"...which is why I believe military action is necessary," Parraidan Haight mutters as he sits in front of a video phone. On the other end, the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

{{"We can't start a war with Russia, what are you? Insane?"}} one of the military leaders barks.

"They don't have half the nuclear weapons they once had," Haight informs as he leans back in his black leather office chair.

{{"Right, but the half they do have is good enough to take out Washington, New York, and Los Angeles. Keep in mind, we have other possessions outside the continental US to worry about, like Guam. What are we going to do about Hawaii and Alaska? Just hand it over to them?"}} another general states.

Haight smiles, "We bought Alaska from them fair and square in 1854 AD, if I'm not mistaken."

{{"What is this, a fucking history lesson?"}} a lieutenant general shouts, jumping out of his chair in anger and slamming his fist on the table.

"Careful, Sanders," Haight growls, "this conversation is going in the archives...watch your mouth." He sighs, "We have already deployed carriers throughout the Pacific to protect our possessions. Antimissile satellites are in orbit, ready to blast down any ICBM's. NORAD is making sure of our safety, all we have to do is make sure of our mindset of this war."

{{"This is not a war!!"}} Sanders shouts.

"Open your eyes, boy," Haight says coldly, "living in this world is a war. A constant struggle between us to see who actually has claim to this 6,000 mile diameter mudball."

{{"The President will not approve of this!"}} a general shouts. He's been around since the days of Vietnam.

Haight smiles as he rocks back and forth in his chair, "Jerry...didn't you retire yet?"

{{"Ha ha, you fucking shrew,"}} General Jerry Clybourne mutters.

Haight leans forward and gets up close to the videophone. He breathes steadily, sounding as if he's going to explode with emotion, "The President has very little power in this matter. It was us that mobilized the troops to Afghanistan. The Senate has the power to declare war...which some of them are strongly considering..."

{{"Probably because you offered them a hefty sum, you fucking criminal! I've never liked you, Haight!"}} Lieutenant General Sanders shouts. {{"Ever since you decided to show up again after your brief retirement after Desert Storm--"}}

Haight simply smiles to himself as the young man goes on and on about his dislikes. Haight didn't really stand beside Powell and Schwartzkopf during Desert Storm, that was just a little telepathic manipulation from Sanctity.

{{"--nothing but a self-centered rich boy who got a few lucky breaks in the armed forces!"}} Sanders shouts.

Haight's smile fades. Why did Sanctity have to make up a backstory like that? In his native era, he worked hard under the Canaanites and eventually rose to the top. Survival of the fittest.

"It was only a suggestion, boys. You don't have to go along with a military genius if you don't want to," Haight says, laying on the reverse psychology. "Stay in touch," he says cockily as he terminates the transmission. "Bastards...," he mutters.

He rubs the top of his nose as turns his attention to his personal computer on his desk. Of course, it was disguised to look like an iMac, but it was advanced beyond 21st century comprehension. He brings up a video file.

{{"...who am I?"}} a tall husky man with white hair asks. He was wearing rags from what Haight could tell.

{{"...Nate?"}} asks an attractive young woman.

{{"Nate. Is that my name? It sounds familiar."}}

{{"Yeah...Nathan Summers. You're...you're Cable. Don't you remember?"}}

Haight pauses the video and zooms in on the man's face. It was Cable. He had heard through the grapevine, the grapevine being Sanctity, that the Dukani encountered Cable in Moscow. Haight, thinking it was impossible, did some digging and hacked into a surveillance system Cable himself had installed around New York City, ironically.

Haight clicks the mouse, continuing the file.

{{"No,"}} the man says. {{"I died. I DIED, DAMN YOU!!!" I...died."}}

He pauses it once more.

"Stab his eyes...," Haight mutters. "Cable's alive."

Aboard Greymalkin II, Cable silently observes a hurricane brewing over the Samoa on the main deck. The spiraling mass seemed to dance and put Nate under a hypnotic spell.

Prosh's holographic green head appears in front of Cable, {{What's wrong?}}

Nate doesn't take his eyes off the eye of the storm, "Did you find her yet?"

{{Nothing yet. I'm still trying,}} Prosh responds regretfully. {{Psionic spike readings, genetic scans...nothing...}}

"They must be temphasing," Cable mutters. "Look harder."

A blue flash appears and Cable glances to his side. He looks back at the storm. For whatever reason, he didn't want to look at Irene. Not just yet.

"Now," Rachel says in her battle gear, a uniform very similar to Cable's, brownish green cargo pants, black shirt, military boots, "before I explain why I brought you here..."

"You kidnapped me in my office, what gives--?" Irene asks. She was wearing a dress suit. She suddenly stops and looks at the shadowy viewing deck. A man was standing on a metal balcony, looking out into space, at Earth.

"Hello, Irene," Cable says.

"Nathan?" Irene chuckles, "What's with the saddened tone? Why are you brooding up there? Come into the light, babe."

"Irene," Rachel says, as she puts her hands on her shoulders, "Nathan's back."

Irene smiles, "Yeah. We showed up at your apartment...are you okay, Ray?"

Rachel sighs, tightening her grip around Irene's shoulders, "Stryfe is back, too."

Irene's hand reaches up to her lips, "Oh God..."

Rachel looks regretfully into Ms. Merryweather's eyes, "Cable didn't come to my apartment with you..."

Irene's hand falls down to her side. She looks at Rachel and back at the man on the balcony. She doesn't have to say it, the look on her face was enough. She knew. She shakes her head as tears start running down her cheeks, "I'm sorry...I should have seen it...I mean, no virus, no scar...you must think I'm an idiot..."

Nathan, meanwhile, closes his eyes, "You thought it was me...how else would you react?"

Irene nods, "So, why am I here?"

"Your protection," Rachel says. "There is a group of Askani-trained soldiers that are trying to take over the world. The Canaanites, they work for them."

"They're from the future?" Irene asks. "Who--?" Rachel glares at her. "Sanctity?" Rachel nods. "Oh, what should I do?" Irene asks.

"Nothing," Cable says as he hovers down the set of stairs. His boots klunk on the floor as he lands in front of Irene.

Irene looks at him, "You got a buzz."

Cable looks back at Irene, "You added some highlights."

"See? Talking's good, too," Irene smiles. "You should try it."

"Sorry, I've got a war to prevent, Irene," Cable says. "Make yourself comfortable in the lounge. An android will get you anything you want. We got a synthesizer."

Irene nods and slowly walks off. She turns back, "You know, I was sort of glad my biography was finished..."

"Wouldn't you?" Cable asks.

"Cute," Irene responds with a sarcastic smile as she turns towards the lounge.

A blonde-haired man wearing a black suit with a loose tie walks into the office. A tan, raven-haired woman wearing a similar black outfit, follows the man. They are Jack Paris and Tracy Raymond, two of the CIA's best.

"You wanted us, General Haight?" Tracy asks.

"Yes, sit down, agents," Haight says with a slight gesture from his desk. The two agents take a seat in front of him. He folds his hands, "I suppose you've heard the possibility of war with Russia..."

"That's insane," Jack says. "We're both part of the UN security council, America and Russia. We'd look like a bunch of jag-offs to the rest of the world if we went to war with them."

"Well, I said it was a possibility," Haight says regretfully. "I'm afraid there's more bad news. Cable has resurfaced."

"What?" Tracy shouts. "Didn't he disappear during the Apocalypse crisis?"

"I've heard rumors that he died stopping the man himself," Jack speaks.

"Well," Haight says as he turns his chair to face his shaded window. The sun's rays formed a grill over Parraidan's face. "Either way, Cable needs to be apprehended for his terrorist crimes. I am disappointed in you two...letting him go free like that when you had him."

* ( in issue 19 -- Brad)

"Sorry," Jack says. "That was my fault."

Haight continues, "He caused the deaths of hundreds in Los Angeles and $100 billion in property damage alone. Now there are reports from our armed forces in Afghanistan that he supplied al-Qaida with his weapons a few months ago...and you let him go...just because he saved your life from Agent Denti?"

Haight presses a button on his desk and a storage compartment spins open from behind a portrait of George Washington. There stood two futuristic-looking, chrome-polished guns. Haight stands up pointing to the two weapons, "Take these psi-nullifiers."

Haight walks over and takes the weapons from their casing and hands them to the two agents. He continues, "They have the capability to take out any psionic mutant within a five mile radius of them."

"What?" Tracy asks as she looks at the strange weapon. "Where did you get this? Looks like something out of Star Trek."

"SHIELD," Haight responds enigmatically. "It's from SHIELD. It generates an acute electromagnetic wavelength which causes the sensitive frontal lobes of a psi to overload."

"You want us to kill him?" Jack asks.

"He's a terrorist. Cable must be destroyed," Haight says as he sits back in his chair. "Now go." Jack and Tracy stand their ground. "THAT'S AN ORDER!" Haight shouts.

"You're not our boss, Haight. You're not even head of the Central--" Tracy pauses midsentence. "Intelli...uhhh."

Jack goes into a similar stupor. Red diodes blink on and off behind Jack and Tracy's earlobes. Haight lifts his finger off the red button located on his technological gauntlet underneath his military garb. He sighs, "I said that was an order, puppets."

The two agents conceal their weapons and walk out of the office like zombified soldiers.

"Anything yet, Prosh?" Cable asks. Rachel grabs her brother's arm.

"You could have at least been more polite to her," Rach says. "You're acting like a child, a jealous brother."

"Am I?" Nate asks. He looks down at his arm where Rachel's fist was squeezing. "I have nothing to be jealous of Stryfe."

{{I haven't found anything--}}

"Damn it, Prosh, I said look harder, meaning, change the calibration of your sensors to pick up on chronotronic energy signatures!" Cable shouts.

{{I hate to bring this bit of irony up, but I cannot read your mind,}} Prosh replies as his computerized face fizzles slightly as the sensors reconfigure.

"You keep that attitude up and I'll rip your circuits apart, giving you the intelligence of a certain son of a former President whose name isn't John Quincy Adams," Cable warns. "Or did you think I forgot that bullshit you pulled with the al-Qaida cell getting a hold on my tech?" *

* ( Back in the 2002 Annual -- Brad)

{{I may be a computer, but I also have the ability to make decisions of my own,}} Prosh responds.

"What? Al-Qaida...when?" Rachel asks.

"Before I started gathering the Twelve," Cable explains.

{{There seems to be a high concentration of chronal energies in northern Siberia,}} Prosh interrupts. {{I'm picking up close to 300.}}

"That's gotta be it," Cable says as he cracks his knuckles.

"Are there any others we should know about?" Rachel asks.

{{Yes...two in Chicago...,}} Prosh begins.

"Bishop and Fitzroy," Cable mutters, mentally checking them off.

{{One in London...}}

"Huh?" Cable asks.

"Brian Braddock, most likely," Rachel explains. "We were once mixed up in the timestream. That could be why he's registering a chronal reading."

{{And then there's another one in Russia, but in the countryside...}}

"That's Illyana, most likely," Cable states.

{{New York, I see Stryfe,}} Prosh says with a hint of edge in his voice.

"Don't worry about him," Cable says. "Not yet, at least."

He looks back at Rachel.

"Do you like...stalk the other timewalkers?" she asks. Cable simply chuckles.

{{Another in Washington and one in...wait, I lost the last one.}}

"Must be Haight in DC," Rachel confirms.

"What about that one that you lost?" Cable inquires. "Was it X-Man?"

Prosh sighs, {{Sorry, it only spiked for a brief moment. I didn't get a chance to trace it back to the location. Your brother, X-Man, is currently in Tibet.}}

"See if you can find it while we infiltrate that base in Siberia," Cable says as he grabs his psimatar. He looks at Rachel, who has her psimatar and a few guns. He turns to Prosh, "Bodyslide by two."

Speaking of that unknown location...

"Heh heh heh...," Gaunt bellows. "We got lucky, didn't we?"

Domino rolls her eyes as the various tubes keeping her top and bottom halves alive circulate nutrients into her system, "You copied my power so you could avoid Prosh's scan, big whoop."

"I imprinted your power, Beatrice," Gaunt smiles. "It's in me now, along with nearly every other mutant power out there except for one."

"Yeah, good," Domino shouts. "Until you get that last one, Poké-master, why don't you reattach my body? Or at least give me some clothes?"

Gaunt looks over at the pale-skinned beauty. He types a few commands into the console, sending a stream of endorphins into Dom's veins. "That will ease your pain, my sweet. No more questions."

Dom breathes heavily as she fights to stay awake, "Oh no...I saw what you did to my lower half the last time you did this...you sick bastard...you fucked me...you sick....bastard..."

"I was engineered to be the perfect warrior, my dear," Gaunt informs. "The ability to copy and paste any mutant power into my DNA matrix. If those scientists of the far future had a brain, they would have made me asexual. Because now I am forced to copulate with a female everytime I get that burning feeling."

Domino watches in horror as Gaunt looms over the lower half of her torso, inside of a green tank. Gaunt presses a few buttons and the green energy field housing the pelvis down turns off. He telekinetically floats the lower portion onto a lab table. He smiles devilishly back at Domino.

"Brace yourself, Bea. Here comes the train."

"AHHHHH!!!!!" Domino shouts as the electrical impulses of the nerves of her lower half are transferred electronically back to her brain. "You reestablished the neural connection between my two halves? AHH!"

"Come on, wrap your legs around me. I like it when women do that," Gaunt cackles as he thrusts again.

Manhattan.

Stryfe walks amongst a crowd of workers taking their lunch break. He passes by a coffee shop and sees six friends sitting and laughing on a couch. He can vaguely remember the Six Pack.

"Cable, sir?" a young voice shouts.

Stryfe turns around and sees a young black boy with blue hair. His twin sister runs up to him. Julia smiles, "It's him!"

"Howya doin', Mr. Summers?" Eugene asks.

Stryfe smiles, "Oh, hi. I didn't recognize you two for a moment there. Not training today?"

Eugene shakes his head, "No, we were just out for a walk."

"All by yourselves?" Stryfe asks worriedly.

"We live at the orphanage," Julia explains. "They don't care for us much there...not cause we're black...not even cuz of our weird hair...but we're...mutants."

"Believe me," Stryfe sighs, "I know what it's like to be abandoned. Come on, I'll take you home."

Eugene inches his body away from Stryfe's reach, "We don't wanna go back there!"

"Well, at least let me take you somewhere. You shouldn't be out here all alone," Stryfe says.

"He's right," Jack says as he points a chrome gun at Stryfe's head. The bystanders scream.

"GUN!" someone shouts, which causes a chain-reaction of frantic citizens running every which way. Cars swerve out of the way of the frightened people and crash into telephone poles, fire hydrants, or street lamps.

Tracy takes out hers and does the same, "Run along home, children."

"Come on, we can take 'em!" Eugene yells as he charges the two agents.

Julia holds herself back, "Wait!"

"NO!" Stryfe shouts.

Jack appears amused as he pistol-whips Eugene in the forehead, causing him to fall short of tackling him. Jack then mercilessly pulls the trigger on his psi-nullifier, firing a purple ray of energy into Eugene's cranium. The young boy screams as his entire brain seems to be lit on fire. His body goes limp as blood pours out of his nose, ears, and mouth.

Something within Stryfe boils within his soul. Seeing the dead boy on the ground brings back horrible memories of sadness and torture. His left eye lights up like a nova.

"Cable, you are hereby ordered to be terminated by the CIA," Tracy explains as she takes aim with her psi-nullifier. "Any last words?"

"Actually, I do," Stryfe responds with a vengeful smile. "I'm not Cable..."