Chapter 9

Rumors ran rampant at any school, but in a school as small and close-knit as Xavier's, they take on a life of their own. Lorna's disappearance was quite mysterious and unexpected, unlike Rogue's. Though all had noticed her absent-mindedness, they chalked it up to post-attack stress and didn't think much else of it. Some people whispered that perhaps she had gotten pregnant and taken off, while others rumored that maybe she went off to join the Brotherhood too. Even the adults seemed somewhat mystified that a young, vivacious woman like Lorna would just take off.

On top of this, however, the plans for the new training program came out. Six students would be accepted in the beginning, with the program possibly being expanded later.

Bobby was the first student asked. Hank had lobbied for him, hoping the program would help give Bobby better control over his evolving gifts. Also, as one of the older students, he had a certain degree of seniority.

Paige Guthrie was selected next, thanks to Scott. Her desire to lead reminded him so much of his own ambitions are her age. The brightest student in his civics class, her analytical skills and love of knowledge made her a shoo-in, even without Scott's support.

Kitty was chosen as yet another member. Her intangibility would give her an advantage in battle, in that few things could harm her. Were a cover mission needed, Kitty was the ideal candidate. She would be the stealth of the team. Kitty also had a familiarity with computers which could come in handy.

Jubilee was selected on the account of her plasma bursts that resembled firecrackers. Along with Bobby, her mutant powers allowed for both offensive and defensive weapons.

Monet St. Croix was both the muscle and the flyer of the group. One of the most powerful students in the school, not only did she possess flight and super-strength, but also a degree of invulnerability and telepathy. Monet was the closest thing to perfect the team had, and she knew it. Her snobbery was no end of annoyance to Jubilee, who was often tempted to pop a few firecrackers at the Algerian girl.

Rahne Sinclair was the last student selected. The Scottish lycanthrope was not only gifted with her ability to morph into a wolf-like figure, but also possessed enhanced senses that rivaled even Logan's.

Ororo was to act as the sole teacher of these six students. She suspected that Scott would have liked to have headed the program, but to do so would have meant he would have to relinquish control of the X-Men, something he was not willing to do.

It was Bobby who ultimately coined the term "Generation X" as a title for the training team. All seemed to like it except Monet, who cared for precious little as it was. Their first official act as a team was to begin selected names. "It's hardly necessary," Ororo told them, "I doubt you'll see any actual combat." Still, the students insisted, charmed by the notion of being a bit more like the X-Men.

Bobby's choice of "Iceman," was understandable enough. "If I'm going to be an ice cube," he said self-deprecatingly, "I might as well give myself a fitting name."

When Jubilee suggested Paige adopt the title of Husk, she had meant it mostly as a joke. Paige's ability to shed her skin, revealing a new organic body underneath, had always reminded Jubilee of corn-husking. She had been sure the Southern blonde mutant would have been slightly annoyed, yet surprisingly Paige liked the name. When asked why she didn't react, she only shrugged and said, "it's true, ain't it?"

Kitty's choice of Shadowcat was slightly perplexing. "Cat for my name," she told her fellow students, "and Shadow because I'm as intangible as a shadow."

Rahne also made a slightly peculiar choice, namely, Wolfsbane. When asked about it, she refused to comment or explain. Paige, who'd been friends with the girl for a while, was the only one with a slight clue as to why the choice was made. Rahne had often been ashamed of the slightly canine features of her face, notably the shape of her nose and the thick fur-like sideburns that she had to keep hidden with her long, dark hair. The students at Xavier's, familiar with prejudice themselves, would never dream of so much as commenting on her appearance. Most of them possessed slightly atypical features as well, so her particular predicament was hardly noticeable in comparison. Still, Rahne remembered the way people in her old home used to refer to her as the Wolf Child. One night, shortly after arriving, she made an off-hand comment about wishing she possessed Paige's golden-child looks. When Paige told her there was nothing wrong with the way Rahne looked, she only snorted and replied "Ye dinnae understand. It's my bane to be a wolf."

Jubilee and Monet were the only ones who didn't really pick codenames, but for very different reasons. "Mine already is," Jubilee boasted. "Jubilee is the shortening of Jubilation Lee. I already like it, so why should I change?"

Monet, on the other hand, chose simply M. She'd refused to select one originally, on the grounds that it was childish and far beneath her. Jubilee's complaints, however, finally wore the Algerian girl down, and she agreed to simply shorten her name to the first letter. "I sincerely doubt my powers can be summarized in one word," she told them. "Unlike the rest of you, I have several powers."

Such comments from Monet weren't insulting simply because they were to be expected. Monet, who grew up in a noble family that split their time between Monaco and Algeria, had always been known for a somewhat abrasive personality. Her sarcastic comments and holier-than-though attitude had kept her at an arm's length from the other students, something she seemed perfectly content with. "I've no need to mingle with students here. It simply doesn't appeal to me."

"You don't like having friends," Kitty asked her curiously.

Turning her chocolate brown eyes on Kitty, Monet dryly responded, "I've hardly met anyone worth the effort."

Monet seemed to hold a particular aversion to Jubilee, a sentiment the short Asian girl shared. "I can deal with perfect," Jubilee had once commented. "I just can't deal with Monet. She's something else entirely."

A few other students seemed to resent some of the choices made to the team, either out of personal prejudice or simple jealousy. Tabitha Smith, a perky blonde freshman, had been particularly vocal. "I'm just as powerful," she'd boasted to all her friends. "With the exception of maybe Monet and Bobby, I could beat all of them."

"Ain't no reason to be jealous, Tabitha," Sam Guthrie told her. "Ah'm right perplexed as to why they'd want mah little sister instead o' me, but ah'm sure they've got their reasons."

The reasons were simple enough. While some of these students didn't possess the most powerful of mutations, the difference in their powers complimented each other in a way that a team composed entirely of muscle would not.

-----

It was a sensation of being bound and gagged inside your own mind. Seconds became an eternity, stretching out to the point where she almost couldn't comprehend it.

Lorna no longer had control over her own body. She had been shoved back, deep inside to the dark corners of the mind, and locked away to where she could barely register anything going on around her body. There was someone else in control of her now, but she couldn't see them.

She had questioned if maybe it was a telepath, but no telepathic invasion felt like this. She had prayed it was a nightmare, but she never woke up. All she knew was someone else was possessing her and she didn't even know who to fight against.

Occasionally bits of emotions or fragments of images drifted back to her. She could feel the energy coursing past her any time her powers were utilized. She could see some things, but not many. A group of scraggly looking mutants. A man with a diamond on his head. Images that meant nothing to her, but had a distinctly sinister feel.

-----

Rogue almost didn't think it possible that Pietro could drive faster than he moved. The white-haired boy zipped his cherry red convertible around the corners, nearly knocking Rogue off-center. Her super-strength was practically all that kept her rooted to her seat, but she loved it.

Quicksilver, as Rogue had begun calling him for his shockingly fast rates of movement, had stopped by the apartment earlier that morning to drag her and St. John out for some morning mischief. St. John, who never rose before noon if he could help it, couldn't be bothered to get out of bed, whereas Rogue had been all up for an adventure. Along with Pietro, they drove out of the city and up farther into the suburbs.

They came to a stop only when they came upon a park with an empty baseball field. "Hey come on, I wanna show you something," he said, already zipping out of the front and opening his drunk. Pietro grabbed a bat, ball, and glove from his trunk before slamming it. "Lemme show you what my speed can REALLY do."

Before Rogue had even shut her door, Pietro was already in the field, tapping his foot impatiently. "Slowpoke," he teased. "They oughta call you snail."

Finally, Rogue reached the field after trading teases with Pietro on her walk over. "Watch this," he said, zipping over to the pitcher's mound. Cocking his arm back, Pietro threw the ball and zipped over to home base, arriving well before the ball did. Grabbing the bat, he hit the ball and then zipped out to left field and caught it before it hit the ground. This display of his gift of speed impressed Rogue, which, according to the look on Pietro's face, was the desired intention.

"No autographs, please," he said. "The Yankees ain't got nothing on me."

"Alright hotshot," she said, picking up the bat. "Ah used to play sandlot baseball back in Mississippi. Let's see what ya got."

Pietro grinned and cocked his arm back. The ball shot out at a speed most humans would have had trouble hitting. Rogue, however, used all her strength and speed to slam the ball. Her super-human strength shot to ball high into the sky until it couldn't be seen anymore.

"Hey, no fair," Pietro said, zipping over.

"Not feelin' so cocky now, are ya, Quicksilver?" she teased.

"Yeah yeah," he said, begrudgingly. "So anyway. I hear you're buddying up with my dad."

"What?" Rogue said, turning to look at him curiously.

"Magneto," Pietro said. "He's my dad. Didn't Mystique tell you that?"

"That gal don't tell me anythin'," Rogue muttered.

Pietro shrugged and sat down on the ground. "She has her reasons, I guess. I keep it quiet too. Being the son of a global terrorist isn't exactly something to brag about.

"So why are ya hangin' out with cards like Mystique?" she asked, curiosity spreading over her face. "Can't exactly help ya reputation."

"She's a good person, albeit a little insane. She always treated me well, at least. My mom didn't like her, or any of my dad's friends hanging around. She left Dad when me and Wanda were really young. He was a lot older than her anyway. I think she wanted more from life than what he had to offer."

"Wanda?"

"My twin sister. She's finishing college right now. Doesn't want to have anything to do with my dad or any of his friends. I guess I don't blame her, but I can't cut him off so easily."

"So ya don't agree with him?" Rogue asked.

"I agree with some of it. I don't agree with how he goes about getting his way." He grinned at her briefly. " Me and Dad are both arrogant assholes, but that's about where the resemblance ends."

"He ain't so bad," Rogue said. Upon Pietro's incredulous look, she laughed. "Ah know. Me an' ya Dad ain't exactly the best of friends. Ah guess ah can understand where he's comin' from though. Side effect of havin' him in mah head."

"I can't imagine what it's like for you," Pietro said, playing with some stray twigs that were lying on the ground. "Does it get noisy up there with everyone."

She shrugged. "Not so bad anymore. It's actually been real quiet recently. Even Carol's shut up. Ah guess she must be fadin' too. Can't say ah'll miss her."

-----

Carol had to fight back her snort as she listened to the conversation. Safely hidden behind one of Rogue's mental blocks, Carol peeked through, catching glimpses of what was going on around her. Fading? No, Carol was still all there, unlike the other specters. Logan, Cody, Magneto... they'd all disappeared ages ago, lost in the depths of Rogue's psyche.

Only she remained, masking herself in total silence. If there was one thing Carol knew, it was how to wait for something. Years of training had taught her how to read a person easily. Living inside of them made it even easier.

Contrary to what people thought, Rogue didn't think all that much about her mutation. This surprised Carol, as her impression of the girl had been that of a girl who was completely focused on herself. While it was a large part of her life, Rogue was hardly consumed by it. Over a year of living with her mutation had trained her to accept it. She wore her gloves and scarves like other girls wore make-up. It was ritual.

In fact, Rogue barely thought about herself at all. Though the girl was perceptive, she was also very simple. She was not the type to analyze things to see how they related to her. If something happened to her, she might be depressed or upset, but eventually dealt with it. Her attentions were constantly focused on other people. Logan, Mystique, St. John... they held the bulk of Rogue's attention as the three most important people in her life.

It disturbed Carol to see how much of Rogue's attention Mystique had commanded. Originally a detested adversary, Mystique had become something of a mother to her, although the Southern girl would never admit it.

'Fool,' Carol thought to herself.

Carol knew more about the girl than Rogue herself knew. The girl who'd always prided herself on being unpredictable was an open book to the former government agent. Her strengths and weaknesses were all on the table for Carol to pick through.

Now, she just had to wait for the right moment.

-----

Alison slipped out of the church that night secretly. She couldn't say why she was leaving or where she was going, but she knew she had to leave.

The street was deserted, smoke billowing up from the manholes in the pavement. She pulled her jacket around her more tightly and started skipping down the road. Noise from a bar attracted her, and she slid in past the bouncer, who seemed to be dozing off in his chair.

The pretty blonde immediately drew some attention from the patrons of the bar, who mostly consisted of gruff looking men. Defiantly looking around, she strode up to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender took one look at the obviously underage and laughed, but gave her a beer anyway.

Idly, she wandered around, surveying the crowd. The room was small and dark, lit mostly by red lights that hung from the ceiling. A group of leather-clad men occupied the pool tables, while another pack of men played poker.

She drew towards the poker table, occupied mostly by younger-looking men. One table, which held three poker players, attracted her in particular.

"Deuces wild, hommes," one of the men, donning dark glasses, said as he dealt out cards. A gruff looking man with spiky hair and sideburns gave a slight growl to the other dark-haired man, who just grinned and called the other man by name. Logan.

Another man, donning ruby red glasses, stood behind the two, observing the game. The three men obviously knew each other, from the way they cracked jokes. Alison stood a couple feet away, watching the three play.

"Y' gonna join, cherie, or y' gonna watch all night," the man in the dark glasses said, pushing a chair out with his foot. Alison hesitated, but with a charming grin from the man, she sat down.

"I'm not a particularly good player," she said, picking up the cards he tossed to her.

The man named Logan snorted and put his cigar out. "That's okay, the Cajun's gonna cheat anyway."

"Dat's not true," the Cajun man said. "Don' listen t' Logan dere. I never cheat."

"Remy there is a first-class fibber," the man with the red glasses said. Then, holding out his hand to Alison, he continued. "I'm Scott, by the way."

"Alison," she said, glancing at her cards. A couple of Queens. Nothing big.

"So what brings a girl like you to a place like this?" Scott asked. The other two men broke into laughter.

"Jeanie wouldn't be happy with you, if she saw you hitting on Alison here," Logan said, cocking an eyebrow at the other man.

Scott stiffened at the laughter. "I'm just asking a question. Don't listen to them," he told her. "Remy was raised in the swamps and Logan's Canadian. I think that explains both of them."

"Watch it Bub," Logan said, glancing at his cards.

A large, drunk man who'd been eyeing Alison from the pool tables stumbled over and, with a heavy drop of his hand on her shoulder, slurred "Whatsa gal like yer doin' with these idiots?" Scott stiffened slightly, donning the 'fearless leader' look that Jean gave him so much hell about. Remy just winked at Alison and fingered a couple cards, while Logan didn't even blink, as if he didn't notice the guy was there.

"I'm just trying to play cards, here," Alison said, removing the man's hand from her shoulder. The brute stepped back a second, anger and confusion crossing his face.

"You just blow me off, girl?" he finally asked, upon deciding he had, in fact, been dismissed. Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her hair back and screamed something incoherent.

By this time, Remy, Scott, and Logan had all stood from the table. Remy and Logan, all too familiar with barfights, made a quick sweep of the room, scanning for any possible friends of the man. Seeing none, they turned sharp glares on the intruder.

Before they could do anything, however, a blinding flash of light shot out from Alison's hands, and the drunk man dropped her hair, stumbling back while grabbing his eyes. "What'd ya hit me with, you bitch?!" he screamed, rubbing at them desperately.

The people in the bar buzzed, some angrily. "You see that?" "What'd she get him with?" "There a weapon over there?" "I bet that girl's one of them muties." A mixture of anger and concern reflected on the faces of the patrons, which Scott surveyed with some wariness.

"I think it's time to go," he said, grabbing his coat. "Alison, come on, we'll give you a ride." The four of them made their way out, passing by the man, who was on the floor, cursing profusely.

-----

Malice typically kept perfect control of her emotions. In fact, control was something she'd always prided herself on. Yet, for the first time since she could remember, Malice felt complete and utter rage.

"You tricked me," she hissed.

Nathaniel Essex, better known as Sinister, didn't even turn away from his computer. "And how, precisely, did I trick you?" he asked. The tone of his voice was completely devoid of curiosity. Genetics, not emotions, had always been his topic of choice.

"You promised me a host, not a prison," she said, slithering around the table to face him. Essex briefly looked up to face the angry green-haired woman who'd once been Lorna Dane. The face, now devoid of all Lorna's typical expressions, resembled that of a puppet turned to flesh. "I'm bonded," she continued, slamming her fist on the computer. "I can't leave the body."

"That is unfortunate," he replied, again turning his attention back to the computer. "Perhaps a side effect of possessing a magnetically-talented mutant. I may look into it, but for now I have more pressing matters."

"You knew this would happen," she growled. "You knew that by trapping me in this body, I would have to do as you say to get my freedom. You had this entire thing planned."

"The only thing I have planned, Malice," he replied, unflinching, "is Vertigo's completion. The clone has nearly reached maturity, and just in time. But you are right in one respect. If you wish to ever be separated, you shouldn't anger me."

Malice was not pleased. "You will regret this," she said simply, knowing she had no other response. The threat seemed empty even in her own ears. When the scientist gave no indication he'd even heard her, she angrily stormed off to her chambers.

There were precious few things she hated more than losing control. One was being controlled.

-----

The first and last time Jean used Cerebro, it nearly destroyed her mind. Untrained, she had accessed the machine, drawing on every ounce of control the Professor had ever taught her. Truth be told, she'd never really expanded her telepathy, instead relying on her own telekinesis. Living in such close quarters with the world's greatest mind, she'd been witness first hand to the kind of toll it could take on a mind. Xavier often displayed signs of exhaustion and frustration, a side-effect from being constantly assaulted by the thoughts of those around him. She knew he mostly kept his talents switched off, yet often thoughts broke through. Jean herself had often picked up on other's emotions, but not nearly to the extent of the Professor.

She'd half-expected to go insane during the experience. Upon delving into the machine, she immediately felt her mind stretched taut, as if it were a work of art being mounted to a frame. Every thought and emotion she'd ever felt were drawn out and slammed in her face, creating a veritable chaos. Surrounded by these repressed thoughts, she'd thought she would be lost, trapped within the confines of her mind. Somehow, however, she was able to pull herself together and wade through the mess.

Once she was able to pass through her own thoughts, she found herself surrounded by others. These thoughts, however, were far neater and contained than her own. Almost immediately, she was privy to hundreds upon thousands of secrets never murmured out loud. Scott, Ororo, even Jubilee... all of their thoughts were accessible to her. The level of power she was able to harness shocked her almost as much as the temptation to use it. Somehow, using the machine, she'd been able to tap into the powers of all those around her, feeding off them like a vampire. She felt her telekinesis and telepathy expanding with the influx of power, soaring to astronomical heights. Whether she could ever harness that much power again was a mystery that eluded even her. It may have been a one-time thing, pushed by a need to help Rogue and the Professor, whose lives depended on it. It just as easily could have meant an expansion of her own powers.

Since then, she hadn't touched the machine. She'd barely breathed a word of the experience.

Secretly, however, memories of the experience enthralled her. Though powerful herself, Jean had always been content to stand on the sidelines, operating as a member of a team, rather than a leader. Scott had always fancied himself as the most powerful member, and Jean supported him. His leadership was everything to him, something Jean was hyper-aware of. She'd never even considered challenging him.

Idly, she wondered how he would react to her developing her telepathy. Would he support it as much as he'd supported her telekinetic exercises? Would he be concerned about her well-being and sanity? Would he fear that she might one day take his role as leader? These, and thousands of other questions, poked at the back of her mind.

The thought that she'd wielded that much power roused some pride in her, which she was sure Scott would chide her for. Honestly, though, she wouldn't have blamed him. Who wielded the most power in the team was not really an issue. Scott had the power of the sun behind his eyes. Storm controlled all the elemental forces. Even the run runaway Lorna could control the magnetism of the earth. What they could do individually had never been as important as what they could do together.

-----

The hall was silent, save the steady ticking of a grandfather clock down the hall. The students who typically clogged the halls of the Massachusetts Academy were in class, shut up behind the heavy oak doors.

The soft clicking of a pair of women's heels sounded, coming from the direction of Headmaster Shaw's office. The woman, the personal assistant of said Headmaster, was tall and slim, with close-cropped black hair and pale, creamy skin. Thin wire-rimmed glasses sat perched on her nose, and a leather folder was clasped in her arms.

She rapped on a heavy door marked "E. Frost, Headmistress" and a woman's voice shortly answered. "Come in, Tessa."

Most people, in Tessa's position, might have asked how the Headmistress knew who it was. Perhaps they would crack a joke about being psychic, to which the Headmistress would only smile calmly, betraying no secrets on her face. Tessa, however, held no such curiosity. She only walked over to a large, ornately carved desk, at which a slim flaxen haired woman with ice blue eyes sat, tracing her fingers along the polished surface.

Emma Frost was one of three daughters of Heyward Frost, a wealthy New England businessman. Growing up, Emma inherited her father's cunning and avarice, along with all of her mother's charm. Little had changed over the years.

She was partial to expensive white outfits that fell just short of indecent. Sebastian Shaw, who served alongside her as Headmaster, had asked Emma to join his Academy after making her acquaintance via a social club they both belonged to. The Hellfire Club.

"What goodies has Shaw sent for me this time?" she asked, barely glancing at Tessa, who stood stiffly in her tailored black suit. The dark-haired assistant said nothing, merely setting the folder in front of Emma, then retracting her hands. The headmistress idly flipped the folder open, her crystalline eyes falling on the papers before her.

After a moment, a smile curved around her pale pink lips. "Now this is interesting," she said, flipping through the file some more. "How is it we were not aware of this before?"

"Professor Charles Xavier is a very private man," Tessa responded. "His school is staffed almost entirely by former students. Enrollment is by invitation only, and is not based on wealth or social standing."

"Any human students?" Emma inquired, leaning forward.

"None we could detect."

"Well," Emma said, leaning back. "It appears we are not the only school interested in 'gifted' students." She was silent a moment before continuing. "Tell Shaw I'd like to handle this one personally," she said. "It's been so long since anything quite this interesting came my way."

Tessa nodded shortly, then walked away without a word, her black heels clicking on the paneled floor. Emma glanced at the files again, giving them more attention. "The Xavier Institute," she said quietly, hardly aware she'd spoken aloud. "Yes, interesting indeed."

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