The first thing Sean Cassidy felt as he awoke in his cell in the Byron Agency’s compound was the cold and hard steel bench that he was laying on. The second was the painful throbbing in the back of his head, the knot in the upper left side of his forehead, and the weight of his aching body as he tried to sit up right.

Before he had the ability to process what had happened and where he was at, it became quickly apparent that he was not alone.

“Top o’ the morning’ to ye,” came a voice poorly imitating an Irish accent.

Sean squinted as he adjusted himself under his own weight, able to lean against the concrete wall the bench was attached to, but still barely keeping himself from toppling over. He recognized the voice instantly.

Agent Philip Layton of the Byron Agency stood up from a stool on the other side of the cell and fished through a pocket in his black sports coat. It took only a moment for him to retrieve a Zippo lighter to compliment the cigarette in his ear. Whether it was out of stubbornness or an inability to do so, he noticed that Sean wouldn’t meet his stare. That just made Agent Layton have to work harder to suppress a smirk.

“How’s the ol’ noggin’, friend?” he asked said as he approached Sean‘s cell, putting the cigarette to his mouth and flipping open the Zippo. He lit up and took a long drag, pocketing the Zippo and exhaling. “I’ve really got to hand it to you, Cassidy. You sure gave it to us back there, even when you knew there was no chance in Hell you’d escape. Still got that fighting X-Men spirit in you, eh?”

Sean didn’t reply, prompting a proud and cocky grin to develop on Agent Layton’s face as he stared a hole through the former X-Man.

“Speaking of which, your little plan didn’t quite work as we expected,” he continued. “The search team found four survivors and are bringing them back to base now. Floating out there on the wreckage of their jet, clinging to dear life.”

Silence filled the air as Sean let the words sink in and Agent Layton relished in the former X-Man’s unsettled demeanor. For all of Sean’s talk, Layton knew that he was merely a pawn in their game. A sucker. All of the Byron Agency’s talk about setting a confused world right, ending the chaos and disorder that had filled numerous lives no matter what the cost so that the future wouldn‘t have to suffer the same fate… There was truth to it, but ultimately their goal went beyond on that.

Power. Control. Money. The Byron Agency’s motivations were as simple as that and the metahuman defense network would give the Hierarchy everything they desired once they completed the project and could market it to a superpower under the guise of a sister company. In the back of his mind, Sean had feared this to be the truth, but there were other fears and… curiosities… that he had in regards to the X-Men’s fate at his and the Byron Agency’s hands.

“Go on. You know you want to ask it.”

“Who did ye find…?” Sean asked under his breath, emotionally adrift.

Agent Layton’s lips curled up to one side of his face as he shrugged casually.

“We don’t know, but don’t think there’s going to be some last minute rescue,” he said with the shake of his finger, his demeanor patronizing. Sean looked up suddenly and Agent Layton had to suppress a grin. “They wouldn’t want to save you even if they could. You know it. We‘ll be activating the metahuman defense network the moment your old friends are on the island, both as a precaution and as our first official test.”

Sean shook his head. “How do ye plan on testing it on them if they’re already captured?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t we?” Agent Layton said, hunching his brows at Sean. He took a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out, then turned away from the former agent and walked away. “See you around, Cassidy. Enjoy your thoughts while you‘ve still got ‘em.”

With Agent Layton gone, Sean turned his attention back to the floor of his cell, head hanging low. He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes, and a moment later the loud clang of the door to the makeshift prison sounded as it closed.

The search team’s boat traveled across the pacific ocean notably slower than its maximum speed, but that was to be expected with a decommissioned spy plane being towed on the back of it. The Blackbird was in a state of disrepair due to the Sentinel that self-destructed over it, both wings severed and entire sections of the hull torn from it by the explosion, but the interior of the jet remained relatively intact if not with its systems heavily damaged.

It was in the cargo area of the jet that Cyclops and Storm planned out the X-Men’s next move. Phoenix, Beast, Domino, and Cannonball were scattered about the jet, chatting quietly amongst themselves as they recovered from the battle they had just incurred on the U.S.S. Avenger while Rogue, Iceman, and Wolverine acted as security on the search boat towing them back to the Byron Agency’s base of operations. It was the calm before the storm… a calm that ended when Cyclops and Storm had worked out the final details of their plan.

“Gather around everyone,” Cyclops called out across the Blackbird, waving his teammates in. Their conversations ended as their attention turned to their two leaders, approaching them as requested. “Ororo and I have gone through the tanker’s navigation database and we wanted to talk about what we found.”

Storm typed a few commands into the console, causing a three-dimensional model of an island to appear on the overhead monitor. It was largely tropical in appearance, but on the east end rested a shipping dock with a paved road leading to a large compound, surrounded by fences. To the west of that complex was an open field with another similar road leading to a heliport. However, what stood out the most about the island was the large Sentinel sitting atop the compound.

It was a Mastermold.

“It appears as if this is where the Byron Agency has been manufacturing the Sentinels that we encountered earlier tonight,” Storm explained, gesturing to the compound. “As you can all see, it’s a fully-functional Mastermold facility.”

“Ah don’t get it, though,” Cannonball interjected, visibly confused. “Why would the Byrons be sendin’ already completed Sentinels to a Mastermold?”

Storm glanced to Cyclops, who fielded the question for her. “We talked about that and agree that the shipment was probably meant to be a trap.”

“Why do you think that?” Phoenix asked of her husband.

“We found Robert Kelly alive after the Byron Agency stripped his mind of whatever it was they wanted, right?“ Cyclops said, warranting a nod from half of the team. He took a deep breath and went on. “At first, I just assumed that Sean was involved somehow and didn’t have the stomach to kill him, but now we think it was done to lure us into a battle with those kamikaze Sentinels.”

The answer drew only silence from the X-Men. It made sense, however frightening the idea was that their former friend and teammate would do such a thing. Stealing the Xavier Protocols, capturing their teammates and subjecting them to experiments, conspiring with Sinister to manipulate the government, and now this…

Beast brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed the tension from it. “That sounds like a very real possibility,” he said, disappointment in his voice. “Now I can’t help but wonder if Sean was involved in that.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it if he was,” Cyclops remarked, his face seemingly stone. “Whatever’s happened to Sean in recent months, he’s our enemy now and the Byron Agency has to be stopped. Regardless if Sean was involved, the gamble didn’t work and now we know where their manufacturing base is. I think we need to act quickly.”

“Rally the troops, sound the call to arms,” Domino said, looking to Cannonball and nodding. “We can make a call to Warpath and Siryn.”

“Warren and his team are on reserve,” Phoenix added, already thinking up reserve and former X-Men alike to contact.

“The communications system is still down,” Beast interjected, “but with some work I can most likely get it operational in the next couple of hours,”

“That’s not what I mean, you guys,” Cyclops chimed in with the shake of his head. They looked to him, uncertain of what he was getting at. Storm explained it to them this time.

“Even with the search and destroy team’s memories altered, the Byron Agency have telepaths working for them. Without concrete evidence of our demise, they’ll likely discover the truth sooner or later.”

Cannonball found himself reluctantly agreeing with Cyclops and Storm. “And if it’s sooner they may pack up an’ skedaddle right quick…”

“Exactly,” Storm said.

“We’re going to need to hit them with everything and everyone we have, even Hank and Jean. With all of us here and their crew at our disposal, we’re in the best position we’re going to get to strike,” Cyclops laid it out for them. “They won’t expect us, not right now, and I think we can end this tonight. The only question is… are you all in?”

Everyone knew the risks, but it was difficult for anyone to disagree. Their silence was an answer that anyone who had ever been associated with the “X” understood. Cyclops nodded slowly, knowing that the choice was never an easy one.

“Alright. We’re going to split up into two teams then,” he said, looking to Cannonball and Domino first. “Cannonball, Domino, and Wolverine are with me as the ‘captives’ that the search team has recovered,“ he then motioned to Storm. “Once we’re in, Storm will lead a direct assault on the compound with the rest of you while we track down the ringleaders. The goal is to tear this place down from the inside-out.”

“Uh, question?” Domino said, hand raised and waving half-heartedly. “We just nearly got it handed to us on a sinking ship by suicide-bombing Sentinels. On top of the fact that most of us are beat from a fight with a dozen Sentinels, what’s to keep a hundred suicide-bombing Sentinels from trashing us on their own turf?”

“Tony Stark has reason to believe that the Byron Agency was working on an experimental assault and defense network for the Department of Defense before they were exposed,” Storm answered. “If he’s right, they will likely be trying to market it elsewhere and won‘t want to risk damaging it unless they absolutely have to. This island is the perfect test site for that network.”

Domino was visibly uncomfortable with that logic, as were the other X-Men, but they quietly accepted the prospect of Sentinels self-destructing as a risk they had to take.

“One way or another, the place will be leveled come morning,” Cyclops mused, a hint of cynicism in his voice. “If there aren’t any more questions, then I think we should use this time to prepare for the attack. We should be to the island within the hour…”

Three men in their late forties to late fifties stood in dark business suits before the large, industrial-size sliding doors in the receiving bay of a compound with a dozen armed men at their backs. Two of the men were white, likely Eastern European in ancestry, while the third was distinctly Japanese.

The backgrounds of the security force at their backs were harder to decipher what with the black military fatigues covering their bodies and the visored-helmets covering all but the lower halves of their faces. Such a uniform appearance reflected the three men’s view regarding the individuals that made up the security - faceless and dispensable arms tasked to do their bidding.

Richard Normandin was a tall and slender man with hair the color of salt and pepper parted on the left, cold and distant in demeanor. Jeremiah Stell was only a few inches shorter than Richard, but much stockier in build with medium brown hair and graying temples slicked back with gel. And finally, Benjamin Shimizu was the shortest of the three with a medium build, black hair parted down the middle.

Together, they made up the remains of the Hierarchy - the three largest shareholders of the Byron Agency not in hiding or in prison - and it was in their last remaining base of operations that they awaited the return of the search team that had retrieved the surviving X-Men from their crash not two miles from the island.

When the sliding doors of the receiving bay parted, the early morning light peaked into the dimly lit compound and cast. Three men and a woman were marched into the receiving bay by the aforementioned search team with their arms shackled at their backs and collars around their necks, each with a blinking light at its center. The man known as Wolverine, short and muscular with wild hair, was dragging his feet the most out of the four and for that he took a rifle butt to the back of his head.

“Argh!” Wolverine groaned as he stumbled to the ground on his knees, having lost his balance quite easily due to his arms having been shackled.

“Get up and keep movin’!” one of the search team’s numbers said, prepared to strike him again. Wolverine looked up to him and growled lowly under his breath, but begrudgingly complied under the glares of his teammates. The search team continued marching the four into the receiving bay towards the Hierarchy.

“Ah, it looks like our guests have arrived,” Mr. Normandin stated, eying the four.

“They don’t look very bad…” Mr. Shimizu remarked suspiciously.

“No, they don’t,” Mr. Stell agreed, visibly uncomfortable. He looked to Shimizu. “Cassidy looks worse and security only beat the snot out of him.”

Mr. Normandin shook his head at the two‘s comments, letting out a deep sigh. “Why would they be injured?” he asked, directing to Domino, Cannonball, and Wolverine respectively. “Luck factor, force field, and healing factor.”

“True enough, I suppose,” Mr. Shimizu said with a shrug, but Mr. Stell didn’t appear so convinced. It was then the search party approached the three with their captives.

“Sir,” the commander greeted with a nod. The X-Men remained quiet, guns at their backs and heads down seemingly in defeat.

“Good job, men,” Mr. Normandin commented, looking the commander straight in the eye. “You can bet there will be a bonus for you and your men out of this.”

The commander hunched his brows, half-enticed by the notion. He returned his mind strictly to business. “Where do you want them?”

“I think we’ll want to send the leader straight to the telepaths. Get whatever we can out of him about the X-Men’s operations. The other three…” Mr. Normandin trailed off, considering their options.

“Might want to continue where we left off with those experiments,” Mr. Shimizu suggested with a steady, certain nod.

“I agree,“ Mr. Stell said. “It’s just too bad we don’t have the other two.”

“The girls?” Mr. Normandin asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah. They sure had some lungs on them,” Mr. Stell explained with half a smirk, shaking his head. “The way that little Asian one screamed…”

Mr. Normandin shook his head, but more in disgust than in anything else. “Broke my heart. Always crying.”

“Broke my eardrums,” Mr. Stell said with a cruel, hearty laugh joined by several of the other security personnel and search team members. Mr. Normandin and Mr. Shimizu shook their heads, repressing the urge to join in out of bad taste. They would soon discover that it was in their best interest not to do so.

Wolverine’s head slowly shot up, his brow hardened and his eyes narrowed as a rage built deep inside of him as he watched a number of their “captors” relish in the agony of what had to have been Jubilation Lee. His muscles tensed and he flexed his arms in their shackles as he prepared to break the team’s plan.

Cyclops shot a look to Wolverine and shook his head, whispering, “Logan, no, don’t!”

“Armis Exposcere Pacem,” Wolverine muttered a trigger-phrase through gritted teeth. The armed members of the search team surrounding the X-Men suddenly became alert, ceasing their laughter as their eyes grew blank and Rogue’s post hypnotic suggestion activated. Their shift in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong with…?“ Mr. Shimizu began to say as the search team drew their rifles on the Hierarchy’s security team. The shackles and dampening collars fell off all four of the X-Men simultaneously, clanging against the ground of the receiving bay, and catching the attention of Mr. Stell.

He had no time to react, however, as Wolverine unsheathed his six, foot long adamantium claws and flung himself through the air at the once hysterical Mr. Stell, who could then only scream in horror.

“AAAGHH!!” was the last sound that escaped from Jeremiah Stell‘s throat before the rage-filled Wolverine pounced on his chest, knocking him on his back, and slamming a fist into his throat. The claws slid straight out of the back of Mr. Stell‘s throats, and Wolverine covered the man‘s mouth with his other hand as blood began overflowing from the stocky man’s mouth.

“H-h-hh..urk…”

Mr. Normandin and Mr. Shimizu scrambled in opposite directions as a member of the Hierarchy‘s security team cried out, “Their dampeners are off! Open fire!”

Before the security team could open fire, the search team under the X-Men’s control waved the barrels of their rifles in circular motions and unleashed sporadically aimed gunfire at their comrades. There was no intended target as the search team had only been telepathically instructed to lay down cover fire for the X-Men, but the security team darted off for cover while returning fire regardless. Wolverine, who was still poised atop Mr. Stell as he drowned in his own blood, was the first to be riddled with bullets and driven back by the security team.

Like the two remaining members of the Hierarchy, Cyclops, Domino, and Cannonball ran for cover as the gun fight began. The search team was providing the cover they needed to regroup and then take out the security team and Hierarchy with less deadly measures, but one of the X-Men noticed that something - other than Wolverine’s preemptive, rage motivated outburst - had not gone according to plan.

“Uhh… Cyke!” Cannonball yelled over the gunfire, visibly concerned. Cyclops brought a hand to his visor and pressed down the release, but nothing came.

As gunfire and screams filled the receiving center of the compound, the leader of the X-Men and his teammates came to a terrifying realization. Even though their shackles and power dampeners were off, their powers still weren’t working.

At the east end of the compound at the crack of down, where only a dirt path separated the fortified stone wall of the Byron Agency’s compound and the island’s tropical shrubbery, a red headed woman emerged from the surrounding forest followed closely by four others.

“Here we are,” Phoenix announced, taking a deep breath as she mentally prepared for what was more than likely a fight stacked against her and her teammates.

“Robert,” Storm said with a nod.

“On it,” Iceman replied. He waved a hand out in front of him and a trail of ice followed along the fortified gate, causing it to become frigid and brittle. “You’re up, Mississippi.”

Rogue squatted down and leapt toward the gate, propelled like a rocket by a maroon energy field that allowed her to shatter the gate with explosive force.

“Let’s go to town!”

The perimeter of the compound was left with a gaping entrance, one littered with ice and stone at its foot, that the X-Men flooded through. Storm and Rogue by the air, Iceman on a bridge of ice, and Phoenix and Beast by foot. They met no opposition from the empty yard of the compound, only the silence of their enemy’s foothold stunning them. Something was wrong.

“Everyone, spread out and prepare for incoming,” Storm called down from the air while she scouted the yard of the compound. “Defensive positions.”

The X-Men did as their team leader ordered, spreading out amongst themselves and preparing for the worst. To their credit, the worst came.

In the distance, a purple and red figure shot out of the Mastermold on rocket thrusters at its feet, its head directed upwards and its arms at its side. At first the figure seemed alone, but then two followed suite in a similar fashion. Then three more followed the two just as quickly and then six followed the three, before a quick stream of purple and red robots formed out of the compound and into the sky.

“My stars and garters…” Beast gasped. His teammates stood in equal shock and awe as a swarm of Sentinels flew out of the back of the Mastermold resting atop the compound and began filling the sky like locusts.

“That’s… one helluva big network…” Rogue remarked, almost forgetting to breathe as hundreds of genocidal killing machines took the sights on the X-Men.

“Um… I’ve seen bigger…” Iceman quipped, swallowing back the lump in his throat and clearing his throat. “I think…”