X-Factor #8: Unconditional Surrender
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended. This is also partly a work of historical fiction; all characters are either fictitious or used fictitiously, and no infringement or insult is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place after "X-Factor #1-6" and X-Men Eternity: The Crossroads. Jamie and Rahne's story began in “eXcalibur #1-6.” It is encouraged to read those stories first.

--

“So, Mister, uh, Madrix... youse gonna tell me how many cards ta deal ya, dere, or are youse just gonna sit dere wit' a dumb look on yer mug an' ogle the pretty girls?”

Richmond, Virginia
January 1862
Alternate Reality #915

Jamie Madrox was in fact staring, but not at the rather uninspired dancing girls on the stage of an even less inspired Richmond saloon. He'd finally (- last issue) located his friend Guido Carosella, the super-strong mutant they'd all thought was missing in time... only to find the big lug running with what could only be described as a 19th Century street gang, going by the ridiculous name of “Hoss,” and pretending they were strangers.

Could the time swap have addled Guido's memory? It seemed to have done that for Moira MacTaggart, back in the Camelot reality where Jamie had been during the Slayer business. Of course, that hadn't really turned out to be Moira (- long story). So far as Jamie knew, everyone who'd -genuinely- been scattered through time by the Slayer had landed with their marble collection intact.

Besides, he had a funny feeling Guido knew who he was... something in the other's eye, a gleam that looked like recognition, even if his old friend wouldn't admit it. So what was the game? How did it relate to the nasty-looking representative of Clan Akkaba whom Jamie had tracked into this establishment? (- also last issue) And where...

Jamie whirled. The Akkaba guy was gone, all right. He must have slipped out the door while Jamie was distracted. Such split-second timing could not be coincidence... but why would Guido help the man?

“Yo!” Guido repeated. “I'm talkin' to youse, Madrix! Another couple seconds a' dis silent treatment, a fella might get the idea you wasn't sociable...”

One of the other men at the table laughed. “You gonna have to excuse Hoss, Mr. Madrox. He talks even funnier than the usual run of damn Yankee, but he's alright once you get used to him.”

Guido glared at the man. “Yer help, I don't need. Just play cards.”

“What's stuck in your craw tonight, Hoss? Ain't like you to...”

“Just play.” Guido started slapping cards down on the table.

Jamie tried a smile. “It's not his fault. I have this effect on some people... they're intimidated by my good looks and charm.”

“I'm gonna close dat smart mouth youse got in about five sec-- hey! I saw that!”

Jamie blinked. “Saw-- what?”

“That!” Guido jumped up from the table. “Palmin' a card, huh, wise guy?”

“What-- no-- I couldn't--”

Jamie -knew- how to palm cards, having sent one of his dupes to a riverboat once, but doing so here and now had never occurred to him. Things were happening too fast for that. So he was as stunned as everyone else when Guido brought both fists down on the table and-- CRUNCH!-- broke it to splinters. Jamie's chair tipped backward and he landed on his butt, staring dazedly at an apparently livid Strong Guy.

“You must think we're a buncha dumb yahoos, right? 'Zat what you think, Madrix?”

“Uh-- no, not-- actually, I-- what th' hell--”

That was when he caught the reflection in one of the saloon's windows. A guy in a long coat on one side of the room, sneaking into position on their right. Another glance revealed a short, swarthy fellow on the left, making little attempt to conceal the pistol he carried. In another second, he'd have a good shot...

“Uh, no!” Jamie said, catching on. “I don't think you're a dumb yahoo, Hoss. I think you're a king-sized, brainless freak with a face like Abe Lincoln's rear end!”

Guido advanced. The card players murmured ominously. Somebody in the background shouted at them not to break anything. Huge hands seized Jamie Madrox by the front of the shirt.

“If dat's how youse feel, mebbe we oughta take dis outside.”

“Maybe we should.”

Then Jamie was flying through the air, as Guido reared back and threw him straight through the front window of the saloon. CRASH and he hit the stoop outside, then rolled onto the dusty street. Two duplicates of the Multiple Man appeared in his wake, created involuntarily by the impact.

Jamie shouted to them while he climbed to his feet. “Fan out, left and right! See if you can find cover! It won't be long 'till...”

A bullet snapped past his ear. -There-, across the street, was the tall fellow Jamie had been tailing, already mounting a horse. He snapped the reins and reloaded as he went, plowing through a knot of frightened civilians at a gallop. Jamie took three steps after him, but another too-close-for-comfort round made him kiss the dirt.

He heard more wood splintering behind him. Guido smashed through the saloon's front door, ostensibly to pound Jamie into submission. The fellow with the pistol was trying to follow him, but he couldn't push through the excited patrons.

Guido picked up Jamie by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell kept youse?”

“Would you believe, King Arthur?”

“Why not? I'm just a dumb yahoo.” Guido put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. A moment later, a horse arrived in a cloud of dust. “Sure hope one a' yer dupes won one a' those, whatchercallit, aquarium medals.”

“Won... -what?-”

Guido tossed him on the back of the horse. “Just RIDE!”

“Oh.” Jamie tossed his arms around the horse's neck and kicked his heels in, urging it forward. Looking back at Guido, he cried, “'Equestrian,' you lummox!”

“Cheez, we been together five minutes an' dis mook's correctin' my sentences. Jus' like old times...”

The saloon's remaining window blew out, and the guy in the long coat dove through it, tackling Guido around the waist. The comically but accurately named Strong Guy shrugged, picked him up by the neck, and tossed him back inside. His partner had finally fought his way out of the saloon, but Jamie's two duplicates came up on either side and pummeled him.

The prime Madrox had his own problems. He could barely see the Clan Akkaba goon ahead of him in the deepening night.

“Hi-YAH!” Jamie cried, snapping the reins. Unfortunately, this wasn't the Wild West. Richmond was as close to a modern city as they came in 1862, and even at this hour, his horse was at the mercy of crowded streets. Too many people got between Jamie and his quarry.

Another bullet zipped past. Jamie dodged, not that dodging would have done any good unless he could find a radioactive spider to boost his reflexes. Some guys had all the luck.

The Clan Akkaba guy turned in his saddle and lobbed something considerably larger than a bullet. The phrase “What the hell is that?” was still forming in Jamie's mind when-- BLAM!-- something much larger than a bullet exploded in front of his horse. Somebody in the crowd screamed, while the animal reared back and tried its best to throw Jamie. Blind luck, more than skill, kept him from cracking his skull.

“WHOA!” he growled, and slapped the horse's side a few times. The contact created four dupes; one kept up the chase while the rest became his personal team of wranglers. They grabbed a rope and flung it around the horse's neck. In a few moments, they had calmed the animal; it seemed to have kicked up enough confusion that none of the bystanders realized they had multiple copies of the same man standing around. But by the time their work was done, the Clan Akkaba guy had vanished.

“Obliged,” Jamie said to himselves, and dismounted the horse. Guido came running up just as he absorbed the last dupe.

“Fancy ridin', Tex,” said the big man. “Where'd ya learn the lasso thing?”

“One of me used to be a rodeo clown.”

“Figures. Dere anything youse ain't done?”

“Well, I don't think aI ever peed my pants until now...” Jamie knelt down in front of the horse, letting his thudding heart slow down while inspecting the blast damage. “If memory serves, they shouldn't have incendiaries this precise. At least, not in our timeline. These people break the rules.”

“Gee, really, ya think?”

Jamie glared up at his friend. “See if I scour the Multiverse looking for -you- again. How are our friends from the tavern?”

“Restin' comfortable, but I don't think well get anything outta dem. I figure most a' dem's just hired guns, 'cept maybe the guy you was tailin'. Sorry 'bout blowin' yer cover, but I didn't figure you'd wanna get yer guts blown out.”

Jamie straightened up and sighed. “No, it was a good move. Thanks. But now we're back at the beginning...”

“Little worse,” said Guido. He pointed into the crowd; a couple of tough-looking men with rifles were pushing their way to the forefront. One of them wore a Confederate officer's uniform. Another had a badge.

“What's the trouble here?” the one with the badge demanded. “Y'all are disturbin' the peace.”

“No problems,” said Jamie. “Just a disagreement...”

The man frowned hard. Then his eyes took in Guido's appearance, and he lifted the rifle's barrel...

Guido seemed to have expected it. “Name's Hoss Carosella. I ride wit' Tommy Mitchell's crew. We're just back from Texas.”

“We'll see about that.” The officer's frown expanded to include Jamie. “And who's this?”

“Dis here's my brother...” He tossed Jamie a wicked grin. “Li'l Joe.”

Jamie gave him a dirty look. So did the man with the badge. Guido shrugged. One way or another, the crowd dispersed.

--

Northwestern Tennessee

“Well, it's about time,” said Sophie Cuckoo. “I've had dinner ready for an hour. It might have been edible this time.”

“Sorry, kid,” said an exhausted Rogue. “Had us another red-letter day...”

She groaned as she and her team dragged into the cabin-- minus Wolfsbane, whose keen senses were outside making certain they hadn't been followed. Rogue didn't blame Sophie for sounding annoyed. Since they kept her out of their more dangerous missions, X-Factor tended to forget the blonde teenager was a part of their team; a bad habit considering her telepathy controlled their ride home. (- see X-Factor #6 and The Crossroads.) She'd been posing as Warren Worthington's daughter when the team was based back East; Heaven only knew what to make of her now.

Sophie's eyes went wide-- or, rather, white, summoning the group telepathic power of the Four-in-One-- when she saw who followed Rogue through the door.

“You could have mentioned you were bringing guests...”

Lenora, the ex-slave and ex-Marauder half-mutated into a lupine form like Wolfsbane's, shifted uneasily when her eyes met Sophie's. Cecilia's calming touch on her arm kept her from pouncing; even so, she growled dangerously.

“Essex was in my head. Don't want nobody else in there -ever-.”

Sophie nodded. “My mistake, then. Sorry.”

Rogue had expected a little more snottiness, but whatever she'd seen in Lenora's mind seemed to satisfy the kid. She stepped back and allowed the team to get down to business. Whatever that was.

Lenora had come to them out of the wilderness, on the outskirts of a little town called Dover-- the entire population of which appeared to have fallen victim to some kind of virus. (- see last issue) It drove them crazy and... -changed- them, the way Lenora had been changed. She had a nasty wound on her shoulder which ought to have infected her, but Cecilia Reyes had pronounced her clean. Apparently Nathaniel Essex had already done his worst to her X-gene.

“What happen to dem, cher?” asked Remy LeBeau-- Gambit, whose red eyes were narrowed with suspicion. “Sinister's work?”

Lenora shook her head. “Don't know. They surprised us, I ran. Caught me only a little before you got there. I brought somethin'... from Richard.”

She produced a tattered letter from the folds of her dress and handed it to Cecilia Reyes, who scanned it warily. Captain Richard Everett, their first client with X-Factor and Lenora's lover, had been off with Mystique trying to resettle the former Marauders and set right some of what Nathaniel Essex had made wrong. (- see issues #1-2) Once they'd solved a few cross-time cultural issues, Everett had gotten on pretty well with Ceci. Rogue thought the two had been writing each other, but she'd kind of lost track, what with the near-death experiences and all.

“Well?” prompted Sam Guthrie-- Cannonball.

Cecilia looked up from the paper. “They're in trouble.”

“Mystique lead 'em into a trap?”

“He doesn't say.” Cecilia read more, then frowned at Lenora. “Y'know, for a Southern gentleman, your guy's got terrible penmanship.”

Lenora growled and looked away. “Don't know. Can't read.”

“Oh.” Cecilia looked embarrassed. “Right-- of course. Anyway... he says they ran into an ambush up around Fort Henry. Looks like this thing's spread to the garrison there. He asks us to take care of Lenora and, if possible... translating from Southern gentility into Modern New York... to rip Essex a new one.”

“Laissez les bons temps rouler,” murmured Gambit. Let the good times roll.

“I don't suppose he said anything about payin' us?” asked Paige Guthrie-- Husk.

Rogue frowned at her. Technically, X-Factor was a group for hire. In a time and place where Charles Xavier's resources did little to help them, they couldn't be otherwise. But they were still X-Men. Rogue couldn't imagine any of them, particularly the idealistic Paige, refusing to help because a client didn't have the fee.

But maybe that should have been 'the -formerly- idealistic Paige,' Rogue thought. Nobody could say the kid hadn't been through the ringer.

So had Lenora, who looked fairly alarmed. “You got to help him. I'll do anything. Make it worth your while, I swear. Please--”

“Relax, cher,” said Gambit with a wink. “Dis here Essex, he what you call a special case. We mess wit' him for the fun of it.”

Judging by the look on Lenora's face, she heartily agreed.

Sam Guthrie cleared his throat. “How d'you want to get into the fort?”

“Just bust in, I reckon,” said Rogue. “Never had any problem gettin' noticed.”

“Yeah, but Fort Henry's kind of a big deal to the war. Takin' this fort is gonna be U.S. Grant's first big victory. Y'know, like President Grant? If we want to put this timeline straight, screwin' around with Fort Henry ain't the way to go.”

Gambit cleared his throat. “So, -homme-, you sayin' we got to rescue -nos amis- from de fort-- de fort bein' filled wit' a pack of bloodthirsty monsters, mind-- without anybody noticing?”

“I'm not sayin' anything. It's what history says. This can't go wrong.”

“Okay,” Rogue said. “We'll tackle this from another angle. Sammy, you'll have to fly again.”

“You want me to buzz past, do a recon?”

She shook her head. “No, I'll do that. Got me about half an idea, but I'll need Madrox back from Richmond-- an' I don't want to waste a lot of time, in case they know we got this letter. We pull this off right now, tonight. Y'all can meet us at the fort.”

“I'm on it.” He was, in fact, halfway to the door. “Rahne still outside?”

“Yeah-- go ahead an' take her, if you think she can talk to Jamie.”

“Hell, talkin's easy. It's the listening part he ain't so good at.” But Sam left without complaint.

“Now,” Rogue said, “let's find us a back door...”

--

Raven Darkholme had a terrible headache.

Actually, she had a couple of headaches. One of them involved the physical pain pounding away at her head; the other she classified more as a mental or emotional pain. It came in the form of a man chained to the wall beside her.

Raven was chained, too. She'd been taken prisoner (- last issue) by a pack of unreasonable people who fought like savages and gave no quarter. To his credit, the man-- Richard Everett-- had fought them about as hard as Raven had, if not as well. But then, the whole thing was really his business, not hers at all, and still he had the nerve to sit there, unconscious, looking all good-hearted and noble. As though this weren't proof enough of where nobility got you.

Something stirred in the darkness before her-- a shape the size of a tall man. Raven cursed herself; she'd been too annoyed even to make a cursory examination of her surroundings, and now she'd been taken off-guard. Apparently idiocy was catching.

“You can come out now, Essex. I know it's you.”

Nathaniel Essex obliged her. Or... well, -something- like Essex. When last she'd seen her old employer, he'd been a strapping specimen of Southern manhood with a genteel appearance that concealed the inner snake. Now his features were largely unchanged, but he was pale as a ghost, with red eyes and a peculiar diamond-shaped tattoo in the middle of his forehead. Raven remembered the red eyes on the mutates who had attacked her, and shivered...

“You like it?” said Essex. “Of course, it's not as fashionable as blue, but it will suffice.”

“What happened to you?”

“Progress. Destiny. The future, if you will.”

“I love it when you speak to me in vague clichés.”

Essex smirked and lit a cigarette. Raven smirked back and calculated the distance between them and the number of seconds it would take to kill him. About half a second too long. Pity.

“This has been fun, Nathaniel,” she said. “We'll have to keep it in mind for a dull Saturday night. Really, though, shouldn't you be setting me free?”

Essex arched an eyebrow. “In the first place, I no longer answer to that name. I am Sinister now.”

“In my experience, you always have been... oh, I'm sorry, you meant with a capital letter. Well, that -is- different.”

“In the second, you betrayed me.” (- This timeline's Mystique was a double-agent working against Essex in issues #1-2)

Raven made an innocent face-- -literally- made her most innocent face, having borrowed it from a waif she'd almost killed once. “You didn't see it coming? Please, Nathaniel. I have no pity for the stupid.”

His eyes met hers just long enough to remind her he was not a pleasant man. “I hope you don't really think me stupid. I have never thought you loyal. You're a chameleon, Raven, in more ways than one. You lack vision. You lack commitment...”

“But I'll show you a hell of a good time.” She shifted into her most desirable form and reached for him...

Essex took a step back. “You don't really think that will work?”

“With men, I find it's always worth a try.”

“You're dealing with no ordinary man now. I'm a cold-hearted scientist. Any remaining... weaknesses... along those lines have been swept away.”

“Well!” said Raven, “if we can't have fun and we can't make a deal, I can only think of one, last thing to try.”

“And what is that?”

She showed him her shackles. “I could make my wrists smaller...”

She did. In a moment, Raven was free of her bonds and on the attack, launching herself into a series of sweeping kicks and punches, one after the other. Essex blocked each blow with apparent ease; Raven realized with some surprise that his claimed superiority wasn't just a boast. He never would have been a match for her before...

She shifted focus, knocking him off-balance with a final kick and racing past him. She did realize-- dimly-- that she was leaving Everett behind to die. Perhaps if he survived, she would send him a sympathetic telegram. Raven had her own problems.

Essex let her get as far as the door, and then-- WHAM! A searing wave of power struck her squarely between the shoulder blades, knocking her against the wall hard enough to take her breath away. She lay there, dazed, and listened to his footsteps. Dimly, as though from far away, Raven realized she couldn't move her limbs...

Essex turned her over. “Are you persuaded?”

“Of what?”

“Inevitability.”

Raven made a face. “You're about to suggest I join you or suffer some terrible fate?”

“That is, essentially, my design. I have not the slightest doubt as to which you'll choose.”

“Mister Essex, I begin to suspect you're not a gentleman.” She sighed. “But you have an annoying habit of being right...”

--

Rahne Sinclair was just starting to get used to the whole 'blasting through the stratosphere' deal again, when Sam suddenly banked sharply and pulled a loop that banged her stomach against her teeth.

“Sam! Watch where yuir--”

“Down there!” He pointed at the green-and-brown landscape zipping past beneath them. “Two o'clock. Check that out.”

Rahne morphed-- her transitional state had better eyes. She ignored the small grunt from Sam that complained about her being heavier in this state. Then she blinked at something small and fast, tearing across the countryside like a miniature tornado.

“A horseman,” she said. “Erm, not a Horseman, I mean. Just a regular one.”

“You sure about that?”

Rahne frowned. “What makes ye think he's not?”

“Well, those buildings up ahead are Richmond. He came out of there like a bat out of hell, an' I thought I saw a flash, like maybe a small explosion...”

“Likely as not it was a cannonball. Erm, not you, Sam, I meant...”

“Yeah, a regular one, I gotcha. But I want to check it out.”

She tried to relax as Sam arced around and turned on the speed. He dipped low, like a raptor making a dive for its prey. Relaxation went out the window. Rahne shut her eyes tight. Then...

“Get ready to bail,” Sam said.

“WHAT?!”

“Sorry, Rahne, hate to hug an' run, but you ain't gonna want to hang around for this next part.”

“Ye wouldn't dare!” Rahne squirmed in his grasp; she'd have throttled him if she could have figured out the logistics. “If ye drop me, Sam Guthrie, ye'll regret it for the rest of yuir days! I'll never forgive ye! I'll never again lift so much as a finger to help ye on any mission! I'll... I'll tell yuir mum!”

“Ouch.” Sam strained forward even harder. “Sorry all the same, Rahne. See ya on the other side.”

“Wha-- no--WHOOOOOOOAAAAAAA'LL KILL YEEEEEOOOOOOOUUUUUCH!”

In the space of two seconds, Rahne went from anger to embarrassment to pain as the bottom dropped out from under her. She tried to morph again as she fell, but couldn't summon the presence of mind. Anyway, she belated remembered it was cats who land on their feet-- not wolves. So she fell in transitional state, landed heavily on her hip, and wasn't sure whether she cursed or yelped. She felt guilty all the same, and guiltier because for a moment she wanted nothing more than to fall on Sam and claw him from head to--

-BOOM!-

The mutant Cannonball slammed into the ground in front of their mystery horseman, frightening the poor animal half to death and knocking its rider to the ground. The rider was stunned for a moment, but he found his feet all too quickly and bolted in the opposite direction.

“Not so fast, laddie!” Rahne leaped into his path with fangs and claws bared. “Where d'ye think yuir goin' in such a flamin' hurry, now?”

The rider was a tall man with a chiseled physique. He laughed as Sam climbed out of his newly-formed crater and set up shop behind him.

“I hardly dared hope for this honor. Single combat with the children of Xavier? Tonight I am doubly blessed.”

“How d'ye know about Xavier?” Rahne snarled. “What are ye, another time-traveler?”

The man drew a curved, cruel-looking sword from its scabbard, saluted with the hilt of it, and assumed a ready position. “Want answers, little pup? You'll have to fight for them.”

“'Twill be a pleasure,” Rahne said, and went for his throat.

The sword flashed while she was still in the air; the man stepped neatly aside and cut a line down her flank. Rahne howled, tried to reverse course when she landed, but had to dodge the sword again.

“Mister, that was a mistake!” Sam blasted into him full-bore, knocking them both down.

They struggled for a moment, but if the rider couldn't match Sam's blast field, he was more than his match on solid ground. He pulled back his fist for a blow; Rahne got there first and clamped her jaws down on it. He rolled, brought up his free hand-- Rahne saw a glint of sharp metal in the moonlight--

“URK!” cried the rider. He dropped his dagger as a boot landed in his side. He reached for the weapon, but the boot kicked it away, and then Rahne was at his throat.

She lay there for a moment, listening to their hearts thud in time. Warm blood ran down her side, but the wound felt superficial. Another annoyance for her growing list, but at least this one had been worth it.

“It's over,” she growled in the rider's ear.

“Oh, no, little pup,” he said. “It begins...”

Rahne was about to scold him for the second-rate villain rhetoric... until she realized his heartbeat was falling out of rhythm.

“Poison!” she cried, leaping off the man. He was already convulsing, bleeding from the nose and mouth. “Sam!”

“It's too late,” said a voice. Not Sam's. Familiar all the same.

“Jamie!” For a second, Rahne was so glad to see her friend that she nearly hurdled the rider's corpse to hug him. Then she remembered she was mad at him for going solo, and affected her more customary tone of annoyance. “Well... ye certainly could have done -that- better. Now he cannae tell us anything.”

“Sorry,” said Jamie Madrox. He knelt to inspect the body, adding, “Next time, you want me to let him stab you?”

“Ye know what I mean! Between Sam's daft plan of attack--”

“I'm okay, by the way,” mumbled Sam Guthrie, who was brushing dirt off his clothes.

“--and yuir running off t'play private detective, 'tis a wonder this is the -first- person we've gotten killed!”

Jamie glanced up from taking the rider's pulse. “Yup, he's still dead. Oh, and hey... I'm just a dupe, Red. Don't waste your unresolved sexual tension on me.”

“My... my WHAT?!”

“Seriously,” said Sam, “I'm fine. After the first hundred bruises, they all blend together...”

“Suck it up, cowboy,” said the Madrox. “You think you have problems? This guy almost killed my other self tonight. If he hadn't made an extra dupe-- me-- to keep up the chase, you'd be a smear on the ground.”

Now Sam bristled. “Look, mister, I'm tryin' hard to be a nice guy, but me an' Rahne have taken down bigger bads than this without your help. Near as I can tell, your big contribution was makin' us blast halfway across the country to fetch you in the first place!”

“Good point.” The Madrox dupe nodded toward a horse, who was pawing the ground a little distance away. “You can take the ride back to town, if you're jet-lagged. It doesn't have a way cool blast field or anything, but my horse was busy bucking me, and this was the fanciest I could get on short notice.”

Sam made a face. “You're a regular one-man Pony Express.”

“Not to mention 'horse thief.' Slap a bag of feed on her when you're done, huh?”

With an air of cultivated-- and infuriating-- disinterest, the extra Madrox started walking back to Richmond. Sam turned to say something to Rahne, but she was preoccupied:

“'Unresolved sexual...' What a lark! Why, ye could be the last five million men on EARTH and I wouldnae... Madrox! Dinnae walk away when I'm scolding ye! Mad--” She broke off when she noticed Sam staring at her. “WHAT?”

He shrugged. “You feelin' alright? You seem tense.”

“ARGH! Idjits!” She spent the ride back talking to her most sensible companion present: The horse.

--

“Yeh, dat was me what got clobbered inna square (- when the team fought an unknown mutant in X-Factor #6),” said Guido, over another saloon table. “My head felt funny dere for a few minutes. I thought I was fightin' dem Nasty Boys...”

Jamie Madrox nodded. “Esme Cuckoo had the team brainwashed. Sam said he was sorry for ringing your bell, by the way.”

“Heh. I'm gonna tell youse somethin', dat scrawny hick packs a wallop like a Mac truck. His sister, too.” Guido frowned. “Esme. Lemme aks youse... I get dat the whole Stepford Cuckoo thing was, like, a funny on somebody's part... but wouldn't youse figure they'd go by 'Stepford?' I mean... what kinda name is Cuckoo? I can't even make no jokes about dat on account of it's too easy.”

Jamie shrugged; his lip twisted a little when he said, “If you're asking me to explain the X-Men to you, pal, I don't think I can. Nothing's made sense since I got sucked in with them.”

“Huh,” said Guido, arching an eyebrow. Rather than say anything, he went back to warming his hands on a steaming tin cup. The way he had to watch his heart these days, he didn't usually drink, but he'd been skillfully nursing a cup of coffee.

A sip later, he went on, “So what happened to Esme, anyhow? I hope she got hers.”

“Oh, she did.” Jamie gulped his own drink without looking at his friend. “She died again. She turned on her sisters, and they killed her. (- in The Crossroads.)”

“Oh. Cheez, I'm sorry... I mean, she wuz a creepy li'l freak an' all, but still I didn't...”

“Guido, just shut up, okay?”

He did. For about ten seconds. Then: “So what's wit' youse, anyhow? You ain't right.”

Jamie frowned. “Says who?”

“Says me. I made seven dirty jokes since we sat down here, an' you ain't made one. Dat ain't right.”

“I guess I just miss the humor quotient in... you know... killing children.”

Guido slammed down his cup. “C'mon, dat's enough, awright? I said I wuz sorry! Who jammed the stick up your--”

“-Hem-,” said a new voice.

Guido executed a flawless double-take, then leaped to his feet-- knocking his chair down-- and swept Rahne Sinclair into his arms. While she sputtered, he twirled her around and tossed her high in the air.

“Ach, put me down, ye great balmy oaf! I dinnae know why we troubled ourselves for the likes o' ye!”

“Yeah, I didn't miss you none either, kiddo.” Guido guffawed and hugged her, which only made Rahne sputter more. “So what, ya gonna keep squirmin', or you gonna give me a hug?”

He kept squeezing Rahne until she hugged back. She was still fretting and fuming, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she broke down laughing. Sam Guthrie stood a little distance off, quietly amused.

“So that's what a fella's gotta do to get a hug outta her. I'll remember that.”

“Well, saving her life doesn't seem to work,” said Jamie's own voice. His dupe joined the party and nodded to himself. “Bad news: Akkaba Guy kicked the bucket. No documents on him, nothing to go on.”

“Damn!” said Jamie, pounding on the table. Then he caught himself. “Okay... alright... you did good.”

As he reached out to absorb the dupe, the other said to Sam and Rahne: “Yes, I did, didn't I? YOU'RE WELCOME!”

“I won't miss that one,” Rahne said when the dupe had disappeared.

“Why, what'd he do?” Guido asked.

“Just talked out of turn.”

Jamie shrugged. “Sorry about that. I keep finding myself all over the place, but I'm still looking for one of me who isn't a jerk.”

Rahne started to reply, but Guido suddenly grabbed her and spun her again. “Aw, Cheez, kid, yer bleedin' all over the place! What happened to youse guys?”

Sam said, “Doesn't matter. We'll be fine. Meanwhile, Rogue needs y'all out West, so it's time to go.”

Jamie jumped up from the table. “Go? Are you kidding? Akkaba's here, now! If you want to find out what they're up to--”

“Yeah, I know, but there's no time. I got a hunch what Rogue's planning, an' it ain't gonna work without your powers. So for the last time, man... you in or out?”

Jamie glanced at Guido, then at Rahne, wishing one of them would make a call. But the big guy just looked thoughtful-- not his strongest mode-- while Rahne didn't seem to want to make eye contact. Great. He hated cleaning up the messes made in his personal life by his dupes. He hated making decisions even more. He sucked at both.

“We're in,” he sighed. “For a while.”

“Great,” said Sam, only half sarcastically. He reached out to shake hands...

That's when things started exploding again.

--

“You really think we can get in there quietly?”

Rogue glanced over the swampy ground, at a series of shabby earthworks protecting the Tennessee side of the Cumberland River. She didn't see any sentries, but that in itself struck her as odd.

She ducked back down beside Paige Guthrie and Sophie Cuckoo, who were hiding in the underbrush. “Well, stranger things have happened... can't figure quite when, but I reckon they have. Sophie, you feelin' any minds in there?”

The girl shook her head. “Not individual ones... there's -something- in there. It's angry. That's all I know.”

“Crap,” said the team leader, with gusto. She wondered briefly if a more experienced telepath could have made this easy. Then she decided that was a fruitless road to go down. Her team was her team. Time to make use of it. She stripped off her gloves.

“Sure you're ready for this, honey?”

Sophie shrugged. “Be ready yourself. You'll hurt more than I will.”

Rogue was still trying to figure out what to make of that when her hand brushed Sophie's cheek-- and suddenly she was falling, falling down a hole in the center of the Universe where her mind was not her own, but only a fraction of something powerful and faceless and too slippery to get a firm hold on. It burned like a sun inside her skull, sending tendrils of energy through her body, dissolving her world and her sense of self...

In the back of her mind, she could feel Sophie's sisters, the other Cuckoos in their separate realities, buzzing to themselves. She knew their thoughts before they thought them, because she was thinking them too.

She found herself in a black space between time, being scrutinized by three identical teenage girls; in Rogue's mind, they were all her. Or she was all them, maybe.

“Hello... what's this?” said one of the others... Celeste, Rogue thought.

“You're not Sophie!” all four realized together. When Rogue said it, it came out “I'm not Sophie!” but she felt just as shocked and violated.

“Oh, don't worry, girls,” said Mindee Cuckoo. “It's only Rogue.”

“We were wondering how long until something like this happened,” said the final sister, Phoebe.

Celeste regarded her curiously, seeming to look up and down her soul: “Your mind is more complex than we expected... you're all jumbled together, aren't you?”

“Like us,” Rogue said, slipping effortlessly into Sophie's place within the group mind. “But now I know everything Sophie knows. Aren't we afraid of that, girls?”

“Not really,” said Mindee offhandedly. “You'll never tell.”

“Of course I won't,” said Rogue. In her present state, betraying the group mind would have felt like betraying herself. By the time that sense of loyalty faded, the memories would, too. A shame; she thought it was terribly clever, what she-- her sisters-- the Cuckoos had done, especially with Professor Xavier. (- see The Crossroads)

Rogue wanted nothing more than to remain here, between Universes, as a part of the whole. She'd never felt so strongly that she belonged anywhere. With an effort, she wrenched herself away...

“I... I have to go,” she said, and took a step back from the others.

“We know,” said Phoebe.

“Say hi to Gambit,” added Mindee.

“We all think he's really cute,” said Celeste.

Rogue would have agreed with that no matter whose mind she was using, but she felt amusement anyway. Another reason not to tell any secrets; Remy's ego didn't need to get any larger. She smiled again to the girls-- to herself-- and then...

...Then she looked up at Paige Guthrie with glowing white eyes. The mutant called Husk was cradling a semi-conscious Sophie; she looked relieved when Rogue noticed her. Apparently she'd been trying to get the older woman's attention for a while.

“Are you...?”

“We're fine,” said Rogue, in a voice devoid of Mississippi twang. “Shall I call the others?”

“Guess you'd better,” said Paige. She glanced between her two teammates nervously. “I'm not gonna get assimilated, am I?”

Rogue chuckled. “Oh, no, dear. Your mind's not strong enough. We have our standards.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Tell me this'll fade -really- fast...”

“Not until we're inside, I hope.”

With a last, beatific smile, Rogue put her borrowed telepathy to good use...

--

On the far side of the fort (but still on the Confederate side of the river), Cecilia Reyes looked at Gambit and Lenora.

“That's the word from Rogue. Let's go.”

Lenora looked suspicious. “Didn't hear nothin'.”

“I heard it in my mind. Rogue's got a... a mind-reader with her.”

“How she doin'?” asked Remy, who was apt to worry anytime Rogue absorbed something exotic.

Cecilia shrugged. “She seems fine. Very... blonde. Kind of reminds me of Emma.”

“Do tell.” Remy pulled a couple of playing cards and crept away, thinking he'd hidden the smirk that crossed his face, but Cecilia had seen it. Lenora followed him, muttering something about “witches.”

Cecilia Reyes didn't guess she could argue with that, so she manifested her force-field and brought up the rear.

--

Rogue didn't say it, but by the pained look on her face, she clearly felt the sense of oppressive anger Sophie had mentioned before handing over the keys to her powers. Paige Guthrie would have worried about that, if she wasn't so busy worrying about everything else. She wished Rogue would have let her go in alone. Those creatures back in Dover hadn't been able to penetrate her steel husk (- last issue), but they'd threatened to do plenty of damage to the others. If they hurt somebody else, hurt Sam even, and Paige could have prevented it...

-Enough,- she told herself. Enough thinking. Enough guilt. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. Even if she didn't clearly recall why at the moment.

She almost missed the softy intake of breath as Rogue airlifted her over the dark shape of the fort. “Problem?”

“No, darling, I always like to hyperventilate a few times per night. It keeps my lungs in condition.”

“Really. Stop bein' a Cuckoo. Like right now.”

“We're in position,” Rogue said. “Are you ready?”

“As I'm gonna be. Bombs away!”

Rogue dropped her without preamble. Paige shed her skin on the way down, revealing a rubber husk that hit the ground and literally bounced. For a second she thought she'd keep bouncing right over the wall, but eventually she hit the ground and stuck, only feet behind a sentry in tattered Confederate gray.

-I'm in position to take out the first guard,- she sent to Rogue.

-Carefully,- the other reminded her, and Paige suppressed her annoyance. When she was herself, Rogue would have trusted her. It wasn't like Paige was still a rookie who needed--

The sentry turned as she reached out for him. He had a pasty, disintegrating face and eyes that shone red out of the blackness. He grabbed her arm with a lethal-looking claw.

“Dammit dammit DAMMIT! ROGUE!”

-I'm trying to blunt his perceptions,- Rogue sent. -I don't know why it's not working.-

Paige added a few more choice words as she ripped her arm away. She turned to steel and left the sentry holding a rubber husk.

“GRRRRARGH!” The creature lunged; Paige hit him in the gut with a metal fist. He doubled over, but kept staggering forward.

Even worse: Something -pinged- off Paige's shoulder. She turned to see one red-eyed soldier reloading, and another with officer's bars gesturing with his sword. In response to his command, a dozen of them came out of the woodwork. They moved like spiders, skittery and fast, and they were apparently smart enough to master firearms. Paige's mood did not improve.

The sentry grabbed her from behind. Paige set herself, pivoted, and threw him over her shoulder into the crowd of his friends. The others kept coming.

-POW!- A muted flash of energy from the other side of the fort announced the arrival of Gambit and Ceci. About half of the mutates split off from the main group, but the others were still coming...

-Uhh... I don't think this is gonna be a surprise,- she thought to Rogue.

-Don't matter,- said the other, starting to sound more like herself. -I think we've got trouble, either way... Sam's not coming.-

--

The building across the street was in flames; Sam Guthrie could see it burning through the window. He still hadn't figured out who to blame when he heard the voice in his head:

-Where are you, Sam? We need your help!-

-Sophie?- he guessed, surprised as ever at the range of the Five-in-One's telepathy. -How are you...?-

-Actually, it's Rogue. Long story. In brief: I'm going to make a whole bunch of mutated soldiers go away, and I'll need an equal number of Madri to replace them.-

-Heh,- thought Sam. -Called that plan. I got Madrox, but...-

-There's no time for buts, Sam. I told you to meet us at the fort. What's your progess?-

-Slim and none,- Sam replied. He reached the front door, flung it open, and ran into the street. -Listen, I think we got a proble...”

He didn't get to finish the word, much less the sentence. Another building disintegrated, adjacent to the first. Sam hit the dirt; behind him, he heard the others yelping and cursing. Couple of near-misses, there. When he looked up again...

“PEOPLE OF A FLAWED AND CORRUPT NATION, PREPARE TO BOW THY KNEE.”

“I been at this game too long,” whispered Guido from the doorway. “Awready I can tell dis ain't good.”

Rahne let out a little grunt of frustration, Madrox a hum of agreement. At least Sam knew he wasn't hallucinating.

Something had appeared in the sky... red and shimmering and growing larger by the moment. He didn't want to look at it, because he knew more or less what was coming, and he was certain it would be a train wreck. Like any horrible accident, he couldn't look away.

“LO, I BRING THEE TIDINGS OF A NEW ERA, WHEREIN THE STRONG SHALL THRIVE AND THE WEAK SHALL PERISH.”

The figure fell like a meteor and slammed into the street with a similar impact. He was at least seven feet tall, clad in red armor and a helmet that obscured all but his red eyes. His right hand gripped a formidable-looked mace, his left a shield. He swept his gaze from side to side as though looking for a challenge. Then he focused on the knot of mutants lying in a doorway across the street.

“WILT THOU CHALLENGE ME, CHILDREN OF XAVIER?”

Sam climbed to his feet and slipped his goggles into place. “Reckon we better?”

“If we gotta,” said Guido's voice, just behind him. “I wuz gettin' bored wit' cattle anyhow.”

They stepped into the street, followed by Rahne in her transitional form and at least eight of Jamie Madrox. If the disparity of numbers bothered the red-clad gladiator, he hardly showed it. Instead, he held out his hand and gestured them forward. Nothing of a smile could be seen on his face, but there was a mocking lightness in his tone:

“COME, THEN, AND TEST THYSELF. BUT KNOW THAT THOU FACETH THE HARBINGER OF DOOM FOR THIS WORLD... THE SERVANT OF THE MIGHTY ONE. I AM THY TERROR BROUGHT TO LIFE. I AM A HORSEMAN OF THE APOCALYPSE. I... AM... WAR!”

“There's thirty seconds of my life I'll never have back,” said Jamie. “Magneto would have been done posturing by now.”

“These Apocalypse loons are always the loudest,” added Rahne.

“I think he's finished,” said Sam, cracking his knuckles. “Let's rock.”

--

“Careful there, cher!” cried Remy LeBeau. He exploded a card in the face of one mutate and rolled under the grip of another, just in time to reach out with his staff and trip one sneaking up on Cecilia Reyes. “You know, for all dem Confederates complain 'bout bein' outnumbered, you'd think there be less of 'em!”

“This isn't the soldiers' fault,” Cecilia said. “You know what I'm wondering?”

Gambit hid behind Cecilia's forcefield, even as a line of mutates with rifles unleashed a volley. The doctor screamed when the bullets hit her, but her forcefield didn't buckle until they hit the ground. She staggered back into Gambit's arms, and he shielded her until she'd regained her strength.

“Merci,” he said as they rejoined the fight. He hadn't missed the way Cecilia trembled when they touched. The doctor -really- hated combat; he thought it best to distract her. “What you wonderin', cher?”

“Um-- yeah. It's just-- this disease, plus the rumors Warren mentioned about Apocalypse... what if this isn't Essex's work? What if this is Pestilence?”

“Or what if dey the same?” Gambit shrugged. “Our Sinister usually aims higher than Horseman, but he could be lookin' to work his way up.”

“There's a cheerful thought...”

“Over here!” someone hissed. Lenora was standing a little distance away; her fur and claws were bloody, and she stood over the body of an officer... holding up a ring of keys. “C'mon, we can find Richard!”

Gambit hesitated; he looked back at the battle, where Rogue and Paige were still holding their ground.

-Go on, Remy,- said a voice in his head-- blissfully Southern once more. -These clowns can't hurt us too bad. Sam's gonna be a while; time to improvise.-

-Dat one o' my best skills, chere,- he sent back. -Be safe. Je t'aime.-

She didn't answer. She probably didn't have time; at least, that was what Gambit told himself as he grabbed Cecilia's hand and ran after Lenora.

--

Paige husked from steel to diamond, the better to stab jagged edges through the guts of two mutates who attacked her from either side. She told herself it wasn't murder; anyone with that contagion, she was nearly certain, was already dead. But she was only -nearly- certain, and she had to admit some part of her was not displeased at the chance to hurt something.

Another creature appeared beside her. Paige was startled, but a moment later it was gone, as Rogue screamed in from the side and knocked it away. They fought back to back for a time, neither gaining nor losing ground, until--

“Enough!”

Rogue froze at the familiar voice; so did most of the mutates. Two others kept clawing at Paige, but that didn't last long: A sudden noise like the loudest clap of thunder in the world, and two bodies fell at Paige's feet, missing their heads. She backed off, repulsed, while her rescuer stepped into sight, holding two smoking officer's pistols.

“Too slow,” said Raven Darkholme. She nodded to Rogue. “I'm glad to see you.”

Rogue nodded to the woman who, in another life, was her mother. “I can say the same, for once. How'd you get away?”

“Long story. We have a lot to talk about, Rogue...”

Raven gestured, and a couple of mutates brought forward a figure in gray, now barely conscious, bound and gagged. Richard Everett, the man they had come to save. The man Raven was supposedly helping. Now she raised a pistol to his forehead and said:

“...as soon as you surrender.”

END

In Issue #9: “Every Patriot Grave”
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