Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

August 09, 2018:

The X-Men track the myserious Purifiers to a supply base where they plan a secret stealth…ish…operation. ….the Brotherhood has other ideas.

How do they keep showing up?!

Mysterious Abandoned Oil Rig


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Tony Stark, Scarlet Witch

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Information. Information is the real currency in the current age. As true a weapon as it has ever been. Now with metas cropping up on planet and off it is even easier for people to get that information. Case in point. The psychopath cyborg that the X-men had captured in their last raid would never have usually talked. Even under torture(he liked it) he might not have broken. Even if he had broken could they really trust what he said…

…but now…

With a house psychic or two, it gets much easier.

Which brings us to current events.

An abandoned oil rig sits rusting in international waters. Off the cost of the US. Creaking metal and rust. It's lode long since pumped out. The once mighty machines falling into disuse as the structure is slowly reclaimed by the ocean…

…at least that is what most people would think.

Thanks to the information from one 'Cutter' the X-men know that this unassuming and rusting monument to man's greed is…pretty much still a monument to man's greed. It is just hate /and/ greed now.

Sophisticated sensors from the X-mansion can punch though the outer layer of metal and rust to see the systems inside. Massive stair systems now built into the support pillars lead to a range of underwater habitats. A fast elevator rig replaces the actual drill now, leading up to a chopper platform that…though rusted on the outside…seems suspiciously clear of debris.

The interior of the habitats seem protected by something. Shielded either by distance or by science. Under the waves though there /is/ a point that seems accessible via the preferred method of incursion. Teleporting though Limbo.

…its fine.

…I think. I mean really you would think there would be some kind of side effects…but I'm getting off point here.

THE PLAN: Such as it is. Split up into two teams. One team makes noise. All the noise. Drawing whatever security towards them. Leaving the coast clear for a second group to sneak in, place a charming bit of software provided by the Amazing, Brilliant, Generous, Handsome, and Amazing(he's so good he deserves it twice) Tony Stark. Then get out again without being noticed. One of the long stairways would be easiest for that….

…or the sub pen. The only place that the sensors can pick out in the underwater habitats well enough for a good teleport.


Team Sneak: Wolverine, Hope 'I need a codename' Summers and Marvel Girl - I can't believe you are back to that codename, Ray. Team Punch: Bruiser (aka Princess Powerful), Magik and Scion (aka X-Man, so he shouldn't complain about silly codenames - in his defense he didn't pick that one up).

Despite the fact most of them need better codenames and only one is over 25 the X-Men in the mission are fairly good in black-ops style operations. And demolitions. In fact one always know where the X-Men have been for the trail of destruction.

The flashes of light of the stepping disk quietly signal the arrival of the mutants. First the noisy ones, as to make sure they trigger possibly mutant-detection alarms. Nate is really good at firing those off; usually at twice the range a normal mutant would trigger them. They appear at the top, near the elevator. And give the teleporter thirty extra seconds for returning after positioning the sneaky team. "Hey Princess," smirks Nate. "Let make some noise."



Tony reaches up into the air as a holographic screen simply appears, typing on thin air as he lets his mind work though the problems.

"I have some people working on the Overclocked guys, but if we can find a server it'll make things a lot faster. He's gotta have some dirt on his secure systems. And hopefully a trail on where he got the Overclocked from." A glance towards Rachel. "You think you and yours can run down a few sites that might be good candidates to sneak into?"

"Hey, no Brotherhood, no explosion," says Rachel. She hesitates as her internal monologue on the veracity of that claim plays out in full cynicism. Eventually, she soldiers on: "Making this a stealth thing should mean the team will be a manageable size. Kitty and I can sneak in just about anywhere. If you send something to upload over to the mansion, we can do the rest."


Rachel has been in and out of X-Men operations for the past few years while trying her hardest to be an average college student. Neither has been working out great, but at least on the X-Men side she remembers how to file a mission plan. Blame growing up with Scott working on them at the kitchen table. After psychically prying some answers loose from codename CUTTER (Seriously? Cutter?), Rachel submitted her request for resources and personnel.

Like usual, the waiting produces the most anxiety. This time it's not just the formless idleness devouring her nervous energy, but an actual concern: she didn't immediately know who's going to be assigned to her. She didn't know who she'd be working with. For safety, her side of the plan — sneaking in and planting the data spike — required more than just one person.

Unable to rely on close friends and unable to pull a classic Phoenix Does What Phoenix Wants and go alone, Rachel did her best to bottle her emotions until the teams were settled. For her patience, she was rewarded with Hope Summers and Logan JustLogan, respectively her niece from the future she hasn't really spent time with and the man who maybe possibly stabbed her in the heart once if this is still the same dimension and he's the same Logan.

(She hasn't asked yet for reasons related to mental health.)

Excalibur does dumb things all the time, and so Rachel has elected to gamble on the aquatic 'clear' point for one of Illyana's stepping discs. If they encounter some weird resistance, well, there's two Omega-level mutants and one Wolverine-level mutant on her strike team. They'll manage.

Rachel is the first through the disc since she made all the bad decisions leading up to this point. She's in the latest iteration of her spiky battle suit, this one patterned with reds and yellows and featuring some strategic armoring. Her facial tattoos — the hound marks — are visible because all her psychic focus is shifted to immediately forcing her astral senses through the area for threat analysis.

(She's also maintaining a psi-link for her two co-conspirators because those are handy for instantly shouting BOMB or any number of other horrific fates that need to be communicated near-instantly.)

«Ping out — wait a moment —»


It's been a while since Logan's been on an X-Men-sanctioned mission. Funny thing about the Professor. Killin' is frowned upon until he tells the team to do it. Well, he doesn't exactly tell them to kill. But what else is he expectin' the ole Canucklehead to do with these claws, entertain children? As it were, the man they sometimes call Wolverine is grouping up with a bunch'a Summers's kin. Course these days every where you look there's another one poppin' up outta somewhere.

A few well-timed moments after the loud group appears on the oil rig, the stepping disk for the other group appears on the opposite side. Logan steps through and steps heavily onto the rusting platform, his eyes narrowing as his nostrils flare while he sniffs at the air. Smells and looks like the plan worked. At least for now. He glances over at Hope and Rachel, reaching up to grab a cigar that isn't there. Damn.

He's opted out of a formal costume and is instead sporting his usual attire reserved for espionage. A black t-shirt, black pants, and a pair of black combat boots. Say what you will about the man, but he loves this kinda stuff. Having gone over what schematics were available a few times before the mission, Logan starts to make his way down the corridor with his eyes, nose, and ears on full alert. «I got point.» If they run into any trigger-happy jerks lagging behind, he can absorb the punishment.


"Just call me Uber." Remarks Illyana in a voice that holds dual notes of wry amusement and irritation..

Though one supposes it could be worse, someone could have called her the 'Magik' School Bus, which would have resulted in death. Of course, there are those that like to live dangerously.

Portals open where they need to, bringing in both the quiet team and the smash. For Illyana she currently resides with team punch, but who's to say if that'll last long? Illyana is a mercurial type of person, after all.

"Not sure if I mentioned it earlier." Which she didn't, "But when I threw together a scry spell earlier in the week I got faint hints of black magic connected to this. Just in case we find some surprises along the way."


Stepping off the disk with Nate, Molly looks around and then smiles as she rolls her shoulders. Thanks to training, she has become quite the tough and strong little thing without even needing to pour it on. Now however, she is already starting to get a faint glow in her eyes. They're in enemy territory and she wants to be ready. She looks over at Nate and grins at him, "You got it." She then blinks and considers, "I wonder if I maybe should get some guns…big ones…" SHe looks at Nate idly as they prepare, "How much are big angry guns? Who would know." SHe then sighs, "Eh, anyway. Time to break stuff."


She's been here before. Not here, specifically, but places /like/ here. So much so that they are practically interchangeable in her mind at this point. Rusted over forgotten testaments to an unimportant past. Salvaged ruins, gutted out and used for something even worse than it once existed for. Hope Summers knows exactly what she sees when she arrives on this floating scrap heap.

She sees her future.

Oh, the old familiar places.

It's the same sense of familiarity she gets from Rachel Summers and Logan the moment she is assigned to the infiltration. She doesn't know them, not really — she's heard some things from Nathan about Rachel, here and there, but even for her, that whole story is confusing — but she does know them. That similar sensation of someone who's been through the worst humanity has to offer. Rusted, salvaged, repurposed. Someone who's been through the crunch.

Plus, really, Hope was at one point literally living under a rock and she knows who Logan is.

And maybe that explains why she's much more at ease with total strangers than she'd normally be as she steps through that shimmering blue disk after Rachel, heavy rifle pointed and at the ready to fire just in case they find themselves in the thick of it the second they get out. You can never be too careful. Green stare impassive, jaw set, tattered tan cloak spilling to either side of her lifted arms, she sweeps the area for a cool, cautious moment — and then lowers her weapon, just a bit.

«Understood,» comes that psychic emanation over their link. «I'll take up the rear and take care of defenses. Just keep a weather eye out for whatever weird robot nonsense this place has.»

And with that, Hope reaches out, imprinting Rachel's mutant gifts on her own genetic code. It's a familiar sensation, if hard to describe — a warmth that reminds her distinctly of Jean Grey and something else more intrinsically resonant she can't put her finger on — but it makes those powers all the easier to adapt to, as she starts reinforcing psychic defenses in the minds of her companions.

Never too careful.


Piotr's been quiet since the first raid. Not that he is very effusive or loud to begin with, but someone turned the stoic knob up to eleven it seems and as such he has barely said a word outside of teaching his art classes. His resolve to take down Trask has only grown as they have discovered more about the operation and the various groups and factions that have allied themselves with it, but it's just that, a resolve. There is no spouting of anger, no expressing of how deeply his convictions pull him on this mission, only a deepening of the creases in his furrowed brow.

"I would normally warn you to keep your pet demons from escaping the portals with us Snowflake, but I feel we may be the far worse option for those that lie on the other side."

This ominous warning passes for a pep / hype / smack talk from the mouth of the burly bearded Russian. He is in full on X-Men uniform of red and gold. He manages to someone not look ridiculous in the shorts and high boots that are usually only attempted by drag queens or street walkers. Maybe it's his size or seriousness. Maybe it's how the uniform looks more natural once he's transformed into living metal. Either way, he carries an even heavier air of seriousness about him, not even cracking so much as smile at any witty banter from his teammates.

Once arrived, Colossus wastes no time in transforming into steel, growing in height, mass and sheer coolness factor all in one instant. He is glad to have a less delicate job for this mission. He is in no mood to sneak, to gather intelligence, to refrain from punching.


Logan's senses are almost imeadeatly overwhelmed by the smell of sea water. Since…well they are standing in a sub pen. There is even a sub parked there. A small one. But the cross insignia of the Purifiers is painted in bright outlines on the side. Because they are not a subtle folk. Thankfully the pen itself is fairly empty. Possibly due to the slowly strobing red of the alarm lights.

The other team doing its job.

The trio of stealth operatives make their way further in. Out the open door. Into the almost creepily empty hallway. That is when a new smell hits Logan's nose.

Tuna fish. Tuna salad to be exact. With celery and onions. Maybe a little heavy on the mayo. Ears pick out from around the corner the shifting of fabric on fabric as someone moves quietly. The slight screach of metal as someone leans back in a chair. The trio can then hear muffled talking around the next corner. The corner that /should/ lead to the lower levels of the habitat center.

"Oh I bet its just another drill." Says someone. "These Purifiers love drills. And they have to keep them busy somehow…" Munch munch munch as someone bites into a tasty sammich.


It is not a drill.

The groups sudden arrival gets an equally sudden reaction. Gun turrets erupt from hidden positions, a half dozen of them. Heavy rounds suddenly zeroing in on the X-men and ripping open to fire. The howling chainguns flinging led at the group from the walls of rusted buildings and the tall spires of the rig itself.

The landing pad snaps and deforms under Piotr's weight, metal groaning in protest.

The stealth team has a very limited amount of time before they realize this is totally not a drill.


"Guns? I don't know, Molly," replies Nate, doing a quick telepathic scan. In this case an unsubtle and annoying telepathic scan of the type 'hey-you-look-at-me'. He wants to know where, who and draw attention. "Normal guns don't have the punch we usually need. You would need to go to Cable or Lunair for real hardware."

Pause, for an Illyana to show up, "we better talk about it later. We need to cause a degree of destruction, but not enough to bring the whole place down before the others do their task. And black magic? Really? That sounds so very out of character for Purifiers."

Then again subaquatic habitats in an oil rig on international waters also sounds far off for Purifiers, FoH and assorted scum - well, not the Reavers. Reavers have done the secret base in the middle of nowhere a couple times. Some serious financial backing there.

Still, it doesn't feel quite like the usual anti-mutant militia.

They even have gun turrets! Nate was expecting guards with machine guns and maybe flamethrowers. Although using heavy weapons in an oil rig platform seems a bad idea. But we are talking Purifiers, they wrote the book on bad ideas.

Telekinetic shields are quickly raised between the turrets and the squishy members of the team. That is, everyone but Piotr. "Bruiser, go full power!" He shouts, reaching with some TK power to try to rip one of the turrets off the deck.

Those turrets are not black magic, at least. He hopes.


Rachel's thoughts come through the psi-link in short bursts as she pulls information from her environment. Her psychic presence is warm and engulfing — which, underneath the ocean, is more easily interpreted both as reassuring and claustrophobic, depending on temperament and outlook.

«Heavy psi-shielding. Three around the corner. One sitting. They're guards. Half dozen people down the hall in a hab room — they're worried. Not guards. Workers? I can't lock them down from here.»

Rachel continues behind Logan, her footsteps weirdly silent thanks to a novel use of telekinesis. She's 100 percent fine with old grimgrizzle taking point. From the backline she can throw on some forcefields if things get scary, anyway.

Rachel glances sidelong at Hope. She noticed the psychic reinforcement because it's her unfortunate nature to notice such things. «Are you copying me? Look, if at any point you feel like you're going to fall through time and space, just… yell, or something. It happens.»


Piotr would normally step in front of his teammates to protect the less bulletproof amongst them (namely everyone) but before he can even glance towards Nate, he sees the shields deflecting the bullets. He smiles softly to himself and marches straight towards the nearest gun turret, bending the gun tube down with the swat of a hand, not even slowing down his gait. He moves to the next and punts it.

"Please do not tell me you expect these guns to stop us?"

A heavy shell momentarily knocks him off his feet though, sending shutters through the frame of the platform. Having gotten an answer to his question he cracks his knuckles, lifts himself back up to his feet and leaps to smash down on the heavier duty gun. It wouldn't be enough to harm him, but it could slow him down and he refuses to allow anything that would even detract from his mission.


A look over at the guns and Molly suddenly is blinking as she just in time whips her power up. She takes a hit straight on to the chest and staggers back before she starts to glow full on like a pink and purple little match. That'll bruise but she'll recover fast enough and she looks to Nate, "We better hurry! I can't do this forever." She then grins and runs forward, "And like these!" She points at the guns as one catches her full on across the side and she only stsagger steps. She leaps up into the air and lands with a crushing of metal upon one of the guns and laughs, "You think this is good enough?! I took a hit from the Juggernaut. This is a joke!" She then proceeds to rip it apart before blinking, "Oh…maybe I should have tried to ssave it." She then shrugs and turns toward another.


"Oh, Piotr." Illyana says with a jovial seeming smile gracing her lips, "You really are the best brother and just so you know, I had every intention of bringing along a few pets."

And while her mood seems light the faintest furrow might be seen between her brows by those who know her best.

Idly her blue eyes flick to Molly and Nate, then away as the turrets turn toward the group. When the guns open fire the demoness can only shake her head and much like Piotr, she notices when Nate's shields take the majority of those shots.

That doesn't stop her from keeping an eye upon her brother, nor from gesturing toward the nearest turret. With that vague hand wave of hers a shining circular portal opens right in front of it. The large slugs it spits out are swallowed within the first portal and then, with but a thought, a second portal opens near another turret and from the depths of that secondary stepping disc those bullets fly straight ahead, on course to impact with that second gun.


The old grimgrizzle crouches down as he comes to the corner, sniffing at the air as he picks up the tuna sandwich odor. Never much liked mayo. He rests his forearm on his thigh as he peers back over his shoulder towards Rachel as she fills them in on the situation ahead. Two guards on their feet, one sitting. Scared folks further on. Things could get a little hairy if they don't deal with the guards in time.

«Think you can distract 'em long enough for me to get in close?» He looks between the two Summers and balls his hand into a fist, dull metallic cracks erupting as it tightens.

Off in the distance he can hear the work the other team is doing. He purses his lips in a subtle grimace as he turns back to face the corner, bouncing very slightly in his crouch. He likes the cloak n' dagger stuff but sometimes it's nice to just let loose. From the sounds of the struggling metal running throughout the platform and the occasional dull thuds, the other group is pretty damn loose.


«Look, if at any point you feel like you're going to fall through time and space, just… yell, or something. It happens.»

This harrowing news is met with a silent, two-fingered salute on the part of one Hope Summers as she makes her silent advance.

«Oh boy, uncontrolled bodyslides. Copy that.»

A second passes by.

«I guess you and Nathan have even more in common than I thought.»

The powers feel similar too, if not different in subtle, important ways. It helps in understanding it, at least — there's not a lot of people in this world Hope understands more than Cable, after all — and it helps her stay in control, at least for now, even as she hears those others speak.

Those Purifiers… they begin.

Purifiers. Again. Green eyes narrow into slits. Hope's fingers curl a little bit more tightly around her gun. Her frown is a subtle one, seen mainly in the stiffening of her jawline.

«… Yeah. Okay. One distraction, coming right up.» She reaches outward with her mind. She takes hold of something loose in the distance.

«Get ready…»

And the sound of ceramic shattering fills the distance with sudden, hopefully surprising sharpness as Hope sends a simple, potted plant hurtling with one firm mental push.

« — Now!»

She might have shoved the thing with more force than was strictly necessary. But maybe she just hates potted plants.



…upstairs is mayhem.

Nate's shields catch many of the bullets but even so there is a lot of led from a lot of angles. At least there is at first. Someone has obviously reinforced the rig as it doesn't just shake itself apart due to recoil.

Bullets whiz by Illyana's ear before her portal redirects them. Shredding one of the guns. Molly wrecks a second one, her strength tearing it apart entirely. TK energy pulls a third bodily from its heavy mounting as Piotr's strength treats the metal like little more than play dough.

One by one the guns are silenced.

Then a loudspeaker kicks on.

"X-MEN!" Booms out an unfamiliar voice. "YOU ARE TRESSPASSING! LEAVE NOW OR—-" There is a scuffling sound from the speakers.


That was a different voice.

Again a scuffle. "Hold him! Calm him down! I don't want this to get worse! What do you mean they made it to the elevators!?"

Which is when the elevator opens a dozen armored figures in Purifier garb spill out. THERE are the machine guns and flamethrowers that Nate was looking for.

…though it seems they are just guests.


…as with that there is a goan of metal on metal from the direction of the main clock of the rig as something moves. Even as fire and armor piercing rounds are suddenly trained in the X-men's direction.

Under the sea…

"…uh…Doug…I don't think this is a drill…"


The oil rig rocks gently in the sea, rusting, the saltwater reclaiming the metal bit by eroding bit. Waves lap it as it drifts, in an ocean so flat and calm it perfectly mirrors back the clear sky overhead.

In the distance, there is the crack of the sound barrier breaking.

A moment later the calm sea slices in half, flash-boiling in a spray of steam as something crosses it at blistering hypersonic speed. Whatever it is, upon arrival it leaps clear of the ocean surface and decelerates all at once, seven thousand miles per hour braking to zero in the space of a few nanoseconds, allowing the whipcord figure of a young man to briefly be seen balancing upon a high metal spur of the oil rig. A silver-haired head turns, looks down at the unfolding fight. A lean body twists and braces, crouching in the posture of a racer at the start line.

Another crack of the sound barrier breaking, and Quicksilver vanishes. A few moments of silence follow.

Then one of the underwater habitats implodes. Drilled straight through its weakest points by something moving at Mach 10, it loses structural integrity instantly and crumples, the sea rushing in through the shattered viewing windows. This will rapidly become a more widespread problem, and for that reason it is certainly very distracting — which may not actually be a negative for the X-Men team. Yet.

Quicksilver is counting on it being distracting. He has a lot of systems to rifle through before… well, no sense spoiling surprises.


"Princess. If you wish to threaten your enemy, perhaps you could take lessons from Wolverine or Nightcrawler. They are quite witty and sharp tongued. I do not believe bragging on being punched will strike the fear in their hearts that you may wish to inspire. … Also, these are machine guns."

Piotr, ever the helpful older brother points out that while he can not offer tips on the witty superhero banter that he has never quite managed to get the hang of, he can helpfully point her to some very capable tutors. The announcement over the loudspeaker draws a different smile to the metallic face. Even the black steel beard cannot hide the satisfied grin that crosses his face. And just for a moment, Illyana might see something in her brother that she rarely ever finds, actual menace. The moment fades though and his expression returns to neutral as he lifts a mangled gun turret to hurl at the crowd of purifiers exiting the elevator, hoping to push at least some back inside or send them sprawling for cover.

The arrival of Quicksilver doesn't go unnoticed with the crack of sound. But it does draw a furrowed brow.

«X-Men. We have brotherhood on deck. Quicksilver is here. Any psychics available to find out how they have managed to show up at the same time? Again.»


A lot of bullets is why Nate keeps adding armor to his outfit. There is much to be said about quantity and quality, but in the case of bullets he has found it tends to be interchangeable. And flamethrowers and fire are the reason why he added gloves. After Lumnious Jon burned him, it was once too many.

"Interesting conversation there," he comments to the others. "Looks like there are two groups here, I wonder who… ah, there they come," with the flamethrowers, of course.

As the elevator doors open Nate rises a dozen feet on the air, firing a powerful telekinetic blast to the incoming fire-throwing maniacs. But careful not to damage the elevator, they might want more groups coming up, after all.

"So, about that black magic…" he says to Illyana. "Do you sense it anywhere now?"


When Hope signals that a distraction is coming up, Logan nods and plants a hand flat against the grimy metallic floor and appears to brace himself. Like a runner. If the runner was barely over 5 feet, hairy, and very swollen.

The instant she gives him the green light, he's off the floor and sprinting around the corner with a speed and stealthiness that is surprising given his stature and weight. As soon as he moves around the corner and scans the room for the three targets, his instincts take over. The two guards on their feet are standing closer to him with their backs turned. Looks like the distraction worked perfectly.

The muscles throughout his face twist beneath the skin as he gnashes his teeth, lips curled back tightly in a sneer as he fights to hold back a growl. The sound of metal grinding against metal rings down the corridor as his claws slice through the skin on his hands. As he closes the distance to the guards, he crosses his arms over his chest and then swings them back, swiping at the two guards. He's lookin' to take them down. Doesn't really care how.

Heavy streaks of blood spout off of the two unsuspecting guards as his claws slice into their sides just above their waists. A fountain paints the back of the third guard who is sitting just beyond the others, swiveled around in his chair as he looks at the destroyed ceramic pot. "What the.." he mutters as he turns around only to find Logan mid-leap over the table. With a sickening *CRUNCH*, several bones in the guard's face give and crack to the force of an adamantium-laced foot slamming home. The back of the chair buckles as the man is sent flying back against the same wall as the ceramic and his body crumples to the floor and goes still.

Logan lands just beyond the destroyed chair and peers around for signs of anyone else before he shoves his hands down, shaking the blood from his claws into six blotched streaks on the floor, «Clear.»


Rachel imitates the two-fingered salute back at Hope, affecting a grim expression. She's simultaneously fine-point TK probing the sub to see if she can get it to work, so she can goof around at the same time. «Natch. Little bro takes after me.»

A potted plant hits a wall. Rachel's eyes widen. Her subconscious psychic reflexes communicate the danger to her in wordless alarm before she can put conscious words to what is about to happen.

And then it happens. The facility shudders. Horrible sounds filter through the water and metal outside.

And then —


Flickering sparks dance up from Rachel's shoulders. Her face a mask of icy tension, she floats up from the ground and gestures toward the nearest wall. The metal peels back into the sea, the water held back by her telekinetic will. One of the pouches on her belt opens, a USB printed with a Phoenix symbol fluttering off to find Hope.

«Hope, jam this into the network somewhere. I'm going to buy us time.»

Rachel flies out into the cold and dark, the water parting around her to form a bubble. The metal of the wall groans closed behind her and then fuses shut.

Alone amongst the surviving habitat pods, unable to see in the nighttime sea, Rachel relies on her senses. She spreads her arms wide, emanating subtle telekinetic probes and astral waves to tell her the shape and memory of her environment. The memory of fire dances at the sides of her face, along those old pain-marks they bred into her skin. The work must come quickly to her. She must align with the best possible world.

Wires. Signal. She can feel it — they chose the right pod, but the way the network is laid out here means that the Brotherhood could damage the uplink from another location. Rachel shifts her arms forward, curling her fingers. The tension and release of her muscles help remind her that she is a body as well as a spirit. A gene and a will.

A multi-vector forcefield springs up around the pod that contains Hope and Logan, slithering upward to protect parts of the superstructure involved in linking the pod's servers to the transmission point up above. The ghostly outline of her work is visible where water has ceased to flow for three feet. What smaller portion of the forcefield that lies above begins to mysteriously repel weaponsfire.

Now here's hoping they don't try her pod next and then decide that forcefields are inherently worth breaking.


"Demons?" Yana says, "That's the best you can call us? How banal, but if it's demons you want say no more."

And truly, say no more.

One by one circular portals begin to wink into existence and from their depths comes frightful things. Critters with more teeth than actual bodies roll outward and as soon as their bodies touch the ground they move. While they have no visible feet to be seen the demons move fast, all scramble-crawling at the men, unafraid of guns or flamethrowers. The nearest Purifier to the first demon will likely find himself in the unenviable position of 'dinner'.

And while her demons pour from the depths of her portals, Illyana pauses. First to look at Piotr before her gaze shifts over to Nate. His question brings a narrowing of her eyes as she shifts her otherworldly sight downward and away. "Not up here." She finally says, her answer short, "Further downward."

The psychic mention of the Brotherhood brings Yana's gaze around, her expression oddly bright. "And the Witch? Did she come too?"


A blink and Molly looks over as she hears Piotr, "But the Juggernaut is like one of the strongest guys out there. Getting hit by him and still moving has to be an achievement!" She then sighs and shrugs, "I don't really get this stuff." She then grabs up what is left of the gun and prepares to throw it toward another when the speaking starts. She's distracted by that while holding up the gun. Blinking a few times and then she sees the elevator open. Men come pouring out and she turns. S he tosses the huge gun right in their direction and then nods, "Here's your gun back!" She calls out as she throws it. Then she staggers a bit. Not from any hit but her eyes begin to blink as her glow starts to fade and she looks toward Nate, "Full power…was not the best of ideas…"


And just like that three bodies hit the floor.

The guards are now /ex/ guards. The way to the closest pod is clear…

Of course. Then the entire facility rocks. Alarms scream into action. The corridor they are on rocks unnervingly as a faint trickle of water comes from a hatch that leads to one of the stairwells. Its disconcerting being down below with the weight of the ocean above, the only thing keeping it away being a now compromised habitat system.

But Rachel's shields do their work. The flow of water stops. The way forward for Hope and Logan is open. Just those six now terrified workers seem to be the only ones ahead of them. But if there are workers, there might be a hub to connect with.

Logan's ears can pick up a shout from those workers. "Everything is compromised! Upload the servers and lets get to the sub!"


The Purifiers /do/ scatter. More than one of them crushed under the flung twisted metal from the X-men. Several others scream, a trio of them screaming and running to leap over the edge of the rig. Judging the water a safer bet than actual demons. Others fire on the oncoming monsters, but bullets have little effect and a pair of them /do/ end up dinner.

Molly's gun toss coensides with Nate's TK sending the twisted metal bowling though the mass of Purifiers. Breaking bones and sending the rest of them flying ragdoll like across the deck.

One of them seems to fetch up against the control center just as the wall above him bows outwords as a massive purple metal hand punches though the rusted material.

Bright yellow lights for eyes illumiante the darkness as the purple hand drags the body its attached to out from its hiding place.

The Sentinel fixes eyes on Illyana and Piotr. The most flashy of the group as he reaches for them.

…seems they are /really/ well supplied.

Under the sea though, Pietro begins to root around. The next habitat over. The one that Illyana sensed the magic from. The one closest to the hab filling with water. Holds six beds in it. Each filled with a comatose person hooked up to a maddening array of machines. And one tech who now stares at the leader of the Brotherhood with wide eyes as he starts reaching for a alarm.


In Rachel's senses, at first there is nothing but the spreading darkness of the ocean around them.

Soon enough, she can sense the static of a lot of minds flocking towards the damaged hab, looking to seal it off from the rest in order to prevent the flooding from worsening. There's no hint of the Brotherhood among them, however, and no other habitats are attacked. It's strangely quiet. Piotr only said Quicksilver was here. Is he alone?

Then she might catch something, right at the fringes of her perception, within the habitats themselves. In the next hab over, in fact. It is a mind, much like any other mind she has felt, except for two critical differences: this one races so quickly that it smudges repeatedly off her mental radar, thousands of times more slippery than a normal mind, and this one is gated and guarded by a bristling, bridling web of scarlet power. Nonetheless, what she can easily glean off it, even from her first look, is anger.

Because he's staring at six people hooked up to machines, and at a tech reaching for an alarm, and neither of these things look like anything good.

The tech barely gets his arm lifted before Quicksilver lunges, his aim to get the man by the throat and slam him back up against the far wall.

"What is this?" he asks.


"You gotta build up your endurance," replies Nate to Molly's sleepyface. Also, he was seriously worried she would be hit by a high-caliber bullet and die. She still needed a lot of training before being up the level of the others in this little team.

It is not a question of age; it would be hypocrite of Nate to say 18 is too young. Most of the group here started as children - but they had no choice.

Fact is Molly needs more training, but also more experience in real fights. This one is good. They got good control of the battlefield and Taxi-Yana for quick evac, which is what might be needed now. "Magik, I think Bruiser needs a time out… well, fuck!"

First Brotherhood, now Sentinels? The DEO lost one? (Bastards) Or maybe it is one of the Genoshan models somehow repurposed by the Purifiers.

Nevermind! « Rachel, we got a Sentinel here » He sends to his 'sister' and links up with Piotr and Illyana too. « We can't let it wreck the rig further. Can you send Piotr to its face or something. » He is going to block telekinetically when the robot fires, or punches.


Just when it seems like things are going smoothly, shit changes. Without warning, the entire structure shifts and nearly throws Logan off his balance. He quickly lowers his center of gravity, dropping a hand to the floor once more before Rachel puts up her shields and stabilizes the pod.

As things settle once more, he slowly rises and looks over towards Rachel to make sure she's got it all under control. An eyebrow arches as he hears the muffled voices in the next room. At this point he drops the communicating with his thoughts bit and barks over his shoulder, "They're dumpin' the data an' bookin' it to the sub." With that, he quickly advances towards the door leading to the voices. It's closed. He doesn't bother to check to see if it's locked. He growls and slams his fist against the door and shoves his hand down, slicing his claws through anything that would be latching the door shut. He then lurches his body back and shoves his boot forward, kicking into the door to hurl it open so the trio can get in and get out as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door is open, he trudges in and scans the room to see if any of the voices turn hostile.


«Sorry, I'm a little busy stopping speedboy from exploding a second facility before we have a chance to do what we came here for,» Rachel transmits back.


The rise of the Sentinel draws Piotr's attention away from the Purifiers, away from Quicksilver and any other Brotherhood members who might be appearing in his wake. This is not a machine gun or flamethrower, this is an actual threat.

And then Nate is in his mind offering an option. He almost laughs. It is unlikely that Piotr and Illyana haven't practiced fought countless sentinels in Scott's simulations. The fact that Nate doesn't just call it a Hellball Special by now is surprising, but can be forgiven in the heat of battle. But regardless as the large robotic hand reaches for him, Piotr stretches up his arms and then *blips* disappearing down into a stepping disk below his feet.

His reappearance might be seen by a few with enhanced senses. For far above, at least a hundred feet above Piotr blinks back into existence. Now inverted, his raised fists heading straight down for the Sentinel below. They have varied the height on the maneuver often, but have settled on one likely to be close enough to not allow sufficient time for the giant rock 'em sock 'em mutant killer to move, but far enough to cause sufficient damage.

Hell. Ball. Special.


Hope Summers sucks in a single, stiff breath.

By the time she exhales, the sound is joined by the meaty thump of three bodies.

With the all clear given, the redhead (the other one (no, the other one)) emerges from behind that corner, gun held in an eased position. She looks between fallen men. Sees one shift just a bit.

And with a bright smile for Logan she pumps a single stun round into the man before carrying on.

«Great! Let's get going, then.»


Which is a legitimate rule and not just Hope venting her anger.

«We don't have a whole lot more time to spare and I'd really like to get this done while things are going smooth —»


The facility shakes. Metal groans inward.


She knows that look Rachel gets, even before she really takes it on fully. It's clear in the body language. Which is why Hope doesn't even hesitate to snatch that USB drive out of the air, not so much as looking back at the other redhead or her work as she marches further in.

«Yep. On it. Kick some pompous speedster ass for me while you're out there?»

Really, Hope's capacity to instantly and instinctively dislike a person based on the barest interactions knows no bounds.

Still, she has her mission. And like any good soldier, she works to fulfill it no matter what. Expression steeled in the coolest neutrality, she mulls over the transmitted thoughts from Piotr even as she gives a single, wordless nod to Logan. Letting her rifle fall at her back for now, Hope fingers that USB drive, biting the corner of her cheek thoughtfully. They're dumping the data, Logan says.

«Alright. I've got a plan. Watch my six?»

And it probably says something about her sheer, bullheaded stubbornness that she doesn't even wait for an answer before she reaches outward. The genetic template of Rachel Summers starts to bleed away from her, replaced by someone else's. Also familiar.

Which is when Hope steals Pietro Maximoff's powers for the second time with intent to blaze into that worker's area and find herself a terminal at high speeds.

She really wishes she knew more music other than 'Nathan's worryingly expansive collection of Frank Sinatra' so she could set this to some sort of kickass internal montage.


A blink as she sees a Sentinel for real. She looks over at it and then she turns to face it. She notes it is going for Illyana and then she runs over real fast, grabs up yet another busted and broken weapon and hefts it up, "I'm not…I'm good!" She declares and then heaves that pile of metal toward the sentinel from below even as PIotr comes at teh Sentinel from above. She then shifts a little in her spot and states, "See…still…good." And then she begins to flicker out and fall over.


A Sentinel. That brings a flash of surprise to Illyana's features, but soon enough that expression transforms into something of a smirk. Especially after Nate offers those mental words of his. "We got this." The blonde says, and just like that a portal opens and Piotr is whisked away. Then Yana raises her eyes upward and to the exact spot where another portal blinks to life. "Fall fast, brother." The young woman murmurs quietly, and then to her teammates, "Be right back." It's almost said in a song-song voice and before the Sentinel can grab her, Yana calls forth more portals. One to grab the unconscious Molly and another for herself.

The two women find themselves within Limbo, though Illyana only briefly. Another portal is called and with a flick of a look at her scrying crystal, Illyana steps through. That last portal leads Illyana below decks and into the same room as Pietro, where that subtle echo of magic originates from. Seeing the people hooked up to machines brings a cold look from the Demoness, as she says, "Well, I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."


Once the TK field is stabilized and Rachel has set it up with a self-reinforcing loop in the back of her mind, the psychic is free to go on the offensive and figure out exactly what she's dealing with. Her astral senses push outward and flow toward the source of the disturbance.

Only to find — wait — nothing? — no — there — ugh!

The heat builds at the sides of her face again. Rachel feels like she's hunting for one person's thoughts in a crowd of thousands without knowing anything about that person to start with. Her mind races in more mundane ways: how does she get around this?

If only…

The Phoenix is in her, but it isn't in her right now. No use crying about not having the omnipotent cosmic workaround. Rachel squeezes her eyes shut. She needs more time.

Oh boy, uncontrolled bodyslides.

Yes. Time. Rachel opens her eyes and looks upward through the water, her gaze met by the distant and muffled flashes of battle illuminating the surface. If she can open her subconscious to the timestream, just maybe..!!

Rachel exhales. Her breath mists in front of her. She didn't realize how cold it is until now. Sometimes just remembering the White Hot Room is all she needs to feel warm. Her thoughts fracture as she tries to articulate the memory — as she tries to narrate to herself what she's doing —

But that's the terrible thing about her plan. It's like that place between sleep and waking. It's difficult to tell reality from fancy, and consciousness from madness.

You get used to it.


sharp, pressing

stay away, stay away, stay far, far away —


Rachel sucks in a long breath, clutching at her throat. "What the hell were those shields," she mutters, all alone in her watery little bubble. More importantly, she thinks, what are those machines?


Watch her six. Got it. Then he feels a blast of air blow by him and he glances back to see that now Hope is no longer there. Summers family. He's really wishing he'd brought some cigars.

Back to the task at hand. He makes his way further into the room and peers around to make sure no one is leveling any guns in his direction.

If Hope looks his way whilst running like a madwoman, she'll see him standing in the center of the room with a mildly annoyed expression on his face and a single bushy eyebrow steadily peaking higher and higher as his nostrils expanding. Logan, on the other hand, may only sense a hint of Hope's presence but not until she's found what she's looking for and comes to a stop.

More loud thuds echoing through the metal structure suggest things are still raging up top. He's itching to get this part over with so they can get out of here and make sure the other team has enough backup. Whatever Hope is doing, he hopes she does it soon.


"I-I-I-" The lab tech in Maximoff's hand stutters. Rachel can pick up pure, unbridaled terror from the man. "I just work here!" He finally manages to squeak out. "They…they just…shipment! Agents! Oh god don't kill me I have a family." Illy's appearance causes /more/ terror and a pleading look. "-h-help. He's crazy!"

…oh that poor innocent man.

The Sentinel meanwhile closes his fist down on…nothing. Fingers swiping though air as Piotr and Illyana disappear into step disks. It turns its attention to Nate, the only one left on deck as Molly is portaled away. The eyebeams ignite and the TK shield takes it.

"…ADAPTING." The massive robot rumbles and the beams suddenly angle down into the deck towards Nate's feet, intending on caving the rig in on the X-man.

Which is about when the Hellball Special hits its mid back. The impact alone crumples the armor there, smashing though ribs and metal and circuits. It breaks one side of the machine, crumpling it in. Staggering the manchine hard enough that one massive leg hits a weakened part of the platform and plunges though into the water.

…Logan. Looking out the window would see a familiar purple metal foot pass /uncomfortably/ close to the habitat they are in. Thanksfully…the workers there? They look more like maintance. Not Purifiers. Maybe hired specalists.

They cower in the corner, no guns. No weapons at all. They just stare in shock. "Thi-this was supposed to be an easy job." Mutters who seems to be their leader. An older man, hair just going gray. Eyes wide he stares towards Logan a moment. "…um…s-sir? We were gonna steal the crazy guys sub and…you know. Leave. Um. Could we? Go? I mean. We ain't gonna do nothin…"

Not with Logan watching them at least.

Hope? Well she is a blur. Hitting workstations in what looks to be a maintance and computer room. There is a transmission in progress, they started that before Logan busted in, but she can add the package to everything easy enough. It /noramlly/ would take some time. But…well…time is on her side at the moment.


"Was it necessary to port him so high?" Asks Nate at the vanishing blonde. He grunts as the eyebeams. "Adapting… uh, sure. Adapt quickly tincan." And then Colossus lands on the robot and makes a huge mess of it. Including wrecking a chunk of the platform they weren't supposed to destroy (yet).

"Because… y'know, wrecking ball," he adds in a vaguely amused tone as he takes off to follow the dropping Sentinel. Piotr can probably survive a while at the bottom of the ocean, but to make sure he reaches for the big Russian to pull him out the Sentinel's back and drop him in the closest solid surface. « Ray, Logan, the platform took major damage. I doubt this thing will stay in one piece more than a few minutes now unless I/we hold it together. How longer do you need? »


Smashing through the Sentinel is very satisfying, but hard to describe to anyone not as invulnerable at Piotr. His satisfaction though turns to concern when he doesn't make a clean exit and instead finds himself inside the robot, being tossed from side to side and unable to get his bearings as it shifts, crunches through the platform and then falls. He instinctively grabs hold of what he can, as if it matters whether he hits the water inside or outside the robot shell.

The impact on the water throws him to the side and leaves him a little disoriented as the cavity of his making begins to fill with water. He's not concerned about drowning, even though he can not swim in his metal form. He could technically survive just fine for days underwater, but it would put him out of commission. He considers transforming back to his fleshy state but it would leave him too exposed mid-battle.

«Na-..» Before he can even think to call out for a hand Nate's TK grip is felt. He chuckles to himself. «I see you do remember the danger room drills then.» There is a reason they drill relentlessly afterall. Scott doesn't give quite as many 'rah rah teamwork will save your life' speeches as he did when Piotr was new to the team, but they still resonate.

Now that one danger has at least temporarily passed, Piotr turns his focus to perhaps an even greater danger.

«Illyana. Do not engage with the Scarlet Witch. We are not here to fight the brotherhood.»


I just work here!

Wrong thing to say. The fury coursing through Quicksilver leaps so high the lashback of it snaps in Rachel's mind, like the crack of a whip. The violent imprint of bright scarlet light is left behind, in Rachel's brain, on the backs of her eyelids… but also a distinct image of that room, those machines, and those comatose bodies. All seen, for a moment, through Quicksilver's eyes.

Not that he is aware of that. But he knows what his sister's shields feel like in his mind, when they have been triggered. He has an inkling. That just makes him madder.

"Yes," Quicksilver says. His grip tightens. "You work here. That's a distinct problem. You see, I have a family too, and no interest in letting your kind do this to it. What shipment? What agents? Are these the shipments? If you have no answer for me, tell me where I can find it — "

And then, Illyana. Quicksilver shoots an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "You're always interrupting," he says. "Make yourself useful, this time. Get your people. This place will not exist soon. You may thank me for my charity in giving an advance warning."


Everything moves so slow around her. Calling it glacial wouldn't even do it justice. Her thoughts are racing so much faster now too it's hard to even understand what she's thinking sometimes, like brief bursts of a high-pitched whine in her mind when those thoughts get -too- excited.

Living like this all the time, Hope Summers decides, must be hell.

But for now, for now, she can live with it. Her body is a smudging surge of greens, reds and yellows as she whips past Logan and those workers on her way past. She stops in a skid at the front of the first workstation she sees, feeling the gush of air around her rustling red hair as she makes her way over towards that computer. Her brows knit inward until they become a consternated knot at the center of her brow. Transmission in progress.

"Ugh. Brotherhood," she mumbles to herself in a soft hiss of frustration. Of course she blames them for the lack of time. But then again…

It's also thanks to them that a handful of minutes to her feels like a handful of hours at the moment, so maybe it evens out.


Either way, what should be a much more involved and lengthy process is one sped up exponentially by the blur of dexterous fingers as that USB drive is plugged in, and Hope starts working the keys. Green eyes flit back and forth, keys hammer in lightning pulses so swiftly she threatens to fracture the keyboard under her momentum.

Normally, there'd be a response to Nate's call that they need more time. It's a delicate process. You can't just rush it—

«We're in! Objective's in the bag!»

But of course Hope rushed it anyway. It's not entirely her fault.

"Loganwe'regood! Boringpart'sover!"

For some reason, she's just feeling a little impatient right now.


The mental missive that Piotr sends her way pulls a wry look from the young woman and the response of, // W-what's that brother? You're breaking up. All I hear is static, must be bad reception. //

Because psychic links are like cellphones, yes? And then the shields that protect her from casual psychic conversation is closed tightly for a handful of minutes.

The man that pleads for his life is looked at, but immediately dismissed as Quicksilver speaks directly to her. His annoyance words prompts a grin from the blonde woman, "Thanks. I do try." As if he was really giving her a compliment there on her useful skill of interruption. "Practice every day."

"And you'll find I'm super useful." She continues to speak, her tone conversational as she walks toward the back of the room, specifically toward a canister the size of a fire extinguisher. She presses her fingertips to the metal container and with a flash of teeth, Illyana smiles. "Got you." Stepping discs open within the room and those psychics keeping tabs of the conversation at hand will find Illyana's bright presence back within the link.

// We need to move I have it on good authority the place is going to blow. //

The portals reach out to whisk away the canister and even the machines and the people connected to them. A look is slid over to Pietro, "Need a lift out?"


Rachel has touched some truly unpleasant minds before. She knows what it's like to reach into the psyches of forces of nature and forces of the unnatural alike. The thing about doing stuff like this is that it never makes it easier when someone or something suckerpunches you right behind the eyes.

The facility quakes for a long moment. None of the usual suspects did that — not the fighting above, nor the rapidly enumerating structural problems. Must have been an angry current. Winking embers fall from around Rachel's shoulders as she finishes clenching her teeth.

«I'm already holding onto the part we need,» Rachel transmits to Nate's query, using the broader psi-link so everyone is kept aware. «Once Hope is done we're done and Yana can bring us back to the safety of hell.»

A sentinel boot comes falling down next to her. Rachel gives it a baleful look out of the corners of her eyes. Fortunately, in this time, Rachel's mounting bad mood is brightened by her suddenly darling niece speaking up. Finally.

Speaking of Illyana, she gets some private thoughts popping into her head courtesy of Ray truly.

«Sorry, riding along for a sec. Wow his hair is way too dumb for this little prince routine.»


The abused rig groans in protest. One of the support pillars begins to slowly crumple in on itself. The hidden stairs inside ruinging its integrity. As the Sentinel spins out of control its arm backhands a second hanbitat, sending more water rushing into the complex. More pressure against Rachel's shields.

…but Hope is done. The upload is done.

The crew? They are running for the submarine as the minds of others wink out as parts of the habs start to fill with water.

The man in Pietro's grasp gurgles. "Shipment-" He gasps out. "Wanted. Agents. Just this. Meeting point. Dropoff. Justjust paid to keep this ru-runninNO!"

he shouts, panic again spiking as Illy touches the container and it, along with the rest of the machines and people dissipear. "Need to regulate…flow or…catastrophic….failure…"

His eyes are rolling up in his head at this point.


Nate's eyes follow the Sentinel's remains descent into the deeps with a mix of satisfaction and concern. Purifiers should not have access to Sentinels, not even now. It is a dangerous, dangerous precedent. He needs to know more.

Since Rachel says she is keeping the rig together and Hope has finished the upload, he spends the spare minute before Illyana grabs him going over the minds of the non-purifiers people to see who they are and who they work for.


Illyana begins to pilfer the people, the machines, the canisters. Annoyance flickers over Quicksilver's features again, but he does nothing to stop it. Perhaps it's for the best that these pieces of evidence survive. He combed through for all the digital records he could easily grab, but physical information… as long as someone has it, perhaps it is to the good.

Except — the tech has something to say about it all.

Quicksilver notices, as if for the first time, that the man is slowly strangling. With a sound of disgust he lets go, letting the tech drop. His eyes hood as he absorbs the information. Dropoff point. Shipments. He'll have to comb through whatever he was able to grab later. There might be manifests. Points of origin. Records of buyers and sellers. "Catastrophic failure?" he muses, glancing at Illyana. "Looks like you've got a small problem on your hands."

Quicksilver glances heavenward as Illyana subsequently offers him 'a lift out,' as if the question were unbearably foolish, or as if he were searching for his lost patience somewhere on the ceiling. He does not find it, obviously.

"I could be back on shore before you finished your next sentence," he replies, a flat statement of fact. "Worry about yourself."

But just before he leaves, there is a brief flicker of doubt in him. Small, but there. The memory of that conversation with Piotr. The debate they had on what to do with these facilities. There is an innate part of Pietro Maximoff which entertains a quiet conflict about 'going too far.' Whatever that nebulous phrase means. He cannot define it — only feel it as a visceral objection to things like civilians dying in the streets of New York. And yet — he thinks of his sister, burning.

It is not a standard for the weak to carry, my son.

His eyes harden, and he disappears with a gust of wind. Knowing Quicksilver, the countdown won't be a long one.


Rachel can feel the stepping discs popping up through the facility. When she's planted herself at a location like this, it's very difficult for something to escape her notice. She cuts the direct link with Illyana and returns her focus to her meticulously-constructed forcefield.

Thump. There goes Quicksilver. Rachel consciously processes the information a moment after her preparatory subconscious shifted the telekinetic pressure to account for a violent exit.

«That's… everyone. I'm letting go.»

Rachel lowers her arms. With a terrible, lurching moan, the rusting retro-fitted facility succumbs to its wounds. Rachel glances upward to see the moonlight eclipsed by falling debris. No Brotherhood, no explosion. Piotr's exasperation echoes in her mind. The operative word plays over and over: 'again.'

Rachel pictures the next steps.

"Stark is gonna be so smug," she says in doomed reply, and then floats backward through her own personal stepping disc.


He. So. Is.


As the X-men wink out of existance charges go off on several of the hab units. The concussive force of the explosions rippling out though the water to crush the fragile buildings. The tech that was left drowns in moments.

The rig collapses. Folding in on itself.

Soon enough the ocean reclaims the structure. Swollowing it up like it never was…

…only the little crew in a stolen sub escape. Eyes wide at their luck that their boss had a cigar with him that day.

"…I am /never/ taking an unscationed job /again/."

That is the solemn oath given as the vehicle chugs off into the sunset.

But…the mission for the X-men and it seems the Brotherhood /was/ successful.

Now /maybe/ they can get to the bottom of things.

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