The editors would like to forewarn our readers that this work is derived from a compilation of sources. The main portion comes from a recently discovered journal of Rogue's, and while we attempted to preserve her charming southern accent, we have toned it down in the narration for ease of reading. There is also material from another source, dubbed "Manuscript X." This manuscript is anonymous, written in the third person, and while some speculate that Charles Xavier is the author of these papers, we maintain that it is an anonymous source.

Just anotha relaxin' day around the mansion. All right, so we don't get many relaxin' days around here an' Ah was makin' sure ta enjoy it. First, Ah better introduce mahself. Ah wouldn't want ya ta think Ah'm rude or nothin'. Call me Rogue-that's it, kinda like Cher or Madonna. Anyway, Ah was curled up on mah bed with a good book-ain't nothin' that says southern girls cain't read. Howevah, like everything around here, mah peace an' quiet wasn't for long. There was a knock at mah door, an' it turned out ta be Storm (or Ororo or jus' plain 'Ro). 'Ro was standin' there with a smile on her delicate mocha-colored face. (Who says Ah cain't wax poetic?)

"Are you ready for tomorrow night, Rogue?" Stormy axed-oh, excuse me, asked-with a hint of anticipation.

Ah racked mah brains tryin' ta remember what tomorrow night was supposed ta be. For the life of me, Ah couldn't remember. "Somebody's birthday? Scott an' Jean gettin' married again?"

At least 'Ro laughed at that. "Have you forgotten already?" She gestured ta a fancily engraved card sittin' on the table beside mah bed. "It's the tenth anniversary of the opening of Professor Xavier's school. Remember, you're supposed to help us decorate tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry, Ah'll remember." Gawd Ah felt so stupid.

'Ro turned ta leave. "Oh, and Rogue, remember . . . it's a formal occasion."

Ah shut the door afta her an' lightly banged mah head against it. There went mah afternoon, 'cause now Ah had ta go buy mahself a dress.

It's a pretty short flight ta the local shopping center of Westchester County, afta which Ah went through a lot of window-shoppin'. Then Ah saw it. the dress that looked like it came right out of some Disney movie. Ah went in an' asked the saleslady ta let me try it on. Ah tell ya, Ah looked jus' like a Georgia peach in that dress. It was a pale peach chiffon with a tight bodice that went off the shoulders an' a big ol' skirt. Scarlett O'Hara, eat your heart out. The saleslady said somethin' about décolletage, but Ah think that's jus' some fancy way of sayin' the dress showed a little bit of cleavage. There ain't nothin' wrong with that, sugah. Ah figured Ah ought ta get some white opera gloves ta make up for the short sleeves of the dress. Ah wanted ta be a knockout 'cause of mah looks an' charmin' personality, not 'cause of mah powers.

Ah went home an' got the dress safely stored in mah closet before Ah noticed a black velvet jewelry box sittin' on the table. Mah curiosity got the better of me, so Ah opened the long, slim box. Inside was a single strand of pearls, a choker guessin' by the length. It was gorgeous, an' Ah had a guess as ta who left it there. 'Course, given mah guess, Ah rather hoped the pearls weren't stolen.

The next mornin', Ah found Storm, Jean, an' (bless his heart) Bobby workin' on decoratin' the mansion. The rest of the boys had made their excuses as ta why they couldn't help us. Even Scott wasn't there, an' Ah thought Jean had her husband thoroughly whupped. Jean was putting up streamers telekinetically, an' Storm was usin' a small wind to scatter confetti very artistically throughout the place. Bobby had his heart set on makin' ice sculptures, but Ah didn't want ta be the one ta tell him that they'd melt before the party started unless he re-forze them every few hours.

Mah powers don't exactly lend themselves ta the arts. So what'd Ah get stuck with? Movin' heavy objects. Seems right unfair ta me. But bein' the kind, sweet lady Ah am, Ah did it anyway. We finished everythin' about four o'clock (includin' a lunch break that went jus' a little too long). At some earlier time Bobby had skipped out ta play with the boys-whatevah they was up ta. At four, the ladies an' Ah went back upstairs ta ready ourselves for the event. There ain't nothin' wrong with bein' powerful an' gorgeous.

It really did take me almost all three hours, since Ah'm not really used ta all this fancy stuff. Ah'm generally a casual kinda of gal-jeans or cutoffs an' so on. Anyway, Ah'll spare ya the borin' details. Ah managed ta get mah unruly hair up inta a chignon an' Ah did makeup an' everythin'. Then Ah got inta the dress, gloves, shoes, an' finally, the pearl necklace. Pretty as a picture, if Ah do say so mahself.

Ah opened mah door an' nearly ran smack inta Hank. That's Dr. Henry McCoy if ya want ta get all proper. His outfit was right outta some song that Ah cain't remember the name of, but it talks about "mah tophat, mah white tie, an' mah tails." That's exactly what he had, plus black tuxedo pants, an' bein' big, furry, an' blue, that's all he needed.

Hank smiled at me an' said, "Miss Rogue, if I may have the honor of escorting you to the party?" He offered me his arm. Henry really is the sweetest man, so Ah took his arm an' we made our way downstairs where people were already engaged in pre-dinner dancin'.

Ah took a look around at everyone gathered on the ground floor. Ah was able to pick out Scott an' Jean Summers-the two of them looked so classy and dignified. Then there was Logan and Bobby, both lookin' kinda uncomfortable. Ah couldn't believe someone had actually gotten Logan ta look so . . . uh, ritzy.

"If you'll forgive me a small pun," Hank said, "this really is a case of beauty and the beast. Would you care to dance?"

We'd finally reached the dance floor. Ah smiled at him an' laid on the southern charm. "Why of course Ah would, kind sir." Maybe Ah've seen "Gone With the Wind" too many times . . . so sue me. Ah was enjoyin' mahself, that is until we stopped.

"'Scuse me, Hank," Ah heard an all-too-familiar voice behind him. "But Gambit be cuttin' in."

"I believe that really should be up to the lady," Hank replied. He stepped aside, howevah, an' Ah was confronted with a devilish handsome vision of Remy in black an' wine red. Talk about bringin' out the color of your eyes.

"So who's it gon' be, chere?" Remy asked.

Ah was so wrapped up in mah thoughts that Ah'd forgotten ta answer Hank before, an' now the three of us were standin' still in the middle of the dance floor. Ah mentally shook mahself back togetha. "It's all right, Hank. Ah think Ah can take care of mahself with the Cajun." Ah was left standin' face ta face with Remy LeBeau, an' given the crowds, he was a little close for comfort. "You look très belle, chere," he said, lookin' me up an' down. Ah wondered if maybe Ah ought ta be offended. Remy's been known ta-how can Ah say this nicely-try ta take liberties that he shouldn't. Our relationship, if it can be called that, is sorta on-again, off-again.

He reached out with one black-gloved hand ta touch the pearls at mah throat. Mah first instinct was ta step back, but there wasn't much room an' Ah do have mah pride, after all. Ah stood mah ground an' looked him in the eye, mah emerald green ta his red an' black. He dropped his hand, took a step back, an' (ta mah surprise) bowed. Ah took his offered hand, an' he wrapped his other arm around mah waist an' pulled me close-very close. Remy had a mischievous an' rather self-satisfied lookin' smile on his face.

Of course, Ah would've had a self-satisfied look too, 'cept that Ah'm a bit more subtle than Monsieur LeBeau. Ah was enjoyin' mahself immensely-that is, until the music stopped. Literally. Professor Xavier appeared on the second-floor landing, an' everyone in the room turned ta look at him.

"Ladies and gentleman," he began in his eternally calm an' measured way. "I regret that this interruption should bear bad news, but I have just learned that the White House has been destroyed by an alien vessel."

The next minute was so quiet that ya could've heard the proverbial pin drop. Then all hell broke loose. Everybody started exclaimin' at once, an' the noise grew to a roar. Remy took mah hand an' we started towards where the other X-Men were quietly leavin' the room. Because of the special event, everyone was present, but within just minutes, we had reassembled far from the party guests. There was enough of a crowd that Remy elected ta stand behind mah chair; everyone faced Scott, who was presidin' at the head of the table an' had somehow managed ta exchange his glasses for his visor on the way there. Team leader or not, Scott couldn't do much until Professor X briefed us all.

When the Prof entered the room, everybody hushed. His wheelchair for the public's eye had been replaced with his far more convenient hover chair. He looked at all of us in the room-from Scott an' Jean, to Bobby, to Warren, to Betsy, an' so on-before startin' his speech.

"X-Men, we face yet another new danger this evening. As I stated before, an unknown alien craft has destroyed the White House, and the latest news reports it to be heading towards New York. I have been unable to determine what methods, if any, the U.S. government has employed to communicate with the vessel."

"Sounds like a 'shoot first, ask questions later' deal to me," Wolverine interupted.

"But who shot first?" Scott asked, causin' Wolverine to growl softly an' shut up.

Xavier looked unhappy, but the constant undercurrent of bickerin' among all us X-Men wasn't the problem. "Cyclops, your team will take the Blackbird and learn as much as possible about these aliens, but do not engage them in combat. Storm, you will lead from here. Find out how to stop them. I leave you both to choose your teams."

Ah'm not much of one for sittin' around, so Ah looked straight at Scott, figurin' that if he didn't get mah hint, at least Jean would. Ah felt Remy place his gloved hands on mah shoulders, an' Ah figured that was his way of sayin' if Ah was goin', he was too.

Scott an' Jean was lookin' at each other in a way that Ah could tell they was havin' a little telepathic discussion. Ah kinda got the feelin' that Jean won, 'cause soon aftah, Scotty had his team.

"Jean, Beast, Wolverine, Rogue, and Gambit, you're with me," Scott announced. That was jus' fine with me. True, Remy, Logan, an' Scott don't always get along (well, Logan doesn't really get along with anyone 'cept Jean), but it was a good team. Basically, everybody left was part of Storm's group.

Ah knew Professor Xavier wanted us ta go ASAP, so Ah was about to run upstairs an' change when Scott stopped me. "We have to leave now, Rogue."

Ah looked down at mah pretty, poufy party dress, then back up at him. Well, there went mah nice new dress. We raced out ta the Blackbird (that's as in SR-71 Blackbird-ours may be the only one still flyin' since the plane's technology was declared outdated. Not that ours is outdated; our Blackbird has a few advancement's that'd knock the socks off the US goverment.). Everyone was strapped in in moments, formal wear an' all, an' we were airborne.

A short time later we got our first view of the UFO, which was nearly on top of Manhattan. It was all harsh angles in a dark, burnished silvery-blue. Nothing about it was soft or rounded. That was a machine that meant business in mah book-the kind that jus' looked evil. Ah really hoped that last part was jus' mah imagination workin' overtime.

The good thing was that Manhattan still existed, glowing a couple miles below us. The bad thing was that the closer we got ta it, the bigger the alien ship became. "Hank, sugah, jus' how big is that thing?"

Hank consulted some flashing instruments that Ah'd never seen before. "Approximately two and a half miles long and nearly one mile wide."

The others gasped. That made an aircraft carrier look like a peanut. Ah was about ta ask Scott if he had a brilliant plan when the Blackbird shook, joltin' us all forward in our seats. Ah grabbed Remy's hand, jus' ta have somethin' ta hold on ta.

"What the hell was that, Cyke," Wolverine snarled. The alien ship was gettin' a lot bigger a whole lot faster.

"It appears we've been caught in some sort of tractor beam," Hank answered.

"Den how we get out of it?" Gambit asked. His eyes seemed ta glow an even brighter shade of red.

Scott struggled with the controls, but nothin' was happenin'. "It's too strong; I can't get us out."

"Then lets find out where they're taking us," Jean offered positively.

The Blackbird continued forward into a humongous hole in the side of the ship an' landed softly on the deck. The hole flowed shut in a way that was more like a wound healin' than a door closin'. We exited out onto the deck, which was made completely of more of the bluish-silver metal. But Ah've never seen metalflow like that before.

"Where's tha welcomin' committee?" Ah asked. The area was completely empty 'cept for us, unlike the army of mean alien soldiers Ah'd expected. It was more of a hallway than a room, an' it stretched on farther than Ah could see. Ah felt like Ah was in an alien version of "The Wizard of Oz" without a yellow brick road ta guide us.

"Perhaps they do not perceive us as a threat," Hank answered.

"Jean?" Scott asked, implyin' that she should psi-scan the area. She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him. "Jean?"

From Manuscript X:

Everything was silent. To normal humans, there was nothing wrong with that, but to a telepath there was always a sort of mental noise or chatter: the thoughts and feelings of people around her. Jean Grey heard nothing. Felt nothing. Not even the thoughts of her husband, which had become omnipresent. That emptiness scared her.

"Jean?"

She turned to look at her husband. "I can't. Something's blocking me."

Scott was worried, but he knew better than to let it show. "Rogue, take to the air, and tell us if you can see anything."

Rogue looked down at her frothy peach dress again and sighed. Gambit leaned over and whispered, "Don' worry, chere. Gambit won' try t' look up your skirts." Rogue gave him her most formidable scowl before reaching upward. She didn't move more than an inch.

"Rogue?" Scott prompted.

"Ah'm tryin', but nothin's happenin'." Rogue didn't know what was going on. Flying came so easily to her that she barely thought about it anymore. She concentrated as hard as she could and felt herself move upward a couple of feet, but as soon as her concentration laxed, she came crashing back down to the ground.

"It would seem that something about this ship is dampening our powers," Hank theorized aloud.

Gambit decided to test the theory by removing a playing card from the pocket of his tuxedo. He had already discarded one of his gloves, and he held the card in his bare hand. The others all expected the little card to start glowing with energy, but nothing happened. Gambit frowned and stared at the six of clubs. He was so accustomed to his power that he hardly had to think about charging an object. As Rogue had done, he tried concentrating on his power, and the card began to glow faintly. It wasn't a powerful charge, but at least it was there.

Cyclops tested his optic blasts, omitting a fine red beam from his ruby quartz visor. Like the others, his powers were at a minimum, and he had to focus all of his concentration just to produce the faintest blast.

"What happens if you remove your visor, Scott?" Jean asked out of curiosity.

He followed his wife's suggestion, removing the visor but keeping his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened one eye, naked without the red and gold barrier. Nothing happened. He opened his other eye. Still nothing, just the glory of seeing the world in full color instead of vary degrees of red. Admittedly, the dull bluish metal wasn't much to look at. It was bleak, and Scott felt his mood starting to match the decor, but as always, he didn't let it show.

The X-Men looked at each other. The situation had gone from questionable to bad. Given their past experience, it was swiftly heading towards worse.