completely protected by ruby-quartz, possibly an entire layer. Cyclops couldn’t see the ceiling at all, couldn’t risk a blast at it for fear for bringing the whole Alley down on their heads. For the moment, Archangel was on his own.

Maybe it was heroism, or maybe Archangel just got impatient, but he suddenly closed in on the Prime Sentinel. His wings spread wide, Archangel careened towards the Prime Sentinel. Every plasma burst it fired was dodged by Archangel with ease, a true testament to the winged X-Man’s aerial agility. At last, one of his wings spread out behind and over him like a glider, Archangel thrust his second wing forward like a sword. He skewered the Prime Sentinel straight through the middle.

Sound returned, and the glow of light reappeared around Dazzler. They could all clearly see Archangel and the Prime Sentinel floating over them. The Prime Sentinel was anything but limp, jerking and sparking as then spikes from Archangel’s wing extended out of it’s body.

The glow of it’s eyes flickered faintly, then slowly fainted. A smile on his face, Archangel let the Prime Sentinel drop. One small piece at a time.

"Pick up what you think can be salvaged for information," Archangel called down. "I’d say we’re done here."

Rachel Summers stood outside the gates of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Her shoulder-length red hair blew in the cold wind, a cold that Rachel hardly noticed. Tentatively, she placed her hand on the gate, and drew warmth from the thoughts and memories she could feel from within the mansion’s walls.

Images filled Rachel’s head; images of happiness and family. She saw friends laugh and play, teenagers happily training in the use of their abilities, and saw lovers commit themselves to one-another. Tears flowed down Rachel’s eyes as she relived the image of her parents walking down that aisle together, man and wife. For close to a century, that was the one image that sustained her the most through the hardest and most difficult of times.

However, the bad appeared to Rachel’s mind’s eye, alongside the good. The Black Queen Selene, killing the first man Rachel met in this time, trying to kill Rachel again and again. Wolverine, doing the unthinkable in order to stop Rachel from ridding the world of Selene once and for all. Ahab, hunting Rachel to this timeline with his accursed hounds, nearly forcing her back into his service. And finally, Rachel entering the timestream to save Captain Britain from that very fate, for all intents and purposes ending her life in this era the moment it became worth living.

"But now I’m back," Rachel Summers whispered. "For however long it is, I’m back, if only for one thing. To make amends for past mistakes. To say hello to myself. To say goodbye for the last time." Rachel laughed to herself. "It’s time I came home."

Pushing the gate open, Rachel Summers walked towards the mansion.