The roads were deserted but the lone white van continued on its destination, undaunted by the late hour.  The vehicle turned off the main road and slowly made its way behind the small hospital building to find the most isolated area in the parking lot. 

 

Thanks to a planned computer glitch, power had been knocked out in the small town, giving those inside the van the perfect opportunity to complete their mission without drawing attention to themselves.

 

The driver parked the vehicle, switched off the headlights, and then shut off the engine.  

 

“We’ve got forty-five minutes before the body is scheduled to be transported to the funeral home,” Arclight said, tossing the keys on the dashboard.  “That gives us thirty minutes to find the body and get out of here.”  She glanced at the others in the van.  “Any questions?”

 

“Yeah,” Riptide asked sarcastically.  “Where are the toe tags located?”

 

“Don’t start with me,” she snapped, glaring at the man.  “We’re walking into a hospital morgue.  Leaving your dead body behind wouldn’t be that difficult.”

 

Riptide shrugged his shoulders, disregarding the threat as if she had told a bad joke.  He climbed out of the van, pulled his jacket tight around his body as the cold wind pelted his body.  Normally weather didn’t bother him, but walking into a hospital morgue at the stroke of midnight had a morbid feel to it.

 

“Let’s get this over with.  Vertigo is waiting inside.” Arclight turned to the big man in the back seat.  “Michael, keep watch.  If someone approaches, get rid of them.  Remember, no witnesses.”

 

Blockbuster nodded as the others followed Arclight across the parking lot.  With the generator lighting every fifth lamppost, the group easily slipped inside the hospital’s basement unnoticed, where Vertigo greeted them.

 

She hurried them into a small maintenance room.  “A stretcher is by the elevator,” she said, tossing each member an orderly uniform, “use it to get the body out of the morgue.”

 

“Are you alone?”  Arclight asked, grinning with delight as she slipped into the uniform. 

 

“A janitor, but he’s taking a break on the fourth floor,” Vertigo answered with a bored sigh.  “Not only do we have to recover a worthless body, we can’t even have a little fun.  At least we wouldn’t be doing this dumb mission for nothing.”

 

“I don’t know what you are complaining about,” Scramble muttered under his breath.  “It’s not your body we’re picking up.  It’s mine.”

 

“And if you hadn’t gotten killed, Sinister wouldn’t be punishing the rest of us for your stupidity.”

 

“You’ve been cloned more than I,” Scrambler protested.

 

--------------------------------

 

Three weeks later…

 

Lightning flashed across the dark sky, but Remy LeBeau paid no attention to the threatening weather approaching from the north.  Instead, his attention was focused on the object in his hand, a cylinder—the last from the batch he had stolen from Sinister only a few short weeks ago.

 

A simple six inch tube, and yet, it was the one thing that had turned his world upside down.

 

He lifted it to his lips, hoping for just a small droplet of the elixir, but his hopes were dashed when he realized it was as empty as he feared. 

 

Dishearten, he tossed the cylinder into the darkness, and collapsed against the side of the building uncertain what to do next.  Four days, four long agonizing days since he had last taken the elixir, and with each passing second, he feared what would happen without it. 

 

Already the danger signs were there. His mutant powers activated without warning, causing small explosions that thankfully hadn’t caught anyone’s attention, but it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.  However, that was the least of his problems.

 

Sinister’s words echoed in his mind, ‘Soon, you will do anything I command just to have a fraction of the dose I promised you’.

 

‘It will never come to that,’ he vowed in silence.  The cravings had become more intense but he had the power to fight them off, or so he hoped.

 

He stared upwards, and carefully weighed his options about the elixir.  What should he do?  Telling the X-men would only bring accusing questions and speculations he wasn’t ready to face, but, on the other hand, using the elixir kept him tied to Sinister. 

 

Fighting the emotional tug of war for the past several days had left him mentally and physically drained, and he was no closer to making a decision than he had been when the problem first arose.  Whatever his decision, he knew it would be wrong.  It always was.  

 

Raindrops started falling, waking him from his dark reserve.  Rolling thunder rocked across the darkening skies as he walked back inside Storm’s loft.  He closed the balcony doors, turned, and kicked something across the floor.

 

He looked down and found a small gardener’s trowel spinning in circles on the floor.  Storm used the tool to grow and transplant her potted plants.  He reached down, picked up the trowel and moved towards the hanging plants. 

 

Recognizing the foliage as one of many where he had buried the small cylinders, he lifted the big green leaf and looked into the dark soil.  Perhaps he had miscounted, and there was another dose of the elixir still hidden inside one of the hanging plants.  After all, he had forgotten how many vials he had stolen from Sinister.

 

Finding nothing, he shoved the trowel inside the moist soil and winched when the tool hit something solid.  “Hope that wasn’t somethin’ important,” he muttered, yanking the tool out and quickly covering up the evidence with the soil. 

 

“Listen up, people,” Scott’s voice came through the wrist communicator.  “This morning, our danger room session was a joke.  I’m not naming names, but you know who you are.  Therefore, I am scheduling a mandatory meeting in two hours to discuss this matter.  Cyclops out.”

 

“Great,” Remy sighed.  Just what he needed, another long boring lecture from Mr. Sominex.  He turned to the next plant, and repeated the process with the trowel, praying Storm wouldn’t notice he had disturbed her prized possessions.

 

-------------------------------

Warren climbed inside his car, checked his briefcase and then closed the door behind him.  Two weeks had passed since he had heard from the mysterious caller, and he had foolishly thought he had finally heard the last of them.  Last night proved him wrong.

 

The blackmailer had called, threatening to go to the police unless he was paid a six-figure income and a face-to-face meeting at ten tonight. 

 

As he started the vehicle and drove out of the garage, his thoughts drifted towards the caller.  There was something familiar about the caller’s voice.  Who he was, Warren wasn’t certain, but he knew he had heard the voice before. 

 

Whoever he was, Warren planned to stop the blackmailing before the man destroyed his life.  He had been blackmailed before and it had cost him millions.  This time, he swore, it will not happen again.

 

His pride had caused him the X-Men, and perhaps his best friend, but until this matter was solved, he didn’t want anyone meddling in his private affairs.

-------------------------------

Scott rubbed his forehead, fighting back the growing headache that threatened to turn into a raging migraine.  He glanced at each person assembled and those absent, trying to decipher their thoughts but recent events had changed everyone, and most of the changes weren’t for the better. 

 

Warren had withdrawn, speaking when necessary.  Wolverine disappeared at night, hunting the marauders in the name of revenge. Bishop blamed himself for his and Bobby’s capture and placed himself on a personal schema that would have stopped any military brigade, and Remy’s personality kept changing faster than the wind.

 

Today’s lackluster performances in the danger room convinced him the team needed more discipline if they were to maintain their edge against their enemies. 

 

“Can we get this meeting started?” Wolverine growled, glancing at the wall clock.  “There’s a hockey game on in one hour.”

 

“Two hours,” Bobby countered, holding up the TV Guide to prove his point. 

 

“Don’t matter, Ice cube.  Not gonna be much of a game anyway.  Just like it’s gonna be when I find those marauders.”

 

Scott rolled his eyes, and heaved a frustrated sigh.  His patience was wearing thin.

 

‘At least they showed up,’ Jean’s voice filled his mind.  She smiled back at him, understanding his frustrations over the lack of concern some of the X-Men had displayed lately.  The team was slowly drifting apart.

 

“Unlike someone else,” Cyclops muttered.  When several pairs of eyes stared back at him in confusion, he realized he had voiced his criticism verbally. 

 

Rogue and Storm glanced at him briefly and then resumed their private conversation.  Scott shook his head, and noticed McCoy for the first time.  Hank appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

“Hank, have you discovered the cure for the common cold?” he asking, attempting to lighten the doctor’s somber mood.  “You’ve spent more time in the lab than some television shows have been on the air.”

 

McCoy glanced briefly at Scott, opened his mouth and then just as quickly changed his mind.  Whatever worried the doctor, he seemed reluctant to share that information. 

 

He heard soft voices, turned, and discovered Storm and Rogue whispering to one another.  Rogue nodded in Remy’s direction when Scott stared at her.  One glance at the object of her attention and Scott felt his blood pressure go up several points.  His anger only intensified when he recalled the morning’s danger room session and Gambit’s part in the fiasco.

 

From the time Remy LeBeau first joined the X-Men, he thrived on frustrating him, but never had Gambit violated a direct order, until this morning.  Not only had Gambit refused to use his powers, but he became hostile when Scott forced the issue.

 

The rest of the session went downhill after that.  Dissention became contagious as another member quickly followed Remy’s example.

 

Warren refused to participate in the same session, claiming he had other obligations that required his attention.

 

Instantly, Remy and Warren’s behavior created tension between himself and the rest of the team, causing Scott to question his own leadership abilities.  In what he believed a justifiable reprimand, he placed both men on probation, removed them from the active roster, and limited their security classification until they proved they wanted to rejoin the group.  

 

The repercussions were swift and lines were drawn.  Warren quit the team, packed his things and moved into a high-rise apartment building in the city.  Whatever was bothering his friend, Warren preferred to handle the situation himself, and his relationship with his newly discovered brother bordered on destruction. 

 

The past few hours had not improved the situation.

 

Conspicuous by his absence, Warren empty chair stared back at him in defiance, and Remy was either doing an impression of an immobile seesaw with his feet propped up on the table or asleep.  With the sunglasses in place, Scott was convinced it was the latter. 

 

“Will somebody wake Gambit,” he asked, motioning towards his brother.  “I don’t care how it’s done, just wake him. I’m getting tired of his….”

 

“If you provoke him, Scott, it’s going to make the situation worse,” Jean warned, sensing the anger brewing in her husband.  Remy’s recent mood swings worried her.  One minute he would be joking and then for no apparent reason, he would turn temperamental and reserved.  She had eliminated most explanations for the change in personality but one thought kept creeping back in her mind, and that she refused to believe. 

 

Cyclops considered blasting the chair legs out from underneath his brother but wisely followed his wife’s advice. He would deal with his rebellious brother later. “I want to discuss this morning’s session,” he said, activating the computer monitor.  “Bobby,” he called, typing in a few commands.  “I’m going to start with you.”

 

“I know what you are going to say, Scott,” Bobby replied with a bored sigh.  He raised his hand, waving off Cyclops forthcoming reprimand.  “I can do better.”

 

“No, actually I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, surprising the younger man with words of praise.  “You’ve actually achieved one of the highest scores in years.  Congratulations.”

 

“What? He beat my record?” Rogue asked, sitting upright in her chair.  The revelation shocked her.  Her record had held for two years, and she was proud of that achievement.  “I demand a recount. “

 

“You’ll still lose,” Bobby replied confidently.  “Computers don’t lie.”

 

“Wanna bet?”

 

“Let’s get back to the training sessions, people,” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the table.  The reaction caused several sets of eyes to stare back at him with mixed emotions.  With a twinge of guilt, he quickly apologized.  The last thing he needed was more hostility. 

 

“Scott,” Jean jumped to her feet.  Cerebro was communicating with her.  She hurried to the door.  “There’s an intruder on the grounds.”