#25 December 2006

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MARVEL 2000 PRESENTS...

Frost Enterprises.
Formerly X-Corporation.
Manhattan.

“It really was quite a touching ceremony,” Emma Frost said with a smile as she stared out the window of her top-floor office which once belonged to the angelic-winged man who now sat in front of the CEO desk instead of behind it. “I especially liked how you claimed that Xorn reached enlightenment at the end of his life. As if his death mattered.”

“Every public hero in was attendance, including the President, as well as some foreign prime ministers, the Dalai Lama, the Pope…,” Warren Worthington III declared, “Xorn was a guiding light for all of us. Maybe even you, if you met him in person.”

It had been nearly a month since Archangel returned from Mojoworld only to discover his wife (or probably more appropriately, ex-wife), Psylocke, had rejoined the Hand, Diode was still alive, and that his company was swept out from underneath him thanks to the manipulative tactics of Emma Grace Frost, former White Queen of the Hellfire Club’s Inner Circle.

“I helped to organize the Xorn Foundation,” Emma said with detest, “even commissioned that pointless memorial statue in front of the building.”

“What statue?” Warren asked suddenly with an arched eyebrow. “Does Peter know about this? I thought he wanted to design something.”

Emma turned around with her arms crossed, wearing her traditional white fashionista attire, “Some college student designed it—won a contest or something. Has Xorn, Martin Luther King, Charles Xavier, Gandhi, among others on it. A montage thing.”

“Well, regardless,” Warren sighed as he pushed a binder on Emma’s desk closer to her, “we’re not here to discuss the dead.”

“Ah,” Emma nodded with a smirk, “a look towards the future.” She sat down behind her desk and read the contents of the binder, “You’re making it official, then?”

Warren glared intensely at Emma before he answered, “Yes. My shares are yours to buy. On a few conditions. We get the Seraphim. For one, it’s fixed. Secondly, it’s a registered aircraft. We can actually keep it.”

“It’s funny when you say ‘we,’” Emma said with a smirk. “Subconsciously, you’re actually referring to yourself. As if you needed an aircraft, anyway.” She prepared to sign the document before she asked, “You think you can still be superheroes after this? With nearly 80 percent of your fortune cut?”

“The X-Men have funds,” Archangel said. “We just won’t be hosting the big galas anymore. And…if a certain someone would like to help out occasionally.”

Emma smiled as she twirled her pen between her fingers, “I’m not interested in funding mutants that fight supervillains…unless by chance you decided to teach the next generation like Xavier would have wanted. Then I’ll consider it.”

Warren crossed his arms, “Don’t you think you owe us one? For the leniency we showed you for betraying us to the Byron Agency?”

“Still consider yourself one of the X-Men?” Emma cackled. She sighed, “X-Corp was in the limelight and you all enjoyed it while your friends were doing the dirty work. And I didn’t betray the X-Men, I was forced to betray them. I didn’t have my telepathy at the time…I figured the data in the Xavier Protocols could restore my powers and I could end the mess those pillocks started. It wasn’t as black and white as you make it out to be, Worthington. Or do you want me to download the entire scenario into your frontal lobe in under three seconds?!”

Archangel’s nostrils flared, “Just sign the document, bitch!”

Emma laughed as she whipped her head back, “Taking over your company wasn’t my villainous revenge against the X-Men. This is simple business—this kind of stuff happens all the time. A lesson you never learned.”

“Well, at least I didn’t let my head get too big,” Warren countered as he firmly placed his hands on the desk, standing menacingly with his wings spread over Emma, “Maybe those students you lost would still be alive.”

For a moment, it appeared Emma was hurt, but she flashed her teeth in a wry smile, “Just my dumb luck, then.”

---

Salem Center, New York.
1407 Greymalkin Lane.

Hugh Japheth, otherwise known as the on-again, off-again superhero, Maggott, emerged from the large circular doors of the Danger Room located dozens of feet below the ground in the Xavier Institute’s lower levels—known amongst the X-Men as the “Sub-Basement” layer. Grabbing a clean white towel located on a shelf along the blue-metallic corner, Maggott applied the towel to his sweaty face. Following him on the floor were his two autonomous, three-eyed slugs, Eany and Meany.

Chirping in affection, the two slugs leaped from the floor onto their master’s shoulders. Maggott’s dark blue lips curled into a smile, “Ag, love ya too, gels.”

Upon entering the War Room, Maggott was treated to seeing the X-Men leader, Cyclops (in translucent, holographic form), standing on the table which seated many of his former X-Corp co-workers. Colossus sat casually as he held a sketchbook in his lap, scrapping a chunk of charcoal against the toothy paper. Pyro rhythmically flicked his Zippo lighter open, trying to quell his boredom. And lastly, Dazzler, Longshot, and Diode were knee-deep in a little game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

A green-haired woman, Polaris, sat idly at the communications post. The other X-Men were currently on a mission, headed by Storm. Lorna was doing her best to coordinate everything as efficiently as possible.

“Way to be late,” Diode quipped as Maggott took a seat. “Looks like nothing has changed with you.”

“Oh, and you’re drastically changed as well,” Maggott playfully sneered. “With your whole death and resurrection.”

“I have this stupid lightning bolt streak in my hair now,” Diode muttered as she grabbed the solitary strip of white hair. She glanced out the corner of her eye, “Stop looking at my cards.”

Longshot smirked as he leaned his feet on the table, “I fold anyway.”

{{“Alright, people. Let’s start. Archangel is currently signing over his shares to Emma, effectively putting an end to X-Corp,”}} Cyclops said. He shifted his weight, {{“The Seraphim is currently in the hangar. With the Aurora and Blackbird, it’s pretty cramped. But the main reason I called this meeting at the request of Warren himself was to ask where you stand.”}}

“In terms of what?” Colossus inquired.

{{“I’m sure you’re well aware of the recovery of our missing teammates recently,”}} Cyclops said before he paused for a moment. {{“The fact is, we always have room for reserve members, or if enough people volunteer, a second team. Perhaps even a teaching staff. Kurt and Lorna are anxious, I’m sure.”}}

“Why call us all in?” Maggott wondered. “I’ve heard that X-Force has been disbanded, too. I’m sure some of them might want to take up some vacant spots on the roster.”

{{“I know. And I’ve asked them. But this is something Warren wanted to know with you guys personally,”}} Cyclops explained.

“Why?” Dazzler wondered. “Does Warren want to rejoin the X-Men?”

{{“He wanted to let you all decide, then he’d make his decision,”}} Cyclops said regrettably.

Dazzler sighed as she shook her head, “That’s just like him! Why can’t he make a decision on his own?”

“Where the hell is he, anyway?” Diode wondered. “Why can’t he be here? It’s not like he has work to do…”

{{“Trust me, he has something important to resolve. But as for the team, after Charles…um…there was a rift that built up between all of us. We all took our sides. But I think enough time has gone by that we realized we were always on the same team no matter what…if we saved the day in business suits in broad daylight or with a covert mission. We’re all X-Men.”}} Cyclops smirked to himself, {{“Even Pyro.”}}

“Feck off,” Pyro muttered.

---

High above the Pacific Ocean, Warren Worthington cruised over the sparse clouds, intent on making his trans-Pacific flight in record time. Wearing protective goggles and a modified Air Force flight uniform, Archangel concentrated for a moment without losing attention on flapping his wings.

“Jean?”

“I’m here,” Jean Grey-Summers said, thousands of miles away, in the X-Men’s Cerebro chamber. “You’re on the right track. Just follow my thoughts. I’ll guide you to her.”

Warren smiled to himself, “Thanks, babe.”

“You want the team on standby to back you up? Logan is itching to fight the Hand. He’s feeling nostalgic. Plus, he hasn’t seen Betsy in awhile.”

Warren’s smile faded, “She isn’t the same. Not the way he remembered her. Not the way I did, either. But that’s my fault…tell the team I can handle this one solo.”

“But there are thousands of trained ninja all over that compound you’re about to infiltrate,” Phoenix warned.

“She’s their master now…Betsy wouldn’t let them kill me. She’d want to do that herself,” Warren said, half-jokingly.

“Still, I can’t read her mind, even with Cerebro…granted I’m working with an older model, but it’s the same as when she was empowered by the Crimson Dawn…I can only sense her presence,” Jean explained. “I don’t know if she’s using some kind of ninja mindtrick or what…I can’t be sure if she’s turned to the dark side again.”

“I’ll handle it,” Warren sighed, “thanks, Jean…I see the Hand compound ahead.”

“I’ve got your mind protected. It should absorb the blunt of a psychic blade attack,” Jean said.

“Jeeeeaan…,” Warren moaned as he touched down in what appeared to be an orchard of some kind. He quickly ducked down low to avoid being spotted. With his avian pupils, he could see that the coast was clear when he came in for a landing. There were only gardeners working with shears and various other tools, tending to the plants.

“Better safe than sorry,” Jean said. “Can’t blame me.”

“Guess not,” Warren muttered as the ‘gardeners’ turned and threw a barrage of ninja stars at him. Without thinking twice, Archangel’s wings instinctively propelled him into the air. Hearing a loud hissing sound in the wind, Warren leaned his head to the side; just as a pair of outstretched long pruning shears missed the side of his head.

Warren flew from side to side in a zig-zag formation, except he kept it three dimensional—flying upward and downward as he went—anything to make him a difficult target. In the air, no one could match Archangel in aerial combat maneuvers.

He heard the hissing noise again, but this time, he grabbed the ninja star, just inches from his eye, and hurled it back at the ninja down below. Knowing they would most likely dodge the attack, Warren pulled out his gold-plated gun. Equipped with a silencer, Warren opened fire, catching one ninja in the back of the knee, putting another bullet through each of his palms.

With his clip empty, Archangel dove through the air and pummeled the second ninja from above. The Asian man tried to stab Warren in the side of the face after unsheathing a hidden blade, but the ninja suddenly wound up with a broken hand. Crying out in agony, Warren tried to muffle the man’s cries by cupping his hands over the man’s mouth, but it was already too late.

Soon, dozens of black-clad ninja had appeared with what seemed like the blink of an eye, although Warren saw them coming. Cheap parlor tricks. It wasn’t anything mystical. Just really good stealth techniques.

Out of nowhere, a katana sliced through the air. Archangel felt the blunt fist of a man skilled beyond what his generic DNA allowed against his jaw. Vargas smiled and hissed in his Spanish accent, “You are in the wrong time zone, Worthington. And out of your league. She doesn’t want to see you!”

Archangel wiped spittle from his mouth and removed his leather gloves. One of the five original X-Men gathered by Charles Xavier himself, people often underestimated the young rich boy with wings…deeming him to fragile or useless a creature to pose any kind of credible threat. Maybe that’s why the mutant-fearing public generally accepted him.

And maybe that was precisely the reason Warren never showed his full potential. Always holding back, waiting for the right moment…

*KRAK*

…to strike—leaving his opponents off-guard.

Vargas stumbled backwards, dropping his katana on the ground. Blood trickled out of his nose. He seemed almost surprised. He immediately blended in with the light the same way he could melt into the shadows—rendering him invisible…or so he thought.

What he didn’t know was that Warren’s eyes could sense the slightest refractions in light as Vargas violently approached him. The winged mutant waited for the precise moment as his wings lifted him into the air—wrapping his ankles around Vargas’s neck and performing a backflip in midair, sending the large Spaniard hurtling towards the ocean, where he was knocked unconscious by the rocks on the coastline.

“You think you all scare me with your black clothing and sharp objects?!?” Archangel shouted as he set foot on the earth. He grimaced, “You don’t know fear!” The swarm of ninja slowly circled Warren, like a snake to its prey.

“Shuushi!” a feminine voice shouted in Japanese. The ninja suddenly stopped their advance. Part of Archangel was a little disappointed.

Archangel’s head darted to the roof of the dojo, where he saw his beloved, Elisabeth Braddock, clad in black as well, step out from behind one of her brethren. Her purple locks were now jet black. He could almost feel the piercing gaze of her blue eyes.

“It’s not everyday someone invades the Hand compound and comes out alive,” Psylocke shouted from above.

“I took out three of your ninjas and I haven’t had a Danger Room exercise in months,” Archangel boasted with a smirk. “I came here to talk, cupcake.”

“I know,” Psylocke responded curtly. She closed her eyes and telepathically commanded her army to stand down. It seemed as though the surrounding shadows themselves reached out and grabbed them, swallowing them whole.

For a moment, Archangel seemed weirded out. He unzipped his uniform, giving his body a chance to breathe, “Crimson Dawn…?”

Psylocke leapt from the top of the dojo and skidded down the edge of the wall, landing on the ground. She smirked, “Vargas. I can telepathically access his powers.”

Archangel crossed his arms, “You’re not…?”

“I wouldn’t sleep with that behemoth…,” Psylocke hissed as she rolled her eyes, having read Warren’s mind and gaining insight to his intended thought.

“I…,” Warren smiled and shook his head, “I didn’t mean you would…I just…”

“Warren…I’m not evil…I have brought integrity back to the Hand,” Psylocke said with pride. “We’re not assassins. At least not while I’m in charge.”

“Tell that to your landscapers,” Archangel deadpanned. “Almost took my head off.”

Psylocke shouted defensively, “You know what I mean!”

“But how could you join the people that made your life so miserable?” Warren pleaded.

Psylocke crossed her arms, “I had to make a difference. Make the most of…what was about to happen.”

“You knew Emma was taking over the company?” Warren wondered.

Psylocke smiled as she faced the ocean breeze. It always made her excited to see Mr. Worthington’s cleverness at work, “Yes. I had a vision. When Longshot attacked me. It was different. It wasn’t a precognitive glimpse into the future, more like a…moment of clarity.”

Warren yawned and scratched the back of his head, “I…don’t get it?”

“I saw the events that led Emma to take the company away from you…starting with the Byron Agency giving her stock tips. She acquired Shaw Industries and eventually bought out both Pyro and Maggott. With you in Mojoworld, she was able to bypass a lot of the paperwork and take the top spot.”

Archangel curved an eyebrow, “You saw all this while you were in a coma?”

Psylocke nodded, “I also saw what you had to do…to save my life.” She jokingly shrugged, “Who knew divorce would have a positive outcome?”

Warren appeared unamused, “Xorn died to save your life, as well as Alison, Longshot’s, and mine…believe me, there was nothing positive about it. Not to mention you just ran off.”

“You divorced me,” Psylocke stated.

“It was just a piece of paper!” Warren shouted. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you! Was I just supposed to sit there and let you die?”

“Let me finish…,” Psylocke paused. “I still love you, too, Warren. But our marriage wasn’t meant to last. Not in the spotlight. We couldn’t be heroes and rescue our relationship at the same time while under the media’s microscope.”

“X-Corp is finished,” Warren said as tears welled up in his eyes, “we don’t have any reason to be afraid. Mojoworld is gone and the media frenzy along with it.”

“Don’t make this more difficult,” Elisabeth said. She gently touched the side of Warren’s slightly unshaven face, “You’re an icon. You look like an angel. Whatever people’s beliefs are or if they’re the most ignorant pieces of rubbish—they still become inspired when they see you in the air. You were meant to be in the light...”

“You don’t have to be like me,” Warren said. “Being yourself has always been your way, no matter what.”

“That’s just it…I belong in the shadow, behind the scenes,” Psylocke revealed. “It’s why I relished the Crimson Dawn so much, why the darkness bonded with me. Maybe it’s time we grow up and realize just because we have powers means we need to fight the bad guy all the time. If the X-Men stopped fighting their own demons, they…we could accomplish a lot more. This is my calling now. The Hand is my place.”

Warren nodded and reached into the inside of his uniform, pulling out a ring with a diamond-encrusted butterfly. He placed it in her hand and closed her fist around it, “I gave this to you when I asked you to be my bride. Don’t consider it a symbol of being my fiancé…but our time together. Like a butterfly, we’ve become something different. Hopefully something better.”

Betsy kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear, “Thank you. I will always love you, you know.”

The two former lovers, in tears, embraced. Warren buried his face into Elisabeth’s neck before whispering, “I know…”

When he opened his eyes, Warren was standing on the roof top of his SoHo loft. It had begun to snow in New York that morning. Psylocke must have shadow-ported him back home with Vargas’s powers.

Warren smiled as his frosty breath left his mouth, “…I love you, too.”

---

The House of Brews.
363 W 46th St.
Manhattan.

Amidst the commotion of tourists and locals out for a drink, a small table seated the available former members of X-Corp. Diode was at the bar before she brought over a tray with various glasses and bottles of beer. She set the tray down on the table as everyone grabbed their respective brews.

“Man,” Diode said as she squirted a lime into her bottle of Corona and sipped it, “people have been taking my whole back from the dead thing pretty well. The bartender asked for my number. Think I should go for it? I mean, since I was converted into an energy being, it cleared up my herpes.”

Before drinking his Smithwicks Ale, Pyro arched an eyebrow, “You didn’t spit in the coffee at work, did you?”

Diode smirked, “Just the PR employees under me that pissed me off.”

Colossus winced as he gulped down his Redbach, “Ugh…”

“Not the same as vodka tonics, ag?” Maggott asked before he took a swig of some Hoegaarden.

Piotr stuck his chin inward and held in a belch, “No. It’s just been awhile since I’ve had a beer. Trying to stay fit. I didn’t want to leap into battle with a steel potbelly.” He cracked a smile, “Or at least a heated board meeting.”

Everyone turned to Warren and waited for him to smile or laugh so they could as well. Archangel just rolled his eyes, causing just as much laughter in the former team.

Archangel swallowed his Brooklyn Lager and smacked his lips together, “Hm. Never tried this stuff.” He turned the bottle and read the label before taking another drink, letting the bitter taste wash over his tongue, “Not bad.”

“So, no Alison or Longshot tonight?” Colossus wondered. “I thought they were…kind of on the team.”

Archangel shook his head, “No. They had a lot to talk about. Besides, they felt it wasn’t their place.”

“And Longshot didn’t want to get his ass kicked by you again,” Pyro joked as he slapped Colossus on the back.

“I know why they didn’t come,” Diode playfully teased, “word is that Warren is totally crushing on that disco queen and vise versa!”

“Ooooooo!” Maggott yelled obnoxiously.

Archangel shook his head as he consumed more of his beer, “No way. Alison and I are friends. Nothing more. I’m not one to open old wounds.”

“And what about Bets?” Pyro asked. “Did you talk with her?”

Warren nodded, simply responding with, “Yeah.”

“And…?” Pyro inquired. Part of him wanted to know from their brief affair…even if Psylocke was corrupted by the Crimson Dawn at the time. Part of John still cared for her.

“I don’t know, we talked,” Archangel said matter-of-factly. “There’s an understanding. I don’t think she’ll be an X-Man anytime soon.”

Diode frowned slightly, “It’s weird. With just us, I mean. Everything that’s happened. Do all new teams have to go through this kind of crap—corporate takeovers and fatal self sacrifice?”

“Scott gave us the green light to start up a sister X-team,” Colossus reminded. He looked at Archangel, “I suppose that’s all up to you, boss.”

Archangel raised his bottle of beer to his lips, “Well, then I guess it’s settled. X-Corp might be gone, but we’re all still X-Men. That’s all that matters. Our shares were still worth a lot. We still got the jet. Scott’s backing us up. The public might not—”

Out of the corner of his eye, a female bartender placed a tray of Jell-O shots on the table. Surprised, but accepting, Warren wondered, “What’s all this?”

The bartender pointed her finger to a table, which seated a bunch of random New Yorkers, “It’s on them. Apparently, you guys saved them once.”

Archangel smiled as his wings rose and fell. He gave the generous group a wave as the team picked up their respective paper cups filled with vodka and Jell-O. It was heartwarming to know that despite the controversy, despite the media frenzy and all of the underlying mutant hatred, X-Corp did something right. That’s what Charles Xavier and others like him would have wanted.

Archangel stood up and the others followed suit, “Alright…this is to us. To Xorn. To Charles. To everyone who sacrificed it all for the dream.”

As everyone swallowed their tiny paper cup-full of alcohol-flavored gelatin, the ground rumbled with a startling pulsation, causing glasses to crash on the ground and lights to flicker. The bar patrons were obviously startled as well.

*BOOOM*

“Shit,” Warren said as a slight throbbing in his skull overcame him.

“What is it?” Diode shouted as the crowd and staff began to hastily exit the bar.

Archangel rubbed his temple, “Emma. Screaming in my head. We’ve got trouble.”

“I knew that bitch was good for something, at least,” Diode quipped.

Pyro, Maggott, Colossus, and Diode followed Archangel outside as dozens of citizens fled onto the streets, screaming.

“Yeah, she’s got good seats to the event,” Warren muttered. Before them were three thirty-feet tall red and purple Sentinels, literally walking through Manhattan. Lasers of intense heat flared from their eyes, causing explosions on the streets below.

“So, what’dya think?” Pyro asked Archangel. “Renegade Sentinels from a government storage facility?”

“By now, it wouldn’t surprise me,” Archangel muttered as he shed his jacket, allowing his wings to move freely.

“Ah, the good old days,” Colossus said with a hint of sarcasm as his form bulked up to nearly twice its normal size in cold organic steel, tearing through his street clothes.

“Good thing they showed up…if I spent anymore time drinkin’ in there, I’d want to have a cigarette,” Pyro said as he ignited his wrist-mounted flame-throwers, creating a perpetual fireball in each hand. “Lord knows how bloody hard it was to quit!”

“Ooo!” Diode squealed as her form turned into a light shade of blue with white streaks of electricity crackling off of her skin. “I’ve always wanted to fight Sentinels for Christmas! Daddy, can I play with them?”

“All I know is…,” Maggott winced as his eyes turned red and his form bulked up and turned a deep shade of blue as Eany and Meany burrowed out of his stomach cavity, “ungh…the gels need more minerals in their diet.”

Archangel took one flap of his wings and he was instantly twenty feet in the air. He looked down and shouted, “I’ll draw their fire.” He looked back at the Sentinels and pointed towards them. He turned back to his team, “You know what to do…” Before flying towards the gigantic robots, Archangel shouted one final command, which caused his team to go into a full sprint towards the oncoming carnage:

“Let’s go to work!”