"New York New York, New York New York - it's wonderful town..."


"Yeah, so nice they named it twice. And you can't sing worth shit,
Rack. Get on with it."


The golden-haired man with the face of an angel smiled easily at the
surly rebuke, not sparing his attention from his work, "Now, now,
Victor. A man should take pride in his work. Take the time to do it
thoroughly. Enjoy it."


His partner muttered something inaudible and turned away. Perhaps to
conceal the fact that his hands were shaking. Victor Chernov
considered himself a good Genoshan and a loyal Neophyte but... Rack
was in a class of his own. And as Pike put it so eloquently once, that
class was "a sick sadistic sociopath."


The whistling sound behind him culminating in a wet 'thwock' and a
gagged sob of pain proved a little more than he could take. "I'll go
check on the guy."


"Do. And inform his royal majesty that I shall turn my attention to
him momentarily." Rack smiled at the woman in front of him, still
ignoring Victor, "That is, if he survives that long of course."  He
grinned, enjoying the look of burning hatred in the blue eyes. This
was a great day. "You know I really must compliment you on your place.
Did you hire a decorator? Great taste. Great. Of course, you had the
money, obviously. Tell me something? Why is it that you came back
again? Not that I'm complaining, you understand. It would have
been... difficult to make this appointment if you'd stayed on... what
is it...? Ah yes - Mojoworld. That's a really silly name, by the way."


Raising one eyebrow Rack awaited an answer with evident curiosity.
After several moments he smiled genially, "Oh, I'm so silly. Of
course, you can't answer." His eyes ran over the gagged and bound
form, tied to a chair, several welts harshly evident on pale skin and
the ugly mess of blood and skin in place of the right ear. "Well, Ms.
Blair, let us get serious."


The handsome face assumed a worried aspect suddenly, "I did mention that this is all a courtesy of the Neophytes, correct? Magneto lives and all that? Yes, good. Of course, to tell you the truth..." he kneeled pressing his lips close to Dazzler's left earlobe, "...I'd have done this anyway. Pity you can't scream for me."


Alison Blair, one-time disco sensation, one-time superhero, one-time
rebel and one-time queen closed her eyes. It seemed so surreal. So...
wrong. The pain of her clumsily amputated ear had deadened somewhat,
receding to a dull droning ache that flared to a piercing staccato
only if she moved. A lock of graying hair slid across her face without
her noticing it. Her mind seemed to be retreating by the second into
itself.


During the first moments of the attack and capture, it had
calculated feverishly the options of defense and escape but the energy
had seemed to ebb away. Ever since she had seen Longshot go down in a
crumpled bleeding heap, his leg broken in at least two places and God
only knows what else from the beating as he collapsed. Mercifully, he
seemed to have lost consciousness at one point and they dragged him
out, into the kitchen. Ironically it was she who was the main target
this time, it appeared. After all the wars. After 7 assassination
attempts and countless coups it was Magneto who would kill them...
from beyond the grave.


Something sharp and jagged pierced her leg just below the knew and through the red haze of pain she dimly heard that by-now familiar gentle tone talking. She tuned him out, the quick shallow breaths escaping her in rapid succession as the sudden fleeting feeling of cold forewarned her of another blade slicing into her shoulder. A small reprieve before the sharp cracking noise, as her finger became the center of her world, pulsating with pain and sending the tendrils of agony through her brain.


And then another. And another, too fast for her mind to take. As the blackness of shock enveloped her, she only had time to thank God that they didn't bring the children.


Victor sighed, the drops of cold water streaming down his face, his
will straining to block his imagination as it extrapolated quite
graphically on the hushed noises coming faintly from the main room.
"Fucking excellent. Of all the people, I get stuck with a bloody
psycho. Just great. Just fucking marvelous." He reached to shut the
faucet off when the corpse behind him spoke.


"Where... is... my... wife?"


"Holy Magnus! Jeez!" Chernov didn't even notice that due to the
clumsily placed hand, as he was feverishly backing away, he was now
drenched in water. His hands shook noticeably when he pointed at the
bloody object in the corner of the room, barely recognizable as a
human being, much less the Persona Royale.


"You're dead, man! I just checked your friggin' pulse a second ago!" A
thin white line widened slowly to split the crimson wreck of the face.
It might have been defined as a smile. Who knows, perhaps cobras smile
too. The faint, faltering flash coming from the remains of the left
eye settled unerringly on Victor's face. "I'm lucky like that. Where
is my wife?"


The initial shock fleeing, Victor glanced toward the main room
involuntarily, looking away quickly. "I'm sorry, man. Wasn't supposed
to be like that..."


Longshot closed his eyes, trying to block out the worst of the pain.
The scraping sensation... make that sensations... damn at least three
ribs gone. And on the left side too. One wrong move and it would go
into the heart... Pure luck it didn't already. Yeah. Luck.


God of all the days to leave Shatterstar and the rest of the Guard behind.


He opened his eyes again, just in time to see the kid wince and turn
away from the door. 'Can't move. Can't fight. Ali is in there...
think, you dumb... No anger. Concentrate.'


"Neophytes, right? That's what you said? Magneto Youth." He could
actually feel his life flowing slowly away from him, drop by drop.
Never thought he'd die like that.


"Huh?" Victor turned back, his stomach turning again at the image. His
mind helpfully replaying the memory of himself hitting Longshot in the
face while the former X-Man was down. Suddenly he caught up to the question, "Yeah. That's right."


"He'd never stand for it you know." Faintly surprised at how calm
he felt, Longshot raised his head to capture the eyes of the Neophyte,
"I knew him, you know. Magneto. Not well - we were enemies after all -
but... He'd never stand for this. Not this." Which is a dirty lie of
course. Lensherr was never a man to let ethics stand in the way of a
crusade. If he'd thought a little torture would serve the cause...


Victor dragged a hand through his hair, letting his eyes once again
slide toward the room, "He isn't gonna rape her, you know...." He
cursed himself as soon the words left his mouth. Yeah, good going Vic.
That makes everything just peachy.


The sudden loud snap and a wordless howl of unimaginable pain threw
his head toward the room, his hand instinctively going for the gun. He
even took a small hesitant step toward the studio when once again the
noise behind him made him whirl. Toward the most frightening vision of
his entire life.


Supporting himself with his right hand, two fingers out of his three
bent in a sickeningly wrong angle, Longshot was dragging himself
toward him, his other hand stretched out like a hungry claw, seemingly
reaching for Victor's throat. He never made it of course, the death
rattle heralding the inevitable only inches away from the wall. The
light over his eye faded slowly like the setting sun. As the King's
head hit the tiles, Victor suddenly realized that Longshot hadn't been
coming for him. He'd been struggling towards the door to the studio.



"Ah, you decided to come back, I see. Excellent. Excellent. I'll make
a man out of you yet, little Vicky. Now be a good boy and bring me
some ice." Rack smiled amiably at Chernov, absently wiping his hands
on Dazzler's hair.


"I don't think so, Franz."


The smile never wavered but it suddenly no longer reached the eyes.
But for the first time Victor was actually un-afraid. In fact, he felt
nothing at all, as Rack came to his feet slowly, letting Dazzler's
hair go. The singer's head lolled listlessly, her eyes empty of
reason, empty of anything but simple animal pain.


Chernov's eyes tracked the motion for the briefest of moments before
coming back to fix on his partner. That second was all that Rack
needed to start the change. He always morphed fast, Victor thought
with the same cold detachment that seemed to grip him ever since
Longshot's lifeless eyes looked into his soul.


All his life he hated his 'gift.' All his life he had accepted other
mutants for what they were - just people., people who could do more.
But never himself. Just a simple physiological mistake. Defective
endorphin receptors... So mundane for the flatscans. So simple,
meaning just a little bit less pleasure. Meaning just a touch less
enjoyment. But he was not a flatscan.


As the Rack lunged, still morphing in midair, the arsenal of the
omnimorph endless, Victor Chernov never even attempted going for his gun.


He was not norm. He was Homo Sapiens Superior. He was Neophyte. He was
Victor Chernov.


He was a neuropath.


And the God had given him the gift of pain.


The Agony smiled coldly into the Rack's snarl and set his brain on fire.


***


Anderson sighed and cursed silently, dragging down her goggles, "Damn.
She must have been tipped off. Damnitalltohell! I told him! If he'd
only signed the warrant and moved on them last week..." Suddenly
realizing that her troops were listening to her and nodding, Tam
scowled at them. "Well, what the hell are you standing around for?
Search the place! Shit." Spitting disgustedly she looked down at the
book laying under the still burning lamp, reading the outlined passage
under her breath, "... it is a grave mistake to believe that the death
of a Man will kill the State in every scenario. Quite the opposite is
often true in our times where the force of the personality is
magnified by the modern means of communication. The Cult and the
Legend tend to survive and even if the reins of state do change hands,
it is frequently simply a prelude to the war for the soul of the
people. Regrettably often the unilateral purges of the opposing faction
are the only solution. Perhaps the most ill-considered political
decision of recent history was to allow the emergence of Cargill's
Socialist-Conservative party in Genosha, legitimizing her views and
policies..." Anderson's scowl darkened and she turned the book over
squinting at the worn cover to make out the title. 'Modern Khanates:
One-Man States, Italy to Genosha.' by Trevor A. Whipper."


***


The gag came out hard and messily. The small spark of life that
entered Dazzler's eyes when Rack collapsed on the floor, howling
and clutching his head, grew. Her right hand twitched involuntarily as
she carefully wet her lips. Cautiously probing the edges of the broken
tooth with her tongue. Concentrating on that one sharp little pain to
drown out the rest. "Where is my husband?"


The sudden utter lack of emotion on Victor's face apparently was
answer enough as Dazzler closed her eyes, tears sliding slowly down
the bloody cheek, leaving a pinkish trail. She raised her head
sluggishly at a faint clicking noise and her lips moved into a strange smile.


"I'm sorry." Chernov's words seemed to remain hanging in the empty
studio for the long time after the silenced shot united the First
Couple of Mojoworld.



***
Katu grinned wolfishly as he sighted. The line of fire was perfect. His
Grin widened, turning into much more feral expression. The faint rustling noise to his right drew his attention and he nodded to Scanner, returning his attention back to the scope almost immediately. 'It was almost unnecessary with these', he thought with a satisfied chuckle, forcefully refraining himself from patting the Arquebuse. The Latverians had finally came through. Three of these... they wouldn't even leave cinders.


He shifted the cannon a bit, even his prodigious strength straining
under the weight, and grinned again as the familiar face swam into his
field of vision. Jo was right. They did send her.


No, the scopes were not necessary, but he wanted to be sure all the
same: "Magnus lives. Say good night, Chief Anderson."


***


"Fuck." Victor kicked the doorframe, for the first time allowing the
rage to surface. "Dammit, I can't fucking believe this!" He looked
around for the hundredth time, the smell of the spilt alcohol heavy in
the air. And still no sign of Rack's body. "Fuck! All right... Screw
it." Shaking his head, Chernov snarled silently and dropped the
matchstick on the pair of bodies at his feet, the blue flame spreading
quickly. He paused there for a second, watching the fire spread,
before leaving the apartment.


Rack laughed harshly as he finally saw the light. The crawl out of the
studio and to the elevator was hell. Every second he had expected
Chernov to put a bullet into the back of his head. But... here he was.
Just steps away from freedom. Just feet from the alley's mouth. He
froze suddenly as he heard voices. Loud. Arguing over something. The
huge shadow plunged the alley into the darkness for a second and then
he saw a winged woman take flight. He moved cautiously only to freeze
again when another figure silhouetted against the light. A man. Dark
haired and immaculately dressed, lighting a cigarette, watching the
woman leave with inscrutable expression. A man with sunglasses and a
long over-coat thrown carelessly across one arm. A perfect victim...


"Sir.. Sir... help me. Please. I've..." Rack coughed, only partly
feigned, as the man approached him, "I've been mugged. Please....
Don't worry!" Hastily raising his hand, the Neophyte propped himself
against the wall, presenting a picture of helplessness. He motioned
self-effacingly toward his legs, still curved inversely and distinctly
lupine, "I am not going to hurt you, I swear. I just need help." 'Come
on... come on.. closer, you...'


"Of course you do." The voice sounded strange somehow, but Rack
ignored the nagging voice of instinct as the man finally moved once
more, approaching him. Just a few paces off he stopped again, slowly
taking off the sunglasses.


The black-on-black eyes fixed the Neophyte, the latter's muscles
suddenly frozen. No control even for a scream as something in the stranger's right hand glinted in the stray sunray and he smiled genially, "They call me The Mangler... and don't you look good enough to eat."


***


"You all right?"


"Shit!"


"I'll take that as a yes, then."


"Shit! Ow! Damnit!"


"I told you. I told you so. Did I or didn't I tell you?"


"Oh shut up." Angelo said disgustedly, deftly ripping the bandage with
his teeth and tying it off.


Jubilee didn't appear to have noticed the glare and continued on,
almost trembling with suppressed energy, "I called it way back. I knew
we couldn't trust that bitch!"


"Jubes."


"What?!"


"You said that about every new member."


"And I was always right! Well... almost."


"Quiet." As always Emma didn't need to raise her voice, even Jubilee
subsided with the last mutter dying under her breath.


"All right. Angelo.. you look fine. Mr. Thomas -"


"I'm all right, Ms. Frost." Everett  stood, gingerly leaning against
the doorframe, carefully supporting his right hand with his left.


"I am sure you are. Franklin - escort Mr. Thomas to the medlab, if you would."


"Yes'm." Franklin grinned at Everett slyly, some color finally coming
back to his face, "C'mon, old man."


As Everett squinted - a pained expression, and protested that he was at his peak age, the White Queen turned her gaze toward the small figure huddling in the corner, looking detachedly toward the window. Frost's lips thinned imperceptibly and her eyes grew hard. "Now."


Angelo drew back, his instincts perceiving the threat from the slender
blonde woman beside him much faster than his conscious mind could
register it.  He almost jumped as the elbow jabbed him under the ribs
in, by now, all too familiar gesture, "Look who's finally here."


Holding back a somewhat cutting remark, Angelo settled for imperiously
ignoring Jubilee's whisper and simply nodding as the small room filled
up with the rest of the team. He even grinned a little as his mind
paused appreciatively on the leather uniform on Paige. Jono and Sean
were wearing those too, but in Angelo's private personal opinion Paige
had much better legs. As for Monet...


/Don't even think about it./


Yeah...


Sean was the last to step through the door. Noiselessly, surprisingly
so for a man of his mass. His face, pulled into a worried frown, made
seemed shockingly old by the array of lines and the unhealthy-looking
skin. The relapses of alcoholism, although long since behind him, had
left their mark on the former Interpol agent. Angelo realized with a
sudden shock that Sean was pushing sixty... Which of course meant that
Emma was..


/Don't even think about it./


...looking exactly as if she was still 18.


/Smooth, Espinosa./


Throwing Angelo a warning, half-amused glance Emma turned to the field
co-leader of the West Coast X-Men, "Monet, the shields are still a
problem. In tandem, tag blue-3 on my mark please."


The two telepaths grew immobile with unnerving abruptness, letting
their minds free. Moving cautiously as to not to disturb them, Angelo
tapped Sean on the shoulder, "How's everyone?"


Giving the telepaths one last worried glance, Sean half-turned and
lowered his voice, "Pretty good. Considering. The kids are excited but
nothing more - Artie and Leech will put them back to sleep. And the
upperclassmen..." Sean trailed off and Angelo winced in understanding.
Most of the older students at the Academy were quite old enough to
remember the Pogroms. Most of them had ended up here because of them,
in fact. So he could very well imagine their reaction at the sudden
disturbance in the middle of the night. "They gonna be all right?"


"Yeah. I think. Bedlam, Marrow and Proudstar are handling it."


Both fell silent again, watching the three silent figures before them,
vainly trying to guess what was happening. Of course it could have
been much worse. Much worse. Skin brushed his bandage absently, his
eyes once again coming back to the miserable figure in the corner. To
look at her, Alessa appeared to be totally unaware or indifferent of
two very powerful telepaths attempting to force their way into her
mind. She remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the paling sky
outside, small bitter tears trailing down her cheeks.


They should have taken more precautions, dammit. Should have known
better by now. Angelo squinted unhappily: Emma had in fact wanted to
make a deeper scan, risking the permanent psychological damage. He'd
overruled her then, one of the rare moments he exercised the right.
But that was the right choice... or he had thought so at the time.
Alessa was a telekenetic, not a psion. Emma herself stipulated that
the most probable cause for the shields of such strength would be
trauma. Self-inflicted memory block. Too clumsy and too strong to be
anything else. Damn, What the hell was taking them so long?


He scratched at the bandage again irritably. They were so freaking
lucky tonight...


"Can say that again."


Angelo raised a quizzical eyebrow at Sean, belatedly realizing that he'd
thought aloud. Sean continued, still in hushed tones, "If Franklin and
Olga hadn't picked today to sneak off to neck. If she'd set the bomb
just a minute earlier. If she'd picked southern wall for the
getaway - kaboom."


Angelo winced again. A stupid reaction, which Sean picked up on long ago, he was sure of it. Just as he was sure that Cassidy was baiting him, right now. They'd had the discussion already and nothing had changed.


He knew it was irrational, but Skin still felt responsible for the
Academy. He'd gotten them back together and into this mess after all.
All those years ago. Paige was still thinking that he did it for some
Dream or lofty goal. He snorted softly. Still kidding herself. He did
it for the same reason they all came back, eventually. Just as he
couldn't go back to the barrio again, neither could they just
disappear, blend back into their past lives. They'd outgrown them.
Became a part of something greater. And once you'd tasted that... He
snorted again. 'Growing philosophical in my old age. Split chance
prevented fifty corpses from ending up on my tab and I am woolgathering.'


As if to echo his thoughts Jubilee sniffed loudly, "What's taking so
damn long? C'mon!"


Monet's head whipped to the side suddenly, life flowing back into her
eyes and a horrified look swiftly following, "No! Emma, get out!"


Time slowed suddenly. Alessa finally moved, her head turning so
slowly, so very slowly. The green eyes, found Angelo's and he drowned
in them, noticing only absently as Monet started toward the teke and
stumbled, clutching her head. As Jono screamed silently. It took only
seconds of course, but to Skin it was an eternity. He couldn't look
away. Nothing else mattered suddenly but those eyes. So very green. So
very sad. Still weeping those small, bitter tears... "I failed him. I
failed... I wasn't strong enough... I'm so sorry."


As the neurobomb splintered the astral plane, forever obliterating the
mind of Alessa Carlisle, Angelo could feel nothing but cold and sure
dread as Emma's psi-pulse had time to reach them before she collapsed
in a boneless heap on the floor.


"Mansion."


His whisper did not even leave his lips before Paige's horrified  eyes
found his: "Sam..."


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