#21 June 2005

Six months ago.
Sydney, Australia.

“You’re on in five minutes, Ms. Santiago,” a bearded man with a slight gut and a headset said as he readily held his clipboard in front of him.

Veronica Santiago smiled to herself, “I love it when Australians or British people try to say something Spanish. Tacos become ‘take-ohs,’ burritos become ‘burr-eye-toes,’ and so on.”

The stage manager was about to turn away, but stopped himself and wiped his forehead. His eyes ran up and down the Latino-American’s svelte, curvy figure, “Did I get your name right?”

Roni laughed, “I’m just kidding, dude.”

“Ah,” the stage manager said. He pressed his earphones. He rolled his eyes and exchanged a smile with the young female comedian. He sighed as he nodded, scribbling something down on his clipboard, “Looks like we got some mutants in the audience.”

“Huh?” Roni gulped, her voice cracking slightly.

The stage manager put on a smug smile and nodded, “Not to put on the pressure. It’s already been a rough night for tonight’s other two comics. The audience is going to be a little uneasy with those mutants in here.”

“How did you…,” Roni paused, “I mean you don’t have scanners in here or something, do you?”

The stage manager shrugged, “Guess it’s someone famous. The American hero with the wings or some such. Not sure if the other two guests with him are muties too.” He smiled and waved, carrying his clipboard with him as if it were a safety blanket, “Whew, well good luck. I’ll let you know when you can go up to the curtain.”

“Thanks,” Roni said.

“Oh, um…will you be staying in Sydney long?” the stage manager shouted out.

Roni snickered, “Well…I’m already screwing the assistant producer.”

“Shelly?”

“Heh. Jesus. I thought her name was Ellen,” Roni chuckled. “Pretty fucked up dyslexia I got there.”

The stage manager loosened his tie and wiped his sweaty forehead, “You American women are…hmm. Well, you sure curse like sailors for one thing.”

“Heh, well…I think I’m a bit of a rarity. Don’t judge all Los Angeles chicanas based on me,” Roni smiled.

The stage manager flashed his eyebrows and shook his head, “Oh, feck. I’ve got a lot of shit left to do besides gab with you, sweetheart.” He quickly shuffled off.

Roni walked towards the curtain and peeked out through the cracks. She could see the blonde man with two huge angelic wings on his back. There was an older blonde man who seemed either utterly drunk or simply unimpressed with the comedy routines. Then there was a stunning blonde woman who had a sort of “secret agent” feel to her cold, yet sexy posture.

Three mutants in the midst of a rowdy crowd of drunk Australians? She hasn’t had a show with this much action in awhile.

“AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…”

Roni took a sip of bottled water and stretched from side to side, preparing for her routine. Always do each show like it was your last, she would tell herself.

“…PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE VERY FUNNY (AND SEXY) MISS VERONICA—”

---

Now.
Los Angeles.

“—Francesca Santiago…Roni…was stillborn. She died in childbirth, along with my wife…twenty-five years ago!” Marco Santiago dramatically sobbed as he fell to his knees.

Archangel, Psylocke, and Pyro, the very same three mutants who attended Roni’s first comedy show in Australia, exchanged an uneasy glance at the same time trying to quell their unimaginable shock.

“That’s impossible, Roni was a comedian…she was on TV all the time. She hosted TRL for Christ’s sake,” Pyro yelled. “That’s…she was one of us. She was a member of the X-Corp board of directors and…”

“John,” Betsy pleaded as she closed her eyes. She looked at Warren, but she knew her beau already knew.

Pyro took out a piece of nicotine gum and chewed in furiously.

Betsy continued, “Mr. Santiago is telling the truth.”

Marco was casually helped to his feet by Warren. He sniffled, “I do not understand.”

“Roni had electrical abilities…her codename was Diode,” Warren explained. “Is any of this ringing a bell?”

“No…,” Marco said as he wiped his eyes. “Like I said, this part of town…Latinos…we got bigger things to worry about than keeping in touch with the latest trends or superhero mumbo jumbo…”

“Latest trend?!” Pyro growled, feverishly.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said. “Whoever claimed to be my daughter who worked with you…she couldn’t have been my precious Roni.”

“Who would go through all that trouble to…,” Pyro mumbled. He wiped his nose and turned away, slowly walking out the door. He sat on the porch.

Marco placed his hands on his hips, “I’m sorry, amigos. For lashing out earlier. It looks like you are more confused now than I was earlier.”

Warren sighed, “It’s okay, sir. This is just…unexpected.”

Betsy walked over towards the kitchen and saw a framed photograph of a beautiful woman with long, flowing dark hair hanging on the wall. She tilted her head, “Is this your wife?”

Marco nodded and approached Psylocke and stood next to her, “Yes. Natalia. That was in 1975. Shortly after we met in Cancun.”

Warren placed his hands in the pockets of his blazer and casually approached them from behind and couldn’t help but blurt out, “My God…”

Marco turned his head and smiled, “Beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“She looks…,” Warren paused. “I mean, the woman who claimed to be Roni looks exactly like...”

Marco lowered his eyes, “Dios…she looked like my wife?”

“I mean, exactly. Aside from the hair. Roni had hers cut short,” Betsy said. “It was a cute style.”

“That bastard…,” Marco swore. “My son.”

Warren and Betsy tried not to exchange a glance or engage in a quick telepathic conversation. They had their theories, but it was possible Warp Savant and Diode’s father could shed light on the situation.

“You said he could mess with reality?” Marco asked. Warren and Betsy nodded. Marco sighed, “What does that mean? I mean, what…essentially could he do?”

“Anything,” Pyro said as he unexpectedly returned inside.

Marco shook his head, “When Raul was little…after my wife and daughter died, he started playing with these imaginary friends. First was a ‘brother’ he never had named Humberto. Then…he started with another one…he called her ‘Roni.’ I…I thought it was just his way of coping with the death of his mother and sister. I…God, I didn’t know he’d eventually give life to her…”

“You should have given him some freakin’ help!” Pyro shouted. “Christ, what kind of parent were you!?”

“With what?!” Marco shouted. “Money!? I had to work three jobs as it is!”

“One more word, John, and you’re—” Archangel warned.

“What? Fired? You should be so feckin’ lucky, Wings!” Pyro shouted. “Go ahead.”

“You BOTH are not helping!” Psylocke shouted as Pyro and Archangel suddenly felt they could not move, even their mouths. Telepathy from a stronger mind had them under her control. Betsy turned to Marco, “We’re really sorry. This is just a monumental blow. Our other colleagues don’t know about this yet. They…”

Psylocke suddenly burst into tears.

“…they loved her.”

“She wasn’t real…,” Archangel said as he eventually regained control of himself. He sighed as he pulled out his checkbook and wrote an account number on an individual check. He tore out the note and handed it to Marco.

“What is this?” Marco asked.

“Roni’s bank account number. She was a high-paid employee of mine. The money was real, believe it or not. I think you’re entitled to whatever investments, stock, or savings she earned.”

Marco shook his head, “I…feel wrong just taking this money. This Diode person was not my blood-relation. She was just…a bad hallucination made real by my insane boy. I can’t accept this check, Mr. Worthington.”

“If you refer to Diode as some kind of inanimate item again, you’ll have more to worry about than accepting large amounts of money from complete strangers, arsehole,” Pyro growled.

“John…,” Psylocke pleaded.

“Feck no, Purplelocks!” Pyro shouted as he threw up his arms in the air and stormed out of the house. Warren and Betsy took one last look at Mr. Santiago before chasing after Pyro out the door. Marco stood outside on the stoop with the check in his hand, unsure what to do.

“Estos gringos son locos…,” he muttered to himself.

“Pyro!” Warren called out. “John!”

Pyro kept on walking down the cracked sidewalk, past awe-struck elderly Latino neighbors basking in the sun, “No! I don’t care what anyone says!”

“She wasn’t real!” Psylocke shouted. “I understand you’re upset, John, but you have to just…accept it!”

Pyro’s eyes lit up with white-hot flames as he turned around and hissed at Psylocke, “I said NO!”

Warren descended with a flap of his wings in front of Pyro’s path, “You’re being unreasonable—”

*THWAK*

Archangel gripped his jaw and spat blood out the side of his mouth in response to Pyro’s still-clenched fist.

“Son of a--!” Warren growled as he karate-chopped John in the neck, promptly kicking him in the shin, and finished off with a straight uppercut to his chin, knocking him over. “You’ve been on my shitlist for awhile, Allerdyce! Wanna go two for two? Try that again!”

“Mother fecking tit!”

“Did you just call me a tit?!”

“Stop, stop, and shitload more of STOP!” Psylocke panted as she ran in-between the dueling men with a psychic-knife in each hand. “Civilians. Getting weirded out. And stop making me bloody act like Jean trying to break you two up!”

“Roni was the ONLY one who saw me as a person, and not some ex-Brotherhood flunky like the rest of you fecks did!” Pyro wailed as blood seeped out of his lip and nose.

“We didn’t see you that way,” Psylocke said.

“Bullshit. Don’t pull that with me. You were sympathetic because I had the Legacy Virus and was at the end of my rope,” Pyro muttered as he got up and brushed himself off. He spit on the sidewalk at Warren’s feet, “I’m going to Burning Sensation. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Your strip club?” Warren yelled. “John, we have a business to run. WE ARE STILL ON DUTY!”

“Yeah, and I have a business as well that I must run,” Pyro shouted in a pompous tone as he continued to walk away.

“You walk away now, don’t even THINK about coming back to your office on Monday!” Warren shouted.

“You can’t fire me, asshole! Not without the rest of the board…,” Pyro yelled. “I quit, anyway! OR DIDN’T YOU TAKE MY HINT FROM TWO SENTENCES AGO?!” He turned back, “I’ll have one of my bitches send for my shit! Until then, FECK OFF! Count yer blessings…you just got rid o’ yer loose cannon!”

---

“I’m sorry?” Xorn asked. “Did you just say I was fired?”

Feng Tu sat at his military command post inside the covert installation located underground, near Beijing. Scars ran like a road map along his face. His pristine white military fatigues were a slap to the face of the Chinese government, but his plastic surgeon was well-paid…as well-paid as someone could get when he had to repair a man’s entire face.

“Yes…and I’ll even say it in English,” Feng Tu replied. “You’re fired.”

“Who will be China’s national hero?” Xorn asked. “Some other random imprisoned mutant?”

“That’s classified,” Feng Tu responded with what Xorn assumed was a smile. The plastic surgeon who repaired Tu’s face apparently forgot to attach a few nerve endings. “They have someone lined up. They just do not want to go with a public figure again. One who has a penchant for…American female strippers and prostitutes? My, oh my…the little Buddhist has given in to temptation. What about that one that turned up dead in a hotel room you bought out for the night?”

“She was high on heroin. I tried to heal her body, but my powers had an adverse effect with the dosage she had in her system,” Xorn explained. “The police understood when I explained what happened.”

“Yes, they did, didn’t they?” Feng Tu nodded with his faux-grin. His eyes glowed with an eerie orange. “Or were they just giving the one-millionth celebrity to break the law a break? You, I assume, were charged with soliciting a prostitute?”

“No,” Xorn said. “I wasn’t.”

“Nonetheless, the Chinese government doesn’t want to take the chance with someone like you. You once had a pristine image. Naïve, but at least you were…pure of heart. Living in America has changed you, my Mr. Dai-Chi.”

“Being free of your imprisonment is what changed me, Feng Tu,” Xorn shouted. “You and your underlings of the government took a lot of pleasure in brainwashing me, making me subservient…a good little Buddhist.” He approached Feng Tu and leaned towards him, face-to-face, “I have seen the real world. Monsters with more power and backbone than you roam free beneath the fabric of society. I no LONGER have the tolerance for pacifistic tendencies...”

“Boy, if you had that tenacity, maybe Diode would still be alive?” Feng Tu laughed.

“You name yourself and this place after the seventh level of Chinese Hell…,” Xorn muttered as the eyeslots of his iron mask lit up. “Why don’t you go there?”

Feng Tu laughed, “Is THAT your idea of acting badass? Cheap Spider-Man banter?”

“No, my idea of acting badass is the tumor growing in your left testicle…soon to spread to your other testicle,” Xorn growled. “Then your lymph nodes…then your prostate and colon…then your pancreas, stomach, and lungs…finally, your brain. You’ll be dead in less than six months unless you get an operation as soon as possible.”

“…what?” Feng Tu gasped.

“The Chinese government already has your balls in a drawer anyway,” Xorn said as he hovered out of the command center. “Consider your cancer-ridden sperm my formal resignation.”

Xorn flew up out of the complex, leaving Feng Tu to dart out of his chair and look at his crotch. He looked back up at Xorn, who said:

“And consider it a reminder to anyone who comes looking for me from this government.”

---

X-Corp.
Board of Director’s Suite.
Manhattan.
Two days later.

Peter Rasputin, Hugh Japheth, Xorn, and Kevin MacTaggart patiently sat at the long table overlooking the New York skyline. The shades were drawn, giving the room an eerie glow, especially with Proteus’s glowing energy form.

Betsy walked in with a black dress on. Her purple hair was tied into a stylish ponytail as she brought in Warren behind her. Both the CEO and Vice President sat at their respective seats at the board room table.

“Morning,” Warren greeted rather curtly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Everyone else at the table nodded, distraught.

“Wait, where’s John?” Japheth asked. “Should we wait for him?”

“Pyro’s…not working for X-Corp anymore,” Warren explained. “He’s cut all of his ties, sold his stock. Still got his books and tittie bar…sorry, Bets.”

Psylocke shrugged, as there was another time to be insulted by male vulgarity.

Maggott objected, “He would have called me, I mean…John and I were like this!” He crossed his middle and index finger together and held it firmly in the air.

“I guess it’s clear we don’t know that much about each other than we thought,” Warren said somewhat off-handedly, causing Psylocke to uncomfortably cross her arms.

Warren opened the silver-lined laptop in front of him and activated a program. The lights went dim as a projection screen lowered itself. The Quicktime movie file began to play. It was Diode’s TRL show without the sound.

Maggott sighed as he rubbed his eyes, “What’s this, Worthington?”

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news by now,” Warren said. “Diode wasn’t real. At least in the sense of being born in the traditional sense. She was a construct made real by Warp Savant’s will and psychosis.”

Psylocke turned to the board, “It’s why I couldn’t always read her mind and her immunity to telepathy. She was a void of energy…as much as it hurts to say it.”

Warren pressed a button on the keyboard as the movie onscreen became inverted with an ultraviolet filter, “Xorn and his scientists have analyzed footage of Diode and have discovered she stood out like a beacon in certain spectrums. She affected the environment around her.”

Colossus and Maggott looked at the modified footage and saw as Diode’s bright white figure interacted with the other flat black figures around her. There was a periodic release of energy that came from Diode and seemed to affect the nervous system of those around her. The nerves were made visible in the flat black figures as the same white color traveled like a current of electricity directly to the brains of the adoring MTV fans. The same could be said that the same energy was able to travel through the radio waves to affect those watching her on television.

“Are you saying Roni was aware of her own situation?” Colossus asked. “Did she perpetuate this lie?”

“It’s hard to say,” Psylocke said. “It’s possible that Diode was just a facet of Warp Savant’s own personality. If that was the case, given the nature of Savant’s powers, Diode was an autonomous construct of energy. She thought she really was Roni Santiago, a mutant with electrical abilities, etcetera.”

“Guess it’s weird for you, huh, Joe…er, Kev?” Maggott snickered inappropriately. “You slept with her…er…right?”

Proteus sighed, “…yeah.”

“So, we already know what Diode was,” Xorn said. “What is the purpose of this meeting?”

“To see where we stand as a business…and as a team,” Archangel said as the movie session powered down. The lights turned back on and the projection screen retracted. “Without Roni…and now John, things are not going to get any easier. So, if you’re leaving, I want to know so we can mend the wound this business has suffered. Don’t worry about what your contracts say. But this is a one-time offer.”

“I’ve got a family to provide for,” Peter said as he shrugged.

“I can do some real good here, I think,” Xorn said. “I’m staying.”

Maggott sighed and shook his head, “I…hell. I can’t. I hate to do it, but I can’t, maat. Not anymore. This was just…too much. I’ll donate any money you need for the business…I just don’t want to be a part of it anymore…sorry.”

Archangel nodded and met eyes with Proteus, “I don’t expect you to stay, Kevin. Don’t feel obliged to…”

“No…,” Proteus said, “I’ll stay. But I need to take an extended sabbatical from all board-related matters.”

“Whatever you want,” Betsy said reassuringly.

“There’s also the possibility that my…condition might worsen,” Proteus began, “and I might revert to possessing people again. If that happens…”

“It won’t happen, Kevin,” Xorn said as he raised his hand. “My science team is working hard on creating a containment suit of sorts, similar to one worn by Sunfire or even Havok. You’ll be able to stay in your energy form indefinitely.”

Kevin nodded, “Thanks.” He twirled his thumbs, “There’s one more thing.” He looked up, almost waiting for Warren’s approval to continue.

Archangel rested his arms on the table, “Go for it.”

“I extended an offer to Dr. Diana Russell, the psychiatrist who treated me, to move her services to X-Corp as an on-staff therapist,” Proteus revealed. “She’s good, but it might put a hefty dent into the Danger Room fund.”

“That thing is never going to get finished, is it?” Colossus asked with a smirk and arched eyebrow.

“I think we worked pretty well as a team in Guatemala. As far as going up against a near-omnipotent reality-warper goes. I’d almost be bold enough to say we don’t need a Danger Room,” Archangel said. “Which is another thing I wanted to say: I was really proud of the way this team came together and gave it their all…even though we lost Diode, we put a stop to Warp Savant once and for all.”

“At what cost…?” Maggott asked, teary-eyed as he slid his chair backwards and got up, slowly turning his back to the board. “The feckin’ one-million dollar question, eh?” He turned to look one last time at his friends, at the same time reverting back into his human appearance, “See you around, maats.”

As the door clicked shut, the five remaining mutants exchanged a glance. Proteus stood up and gave an informal salute, “I’ll be in my office.” He took two steps before the floor beneath him seemed to boil and create a ripple effect, swallowing him whole before returning to normal.

Warren folded his arms and rocked his chair back and forth, a look of desolation on his face. He looked across the table into the faces of Xorn, Peter, and Betsy.

“That mutant threat mission you had planned for us…is it going to go well with just four of us?” Warren asked, turning to Betsy.

Psylocke looked up and then back down at her notes, “Well…according to Cerebro, it’s a congregation of mutants in Seattle stirring up trouble, making it difficult for the local economy and law enforcement there.”

“Especially after the Dark Riders destroyed that place a few years ago,” Colossus said.

“How many mutants are we looking at rounding up?” Xorn asked.

“Ten to fifteen alpha-levels,” Psylocke responded. “We need to make it good and clean. Legitimize our image a little after the Force Works incident and…the loss of Diode.”

“Well, the Seraphim is repaired. So if we’re going to go, we need to go now,” Archangel said as he stood up. His employees and fiancé followed suit. “Meet me in the hangar in ten minutes. Deal with your departments, make sure everything’s situated before we charge into this.”

Everyone nodded as they exited the board room. Archangel was the last to leave. As he approached the desk kiosk adjacent to the board room entrance, he leaned on the counter and glared at his blue-haired secretary, Sandy who was busily organizing her iTunes.

Sandy looked up, bewildered, as she removed her headphones, “What’s up, boss?”

“Cancel all my meetings. I’ve got some superhero stuff to deal with,” Worthington said. He was about to turn away, but was stopped by a last plea.

“Boss…Mr. Worthington,” Sandy called, “Um, I was wondering if we could discuss my raise? I know things have been all weird with Ms. Santiago’s not being real and all, but—”

“Not now, Ms. Fredrickson,” Warren sighed as he walked off.

Sandy’s irises briefly flickered with a hint of orange. In her frustration, she picked up the phone and grumbled, “Yeah, cancel all the douche bag’s meetings.”

---

“Kevin?” Psylocke asked as she silently slid into Proteus’s office. What she saw, however, immediately silenced her.

“GAH!” Kevin shouted as he stumbled off the edge of his desk. A feminine nude figure was poised in front of him, with her back towards Psylocke.

The woman turned around and winked, “Hey, Bets.”

“Roni!?” Psylocke shouted.

Before she could answer, the woman faded away simultaneously as Proteus’s form appeared to flutter with embarrassment.

“What the bloody hell was that!?” Psylocke demanded.

Proteus stood up, “I’m sorry…I thought if I concentrated hard enough, I could recreate Diode…I was just seeing if it was possible, is all. I wasn’t…using her.”

“Could have fooled me,” Psylocke said as she crossed her arms.

“Okay, I get it,” Kevin sighed. “My telepathy is re-emerging, so I know what yer saying. Can you blame me? What if Warren was some kind of energy construct that wasn’t real? Wouldn’t you try to bring him back…if ye could?”

“I didn’t realize you and Roni were that close,” Psylocke said as she looked out the window, trying not to look Proteus directly in his yellowish glowing eyes. “What about you and Clarice?”

“Things are a little different now, beyond m’ accent an’ powers—in case ye haven’t noticed,” Proteus explained. “Whatever Joseph was, I’m not him. Clarice an’ I were…well, I thought she completed me. I thought we shared a commonality with that whole alternate reality thing. We weren’t exactly soul mates anyway.”

“Did you tell her?” Psylocke wondered.

Proteus sat behind his desk and rubbed his eyes, “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“The last time you couldn’t have something, well—bad things happened,” Psylocke reminded.

“It’s different now. I bloody told all of you,” Proteus snapped.

“Did you really offer Dr. Russell a position with X-Corp, or did you just want her close by…for yourself?” Psylocke asked.

Proteus lowered his eyes, “Any other choice would be m’ mother…an’ I don’t want to explode like I did before. Dr. Russell is the only one who can help me.”

Psylocke smiled cordially, “Then we’ll get her. Danger Room be damned. Anything to help one of our own.” She rubbed her temple, “Ugh. Warren’s calling me. We’ve got a mission. It’s what I was going to ask you originally…did you want to come along? It might be fun. Mutant delinquents in Seattle.”

Proteus leaned back in his chair, “That’s alright. But thanks for asking. Unless you’re going up against Galactus or something, I think I’ll just do my part in the business as low profile as possible--”

*SHUK*

A metal blade was suddenly sticking out of Proteus’s forehead, “I…” Before he could finish his sentence, he went into convulsions and fell over as energy crackled over his incorporeal form.

Psylocke whipped around, only to find a boot lodge in her throat and then her stomach immediately after. A flick of her assailant’s wrist and three blades stuck into Betsy’s back.

“ARGH!” she wailed. “WARREN! Security breach!”

Psylocke unsheathed a hidden dagger from her business coat and flung it at her leather-clad attacker. The man with shaved blonde hair grabbed the blade out of thin air with his thumb and index finger.

“Did you think I was just going to let you take it over?!” the man yelled as he threw the dagger back at Psylocke. Her ninja skills not failing her, she dove and rolled on the floor, just as the blade took a few strands of her purple locks with it.

Psylocke clenched her fists as two blades of pink energy formed into katana-like weapons. She growled as she attempted to disable her opponent, who skillfully leapt into the air with such grace and agility, not even her martial arts or enhanced perception could contend with it. The man landed a blow to Psylocke’s temple, the impact of hitting a precise pressure point caused a spasm, causing her psychic blades to delve into herself.

Her psyche was in sweltering pain as the focused totality of her telepathy was thrust upon herself. Betsy Braddock had no hopes of staying focused against her own greatest weapon. She fell to her knees in defeat.

“Give Mojo a message for me,” the attacker demanded psychotically. “His reign is at an end.”

“…Mojo’s dead…,” Psylocke muttered, half-conscious. Proteus’s form still remained disoriented from the metal. It was strange for Betsy, because for a split second, she almost didn’t recognize who the attacker was. But the sound of his voice, the mind scan…all that changed was his hairstyle.

“Not by a longshot, babe,” the man snickered as he leapt through the glass window.