The receptionist looks up from her computer, shaking the hair out of her face. "Um, just a sec." She types rapidly on the keyboard, trying to bring up the file. "Ah, yes. Dr. Russell will see you right away. Apparently, her earlier patient canceled at the last minute."

I smile, "Thank you."

"I assume you know where to go," the receptionist says.

"Actually, I--"

"Come on, Dr. Russell is a psionic psychiatrist. Did you really think I don't know her patients can read minds?"

The girl has a point. "Thanks...," I pause, doing a shallow psi-probe, "Kathy."

Kathy smiles as she hands me a clipboard with a questionnaire on it. "Fill this out first."

I take the clipboard from Kathy's hands and grab a pen from her, too. I sit in the waiting room plush chair. The carpeting was a dark blue. The walls were white drywall. There was soft, soothing music being played. This was obviously a peaceful place for people like me to go.

I look at Dr. Diana Russell's college degree in psychology mounted on the wall, going down the line, I spot all of her seven other degrees in various fields of mental study.

Will this even work? My powers have been so erratic lately that I'm not even sure if she can probe my mind...assuming, of course, she's even a telepath. I can't sense her thoughts anywhere.

I found out about this place on the Internet, so it's not anything illegal or secretive. Well, maybe it is secretive. It's a small building, located in Maine, around Bangor.

All right, enough prolonging the inevitable, let's fill out this little info sheet, shall we?

Question #1: "Do you suffer from night-terrors provoked by your telepathic or precognitive ability on a regular basis?"

Well...sort of. Really wish they had a box to check for "sometimes," but I guess I'll check "yes."

"Do you see loved ones who died long ago in hallucinogenic settings?"

...Yes.

"Have you ever become aware of a separate and independent persona as a result of your psionic abilities trying to cope with traumatic experiences?"

Unfortunately...

"Has this persona lashed out violently?"

I suddenly stop answering the questions and read down the line, realizing I have yes's to all of the questions on this thing. Is that bad?

"No," a voice says soothingly. My eyes land on a middle-aged woman, with her hair cut at about her jawbone. Her blonde hair was graying slightly, but who am I to judge? I had silver hair before I was 21.

"Hello, Doctor," I greet, offering my hand to shake.

"You can call me Diana," she says, taking hold of my hand. She smiles. She has to look up to make eye contact with me, "You're a big, muscular guy. Exercising your body and mind. I find that impressive. Most telekinetics are out of shape."

I walk with her into the little room where I'm supposed to spill my guts. Diana takes the clipboard I was holding and silently looks it over, reviewing my answers. Oops, I forgot to answer all of them.

"You already did, Nathan," she says. She places the clipboard on her desk. She sits into a comfortable-looking leather chair. She gestures for me to lay down on the couch sitting in front of me. I was going to need a footrest or something, 'cos my legs are going to dangle like a dead Canaanite--

A footrest pulls itself next to one end of the couch.

"Get comfortable, Nathan. We might be here awhile," Diana says. She looks at the window and shuts the blinds, making the room dark, but relaxing.

I do as she says, shifting my husky frame until I'm content on the couch.

"Close your eyes. Are you familiar with any techniques of meditation?"

"Yes," I respond, almost with a laugh. I feel like an astute pupil, being prepared for the teacher's pop quiz.

"All right," Diana says, "I just want you to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth just to get your mind clear. Hovering upside-down in the Lotus position isn't necessary for this."

"Okay..."

"I still sense tension," she says. "Relax all your muscles, relax your telekinesis..."

"I...I can't," I say. "I could die."

I relax my telekinesis enough for my techno-organic arm to reveal its true form. If she can handle being a psychic shrink, she can handle a funky arm.

"I see," she says. "How long have you been with this...condition?"

I sigh, "Pretty much my whole life. I have to focus my telekinesis inward, or else it will spread and...kill me."

"Was this the most traumatic experience of your life?"

"No...I don't really remember being infected by it. I do remember it being the first pain I felt."

There's a pregnant pause as I can feel Diana probing in my mind. It's a slight tingle. She definitely wasn't a strong psi like Jean, Rachel, or myself, but she's good with what she's got.

"Tell me about your parental units; who raised you?" Diana asks.

"Um, a couple sort of adopted me, helped me control my powers."

"But they left you?"

"It wasn't their fault...but, yes."

"This forced you to grow up fast, didn't it? To fend for yourself?"

I nod.

"And you grew up in poor conditions, what was that like?"

"I don't know. It was depressing at times. It was as if there was no point to living. There were problems everywhere, but no one was brave enough to point them out. I did."

"What made you stand up for what you believed in?"

"I guess I just felt what everyone else felt...and my fears went away. I knew I wasn't alone in my thinking."

I hear Diana scribbling something in a notebook. I patiently wait for the next question.

"What gave you the motivation to form a revolution?" Diana asks.

"Well...there were many others like me who had the same beliefs as I did and the willingness to fight like I did. I guess my fears went away again. I was confident I could get this done with help."

"What did it feel like taking a life?"

"Quite frankly...it felt good. It was good that they died, they deserved it. I felt like their judge. I felt...powerful. I felt like...a war hero or something."

"Are you idealistic?"

"I was in my younger days."

"What changed that?"

"I think when most of my troops started dying...war wasn't fun anymore. I used to play games with the other soldiers, tossing a grenade around just to see who was the bigger coward - stupid stuff. It was supposed to be an adventure where the good guys won and the bad guys lost.

"Everything went to hell when my wife became a casualty. My son was abducted and brainwashed, too. Something switched on in my mind. This war wasn't hell, the whole goddamn world was. I lost it almost. For a second, I almost gave up..."

"What changed your mind?"

"I found out that the enemy's leader was leaving...I followed him and killed him."

"But many died in-between that period during your mad quest for revenge?" Diana asks. She wasn't really asking, but mainly criticizing. "And many after your revenge was complete? Some recently...you've taken this war to an extreme. War may be your life, but war is not the world you live in."

"I don't kill innocents--"

"I seem to recall hearing about an incident in Los Angeles a few months ago. An earthquake occurred, which no scientist saw coming. The fault line was pressured by some force."

"All right...that wasn't...I wasn't in control at that moment," I say.

"Do you want to talk about Vice?"

I remain silent, but Diana continues.

"Telepaths, the powerful ones like you and the late Charles Xavier, have a pretty tough time organizing traumatic thoughts. You're so used to listening to other people's inner most thoughts and fantasies, that you develop a separate persona that usually takes the blunt of all your problems. That persona usually becomes violent and impulsive, sometimes taking control when the prime personality doesn't even know it."

"I got control of him," I say.

"But, he's still inside of you. You've just locked him up tighter. He's taking the punishment even more. The next time he breaks free...it could be worse. Are you aware of the three entities that make up a personality?"

"Yes, the superego, ego, and id," I say.

"Well, Vice is characterized by your id. The id wants what it doesn't have, does what society says it can't do. It's evil. It's only counteracted by the superego's strong sense of moral conscience. The ego's caught in the middle.

"You've been alone for quite some time. People don't know how you think. People don't know what the hell you're doing...and that makes you an outsider. You think you're doing right, but the world thinks you're the trigger-happy terrorist. You're afraid.

"When the going gets tough, you remember the war you grew up in. Everything suddenly becomes a situation where you're afraid to die. Then it's kill or be killed...am I right?"

She was definitely striking a chord. "Yeah...I guess that makes sense," I say.

"Why don't we take a fifteen minute break?" Diana asks.

"Sure," I say, sitting up on the couch. Diana walks out of the office, leaving me to absorb everything she brought up. I reach down the collar of my shirt and pull out my gold Askani medallion. I rub the phoenix imprint with my thumb.

This has never happened before - me questioning the Askani philosophy. If it was such a good way of self-enlightenment...why did I almost destroy Los Angeles? Three-hundred died that day...another twenty-thousand were hurt.*

(* See issues #16-17 to catch the whole story -- Brad)

I bury my face into my hands and begin to sob - really sob - for the first time in my life. I cried when Aliya died in my arms, but now I'm crying for what I've become capable of...

"Ready to begin again?" Diana asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I say. My eyes were still red.

"All right, for this stage of the analysis, I need to ask you to join me on the astral plane."

I wasn't expecting this, but I guess I can trust her. I'd be leaving my body behind. Here goes. I close my eyes and the surroundings of Dr. Russell's office fade into a bluish gray environment. Diana is there already, hovering patiently. She has psionic armor over her body.

~What's wrong?~ she asks.

~Just not sure what we're doing here,~ I respond.

~I think you know why,~ she says cryptically.

I look to my side and hear myself gasp. It was Vice. He was in the fetal position, hovering motionless. He was asleep. He had black armor over his body, including a helmet similar to the design of Stryfe's "crown".

~Your thoughts modeled him after your archnemesis...that's common.~

~You do this a lot?~ I ask.

~Yes, but I haven't had many powerful patients. This may take awhile. Stand back.~

Diana floats closer to Vice and begins shaking him, causing him to awake from his slumber.

~What the hell are you doing?!~ I shout.

Vice suddenly jerks around, his legs and arms shooting out from the fetal position. Energy encircles him as his left eye beams with light. He looks around and begins to grin.

~I'm free...~ he says. He talks with my same tone of voice, but he has somewhat of an accent like Stryfe did.

~Diana...you don't know what you're doing, he's crazy!~ I yell.

~He's not crazy, just misunderstood. He's taken the blunt of your torture. All surpressed rage lashes out in one form or another.~

~I'm going to take over your body, Cable...and when I do...the world will tremble. I'll kill every single person that crosses me!~ he shouts.

~Just let it out, Vice,~ Diana says calmly, despite the fact Vice is practically eying her down like a piece of meat. ~Let out your rage.~

Vice's eye glows like a fire burning in his brain. As he shouts, the light gets brighter. I form armor over my body and a psimatar forms in my hands.

~Diana, get back!~

~Let me work, Nathan. I've refracted your astral self into its good and evil parts. This will not work if you keep interfering,~ Diana commands.

~You don't understand, my powers are out of control. It's a little dangerous to tease my dark side.~

Vice continues to yell at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, everything around us begins to shake. It was as if an earthquake had manifested itself on the astral plane.

Vice slumps to the ground, or rather, the ground sort of appeared under him. His armor has been broken off into tiny fragments. His helmet has been shattered. Diana descends to his level, helping him up. She motions for me to come by her.

This wasn't a good idea.

Diana stands between us as she explains what she did, ~Vice is your id, Nathan Summers is the ego, and Cable is the superego. In Vice's situation, the energy was weighted on only him. Now the energy has been distributed throughout the three entities that make you whole.~

~How did you...?~ I ask.

~I didn't do anything, you did it yourself. You think Vice is a separate person? He's you. You're him. All I did was point you in the right direction to heal your mind. To ease your pain.~

Vice suddenly looks at me and holds out his fist. I hold my fist out and our knuckles touch each other...

And I'm suddenly lying on a couch in Dr. Diana Russell's office. I look at my left hand. It was no longer shaking like it had been ever since my Fifth Force powers started manifesting themselves. It was like I had received enlightenment.

"How do you feel?" Diana asks.

"Better," I say. "I...there's nothing wrong. I don't feel that weirdness anymore."

Diana stands up and she shakes my hand. I get up as well. "I'd like to do a follow-up in a couple weeks, just to see how you're doing."

"Fine with me," I say with a smile. I walk up to the receptionist and she hands me a bill. This session cost over $100,000, but I can pay for it with no worry.

~Prosh, can you access my Swiss account?~

{{Online and ready.}}

~Direct deposit $100,000 into Dr. Diana Russell's bank account.~

{{Searching...Found...Sent.}}

"You can pay it in increments per month, if you wish," Kathy says.

I can't help but smile. It's the irony, I guess.

{{Is something troubling you, Nathan?}} Prosh asks me. I'm aboard Greymalkin II, looking into space through the viewing window. I've got a pretty good enhanced telescopic view of the Orion Nebula.

I shift in the curved leathery chair. "No, I feel great, like a ton of pressure has been lifted off of me."

{{But...?}}

"Huh?"

{{You have that tone in your speech, like you are going to say 'but'.}}

"Oh...but, all the violence and death I've become desensitized to is finally making an impression on me. I'm wondering if I shouldn't have gone to that psychiatrist. Right now, I can't imagine myself taking another life...even if they deserve it."

{{Did you discover anything new about the Fifth Dimension?}}

"No, Diana...Dr. Russell didn't find anything. She didn't even realize anything about it. Apparently, the godly energies weren't the problem...I was. I thought my dark side was subdued. Diana probably saved millions today by fixing my mind."

I get out of my chair. Prosh doesn't usually ignore me when I talk with him, I'm the only one he can talk to. "Prosh?"

{{Sorry, Nathan - I've received some bad news.}}

"What is it?"

{{I have eavesdropped on an American CIA frequency coming from Afghanistan.}}

"I'm listening."

{{Maybe I shouldn't--}}

"Spill it, you piece of Celestial shit," I mutter. Maybe it was uncalled for, but situations like these bring out the bad in me.

{{Al-Quaeda forces have stumbled upon one of your safehouses located near the Pakistan border with Afghanistan.}}

"How's that possible? How would the CIA know about my safehouse there?"

{{I only made a speculation, because Taliban forces have just attacked an Allied base camp using your advanced weaponry.}}

"Shit..."

I growl as I backhand the leather chair, which breaks off its hinge and goes flying into the viewing screen which was looking at the Orion Nebula. Three androids appear from a compartment in the wall and begin repairing the area. I walk past them and go for my armory.

I load clips and rounds into various guns, strapping ammo and other guns over my shoulders. I'm dressed as a soldier. Not an American or Taliban, but one tough son of a bitch no one will mess with.

{{Nathan, I thought you said you couldn't take another life?}}

"You can't piss on a forest fire, Prosh."

I know I said I felt like I could never take another life again...but my war is coming back to haunt me. I have to finish it here and now.

I grab my psimatar and put it into its appropriate holster on the side of my left leg. I grab an M-16 and click the safety off. I grab an NM-87, a gun native to the 40th century, and activate the laser features. An arm from within the NM-87 straps around my T-O arm. Usually, it takes three to fire this thing. The recoil alone could shatter a man's ribcage.

I'm not an ordinary man.

"Bodyslide me there. Now."

{{Just a moment, Greymalkin has to get into the correct orbital position,}} Prosh says with a tone of reluctance.

A sphere of blue energy forms around me. I feel myself become nothing as I'm bodyslided from Greymalkin...

I feel my stomach jump and I'm outside. I instantly hear the sound of mortars exploding and machine gun fire. There's also laser fire the Special Forces aren't used to being fired at them from what seems like all directions. I feel a little prick strike me in the head.

Good thing I have my TK field up. Fucking snipers. It's pitch black and cold as hell out here. My techno-organic eye is getting a workout by altering my perceptions to see into the infrared spectrum.

The darkness suddenly becomes as bright as day. The mountain ridge is like the horizon for a new sun dawning plasma fire upon helpless soldiers. I hear dying thoughts jumbled and muffled together. I can't even hear myself think.

But I know what exactly to do...I don't have to think. With my M-16 in one hand, and the NM-87 in the other, I pull the triggers, aiming high for the mountain ridge. The M-16 is overheated sooner than I thought. That's what you get for such a primitive weapon. I toss the weapon aside.

I support the NM-87 in my other hand and continue to fire blasts of concentrated light and plasma. The enemy fire is now concentrated on me. Two shells explode over head, another three hit to my sides.

"...The fuck is going on?!" someone shouts.

"Who they shootin' at?"

I dive for a trench as more mortars hit nearby. I can't concentrate with all the commotion to determine telepathically what I'm up against. I press up against my earpiece.

"Prosh! Can you give me some numbers?!" I shout. I can hear the echo of my voice inside my chest, but nowhere else - the shells are more frequent now. I expand my force field. So far, the virus isn't acting up.

I hold out my T-O forearm and pull against the meat, revealing a concealed grenade inside. I pull the pin out and throw it, guiding it with my telekinesis and infrared vision. I hear the sound of a loud squeak followed by rocks falling to the ground. I also hear some shouts and then some swearing in Arabic.

"Prosh?!" I yell again.

{{I am not going to participate in war. Not again.}}

"Damn it, I'm here to END it! Just fucking help me see what I'm up against!"

Two blasts hit near the top of the trench, sending pebbles pouring onto my head, getting in my eyes.

{{I am targeting your safehouses around the world for destruction--}}

"Don't! There's money in there, too; not just weapons!"

{{All the more reason to blow them up. Prosh out.}}

"Professor!!!!!!!!!" I shout out the name I gave him all those years ago. There's nothing but static in my earpiece. He shut off our psychic link, as well. Stab his eyes...if he had 'em.

I feel betrayed almost, but I have no right to treat Prosh like a tool. He's sentient, he has his own free will. Maybe Prosh was right. Money means nothing, in the end, it's just numbers.

Al-Quaeda probably already used my money in the Afghani safehouse. Oath, what have I done?

Stryfe once had a base in Kabul...I wonder...? I'll never forgive myself for adding to the terrorism I thought I was putting a stop to. Maybe I was too fixated on the superhumans. I was quick to forget normal people can be just as ruthless or psychotic as Apocalypse or Stryfe.

That will definitely change.

I grab my psimatar and NM-87, running over the top of the trench and start firing shots at the Taliban forces. My rage has increased my telekinetic blasts emerging from my psimatar.

A shell explodes in front of me, sending pieces of shrapnel everywhere. In the blink of an eye, I'm able to erect a force field before I'm terribly damaged. I have a giant shard sticking into my right leg. I stop dead in my tracks, slumping to the ground.

"MEDIC!" I hear someone shout. It was an American soldier. He was African-American. A crucifix dangled in my face from the boy's neck.

"You all right? How many fingers?" he asks me, giving me the peace sign. I notice him trying to hide the awe of the NM-87 still in my techno-organic hand.

"Who are you?" I ask. The kid was shaking like a nervous wreck. I'm trying to ease the stress a little.

"Frank Drew, Private First Class," the boy salutes. I return the salute.

"I'm Nathan Summers...Askani," I say.

"What? Oz-Connie? Yo, medic! Jake, get over here, this dude's going crazy!" Frank yells.

Jake, the medic, dodges gunfire as he carries his box of supplies over to me.

"I'm all right," I keep saying, but Jake has already wrenched the shrapnel out of my thigh. He's got gauze and bandages already wrapped around the wound.

"He'll be all right," Jake says to Frank. Frank smiles, patting me on the back. Suddenly, Frank's smile fades as a laser blast takes off his arm.

"GAHH!!!" he screams, breathing hard.

"Oh, fuck!" Jake yells. Soon, it's too late for him, too. An electro-blast from an ion-cannon hits him in the chest, burning a hole in his lungs.

I grunt, ignoring the pain of my leg, crawling over to Frank, who was trying desperately not to cry. He's lost a lot of blood. Before I can telekinetically sever the nerve endings around the wound, a bullet streams through his skull, splattering blood and brain tissue on my face.

Meanwhile, the medic is down, struggling to breathe. The poor kid's dying. I crawl over to him, placing my hand over his massive chest wound.

"Sorry kid..., you did your best."

Jake puts his bloodied hand over mine, smiles, and whispers, "Get them for me..." Blood gushes out of his mouth as his head falls to the side. His hand slides off of mine, falling limp on the ground.

My grip on the handle of my psimatar tightens as I discharge the spent energy clip on the NM-87. I toss the futuristic weapon aside, crushing it with my telekinesis. No one was going to get their hands on that technology. Not Americans, not terrorists, nobody.

"All right, mother fuckers!" I shout in Arabic. "You like the dirty rules of war?! Fine. Try to fly a plane into me!"

Using my infrared sight, I spot all of the unexploded land mines left over by the Russians long ago. I telekinetically unearth them and detonate them over the enemy lines atop the mountain ridge, providing the cover I needed to soar up to their level.

My TK field was amped up to at least a five-foot radius; there was no way they were penetrating it. I fire a psimatar blast into the ribcage of a Taliban fighter brandishing a WB-79 Pulsar. All of my futuristic weapons have a self-destruct feature. I activate it with my mind. It was a small explosion, just a bottle-rocket level.

Still, the sound was enough for the Taliban forces to concentrate on me. They turn all their firepower on me. So far, my shield has protected me. Now for the hard part - let my shield down for a split-second and generate a full 360 TK-pulse.

I remember when Blaquesmith used to do walk-downs with me using that trick, practicing with rocks. Took me awhile to master it...

I feel twitching in my eye as energy forms out of it. My shield is down. I instantly generate a shockwave of energy in all directions, sending the fighters toppling end over end over the mountain top. On opposite sides of the mountain, I hear bones crunching, organs squishing, and cries of pain.

There's a plasma discharge that lands right in front of my foot. I dive for cover and peer over the ridge. I look closer and see that an American soldier has taken possession of one of my weapons.

I take out a handgun, aim, and shoot the weapon before the boy can fire another shot. The boy's surprised. Suddenly, there's the sound of thousands of fireworks going off as the rest of the weapons' self-destruct features are activated.

{{Are you finished, Cable?}} Prosh asks.

Prosh rarely called me Cable. It was obvious he was a little angry.

I sigh, "Yeah. Bodyslide by one, Greymalkin bound." Before Prosh acknowledges the command, I ask, "Are the safehouses destroyed?"

Prosh delays his response. {{No.}}

"No?"

{{I bodyslided the weapons native to the 40th century to Greymalkin's armory, where they'll stay.}}

"And the other weapons?"

{{They are locked tightly within your remaining safehouses, which have been upgraded with better security. As the Askani say, 'What is...is.'}}

"Nicely spoken, old friend," I say as I'm bodyslided.

Our first letter comes from Logan Trent Kuraishi, who will be eventually taking over writing duties of Punisher, X-Men Alpha, and Deadpool, to name a few...er, maybe that is all of 'em. Here's Logan's response to Cable #32:

After a night of "magic", Cable accidentally stabs Irene. Who the hell saw that coming? That's what I like about Brad's CABLE, for every step Nate takes forward, he takes about five back. It keeps readers on their toes and also prevents the series from getting predictable.

I saw it coming, but then again...I know everything.

Anyway, "Sir Stabs A Lot" rushes Irene, while he's naked (Cable sure takes the term "Commando" to a tee), to the hospital. While waiting in the lobby, he has a touching moment with an elderly lady. I like the way that Brad handled the talk between Nate and the woman. It brought back Cable's human side, which had seem the fade a little since Blaquesmith's death.

Cable's a complex character (well, there's a news flash, huh?) so I appreciate you telling me I'm doing a good job. Sometimes, it's hard to keep the soldier and the kind, gentle Cable separate/interwoven.

After that, an obsessive ex-boyfriend bursts in to the ER, and threatens his ex-girlfriend's (a nurse) life. Cable uses his powers to subdue the guy in an easy and timely fashion. Brad's ingenuity, when it comes to the Askani'son's powers, is another thing about this series I enjoy. Just when you think that you've seen it all, Brad pulls another new trick from out his sleeve.

Hopefully, soon, Cable's powers will be more refined. As of late, his powers are a bit on the unpredictable side with his ability to wield the Fifth Force. There will still be "Wow, how'd he do thats," but it will be believable, I guess.

Later, the doctor's inform Cable that Irene's injuries are too severe for treatment, and that she only has hours to live. Making an easy choice, Cable turns back time and to prevent himself from *ahem* "tappin' that ass". Due to her not having any recollection of the events that have yet to happen, Irene gets pissed and kicks Nate out. He then goes to stop the ER loser (again), and heads back to Graymalkin II for a cold, cold shower. All in all, the two past issues have been a nice change of pace, with little action, but lots of character bits. Nice show, Brad.

Yes, the cold shower scene was on the cutting room floor, but I guess it's cool.

Our next letter comes from someone who always says with Darth Vader breathing, "M2K...I am your father." Give up? It's Dino Pollard! You know, the guy who does the myriad of titles for M2K? No? Okay, well, here's his response to Cable #32:

When Cable accidentally stabbed Irene, I originally thought that it was a dream. But then Cable bodyslided to the hospital, and my next thought was, "oh shit."

Well, that's good, I think. Unless your mother was standing next to you when you said that.

It was a nice issue, and I liked the way that Cable tapped into the Fifth Force to reverse time. However, I thought that Irene's response to Cable's comment was a bit too judgemental. She should've asked him why before tossing his ass out.

In my original plans, when Cable received news Irene "wouldn't make it", he bodyslided her to Greymalkin and had her healed there. That conflicted with the entire story, because then I asked myself "Why didn't Cable just go to Greymalkin in the first place?" But I wanted to do a scene at the hospital, so I came up with Cable reversing time to save Irene's life by (basically) not making love to her. It makes Cable's act noble, yet bittersweet.

Man, I'm putting that guy through hell, aren't I? :-D