"Worship Me!!" Jubilation Lee declared as she stood upon the bonnet of the new Jeep, arms held above her head in victory. Perhaps fortunately for the band of fugitives, of which she was a member, the crowd that was present to witness her moment of glory was a small one. Just four other people in fact, equally fortunately however was that these were the only four people she cared about impressing.

Today at least.

"What did I tell ya?" Jubilation asked as the small band of Outlaws gathered together at the lonely roadside in the morning sun. With a small jump she hopped down and landed on the hard gravel road, twirling the keys to the Jeep on her finger "I totally hooked us up or what?"

"Alright gel..." Jonathon Starsmore admitted as he leaned over to look through the window and into the back seat "...I’m impressed". It was nice, defiantly nice, must have cost someone a pretty penny.

For a moment, during the briefest of memories, it reminded him of Sean, the Jeep that had belonged to their former tutor had been highly coveted by more than one of the students. He pushed the memory aside, these days he tried to keep the Irishmen out of mind as much as possible.

"Of course you are." Jubilation was grinning from ear too ear as the others in her merry little band of misfits inspected her prize. Molly, by far the most curious of them all, was already rummaging around in the front seat, seeing what she could find with wide eyed wonder.

"You did good Jubes," Everett commented earnestly with a smile, the young man putting a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Somehow her smile grew a little brighter. "You've really come through for us, we needed this," he continued honestly. It wasn't a word of a lie, Angelo's car had been tagged several days ago, and as a band of 'Mutant Outlaws' that just wasn't going to do any of them any good.

They needed a new means of getting around, one that didn't depend on public transport, and Jubilee had delivered. She had delivered and then some, she deserved to be proud of herself.

"Aw shucks..." Jubilation made the pretence of being modest "...I was just getting tired of foot slogging everywhere".

"You and me both Chica," Angelo commented with a note of sourness, his feet were killing him. Jubilation also noted that he seemed to be eyeing up the steering wheel with a little more interest than she would like. This was her ride.

"Are you going to let us know who we should send a Thank you card too?" Everett asked, only half expecting to get an answer. Jubilation could be resourceful when she wanted to be, but summoning a Jeep full of Gas out of thin air was beyond even her. Its not that he really needed to ask, the well worn Cowboy hat she was now wearing upon her head was clue enough for just about anyone.

"As if..." Jubilation denied his request "...I need to protect my contacts." that, and she enjoyed having an air of mystery, such as it was.

"Alright, I hate to be a pillock and spoil the mood..." Jonathon spoke up as he leaned against the side of the Jeep. Even now, several months after his face had been restored; he still had to remind himself that he didn't have to speak telepathically every time he needed too communicate. His brow furrowed a little as he tried to force the group to face an ugly truth they had been largely avoiding.

"...but even with a car, where the bloody Hell are we going?"

"Anywhere but here," Jubilation answered as though that answered all questions. If they were honest then they could all see that it was problem. At first they had all been so eager to keep running that they hadn't really considered where exactly they were running too. Unfortunately, with their identities known and old allies already watched, their options were not as expansive as they perhaps should be and/or once were.

"Look, I say we just keep moving, work out what comes next on the way," Jubilation proposed. Its how she liked to do things, making her choices in the moment, it had worked out for her so far. "Besides, as long as we stay one step ahead...there’s no way they can catch us!!"

There was a time he didn't need to breadth. His lungs, along with his chest, heart and face had been obliterated by the raging furnace of raw power that forever resided within him. A gaping hole was all that remained, a chamber that was only occupied by his true self, the rest of his body practically a shell, a corpse, barely able to contain what he should really be. That day, when his Mutant Power first manifested, destroying everything in its path, he had stopped being Human in more ways than one. He could barely even be considered alive.

He didn't eat, he didn't drink, he barely slept and for the longest time he hadn't once taken in a deep breadth of the sweet autumn air, he couldn't experience the world in ways that Man was meant to experience it. For the longest time he considered it a curse.

Right now however, right in this moment, when his life was hanging in the balance, it was times like this that he missed the days wherein he didn't have to breathe.

His lungs were on fire, an inferno that was eating away the inside of his chest. It was not his power that was doing this, not some personal curse, but the simple lack of air. It was his inability to draw breadth, his inability to fill his lungs with the life giving force that he, and all living men, needed to survive. It was the fact that he was being suffocated to death.

Jonathon Starsmore, after being physically lifted off the floor, lashed out with his legs, blindly kicking out at his assailant. His feet made contact, pain shooting through his feet after making contact with the toughened and unyielding hide of his tormentor.

He was blind, his vision nullified not only by the darkness of night but also by the ebony black talons that wrapped themselves around his head life a vice. The pressure was incredible, squeezing his skull, smothering him in its grasp, completely blocking out the world and all chance of drawing breadth.

He pulled frantically at the hand that grasped him, that conspired to end his all too short life, and yet made no leeway against the steel like talons. Despite his best efforts, despite his desperate efforts, he could not breadth, he could not survive.

It felt like an eternity, but he knew it had only been moments.

He was dying.

The demon known as Emplate was squeezing the life right out of his body, just as he had tried to do so before. He was dying, he could feel it, but he was not dead yet. He could feel his lungs burning for a different reason, he could feel his own power obliterating his own insides, he could feel the furnace tearing free, begging to toss aside the flimsy shell he called a body.

*Jonathon*

He could hear the voice call to him, to call his name, a whisper so close and yet so far away.

*Jonathon*

She called again. Then, as his lungs, chest and heart struggled and gave out, as the power he could barely contain tore through and free from his own body, he saw nothing else but fire.

For a single, blinding, moment fear gripped his every nerve as Jonathon Starsmore suddenly sat bolt right, tossing aside his covers and allowing the cold air to wash over his naked chest. He couldn't breadth and yet his chest heaved in great gasps, he filled his lungs too capacity, greedily inhaling with every breadth, and yet he still couldn't breadth.

He had all the air in the world and yet he couldn't breadth.

He closed his eyes and wiped a hand across his face, desperately trying to cast off the dream world and face the real. He tried to push aside the fears of his mind and embrace the safety of the morning sun. Slowly, thankfully, his breadths became still, his nerves settled and no longer felt the need to fear the dark.

He ran a hand down his chest, a coat of sweat covering his torso, but it was still there, it was complete, he was whole. At first the flesh seemed red and sore, burning slightly at his touch, and yet the feeling soon passed. With a blink of his eyes the redness was gone, his torso returning to a healthy pink, the trick of the light becoming a memory.

He was healed, he reminded himself, healed.

Even so, as he looked around the Motel room, he found himself rubbing a hand across his chin none the less. It was still there, his features unbroken by his own power, a days worth of stubble rubbing harshly against his fingertips.

No-one else was there, the two beds already empty, the two other makeshift sleeping spots tidied away, only he remained. Judging by the morning sun already falling through the window he could guess they must already be outside, that they must already be preparing to leave. He was thankful in a way, there was no-one around too see him flip his lid.

It was bad enough that Everett knew about Paige, that he knew that Jonathon Starsmore was slowly loosing his nut; he didn't need to add old enemies to his list of night time delusions. Jonathon deeply sighed and let himself slump backwards on the hard floor, his head thankfully finding his pillow. This is what he got for drinking before bed.

How many did he have, one? Two? All of them? Yer Bloody great Pillock Starsmore, he thought to himself. He couldn't even remember what time it had been when he stumbled into bed last night. He couldn't even remember...

Jonathon suddenly flinched, his face and brow screwing up as an increasingly familiar stab of white hot pain shot through his brain. He quickly slapped both hands to his forehead, squeezing his own cranium as the agonizing shock ripped through his cortex like a lighting storm, frying at his every nerve. And then, as he felt the proverbial bullet shoot its way through his head, through his very thoughts, it stopped, the harsh mistress releasing him from its grasp.

Jonathon Starsmore simply fell limp, silently; relief filling him as the pain slowly ebbed away. He felt the trail of warm, copper tinted fluid run down across his face, over his lips and then down his cheek. He knew what it was without looking; he knew the taste of his own blood. His nose was bleeding again.

"This..." he quietly whispered to himself "...this could be bad."

Every time she tried another puppy would pounce and lap at her face with playful yelps. All the while the young pup's many brothers and sisters, of which there seemed to be far to many to count, also conspired against her, keeping her grounded on the floor as they hopped, climbed and jumped all over her. Here she was, Power Princess, floored by a litter of overly playful German Shepherd pups.

When she had seen them outside the Motel Reception, all huddled together in a cardboard box with *$10 A PUP* written crudely on its side, she just HAD to say hello. They all looked so sad, little bundles of fur separated from their mother, with ears too big for their heads and big brown eyes and pitiful cries for attention. It would be cruel to just pass them by.

Surely just a little bit of attention wouldn't hurt...

Molly quickly sat up, a few of the pups clinging to her shirt by their teeth, now dangling above the floor. She began to snort in her giggling fit as one pup remained perched on top of her head, all four of its legs splayed out in every direction, tail wagging frantically. She covered her mouth to try and make herself stop but it was of no use. She snorted and she giggled, even more so as two of the pups, no doubt mischievous boys, pounced her in unison.

Molly tumbled backwards, the pups taking insidious advantage, climbing onto her chest and lapping at her face without mercy. She was being swarmed by puppies and love. There were worse ways to go.

She was able to keep her eyes open enough to see a small shadow suddenly pass over her, some of the pups scattering a little at the sudden new arrival. If only for a moment.

"There you are," Jubilation Lee stated with a smile, kneeling down next to the girl that was almost entirely hidden from view by puppies. "I was starting to think you might have ditched us, squirt".

"Nu-uh." Molly shook her head as best she could. "I was just saying hello...hey...you wanna play with the puppies too?" she asked sincerely, grinning from ear too ear.

"Well...I could..." Jubilation seemed to give it some thought, tapping her chin as some of the pups were already playfully nipping at the trails of her own coat.

"But I have a better idea..."

"Afternoon Madame."

The young woman known to most as Monet St. Croix nodded politely as the elderly Butler, a kindly old man who had served in her Fathers house since she was a girl, greeted her respectfully. She offered the gentlemen a small smile, something she would not have done in her younger years, as she passed him and entered the Penthouse Conservatory.

She walked with a quite and proud confidence, one that was indicative of good breeding and high status. Her strides were long, her shoulders straight, in many ways she was her Fathers daughter. She was becoming a young woman of increasing influence, the world was taking greater notice of her every action, she carried herself with the composure that assured them that they should.

She had once been told, by beings that were not entirely of this world, that she was a child of destiny. It would seem, despite the difficulties of recent years, or perhaps because of them, she was beginning to believe them.

Monet St. Croix did not want for much in life, as was befitting of her station. Not only was she the eldest, and some would say favored, daughter of the wealthy and influential Ambassador Cartier St. Croix, but she was also a truly gifted young woman. With more talents than fingers she was the pinnacle of physical and mental ability, strength, speed, agility, intelligence, even flight, she was a master of them all.

If there was indeed an evolutionary ladder, her name could very well be at the top of it.

It was not, however, always this way. There had been a time, not so long ago, thanks to the vindictive nature of her only brother, that she was trapped within a body that was not her own. A mute shell of red diamond, a promising young woman captured within a fearful form, she was made a prisoner of her own suffering.

The "X-Men" had freed her from that prison, they had found the frightened girl within and pulled her from the abyss, they had done for her an act of kindness that should be remembered with fond memories. Only it was not, far from it, she could think of little from her time with the X-Men that she could equate too being a "fond memory".

Her induction had become sullied by deceit, her very character and sense of mortality twisted to suit the purposes of another. The X-Men had freed her from the shell of Penance, but only so she could be turned into what could truly be called a monster. A solider of hate, an instigator of violence and an immoral creature that dared to wear her face.

The time that followed these events, even after the deception was cast aside, had only become worse. She and her sisters had been captured, tortured and abused by a man she had once trusted, a man she had thought to be decent and pure, a man who had fallen so far from grace that she could no longer recognize him. She had been violated, her genetics stolen and once again a monster had been born that dared to wear her face.

She had not stayed with the X-Men for long after that. She couldn't, she had returned home to her father, her sisters in tow, and left all things concerning the brood of Xavier behind. She had come home to recover.

That, as she had come to believe, may have been a mistake, for the X-Men were not the only ones she had come to know in the States. There were others, those that she could truly call friends, those who had reached out to her before they could even believe there was someone there to reach out too.

Friends that she had not seen in far too long. She was taking steps to rectify those mistakes, even if the said friends seemed to be making it...difficult for her. She shouldn't be surprised, they had always been impulsive, it seemed to be within their very natures. Still, she hadn't quite anticipated all four of them dropping off the face of the earth at seemingly the same time.

Never the less, it did not matter in the long run, Monet assured herself as she quietly took a seat, one of the maids quickly setting down a fresh cup of tea by her side. Once again she made the smallest of polite nods as the serving girl hurried away to mind some other household business, before the lady of the house turned her eyes upwards. She sipped her tea and watched the lazy sun slowly slide across the sky through the glass ceiling of the conservatory. There was still time to find them again; there were still preparations to be made.

"Madame."

Monet's musing was cut short as the elderly butler from before stood by her side, requesting her attention. After letting the Gentlemen know that he had received it with a small movement of her eyes, the Butler held out a letter, the St. Croix Family Emblem at its head. She accepted it without a word and dismissed the man with a slight wave of her hand.

Setting her tea aside she quickly read through the message, doing so twice to ensure she fully understood its import. For a moment she said nothing, her features unmoving until suddenly her mask was broken by the hint of building frustration.

"Merde!!" she cussed as quietly as she could, pinching the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. Really, couldn't they have stayed out of trouble for just a few more weeks? Had that been too much to ask for? Yes, clearly it had been.

"This..." she whispered to herself, gathering her composure once more "...this could be bad."

If they left soon and made as few stops as possible (a policy that had met with reasonable success despite Jonathon Starsmore's surprisingly weak bladder) they could reach the next town by Nightfall. After that they could...they could what?

Everett sighed as he stood up straight, a sense of frustration building. He pulled off his cap and repeatedly rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand as he mulled over problems and questions to which he already knew the answers. They would keep driving, they would keep running and they would keep hiding and then...what? When did it stop? Or were they really just going to spend the rest of their lives on the road, five Mutant Runaways living out of a Jeep?

After stifling a second sigh before it could escape him, young Everett Thomas pulled his cap back on straight. Did he regret coming out here? Of course not, Angelo was his friend, they all were, and that meant sticking by them no matter what, end of story.

But this...this wasn't going work.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas had raised their baby boy to be many things. Honest, decent, hard working, this is what they had raised him to be, these were the principles that been instilled within him from a young age. He couldn't ever recall any conversations around the breakfast table about being a fool.

Everett took the map in hand and quickly folded it up, no, he was no fool and this just wasn't going to cut it anymore. They needed to be smart, they needed a plan, enough of the aimless wandering, they were in trouble and it was well past time that they dealt with it. How exactly he wasn't quite sure yet, but then, that was always the benefit of being on a team, someone always had an...

"Hold that pose!!" Jubilation Lee suddenly appeared and, perhaps thankfully, didn't completely blindside Everett as she stole yet another snapshot with her digital camera. Clearly she had remembered to turn the flash off today.

"Perfect!!" Jubilation smiled at her own handiwork as her most recent snapshot appeared on the small screen of her camera. There he was, Everett Thomas all somber and serious, staring uncertainty across the horizon. "That'll do for a Bookend" the young woman decided as she hopped up and sat on the bonnet of the Jeep.

"Everett Thomas: The Designated Driver" she explained with a broad swish of her hand through the air "little had he known how brief his reign would be".

"Give it up Jubes." Everett folded his arms across his chest and smiled despite himself, his somewhat sour mood from just moments before quickly evaporating. Jubilation had that effect on people, it was a gift. "You may have forced fed Jono into giving up his vote, but Angelo values his life too much to let you behind the wheel, and Molly will vote whichever way he goes."

"Oh really?" Jubilation questioned with a hint of mischief, her attention entirely focused on her camera, scrolling through the dozens of pictures she had already taken. It was enough for Everett to raise an eyebrow; just what was she up too?

"Really," the young man confirmed with a confident tone, although, he had to admit, he wasn't quite as confident as he had been just a few seconds ago. Jubilation had that effect on people too. She always had a trick or two up her sleeve.

"Well...if you say so..." Jubilation seemed to relent, and yet, somehow, Everett couldn't quite bring himself to believe that she was being sincere. He didn't have too wait long for that suspicion to be confirmed.

"OH HEY!!" Jubilation suddenly jumped down from the bonnet of the Jeep and thrust her Digital Camera closer towards Everett, allowing the young man to take a good look at one picture in particular, one she had just cycled too. A very important picture, one he didn't quite understand the importance of until it was far too late...

"Isn't that just adorable?" Jubilation asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"So tell me again, which way do you think little Molly will be voting today?"

He failed to notice as the pathetic excuse for a living being died within his unrelenting grasp. It was not until all resistance had faded, until all life had ebbed, until the corpse within his grasp had become as brittle as dust, it was not until then that the mutant cannibal tossed his morsel aside with contempt.

The brittle husk, devoid of anything resembling what it had once been, all but turned to ash as it fell silently to the dusty, stone floor. The chamber fell silent, not another creature stirred, only the deep, raspy breadths of the master of this place continued to carry through the air.

Emplate was now alone within this barren dungeon, his home between worlds, the place in which he kept the very things he needed to survive. A veritable larder of his fellow mutants, their purpose here to fulfill only a single task. Too slate his unending thirst.

He looked down to corpse before him with a sneer, nothing but contempt within his black heart for the morsel that had fed him so poorly. His thirst had barely been slaked; it burned within him still, the hunger, the hunger that sapped upon his very strength. This would not do.

If he was to snap the necks and sup the very marrow from the bones of his dear sister's brood then he would need all of his power. If he was to overcome "Generation X" then he would need more than mere surprise.

His time in captivity had left him drained; their refusal too feed him that which he needed most had left him half the man he should be. He was now free, yes, thanks to another whose goals matched his own, but he was not ready. Not yet.

"PEON!!" the demonic creature that had once been known as Marius St. Croix cried out, his twisted and harsh voice reaching every corner of his old and terrible Keep, a tome of broken stone and rusted metal, this place of shadows.

"Yes Boss?" a black suited Gremlin appeared by his Masters side, the faithful servant sporting his forever present, fang toothed, grin.

Emplate could barely contain his contempt for the creature. The weak were weak, faithful or not. He still lived because he still served a purpose, all masters needed underlings, after all.

"Bring me another," he demanded in no uncertain terms, his need to feed already burning within is every cell. "And remove this...thing." He waved a dismissive claw towards the carcass upon his floor. The pathetic creature was dead; it no longer mattered, as was the way with all things.

"Yes Boss!!" DOA gleefully leapt to his task, grasping the corpse beneath its shoulders and dragging it away, his presence already forgotten by his pitiless aster.

Emplate was already savoring the meal to come, another mutant, another creature rich with life, another morsel to quench his own thirst. Soon, he thought to himself, the demon wishing he could lick his lips in anticipation as he thought of his dear sister's brood; soon he would gleefully sup upon their marrow...and then hers as well.

The Starsmore boy was his puppet-toy now, oblivious though he was, unwittingly watching his friends until the shepherd returned to cull the flock. Yes, soon, so very soon. He could already taste it now.

"Yes..." he muttered to himself with barely contained anticipation "...it shall be so very, very..." Emplate inhaled his first, deep breadth in years "...tender".

Time is all that remained now.

So very little time.