20042/Through A Mirror Darkly: The Fears that Bind

Through A Mirror Darkly: The Fears that Bind
Date of Scene:	10 February 2025
Location:	Hammer Bay
Synopsis:	When Stryfe's minions, Zero and Tempo and others, try to kidnap Madelyne Pryor as a replacement for their imprisoned leader's telepathic abilities, Cable steps in to intervene. Of course, he'd only meant to keep them from getting their hands on another omega-level telepath. In a desperate attempt to free her from her own mind, he hadn't meant to call her Mom.
Cast of Characters:	Madelyne Pryor, Cable
Tinyplot:	Through a Mirror Darkly

---

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
The towering skyline of Hammer Bay stands defiant against the night, its skyscrapers stretching into the dark like polished steel monuments to the nation's resilience. Mutants rebuilt this city for mutants, and even at this hour, the pulse of it never quite fades -- the distant hum of the light rail, the electric glow of holo-signs reflecting off glass towers, the occasional thrum of aircraft moving between spires. But beyond the heart of the city, there are places the recovery hasn't yet reached.

Madelyne moves through one of them now.

The industrial ruins on the outskirts of Hammer Bay are remnants of the old world -- twisted, rusting metal skeletons of factories that once fed Genosha's economy, now abandoned and slowly succumbing to time. The Sentinels tore through here during the fall, and while much of the island has been revitalized, this stretch remains untouched. Too costly to repair. Too unstable to build on. No one comes here except scavengers, smugglers, and people who want to be alone.

She tugs her jacket tighter against the ocean breeze that drifts in from the shore. The scent of salt mixes with the faint metallic tang of oxidized steel and old engine oil. Her cropped black coat is cinched at the waist with silver buckles, the hem stopping just above the hips. A fitted red top clings beneath it, the color dark and rich in the low light. Her leather pants gleam faintly, stitched tight with reinforced seams, the silver buckle at her waist catching the flickering glow of a failing streetlight. She didn't dress for a fight, but she never dresses for anything else.

She exhales, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the restless tension coiling in her ribs. It's been months since she helped Lorna interrogate Tempo back on Greymalkin. Since she pressed into the woman's mind, sifted through her thoughts, found the threads they were looking for. It hadn't mattered much to her, and once it was over, she had walked away, left it behind.

She doesn't expect to be involved again.

So why does she feel like she's being watched?

In fairness, she always feels like she's being watched. It's one of those things that plagues her, always lurking in the back of her mind like a gnat she's never been able to swat.

The air shifts. Not the wind. Something else.
Her spine goes rigid.

She stops walking, listening. The scaffolding above is silent. The empty street ahead is unchanged. But the feeling lingers, crawling up the back of her neck. The taste of something unnatural, like space folding in on itself.

Then --

The air distorts. A ripple in reality itself.

A cold, sterile glow flares to life in front of her, expanding outward in a silent pulse. A figure steps through, not so much appearing as arriving.

Zero.

His featureless silver form catches the dim glow of the city beyond, his blank, expressionless face unreadable. But his presence is suffocating, wrong, a void where something should be.

Before she can react, another crack of energy ruptures the space to her right. A figure drops down from above, landing with practiced ease. Tempo.

Madelyne moves on instinct.

Fire blooms at her fingertips, psychic energy flaring to life around her in wild, twisting tendrils -- bright, searing, hungry. Power builds, a raw, untamed force surging up from the core of her being, her eyes already starting to glow with that familiar, burning gold.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
And then it stops.

She stops.

Frozen mid-motion, her body locks in place like a statue, her breath caught halfway in her throat. The energy crackling around her flickers, sputters, and dies.

Tempo straightens, head tilted, one hand raised casually in the air.

"Not so fast," she says, lips curling into something between a smirk and a warning.

Madelyne can't move. Can't even strain against the hold. Her mind is still sharp, still burning, but her body -- her body is caught in the drag of warped time, every muscle locked in place as if she were a fly trapped in amber.

Zero steps forward, his blank, inhuman gaze settling on her.

"She's perfect," he says.

Madelyne's fingers twitch -- at least, they should -- but nothing happens.

She can't move.

They aren't here for a fight.

They're here for her.

Cable has posed:
For the past several months the Mutant Liberation Front under the iron grasp of Stryfe has wrecked havoc in an assortment of places around the globe. They've made the presence known in the heartland of the United States, in Mutant Town in New York City, on the French-Swiss Border at CERN and a variety of other places around the world.

Of course nowhere has felt their hand, their intervention, more strongly then the corrupt island nation of Madripoor which they completed invaded and took over, turning it into their base of operations. The heart of a new mutant kingdom, though hardly the utopia that Genosha claims to aspire to be.

But circumstances change.

In an effort to seize even greater power, in an effort to make himself all but unstoppable, Stryfe brought the fight to Egypt, showed that his ultimate objective was to seize the power of Apocalypse, perhaps the very first mutant. Certainly one of the most powerful.

Cairo burned while Stryfe and his followers battled the the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, all to gain the coveted information of just where the ancient mutant currently lay slumbering, recovering his strength.

And once Stryfe had that info, he wasted no time heading deep into the deserts of Egypt, pursued by the same forces that had interrupted his assault on Cairo. A mixed group consisting of X-Force, the X-Men and even the Brotherhood.

And their, in one of the ancient sanctum's of Apocalypse, Stryfe was finally confronted and with no avenue of escape, taken.

To be sure, questions remain. Questions around just what he hoped to achieve. Questions like why Stryfe shares the same face with his most implacable foe; Nathan Summers, the future soldier Cable. But those are questions that the captured Omega-level mutant has proven less then willing to share answers to.

Nor has taking Stryfe entirely off the board entirely ended all the threats related to the time-tossed warlord.

The rest of the Mutant Liberation Front is still very much out there. They remain very much entrenched on Madripoor and have enough sheer power to remain a threat. While some of their number like the captured and coerced members of Mr. Sinister's Marauders might have slinked away, likely returning to their former master, the MLF remains a formidable force. And they remain firmly under the thumb of Zero, Stryfe's fanatically loyal android servant.

What the Mutant Liberation Front does lack however are the same resources that Stryfe granted them. Most especially, a phenomenally powerful telepath to help coordinate them. To help them uncover secrets. Secrets like where their one-time leader is being kept and how they might free him.

Fortunately, not every telepath out there is associated with the X-Men. And one member of the MLF in particular has a bit of a grudge against her. More, she has the means to actually capture and confine her until the same future tech that has been utilized against so many of them by Stryfe to compel their loyalty can be turned against her as well.

Until Madelyne Pryor can be brought under their sway and forced to become one of them. One more of Stryfe's servants.

So that is their plan, when Zero and Tempo arrive on Genosha. When they confront her. No doubt others of their numbers are out there, in the dark. In this ruined shell of what used to be a part of the glittering city beyond, left neglected, rusting and rotting by the seaside as the new inhabitants of the island kingdom get on with their future. No one to see her surrounded. No one to see that field of slowed time descend on the redhead and make her a prisoner of the golden armored woman who stands beside the pristine android.

Well... almost no one.

Cable has posed:
Cable doesn't exactly have the same resources that he did the last time that he met Madelyne Pryor. When he brought her onboard his futuristic satellite base of operations Greymalkin to see if she could break Stryfe's hold on this same gold-clad woman.

When he met his mother for the first time in this timeline. Or, well, not his mother. But the woman who, under other circumstances would have been his mother.

It's probably not worth dwelling upon. Temporal mechanics are a bitch.

He doesn't have the same global intelligence capabilities he once had. He doesn't have instantaneous transport to anywhere in the world at the touch of his fingertips.

But he does have incentive to keep an eye on the Mutant Liberation Front. And he can still get around pretty damn good when he needs to.

In the end, it wasn't that hard to piece together the where and when that the MLF intended to strike.

The who, however, comes as a bit of a surprise.

But Cable doesn't let very much dissuade him when he has a mission at hand. So as Tempo takes a moment to gloat, the future soldier remains crouched amongst the rotting steel beams of the ruins, shrouded in the shadows.

At least until a virulent green glow begins to emanate from that oversized plasma cannon he seems to fire, the massive weapon lighting up the seashore before that brutal burst of energy tears into the ground around the Zero and Tempo, sending them flying from the blowback in a shower of sand and rock.

He doesn't stand on ceremony though, already on the move, already hopping from beam to beam, descending down through the ruined structure until he touches down in a crouch, mere feet away from Madelyne as the slowed time effect wrapping her up begins to dissipate.

Extending a cybernetic hand her way -- evidence of the techno-organic virus that constantly threatens to overwhelm his body -- he says without the faintest hint of irony, "Come with me if you want to live."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVZ2NShfCE8

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
A million implications flash through Madelyne Pryor's time-stalled body.

Whoever made her, they've come back for her.
They're going to kill her.
They're going to experiment on her.
They're going to unmake her.

She was just settling in here... whatever that means. She was just beginning to form allies. Friends, maybe... eventually. She hasn't really had any of those since the fire.

She's started thinking of it as 'the fire,' because something about the 'plane crash' just never sat right. She was the lone survivor, basically unharmed, and it's the most recent memory that feels... wrong. Deeply wrong.

She still has a lot left to figure out, but she's been trying. Magnus told her she was a clone of Jean Grey. Fabian told her she didn't have an activated X-gene, that what she felt was just an incomplete fragment of something called the Phoenix... something she still doesn't understand but wasn't willing to admit in that moment. Emma told her she has the potential to be one of the most powerful psionics in the world.

There are answers. She just needs more time...

Time is the problem. Time, in this moment, is her prison.

In that first instant, she wondered if she would at least find out who made her. Who else would make the effort to set upon her in the middle of the night? She's of no particular importance to anyone. She holds no rank, no authority, no power...

But that's the thing Madelyne still hasn't gotten her mind her around. She does hold power. Incredible power. And there are people out there that would take advantage of the fact that she has no real allies -- the Brotherhood, perhaps, though she has no confidence that they would even avenge her, much less attempt to rescue her. Would they even notice she was gone?

It's the instant she hears the woman's voice -- when her entire body ceases to move -- that her blood ran cold.

This isn't the person who made her coming to get her.

This is... revenge?

She doesn't understand Zero's statement -- she's perfect.

Perfect for what? What's going to happen to her?

Panic. Anger...

And then a green blast that seems to wipe both of her attackers off the map. At least for a time.

Madelyne's fingers twitch, her entire body reanimating as if stepping out of a melting block of amber. And by the time she's taken her first step, the strange psychic flames have ripped back across her hands and shoulders. Her rage flares, making the fire discordant, streaked with black, uneven, like pieces are simply... missing. It doesn't move with the air but with her own emotions, seeming to grow and brighten even as her desire to fight back -- to hurt them -- flares.

Except it's not Zero and Temp standing in front of her. It's not one of their henchmen about to take control of her another way.

It's... it's...

"...Cable?"

Her voice is surprisingly reasonable, given the hate in her eyes and the way she looks for a target to exact her revenge on. She's only met him once, and it wasn't exactly a social visit. How is he here?

Tempo... Tempo was on Graymalkin...

Her breathing is hard. Deep. Her long red hair is wild, blown on a breeze that might or might not exist. She couldn't say for sure in that moment.

It's all happening so quickly. In one moment, time was too slow, but now it seems too fast. If Tempo gets up again, she won't be able to fight her... couldn't win this battle even if she threw out everything she knew how to use.

She's had too little training for this, and she knows it.

So despite the few seconds that tick by as if in slow-motion, when it seems like she may not actually take Nathan's extended hand, when everything seems to overwhelm her and the consequences of every decision threaten to drag her back into amber...

The flames die. The gold glow from her eyes fades to their normal, emerald green, and she takes his hand.

"Where?" is all she asks.

Cable has posed:
Certainly Cable can understand the desire to have a telepath/telekinetic at their disposal. They can come in handy, there's no denying that.

He should know afterall. That's what he is. A legacy of his mother's DNA. DNA stolen from one of the most potent mutant psychics in this time frame. It's what makes him an Omega-level mutant too.

Or at least it would if so much of his power didn't have to be redirected towards keeping the techno-organic virus present in his body from raging through him. The majority of his telepathic might is therefore directed internally, kept focused on the billions and billions of corrupted cells in his body that are constantly seeking to overwrite more of his own natural body, to replace it with the metal that has engulfed most of one arm, a sizable portion of his chest and part of his face.

It leaves his telepathy mostly useful for small tasks, limited tasks and while he has greater freedom of use when it comes to his telekinetic powers, he usually needs to hold a piece of himself back there as well.

Without those limits? Well, in all likelihood his power would be close or equal to Stryfe. And given that they share a face, that raises a few uncomfortable questions about their respective origins to say the least.

Not that Cable is terribly concerned with shying away from hard truths. His existence -- fifteen hundred years or so into the future -- has mostly been about hard truths. Forever fighting a losing war against Apocalypse and his hordes that all but dominate the planet.

It's why he's here afterall, back in the time period when he was originally born but that he has no memories of. Why he abandoned the only home, the only family he ever knew. To come back and wage his war when there might still be a chance to prevent what is to come.

He didn't really expect to be trying to save his mother from the Mutant Liberation Front though.

Of course while he has reveled his true identity to Scott and Jean -- to his father and surrogate mother -- he hasn't done so with Madelyne. Too psychologically fragile. Too risky, given what he knows of the Madelyne Pryor in his own timeline. Though perhaps that is not entirely fair.

Either way, he is here now. Of course, they still have to get out of this mess.

He doesn't exactly stand on ceremony as she takes his offered hand, not even looking back towards where Zero and Tempo stood moments earlier, simply directing that massive weapon behind him, firing off another two bright bursts of plasma energy that tear into the earth and send up a shower of dirt and rock to rain down on anyone caught beyond.

It's more about buying time at the moment -- something that is a true commodity when facing down a woman like Tempo.

"Towards the city," he says calmly. And maybe coldly. It makes sense of course. If there is anywhere they are going to get help it will be around other people. But after what happened in Madripoor, in Cairo it's a hard decision, to risk the lives of innocents by taking the fight amongst them. It's certainly something the X-Men wouldn't do.

Cable's a little more practical then them. He doesn't have pretensions of being a hero. He's a soldier. and soldiers complete their missions, whatever the cost.

"My Bodyslide technology is considerably more limited then it was the last time we met. It's going to take several minutes before I can teleport us out of here. We need to buy time and distance, and there's no telling how many other of the MLF that Zero has ported in. We can handle a few, but if he's brought in the big guns..." he says with a shake of his head.

Then an energy blast tears out of the broken ground behind them, a figure shrouded by the smoky haze of parched earth and the dust in the air outlined as Zero rises up, those blank, clean features emotionless as another energy blast rips towards them.

Cable has posed:
"Unless you fancy being hauled off to become a volunteer in Stryfe's war, I suggest you run," he says quietly, still gripping her hand as he starts to do exactly that, not quite dragging her even as he periodically fires back with quick, darting glances behind him, those bright bursts of green plasma energy briefly illuminating the world around them.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
She hasn't even gotten her mind around who she is in this timeline. Madelyne Pryor certainly hasn't begun to consider what she might be like in other timelines, other realities, other dimensions. Even when she was faced with the paradox presented by Fabian Cortez just the other day -- that his belief in 'fate' allowed for the existence of Cable and Spiral -- she spared not a moment to wonder if she existed in Cable's time, much less who she might be to him.

Why should she? She's no one to anyone in this one.

Not just no one, a broken copy of someone.

But there's no time to dwell on any of that now. Not while she's still trying to catch up to what's happening in real time. That Cable is telling her to run towards the city. That people -- mutants -- are trying to take her...

She doesn't let go of Cable's hand, even as she stumbles over a broken piece of the pathway, nearly loses her balance, and keeps going. She can't help looking over her shoulder, though, even at the cost of watching where she's going. It's like she's waiting to see a portal open up, either to dump an army of soldiers out right behind them or to turn into a vortex that tries to suck her in.

We can handle a few, but if he's brought in the big guns...

"Why are they doing this?! What do they want?!"

Her. She knows they want her, but she doesn't understand why.

A nearby blast sends dirt flying up into her face, and Madelyne raises her arm to shield her eyes, a ripple of telekinetic energy shoving the bits of dust and gravel away from her before it can even reach her. She's still relying on Cable for balance and direction, but she's not helpless.

She's so used to being lost, wandering and all but helpless, at the mercy of a power she barely understood how to control, much less use to its fullest potential. But she's had some training. She's not just a commercial pilot, anymore. Even now, she can feel the power wanting to surge up again. She's not some damsel in distress, not some flower to be crushed underneath someone's --

"AIGH!"

Pain shoots up her leg, the burn of the energy woman tearing through her pants and scorching flesh as she goes down hard, her hand ripped from Cable's by the force of her fall.

There's angry shouting behind them. Something she doesn't understand. Someone isn't pleased, but pain and the force with which she hit the ground is enough to leave a ringing in her ears. Her hands bear the scrapes of trying to catch her fall. There's a rip in her jacket from catching a sharp bit of concrete. There's dust on her face where her red mane hasn't completely obscured it.

There's so... much.

It's like a war zone.

The screaming, the running, the explosions of energy, the pain...

Red-gold fire flares from her hands as she pushes herself back up to one hip, turning and stretching out her hands in a wave of telekinetic energy that hurtles outward like a battering ram, throwing up small chunks of concrete and asphalt, broken glass, and anything else in its path.

"STOP!" she screams, her voice amplified to an ethereal screech through her telepathic powers.

Cable has posed:
This sort of thing is just another Tuesday for Cable.

Well, maybe not quite. But not all that far off. This is how he has lived his life more often then not, going from one pitched battle to the next. Whether fifteen hundred years in the future or in the here and now, chances are that Cable and his team can be found wherever the fighting is the thickest. Wherever it is the most dangerous.

But it is entirely understandable that it would be quite so familiar for Madelyne. Chances are nothing she has experienced up until this point has exactly prepared her for this sort of thing. For the bright bursts of light, of energy around them. The explosions as the very earth beneath their feet is ripped up below, sent flying upwards in their faces.

It's not the sort of thing you can really prepare yourself for. Not that it really matters because she hasn't been given time to do that either.

He, of course, doesn't know what her story is here. He knows a little of his birth mother in his actual timeline, but the differences in this one are already pronounced. He should have been born nine years ago. And in this reality his mother has never even met his father. Hell, from what he can tell there's no guarantee that she even existed nine years ago.

Some of that doesn't matter of course. The fact that she is her mother only factors a small amount in regards to why he is here. Why he is facing down multiple Mutant Liberation Front terrorists to try and keep her out of their hands. The threat she might represent if she were to join them -- willingly or otherwise -- is more then enough reason to oppose their efforts all on it's own. With or without the faintest traces of sentiment.

In the long run, they are fighting a losing battle here. You never fight the enemy on the ground they've chosen. Not if you can help it and this far from the city proper, the chances that any help is going to arrive is scant indeed.

But their situation is growing worse by the moment.

Behind them the shape of Zero is most discernable, still firing those energy blasts their way though they seem designed to miss. Or at least miss Madelyne. The android seems less concerned if he should take down Cable. And while those blasts don't seem designed to hit them, they do drive them forth before him. Force them to flee blindly ahead.

Worse, more portals begin to open up in their wake and more of those pristine white androids step through -- these ones unmarked by the black '0' that marks Zero on his face and chest. And with more energy blasts comes even less room to maneuver. Right up until one of those blasts strikes her in the leg, makes her trip, stumble and fall, Cable's hand slipping from hers just for a moment, unable to catch her.

For good or ill, she is his mission this night which means there is no chance that he is going to forsake her. So in a heart beat he whirls, drops to a knee and brings that heavy plasma cannon back to bear, spitting out those green bursts of high energy fire back towards their pursuers, trying to open space for them once more.

Two of the ADAM units are simply obliterated, engulfed in that searing hot energy that leaves virtually nothing in their wake. One moment the androids are shadowy forms enveloped in brilliant green energy and then next there is simply no trace of them, unless the handfuls of dust that are caught on the wind are what remains.

"They want you," Cable says flatly. Just in case she hadn't actually figured that out yet. "In all likelihood to serve as a replacement for their locked up leader. Though I doubt you'd be giving the orders by the time they're done with you," he says, sending out a few more bursts, trying to drive back Tempo before she can get near enough to time-whammy them again.

Cable has posed:
He eyes her for just a moment, then he is sweeping her up, sprawled across one of his shoulders, letting her scream, not seeing but certainly feeling that surge of power that races through her, the sheer wall of telekinetic force that slams into their pursuers and drives them back, gives them a moment to breath.

To resume that headlong dash into the night.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
They want you.

"That's a first."

The words slip out unbidden, dry humor that lacks the faintest hint of a smile. Bitter and full of rage, the discarded, unwanted clone of Jean Grey fights for life even when she doesn't fully understand why.

Spite, perhaps. Maybe that's most of what fuels her these days -- spite for whoever made her, spite for the tidy little organizations with their tidy little mission statements that she doesn't fit into, spite for the woman whose face she's cursed with.

It's Jean's fault she's here, after all. She has no idea why someone wanted a clone of her, but if it weren't for Jean, she'd never have been brought into this hell on Earth.

Rage boils inside her.

Leader. They want her to replace their leader? Oh, she could lead them --

That thought is cut off abruptly when she feels the whole Earth shift, when gravity itself seems to give way, and she finds herself hoisted up onto Cable's shoulder.

"YOU WANT ME TO REPLACE YOUR LEADER?!" she screams at their pursuers as Cable carries her away, her eyes once more flaring bright gold with hints of flame as she stares back in the direction of the wall of telekinetic energy she'd released.

Her arms stretch out, ignoring the pain that courses through her, shooting up from her leg and through chest. It hurts. Everywhere, it hurts. She's scratched up, covered in dust, and still those flames lick around her hands, and she grabs at the air.

<< "ARE YOU SURE?!" >>

There's no physical voice anymore. There's just the psychic echo as she screams out the words to all those nearby... maybe too far. God knows how many minds can hear her.

<< "THEN KNEEL!" >>

Flame erupts brighter from her hands as she grabs and pulls.

The metal scaffolding, all that's left of one of the taller buildings they just passed, groans and tips towards the road. It didn't take a great amount of effort. The thing was already collapsing under its own weight.

She just gave it a little... tug.

But it's a thunderous sound as it starts to come down, sending out its own shockwave of dust and debris amid the scraping and grinding and crashing of building falling against other buildings.

It's all she could do. The pain. The exertion. The raw power.

The flames licking at her shoulders and her hands go out.

And the red-haired woman loses consciousness.

Cable has posed:
Unconsciousness is sometimes a blessing.

It can be the body's way of protecting itself. Of protecting the mind from what it just shouldn't have to deal with. Too much pain. Too much agony.

In her own way, that is probably very much what Madelyne is going through right now. Too much of everything. Pain, anger, emptiness. Just too much.

Not necessarily from her wound. That's unlikely to be terribly pleasant of course, but it could be much worse. It could be something much more unbearable if she had been just a little more unlikely, if the energy blast had been just a few inches higher, just a little more on the mark.

Of course Cable is fairly locked down. His incredibly powerful telepathic powers may have mostly been honed to be directed inward, to give him the strength to survive the artificial disease rampaging through him, that should have overwhelmed him as a baby but instead has been held in check for decades by an almost inhuman discipline. His psychic shields are second to none.

But it is impossible not to pick up on some of her thoughts, on that raw emotion, that raw rage that burns inside of her. Not this close. Not with actual physical contact. Not given the nature of their relationship, the fact that even though he isn't of this time -- not really -- they still share the same DNA. The Summers-Grey DNA that seems to make such a potent combination no matter the reality.

He grunts under the weight of that emotion, under the psychic onslaught that threatens to escape even her control, no matter how she might wish it otherwise. But he still presses onward, legs pumping, carrying them away from the ambush, hopefully not towards not another.

He can't help but briefly look back at that horrible grinding sound, as that entire mass of twisted steel ruins seems to finally give way, crashing down towards their pursuers. His eyes widen just a little. Maybe he could have done that. Maybe with the structural integrity so badly compromised already. Maybe. But it is still an impressive display of raw power.

For just a moment the mass seems to pause, to hang there impossibly in the air. That would be Tempo then, her time manipulating powers almost certainly saving her, saving Zero. But even she can only hold in for an instant. Barely enough time to be noticeable and as it crashes down, at least some of the ADAM units are not so lucky to escape Madelyne's wrath, twisted steel mixed with shattered, white android bodies.

She isn't awake when another of the MLF emerges from the dark, the pale skinned Reaper suddenly looming out of the shadows to bring the scythe he wields, keyed to tap into his body's own bio-electric impulses to power it caught at the last second by Cable's metal arm, sparks flying as it slides along the edge of it before it extends, his own wave of telekinetic force hurling the threat back into the night, plowing into the four-armed mutant Forearm before they both tumble away out of sight.

She's not away as they race for the city, as more members of the MLF pop up, trying to cut them off. Playing fox and the hound as they dart for cover, to elude their pursuers. Of disappearing down a hatch into the service tunnels beneath the city, creeping through the dark, that single cybernetic eye embedded in Cable's face cutting through the darkness with ease.

She's not awake when he reaches one of the dozens of hidden safehouses that he keeps, scattered about the world, stockpiled with food and medicine, with weapons and his other technological treasures salvaged from Greymalkin's apparent destruction.

In the dark, in that brief respite he works on her, patching her wounds. Quick and efficient. Battlefield medicine at it's finest, from a man who's entire life has been spent as a soldier.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
She doesn't wake up all at once.

At first, it's just a whisper of a word, "...help."

Her eyes are closed. Her wounds were bandaged some time ago. They weren't anything close to life threatening. Painful, perhaps, but nothing that would be concerning.

A moment later, her body stirs. Just a little. A twitch of her fingers, a turn of her head to face the other side. "...help."

There's another more abrupt turn of her head, a twitch of her shoulders like she's trying to break free, but something's holding her back, even though nothing is restraining her. Not physically.

"...please..."

And then everything in the room quakes, a faint tremor that slowly grows more violent, as that ethereal fire slips from her skin like it's escaping from cracks in her very being.

But that fire has a wrongness to it.

It's not pure or beautiful. It's dark and broken.

Incomplete.

A fragment of something spectacular, like a broken and mangled wing of some majestic bird.

Cable has posed:
It doesn't take Cable long to attend to her injured leg. He moves swiftly and surely, removing various devices that most definitely do not look like conventional medical tools. At least not in this day and age at any rate.

But even with that advantage tech at his disposal, there are limits to what he can do in the field. To what he can do in near silence.

They are not safe. The Mutant Liberation Front might not know where they are right now, they might also be forced to be somewhat discrete, here beneath the streets of Genosha with mutants of all sorts, many of whom would not appreciate their presence just feet about their heads.

He can reduce the pain some. He can insure that it heals more quickly. Insure that she'll be able to walk without undue difficulty. But Madelyne will still need better facilities -- and a little time -- before she's feeling more herself.

At least physically.

It isn't exactly hard to tell that many of her scars are not on the surface at all. They're not physical at all. He knows her well enough to tell that much. If there weren't the very noticeable clues right out there for anyone to see.

Like that half formed, damaged bird-like image that starts to coalesce around her. Or the fact that she stirs, not yet conscious, not yet aware, but starting to grow restless, starting to cry out.

And somewhere, out in the darkness of those underground service tunnels, Cable can hear movement. The people hunting them. He can protect them from some of them. Maybe a half dozen of them or more, depending which members they have present. But he can't protect them from all of them. Not if she brings them down on them.

It isn't any sense of privacy, or decency that has kept him from invading her thoughts. From reaching into her mind. He's too pragmatic for that. But now he opens up that small funnel of telepathic power that he can spare. It's questionable if he could breach her mind this easily if she were conscious, if she were resisting. She has power to spare. But he has decades of training on her. Under the most pressure-filled situations imaginable.

So he looks into her head. Looks into her nightmares. And he reaches out, trying to pierce that veil of horror.

<< Madelyne, you have to be quiet. They're hunting us... >>

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
There's an initial bump against her instinctive barriers. A refusal by some dark part of her that's raging at her own consciousness. Her mind is so different, but also so familiar. And with a little effort, Nathan's awareness slips into his mother's -- perhaps not his mother in this timeline, but nonetheless...

There's... fire.

Everywhere.

It's confusing and disorienting. There's twisted metal. Broken glass.

It consumes and consumes, but it doesn't touch her. Not even her hair. The gusts of wind from the flames play at the long red tresses, tossing it around her shoulders, but leave it completely untouched.

Metal warps and groans, collapses. So eerily familiar to the skeleton of a building that came crashing down earlier.

The shell she's trying to find her way out of is the inside of a plane -- the nose section, broken off from the other half. She's stumbling, dazed, confused, but entirely unharmed. Not a scratch on her, and yet she walks with a limp on the same leg she was shot in, her brain's attempt to rationalize the injury...

"Please!" she's shouting. She can't find her way out.

It would be so easy, but everywhere she turns, there's another barrier. A broken tank. It used to be filled with fluid. It's as big as she is... bigger.

She doesn't know why there are tanks like that on the plane. It doesn't matter. It's not helping her escape.

Reality keeps twisting, warping. There are screams in the distance -- men, women, children dying. She can't help them.

Madelyne, you have to be quiet. They're hunting us...

Her head snaps up, trying to find the sound, but it's coming from everywhere at once.

"Cable?!"

Hope blossoms in her voice for the first time. He's here to rescue her. Again. But she can't be quiet. She has to get out...

"I'm here!! Where are you?!"

She's turning in circles, trying to find him. There's smoke and ash everywhere.

"I can't see you! Please, don't leave me!"

Cable has posed:
Those barriers would prove formidable if he had to batter through them.

Whatever fragment of the Phoenix Force that has come to nest within her is still plenty powerful and plenty dangerous, even being but a tiny portion of the entire thing.

But Cable doesn't have to pit his entirety of his telepathic might against hers -- even if he could. Instead he lets his more practiced touch find the cracks in those defenses, that barrier to slip inside her mind, her thoughts, to let them resolve around him even as he tries to reach her through the nightmares plaguing her. To quiet her before she brings disaster down on them both.

It takes him a moment to realize what he is seeing around him. To come to the understanding that it isn't just some hellscape where everything is simply on fire. That it is the fire of the Phoenix Force within her burning down the world, tearing it to shreds. That they are, in fact, within the remains of a plane, the fuselage burning around them, debris strewn about apparently in such a way to insure that the nightmare's host has no avenue of escape.

Once that becomes clear, so to does his understanding of the situation. Of where they are.

Or rather, where they are not. That being anywhere real.

He can't be sure of course, that her origin in this timeline is the same as the Madelyne Pryor from his own. It is one of the reasons he is reluctantly to interfere too much in the destinies of the people who would otherwise be the closest to him. Scott and Jean, his father and substitute mother. Madelyne Pryor, his biological mother. Except apparently not in this reality. So if that is different, what else might be different?

Still, the whole feel of the place is off. It feels... artificial. Like a memory created to stop a creation from wondering why her memories seem incomplete. Why her time before a certain point seems... misty and not quite real. One traumatic event to keep her from looking too much at the past and instead focus on the future. On whatever goals her creator in this reality might have had for her.

His appeal for her to be quiet is met with the opposite effect, and while she cries out here, Cable is all too aware that those cries are not just in her nightmare. A part of him can hear them echoing through the tunnels where they hide as well, threatening to bring their enemies down on them.

"Maddie, you need to calm down. This is a nightmare. A construct. It's all in your mind," he offers up quietly, those words still seeming to have a fierce edge to them despite that muted tone.

"And because it's in your mind, you can control it. If you're sealed away just reach out and move the obstacle caging you. No one restrains you in your own mind Mo-- Maddie," he says, catching himself.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Maddie...

This is a nightmare.

Her friends call her Maddie...

Her parents called her Maddie...

A construct.

It's warm. Comforting. Familiar. Not as cold as Madelyne... a name used by strangers and acquaintances... people she doesn't trust.

Almost no one calls her Maddie anymore.

...It's all in your mind...

...Maybe the never did.

And because it's in your mind, you can control it. If you're sealed away just reach out and move the obstacle caging you...

She can't... she can't see what's caging her.

She's panting harder, the panic rising.

No one restrains you in your own mind Mo -- Maddie.

"I can't!" she screams into the fire, and though it's not burning her, it has less an impact on her psyche. The terror and panic are both very real.

She's like a caged beast, pacing, trying to find an exit.

Glass crunches under her feet. Broken vials. Beakers. Scales. Electronics.

She moves towards the wall of the fuselage, but wires hang down from the ceiling, arcing dangerously and blocking her path. She raises an arm to shield her face, trying to lean around them, to avoid getting shocked, to try to push.

She has no concept of her power. No concept of having any power. She doesn't know why she's not burning. She doesn't know how long she has left to survive. She just knows she needs out, that she doesn't have long, that she'll die if she's caught...

... caught? ... burned ... she'll die if she's burned ...

She needs freedom.

She reaches out to shove at the wall, and all around them in the real world, items fall from shelves and tables, clattering onto the floor.

"I can't get out!! I can't move it!!"

Behind her, the dangling cables arc again, sending out a shower of sparks that makes her scream -- both in the dream and the real world.

Cable has posed:
It's such a fine line.

In another time, another place he might have had the psychic might to plow through her defenses. TO end this nightmare for her. He might have the mental strength to tear down the constructs placed in her head, the artificial memories meant to keep her from wondering about her past. The constructs that now imprison her.

But Cable's mental might is focused inward. It has been honed to a razor's edge to do battle with himself, with the disease that would have otherwise run rampant through his body long since, leaving him little more then some mechanical abomination. He can link minds, can communicate telepathically. He can read surface thoughts.

He rarely overwhelms other people's minds. Rarely seizes control. Because there are consequences to that. It means letting that virus creep another inch or too, to seize uncorrupted flesh and make it metal.

He can't save her from this. Cable can only try to help her find a way to save herself.

The scream isn't just inside her head. He hears it too, not just in his mind, but outside and the future soldier can't help but grit his teeth. Sound echoes strangely through tunnels and he has picked virtual rat's warren of tunnels to hide in, to help buy them some extra time. A subterranean maze in what was already a maze.

But it won't take them forever.

The dark won't hide them. The maze won't hide them. Even he can't save them, at least not on his own. He could withdraw from her mind, could throw her over his shoulder again and drag her out of this place. But with her screaming, with her leading them straight after he would be hard pressed to find a way out of the trap circling them. Threatening to cut them off.

So he lingers in her head. He lingers there and exerts what little control he can muster. It's not much at the best of times. It's even less against the shattered shard of the Phoenix Force that blazes like an inferno within. But he does what he can to lessen those fires just a little. To hold them at bay. To open a crack, if only a crack.

"Then they're going to take you Maddie," he says, his tone less calm, less cajoling now and more fierce. Hard and unyielding. "You need to take control. You need to snap out of this and wake up. You need to stop screaming," he says flatly. "Because otherwise they're going to take you. They're going to kill me mother, and take you and turn you into just another weapon."

"Don't let them do that," he demands, the glow from his cybernetic eye flaring brightly, like a beacon, even through the flames around them.

"It's time to break free."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It might not be much against the broken, fragmented Phoenix that at times seems to seek the destruction of its own host. It was this fire that woke her from the cloning lab she was 'born' in. It was this fire that ripped through that lab, that tore through everything in its path. It was this fire that gave her power.

But it's also this fire that rips and burns at the parts of her that aren't 'right' -- the unnatural parts of her, the memories that aren't hers, the compulsions that aren't hers.

And this fire... it's angry. So very angry.

It traps Maddie inside itself, unharmed, but the fire has no voice. It has no consciousness she can reason with or ask questions of. It only has power -- the power to destroy.

It isn't easy to tame the Phoenix or quiet the flames. Nathan's attempt to give her a path isn't dramatic.

But it's enough.

Then they're going to take you, Maddie.

The words are clearer now. Pain rips through her like a knife plunged into her chest. They're going to take her... she's going to be caught... burned...

...she's going to die.

Her heart aches as she whips her head around to find the flames parted, to find the bare sliver of a path that has been opened through that dark, unnatural blaze.

Because otherwise they're going to take you. They're going to kill my mother, and take you and turn you into just another weapon.

"...What?"

She stumbles back a step, the pain in her heart suddenly replaced by something else. Something she doesn't understand. Something she's never felt before.

It isn't hope. Not exactly. But, at the same time... it is.

It's... purpose, but it's made of crystal, fragile and ready to crack under the faintest pressure. Did she mishear? Misunderstand?

Did he just call her...

Don't let them do that.

Her eyes, bright emerald, find the glow of his cybernetic eye, and choked panic gives way to resolve. He's here to save her, but he can't do it all on his own. He shouldn't have to do it all on his own.

She is not a victim. She is not weak.

And now, more than ever, she needs answers to questions she never even thought to ask...

It's time to break free.

She straightens, pushing past the dangling, sparking cables, and she leans into a sudden sprint.

"I'm coming," she murmurs, her voice taking on a quieter, harder edge.

She runs straight into that flame, and she leaps towards that cybernetic eye.

Not to wake up.

But to trade this nightmarish landscape of her own mind for whatever she might find in his.

Cable has posed:
It is sudden and unexpected.

That alone wouldn't normally be anywhere enough to breach his defenses of course. He has been trained rigorously, for longer then she has been alive. Longer then she'd have been alive even if she was not, in fact, a clone of another woman.

But more then that he has been tested in battle. Frequently. Repeatedly. Over and over again. Psychic confrontations of all sorts and yet he is still standing. Despite being taken by surprise. Despite being ambushed.

But like calls to like more often then not. And some part of him, some part of his mind, some part of those formidable mental defenses that keep almost anyone else out, even the strongest psychics in this time or the future, they let her through.

As she fixates on that glowing eye, as she plunges through the fire not to seize control of her own mind but seek refuge in his own he can't quite manage to stop her.

And then, all at once she no longer stands in the middle of a burning fuselage. She is no longer surrounded by fire, no longer trapped in an artificial memory designed to trap her, to keep her in a box until she can serve her purpose.

Instead she is assaulted by other images, a cascade of them that flicker by in rapid fashion. Of a man with white skin and black hair and a red diamond embedded in the middle of his forehead, grinning manically. Of a woman who looks very much like her with a man with ruby-red glasses. Of her holding a baby. Of her fighting with that same man, with him taking their child, taking him and going back to a woman who looks almost identical to her.

Images of her surrounded by demons. Images of that baby again, seized by the followers of a phenomenally powerful grey-skinned mutant. Of the child being infected with a virus that threatens to transform him Of a woman from the future who has a passing resemblance to her as well, like a descendant, like a daughter grown up and exceeding her in age.

Images of the child being taken to the future. Of a life saved, of powers turned inward. Of that baby growing first to an adolescent, then to a young man. A young man raised in a constant war against that same grey-skinned mutant though it is hundreds of years in the future. Of an Earth devastated by constant war.

Then abruptly the images cut off, live a valve is suddenly twisted, like the flood of memories is suddenly cut off. And while the fire doesn't return, the sudden alien feel is just as horrifying in it's own way. Like being wrapped in a cocoon of silvery metal that seeks to completely envelop her, to swallow her whole and leave no part of herself. Like a creeping, mindless machine bent only on total and utter assimilation that will leave nothing of her behind.

Then Cable's familiar voice sounds again.

"Enough," comes that singular expression, the tone clipped, that fierce control back in place. "It would have been better if you had seized control of your own thoughts," he adds. Not sounding angry. There's no regret. Just resignation. "But this will do."

Then all at once those barriers come crashing back down into place. Like massive, steel walls without any sort of seam, any sort of gap in them. On one side is that stream of memories, decades worth of memories. And that cold, alien vastness that seeks to overwhelm everything in it's wake.

On the other, only her. And a growing darkness. A growing sense of discomfort. Of a lingering pain. Aches across her entire body to be sure, but concentrated in one leg.

In the darkness, huddled there, Cable's features resolved, huddled over her. The sounds of shouts come from nearby, of rapid footfalls echoing through metal tunnels and that glowing cybernetic eye peers into the darkness, the future soldier's expression set into a grim mask.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
With more effort.. more time.. she could have.

Madelyne could have gotten the fire under control, found her way back out again. She always did, eventually. But she hated the nightmares.

That one, particularly.

It often came up when she over-taxed herself, though she can't remember ever having actually passed out from an over-use of her powers before.

Then again, she's never tried to bring down a building before.

No, leaping into Cable's mind was as much a calculation as an escape. There was always the chance that it backfired horribly, but he's been so intent on saving her -- earlier, from Tempo and the other, as well as the fire inside her own mind. What were the chances that he was going to shut her out and let her continue to scream?

Probably higher than she would have liked if there hadn't been a connection between them. In truth, she knew nothing about the man. Nothing about how absolutely pragmatic he could be. Nothing more than a name and some sort of orbital platform he controls...

... er... controlled?

But her gambit pays off, and she's rewarded with exactly what she was hoping for.

More answers. And yet, more questions.

Isn't that always the way?

The images flash past in her mind, but at least she's gone silent. The objects near them have stopped vibrating. She's watching with rapt attention. Focusing. Memorizing. Piecing together bits of a story...

But then there's that metal... creeping and crawling and consuming, somehow even more insidious than her fire. At least her fire is born to consume. At leats it's behaving entirely in its nature. The metal is horrific in its intent, and by the time it crawls up her legs to her waist, she's squirming in the real world, making plaintive little sounds of panic..

Enough.

The word stops it, closes the connection, brings the walls back up...

And slowly, Madelyne opens her eyes.

Cable's glowing eye is the first thing she sees, but it isn't like waking up from a deep sleep. She isn't confused or disoriented. She doesn't wonder where they are or how they got here or what those noises are.

She doesn't make a sound, despite the way her leg throbs.

Instead, she pushes herself quietly up onto her elbows, just the faintest hint of a wince sucking air through her nose. After a few more seconds, she rises the rest of the way to a seated position, one hand reaching out to set on Cable's fleshy arm.

She doesn't need to touch him. Not for what she intends. But it seems to be an attempt at... reassurance? Or perhaps gratitude. Perhaps a silent acknowledgement that she's here with him, now, and understands what's happening.

So, she reaches up with her free hand, touching the pads of three fingers against her temple as her eyes close, and there's the faintest ripple of something like fire from the tips of her fingers. No heat. No movement like real fire. They're dark, malignant wisps of flames.

But it shields them and their surroundings from perception.

And it seems as if she's willing to stay there until those footfalls begin to retreat back into the distance.

Cable has posed:
While Cable might not have wanted her in his head, might not wanted her to have access to even those random, flickering images that she received, he certainly seems none the worse for wear from the entire experience, that hard expression not directed at her, but instead outward, toward the threats looming up to every side of them.

The rank and file Mutant Liberation Front terrorists aren't so much a concern. Reaper, Sumo, Forearm, Dragoness, Strobe and the like he can deal with easily. Unless she was truly overwhelmed Madelyne could probably slip free from them readily enough as well.

No, it is some of the others. Tempo isn't as ruthless, doesn't have the sheer power of some of them, but the abilities she has to manipulate time makes her insidiously dangerous. She's one of the few that Cable is wary of. For good reason. He's not completely helpless against her, but with his limited telepathy it is... tricky.

Zero is Zero. Relentless. Inhuman. The ability to teleport, the energy beams alone would make him a threat. The fact that he can dampen down other's powers, potentially shutting them off entirely is what makes him a threat.

Then their are the other two. Holocaust and Abyss. He doubts that Holocaust is here. The destruction would probably already be catastrophic if he was. But these tunnels would be the perfect hunting ground for the shadowy, shifty Abyss. And even them, with their telepathy, might never see him coming.

So he crouches in that darkness, that plasma cannon cradled in his arms as he peers intently down the dark tunnel, his cybernetic eye piercing that gloom, watching for any hint of an attack to come. He stretches out with his telepathy, using it more as a sort of early warning system, passively monitoring for approaching thoughts that are not his own or Madelyne's.

Fortunately perhaps, as Madelyne does finally stir, consciousness restored, she doesn't cry out in pain or alarm. Just wakens and reaches out herself, dampening down their presence until the sounds coming from their searchers begins to move off, the maze of tunnels they crouch in guiding them past without giving them a chance to stumble upon their quarry.

Cable knows how to choose his ground well.

Even as it grows quiet again, the future solider doesn't hasten to break that silence, still watching, still listening for several minutes until he at last gives a small nod and drops his attention back to the redheaded woman stretched out in the passage.

"They should be past us now. If we're quick we can be out of here before they double-back," he says flatly, eyeing her for a moment, particularly her injured leg. "We'll need to get to the surface before I can trigger a bodyslide and teleport us out of here," he adds.

That wouldn't have always been the case. With Greymalkin he could have likely dematerialized them even down here, even in these tunnels.

But he doesn't quite have the same resources that he used to.

"Can you walk?"

The question is rather perfunctory, only giving her a moment to decide if she's getting out of her under her own power or if she's going over his shoulder again.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It might have been more helpful, given their current predicament, if Madelyne had gone after those memories, instead -- the mental dossiers that Cable kept on his enemies.

Especially the ones actively trying to capture her, for god knows what -- to replace their leader's abilities? To torture her into submission? To brainwash her? To fuck with her memories and self-control some more?

Just the thought of it had been enough to release a psychic scream and pull a building down on their pursuers.

But that hadn't been what she was after, in that moment.

His mother. That's what she'd heard him call her. At least, that's what all the words had added up to in her mind, and it was too blunt an assertion for her not to know. He didn't say it like it was some kind of manipulation. He wasn't trying to do anything but save her.

She had to know.

So instead of having a better understanding of the threats baring down on her, she has flashes of memories that raise more questions than they answer.

But they answered one. And for now, that's all she needs.

It seems like an eternity passes, and every second of holding that dampening field feels like a drain on power reserves she doesn't have. She's already overtaxed herself once.

She doesn't have to hold it the whole time, though. Just until those footsteps are moving away. She lowers her hand from her temple, placing back in her lap as she turns her gaze not in the direction Cable's looking, but to the man himself.

She stares at his profile in the dark, searching.

Searching for signs of... her.

She and that guy from X-Men, of all people. The conventionally handsome all-star quarterback in a visor. She has no idea who Cyclops is -- not really -- but at least she's heard of him.

But... really? That guy?

"I can walk."

She doesn't even know if she can or not. She hasn't really tried to move her leg. But Madelyne Pryor's willpower was such that, even if she was missing the leg entirely, she could still walk if she said she could.

On a good day, she could just levitate, but given how much of a strain just trying to hide them felt like, flying feels like just asking for another nap.

So, she shifts.

The pain flares instantly, but she grits her teeth and sucks in a breath, pushing through it. Her legs swing off, her feet hit the ground, and she takes just a couple of seconds to brace herself before pushing up to her good leg.

She's careful with the injured one. Cable did... well... actually a better job than she would have imagined. Her hand goes to her charred pants, the exposed bit of her thigh where she was shot, and the bandage that covers it.

"Thank you," she says softly, looking back at him with a nod. But they're in the tunnels. Especially on an injured leg, it could take her days to find her way back out, even without a search party actively looking for them.

So, she takes a tentative step forward. It works well enough, even if there is a limp, and she sets her expression in a determined stare.

"Which way?"

Cable has posed:
He has to have some idea, right?

Cable has to have a notion of what images she managed to sneak a peek at, what her mind would be drawn to given his little slip while he was a guest in her head. He can't imagine that it was coincidence or even desperation that caused her to launch herself at his thoughts. He is far too much the tactician for that.

But if he is aware, he certainly gives no sign of it. There are no long, meaningful glances her way, no searching her gaze in the dark for some sign that she got to the heart of the matter -- or at the very least was given excellent reason to suspect a little of just what's going on. There is no spontaneous offer to explain, no suggestion that maybe they should talk. Indeed, his demeanor doesn't seem to have shifted at all. Still very much the solider, wary and alert to any sort of threat.

Possibly from her included.

He rises to his feet smoothly, seemingly unphased by either the hellscape that was her mind or her invasion of his own, her glimpse at those various memories, her brush against the techno-organic virus that rages within him.

He certainly seems willing to let her show that she can stand on her own two feet without any support, his gaze still scanning the passageway in both directions. Though a discerning glance would likely determine that for all his seeming indifference, she is almost never outside the line of sight of his peripheral vision. Given that he has the same telekinetic powers that she does, that's all he really needs to insure that he can catch her if she finds that her leg can't support her.

Is there any family resemblance there? Maybe. It's a little hard to tell. If he is her son, time travel shenanigan's have left him decades older then her, his white hair cropped short like so many soldiers prefer it for ease of maintenance. His heavily muscles, bulky frame bears little resemblance to her, or to his father in some respects, certainly not to the youth that was nicknamed 'Slim' the first time he arrived at the Xavier Institute.

It is also a little difficult to see past the metal. The metal arm which is revealed by the tactical jumpsuit he wears, the hint of metal on his shoulder and upper chest. Add of course the fact that a good third of his face has been replaced by the creeping metal of the virus infecting him, including one of his eyes.

But there might be some. A glimmer in that one good eye. A hint in the chin.

Of it could be one more elaborate game that someone is playing on her. Anyone who knows anything about Cable knows that there are few things that he is not capable of in his war. He certainly doesn't follow the X-Men's more pacifistic approach and while the Brotherhood accepts him, he clearly has little interest in their internal politics either, charting his own way. Finding his own followers. Soldiers, in his war.

One designed to prevent the future he knows is coming from ever happening here. In this time. Even the knowledge that this isn't 'his past' has done nothing to change that. The people who are ultimately responsible for the shit hole his own timeline became are still all present here. They still need to be stopped, whether or not they are the ones responsible for his own circumstances or not.

Her thanks only get the slightest incline of his head and he does seem to give her an extra moment to steady herself, to make sure she's ready to go before he gestures down the tunnel, in the direction that those voices so recently passed by.

"Closest access hatch into the city itself is this way. No guarantee that being exposed will make them hesitate, but it is better then us giving them an open shot at us on the fringes of the city," he says softly, padding along carefully, his mind still lightly probing the path ahead, looking for any anomalous signs that might signal a trap.

He really is just going to pretend he didn't say anything it seems.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
What must life have been like for him? What was that metal that tried to devour her? Who were the mutants he was fighting against?

Madelyne has a much better idea of his life than she did the last time they met -- even better than even a few minutes ago -- but all she has are snapshots. Flashes. Moments and impressions frozen in time in his memory.

Her son. But in name only. Taken from her. Stolen first by that evil-looking man, then by her own husband, and given to Jean. Because everything else belonged to Jean -- her face, her powers. Why wouldn't Jean take her child and her husband, too?

Was she really barred from caring for her own son?

Had he known his mother -- his real mother -- at all?

She doesn't let herself dwell on things like having a family of her own. She used to. Back when she thought her memories were her own, she used to dream of finding a man she loved, starting a family, sharing her love of flying with her children. But those dreams were ripped away from her the day she realized how broken she really was.

How could she start a family? She wasn't even a real person. She had no idea who made her or why. She barely had any control over her powers. She had no childhood. She couldn't even say which memories were hers and which ones were forgeries.

But a child? Her child? He would mean more to her than all the stars in the sky, every grain of sand, and every other life that has ever existed.

If that child was taken from her?

... Well ...

... she would become Death. She would mount a pale horse, and Hell would follow with her. She would kill with sword, with hunger, with death, and with the beasts of the earth. She would burn it all to the ground, and when she was done, she would resurrect it all just to do it again.

The one thing that could ever be hers -- her baby, her love, the life she grew inside her own womb. Taken?

Scorned does not begin to describe it.

She knows she can't dwell on this. There's no time. No space. She doesn't even know how much of what she saw is 'real.' If she gives into the hate she can already feel boiling up inside her, she could get them both killed. But it ripples off of her like a heat mirage -- the rage. It drives her. It pushes her another step.

Another step.

Always another step.

Sometimes, she feels like the anger is all she has. She's never known love. She's barely even known comfort.

"Agreed."

If he's expecting her to make some courageous, self-sacrificing proclamation -- that they shouldn't take the fight into the city proper -- he'll be disappointed. She may not be a soldier, may not be trained to be ruthless or pragmatic, but she seems to come by those skills naturally.

Oh, she'll fight.

She won't let innocents die while she hides behind them like a coward. But her self-preservation instinct is just as strong as his, even if she doesn't fully understand why. And collateral damage won't disturb her sleep any more than it already is.

Her footsteps sound uneven -- heavier on one side than the other -- but she keeps pace with him. Her own telepathic senses, unhindered by needing to fight an encroaching virus, naturally stretch out around them as well. She's a telepath, unhindered by some of the more ethically questionable uses of that gift in pursuit of mastering her own power. It's second nature for her to reach out, to feel for the surrounding minds, to wonder at their intentions and thoughts and moods.

Even Cable's, though she fully expects to keep finding those walls up, keeping her out. Still, it's too tempting not to try, even now.

In fact, it isn't until they've made it safely out of their underground tunnels, back into the open air of the city, the (relative) safety of being inside the city proper, and then whisked away by Cable's bodyslide technology that she begins to relax at all.