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.

It's been two weeks since we were on that alien ship, an' Ah ain't seen hide nor hair of mah powers. 'Course Ah guess Ah shouldn't be too bitter about it. Look at poor Hank! Although, he looks much better now than he did last week, missin' big patches of fur. He's started borrowin' clothes from the other X-Men, 'cause everythin' he has doesn't fit. Ta see him now, ya wouldn't recognize him. He looks jus' like any other man out on the street, 'cept that his teeth still seem kinda sharp. Like a CPA who moonlights as a werewolf. If Ah'm so uncomfortable bein' "normal," how must he feel?

Ah think the same goes for Jean. Her world has gone silent, in a sense. Kinda like the radio always playin' in your head, an' then all of a sudden, someone turned it off. Strange enough, though, that psychic rapport bit she's got with Scott's still mostly there. The power of true love. Hmph! Anyway, Ah guess she's got Mr. Well-Adjusted, Scott Summers, ta comfort her. He seems ta be takin' things awfully well. Ah don't think the wonder of seein' the world in full-color has quite worn off yet.

Now, Wolverine isn't takin' things half so well. Logan's always angry about somethin', but all of us keep havin' ta remind him that he cain't use his claws without tearin' up his hands. Hank threatened him with a pair of metal gloves so he wouldn't hurt himself. He seems ta be relieving his anger vocally now, so he seems more ornery than ever.

And me . . . Ah've gotten what Ah've been searchin' for in a clean an' painless way. An' Ah'm still not happy. It was always nice ta be able ta fly, an' be super-strong an' nearly invulnerable. What kinda girl wouldn't like that? Ah'm one of the new breed of X-less X-Men. Ah don't suppose there's anyone out there who can turn people inta mutants who isn't out ta take over the world or somethin' equally sinister. . . . .

From Manuscript X:

Rogue dropped the pen, which fell silently to the carpeted floor, and started to laugh. Her laughter had a sharp edge to it, bordering on hysteria. She drew back and punched her pillow as hard as she could. Under normal circumstances, that would have put a hole through her headboard, but the pillow easily absorbed the blow. She gave the unyielding pillow another right hook, then a left, the physical activity making her feel a little better.

"Havin' a party wi' out me, chere?" Remy LeBeau was standing in the (previously closed) doorway with a smile that bordered on being a smirk. With a wordless shriek, Rogue hurled the abused pillow at the invading Cajun. He simply caught it, making her even more annoyed.

"Ya ain't half as charmin' as ya used ta be."

"I can fix dat," he replied smoothly, advancing towards her.

Rogue held up a hand, as if she possessed Jean's telekinetic power to stop him where he stood. Strangely enough, he halted, his (only recently) brown eyes questioning.

"What gives, chere? You been puttin' me off for two weeks."

Rogue snorted. "Hah! Ah've been puttin' ya off evah since ya got here. Jus' 'cause mah powers are gone doesn't give ya the right ta git your paws all ovah me."

"Oui, mais . . ."

"Good-bye, Remy. An' if ya wouldn't mind closin' the door behind ya . . ."

Mildly bewildered, he complied. He continued through the hall and down the stairs. He ended up in what passed for a family room, where Beast was reading a book. Of course, he didn't much look like a beast anymore. He looked up and took in Gambit's crestfallen expression.

"What, or perhaps more accurately, who has got you down, my friend?"

Gambit threw himself down on the couch. "La femme. Je ne comprends pas."

"While psychology is not exactly my forte, perhaps I can be of help," Hank stated cautiously.

Remy thought about it, eyeing him warily before accepting the opportunity to vent. "I jus' don' understand her. On de alien ship we finally able t' touch, an' she's all for it. Den, as soon we get back, she pushin' me away harder dan ever."

Hank rubbed his chin, still surprised to find it not furry. "So you are saying you do not understand Rogue's hot and cold behavior, so to speak." Remy nodded. "Perhaps this new ability, coupled with loss of her previous abilities, has come with new responsibility. Now that the obstacle of physical contact has been overcome, you pose a significant threat to her."

"How am I a t'reat?" Remy demanded.

"She has not had to deal much in relationships since her powers surfaced as a teenager. She has always assumed since that she would be unwanted due to her unusual circumstances. Now said circumstances no longer exist, and she is suddenly being forced to cope with a drastically different situation."

Remy wasn't happy with the doctor's diagnosis. "Good t'ing you not a shrink, homme." Still brooding, he walked out of the room.

In geosynchronous orbit over Earth's New York City, the observer outpost was shielded from the planet's primitive detection capabilities, making it virtually invisible. The two aliens aboard had made vast advancements in their knowledge of Terran cultures. Being from a united planet, they found the regional differences in language and culture fascinating. Even simple name structures varied by continent. They had even witnessed the tension between groups categorized as homo sapien superior versus the larger population of homo sapien. The humans who had visited the ship were from the former category, according to their computer's bio-scans, yet they exhibited none of the special abilites touted by the vids they'd been receiving from the New York region called the nightly news. The news was undoubtedly controlled by the homo sapiens.

"I believe we are ready to begin closer regional observation," said the one dubbed "Solitaire" by the humans. "We need to gather more information on these 'mutants.'"

"Understood, but the council would not approve of actual planetary exploration," her companion countered.

"The council is light years away by now. It is undeniably the best way to study the Terran population."

"You are becoming unduly influenced by your research. Even your speech patterns are sounding more Terran."

The usually dusky blue stripe in Solitaire's deep violet hair faded to a blush pink at the comment. Her white on blue eyes narrowed in resolve. "You want to go just as much as I do."

"That is irrelevant."

Solitaire thought about sticking her tongue out at him, as she'd seen on the Terran television, but unfortunately, being telepathic, she didn't have one.

"You wish to go through the constant effort to appear human, or shall you go as you are?"

At first it seemed she'd ignored his comment, until a faint haze appeared around her. Her pale blue skin lightened to pure white before darkening to a golden tan; white lips took on a shell-pink color. Her thick Medusa hair smoothed down its rope-like coils and coalesced into a sleek burgundy-brown wave. There was no changing the stripe, but she had noticed that many Terran youth turned their hair odd colors anyway.

Before her companion's eyes, she grew shorter, although at nearly six feet, she was still tall for a human female. Delicately arched brows formed over her large eyes, whose colors reversed to form sapphire-blue irises surrounded by white. Even her hands morphed into four fingers and an opposable thumb, and the white claws shortened into fingernails.

"Convincing," her companion commented.

"Am I ready for New York?"

"Perhaps, but are you prepared for the questions of the Terrans? They will not believe that you are from a distant spacefaring race. You do not even have a human name."

Solitaire's newly human brow creased in concentration. He was correct; most humans had at least two names. She mentally sent commands to the outpost's computer to translate her name into an English equivalent. It sent back four separate letters with a few numbers for good measure-apparently it couldn't come up with a standard name-Z45AR7A. Zara Solitaire, she mouthed. She was momentarily taken aback when no sound was produced. Ah, vocal cords, she thought.

"You also neglected ears." Zara's companion startled her by speaking aloud. He, too, had taken on a human appearance. She gave him a vicious look copied from American television.

"And what shall I call you using human language?" she asked.

His black hair glowed violet in concentration. "The sounds from the broadcasts of Tokyo were pleasing. You may refer to me as Keiichi Hino."

Zara tried the unfamiliar sounds with her new human physiology. "Kay-ee-chee." She attempted a smile, which looked more like a tiger bearing her fangs. "I agree, it is a satisfactory name. We are ready for close examination of the humans."

Keiichi held up a hand. "Not yet," he said telepathically before remembering to speak alound. "You observed the vids. We are in need of finances."

"A T M?" Zara tried experimentally. "We can create an account in a simple human computer system. Their technological security is primitive."

"Agreed. We must also create identification if we are to use their services."

In a matter of minutes, Keiichi fabricated social security cards, New York state driver's licenses, and even ATM and Visa cards. All their records were up-to-date in the appropriate networks, and only a microscope could prove the documents weren't authentic.

"Now are we ready?" Zara asked in a very convincing imitation of a human child.

"We are ready."

Zara and Keiichi boarded the smallest of the vessels attatched to the outpost. It was so tiny that the two control panels were at opposite ends of the ship, yet the close proximity was still uncomfortable to the two occupants. They only hoped that the humans' primitive disregard of spacial proximity wouldn't disturb them beyond functioning capacity.

They set the craft in a wooded area of upstate New York and employed the same cloaking capability that hid the outpost from the Terrans. They transmorphed into iridescent spheres of energy and sped faster than the human eye could see towards a large mansion a mere two miles away. Reassuming human form on the doorstep of the mansion was immediately followed by the sound of alarms and shouts. Faster then they would have expected from humans, they were surrounded by four who didn't look welcoming in the least.

"Freeze," Iceman shouted at the unusual-looking pair who'd inexplicalby materialized at the front door. Psylocke sneered at Bobby's attempt at humor and was ready to strike at a moment's notice. Storm hovered a few feet above ground, waiting for them to make a move, while Gambit lingered a few paces behind. The female intruder looked familiar to him somehow.

The male intruder raised his hand and a sparking energy ball formed in his palm. Gambit had a playing card in his hand before he remembered that he couldn't do much with it besides a round of poker. Betsy got one blow in with her psychic knife before a voice from above screamed for them to stop. They all looked up to see Rogue hanging so far out of her window that she looked like she'd fall at any moment.

"Ah said stop! They're from the alien ship. They don't mean us any harm."

"Dese people wanted t' take over de Earth, chere," Gambit ventured warily.

Storm ignored his comment and drifted closer to Rogue's window. "How do you know their intentions?"

Rogue stalled for a moment, running a hand up underneath her thick auburn hair as she thought. "Well, sugah, ya ain't gonna believe this but . . . she told me." Storm raised a regal eyebrow. "Telepathically," she added quickly. "Remy an' Ah met her on tha ship, and she tried ta help us keep her people from takin' ovah our people."

"I also feel compelled to point out that these visitors are our best hope of discovering why their vessel had such unforseen effects on our DNA," Hank called up from the ground. Already he was doing his best to determine who and what the aliens were and what they could do.

Ororo nodded. "We must consult the professor, however, before we take them under our wing."

Professor Xavier, to no one's surprise, was intrigued. While cautious, he agreed with Hank that the aliens were their most promising prospect for discovering why six X-Men had become non-mutants. In addition, it turned out that the aliens were also wondering why the so-called homo sapiens superior exhibited no extra abilities or differences while aboard their ship. Keiichi asked how the subspecies differed at all, prompting the others to demonstrate or explain their powers. The six X-Men who'd visited the ship (however unwillingly) went last. The one ability the aliens truly understood was Jean's telepathy, since they were a naturally telepathic species.

"You have lost the voices?" Zara asked. The chameleon-like stripe of her hair paled to a near-white. She glanced at Keiichi, and Xavier could tell they were communicating telepathically, but their thoughts were incomprehensible to him.

Keiichi raised his hands, palms facing each other as if he held an invisible package. "My colleague believes I can restore your telepathic abilites."

At those few, nearly monotone words, Jean's face lit up brighter than a halogen lamp. "Is it possible? How?" She stepped forward as she spoke, prompting Keiichi to step backwards to maintain his large bubble of empty space around him.

"Please concentrate on your memory of the voices," he ordered.

Scott, standing beside his wife, was concerned about the safety of this unknown procedure, but Jean silenced him with a thought before he could actually form words to object. The rest of the assembled X-Men formed a circle around the room.

Jean closed her eyes and concentrated. Keiichi was as still as a statue as he telepathically probed Jean's mind. He sifted through conscious and subconscious and deeper still into the primal makeup of her mind until he finally found the portion he sought. Similar to turning a light on, he commanded the recently short-circuited part of her mind to become active again. At first, nothing happened. He was very cautious as to not damage her. He tried again, a little more forcefully. Something awoke, deep within. It was very small at first, but Keiichi knew it was growing and maturing bit by bit. His work completed, he started working his way back to the outside world before Jean was able to feel his violation of her mind again.

Jean's eyes snapped open. "I'm getting impressions from everyone now. Not complete thoughts, but more like vague images and ideas. I can't filter it very well, though." She was torn between elation at regaining any power and disappointment with her weakness.

"It will take time for your powers to return to their former magnitude." Keiichi wasn't trying to be encouraging; he was as pragmatic as ever. "I would estimate one of your weeks."

Now Jean was ecstatic. She flung her arms around her husband's neck and was in turn lifted up by the strong hands around her waist. When Scott set her down again, she was ready to hug Keiichi, too, but as soon as she thought it, she could feel Keiichi's revulsion at the invasion of space. Even that made her happy.

"Will her telekinesis return as well?" Xavier ventured.

Zara gave her best impression of a smile. "In time, yes."

"One down, five to go," Wolverine growled.

"You t'ink if he go next, dey can give him a new personality too?" Gambit whispered. Bobby snickered; Storm gave him a look, and Rogue would've elbowed him if she were standing close enough.

"This is very encouraging." Professor Xavier sounded like a teacher wrapping up the day's class. "I think we should show our guests to their rooms and continue our collaboration this evening. Storm, if you would please be our hostess . . ."

Storm nodded and led Zara and Keiichi to the stairs. When they'd exited the room, Logan blurted out the question on everyone's mind.

"How're we gonna fix the rest of us with them playing tourists?"

"Patience, Wolverine. We must earn their trust so they are willing to share their technology with us. Only then can we look for a cause and a cure."

"I concur with the professor," Hank said. "We must first learn what caused this before we can hypothesize about treatment. Unless you'd like to see Mr. Sinister about some genetic alterations. However, I am intrigued as to their methods for restoring Jean's telepathy. Unfortunately, I doubt the same technique may be applied to the rest of us."