Jubilation Lee shook the black hair out of her eyes as she kneeled down and cusped her hands under Jean Grey-Summers's armpits. Jubilee looked up and met eyes with the ruby-quartz shades of Scott Summers. In the dimness of the mansion's study, all Jubilee could peer into was the redness of the hydrant-like force of solar energy being restricted by the rare crystal.

This was definitely how it was supposed to be, as far as the X-Men were concerned. Granted, Cyclops's methods have been questionable lately, but Jubilee couldn't argue…except for maybe that horrendous FX codename.
It was no joke, however, that Jean's telepathic rapport with her formerly estranged husband was disrupted somehow and she had wanted to know what exactly was going through Scott's mind. Obviously, Cyclops thought Phoenix wasn't ready to accept what the X-Men have evolved into--as it strayed far too much away from Charles's original initiative.

There was still a lot Jean hadn't known, like the fact Cyclops wasn't paralyzed or that Addison Falk and Emma Frost weren't as badass as they presented themselves to everyone. Magma had lost control over her Amara persona and things just haven't appeared to be right for a long time.

The other X-Men knew it was all part of the plan, and they totally understood why even a respected veteran like Phoenix was to be kept out of the loop. An element of surprise is always useful against a slew of enemies who would rather see them dead.

In this unfortunate case, the enemy was humanity.

Cyclops knew for awhile that the Friends of Humanity were back, and that they would have to be dealt with eventually. But this wasn't the X-Men the world had known; they would have to strike only when the time was right. Scott nodded and Jubilee grunted as she quickly rose to her feet and walked backwards out of the study, dragging the unconscious Jean in front of her like a dead corpse.

As Jubilee exited the doorway, Scott looked down at Jean as her lifeless foot hit the molding of the door as she turned the corner into the hallway. Jean would be conscious soon, so Jubilee would have to hurry up with the psi-dampener. But Cyclops knew Jubilee would get the job done without a doubt. She was in the Chaste and trained by Wolverine himself--it was because of that prerogative that Cyclops chose her to be on the team.

Scott paused for a moment and walked up to the window. He began to assess what was about to go down in the coming days. He looked down at the crib adjacent to him in the corner. Baby Jacob had begun to calm down a little bit, but the infant continued to toss and turn in his tiny bed. Jubilee's use of her paff to knock Jean out obviously produced an uncomfortable sound.

Cyclops tilted his head and looked up at the full moon. He ran his hand through his coarse, brown hair and sighed, "We'll survive." He looked down at Jacob, as if he spoke to him and he could understand, "We have to."
Scott pressed his hand up against the cold glass and covered the moon from his view, "We are the strong."

Still, with his bold words, something troubled the X-Men leader. Beast, Cannonball, and Dazzler were inducted back onto the team, but now it may be a decision he'll regret…if they find what was causing that disturbance in Egypt.

Nearly halfway across the world, a handful of men and women trudged along the Egyptian sands on an expedition of sorts. Though it was early morning, much of the sharp sunlight that normally encompassed the deserts could not be seen. It was thanks to a seemingly displaced, dense overcast of dark storm clouds that this was so...

Still, having long been unmoved by the most uncanny of nature's spectacles, they continued on with their intent still in mind. A bout of sour weather wasn't going to stop the four of them, and it was even somewhat welcomed, being that the group would have otherwise had to contend with the Egyptian desert's merciless heat.

Leading the expedition was a gracious, brute of a man. While his limbs were long and powerful, and he moved about not unlike a primate, his tainted-yellow eyes displayed a radiating sense of warm and modest, welcoming intelligence to all those around him. Though he bared razor sharp claws and fang-like teeth, as well as blue fur all about his muscular and athletically toned body, there was no reason for one to fear him.

He was a genius in his own right, but such genius wasn't all he was or wanted to be remembered by. Henry McCoy was his name. Not only was he a world-renowned biochemist, but as the Beast, he was also a founder of the X-Men, and longtime reserve member of the Avengers. With such an extraordinary background, it was no wonder he was the natural choice to lead the party on their mission that morning.

Next to him was a luscious young woman, whose short, strawberry blonde hair was her signature asset. Her body was as slender and firm as a gymnast's, no doubt the result of the frequent training she took part in. But despite all of that, one would find upon closer inspection that peering into her sapphire blue eyes was an intensely captivating experience, and that the pursuit of her affection was either warranted, or envied.

If someone who grew up in the nineteen-eighties were to spot her on the street, they would instantly identify her as none-other than Alison Blaire, the sensational Dazzler. What they wouldn't know was that she was a returning X-Man, her days of being a diva long over. In another time she was an up and coming pop-star, and even once a love of Henry's. However now, the two have become perfectly comfortable as friends.

The same couldn't be said about her and another member of the party, though.

Directly being Alison was a well-tanned man of lanky proportions, whose hair was a short dirty-blonde. Over his squinting eyes was a pair of shades, round and orange. Hiding his emotions behind those shades has as of late became a daily practice among his comrades and enemies, in-part because of the murder of his sister, and in-part because he feels that he's been losing himself...

Samuel Guthrie, Cannonball, was a Southern-born man, who was inducted into Charles Xavier's team of New Mutants, and later the X-Men. While he has continued to hold the front of cool and confident gentleman, tragedy and hate has begun to eat away at his very being. Upon devouring his former self, such tragic remorse and bitter-hate would be ready to explode like his mighty bio-kinetic blast field if it weren't for his friends.

One of those longtime friends was a woman who walked at his very side during that expedition, remaining closely behind Henry and Alison. As if Henry didn't stand out enough thanks to his mutation, she looked as if she was a gothic Harlequin of sorts, with jet-black hair and pale-white skin. If you asked her whether or not the black marking over her left eye was a tattoo, she wouldn't be able to honestly say.

To Sam, and a few other close friends, she was known simply as Beatrice. But as a former member of the mercenary group called the Six Pack, and the outlaw band that was X-Force, she was known most notoriously as the lady-luck herself, Domino. While her body was not as slim as Alison's, she was easily twice as limber and twice as strong as the woman. Though she was never an X-Man, her experience in battle and espionage eclipsed them all, perhaps with the exception of Henry.

While the quartet's lifelong affiliations and experiences vary greatly, there is one thing that they all have common... They're all freedom fighters. If not for the rights and peaceful coexistence of different races, then for the rebellion of another world's oppressed people. And if not for the rebellion of another world's oppressed people, then for the safety of their very own free world.

It's to their belief that below the sand blanketed, stone structure they're marching upon is an active base of the deceased mutant Darwinist of Egyptian creed known as En Sabah Nur rests. Not only has En Sabah Nur threatened the coexistence of mutants and humans time and time again, but he's long threatened the safety of their free world. It's no wonder why such an expedition of theirs would be taking place...

"Does anyone else feel like we were sluggin' back there?" Cannonball abruptly asked uncertainly, wanting to break the silence as he and his teammates trudged about for an entrance. "Because Ah think we were sluggin' back there..."

"Err..." Beast, stammered to himself in consideration, taking a look over his shoulder at Cannonball. He cleared his throat and corrected the lanky Southerner, "Our speed was actually somewhere over Mach One..."

"Aww..." Cannonball broke in, his lips crunching up to one side of his face in annoyance as he huffed, "Darnit. Ah knew we were sluggin'..."

"Well," Beast started to say as he tilted his head to the side in thought. "If I may be the first to admit, there's nothing quite like traveling the open-blue skies in modern man's most sophisticated and technologically advanced of aircrafts, such as the Blackbird..." the one-time Avenger stated, then shrugged his head back into place before looking back to the feat before the quartet, and continued to say "But the Aurora in herself is still pretty sleek in her own right, Sam."

"Or at least she will be, as soon as this little ol' investigation of ours is through, and we get her back to the mansion for a spiffy wet-down," Dazzler commented just as she washed a bit of gleaming sweat from her brow. Alison suddenly paused in realization, and then displayed a rather innocent sort of grin. "Err... actually, hold that thought. Do you think Chevron's car-wash is open 24/7?"

Hank chuckled to himself and shrugged his broad, blue-furred shoulders back. Sam simply grinned, a grin that somewhat admitted that their mission was a few notches enjoyable then he had originally thought, especially with Alison's inclusion. Her inclusion didn't seem to matter to him anymore, but another woman's did.

"Packin' some major heat there, Bea," Cannonball observed with a slight grin as he glanced to his side to Domino as they continued their journey through the desert sand. "If Ah didn't know better, Ah'd say you were ready to wage war on Latveria..."

"What can I say?" Domino replied coolly to his observation as she strapped a few flash grenades to the belts over her torso. She then raised a handgun from it's holster at her thigh, and raised it to her face. "When going to pay a visit to Lady Trouble... be sure to break out the freshly polished arsenal from your foot locker."

"Err... Heh..." Sam stammered, rubbing the back of his head. He felt a bit awkward about how she phrased her response, and wanted to touch upon it. "Ah don't exactly think anyone said anythin' about expectin' trouble..."
Bea froze in her tracks, gaining the attention of her teammates. She looked to Cannonball with a wrinkled brow and dissected the situation with her careful words. "If... you weren't expecting trouble, then why'd you ask me to come along?"

"Uh... Hank?" Cannonball said, addressing the Renaissance man for a bit of assistance in the matter. Beast himself paused for a moment in response, and jived his hands and shoulders side to side for a moment, as if tactically throwing around the simplest way to explain their reasoning.

With a shrug, the blue-furred scientist finally decided on the explanation, "I suppose the words 'weren't hoping for' trouble were better suited to express our feelings on this mission, rather than 'weren't expecting' trouble."

"Right," Cannonball nodded to Hank in examination, who in turned nodded back to him before looking forward. However, his eyes soon did a squirrelly sort of roll as he searched for a further explanation to give. "So uh, in other words..."

"We're expecting trouble," Dazzler interjected with confirmation without even lifting her head up from the monitor of the handheld Cerebro. Domino's lips curled to the side of her face, and she nodded her head in understanding.

"Gotcha," the Harlequin faced woman replied halfheartedly as she loaded a banana clip into her custom handgun. The clip locking into its place in the gun's chamber let off a resounding 'click,' and she drew up the extended barrel for examination.

"Now, I again must be the first to admit, Alison my dear..." Beast tilted his head towards Dazzler, and rolled his eyes up to her with a smile. "You appeared to be gaining quite the handle on your copiloting duties back up there."

"Why thank you, Henry," Dazzler replied with an air of mock-sophistication. She glared over her shoulder to Cannonball with a stern brow and sarcastically declared, "Some things people just have to learn to take serious..."
Sam's eyes grew wide in a mix of shock and boiling offense at Alison's words. He knew quite clearly by the tone of her voice what she had been implying about their one-time relationship. While he was more than ready to take her aside and talk to her on the matter, it would unexpectedly have to wait for another time...

"Heads up you three," Domino's voice broke in as she caught attention of a group of figures appearing at their left flank. Beast, Dazzler, and Cannonball quickly turned their attention to her, and then up to the direction she was suddenly pointing in.

Two men and one woman robed in purple and navy were accompanying a blonde haired man in black fatigues. The three robed figures were a mystery to them, but to their horror, the three X-Men of the traveling quartet instantly recognized the blonde man.

"I think we've just found that trouble you weren't hoping for..." Domino muttered lowly, drawing up her pair of locked and loaded handguns. It was definitely a sort of trouble none of them were hoping for...

Washington, D.C.
U.S. House of Representatives.

"No, Senator," a man with graying temples implored as he straightened his glasses, "I am just concerned with your support of such a chauvinistic group." The man's name was Robert Kelly, a Republican Senator from Massachusetts.

The man in whom Kelly spoke to was obviously another senator. He was a politician whose name had become a household name along the lines of Trent Lott, another loudmouthed figure who just didn't know when to keep his ignorance to himself. Kelly's arguer apparently did not think he should restrain himself. He was John Stocker, the newly elected leader of the Friends of Humanity who took on the role after the late Graydon Creed's assassination.

Stocker rubbed the top of his slicked back hair and smiled amidst the Senate hearing, "If I'm not mistaken, you have pushed for the Mutant Registration Act in your glory days and supported Operation: Zero Tolerance recently, albeit briefly."

"I may have made decisions in the past, but that does not mean I am without a conscience," Kelly responded, trying to maintain his stature. "My wife died as a result of this…struggle. I have no doubt in my mind that mutants are dangerous. This recent attack only proves that something must be done to prevent it."

"Then why in God's name are you opposed to my organization, Senator?" Stocker asked. "The Friends of Humanity are on your--on America's--side."

"I am fully aware of the organization you lead, Senator," Kelly said as he straightened the file of documents which burned his eyes. They were gruesome photos of those innocent humans which were killed, as well as the solitary mutant who perished. It was not known who started it, but it was clear blood was shed unnecessarily. Kelly cleared his throat, "It's just that…you seem to be out for blood, and our country is beyond that way of thinking. I agree something must be done, but violence is not the answer here. That is why I'm continuing my proposal for the Mutant Registration Act in America. France already has theirs in effect--"

"Do you really want to risk conflict with Genosha?" Stocker asked. He leaned in closer to the microphone in front of him on his podium, "You do remember what happened, don't you? I think I know what America needs. The Sentinels."

Rumblings in the audience and among the other 98 senators representing the fifty states began to clutter the interior of the hallowed lawmaking building. Senator Kelly simply shook his head and silently cursed Stocker for even bringing the mutant-hunting robots up.

Kelly pounded his fist on the podium as he drowned out the noise, "Sentinels are NOT, I repeat NOT the answer to this situation! We do not need innocent human lives caught in the crossfire again!"

"We need to squash the opposition like cutting off the head of a diamondback," Stocker said in the best analogy he could muster. "You have to be quick about it. Telling the rattlesnake to register the fact it's a deadly animal doesn't change the fact it has enough venom to kill a man, Goddamn it!"

"Stocker, show some maturity!" Kelly retaliated. "We're live on C-SPAN, for goodness sake!"

Senator Hilary Clinton, of all people, spoke up in her microphone as she sat in the congregation of politicians, "Artificial intelligence, for all its wonder and for all the advancements in technology we have experienced in the past few years still does not make it foolproof. Need I remind everyone of the Vision incident in Wakanda? Or Operation: Zero Tolerance before that? The fact is building these machines would make our problems double."

"I agree," Ted Kennedy said as he coughed, "we need to realize that A.I. or any kind of robot would ultimately see mutants and humans as targets. I think the Registration Act or something similar to it is the only safe way to go about this conflict."

"So, are you saying mutants have to register the fact they are x-factor positive, just like any number of normal humans could be homosexual?" another senator asked. "If you ask me, this would infringe on the civil rights of mutants, regardless of their power. They're still Americans."

"Don't feed me that bull," Stocker groaned. "We screen every Arab nowadays because they might be a suspected terrorist. How are we to know if someone is a mutant? We can't judge by the color of their skin, can we?"

"That's where the Registration Act comes into play," Kelly said. "Mutants living in America, if they'll cooperate, will register and have a special extra bit of information included with their public records that says they are a mutant…possibly even how destructive they can potentially be."

"All that is going do is prompt mutants to flee to Canada," Stocker said. "Like a bunch of draft-dodging hippies!"

One young woman who wasn't American sat in the audience, hanging on each and every word that transpired. She was Monet St. Croix, an Algerian-born mutant with superhuman strength, speed, invulnerability, and flight. She also had moderate telepathic abilities and a genius level intellect. Recently, she was revealed as Penance and freed from her diamond-encased form by the X-Men. Her younger twin sisters, Nicole and Claudette, merged themselves together in an effort to replace their sister.

Even though she was now free of that existence, it didn't change the fact that Jubilee rejected her. Monet had grown attached to her as Penance during their time with Generation X--perhaps more than Jubilee had known. Monet was mute in her Penance form, both physically and mentally, so she couldn't express her true, lustful feelings.

Still, Monet was on assignment. She had to monitor Stocker for Cyclops.

Suddenly, something gripped her arm. M grabbed the hand of her instigator and began to squeeze it. She felt the bones in the hand as they began to wane under the effortless pressure of her immense strength.

"Ow!" the voice yelped.

Monet looked at the man after she sensed a familiarity in his voice, "…pére?" Ambassador St. Croix chuckled as he yanked his hand out of his daughter's grip.

Monet's hands quickly rushed to her mouth as her heart fluttered, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I…I didn't realize it was you!"

St. Croix shushed her as to keep her voice down during the hearing, "It's alright, dear." The father and daughter exchanged a hearty hug, "How are you?"

Monet leaned her head in against her father's chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat was soothing for her to hear, especially during such a difficult time, "Everything is awry, father…but I think it will turn out alright in the end."

"How can you say that?" the good ambassador asked as he looked down at Monet. "Do you not hear what is going on? If this gets any worse, I'm going to have to ask you to come back home to Algeria with your sisters."

Monet scoffed nonchalantly, "Father…I'm working with Cyclops. He has a plan for this. He has plans for everything."

"That's what I'm afraid of," St. Croix said as he broke away from his daughter. "I thought he would be like Charles, but he's no worse than this Stocker. Militaristic rubbish when a much more peaceful solution is…ugh…fils d'une chienne."

Monet smiled as her father cursed in French, "Come now, pére…in the long run, all these anti-mutant sentiments will die down." She glared at Stocker as he bantered back and forth with the other senators, "It won't even matter."

The creek and scraping of metal signified the opening of the chamber door as light from the corridor flooded the small prison cell and caused Jean Grey's eyes to shut tightly. The slight pressure on her cranium was from the psi-dampener, which hampered her natural telepathic and telekinetic gifts--rendering her virtually human.

Cyclops walked in, much to Phoenix's surprise. The last she saw him, he was a paraplegic as a result of the explosion caused by Frost. Scott carried a tray with a ham and cheese sandwich, some cut vegetables, and a diet soda. He set it down in front of Jean and sighed, "I figured you were hungry."

Jean grit her teeth as she stood up. She wasn't restrained, only powerless, but she was still fearless in the face of adversity, "Who are you?"

Scott smiled, "I'm your husband, Jean. Granted, I'm not totally sure of that…ever since, well. Apocalypse."

"Our rapport was screwed up for a reason…and the only logical reason is that you aren't Cyclops," Jean said. "And the fact you were able to recover so quickly from your injuries only proves it. Now where the hell is he?!"

Cyclops sighed, "I understand you're upset I had to leave you out of the final phase of my plans…but I am Cyclops. I am Scott Summers. You'll just have to accept it."

"You've got Jubilee under your control, somehow," Jean said as she sat back down. She glanced at the tray of food, trying to deny she wasn't hungry. The food could be drugged, after all. Without her telepathy, she couldn't be sure.

Cyclops shook his head, "Jubilee is doing what she thinks is right. You know, a lot has changed. Or have you forgotten what happened to Ororo or Logan?"

A tear ran down Jean's cheek, "Or Apollyon…"

"Oh, right…your son," Cyclops said with utter disdain. "But you have to believe that it's me. Jubilee, Monet, Jared, Allison, all of us…it's us."

Jean's brow furrowed, "It's not them. It's you. It's more difficult to impersonate others than to just control them mentally. I'd know. You're the source of this…whoever you are."

"Then how would I know about Nathan?" Scott asked. "We raised him together in the future, two-thousand years, to be exact." Scott's hands gripped his waist, "We…took on the names of Slym and Redd Dayspring. Our daughter, Rachel--"

"Even with all the time-traveling details, as fantastical as they seem," Jean said, "anyone could have access to that information."

"What about, 'Our family is the most precious thing I have ever been a part of'?" Scott asked.

Jean paused as her eyes strayed away from the silhouette of her supposed husband. "Our family is the most precious thing I have ever been a part of…," she muttered to herself as she translated the message.

"You said that to Nathan and I when he was seven, remember?" Scott asked. "Who else would know that? Who else would know the post-apocalyptic language? It won't be spoken for another two millennia."

"You…you could have just…copied the memories," Jean whimpered.

Cyclops sighed with frustration, "Even if I did, how could someone replicate those memories with such sharp detail? Time travel does a number on the mind."

Jean looked up at Scott with tear-soaked eyelids, "Maybe I'm just trying to find an excuse of what happened to the man I married. Didn't the reunion of Hank, Warren, Bobby, and I do anything?"

"It was nice," Scott began, "but ultimately, the high didn't last."

"I didn't think you'd really change this team into a militaristic mockery of Charles's dream," Jean said bitterly.

"Mockery?" Cyclops asked intuitively. "I always thought my way was better. I just never had a chance to act on it until Charles died."

"Where's Jacob?" Jean asked as she fought the stinging in her eyes. "I want to see him. I don't trust you or anyone else right now."

Scott kneeled down, "There you go…pretending OTHER children are your own! Who gives a shit about that…that mistake!"

Jean shouted in utter fatigue and frustration as her hands went directly for her skull. She tried to pull off the psi-dampener, but received a jolt of electricity for her efforts. As she fell limp with numbness on the cold floor, Cyclops reached into his pocket and pulled out a 24-karat diamond ring.

"Remember this?" Cyclops asked bitterly. "You left this behind, just like you left the X-Men--and me--behind!" He stood up and tossed the ring in the air, only to catch it, "Forgive me if I don't trust you on my team. I need X-Men of the most dedicated spirit. You left me and expect me to welcome you back so easily onto MY team?!"

Cyclops growled as he threw the ring into the air. Jean watched, mortified, as Cyclops's hand reached up towards his visor. With deadly, incredible accuracy, a thin beam of crimson concussive force pulverized her wedding ring. She tried to scream, but her body was still numb from the shock. Tiny fragments of gold and diamond rained upon Jean's face as tears cascaded from her eyes.

"Consider this your hazing," Cyclops said as he violently slammed the cell door.

Throughout all of documented history... throughout all of its wars on and off the battlefield... one thing has remained forever true; hate is an interesting thing.

Hate can drive hundreds of men to slaughter an entire race of people in the name of purity and inheritance, and hate can drive people to wield everything in their power just to keep "colored" folk from using their very rest stops.

Whether in the name of aggressive and brutal nationalism, or petty and backwater beliefs in separate but equal, man would smile in their own ignorance. Man would vigorously wake up in the morning, somehow believing it was a brave new world because of his hate.

It wouldn't be, though.

Many of the men in history who have embraced hate weren't even aware at the time that it was hate that was fueling their actions. They didn't even know that it was hate that they would be remembered for. Scowled at in remembrance.

Sometimes a philosophical loop is formed out of this. "Hate breeds hate," or so the old saying goes. Those who have besieged hate upon others end up instilling it within them, instilling it so much that they begin to retaliate with it.

"Fighting with fire," as another old saying goes.

That's why they showed up on that very evening, after all... Showed up at the Friends of Humanity's rally for hate with the intent to fight them with the very hate they preach.

They were a group of mutants from all corners of the Washington D.C. area. From the lowliest misfits living in the sewers, to the middle-class, high school students looking for reparations against a society that has forced them into the closet.

And at the head of them all, on that dark and dreary evening, was their gatherer. She was a young Algerian woman, beautiful and modest, wearing a black leather jacket trimmed with a golden X across the torso.

Nothing was necessarily "forcing" her to be there. Nothing except for the intent to do what she believed was right. And she did believe what she was doing was right, too...

She didn't have to be there, but seeing all that's she seen in her life... That is what forced her to be there.

Senator John Stocker's heart skipped a beat at the very sight of them. The mere presence of such a large crowd of mutants. Green-scaled and slimy orificed, to pimply faced and snot-nosed.

It was the beginning of the war he had been asking for, and even if he hadn't called out to his followers within the Friends of Humanity and the various political parties, they all would have reacted the same.

"THERE ARE THE ONES WHO SEEK TO REPLACE YOU ON THE EVOLUTIONARY LADDER!!" Stocker's fanatical voice boomed out across the PA system established on the edge of Capitol Hill. "THEY WISH TO INHERIT YOUR EARTH AND DAUGHTERS AT THE EXPENSE OF YOUR VERY BLOOD!!"

A deluded sense of righteousness filled the hearts of the mob of rallying protesters as every single one of them cried out in defiance to the mutants presence. The mutant freaks that caused billions in property damage, and took countless human lives every year would pay once and for all in their eyes.

The same sentiments, though mirrored in contrast to humanity, were echoed by the group of mutants. As the rallying humans, mostly consisting of members of the Friends of Humanity, raged towards the group of mutants, a calm came over the "freaks."

It was the calm of true social defiance. The calm of a revolution.

Slender arms belonging to the mob's leader, arms covered in black leather trimmed with an elegant gold, slowly rose to the air. An age-old pause, a calm before the storm, took hold upon them... until a chilling wind passively blew between the two factions.

Her arms dropped sharply, and almost as if upon her mental command, mutant and human alike knew it was that moment they were to unleash their wage. Every last freak and reject charged past her with an outburst of rage.

And likewise, every mongrel of hate and conflicted soul drove past Senator Stocker to meet the freaks and rejects. The war was on, so he knew, and so she knew as well.

But something was wrong. Though the unraveling sounds of clashing hate, the hate between two species who wish to simply live in peace among themselves in an ever diversifying world, waged on immutably and eruptive, the young woman could hear it.

She snapped out of the trance she had encompassed herself in, and looked up to see the defacto general of the Friends of Humanity, Senator John Stocker, had leapt into the fray of a race riot. He was brave in that right, and no doubt a hero in his cause. He just wasn't the sort of hero the world needed...

Though her philosophical thoughts upon guilt and the future of the world were hard to ignore, so was that raspy twitching that had started up moments ago. It could have been an animal nearby in the bushes, across the street, but... No.

Monet St. Croix, the Algerian telepathic X-Woman known as M, looked to the rustling bushes at her side. While it was true that a slight wind had been picking up from the East, M's intuition told her something else may have been afoot.

She focused her sights on the bushes across the street from her, and watched as the wind continued to tussle them about. Their twigs and leaves were a crisp brown, unseasonably ragged and dry. The enriched life from within them had long been fading... It was intriguing, of course, but... not what she expected.

"Hmph," M had decidedly huffed to herself, satisfied, before she looked back to the unfolding riot with a sigh. Probably just a small, scared animal cowering about, she thought to herself. Her intuition be damned, a telepathic scan had revealed nothing unusual in the immediate vicinity.

Well, nothing besides the obvious mutant/human race riot that she helped instigate. And as much as she hated to watch bodies fall and lives be shattered, it had to be done. It was all apart of Cyclops's plan.

Cyclops's new team of X-Men were survivors, as he had preached to them upon recruiting them. And in the next phase of his dream, there was only one sure way to separate the survivors, the strong, from the sure-to-fall, the weak.

In the eyes of Scott Summers, heir to the dream of Charles Xavier, that sure way would have to be a final war of hate between man and mutant...

But little did Monet St. Croix know that that which she believed to be cowering in the shadows -- the bushes -- wasn't really an animal in the strictest since, but he was really a man. A man with all the ferocity of a sabretooth, and perhaps more...

Not only that, but he was a man whose very body had long been blistered and war-ravaged by hate. Hate for not only those who've done him wrong, but for himself. He was a man whose very heart and soul had been ripped from him time and time again, a man once encompassing so many inner-demons, he sought only to make others suffer...

And more than that, he was now a man with a new mission in life. A mission to bring an end to all of the hate around him, and to finally live in peace...

Somewhere off the borders of Cairo, Egypt, another man had the exact opposite mission in life... and ultimately, a way to succeed in such a mission.

Such blinding bursts of cosmic energy were more then enough to drive his enemies back from one of his Dark Lord's many safehavens. He was attired in a set of black military fatigues and combat boots, and was with ragged blonde hair.

Vertically lining the left side of his face was a black tattoo of sorts, one that no doubt symbolized his heritage from another age...

Appearing from each of his clenched fists and the mighty forearms his rolled up sleeves exposed... was the dreadful sight of vibrating waves of a no doubt destructive energy. Gritting his perilously white teeth down hard, he drew his elbows back beside his ribs as to first flex his might and focus his concentration.

They all knew what was coming next, but there would be little time to react. Quickly becoming satisfied with the sensation of his charged power, the man then lunged his arms forward in the direction of his enemies, blazing forth a hellish doom to all the unfortunate souls caught in its wrath...

And with a self-denounced sense of gleeful pride, he watched his foes scatter among the horizontal rock formation they had moments before steadied themselves upon. They were lucky for the moment, but wouldn't be lucky for long.

He isn't from this world, but that fact alone will no way keep him from using every ounce of his strength and breath from his lungs to try and make it his.

Alex Summers is his name, and in a reality ravaged by the existence of one entity, En Sabah Nur, he was king to all those inferior to his power. Power he now wields in the Egyptian deserts against his inherent foes, a quartet of the X-Men.

"You know your targets!" the last Prelate of Apocalypse yelled in a commanding voice. The three robe-clad figures behind him leapt into the fray, driven the by anticipation of obtaining their rightful thrones. "Attack!" Prelate ordered to his soldiers as they darted after their individual targets within the X-Men.

"Ah think it's safe to say trouble's anticipated us!" Cannonball yelped as a monstrosity of hardened sand and granite-like stone charged towards him. Sam kicked up a cloud of sand as he darted to his side, and propelled himself in a kinetic blast field out of the way of a gigantic stone fist aimed for his face.

While the former New Mutant and outlaw member of X-Force was ever-so keen on navigating his body at high speeds, and making split-second maneuvers around unpredictable obstacles, it was only a second after escaping his opponent's opening attack that he was caught completely off-guard.

In a blur, the desert's grainy sand exploded, and out from under it burst a pillar of hardened granite. Cannonball's head shot in the pillar's direction at its abrupt appearance, horrified. He tried to reverse the propulsion of his blast field in those closing seconds, but his initial execution had been completely off, and with a sickening splat was how the young Southerner crashed into the unnatural construction.

"Stonehenge is the name," came the groaning voice of the granite-composed Dawn warrior, a voice sounding as if it was echoing within the caverns of a thousand labyrinths. The very sound of it sent chills down Cannonball's spine. In split seconds, the robed mutant Stonehenge was quickly upon and over the fallen form of his opponent, both fists poised to strike. "Tell it to Ozymandias when I have slain you!"

"Ugh," Dazzler huffed in a tacky sort of disgust as she took a running jump in the air past Stonehenge's line of sight, and blasted his eyes with a strobe-like blast of light. "Why is it that the heirs of megalomaniacs can be such drama queens?" she quipped just as she dropped down before Cannonball, her fists clenched and sparkling with various bright pinks and purples.

"ARGH!" Stonehenge couldn't help but cry out as the searing pain burned at his eyes. Dazzler waved her hand to her side, signaling for Cannonball to take off while he could. Sam laid paralyzed in a sort of obligation, but soon decided to comply. His blast field exploded from beneath him, and sent him into the air.

"Feel like dancing?" Dazzler asked Stonehenge rhetorically. The near-literal granite wall of a man dropped both fists down at Alison's head, but the X-Woman fell into a back-flip out of the way of the blow.

Just moments after her feet touched the sand again, two pillars sharply erupted from the ground from underneath her. Dazzler was ready for such a tactic, though, and leapt up with the pillars, not only landing on them with perfect grace and balance, but riding high up with them and their momentum.

"Stonehenge!" Prelate scowled as he up to the exploding battle, just as Dazzler leapt off of the pillars and onto Stonehenge, sending another blast of blinding light into his face. "I ordered you to keep to your opponent!"

Prelate cursed to himself as Stonehenge fell backwards onto the Egyptian sand from Dazzler's blast, and directed his fist at his comrade's unassigned opponent. A rippling blast of cosmic energy exploded forth, and bombarded Dazzler from her side. The one-time pop-star cried out, and went down hard from the blast.

"That goes for the rest of you, as well!" Prelate commanded as he came upon Dazzler, his fists continuing to radiate the same cosmic energy he wielded.

Dazzler looked up to him, and nearly muttered a curse to herself as well as he unleashed another powerful blast in her direction. With a gymnast's ease but a soldier's urgency, she moved to her feet and leapt out of the way.

The roar of Cannonball's flaring blast field hit Stonehenge's recovering senses first, and warrior of sand and stone quickly moved up to his feet to take after him in hot pursuit.

Across the stone formation that made up the two factions' battlefield, similar introductions and attacks had been unleashed upon Beast and Domino.

First attempt was made by a dark-skinned woman, bald and covered in body piercings and tattoos. She had brought one of her body arts to life, a giant boa constrictor of sorts, that had wrestled and pinned Hank to the ground. Her name chosen for membership within the Dawn was Tattoo, for more than obvious reasons...

The second attempt, though almost simultaneous alongside the first, was when an orange-skinned man, covered in yellowish growths and tumors, lunged a number of plasma-like swords at Domino. By nothing short of luck, the Harlequin was able to duck and roll out of the way of the attack, and draw her guns to open return fire.

Vermilion was his name, most likely do to the color of his skin and power to create plasmic like weapons. However, Domino could have swore he looked like a giant, rotting carrot. Nevertheless, her bullets were deflected by a plasma-like shield her opponent quickly erected.

"Crap," she said with the roll of her eyes, figuring that was just indeed contrary to her powers. To her dismay, Vermilion was like a volcano of hysterical laughter at her vein attempts, but Domino kept diving at different angles and firing, much just as he flung various sharp-edged plasma blasts at her. It wasn't until she realized what was happening that she quickly made her way back towards Beast.

"Looks like divide and conquer's the name of their game," Domino frantically observed as she fired rubber bullet after bullet at her opponent, but none were able to get through his orange-colored forcefield at any angle or velocity.

"That would appear to be so," Beast agreed in an almost animal-like groan of frustration as he struggled with the boa constrictor wrapping around his leg. It was trying to pull him away from Domino's back more then it was trying to latch its fangs into his hide, but it was nonetheless irritating.

Growing weary of the struggle, Hank took hold of the large snake and dug his claws into its head. As the animated creature hissed, he whipped it up from around his leg and slung it into the air. With an exasperated sigh, he rolled back up to his feet and moved to Domino's side as she continued to fire at Vermilion.

"Sam, Alison!" Beast called out across the battlefield to his teammates just as the woman known as Tattoo collected her reserves, trying to materialize another of her body paintings. "Don't let them split the two of you up!"

"Easier said than done, Hank!" Cannonball yelled out in his Southern accent as he blazed a way across the Egyptian sands, dozens of granite pillars shooting out from the ground after him in fiery pursuit. Unfortunately for the kinetically propelled X-Man, one lucky pillar managed to strike high enough and fast enough to slam into him head on.

While Cannonball's blast field was more then significant enough to protect him from the deafening blow, his concentration and focus was stolen from him. As the grainy sand and piercing sun all spiraled and mixed with the brilliance of the storm-cloud covered skies, disorientation set in sharply.

From the free-fall, Sam's stomach took on a virtual rollercoaster ride of twists and turns, all of which resulted in repugnant knots, while his body took the literal ride, being slung down towards the unforgiving Earth at unimaginable speeds.

"Sam's going down!" Dazzler screamed out to her teammates amidst the battle being waged. Her report was enough of a distraction for her opponent, Prelate, to break the distance between himself and her.

"And soon you and your teammates will be doing the same!" Prelate declared as a cosmically charged fist struck her out across her cheek. The combined strength of his blow and the energies he commanded was more than enough to send her down onto her backside, and draw first blood in their fight.

As much as Hank, Alison, and Beatrice wanted to help not only each other, but the falling Sam, there was just nothing any of them could do...

"Oof!" came the sound of Cannonball's breath exploding from his lungs as he smashed into the side of the inverted, sand covered rock formation he and his teammates were waging battle upon. While the fall hurt, the recoil he felt from within in his blast-field was nothing compared to the pain he would have been feeling without its protection.

In unison with rubbing a sleeve across his bleeding and busted lip, Sam slowly started to rise to his hands and feet. Though he was plenty thankful for his genetic gift, the combination of battle-worn humiliation, and the pain of that last fall was horrendously irritating to say the least.

"When Ah get up from this friggin' sand castle of a-- ?" Sam's voice cracked in mid-vow of battle as the ground beneath him began to first sink under his weight, then collapse entirely, sending him on a nose dive into a dark, abyss-like cavern. "Wuh-AAAHHH!!" his voice bellowed out loudly, though unnoticed to his teammates.

As his body took on yet another free-fall, this time into a pit of shadows, Cannonball struggled wildly to get a focus on his descent with his blast field, as to cushion his no doubt inevitable fall. Of the many thoughts that were racing through his mind, there was one that was DEFINITELY furthest from his train of thought...

The thought that... perhaps it was all fate... lending the X-Men, and even the world, a much needed hand...

Magma and Radius stood outside on the streets of the Capitol and both wore civilian clothes with the trademark Friends of Humanity armband. Monet had done her part by initiating the riot. The violence was escalating as local mutants and FoH brethren have begun to fight hand to hand. It was like witnessing the final conflict between Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis.

Jubilee finally appeared around the corner with baby Jacob in her grasp.

"Where the hell have you been?" Magma snapped as her eyes began to glow.

"Oh, go take a Midol, bitch," Jubilee huffed as she shifted Jacob into her other arm, "I drove down here as fast as I could. And I'm not lying, I was going close to 90 on the highway."

Radius flinched as he witnessed a man crushed by a massive fist of stone, which belonged to a large mutant woman, "It's getting insane out there."

Jubilee sighed as she looked at the infant in her arms. This child was the last remnant of the one man who was the closest thing to a father to her. He was gone, and he would not approve of something this heinous. Something told her not to go through with it…but something kept pushing her. Like an inner spark ignited and exploded, overwhelming her innate ethical principles.

"Come on," Magma commanded impatiently. "It's now or never."

"God, this is crazy," Jubilee muttered. Jacob began to wail as the violence disturbed his tender ears.

Radius sighed and looked away, "I know…but, we have to follow Cyclops's orders. There's no other way."

"Then you do it," Jubilee said shakily.

"I…," Radius began, but turned his head away, again.

Magma growled as she yanked Jacob out of Jubilee's arms, "Wimps." She shouted as she held Jacob high with her arms outstretched, "We have a mutant baby!"

Shouts of anti-mutant sentiment came from the other brethren as they rushed over in droves if they did not engage in the street fight with the mutants. A large, flabby man with a shaved head yelled out with glee as if he were wrestling a greased pig and grabbed Jacob. The man turned from side to side and was met by his Friends of Humanity brothers. In a drunken rage, the man ran over and held the baby over an open fire that was ignited in an aluminum garbage barrel.

Emotions were high from the riot. Magma, Jubilee, and Radius looked on in eager anticipation as to what would happen next.

Jubilee refused to look, she couldn't come to bare what she had allowed to happen. She could have prevented all of this--disobeyed Cyclops. But what would the consequences have been for her? Would she end up like Jean? Locked up like a prisoner of war?

The man had already lost some of his friends to mutants, and he wouldn't allow another mutant to grow up to kill another one of his human brotherhood. Jacob cried as flames licked at his tiny body. The drunken man, cheered on by his comrades, dropped Jacob into the barrel of fire...and all the three X-Men could do was stare in utter horror.

The son of Wolverine wailed as his tiny body underwent the decomposition of organic molecules into simpler inorganic ones as the chemical properties of fire tend to do. Even if the young infant inherited a semblance of his father's healing factor, it couldn't save him now.

"NO!" Jubilee shouted, but Magma and Radius regretfully held her back as to not blow their cover. Jubilation winced at the sound of the infant’s screams.

"Damn it!" Radius shouted. He turned his head away in disgust, "Come on, Jubes...we...aw man, I'm so sorry..."

"This wasn't the way Cyclops planned it," Magma huffed as the stench of flesh filled the air. "We were just supposed to..."

"No shit!" Jubilee shouted as she slapped Magma across the face, actually drawing blood from Allison's lower lip. "Let's get out of here," she said as she breathed heavily. She fought back a complete mental breakdown as Radius and Magma dragged their teammate out of the maelstrom of terror.

The group of four Friends of Humanity members, including the man who dropped Jacob into the flaming barrel, continued to celebrate as the riot continued. That is, until something eviscerated them. As their intestines fell out of their bodies, their high blood alcohol level could not prevent the pain as they were literally torn to shreds by a seemingly wild man bent on vengeance...

Either way, more blood spilled onto the District of Columbia soil...

The seemingly unnatural storm clouds that burdened the Egyptian sky were beginning to stir, Alison Blaire could see this much as her head reeled back and she was propelled through the air from Prelate's near-destructive, concussive blasts.

In her moment of flight, all of her senses but sight had failed her, and in a breathless daze she struck the desert's grain. Her lithe and nimble body had crashed down hard, and she was sent sliding and tumbling through the sand for several yards.

Blood had been spilled across her traveled distance, and beyond all that was her control, Dazzler laid there in the blot of sand that was their battle ground, having fallen desperately in a sort of paralyzed agony.

The first of her lost senses to return to her was that of feeling, and she could feel the crimson fluid of life gushing from her ears. The second would be of taste, and as she rolled onto her back, she could taste the salty-bitterness of blood in the back of her throat. It was all intent on leaving her, in one form or another...

Her first instinct was to rise and address her wounds, possibly by escaping the siege of her opponent. But upon regaining some semblance of the last of her senses, Dazzler could hear the sharp hiss of sand being kicked up in the air, and before she knew it, an Alex Summers unlike the one she's ever known was upon her.

What would happen next felt even more beyond her control.

A gloved hand clenched onto the collar of her purple, leather jacket, and yanked her up to its owner's face. Drew back to his shoulder was his other hand, balled into a fist that radiated cosmic energy. Prelate gritted his teeth down hard, breathing jagged, heavy breaths from the fierce battle he and the remaining Dawn had waged.

"Be sure to give a message to my 'brother' for me..." the displaced Summers brother exclaimed in a sadistic and twisted rage, just as he prepared to deliver a final killing blow onto the fallen X-Woman.

That was it, she had so helplessly thought as Prelate's fist clenched tightly and charged with a source of concussive, cosmic energy.

As the accelerating wind began to whip around his dominating form and her beaten and helpless body, Alison Blaire had so desperately cursed her enthusiasm for the day's expedition. So desperately cursed the sound of Prelate's charging, cackling energies that signaled the nearing of her demise. So desperately cursed the --

*CRACKA-THOOM!*

-- Sound of obliterating rock and sand that came with an explosion. All able participants on the battlefield shot their heads in the direction of the deafening boom, and found themselves in awe at what their eyes bestowed upon them.
"Why don't you give that message to him yourself, brother!" a ghostly familiar voice that had suddenly boomed across the desert sands demanded.

Prelate's jaw had nearly dropped to his feet in a horrific and stunning glare as the sight rushed upon him. Before he could react from over Dazzler's body, a callused fist broke across his jaw.

Stars flew in the heir of Apocalypse's eyes from the blow, and before he could regain his composure, the new combatant had spud around on the heel of his foot, and delivered a devastating backfist across Prelate's nose, sending him propelling towards the sand just above Dazzler's fatigued and injured form.

"No! NO!" Prelate grumbled in exasperation as he fumbled and stumbled about on his hands and knees, trying desperately to get to his feet. Despite his objections, his new opponent continued to nonchalantly approach him. "It's... it's impossible!"

"In your dreams, blondie-bear," the voice of salvation deadpanned. Prelate's head shot back up to him from the sand, just in time to catch a ragged leather boot to his mouth, forcing him into the air. Before gravity could jerk the flailing form of Prelate back down, the body of salvation found itself in midair, and sending a powerful spin-kick into his chest.

Prelate's body was again sent flying through the air, and when it hit the sands of the Egyptian desert, was again sent tumbling and rolling several more feet away from the frozen battle that had once ensued.

Adrenaline and a building sense of defiant rage was coursing through the body of Apocalypse's last general as he rolled to a stop in the sand. Sharply moving up to his feet, he let out a furious battlecry and charged for his assailant, fist drawn back and prepared to strike.

But his opponent was way ahead of him. The fist and arm of Prelate sailed over his opponent's head as he ducked, and came up around the black-fatigue clad general. Prelate's arm was gripped tightly, and before he could pull away from the grasp, an elbow crashed down into the pit of his, effectively snapping his arm in two.

"ARRGGHH!!" Prelate cried out in agony as his assailant took hold of his body. The three Dawn members he had been commanding broke away from their own opponents and gathered at the horizon. "Get him!" he ordered. "GET HIM!"

Stonehenge, Tattoo, and Vermilion charged across the sand towards their leader and his captor, their tattered and battle-worn robes fluttering in the air about them as the accelerating wind continued to pick up.

Beast and Domino moved quickly to intercept the three, but the rising storm's breathtaking cackle of winds and roar of thunder stopped them dead in their tracks. They both shot their heads up to face the skies, just in time to catch two bolts of thunder come crashing down from the heavens.

The powerful voltage contained within the blades of thunder lit the darkened area as they struck the three Dawn soldiers. Tattoo and Vermilion shrieked in horror as the electricity coursed through their bones, and they collapsed to the sand barely charred remains of their once former-selves...

It was almost as if a Goddess from the Heavens had condemned their actions...

Stonehenge kept running though, ill-effected by the blasts of lightning that struck his brother and sister under Apocalypse. With each stride and stomp, he crossed the sands of the Egyptian desert with only his general's foe in mind. Each following blast of lightning that struck him slowed him down little, and continued to fuel his rage.

Prelate was helpless in the grasp of his captor, left in a mix of anger and fear at what his future may now be holding for him. Left in a mix of anger and fear at what mercies he was held upon. But he didn't expect what would happen next...

As Stonehenge nearly reached his general's captor, the foe took strong hold of Prelate, and spud around a sharp number of times, quickly gaining momentum. Prelate struggled to break free of his captor's grasp as he realized what was happening, but it was too late.

Stonehenge was a dozen feet away and closing on his leader's captor, when the bitter man flung Prelate at him. Balling up a powerful, stone encased fist, Stonehenge batted away his general in mid-approach, and drew another fist back in preparation to strike his new opponent. But the strike would never be delivered.

*ZAKT!ZAKT!ZAKT!*

It was the bombardment of focused, ruby-colored beams of concussive energy that tore Stonehenge's granite and sand covered body limb from limb. His opponent had leapt back as to gain room between the two of them, and unleashed blast after blast, each one more powerful then the next.

First, one of Stonehenge's legs collapsed and shattered from his lower torso. Then his attacking arm broke away from him. And finally, a piercing blow to his neck, sending his heavy body recoiling to the sandy ground, and his decapitated head flying at his victorious opponent.

As if sending an exclamation point to his enemies the world around, Stonehenge's final opponent let out an exerted cry and leapt into the air, sending a spin-kick into the remains of his head. The granite block was sent flying high into the air, and a final blast of concussive energy chased after it, soon catching up to it and shattering it into dozens of tiny pieces, and trickling sand.

And amidst it all, Beast and Domino, with their recovering teammate in Dazzler, couldn't help but be lost in a combination of sincere gratitude, and a stunning, confused awe. But as if the current sight of their savior wasn't enough to overwhelm the senses and emotions, another soon joined him.

Descending from the stirring clouds high above, in brown and tan rags of sorts surely unfit for her very being, a woman lowered herself on the Earth's very winds. Her tangled and batted strands of white hair flowing just above her, and her skin a dark brown of an African's descent.

Taken aback, Beast, Domino, and Dazzler unintentionally held their breaths and kept their distance from the two saviors. But the trio's curiosity couldn't be quenched, and the leader of the expedition that day cautiously stepped forward.

"Ororo...?" Hank McCoy dared to ask, his heart still skipping every-so beat upon sight of his battered and rag-attired friend as she floated there in the air beneath the winds ever-so tiredly. His eyes then skipped to the next figure, whose back was turned to them all while he examined his fallen foes as long, reddish-brown hair dangled from his scalp in the brisk wind. "Scott...?"

Spinning around from the fallen forms of his enemies on the heel of his bare foot, and coming about-face to his former teammates, was the true image of Scott Summers... of Cyclops...albeit a grotesquely unshaven Cyclops. He wiped a touch of spittle from his cheek, and his ruby quartz visor flashed a deep shade of ruby red energy as he demanded of them only one thing for saving their very lives...

"Where's Jean?!"

NEXT ISSUE: An all out human/mutant race-war has erupted in the streets of Washington, D.C... thanks to the X-Men?!? Something's rotten in the District of Columbia, and the REAL Cyclops is gonna make sure there's Hell to pay!!!