--------------------------------------------
                   Generation X #14:  Search and Rescue
                           Part 2:  Hunter/Prey
                    Written by Andy & Lee, May 30 1996
                          Editor:  Marysia
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DISCLAIMER:  This is a project of the X-Writers.  We have neither asked 
nor been given permission by Marvel Comics to do this.  They get to get 
all their rights and we get to keep ours, but they have the copyright, 
now, don't they?  Don't bother sueing us.  We can barely afford college, 
like we'd have something extra?  Ha. X-Writers is a non-profit organisation.

WARNING:  This is a story.  This is only a story.  Had it been a
recounting of issues from real life, spandex would be in style, and we be
living at the Xavier School for Gifted Students and working as janitors by
night. 

NOTE:  This story may contain cuss words, questionable morals, killing, 
death, blatant acts of kindness, brief scenes of nudity, kissing, 
friendship, angst, original ideas, risky business, and all sorts of 
thought provoking questions regarding the cosmic powers and our unique 
advantages in becoming higher than our base animalistic selves.  You may 
be inspired to write your own works of art and break the Oppressive 
Chains of Society so that your mind can run free.  This story may even 
win a Noble Peace Prize, bringing together warring factions of estranged 
brothers and sisters and leading them to a long needed era of peace. 

SPEECH:   " ... "  words.
         << ... >> telepathic speech.
         '' ... '' thoughts.

            0.o
             o     Lee at the computer one too many hours.

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Prologue

     "From the littlest baby to the biggest VIP, 
      we are all tools of the conspiracy!"
      -  Dead Milkmen

     << My darling, I do not vant to keel you ... just learn from you. >>

     "Really?  Is that why you have me bound and telepathically gagged?  
Is that why you had your hired thugs beat me up?  Is that why any 
answer other than the one you want to hear is met by more pain?  Or were 
you just looking for some sort of cheap thrill?"

     << Da -- I mean, nein.  Nein!  You vould not cooperate.  If you vould, 
you vould be freed und allowed to go vherever you wished.  Please.  Tell 
me you veel cooperate? >>

     "Never."


     << Very vell.  Then it seems I veel have to torture you until your 
mind has been changed. >>

     "You don't sound like you regret that very much."

     << Ah, little voman, you veel soon learn that vhat I vant, I get -- 
sooner or later.  I just hope that you veel decide to be cooperative 
before Armund keels you.  I veel be very put out if you decide to die 
before I have my chance to learn from you.  Because, make no mistake, 
Emma Frost, you veel either cooperate und live, or you veel not cooperate 
und *DIE*. >>

---------------
Act 1, Scene 1

     "Gone, Daddy, gone, 
      love is gone, 
      yeah, it's gone, Daddy, gone, 
      love is gone away."
      -  Violent Femmes

     Cordelia is the last to wake, and she's the only one left to do so 
on her own.  Opening her eyes, she squints at the unnatural brightness of 
the Infirmary's halogen lights, and, to a lesser extent, the light of a 
new day filtering in from the two floor to ceiling windows.  All she 
remembers of the dream she had the night before was a large, black bird, 
something which frightens her even though she knows she has no reason to 
be.  But, that's just it -- she isn't quite sure that she has no reason 
to be.  Despite Sean's promises to the contrary, she knows her dreams 
mean something, and whatever this one means, she's left with a vague and 
horrible feeling, a feeling that won't shake itself even in the clear 
light of day.

     On the next medical bed over, surrounded by machines and held in by 
the mechanical arm, Bobby contemplates the ceiling.  The ceiling is made 
of metal sheets and halogen lights set in a checkerboard pattern and 
supported by steel beams.  Each metal sheet is approximately three and a 
half feet by three and a half feet.  Each light fixture is comprised of 
three halogen bulbs of approximately three feet in length and is covered 
by opaque plastic.  The steel beam between each square is almost two, 
maybe three, inches in width.  Within his circle of vision, he can count 
seven squares across and four squares deep.  At the top of his vision is 
the wall.  If he strains, he can move his head in the restraint and see 
another square for two rows on each side.  He can see twenty-eight squares, 
and with strain, he can see thirty-two.  This is approximately four 
hundred and forty-eight square feet.  Bobby is bored.

     Mondo contemplates the floor.  He looses himself in the subtle 
patterns.  They are very nice.  He smiles and is content.

     Paige contemplates Jonothon.  Jonothon contemplates Paige.  They sit 
on opposite sides of the Infirmary and don't talk.  

     Jubilee contemplates Paige contemplating Jono.  She contemplates 
telling them to stop contemplating already and just declare their undying 
love, for goodness sake.  On second thought, this is more amusing, so 
Jubilee is content as she watches her friends.  A random thought flashes 
through her mind.  ''This is more fun than watching "As the Days of Our 
Lives Turn".''

     Pressing a computer key, Angelo brings up the next map of the school 
grounds and tunnel system.  Everett stands over his shoulder, and they 
both study the schematics.  The computer terminal is located in a small 
alcove off of the main room, and the people watching the terminal can 
also watch the rest of the room as well.  The two boys use this to their 
advantage.  Angelo gives Everett another look, one that Everett returns 
with a firm nod of the head.  With that, and a few more pressed keys, and 
then a few more still, Angelo begins to break into the school computer.  
After a few minutes, he brings up a small file entitled 'Mondo'.  Looking 
grim, they begin to read.

     The floor to ceiling windows are the perfect place for the two 
scouts to sit and watch from.  The windows, while clear on this side, 
were a perfect reflector -- of heat, visuals, radio waves -- on the 
other.  One way mirrors in all senses of the word.  There were cards 
scattered in between the two scouts, but they'd given up playing cards a 
few hours ago.  As soon as it got light enough to see, they began 
scouting the grounds, watching for any stray or sudden movement.  They 
were good at that.  Very few people could hide from them.  If anyone 
runs from tree to tree or from building to building, Artie and Leech will 
know.

     Curling in one corner of the room, covered in blankets, Penance 
dozes lightly.  She couldn't fall asleep all night.  There were a lot of 
people in the room, and she didn't necessarily like that.  A lot of 
strange people, too.  It's hard for her to feel comfortable around 
crowds, and even harder for her to feel comfortable around crowds of 
strange people.  At least she isn't outside, though.  That's what she 
thinks.  At least she's not outside.  Safe.  Here is safe.  For now.

     Gateway sits in the middle of the air, cross legged, his hands in 
his lap, a slight smile on his face.  Before him sits his student, Monet, 
whose legs are also crossed, whose hands are also in her lap, but who is 
not smiling.  Occasionally, one or the other of the funny -- that's 
strange, not haha -- pair will blink or give a shake of the head or 
gesture with a hand.  One can only guess what they're talking about.

     But Mallory tries anyways.  Predictably, she hasn't got the faintest 
clue.  She checks her semi-automatic sub-machine gun a final time and 
loads the magazine, pressing firmly and hearing the satisfying click that 
means it's locked into place.  'Bell and Greg have already checked 
theirs, and unlike Mallory, don't feel the need to check and recheck them 
a hundred times over.  While they lounge on the small couch in the 
waiting room, Mallory stands up and walks over to the girl who just 
woke.  Last night, Sean had said to watch after this girl and that other 
guy, and she fully intends on doing exactly what she's been told.  That 
was rule number one.  Do what you're told.  She doesn't really like to 
follow the rules, and she rarely follows rule number one to the letter, 
but in this case, she's willing to make an exception.  Handing the girl a 
cup of coffee, she smiles and is relieved to see the smile returned.  
Turning to the other guy, she checks the machines and nods.  The 
diagnostic scan is almost complete, and the minor injuries are nearly 
fixed.  ''This is good technology,''  she thinks.

     "So, Doc, am I going to live?"  Bobby asks as he noticed something 
other than the ceiling come within his circle of vision.  It doesn't hurt 
that she's a lot prettier than the ceiling too.

     Doc Mallory -- she likes the sound of that -- smiles lopsidedly and 
nods.  "For now, anyways.  How you feelin'?"

     "Besides feeling incredibly bored?"  She nods, and he grins.  
"Bored."  A slight amused smirk crosses her lips, and he chuckles to 
himself.  Perfect set up, perfect execution, and he gets an amused smirk.  
Not as good as a laugh, but better than an annoyed glare.

     "Good to hear.  The scan should be complete in five minutes and 
counting, and the last bruise is being worked on as we speak.  If you 
stay right here, I'll go get you a bagel and some coffee."  She grins and 
knows what he'll say next.

     "Right, well, since you asked so nice, I guess I'll hang out for a 
little while longer."  Not quite the words she was thinking, but the same 
intent.  She gets an amused smirk, now, from him.  While he lies there 
and figures out the number of square inches he can see, she walks back to 
the waiting room, grabs a bagel -- blueberry, with real bits of blueberry 
and not those imitation chemicals -- and pours another cup of coffee.  By 
the time she gets back, the soft buzzing of the equipment lets her know 
that it's done.

     "All clear,"  she says.  While she's more than competent to handle 
this equipment, she wishes, not for the first time, that Genna, her 
team's medic, hadn't gone back to HQ with the others.  There are probably 
needles and pins stuck in all sorts of unmentionable places on this poor 
guy.  Oh, well, there's no helping it.  She begins to unhook, unlatch, 
and unstick the medical apparati while he watches with relief.

     "Thanks.  I appreciate this.  I was beginning to feel a lot like a 
porcupine in this get up."  As the med-arm is released, it swings upwards.  
The head gear quickly follows.  Finally, he can move his head again.  
More importantly, he can take care of that itch that was beginning to 
seriously bother him.

     The last of the equipment falls away.  "Don't mention it."  Putting 
an arm around his shoulders, she helps to lift him into a sitting 
position.  He groans at the movement after so long spent immobile, and 
then he looks embarrassed.  She hands him his clothes to change into 
while wondering why medical gowns are always so short and open in the 
back.  Probably to keep the patient from leaving before its time.  Not 
that she minded, of course;  for a 'mutant', he's very attractive, and 
it's been a long time since she's had that sort of companionship.  
Noticing he won't move until she's drawn the curtain around the med bed, 
she can't hide another amused smirk or keep from saying,  "Don't worry.  
It's nothing I haven't seen before.  Literally."  With her back turned, 
she doesn't get the chance to see his reaction, but she can imagine.

     Cordelia grins as well, being close enough to listen to the 
conversation.  "Hi ... I'm Cordelia," she says, holding her hand out for 
a shake.  The other woman was obviously older, by maybe ten or so years, 
and seemed to be taking everything in stride.  Maybe she would believe 
the dreams ... nah.  Safer just to keep them to herself for now.

     "Hi, Cordelia.  I'm Mallory.  Nice to meet you."  She holds out her 
own hand and shakes the other girl's firmly.  Cordelia's grip was firm, 
but not overly aggressive, something which impressed the hard to impress 
Mallory.  "How you feeling?  All ready to face the coming fight?"

     "Fight?"  Cordelia blanched, not looking so impressive right now.

     Mallory nodded.  "Yeah, a fight."  Replying softly, with kindness, 
she makes sure to not scare the kid any more than'd already happened.  
"But, hey, you don't have to worry about it.  You've got a great set of 
people here to help.  Jack and Sean are locked up in the office right now 
discussing what they know, what they think they know, and what they think 
they can do about it."

     Nodding, Cordelia puts on her running shoes and straightens her 
crooked shirt.  Considering she slept in these clothes, they don't look 
all that bad.  "Okay.  You're right."

     "Of course I'm right.  Never doubt a Jenkins.  We have this annoying 
habit of being on the right and always getting out alive.  You couldn't 
be in better hands."

     From behind the woman, Bobby pipes up with,  "That's assuming you 
stay on this side, right?"  The laughter in his voice makes the otherwise 
harsh words a joke.  He pushes the curtain back and sits back down on his 
medical bed, picking up the bagel and coffee and downing them both at once.

     "Yeah, yeah, smart ass.  Keep it up."  Mallory glances back at Bobby 
and smiles appreciatively.  She's always liked a guy with a good sense of 
humour.  

     Bobby remains unaware that he's being watched and takes a good look 
at the woman in front of him.  She would come up to about his shoulder if 
he was standing.  Not a delicate flower, she's tall and muscled, not like 
a body builder, but more like a swimmer or marathoner.  Her hair, pulled 
back from her face and held tightly, is a dark auburn, and her eyes are 
green.  High cheekbones and an oval face with full lips would usually 
melt his heart that instant, but there was a hardness in her eyes that he 
wasn't used to seeing in women, except for his fellow teammates.  
Glancing down, he notices, for the first time, the sub-machine gun 
hanging from a strap on her right shoulder and the sniper rifle slung 
across her back.  His eyebrows lift suddenly in surprise.

     Noticing his expression, Mallory chuckles.  "Alright, maybe I'm a 
little too armed right at this moment, but there's no sense in not 
playing it close to the chest today."

     "What do you *do*, anyways?"  Cordelia asks.

     Bobby stops himself from asking more questions, promising himself 
that he'll have a nice long chat with her later.  "That's right, you 
weren't on the field trip, were you, Cordelia?"

     Cordelia shakes her head.  "No, we came too late for that.  From 
what I hear, though, I'm glad."

     A vaguely displeased look crosses Mallory's face.  "Yeah, that one 
sure went all wrong.  First time in years, too.  But, I get the sense 
that's not what you're asking, right?"

     "Right."

     "Well, Jack's little outfit doubles as a more ... military group as 
well.  In fact, after he left Interpol, he found out he couldn't just sit 
back and let the world pass him by.  The old cout's still got a few good 
years in him, after all."  Her fingers lightly played over the gun metal 
while she speaks of her team.  "Anyhow, he finds people and trains them, 
and the outward bound group is a front for a mercenary team."  She 
grins.  It felt nice to talk to people who she could be up front and 
honest with.

     "That makes sense,"  Bobby says, nodding.  "You guys seem a little 
too together to really be anything but experienced in this."

     "You could tell that?"  Cordelia asks, looking at Mallory sharply, 
as if she could find the 'Grade A Quality' stamp somewhere.

     "Sure,"  Bobby replies.  "Look at the way they're not freaking out 
and the kind of equipment they're carrying."  He nods his head to the 
sniper rifle.  "And it's not cheap, I can tell you that much."

     "Why, Mr. Drake, have you been holding out on us?"  Mallory asks.  
"I thought you super-hero, super-powered mutants didn't really care much 
for us traditional types."  Her easy grin seems almost out of place with 
the rest of her appearance.

     From the waiting room, 'Bell calls out to everyone, interupting the 
conversation.  "They're out,"  she says,  "and they want everyone in 
here."  She glances at Mallory, and they share a meaningful glance.

     "Oh, joy.  Here we go."  Cordelia moves off of her bed and stays 
with Bobby and Mallory, following them into the waiting room.

     Bobby grins at her.  "Hey, it's going to be okay.  Don't you worry 
about it.  Just stick by my side, kid, and you'll go far."

     Cordelia smirks at the confidence he tries to project.  She isn't 
sure if he's serious, and she really doesn't care.  Alright, so she's 
convinced.  Maybe the dream was wrong.  Maybe it was just a nightmare.

     The rest of the team trickled in one or two at a time.  Occupying 
the couches and parts of the floor, they gather together and watch the 
two older members of the group.  Some are anxious, some scared, and some 
are blissfully unaware of the magnitude of the situation.

     Sean clears his throat, startling some of the more nervous members 
of the audience.  "The situation is grave, as ye all know,"  he started, 
not wasting any time with pleasantries.  "Emma is missin', an' we've half 
a dozen'r more intruders on the grounds.  I can say we're more than a 
bit worried, but Emma's a big lass, an' we're no push overs, ourselves, 
and I'm confidant that we will come through this an' well."

     Angelo looks at Sean with a mix of acceptance and doubt.  "Was that 
your version of a pep talk?"

     The others glance around, just listening with as much diligence as 
they can muster.  Sean and Jack glance at each other one more time before 
Sean continues.  "Aye.  I suppose it was.  But don't ye worry yuirselves.  
Jack and his group will be coming with me and Bobby, and we'll be 
searching the rest of the place for some sign of the intruders.  So long 
as ye all will stay here, ye'll be safe."  Glancing at Jubilee, he 
considers his words and changes his mind.  "As we all know,"  he starts, 
staring at the young Asian girl,  "staying in one place is harder done 
than said.  So, if ye feel that ye have something to do that could help, 
and ye feel up to it, then ye may.  But, I cannae waste the time to talk 
o' it, so I'm takin' ye all at yuir words.  Don't put yuirselves in 
danger."  

     With that, he nods, once, and turns to gesture to the older 
defenders.  They move into the office and close the door, leaving the 
others to their own devices.

---------------
Act 1, Scene 2

     "So, what are we going to do, Sean?"

     Sean smiles wanly, the events of the last few hours beginning to 
catch up to him.  No longer a young man, he's not sure if he can keep up 
this furious pace.  "What we do best, Mallory.  Defend our home against 
people who insist on destroying it and taking it from us and 
simultaneously finding and saving the hopefully as yet unharmed Emma."  
Grim expression settle over the occupants of the room, and Sean struggles 
to find a bright side.  "At least there's less than a dozen out there for 
us to content with,"  he points out.

     "We think,"  interupts Jack.  His ever pragmatic nature contantly 
forces him to look on the bad side.  It isn't pesimism because, 
unfortunatly, things often take a bad turn in situations like these.  
''And they're only kids,'' he thinks, a deep anger coiling in his gut.  
People who preyed on the less powerful, and especially the young, deserve 
nothing but contempt.  And a quick bullet to the cerebral cortex.

     Bobby nods, his blue eyes troubled.  A self-destructive litany 
sings its seduction into his mind, his anger and guilt feeding it.  
It's all his fault, it croons to him, all his fault for getting knocked 
out, for losing Emma to the enemy, for not doing more.  For once again 
failing.  Nevermind that he was outnumbered and outgunned, and nevermind 
that she's the enemy, too.  ''Shut up!'' he tells himself at this last 
part.  ''She's not the enemy.  So she took advantage of me and used me.  
She's still one of us.  I shouldn't have let them take her!''  Laughing 
quietly, it's edges sharp as thorns, the litany leaves him no peace.   
Finding that he doesn't have any words to add to the conversation, he 
keeps quiet and continues to berate himself.

     The little office into which the senior members of the party had 
retired is much like any doctor's office, complete with medicale tomes, 
encyclopedias, and paraphenalia of every time.  For all its cramped 
quarters, though, it has more than enough room to pace, which a few took 
to immediately.

     "Well, isn't there some sort of homing beacon you put on your 
people?"  someone asks.

     "Emma doesn't wear one.  Doesn't like for us to know her 
whereabouts,"  Sean supplies, leaning back in the one chair in the 
office.

     "What about some sort of tracking mutant?  Someone's got one of 
those, don't they?"

     "That's X-Force, not us.  As dearly as I love me daughter, *please* 
don't get us confused with that rag tag team of misfits."  He grimaces 
and reminds himself not to think so badly of them.

     "Well, we've got to find the people out there.  We need to split up 
and start searching the grounds."

     Jack clears his throat.  The younger adults, especially the few from 
his group, look up at him expectantly.  "No, we shouldn't split up.  Not 
right now.  We don't know how many of them are out there, or what they're 
carrying, or even what they want."  Glancing at Bobby, he says, "Besides 
Emma, that is."

     "Aye.  And once we have hold of them, we can find out where they're 
staying and search it for Emma as well.  Somehow I doubt she's still on 
school grounds."

     Mallory walks towards the back of the cramped office, taking a seat 
next to Bobby on the counter.  "Why not?"  she asks Sean.

     "Because they don't want to risk the chance of losing her.  Even if 
these goons are stopped, they -- whoever 'they' are -- will have at least 
one person to show for all their effort."  Moving his chair closer to the 
desk, he looks at the schematics to the grounds.  His finger traces the 
myraid squiggles across the paper.

     Bobby leans back against the wall, still only listening to the 
converation with half an ear.  He notices Mallory to his right, but 
doesn't feel like speaking with her right now.  Unfortunatly, she doesn't 
give him an option.  "You feeling okay?"  she whispers, her brows drawed 
together, her concern written on her face.  That only makes him feel 
worse.  Here he is, a member of the almighty X-Men, sulking and carrying 
on as if the world owed *him* a favor, simply because he exists.  
Forstalling the inevitable questions, he gives her a quick nods and puts 
his two fingers to his lips, gesturing for her to quiet.

     "That doesn't look too bad,"  Jack comments.  Bobby looked over at 
the map, trying to see what they're speaking about.  "Come up by the 
backroads, don't make too much noise, and have ourselves a sneak peak.  
I'd say that observation tower looks out over at least three quarters of 
the grounds."

     Sean nods, but his voice carries hesitation and wariness in it.  
"True, but they're bound to know it too.  I wouldn't be surprised if 
they'd planned for it, in fact.  It's too noticable to be a secondary or 
field base, but it's perfect for an ambush site."

     The grin on Jack's face is enough to get an answering grin out of 
Sean.  "Perfect for an ambush,"  Jack repeats, a feral gleam in his eyes.

---------------
Act 1, Scene 3

     "What did I do?
      To be so black
      And blue." 
      - Louis Armstrong

     << I hate this song. >>

     "Which, this song?  Es muy bonita, Jono, you just don't got no 
taste."

     Jonothon glances up and to his right at Angelo.  He leans back 
against the wall, closes his eyes, and says,  << Jesus Christ, mate, 
can't yer tell that they're just a bad rip'f a bad cover band doing the 
Beatles? >>

     There is an awkward pause, long enough for Jonothon to slowly think 
the words,  ''Hell, 'm only teasin' 'im, he knows...''  but not long 
enough for him to think  '' ... I don't mean any of it.''  Before he 
manages to get that last bit out, Angelo says,  "Watch it, chico.  Don' 
take His name in vain." 

       Jonothon is momentarily startled, before he remembers that, yeah, 
Angelo _does_ wear that cross around his neck, and he does say his 
prayers, and he is fairly Catholic ... bloody hell.  << Sorry, mate. >>

     "Yeah, well, watch it next time."

     Silence.  More silence.

     And then just a bit more silence, to piss off those of you who're 
expecting sex, violence and intrigue.

     The room is still filled with young people, students in the strict 
sense of the word.  A couch next to the fireplace is taken up by a young 
Asian girl (who those of you with any skill at this sort of thing might 
recognize as Jubilee) and this one Samoan guy (who, again, yeah, if 
you've skill, well, that one's Mondo, but you know that).  Nervous voices 
fill the room, slowly, giving Angelo the sensation of the slowly rising 
noise of a pack of Killer Bees.  He makes a mental note to clip Dilbert 
today -- it was humorous.

     Jonothon waits until those in the room are silent, and pushes away 
from the wall.  << We've a problem. >>  he says.

     The room silences almost immediately. It's probably not so much 
_who_ is speaking, but the method in which he chooses to speak -- a voice 
in your head does hell for your train of thought. 

     "Thank you, oh great and wise one,"  Angelo sneers sarcastically from 
somewhere behind Jonothon.  "So what do you plan on doing about it?  Sean 
and the others don't want us doing anything."

     At this, Jonothon rolls his eyes, raises a hand, and says in a 
monotonous voice ( think, you know, that teacher bloke from Ferris 
Bueller. "Mr. Bueller? Mr. Bueller?" ),  << Mr. Espinosa? We're going t' 
split up.  Some of us go after Ms. Frost, the others do recon. >>

     Paige rubs her neck with a smile.  Yeah, Paige's in the room as 
well.  Hell, everyone is, really.  She asks,  "Are you sure we should be 
doing this?  I mean, Mr. Cassidy told us to stay put."  The question of 
"Why's _he_ leadin' us?" never quite crosses the minds of most of the 
kids in the room, except for Jubilee, although she'd ask the same about, 
hell, anyone who doesn't have enough hair on his chest to pass for a 
sheep, smokes nasty cigars and has hair vaguely like Glenn Danzig.  But 
... we won't go there.

     << I think we need to do it, sunshine.  It's not a matter of whether 
we should or not. >>

     Angelo nods.  "Right.  They need more than just their half dozen 
chicos to search this huge place.  And, 'sides, what else we going to 
do?" 

     "So.  We split up," says Monet, with a slightly smug look.  She 
didn't ask the question of why Jono seemed to be the one to take control 
of the situation and not her, and for good reason -- she couldn't care 
less.  "They said that we should do what we can.  And, considering just 
who and what we all are, we can do a considerable amount.  Wouldn't you 
agree?"  She looks around at everyone, almost seeming to dare someone to 
disagree.

     << Right.  You get the ankles n' I get the wrists.  Ange', Jubilee, 
c'mon.  Ye're with me.  The rest, good luck, but we're goin' after Emma. >>

     Monet nods.  "Right.  Fewer are needed for that.  Paige, Everett, 
Penance and I will search for the remainder of the intruders.  From what 
I can gather ... "  There is a long pause, and the faces around the room 
register an almost wary surprise. " ... she's not on the premises."

     A silence falls onto the room as they realize their jobs have 
just gotten much harder.  Cordelia takes advantage of the moment of 
silence and asks, in a small voice,  "What about us?"  She gestures to 
Mondo, Leech, and Artie.

     << Just stay 'ere n' man the comm system. >>

     "Like, wow, who the hell died and made you Herr Fuhrer Jono?"  Do we 
even need to ask who was the one who made _that_ witticism?

     << God. >> 

     Oooh.  Nihilism.  _Yum_.

---------------
Act 1, Scene 4

     Cordelia looks up as Sean walks out of the office, followed by Jack 
and the rest.  She smiles when she spots Mallory and Bobby, feeling 
close, already, to these two.  Shifting in her seat, she leans forward, 
eager to here any news.  This 'sit by the comm and monitor' business 
wasn't too appealing.

     Sean stops and says, quite simply,  "Where ... did everyone ... 
go?"  His gaze across the almost empty room before settling on Cordelia 
as the most respsonsible of those left.  "Do ye know, lass?"

     Startled, Cordelia looks around guiltily.  She isn't quite sure why 
she feels guilty  --  she was the one left behind after all;  not like 
she had a word in any of it  --  but the thought of answering for the 
whereabouts of the rest of the students down't appeal to her.  "No, 
sir,"  she says in a very quiet voice.  "They left me behind with the 
others."  She nods to Mondo, Artie and Leech.

     Hearing her voice, Sean wonders if she's not disappointed with being 
left behind.  Brows drawing together, he asks,  "Ye dinnae know?"  A bit 
incredulous, he turns to regard the rest of the children.  "Does anyone 
else know?"

     The others stare blankly at Sean, and Mondo even goes so far as to 
raise his thick fingers to brush them through his hair.  "I think that's 
a no,"  Jack says, his lips twisted deftly.  The expression looks more 
grim on his face than it would on another's.  He and Sean share a look of 
exasperation.

     "Well, maybe we can use that to our advantage,"  Sean says, looking 
at Cordelia with a considering expression.  "The best way to attract the 
wolf is to set out a lamb."  He smiles, eyes narrowing as he follows his 
thought.  Jack glances sidelong at his old friend, then turns his own 
attention back to Cordelia as well.  Nodding, the two smile tightly.  
"Cordelia, lass,"  he says.  "Just how much are ye willing to help us?"

     Features paling, Cordelia can only nod dumbly.

---------------
Epilogue

     The woman in black strides down the corridor with determination.  
She passes men and women coming in and out of their small offices and 
even smaller lives.  At the end of the corridor, her path diverges from 
that of the mindless ones, and she enters a seldom used elevator.  One 
quick scan reveals nothing of consequence, and so she uses her security 
card to access the lower reaches.

     Walking out of the elevator and into yet another corridor, the 
woman sends her mind ahead and scans the occupants of the next room.  
*He's* there, and she -- who has fought and killed and ruled over 
thousands in her long life -- cringes.

     <<  Ah, my dear, I had thought you would not come. >>  The voice 
brushes against her mind, an oily substance contaminating where it 
touches.  She longs to run from it, but she knows it will find her, 
wherever she is, and so she hides herself telepathically, shielding her 
innermost thoughts.  She knows he will not seek them out ... not yet, 
anyhow, as he knows he has all the time in the world to torment her.

     << Of course I come, Master. >>  she answers smoothly.  Opening the 
door, she steps through and comes face to face with the mortal body of 
her master.  Such an unassuming body.  She's killed men like that before, 
petty, small minded ... but not anymore.  Not since that body has been 
possessed by such a power.

     "And?"  he prompts, impatient that he should have to do so.  She 
kneels, immediatly, on one knee and then rises again, her body grace 
personified.  Moving to take a seat in the conference room, she stills 
her thoughts and returns to the topic at hand.

     "The reports are favorable.  Mr. Forn and his associates have 
located the existance of a set of young, powerful mutants, and as we 
speak, he is moving in to take them."  She sets her attache case on the 
desk next to her, removing a series of faxes and placing them on the 
neutral space between them.

     The body reaches forward and takes the faxes, glancing through them 
negligently.  He is unconcerned about this small side project of his ... 
for now, anyways.  This body has a few good years in it, and so the 
choosing of another host can wait.  Still, it always pays to be prepared, 
and he glances through the preliminary reports.  "These show promise,"  
he says, after quietly reading the faxes and putting them back into a 
small pile.

     "He is a good man, if not so talented as he thinks,"  the woman 
says without smiling.

     "You doubt his ability?"  he counters.

     She wonders if she hears the cautionary tone in his voice, and 
deciding to err on the side of good judgement, she says,  "Of course 
not."  She goes no further.

     He smiles, a thin lipped stretching which looks like the richtus 
grin of a corpse.  Nodding to her, he says,  "Go, then.  Bring the 
children before me when you have selected a handful of possibilities.  
You know my ... requirements."

     Gathering up her papers, she stands quickly and nods with something 
passing as respect.  She says nothing, not trusting herself to speak.  
She doesn't trust herself not to think even more, though, and so she 
deliberatly focuses on the game, smiling ever so slightly to him, eyes 
dark and mysterious, her body posing casually.

     He laughs, then, and motions for her to leave.  She does so as 
quickly as possible, fearing and hating.  For now ... for now the fear 
wins.  She knows she is no match for him.  Despite all her lifetimes of 
learning and mastering her skill, Selene, Black Queen of the Hellfire 
Club and External, is still no match for the ever-powerful Shadow King.

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