"Open yer eyes - the world is going to hell, and you've done nothing to stop it. You've done the little things, taken small steps and you know it. You've over-compensated for mistakes since Chuck died. Cyke, Charlie's gone. You're the top man now, but the problem is you're not ready."

Those words continue to echo through the mind of Scott Summers. They were spoken, in a sense, by a former teammate. What annoys Scott the most, however, is not that Logan had the audacity to question the path he has taken. No, what has been nagging at Scott ever since he heard those words is that Logan was right.

Logan is right.

He watches the events of a press conference play over the monitor he sits in front of. Warren Worthington III stands behind a podium and answers questions. Onstage with him are several other mutants. Some Scott recognizes, some are complete unknowns. Warren is speaking about something called X-Corp. He's trying to win over humans by outing himself and the rest of the X-Men.

Stupid, thinks Scott. That won't work. For awhile, everything will seem fine. Until something happens that causes the humans to turn on mutants again. Just wait until Magneto wakes up one day and decides to start another war of the species. No, Warren's way won't work.

Xavier's way won't work.

The times have changed, the rules have changed. Scott knows that he must change with them. There is only one option left for him.

"Cerebro," he says.

The image on the monitor changes to that of a green outline of the Cerebro helmet developed by Charles Xavier.

{{ What's up? }} asks the sentient program.

"I have some mutants to locate," replies Scott.

{{ It's about freakin' time. Ever since you gave me sentience, all I've been doing is making your damn coffee. }}

"Just do as I say," says Scott.

{{ Oh, and you might wanna consider a shave, }} says Cerebro. {{ You look like shit. }}

Scott runs a hand over the beard he has growing.

It is time for a change.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

So what thousand words would this picture say?

It is a photograph of two friends.

Two criminals.

One of them is dead. Killed because he is a mutant.

The other still lives.

He crushes the photograph in his hand and continues on.

He will find those who are responsible for his friend's death.

And he will ensure that they pay dearly.

He passes a sign that says "WASHINGTON D.C." followed by the number 36.

"What now?"

I turn away from the window of the hotel room I'm currently occupying and face the speaker. Samuel Guthrie, the young man who posed the question, sits on the couch with his arm around Alison Blaire. They are mutants, same as myself. They are also former X-Men, also same as me.

My name is Doctor Henry McCoy. Or the Beast if you prefer. They are Cannonball and Dazzler, respectively.

I adjust the glasses on my face and walk towards them.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"What d'ya think?" asks Sam. "Cyke basically fired us."

"In other words, what happens to us now?" asks Alison. "Are we just going to sit in this hotel room for the rest of our lives?"

"No, not at all," I reply. "Slim's little... tantrum caught me by surprise."

"Tantrum?" asks Alison. "You make it sound as if he's a kid crying over not getting his way. This is a bit more serious, Hank."

"I know where you're coming from, Alison," I say. "Truthfully, I'm not sure what happened. But I do know that the man who told us to leave the mansion is not the same Scott Summers I grew up with."

"What about the X-Men?" asks Sam. "Since it's obvious Scott won't accept us back in, maybe we should get in touch with Archangel's team?"

"I don't think so," I tell him. "Warren is doing what he thinks is necessary. But I don't think we should throw ourselves in with them, at least not right now. Besides, X-Corp is X-Corp, it's not the X-Men."

"So it's all up t' us, then," says Sam. "There are a bunch o' factions running around out there wearing an X on their costumes, but there's no X-Men. Doesn't that seem a bit odd to ya'll?"

"Then it's up to us to pick up the pieces," I say. I look at the two of them and smile. "What do you say, lady and gent?"

"A team of X-Men with only three members and a hotel room as our base?" asks Alison. "Hey, why not? I'm always up for a challenge."

"Sam?"

"Ya need t' ask?"

"I think it's settled, then," I say. "No Alpha, no Omega. Just the X-Men."

"Wake up, ugly."

Pale green eyelids slowly rise up, revealing yellow eyes beneath. The disfigured mutant looks up at the guard who stands in his cell, then rolls back over, turning his back to the guard.

"Sod off."

The guard walks into the cell, and pulls out his baton. He slams it against the prisoner's back.

"When I say wake up, I mean wake up," says the guard.

"If it wasn't for this blasted collar..."

"Yeah yeah, I know," says the guard. "I've heard it before, loser. And from guys much scarier than you. Your ugly ass is getting transferred, so get up."

"Transferred? To where?"

"Don't know, don't care," replies the guard. "I'll just be glad when your stink fades."

"If you hate the stink, then maybe you should tell your mum to bathe more often."

The guard slams the baton on the prisoner's head. Then he hits again, and again until the prisoner falls unconscious.

"Mutant scum," he says, spitting on the prisoner. He turns to see two other guards behind him, dressed in different uniforms.

"This the guy?" asks one of the other guards.

"Prisoner #4266," he replies. "Get him outta here, I feel like throwing up whenever I look at his face."

The two guards slip shackles on his hands and feet, then drag him from the cell.

Across the Atlantic, the sun sets in London. Allison Crestmere sits on the balcony of her apartment with a book in her hands. She stops every so often to catch a glimpse of the sun as it lowers. Then she turns back to the book.

"Allison Crestmere."

The voice startles her, and she almost jumps from her seat. She turns to see a clean-shaven man with short brown hair wearing a black visor over his eyes. There is a single red lens in the center of the visor. He is Dressed in a black leather combat uniform complete with padding and yellow trim. She notices the X on the left breast of the leather jacket he wears, and returns to her book.

"I hope you realize that breaking and entering is also an offense in England," she says.

"You know just as well as I do that that's an empty threat," he says. "I'd be gone before the police even arrive, Allison. Or should I call you Amara?"

"I'd rather you didn't call me at all," she replies.

"I didn't come all this way to be blown off," he says.

"You X-types never give up, do you?" she asks. "Honestly Cyclops, what is it you people want from me? All I want is a normal life, is that too much to ask?"

"None of us will ever be able to live a normal life, Allison," replies Cyclops. He points to the X on his jacket. "We're bonded to this symbol for life, whether we like it or not. That's a fact, and it's something we have to accept."

"Not me," she says. "Forgive me for being overly optimistic, but I plan to be the first student of Xavier's who actually lives a normal life."

"I have a proposition for you."

"Stuff it."

"Hear me out."

"You aren't going to leave unless I listen to your shite, are you?" asks Allison with an exasperated sigh. Cyclops folds his arms across his chest. "Didn't think so..."

She marks her place in the book, then closes it and sets it down on the ground.

"Go ahead, I'm listening," she says.

"Times are changing, Allison. And I've discovered that we need to change with them, or we die."

"Which means...?"

"I'm reforming the X-Men from the ground up," he says. "And I want you to be a part of the team."

"Give me one good reason," she says. "Because I really have zero interest in waving the flag for the dreams of a dead idealist."

"Let me make one thing clear, Allison," he says. "These are my X-Men, not Xavier's."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asks. "Weren't you his little lapdog anyway?"

"People change," he says. "I've changed."

"Right," she says. "And that's supposed to make me want to jump into another stupid little costume?"

"Why is it you only use your powers in secret?" asks Cyclops. "Are you ashamed of them?"

"No..."

"Then why?"

"Because I don't want to draw attention to myself."

"Wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're wrong," replies Cyclops. "You keep your powers secret because you don't want to draw attention to the fact that you're a mutant."

"My life, my choice."

"But it's not your choice," says Cyclops. "You wouldn't hide your mutantcy if society didn't look down on mutants. And although you say you don't want to be involved in this game anymore, you secretly wish that we'll accomplish what we've set out to do. That mutants will be accepted."

"So what?" asks Allison. "Yes, I want mutants to be accepted, but what mutant doesn't want that? The difference between myself and the X-Men is that I'm a realist. I know it probably won't happen."

"No, the truth is that you're lazy."

"...what?!"

"You're lazy and you're scared," says Cyclops. "You want other people to do the work for you because you're afraid if you do it yourself, then you'll fail."

"You're full of it..."

"Am I?" asks Cyclops. "Then why are your eyes floating, Magma?"

"Allison..." she replies. "My name is Allison. Magma was just a name I gave myself during an adolescent power trip."

"Take control of your life, Magma," says Cyclops. "You want mutants to be accepted? Then take charge. I'm not talking about going back to being a student, where you're constantly under watch. I'm not talking about joining a B team like X-Force or X-Factor. I'm talking about the X-Men. I'm rebuilding the team, and I'm inviting you to be my first, full-fledged X-Man. This is your chance, Magma. What do you say?"

Allison looks down from Scott's face and brushes a strand of blonde hair from her eyes. She considers his words for a moment, then looks back up at him.

"When do we leave?"