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*X-WRITERS is a fan fiction group, dedicated to Marvel's X-Men line of *
*books. We neither have permission to use these characters in this way *
*nor do we get paid by any other organization, MUSH, or individual to  *
*do so. Rhonda is the only major character not owned by Marvel. She was*
*created by Rhonda (fancy that!) for fun, so don't pounce on her!      *
*And JEEZ do NOT sue us. We don't like lawyers. They're creepy/spooky. *
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Uncanny X-Men #326  "The Twelve -- A Prologue"
Written by:  Rhonda (ginter@vax2.concordia.ca)


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Phoenix, Arizona -- an Ophrah Industries compound
	The duo entered (Zoe Culloden and her silent partner), anxious
to collect their much-deserved paycheck.  Research staff crowded around
monitors in the vast laboratory, and Zoe peered through the glass
window, noting the dark figure sitting cross-legged on a metal platform,
devices monitoring his vital signs.  "The old man alright?" she asked.
	"Don't worry about him, Culloden," an authoritative man near
the far door said.  "We certainly don't."  His name was Gideon; he was
her employer.
	For the past weeks, Culloden had been tracking various dangerous
mercenaries, from one end of the world to the other, for a cause that she
did not understand -- or truly care about.  Mr. Gideon had explained
little and she asked for even less. All she wanted was her check. A born
mercenary, what else was more important?
	"I want my payback, Gideon."
	"And you will get it, my dear," he sneered, approaching the two.
Culloden's 'partner in crime' stood ever quiet, glancing at the terminals
and trying to digest what the scientists were doing.  Gideon turned to
the old man in the observation room.  "Look at him... he's so old, and weak,
and truly so innocent.  And think of what he's capable of doing..."
Gideon smiled broadly and turned back to Culloden, who nodded impatiently.
"Your job is not quite over."
	Culloden smiled confidently.  "Actually, sir, it is.  My offers
are lining up and waiting; I don't have time for your problems. I've
got my own."
	"And you'll only have more if you don't pay attention---" she 
turned away as Gideon spoke. "---close attention," he continued, grabbing
her arm, "to what I'm saying.  You will not get your money. And there
won't be another job.  Understood?"
	Zoe stared deep into his eyes and saw immediately how serious
he was. And his physical reflexes, his anger, frightened her surprisingly,
such that she could only nod.
	Gideon turned to one of his staff, who typed in a few commands on
a monitor.  The face of a young woman, with whiteish hair and a cocky
attitude (Zoe could tell), was displayed immediately, parallel to a 
full frontal view of her body, with physical and genetic characteristics
listed below in bolded letters.  "Her. She is your next, and hopefully
final, target."
	"Her name, Gideon. I don't like to hunt people I don't know."
	"Siena Blaze... You might find her rather tough to get.  She has---"
	Zoe smiled and interjected. "An attitude? That's alright, so do
I. I'll get her."

****

Westchester County, New York State -- The Xavier Institute
	They sat anxiously watching the television, one in his wheelchair,
the other crouched on the sofa by the fireplace.  The study was dark, only
dimly-lit by a lamp on the desk as well as by the dim lit of the television
screen.  As the sun rose outside, Hank McCoy and Charles Xavier sadly
waited as the world crumbled around them.
	"More information has come in regarding the break-in at the Brand
Corporation last night.  A spokesman reported, just a few minutes ago, that
three undescript mutants were videotaped leaving the scene of destruction,
though none have been identified. Oddly enough, there is no disclosed 
videotape of the mutants, or anyone else, breaking into the industrial
site, so the original perpetrator is still at large.  And in other news----"
	Hank sighed deeply and turned the monitor off, staying crouched in
front of the monitor, very pensive.  Charles sensed that something was 
bothering him and spoke considerately, "Hank... if you want to investigate
the incident alone, we'll understand. You have a history with Brand Corp."
	But the other said nothing, at first.  "No... I'm needed here,
Charles, and I'm not prepared to go leave now.  They say "mutants", but
they don't even know that for fact. It's probably just a sad case of
industrial espionnage gone bad."
	Charles said nothing. He was given no opportunity to speak, as 
a knock on the door interrupted their silence.  The girls stood in the
doorway, both seeming rather brusk and confidant in their proper 
stances.  The one who leaned against the frame of the doorway, she was 
called Tabitha Smith, or Boomer to her peers.  The other, already 
standing inside the dim office, was known as Rhonda.  Relatively unknown, 
even to her friends.
	"Enter, Tabitha."  Charles didn't quite look up. He was still 
gazing into space, thinking very much about the consequences of his past 
actions. But even more on his mind now was what was truly troubling his 
dear friend and student, Hank.  If only he had the courage, the nerve, to 
probe into his thoughts... but Charles remembered Voght, and Magneto, and 
decided (perhaps against his better judgment) not to pry. Whatever the cost.
	Rhonda turned toward a seat in front of Charles' desk, as if 
implying that she'll sit whether or not she gets permission. She needed 
not dare. Charles invited her openly.  "Please, Rhonda, sit." And she 
did. He began, "Your escapade with Remy last night got a lot of public... 
exposure."
	"Well, we got trapped in a real bad situation," Tabitha 
interjected. Charles nodded.
	"Yes, I realize that..." he took a long pause and then seemed 
almost to change the topic.  "A senator was arrested that night. At your 
'home', Rhonda."
	"That place's about as much a home as this place is... it's the 
place I stayed, that's all."
	The Professor continued. "Well, hopefully you'll find more peace 
later in life."
	"Ummm, Professor... I was hoping that Rhonda could stay here, 
y'know?  She n' I have a lot to talk about, n' we haven't seen each other 
in a long while."
	Hank chuckled softly.  "A regular little slomber party, eh?"
	"No, that's fine, Tabitha," Charles turned to Rhonda.  "Tabitha 
will let you stay into the guest room. We'll speak this afternoon."
	Rhonda stepped back toward the door. "Sounds good to me... Let's 
go, Tabs."  She walked out the door, Tabitha close at heel.
	Once out in the hallway, Tabs by her side, the two giggled 
gleefully.

****

Phoenix, Arizona.
	Papers shuffled across his desk, a conference call getting closed 
up, Gideon was hardly exhausted.  He'd fought a life-time for this 
opportunity, the chance to do away with those who opposed him. One by 
one. Little by little. A small step giving way to a giant leap.  Soon, 
the moment that his old friend, Burke, had predicted would come about. 
The moment of truth. And his rivals (the world at large) would fall.
	He scanned the newspapers eagerly, almost nervously, to see if his plan 
had been successful.  "Boston... San Francisco... Hamburg..." he smiled. 
"New York.  New York democrat Senator Tracey was arrested last night 
at..." He'd had enough.
	"Was the venture a success, sir?" his aide asked anxiously.
	Gideon grinned rather smugly.  "Of course it did, Chapman.  Cray 
did her job... Get the Senator on the phone, would you?"
	The aide searched through the mess on his employer's desk, until 
he had the phone in hand.  Pressing a memory button, he recalled a set 
number and listened as it ringed, rather impatiently picking his 
fingernails.  "Yes, this is Mr. Gideon's office from Ophrah... get me 
Senator Kelly." Gideon turned his revolving chair around, crossing his 
legs at the ankles and glancing through the thin metallic Venetian blinds 
into the desert beyond.

****

	They charged her with a raw ferocity.  All she could think was, 
"How dense do these 'gentlemen' think I am?"  Ororo Monroe ignored her 
powers, for once in her life. She could easily have taken them down, too 
easily. She desired a challenge; she desired a fight.
	The streetgang, armed with cheap revolvers and rather primitive 
daggers, sneered as she taunted them.  Some yelled as they leaped her, 
and she kicked them off with ease.  How could she respect such a villain? 
Such an opponent?  They were no opponent.
	As she smashed the last aggressor's head against the stone wall, 
she felt a shudder down her spine.  A heart ripped out, much less than 
figuratively.  Quite literally, only weeks earlier, she had held the 
young Marrow's life in her hands, and squeezed, and ripped... and killed. 
And now she did so with even less thought, and certainy less 
aforethought. For it was all a computer simulation.
	"Computer, end program."  Normally, Storm worked up a sweat in 
such excercises.  She always had to consider the 'right approach'; "What 
would Scott do in such a situation?" she used to think.  "What would the 
Professor do?" "Will they still respect me?"
	Will they still respect her after what she's done?
	"Ororo, you oughta work yourself more," a taunting voice said 
from the control room.  She looked up to see Scott's hard face, hard with 
angst and war and love all at once, shining down upon her.  Once she had 
respected it, sought to achieve that state.  She wanted... to feel 
well-deserved and deserving, to have grand achievements and yet still be 
achieving. And now that she did, she only sought, strangely, to destroy it.
	"I know, Scott," Ororo said, her face blank with disappointment 
and dismay.  Then she smiled warmly, "I can't imagine what's come over 
me. I used to be a threat."
	"You always had guts, Storm. Thank God you also have a heart."
	"Yes... a heart..." and she remembered why she had come to the 
Danger Room at all.  So she changed the subject, rather futily, to 
Jean.  "Jean still hasn't returned yet, has she?"
	Scott shook his head, "No. She hasn't... still looking for Logan."
	"I hope she comes back with him; he shouldn't have left without 
us," she said thoughtfully. "I like to think that, even after all he's 
been through in the past, even he needs someone."
	"More than anyone else I know, Ororo."
	Storm nodded. "He is very weak now though, Scott. I wish you 
wouldn't distrust him so much."
	"What makes you say I do?"
	Storm grinned.  "Just remember that Jean loves you, Scott. Stop 
hurting over a man as honourable as Logan is."  She moved over to the 
doorway and into the elevator, which took her to the control room by 
Scott.  He tossed her a towel.
	"So what was that workout about, anyway?  You have some anger you 
need to direct?"
	"Don't you, Scott?"
	"What does it matter?" Scott was rather defensive, sensing a 
renewed rivalry.  "Look... just remember where you come from, alright? 
Madam Goddess."
	She didn't even nod.  "Yes, I know who and what I am.  That's 
what worries me.  I hardly feel the same at all... yet again, I neither 
know who I am and, more precisely, what I am to become..."
	Storm didn't wait for an answer and left Scott alone in the room, 
worried about a close friend who was pushing away from him, wondering how 
he could help. He couldn't, though.

****

	Outside, they ran side by side, rather silent except for the 
occasional grunt.  In the months that they had known each other, Remy and 
Sam had shared few words.  They didn't require any.  Action was all that 
was needed, and each had only respect for the other.
	"Tell me, Remy, what was that ya did with Tabs last night?" Sam 
prodded.
	Remy grinned and kept jogging, rubbing his chest briefly to wipe 
the sweat from his shirt.  "Look-see, Cannonball, you wanna get into 
talkin' 'bout the girl, you gotta talk to the girl."
	Sam kept running, just behind Gambit.  "C'mon, ah know somethin's 
up.  Bobby said Tabs brought an old friend home."
	Remy remained silent until finally he added, "Oui, good friend o' 
hers, I think. Nice girl too..."
	"How nice, Remy?" Sam said jokingly, as Remy jabbed him in the 
ribs, sending the other off onto the grass chuckling.
	"'Bout as nice as any other nice girl." And that was that.  Remy 
jogged forward furiously, eager to prove a point: that he was fit. Fit 
for what, however, was the question.
	Meanwhile, others watched them from the patio, sipping coffee in 
the early-morning sun.  A light mist rose above the Institute's grounds, 
chilling the surface.  Betsy Braddock couldn't take it much longer, as 
she watched Remy run ahead of Sam.
	"He bothers me..." she said to her two close friends.
	Warren spoke up, after swallowing a mouth-full of coffee.  "Who 
does, Bets?" Bobby sat with them, eyes glacy more than usual, paying 
slightly less attention to them than he was to the increasing frost on 
his mug.
	Betsy looked up and turned to the other two.  "Remy.  I... looked 
into his mind. And while I feel it was wrong of me, I'm not sure... it 
frightened me."
	"How so?" Warren asked.
	"It was so mysterious, an alley, Gambit prowling the streets... 
he was hunting, Warren. And then, he awoke. He said what almost seemed 
like a threat."
	"Chilling."
	"Pardon me?"
	Iceman spoke suddenly. "I said it was chilling." And the mug, 
encased in a field of ice, cracked instantly and shattered, splinters of 
ceramic resting on the table as only a memory.
	"What that to prove a point?" Warren said humourously.
	Less humourously, Bobby said, "No, it's just how I feel about it. 
Rogue felt something was wrong, and she couldn't deal with it. And Betsy 
now. How else can you describe it?"
	"None-of-our-business comes to mind," Warren said.
	"No, I hardly think _that_ is the case," Betsy noted.  "Victor, 
in the past, has frightened us all. He's offered memories, though. His 
memories. Of Gambit, of his past... and while he may not remember the 
truth now, I fear that we may find out for ourselves."
	Warren spoke seriously, "Look, hon, Bobby, how would you like it 
if Jean crossed you? If she suspected you of being a 'bad person'? 
Gambit's doing a pretty good job being what he's apparently always been 
meant to be: an X-man. What place is it of ours to challenge him?"
	They didn't say much more, besides Bobby's comment about how it 
might snow that weekend.  Betsy was less than relieved though.
	Another watched those three, and the two jogging in the 
background. He stood in the woods, watching over the one now in his 
charge. The one called Sabretooth.
	Bishop muttered to himself, almost compulsively. How long had he 
had this habit?  No one had ever caught him, thank goodness, or he would 
have been humiliated.  Whenever no one was around; whenever no one was 
listening; whenever he was along and needed reassurance that he was doing 
the right thing... he knew that he was always there to listen to himself 
speak.
	He scanned the images before him.  A young man, blue in 
appearance, blond-haired and angelic with his techno-metallic wings... 
his arm around a purple-haired oriental, Brit by birth, and an angel in 
her own right. He couldn't remember how long he had had such feelings for 
Betsy.  It seemed like only a matter of hours, since his dream earlier.  
Yet a part of him felt something so much more with her, as if they had 
touched and... kissed. But how could that be?
	"Cease that behaviour, Creed," Bishop ordered his charge, who was 
eating the grass.  "Nature feeds off the plants that we set, wild 
animals..." and he caught himself. "But of course, you are a beast, 
aren't you?" He walked slowly, deep in thought and oblivious now to the 
rest of world around him.  Occassionally he glanced over at the patio and 
then back to the grass below his feet.  "How odd, no? That I'd be here 
talking to you, now, after all I've seen in the future and all I know you 
can do... or is it that odd?"
	"I don't know what that man is doing here, period," Stevie said 
behind him.  She took him quite by surprise and indeed he was humiliated, 
as forseen.  "Hunter... I didn't know you were at the mansion," Bishop 
said meekly.
	"Sure, I got in late last night. I didn't know that _he_ was still 
here, however." The two glanced at each other and then down at Victor 
again.  He was sniffing Bishop's soles and snorting... almost giggling. 
He hardly seemed hostile. "He hardly seems hostile, you know," Stevie 
said ironically. That was just what Bishop was thinking.  "Yet... to know 
what he's done, it's so hard to accept him, isn't it?"
	"We all need a second chance, perhaps."
	Stevie grinned. "You don't really believe that. I know you 
don't." She knew because she had just heard him say so himself. The 
embarassment of the scenario came back to Bishop, as he turned around to 
walk in the opposite direction, toward the mansion where he'd come from. 
"Coming, Hunter?"
	"Of course... I wanted to see how you were dealing with it. 
Didn't expect to see you playing with him, mind you."
	"You came to see me? Why is that?" Bishop asked increasing his 
pace to keep up with Victor, who pulled tightly on the leash.
	"I don't know. Just curious, I guess. Curious what a man like you 
would be doing so early."
	"And what did you find?" Bishop asked.  He couldn't tell whether 
Stevie was grinning, or sneering.
	She said simply, "A man who cares about more than himself. Much 
to my surprise."

****

	Tabitha and Rhonda made their way through the mansion, slowly 
remembering the past.  "Remember that time you lost your bra at the MC 
Hammer concert?" Tabitha asked.
	"Yeah... Now how did that get off?" Rhonda asked, laughing rather 
hysterically.  Both continued to walk down the hallowed halls, abandoned 
by the others.  "Where're the others, anyway? I thought you said this is 
a school."
	"Oh, sure. Actually, it used to be a school.  Now it's just a fun 
little hangout. Most of my friends are still asleep, actually." She 
mumbled something about lazy butts.  "The others are in the back, I think."
	Rhonda nodded slowly. "So here we are," she said as they reached 
the foyer. "Back where we started." Just then, Remy and Sam walked in, 
rather sweaty and grinning, until they saw Tabitha and Rhonda and got a 
bit more serious.
	"Mon dieu, you girls actually woke up," Remy announced. Sam eyed 
Tabitha and tried to smile. Tabitha didn't quite smile back, but put in 
the same effort.
	"This is Sam, Rhonda," Tabitha said.  "My boyfriend."
	Sam nodded to the girl. "Hey there... Remy n' ah are headin' down 
to the Danger Room. You girls wanna tag along?" He said, motioning to the 
hallway deeper into the mansion.
	"Danger Room?" Rhonda asked inquisitively. "What's this? Star Trek?"
	Tabitha interjected hurriedly. "Ummm, no Sam, I don't think 
that's a hot idea. Not right now." To Rhonda, "Yeah, like I'd be caught 
dead with a script like that."
	Remy and Sam each shrugged and started to walk down the far 
hallway, until a brilliant flash of light, a swirl of fate, shone behind 
them.  Rhonda hardly yelped. She seemed oddly used to such excitement.  
Strangely, it was Tabitha who screamed, "Shoot! Not now... what a pain."
	The three X-Men gripped themselves for a fight. Only one vaguely 
recognized the energy signature. Sam calmed down slightly and especially 
when he saw the full portal open and the young woman, particularly famed 
for her age, reputed rock star and mutant sympathizer, secretly a mutant 
teleporter -- Lila Cheney.
	"Hello, boys," Lila grinned widely.  "Boomer."
	Tabitha mumbled, "Wannabe..." and waved sarcastically.
	Only Rhonda was surprised to see this woman. She was a long-time 
fan of this legend, a cult-figure in Village clubs. "Oh God... Lila!" 
Rhonda muttered loudly. Lila glanced over at her and grumbled. "Damn... 
bad timing?"
	She had tried so hard over the years to keep her identity secret. 
Partly because, in this age, it was so difficult to live a public life as 
a mutant... unless you were eager to face death.  And partly because Lila 
was a secret, but big-time, thief. A dangerous pastime, for sure. But she 
was reckless, adventurous, and often had a habit of pulling her friends 
into a theft. But now this mysterious girl showed up at the most 
inopportune of times, and she now knew that Lila was a mutant herself.
	"I think I'll go slap myself now," Lila frowned.
	"Don't worry, Lil," Sam said calmly. "This' Rhonda, a friend. 
And, ah guess, a fan." He smiled then, walking up to Lila and taking her 
hand without thinking too much about it.  "What brings ya down to Earth?"
	Lila grinned as well and relaxed.  "These." And she tossed an 
envelop in Gambit's direction. He caught it skillfully, ripped it open at 
the edge, and poured its contents into his hand.
	"Tickets, chere?" he asked.
	"But o' course," Lila replied in her best Cajun impersonation. 
"What do ya take me for? A t'ief?"
	The Cajun grinned in response. "Mais oui, chere. I t'ink dat be 
accurate." Apparently the two had a lot in common. "So what're these 
tickets for, Ms. Cheney?"
	Lila walked over to a sofa and curled her feet under her on the 
couch.  "I'm throwing a concert bash in Mojoworld. Nothing fancy... 
well... I guess it is. Everyone's going to be there. Major Domo, Mojo -- 
the second, don't worry, not messy retcons... -- and my good friend Ali 
Blaire." She turned to Rhonda. "That's the Dazzler, for the younger 
audience."
	Tabitha stood by Rhonda faithfully. "We know who the Dazzler is, 
Lila. We may not be as old as you, but we've heard of disco."
	Sam turned to Tabs. "Calm down, ok? You don't need to get _too_ 
worked up." He grinned, trying very hard.
	Tabitha nodded. "Yeah, Guthrie, right. Well, Lila darlin', I'd 
love to go. But, wow, I've got a life." She walked out of the room, 
leaving Rhonda to her own devices.
	Half an hour later, they were off. Not everyone, of course. Only 
Cannonball, Storm, and Cyclops had the courage to face Mojoworld again, 
the land that they've had so many poor experiences in.  Neither of the 
latter two wished to deal with their own problems, they felt an express 
need to unwind. And the former... he couldn't stay away from Lila. The 
thought of listening to her, perhaps a last time, was too much to ignored.
	The others remained in Westchester. No one was in the mood to 
celebrate, or enjoy themselves. Their friends in pain, some missing, 
others lost, others in a dire search for themselves, and then the world 
crumbling around them, they hardly needed a diversion in the typical 
sense.  They could only hope that their attentiveness would make some 
sort of difference.

****

Somewhere else... between everywhere and absolutely nowhere...
	She knelt by the candle, a large shrine dedicated to a mysterious 
entity that she hardly understood. He spoke words that she could hardly 
comprehend, asked her to do as he wished for reasons that she would never 
grasp.
	"You Must... Mother, Be Strong... He Was Wise In His 
Predictions... The Twelve Have Begun Yet Again To Emerge... Find Them, 
Seek Them Out... And Save Them. For They Will Be Those To Survive. The 
Only Ones."
	She responded with a nod, and a silent, invisible kiss. A kiss of 
souls. She would do as her son begged of her, as it was her undying 
mission. Her candle.

NEXT ISSUE:  Scott, Ororo, and Sam enjoy the security of Mojoworld... 
until that security is jeopardized. Guest-starring Dazzler, Longshot, and 
Lila Cheney. Let alone Mojo II... Welcome Ricochet to the permanent 
writing chores of the series as the two part Mojoworld saga begins!