The air in St. John's confessional was stuffy and still, and as always, Kurt Wagner-- formerly the X-Man, Nightcrawler-- felt wholly inadequate to the task before him. He understood that he was not personally forgiving anyone their sins; according to Catholic belief, it was not the priest who excused sins, but the power of God through the sacrament of Penance. What he did was for the soul of the penitent, acting more or less as a conduit. It really wasn't about him.

Still, there were times when Kurt wondered who he was to be hearing anyone's sins, let alone someone he'd never even seen face-to-face. He, whose entire life had been a battle. How many people had he fought in his time as an X-Man? How many had he struck in anger? Might any of them have died if he'd slipped even the tiniest bit? Had any of them died? Kurt didn't think so, but then, the life of a superhero is a frantic one. He'd run out of a number of fights in a hurry. Could he even begin to count the chances he'd taken, the mistakes he'd made? And here he was, expected to act as some sort of authority figure.

Dear Lord, you certainly must have a sense of humor, he thought with a little smile. After all, look at the use you found for me...

He heard the penitent moving around on the other side of the screen. Kurt dismissed the idle thoughts and concentrated. Her breathing sounded... harsh, irregular. He frowned. Surely he didn't make people that nervous?

Kurt cleared his throat. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit..."

"Amen," said the woman's voice. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been... wow, a long time since my last confession. I was-- I'm not even really Catholic anymore. I mean, I was raised Catholic, but I haven't been to Mass since..."

"Well, it is never too late, my child," Kurt said. "The Lord, I feel certain, is pleased you are here this evening. Please proceed."

"Yes. Um... to tell you the truth, Father, I don't know whether what I've done is a sin or not. It's just so... it was so complicated, and I thought... well, can you just sort of issue a blanket forgiveness, and we'll call it--"

Kurt smiled. “Please relax. I am not here to judge you; there is nothing to be so nervous about."

"But Father, you don't know. I've... oh, this was a mistake! I shouldn't... you can't understand!"

"You might be surprised," Kurt said. He heard her scrambling around on the other side, and wondered what, if anything, he could say. "Please... give the Lord a chance."

"I... oh!" There came a small, choked sound from the other side of the confessional. "Father, can you... can you just tell me whether something's a sin?"

"I don't really need details, my child. This is between you and--"

"Please!"

Kurt shrugged, though she couldn't see it. "Well, yes, of course."

"Okay... understand, Father, I didn't want to. But I guess I-- I mean, my parents never would have... they told me I had to do it, for everybody's sake. My husband wouldn't... he hates 'em. Says they're gonna take over the world."

Now Kurt sighed, beginning to understand the nature of the trouble. Ironic. "You are speaking of mutants, yes?"

"No, Father... just *one* mutant. I left it in a dumpster, two or three blocks from here." The woman sobbed through her next words: "Oh, Father, I thought it was going to be a baby! I was *happy*... but it was awful! It had skin like a snake, and... and pointed ears!"

"You don't say," Kurt murmured, fingering his own ears.

"Father..." she whispered. "I know the Pope says mutants are people, but if you'd seen... I wanted to die! It must have been a demon! Anyone would have done what I did! You would have!"

"Oh... probably not," Kurt murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. "Two to three blocks, you say?"

"I--I think, but--"

BAMF! Kurt disappeared, leaving behind his sacramental robes and a nasty-smelling cloud of brimstone wafting through the stale air.

"...Father?" said the voice on the other side of the screen. "Aren't you supposed to pray or something?"

---

I probably should have prayed, Nightcrawler concluded two minutes later, as he teleported his way through a circuit of all the dumpsters within a two to three block radius. He told himself he hadn't completed the sacrament because there wasn't a moment to lose-- but he could have prayed and still saved the mutant child in less time than it would have taken an ordinary priest to phone for help.

The truth was, he didn't want to forgive her. Why should he? This wasn't some young mother in desperate circumstances. She had wanted a child... when she thought it would look like her. When it turned out to better resemble Kurt, she'd abandoned it just like...

Kurt caught himself. It would not do to take this personally, or to dwell on things he could not change. He had a child to locate and save. That was his only concern. He prayed for the grace to forgive this woman. He did not believe it would be granted to him anytime soon.

BAMF! Kurt appeared behind a shopping center he considered likely, only to find a three people already gathered around one of the dumpsters. He stepped back further into the shadows, where he was all but invisible. With luck, these people had already discovered the child and everything would be...

One of the men stepped out a little further. Kurt got a good look at him--

--especially the way the moonlight reflected off the barrel of his rifle.

Ach du leiber! Kurt thought. What is this? Why would...?

One of the man's companions, a blonde woman, came up out of the dumpster with the child clutched in her arms. Kurt observed them, eyes narrowed to barely-glowing slits in the darkness. He could almost hear what they were saying. He crept closer...

"...look like a target to you?”

"That's the mission. That's what he said."

"Well, that's crazy! There are better ways to do this than just blow him away!”

Kurt suppressed the urge to swear. They were going to kill the child? Why?

"And why even bother? Ma Nature'll do the honors in about another hour..."

The man's deep voice grunted. "You're new, ain'tcha, Trish? We don't question the boss when he's wrong. That's Rule One. Rule Two is, he's never wrong."

Trish sighed. "Yeah, I get that he's a big brain. I'm just sayin', this mission sucks. I'm a respectable merc, not a baby-killer."

"You like your paycheck, babe, you'll forget 'respectable' real fast. Do it, or I will."

Trish put the baby down on the ground, worked her rifle's bolt, and sighted. She lowered it and looked skyward. "Bullshit. This is bullshit. Do it, then, tough guy."

But for all his bravado, her friend didn't seem in any hurry: "Hey, uh... I think maybe you better..."

"Uh-huh. See?"

"Hell!" the guy snarled. "One of us has to..."

"Guten abend, meine freunds," said Kurt, who had crept up the wall to just above their heads. "Perhaps I can settle this..."

BAMF! He was in amongst them before they could react, grabbing the woman's rifle and knocking down the man with a kick. He threw the weapon away and retrieved the baby off the ground; then the third merc rushed him-- BAMF!-- Kurt reappeared behind him and snaked his free arm around his neck.

"Who are you?" he said into the man's ear. "What is your business here?"

The man suddenly stopped struggling. "You. He said you'd try to stop us, but..."

"You should have believed him, mein herr. Don't you know a superhero is never really retired?"

"Until he's dead," said Trish, who had recovered her colleague's weapon and taken careful aim. "Put down the kid and let him go."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "You will forgive me, fraulein, if I do not expose myself to your fire."

"Exposed, hell. Let him go, or I'll shoot through him."

Kurt peered at her-- she had green eyes that didn't flinch under his gaze, and her hands were very steady on the gun. Still...

"You would not kill the child. Why should I believe you would kill your friend?"

"Because the kid's innocent," Trish said. "He's garbage."

"HEY!" said Nightcrawler's captive.

Kurt considered-- he could teleport to save himself, but the experience was jarring enough for an adult in their prime. For a newborn babe already exposed to the elements for who knew how long? Certain death.

"You can't 'port," Trish said, knowingly. "You have no choice."

"If you shoot us both, you are likely to kill the child, as well."

"Yeah, I know." Trish growled to herself. "You gonna let that happen, Padre?"

"Are you?"

They glared at each other. Standoff. Trish lowered her weapon. "Damn."

Kurt grinned. "Auf wedersehen."

He pushed away the captive merc, delivering a solid kick to his back to knock him down, and run past Trish toward the nearest building...

"You can't save that kid, Father," Trish said quietly. "His fate is sealed."

Kurt turned to her as he climbed the wall: "There is no fate, my child, only the will of God. I do not believe God wills for any of us to die tonight."

"Yeah," Trish agreed. "He's not kind enough for that..."

Kurt scrambled up the wall and wall gone. The child barely cried as he ran from rooftop to rooftop, hurdling obstacles like an Olympic athlete, moving by instinct. Kurt didn't want to think that he might be too late already. There was a clinic, only a few blocks away. He would reach it in time. He had to reach it in time.

A stray memory clicked: Holding Trish's rifle, an odd feel to the metal, impossibly smooth. Kurt was no expert-- Logan could have told him more-- but he had never encountered such a weapon before. It had to be very rare, custom-made, or perhaps even...

A strange humming noise filled the air. Kurt's skin seemed to vibrate along with it as something-- something wide, metallic, and glittering silver in the first rays of moonlight-- lifted off the ground and hovered before him at rooftop-level.

...futuristic, Kurt finished his thought. Oh, dear...

When he thought about it, it made sense: Why would anyone send mercenaries to kill an already dying child unless they knew someone was going to save that child? The merc had even implied they knew it would be Kurt. So, villains from the future, intent on changing the past. It would not be the strangest thing Kurt had seen in his career as a hero. The issue of who, specifically, might be so eager to change things was more complicated, and Kurt had no time to consider it before the hovercraft opened fire. He didn't recognize the little points of red light it fired, but the first one hit a radio antennae and melted it; Kurt decided he didn't want to find out what that would do to flesh.

ZAP! POW! ZRAAK! The bursts struck home again and again, while Kurt dodged, weaved, and spun. The baby in his arms still hardly made a sound. Kurt risked a glance at him; his skin was splotchy and yellowish-green, almost reptilian, the face resembling a Halloween mask. Kurt had to admit a grudging understanding of how a Homo sapiens mother could be shocked to bear a child like this. He wondered if there was any hope of saving the baby now... the clinic was no longer an option. Nor was any hospital, as Kurt doubted any of the nearby ones would have defenses from futuristic attackers. A few of Kurt's friends had such defenses, but unfortunately the superhero population of Red Bank, New Jersey was a little thin.

He would have to somehow lose the villains first. He tried a leap from rooftop to rooftop, misjudged by half an inch-- out of practice!-- and landed awkwardly. A red burst seared his shoulder. Kurt cried out and nearly dropped the baby.

Shadow, he thought desperately. If I can find some deep shadow, perhaps I can hide until they pass. It is now the only hope.

It was, perhaps, too late even for that. From hands and knees, Kurt watched the ship approach and turn ponderously toward him. He saw a number of portholes along its side; he wondered if they had any guns there, and if so, what they were waiting for.

I can't imagine what good this maneuver does them, he thought, unless of course they're lining up a shot with a...

BLINK and suddenly Kurt's arms were empty. He looked Heavenward.

Yes, a teleportation device of any kind. That's just what I was about to say. Thank You for illustrating my point...

The ship started to turn. Kurt took a deep breath. He could see empty corridor through some of those portholes. And if he could see it, then--

BAMF!

--he could do something stupid, like 'port himself onto a futuristic vessel with no idea of where it was going or how to find what he sought on it or even how to get off again.

One thing at a time, Kurt decided, and began moving down the corridor. He heard footsteps and stepped back into shadow. More mercenaries-- perhaps half a dozen. Kurt cracked his knuckles-- which didn't take long, considering he had only a couple of them to crack.

Then he stepped out in front of them. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? None of you know me, but--"

Several simultaneous CLICKS as they brought their weapons up toward him.

"-- ah, I see that you do know me. I will assume, then, you also know what I am seeking. If you lead me to it, we can all go about our business. If, on the other hand, you wish to do this the hard way, you should know--"

One of the mercenaries opened fire. BAMF!

"--it has been a little while since I did this--"

He was amongst them, kicking and punching and knocking heads together. BAMF!

"--my reflexes may be a little slow--"

He appeared behind them all and whipped his tail across their legs, knocking them down. Several rifles went off. BAMF!

"-- so I cannot promise it will be completely painless!"

He landed on the stomach of one of the felled mercenaries and began one of his favorite tricks: A quick 'port around the proverbial block, to shake their resistance. BAMFBAMFBAMFBAMFBAMF!

BAMF! Kurt reappeared in the far corner, sitting on the mercenary's chest and holding him by the lapels. "Where is the child?"

The merc spat at him.

"Where is your teleportation device? Where will he be taken? Do not pretend you don't know! I will..."

Kurt stopped short. What would he do? Would he murder this man and his fellows, one by one, until someone gave up the location of the child? Would he preserve one life at the expense of another?

"Tell me," he hissed into the mercenary's ear. That was when he noticed that the skin behind the ear, and trailing down the neck, was the same mottled yellow-green as on the child.

"Vas ist...?"

BAMF! He left behind his chosen merc and reappeared in the midst of the others. They all had the yellow-green mottling. Kurt reached down and ripped the helmet off one's head, revealing pointed ears.

Unglaublich. How can this be? Are they aliens? Are they an entire future sect of mutants with the same mutation? This business becomes stranger by the second...
Kurt needed answers. He thought he knew whom to ask.

BAMF!

---

The mercenary he'd heard addressed as Trish stood beside a door in an area labeled as "C Deck." It hadn't taken nearly as much persuasion to convince one of her friends to give up her location as to give away the whole operation. Kurt supposed that said something about honor among thieves.

Trish slid a key card through a slot, and the door to her bunk opened. She took a step inside and gasped. The three other mercs she shared quarters with lay unconscious on the floor...

And then Kurt grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth. She tried to struggle; he blocked her blows as Logan had taught him. He pulled her into the quarters and closed the door.

"What are you people?" Kurt asked her. "Where are you from?"

"All over. Personally, I'm from Ontario. What's left of it."

"I must know the truth," he said. "You seem to have a conscience. Tell me why you wanted that child."

"I'm just a grunt," she said, "they don't talk to me. But my guess is... to stop you from getting him."

"Why? What threat does he pose to you?"

"Well, I could answer that question for you, Padre, but I think I'd rather--"

Trish was almost unbelievably fast-- pulling a knife from a concealed holster and slashing at Kurt's neck. He barely dodged and grabbed her arm; they struggled, then fell together. Trish landed on top of her own knife and yelped, a wet, gurgling sound that told of a punctured lung.

"No!" Kurt turned her over, his mind racing through prayers as his fingers sought the knife wound, testing the extent of the damage...
...and then, right under his fingers, the wound closed again. Kurt gasped and drew back, crossing himself.

Trish winked at him. "Synthetic healing factor. Most of us have one. It's the only way to fight... this."

She pulled her hair away from her neck, leaning under the light so he could see that she, too, bore the mottling.

"I'm still in the early stages." She laughed. "I was always very careful about exposing myself. But nobody runs forever."

"It... is a plague?" Kurt said. "I do not understand..."

Trish looked into his eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch out. Whatever she was seeking, she found it, because she lurched to her feet and offered Kurt a hand up, too.

"C'mon. Let's go talk to the boss."

---

The bridge level of the hovercraft was much cleaner and better maintained than the belowdecks cabin where Trish slept. Several times en route she either motioned for Kurt to hide in the shadows or had to brazen her way past some overcurious shipmate. At length, though, she and Kurt stood before a thick metal door, which Trish knocked on a few times in a particular pattern.

The door swung inward, and Kurt's eyes widened when he saw who was inside--

"Dr. Banner?"

Robert Bruce Banner was even thinner than Kurt remembered, and his hair had gone entirely gray, but he smiled kindly enough. "Hello, Nightcrawler. You're looking well.”

"I don't-- are you responsible for all this?"

"Oh, I'm only the technical help." He gestured Kurt inside. "Go on, he's waiting for you."

"He?"

Banner looked back into the darkened room. "Can you handle this, or shall I...?"

"I'll be fine,"said a voice that made Kurt's stomach climb into his throat. "You know how I dislike when you become... agitated, meine freund."

Banner nodded and walked out. Kurt started at Trish, wide-eyed. She shrugged.

"Better go. Wouldn't want to keep yourself waiting."

Kurt stepped inside-- into shadow, where he knew he couldn't hope to see his host until the other man wanted to be seen. He moved slowly, cautiously, ready to fight--
And then, suddenly, the lights came up. Another Kurt Wagner-- older, with mottled fur, a patch over one eye, and his features now bearing a distinct reptilian edge-- perched on a desk in front of him.

"You're probably a little confused," he said to himself. "I would be."

"That is an understatement," said the younger Kurt. "How far in the future have you come from?"

"Oh, not as far as you probably think. The world changed fast. Bruce designed most of this from notes left behind by Reed Richards-- not really his field, but the Hulk's healing abilities have kept him alive long after the other great minds have perished. You have perceived by now that we are victims of a plague."

Kurt nodded. "Yes, but... I don't understand how...?"

"Nor did I. If I had, none of this would have happened." Bitterness flashed across the older Kurt's face. "I thought... I could make things right. I tried to raise the child as my own. I even left the priesthood, to make us a new life. But it was all too late. God's curse was upon us."

"An illness is not a curse," Kurt said.

"I do not refer to the physical illness... but to the curse of human nature, which caused a mother to hate her son... and me to hate the mother. I was so angry, you see. After I saved the child, I found her still at St. John's when I returned. I... lost control, I shouted at her, I called her a monster. She ran from the church in tears. I later found out she had killed herself. Our last hope went with her."

"No..." Kurt breathed.

His older self seemed to be studying something very distant. "The child was never a mutant, Kurt. It was the mother. She had a mutant physiology, with some... rogue elements that created plagues. She passed one on to her son. He became Patient Zero. If we'd known... it would have been so simple. With access to her bloodwork, Hank McCoy could have developed an antidote in two days. Two days.

"There is no medical hope for us now, Kurt. There is only this machine... and the necessity of killing them both."

"Both?" Kurt said, startled.

His older self nodded. "A team must be sent to St. John's. I'm sorry, Kurt. I can't take the chance that she will bear another child."

"No!"

Trish tried to hold him back, but Kurt broke her grip and leaped at himself. BAMF! The older Kurt ported away, but the younger one caught himself on the desk, spun, and launched himself again. This time his fingers wrapped around his opposite number's throat. They slammed into the wall together.

"Go ahead!" the older Kurt said. "Kill me. I deserve nothing less. An eye for an eye, eh? My suicide for hers. I have waited years for this..."

"But it doesn't have to end this way," said the younger one. "If you really wanted to protect us all, you could have gone back further-- before this night. Killed her before I knew her. What you really want is not to stop the plague, but to undo your-- my-- mistake. It's not too late for that."

The older Kurt frowned. "How?"

"Let me go back. I will speak to the mother. I will do it better this time."

"No! She hates mutants. She will not take the news well. I cannot risk--"

"What risk? The risk of mercy? Of saving people through reason instead of violence? Isn't that the risk you should have taken long ago?"

CLICK. The younger Kurt felt Trish's rifle pressed against his temple. She looked to his older self for permission. She could end it very quickly, if he chose. By the look on his face, he wanted to end it.

"If we die," Kurt reminded him, "everyone dies. This way, there is a chance."

The two Kurts stared at each other, hardly breathing. Then, slowly, the older one nodded to Trish. She lowered her weapon.

"The child is on Deck B, section 14," his older self said. "I... have not yet given orders to kill it."

"Would you have?"

"Do you want to know the answer to that?"

"No," the younger Kurt admitted, and relaxed his grip.

---

Ten minutes later, with the baby in the care of Emergency Services and Hank notified that his help would be appreciated, Kurt returned to the confessional with a BAMF!

"Are you still there?" he asked, tentatively.

"I-- yes, Father, I am. I've been... thinking. Did you tell people? Am I going to prison?"

She sounded young and frightened, confused and miserable. Kurt couldn't believe he hadn't noticed that before. He sighed, cursing himself, then turned the curse to a prayer...

Thank you, Lord, for the occasional reminder that despite my best efforts, I sometimes... really suck. It is only by keeping that in mind that I am inspired to improve.

"No one's taking you to prison," Kurt said. "My child, there are many things we must discuss-- some of them may come as a great shock to you, but I will do everything in my power to help you through this challenge. Before we begin, there are two things I must say."

He swallowed hard, and spoke the Latin phrase: "Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti." I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. "That means God forgives you."

"What's the second thing?" the woman asked.

Kurt smiled, though she couldn't see it. "The second thing is that I am sorry, and I wonder if you will also pray for Him to forgive me?"

She did.