Author's Note: This chapter is pretty much of an introduction; kind of giving an idea of where our favorite amphibian is. So, I guess I could dub it a prologue, but considering I am extremely lazy, and want to say my story is longer than it truly is; please accept this ramble-y introduction as a chapter. As you can tell, I am not a fan of Ororo, so; if you are a fan of her one-sided murderous behavior, do not read on. Mmm-kay? I MEAN, REALLY, PEOPLE!! Toad just incapacitated her, and she had to go mucho-loco on him! Uuugh. And to finish it all off, that cheesy line... I'll show her what happens when a btch gets struck by lightning. Bwuahahaha. I felt so sorry for poor Mortie. So, I'm giving him his two bits, and lets just say for Ororo's...well...situation...what comes around, goes around.

For all those who actually bothered to READ that horrendously long author's note, congrats to you, and here is your very own Mortie clone. hands out very peeved looking clones And if you read the NEXT authors note...you may even get a Darth Maul!! Aren't you happy, Mort?
Mort: sigh...yippee skippee.
That's a good Mort! glomps

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story except for...well, it would be easier to say what I don't own. I don't own the X-Men, the Brotherhood, etc. etc. Don't sue me, or I'll unleash many rabid chipmunks to chew on your groin. I do own the 'spy', however. No, I'm not going to tell you the name yet! That would spoil everything! You spoil-y fools you!

Chapter One- Time For Self Pity

There wasn't much to do anymore. Magneto had put both of his former right hand men on suspension, giving them the silent treatment as a young schoolchild would a disobedient friend.

So, the infamous, or perhaps, just the un-famous, Mortimer Toynbee rented a small flat in New York, and wasn't heard from for several weeks. He still had about six hundred dollars worth of American currency, and as long as he kept his hood up, he was able to keep relatively unnoticed.

He did notice, however, around the time that his water shut off, that it was time to get back in to the flow of life, however much he hated to admit it.

It wasn't very hard to tag a person such as Mortimer, realizing his unique skin colour, and the fact of a seven metre tongue- but, unlike his former employer, he never made a spectacle of himself. He constantly guarded his identity, or, when the action was to intense to keep his hood up, moved to quickly for anyone to see in the first place.

'Heh,' he thought to himself. 'That bastard Kelly didn't even notice his 'coptor pilot was all shades of green. I doubt he recognized me when he saw me scarf that pigeon...' he gave himself the reward of a smile.

He was the amazing Toad: ridding the world of rats with wings, one meal at a time. What had really been priceless was the look of disgust on the senator's face. Quite honestly, he had paid for that little stunt later on; disease infested birds were not especially well looked upon, even to a mutant like himself.

He had been pondering for quite awhile whether or not to return to his native land; for, although the U.K. wasn't completely tolerant of mutants, they weren't even close to coming to a registration act. Americans were always so quick to jump to conclusions. Jump. Heh. He smiled once again, he had made a joke. He hadn't been too cheery since his encounter with that blasted weather sorceress- he had sunk in to one of his 'pity trips' as Sabretooth so kindly dubbed them, and his mind had been a little more than screwed up.

Not to the point of insanity, mind you; but now, memories came unbidden to the amphibious man, tainting his already troubled soul a darker shade.

But deep inside, he knew he couldn't return home. Not in the sense of emotional feeling; but he doubted that human security would let such an obvious mutant through their airports. He was tired of the words 'will you please step over here sir,' 'we need to inspect your bag, sir' 'may we see some identification, sir' before he had even reached the metal detectors. It was absolutely infuriating.

His second option was Mags. But he doubted the old coot would let him back in now; especially since he had made no attempt to spring him, or to contact him since Liberty Island. It looked as if the Brotherhood had been reduced to Mystique and Mags himself (He shuddered to think what they would do now that they had the lair to themselves).

His third option was completely out of the question; If he never heard of Westchester New York again, it would be much too soon. Those x-freaks claimed that they were righteous in all ways. Heh. They said they were the 'helpers of all' and the 'keepers of the peace'. Peace keepers his arse. He wondered how serving up 100,000 volts of electricity to someone's system, blasting them in to a bay, and leaving them for dead was much in the way of peace keeping? He sighed. At least he had left all of them a chance for survival. Storm was left in an elevator shaft, not a polluted bay- (which did wonders for his toxin sensitive skin, by the way) and Jean had Mr. Laser to help her out. And it didn't help that all of them had cool-ass intimidating names. Heaven help the first person who called him 'toad.'

So, in the broader picture, he was screwed. He couldn't pay his rent, he couldn't stay with anyone, and he couldn't get a job. Things were definitely not looking up for Mortimer Toynbee.

Unknown to the amphibious mutant, there were a pair of catlike green eyes watching him skulk from not far away, perched gracefully on a leaf barren branch outside his third story window. A long, feline tail swished back and forth impatiently, waiting. The spy sighed, thinking angrily. He'd better get off his sorry butt soon, because Fear didn't wait forever.