X-Men

by Stuart Moore

  “What have you done with them?” he demanded. “Storm and the others?”

  “I’ve been… tapping their minds. Collecting what they know, gaining valuable bits of, shall we say, intel. I’ve learned a lot about your school, your team. A lot about you, too.”

  “Are they alive?”

  “I play a rough game, Scott, but they’ll recover. So far.” She took a step forward. “I have something else in mind for us, though.”

  He felt rooted to the floor, unable to move. He could smell her perfume now—a sharp, intoxicating scent.

  “I’m not attacking you, Scott Summers.” She reached out and touched his chest. “I’m giving you a chance. Shaw is… well, our relationship is complicated. You know how that goes.”

  I do, he realized.

  “The point is…” She smiled. “I might prefer a different partner. Someone less steeped in the stifling traditions of the club, less rooted in the past. Someone more my equal.” She raised her head toward his, touched his chin. “Imagine,” she breathed, “your X-Men, soldiers in the most exciting game of all. A game with rules, rewards… punishments…”

  Her lips were inches away now.

  “…and you, their White King.”

  Her words were absurd, insane. And yet, there was something about this woman… He found himself drawn closer, mesmerized on a level he could barely understand.

  Jean, he told himself. Think of Jean! She’s just come back from the dead, for the second time. You can’t betray her now, can’t be taken in by some telepathic trickery—

  Emma pulled away. She turned, raising an eyebrow.

  A deep-red glow appeared from a branching hallway, expanding to fill the corridor. As Cyclops watched, the light resolved into the fiery form of a bird of prey, its flaming head whipping from side to side in silent fury. At the creature’s heart stood Jean Grey. Her eyes flashed bright, then darkened to a smoldering, inhuman yellow.

  As she turned to face Frost, every inch of her body seemed to pulse with rage.

  “The White Queen,” she said.

  Emma’s eyes went wide—the first sign of doubt, of weakness, that Cyclops had seen in her. She studied the Phoenix, watching it for a long moment yet betraying no fear. When Emma turned back to face him, a strange emotion seemed to play across her face.

  With a shock, he realized it was pity.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Scott Summers, I am so sorry.”

  * * *

  DIRECTING THE X-Men to the Frost complex had been easy. Navigating the maze inside? That was hard. Kitty hadn’t exactly memorized the floor plan. On her previous visit, she’d been too busy running for her life.

  Midway down a narrow corridor, she heard footsteps and froze. She phased through the wall, into a small supply cabinet, and waited until the heavy tread of boots faded into the distance.

  Think, Pryde! Where did Jean Grey say the holding cells were? What did she read in that guy’s brain? Kitty paused only momentarily to consider the absurdity of that thought. Then she phased back into the hallway and continued on her way.

  She ducked in and out of the corridor, hiding whenever someone approached—doctors in their lab coats, pawns in those creepy masks. She barely managed to phase through the wall before a trio of knights, in their heavy red armor, ran past with guns drawn.

  It’s getting easier to use my power, she realized. Is this what it’s like to be an X-Man? Even with all the danger, she had to admit: It doesn’t suck.

  The corridor dead-ended at a massive steel door. Glancing around quickly, she ducked her head down and charged through— then stopped cold, suppressing a gasp.

  The room held three cages, all suspended from the high ceiling. Storm occupied the first one, with Wolverine in the second, and Colossus—Peter—in the final cage. Slumped inside the barred enclosures, they all looked drugged. None of them looked up at her arrival.

  Kitty started toward Peter—but no, Cyclops’s orders had been clear. “Free Wolverine first,” he’d said. “Then stand back.”

  She moved toward Wolverine. He knelt on the floor of the cage, almost naked, his hands gripping the bars. He really looked like an animal, a mindless beast. Not even hostile—just helpless.

  “W-Wolver…” she said. “Logan?”

  He didn’t look up. She reached toward him—and felt a wave of dizziness.

  The cages, she realized. They must… do something to your brain! Backing off, she circled the cage. On the side facing the wall, an LCD touchscreen with a small keyboard jutted out above the cage’s central lock. The screen was mounted on a metal arm, far enough from the cage that she could reach it without feeling wonky. Kitty rolled up her sleeves and cracked her knuckles.

  “Time to hack this bad boy,” she said, then raised a hand to her mouth, terrified that someone might have heard. Holding her breath, she listened.

  Nothing.

  * * *

  FIVE FRUSTRATING minutes later, she still hadn’t found the command to open the cages—but using the touchscreen, she had managed to hack into the Hellfire Club’s main server. The menu page bore the club’s insignia, the stylized “H” and pitchfork that she’d seen on their hovercraft, with animated flames rising up from it. Subliminal images winked on and off, too fast for her to make out.

  She browsed the menu. A page with a comedy mask, adorned with a sinister mustache. A message board devoted entirely to whips. An auction site with an alarming selection of leather clothing.

  I’m in the Dark Web, she realized. There are subsites here devoted to slavery, human trafficking. What else are these guys into? How deep does their network go?

  One thing’s for sure. This isn’t “suitable content” for a thirteen-year-old!

  Wolverine let out a groan. Kitty looked up from the screen. Frustrated, she swiped at the lock with the back of her hand. Her power activated instinctively, protecting her from harm. As her hand passed through the mechanism, the lock clicked open.

  She backed off, startled. Huh, she thought. Guess I don’t know everything about my power. Maybe I need some of Storm’s training after all!

  The cage door swung open, and Wolverine rolled out. Kitty held out her hands, caught him—and together they tumbled to the floor. Logan groaned again, and clutched at his head. Then he saw her.

  “You’re… the kid.”

  “And you’re surprisingly heavy.”

  “Why’s it so… flamin’ hard to think?”

  “It’s the cages—they make you dopey. Come on… you should be okay in a minute.” Still eyeing him with alarm, she led him away from the cage. Logan moved like a wounded animal, all sharp motions and low grunts. She knew he was one of the good guys, but he was also the most frightening man she’d ever met.

  “Not just the cages,” Logan growled, louder and angrier this time. “That ice lady… she did somethin’ to my head.” He glanced at the cages holding Storm and Colossus, then growled again. “What’re you doin’ here, kid?”

  “I’m rescuing you!”

  “All by yourself?”

  Before she could reply, a bolt of force slammed into her from behind. Kitty twisted around and tried to phase, but it was too late. Some sort of charge surged through her, sapping her strength. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

  * * *

  “OKAY, MUTIE. Freeze it right there.”

  Wolverine glared at the two pawns standing in the doorway. Normal humans. No special powers, except for the weapons in their hands.

  A wave of dizziness passed over him. He’d felt this way once before, back during the Weapon X project. When he’d been kidnapped and drugged, his skeleton forcibly bonded to a layer of unbreakable Adamantium.

  What did that witch do to me?

  The dizziness passed. Ignoring the armored men, he crouched down to check on Kitty. Her eyes were closed, but her pulse was steady.

  “Let’s climb back into that cage, mutant.” The pawn’s mask distorted his voice, but his gun hand shook slightly. “Nice and
slow.”

  Wolverine turned toward him, holding up both fists. “Chief, you just made the biggest mistake of your life…”

  Snikt.

  “…and the last.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  JEAN’S POWER was a song inside of her. Loud, pounding, drowning out all thought, all reason. She could barely hear the words of the icy woman standing before her.

  “So,” Emma Frost said. “Jean Grey, not so dead after all.”

  Jean glared into the White Queen’s eyes. When she spoke, her voice filled the air, echoing inside Emma’s mind. Jean barely recognized it herself.

  “I understand you consider yourself something of a telepath.”

  Frost maintained eye contact, but took a step back. “You and I—we’re not so different,” she said. “Restless, powerful women. Driven by need, and surrounded by men…” Her eyes strayed briefly to Scott Summers, who stood watching. “…who will never, ever understand.”

  Jean stepped forward, sending mental tendrils out through the air. Frost deflected them, managing to keep her thoughts concealed. But Jean could see the effort written on her face.

  “I know you,” Jean said. “I know your petty games. Your ‘Hellfire Club.’”

  Frost laughed.

  “You think this is the Hellfire Club?” she gestured around. “This hamster cage, this glorified office park? No. Oh no, dear. The Hellfire Club is as old as the trees, as primal as the fires of the human heart.” She smiled. “Be careful you don’t get burned.”

  “Tell me, little Queen.” Jean gestured toward Cyclops. “Did you offer that warning when you tried to take that which is mine?”

  Scott flinched. A flicker of fear crossed his face—or was it guilt?

  Frost studied him for a moment. She seemed to be searching for words, struggling to express some unknown concept. When she turned back to Jean, her expression was oddly soft. Almost… kind?

  “You’re so… bound together,” Emma said. “Caring, well-meaning, yet weighed down by your shared history. You’re—”

  “What?” Jean felt the power, the rage, building inside her. “Say it.”

  “It’s… not my place.”

  “Tell me. Tell me what you see—what the White Queen decrees.”

  “Jean,” Scott said.

  Again, the song. Deafening, red hot, filling her mind. Pure wrath, passion beyond imagining. Mind on fire, talons poised to attack. Flaring bright, spreading its wings.

  Frost moved closer, almost to the edge of the flame. She looked into Jean’s eyes, her gaze wavering only slightly.

  “You’re doomed,” she said.

  With an inhuman cry, the Phoenix struck.

  * * *

  THE BLAST lifted Cyclops off his feet, hurling him backward. He cried out, shielding his face from the heat, and struck the wall with a dull thud. Then he slumped, dazed, to the floor.

  Looking up, his vision blurred, he saw the two women facing off in the narrow hallway. Jean’s power was like a living thing, a writhing talon of fire emanating from her outstretched hand. Emma Frost held both hands to her head.

  “I do,” Frost said. “I do consider myself a telepath.”

  The Phoenix claw reached out, trailing fire, and grabbed hold of the White Queen. Frost struggled, but the flame construct held her tight. It lifted her into the air, shook her, and slammed her into the wall. Plaster and metal buckled and fell away, revealing a sterile medical laboratory on the other side.

  Jean Grey smiled.

  A familiar BAMF sound, and a whiff of brimstone. Nightcrawler reached out with a three-fingered hand and lifted Cyclops to his feet.

  “What…” The blue-furred mutant turned to stare at Jean and Emma. “What in the world is happening?”

  Storm and Wolverine sprinted into view. Colossus followed behind, carrying a limp form in his arms. “Kitty!” Cyclops said. “Is she hurt?”

  “She will recover.” Colossus lowered the girl to the floor, and she stirred. “She was struck by a force bolt.”

  “I’m fine,” Kitty said, rubbing her head. “Just a little—what the holy crap is Miss Grey doing?”

  Cyclops whirled to look. Emma Frost had regained her feet, thrusting her head forward to project rapid-fire mental bolts at her adversary, so intense they were visible to the naked eye. Jean stood her ground, fiery psi-waves rippling out from her. She seemed unconcerned, unaffected by her opponent’s attack.

  She’s playing, Cyclops thought. Toying with her prey.

  Ceiling tiles rained down. Cyclops gestured for the others to retreat—but Wolverine shouldered past him, almost knocking him down.

  “Jeannie?” Logan said. “She’s alive?”

  “Oh,” Storm whispered.

  “Apologies, mein Freunde,” Nightcrawler said. “I had no time to tell you.”

  “Cyclops,” Storm said, staring past him. “That woman… the one battling with Jean. She is the one who captured us—who probed our minds.” There was a quaver in her usually calm voice.

  “Quite painfully,” Colossus added.

  “Two telepaths,” Cyclops replied. “We can’t even perceive the levels they’re fighting on.” Frost’s words, just moments ago, echoed in his mind. “A game with rules, rewards… punishments.” He shook his head, disturbed by the memory.

  A talon of fire forced Frost down, pressing her against the floor. Jean hovered like a wrathful god, arms spread wide. Her expression was frightening, inhuman. Psychic energy filled the air, buzzing in Cyclops’s head. He began to “hear” bits of their thoughts, snippets of mind-static coming from the two women.

  —little Queen

  Draining my…

  I could

  Powerful more powerful than

  I could show you

  Hellfire Hellfire Hell…

  The sound of footsteps rose above the clamor of combat. He whirled around as three men in heavy red armor approached, each holding a glowing power staff.

  “Knights!” Kitty shouted.

  Cyclops stepped forward, reaching for his visor. “I’ve got this,” he began—

  —but Storm was already airborne. She spread her arms and called down a fierce wind, whipping and swirling in the narrow hallway. The knights flailed, waving their staffs against the driving air currents.

  Colossus ran forward, his body transforming to steel, and punched one of the knights on his helmet. The room shook with the vibration of metal on metal. The knight dropped to the floor, senseless.

  Logan leapt onto the second man. His claws pierced the knight’s armor, drawing blood from the man’s stomach and leg. The knight cried out, staggered away, and fled down the corridor, stumbling over a chunk of fallen ceiling.

  “Sorry, Cyke.” Logan sheathed his claws. “Still not much good at takin’ orders.”

  “I’ll let it go,” Cyclops replied. “This time.”

  Only one knight remained, raising his staff to attack. Nightcrawler teleported into the knight’s path—holding Kitty in his arms. She reached out, eyes wide, and pressed her fingers through the knight’s helmet. His limbs stiffened, sparks danced on the joints of his armor. He toppled and fell.

  Cyclops turned back toward the battle. The corridor wall was a pile of debris now, opening into the two-story laboratory beyond. Tables and sinks lay overturned; water gushed from exposed pipes. And in the center of the room…

  Emma Frost struggled up to a crouch, bracing herself against a desk. Jean hung in midair, the Phoenix Force reaching down to envelop her enemy. As Emma cried out, Cyclops heard their thoughts again:

  Killing me

  I could

  One last

  I could show you

  Last chance

  Logan stared at Jean. “We gotta help her.”

  “I don’t think she’s the one that needs help.” Cyclops pointed down the corridor. “Get out of here—all of you. This place is about to blow.”

  Wolverine planted himself between Scott and the lab. “I ain’t leavin’ Jeanni
e.”

  “Logan,” Cyclops said, “you’re exhausted. Get to safety.”

  Wolverine didn’t move. He unsheathed his claws with a menacing snikt.

  “Get the kid to safety,” Cyclops insisted.

  Logan snarled aloud. Then he glared past Cyclops at Kitty, who stood with Storm, Colossus, and Nightcrawler.

  “C’mon,” Logan said, and he started off. Storm took to the air, pausing only to glance back at Jean’s flaring energies. Colossus grabbed up Kitty in his arms, and Nightcrawler hesitated only a moment before teleporting off ahead of them.

  Inside the lab, Jean had Emma by the neck. With a flaming claw, she lifted the platinum-haired woman up off the floor. Frost’s eyes went wide; she tugged at her throat, gasping.

  Jean hovered above, a wicked smile on her face. When she leaned down to address her captive, her words filled Cyclops’s mind:

  I could show you secrets.

  He leaned forward. In Jean’s eyes he saw… everything. Worlds, stars, galaxies. Ancient truths, fiery energies wielded by giants in times long past. Primal forces exploding in the hearts of suns, power that could rip holes in time. All gone, forgotten, buried beneath the sands of time. Until now.

  Would you like that?

  “No!” Frost twisted her head away.

  “Jean!” Cyclops called.

  Would you like to see?

  “JEAN!”

  Her head whipped around, her eyes struggling to focus. For the first time, she seemed to notice him.

  “Don’t do it.”

  Her eyes—those eyes that held stars and atoms—narrowed. She’s going to kill me, he thought. With just a fraction of her newfound power, she could reach out a claw and end my life. First me, then Emma, and then…

  Abruptly, Jean looked up toward the heavens, dropping Emma Frost with an almost casual motion. Frost clutched her throat as she fell to the heat-scorched floor. The Phoenix flared bright—

  —and blew the roof off the building.

  Cyclops’s instincts told him to run, but he couldn’t leave her. Couldn’t abandon the woman he loved, no matter what she might have done—or what she was becoming. He fired an optic beam upward, reducing a ceiling tile to dust just before it could strike his head. Another eye-beam snapped a falling window in half. He snapped his head from side to side, up and down, deflecting and shattering pieces of wall, ceiling, and insulation.