Happy New Year, everyone. Apologies for the delay. Various obligations got in the way. I'm hoping to try to update a little more regularly.

Again, the characters are Marvel's. I'm just using them.

Enjoy and please leave some feedback.

Chapter Seventy: Nothing as It Seems

"Could I interest you in a glass of champagne, Mr Da Costa?"

Roberto shook his head and raised a thick, dark brow at his hostess, Claudine Renko, as she held out a flute of dancing bubbles and flecks of gold leaf. "Isn't it early to be drinking?" he asked lightly.

Maroon eyes twinkled behind tendril-like, black lashes. "I have a feeling that our new relationship will provide much to celebrate," she remarked enigmatically, tossing back her veritable lion's mane of jet-black hair. Then she turned to Bobby, who was sitting next to Roberto on the plush, striped sofa. "What about you, Mr Roberts? Can I tempt you?"

"Sorry but I don't drink while I'm on the clock," he replied, his apologetic tone masking a growing sense of puzzlement. The offer was strange enough but the statement justifying the drink struck him as especially peculiar. Then again, there seemed to be nothing routine about this aspect of the mission.

That morning, their hired Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the fortified, iron gates leading to the presidential compound. Immediately waiting for them were some members of Tyger's security detail. One of them, a medium-built man with long, flowing pink hair, rapped loudly on the windshield. Sneering, he gestured for the driver to roll down the window. When the driver complied, the man announced that Claudine had directed him and his unit to escort the guests inside the building. The driver would have to park elsewhere and wait.

As soon as Roberto and Bobby stepped out of the car, a larger man with magenta hair and what appeared to be a semi-solid, tar-like body barked at the driver to clear the entrance. The driver obliged, quickly guiding the Rolls-Royce away from the compound in record speed. Meanwhile, the pink-haired man ordered the rest of the detail to conduct searches on the spot. Bobby's messenger bag and Roberto's briefcase were rifled through by a stocky, hirsute man wearing blue hot pants and black gloves lined with blue silk. He growled at an indignant Roberto, who kept asking if such measures were necessary. His protests grew louder when he was frisked by a heavily-muscled, bald man dressed in a brown suede vest and matching trousers.

The pink-haired man, who had introduced himself as Ruckus, explained that such procedures were required given the current state sentiment of the natives. Those in government could not be too careful these days, he had noted. Despite the somewhat rational tone of his position, the words were belied by his apparent delight in watching Roberto being manhandled. Ruckus had even remarked that Slab (the individual performing the search) was doing a diligent job, eliciting a scowl from Roberto.

After subjecting Roberto to some jostling and rough patting down, Slab shoved the swarthy Brazilian aside and moved onto Bobby. He grabbed Bobby roughly by the shoulders to begin the inspection. His broad hands fumbled as they searched for any possible weapons or any possible communicators (Claudine requested that no mobile phones or recording devices be brought into the building). When Slab reached Bobby's chest, he shivered and recoiled.

"Cold," he muttered before staring up at Bobby. Then he asked, "You a mutant?"

Bobby nodded, adjusting his purple-tinted sunglasses. Although the coolness of his skin would have been apparent prior to the onset of the secondary mutation, the ice now encasing his torso amplified the effect. With a steely expression in his grey eyes, he responded, "Is that a problem?"

"Depends," Slab grunted, jabbing his index finger into Bobby's chest. He winced when his fingertip was met by solid ice rather than flesh. Then he snarled, "You piss me off and I'll throw you on the barbeque."

The inspection continued with Bobby trying to maintain a façade of calm despite the indignity of the process. When the detail was satisfied that nothing untoward had been found on both visitors, Ruckus motioned for his men to stand down. He then turned to a keypad fixed into the stone edifice. Bobby watched him tap a code before the iron gates slid open.

Once inside the compound, Ruckus announced that he and Slab would be personally escorting their guests to Claudine. Their colleagues stood guard just behind the gates, glaring. Bobby and Roberto were then marched past spectacular French-style gardens, which featured clipped greens, parterres and water terraces. The presidential palace, a five-story, chateau-like building, complimented the European-style landscaping. True to the plans Jessica Drew had provided, there were multiple cameras strategically placed in various locations.

Behind his sunglasses, Bobby made a point to study all of them.

When they reached the front door, Ruckus reached for the callbox and pressed a button. He murmured something into the microphone, which was followed by a loud buzz. Opening the large, oak door, Ruckus ordered Roberto and Bobby inside. Slab followed closely behind.

The two X-Men were led through the marble foyer to a set of elevators. Wordlessly, they climbed into a waiting car with their escorts. Bobby began assessing the situation during the journey up to presidential apartment. Due to the persistent and hazy conditions in Madripoor, Roberto was still unable to access his powers. As a result, he and Bobby would be at a slight disadvantage should anything occur in the elevator. Bobby had tried to recall the intelligence provided to the team by Jessica. With the exception of their names, there was very little information available. It was clear that Ruckus was the one who wielded authority. Based on a quick survey, Slab was the designated muscle. Quickly, Bobby considered the amount of ice necessary to subdue both parties.

Before he could complete his calculations, the doors slid open.

Standing before them was a voluptuous woman with a cloud of black hair, alabaster skin, and glittering, maroon eyes. Her make-up was dramatic, which served to emphasise the red diamond tattoo in the middle of her forehead. The outfit she had chosen consisted of her usual attire but was still an eccentric choice for a business meeting—black, satin corset with matching panties; black, fingerless opera gloves; and thigh-high, stiletto boots. Gold cross earrings dangled from her earlobes.

Bobby and Roberto briefly exchanged looks. Granted, they had previously seen surveillance and file photographs of her. But it was not until this moment that they sensed something very familiar about the woman.

She extended a hand to Roberto and drawled, "Mr Da Costa, I presume?" Her voice was reminiscent of cut glass.

Roberto nodded, accepting the proffered hand for a polite shake. "Ms Renko."

"Please call me Claudine," she said, smiling upon release. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Roberto gestured to Bobby. "Allow me to introduce my chief accountant, Drake Roberts."

Bobby struggled to contain his wariness when it was his turn to shake. He could not help but notice a strange quality to her expression. Although the corners of her mouth curled upwards, the smile failed to reach her eyes. She reminded him of a snake, biding her time just before confronting unfortunate prey.

He made a mental note to maintain his vigilance.

"Is this your first time in Madripoor, Mr Roberts?" Claudine asked.

Bobby peered down at their joined hands before responding. The hold she was using did not connote any romantic or sexual interest. Rather, it seemed as if she were grasping onto him in order to search for something. Her maroon eyes became fixed upon his boyish face. There was a furtive wrinkle to her forehead, reflecting an attempt to perform a scan. When he saw the look of anticipation disappear from her face, it was clear Xi'an's shields were indeed working.

"I believe it is," he replied, drawing his hand back.

There was a brief flash of frustration behind her red eyes before she quickly regained her composure. Obviously, the comment had struck a nerve. Claudine was a woman who was accustomed to getting her way.

Turning to Roberto, she forced a gracious smile. "Thank you for agreeing to come here for the presentation. I realise this must be unorthodox compared to what you are used to. But as you know, the situation in this country is quite precarious at the moment."

Roberto edged away from Slab, whom he believed had been standing too close to him. "As long as we are able to come to an agreement, I would be willing to meet at a lemonade stand," he said, summoning every ounce of charm left in reserve.

"Please know that Tyger is eager for a positive outcome to our meeting," Claudine told him, leading the delegation further inside the apartment. "Unfortunately, the continued situation in the streets has caused her some distress and she needs to focus her efforts in instilling order. However, rest assured that as her official emissary and close counsel, I am authorised to make decisions relating to any business deals on her behalf."

Following their mysterious hostess and her security team, Bobby and Roberto were able to gauge the extent of the suspected corruption. In stark contrast to the dire conditions facing the rest of the nation, the presidential apartment reflected Tyger's opulent tastes and penchant for European design. Classic English decor made use of golds, creams, browns and beige shades combined with splashes of royal blue and red throughout. In the large living room, an elegant cocktail cabinet, crystal chandelier, antique desk and Regency-style furnishings contributed to an atmosphere of refined elegance. French windows opened out to a large terrace, overlooking the crystal blue sea.

Upon entering, wait staff dressed in black-and-white tuxedos were in the process of bringing out trays and three-tiered plates for the mid-morning meal. There were cucumber and Cornish yarg sandwiches and smoked salmon pinwheels. The desserts were even more impressive. The opera cake was made of chocolate and decorated with gold leaf. Strawberry tartlets were adorned with gold leaf and tiny, edible 'pearl' drops. White chocolate delights, resembling capezzoli di venere, were festooned with edible white-chocolate leaves and pearls while macaroons with lemon mousseline were placed under a spun-sugar 'cage'. Scones were presented with a champagne and gold leaf jelly served in a shot glass, giving the appearance of the gold-flecked Luxor.

With Ruckus and Slab flanking each side, Claudine invited Roberto and Bobby to present Da Costa International's investment proposal. As CEO of the company, Roberto took the lead. Bobby occasionally interjected with specific figures or specific international tax policies. This, by far, was the least complicated aspect of the mission.

As the presentation continued, Claudine sat back and appeared to be listening attentively. Once in a while, she made various queries about the proposed relationship's long-term outlook and other avenues of profit. Meanwhile, Ruckus and Slab stood protectively over her. Although clearly disinterested in the subject matter, they stared down Roberto and Bobby at every opportunity.

When they finished, Claudine thanked Roberto for the proposal. She then called for the wait staff to start serving. Over the sumptuous late-morning meal, Claudine indicated her willingness to enter into a new partnership with Da Costa International. She discussed the optimism both she and Tyger had for the company's assistance in reversing the fortunes of the nation. Roberto, feigning delight, informed her that his legal team would be drawing up contracts as soon as possible. Following this exchange, Claudine asked for a bottle of champagne to be brought out.

Reflecting upon these events as he sat on the overstuffed sofa alongside Roberto, Bobby was growing convinced that something was amiss. Although he was no businessman, Bobby was seasoned enough to know what had taken place was unusual. There had been no deliberation, no consulting with other parties. The decision had been immediate. This prompted him to wonder if Claudine had already made up her mind. He and Roberto could have suggested various Ponzi schemes and the official decision would have still been in Da Costa International's favour.

Adding to Bobby's suspicions was Claudine herself. While she was polite and at times, ingratiating (especially towards Roberto), it was difficult not to feel as if this was part of some façade. Somehow, Claudine managed to be engaged and distant with them. With the exception of her attempt to telepathically read Bobby, she had done little to reveal her true motivations. Those maroon eyes, which seemed to glitter with such intensity, remained affixed on both Roberto and Bobby throughout the meeting. It was as if they were engaged in careful study, gathering whatever information available.

But what truly vexed Bobby was a disconcerting sense of familiarity about Claudine. Even though today marked the first time their paths had crossed, he was plagued by the feeling that they had previously met. Bobby racked his brain to search for a where and a when. Much to his dismay, he came up empty. Still, Bobby was convinced that Claudine was no stranger. The way she carried herself, her polished accent, those perpetually glittering eyes, and that distinctive tattoo—all of these things reminded him of someone.

This individual in question was destructive in every sense of the word.

His thoughts were interrupted by loud footfalls originating from the far end of the hallway. Claudine turned her head in the direction of the approaching steps. She lowered her champagne flute, the corners of her mouth twisting in a smug smile. Meanwhile, Ruckus and Slab, who had enjoyed the roles of intimidators, suddenly appeared meek upon the person's arrival.

Finally, Claudine drawled, "There you are, Daken. Come join us."

Bobby and Roberto watched as a broad-shouldered man amble into the living room. He was dressed in a pair of skin-tight, grey trousers and black combat boots, leaving his sleekly-muscled torso on display. A black tribal tattoo covered the entire length of his left arm. His thick, dark hair was styled in a Mohawk, calling attention his finely sculpted, Eurasian features. There was grace and efficiency to his movements, allowing him to reach Claudine's side quickly. Contempt and boredom radiated from him as he grunted at Ruckus and Slab to clear their positions. Upon noticing the guests, he raised a thick brow. The gold flecks in his blue eyes flashed.

For a moment, Bobby could have sworn that Logan had entered the room.

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"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my associate, Daken." Claudine seemed to purr the last word in the sentence. Then she placed a hand on his forearm, stroking it slightly. "Daken, these are our guests, Messieurs Da Costa and Roberts."

Roberto was about to stand up and offer his hand to shake but then thought better of it. He was quite certain the gesture would not have been reciprocated. Moreover, Roberto had the impression that his wrist would have been snapped should he make a sudden move.

The surly-faced man nodded curtly in greeting before eyeing Ruckus and Slab. "Go downstairs," he ordered, his voice bordering on a growl. "You're not needed here anymore."

Ruckus opened his mouth, ready to protest. However, he reconsidered his course of action when Daken began to scowl. His face drained slightly of its colour. Clearly, there had been some prior resistance which presumably culminated in some form of violent humiliation. With begrudging compliance, Ruckus then motioned for Slab to follow him out of the room.

Claudine looked amused following their exit. "You do so have quite the management style," she observed, languidly stretching her legs. Then she waved absentmindedly at the buffet table near the back of the room. "Would you care for something?"

Daken narrowed his eyes. "No," he replied gruffly.

For some reason, this refusal somewhat delighted her. There was a light laugh before she spoke again. "You will be happy to know that I have just worked out an agreement for Da Costa International," she said, taking a sip of champagne. "With some luck, our financial fortunes will soon turn."

The news was received with an indifferent shrug.

"I was wondering," Roberto began, leaning forward slightly, "if it would be possible to see Tyger when I've secured the necessary paperwork. For an endeavour such as this, I would imagine she and the rest of the cabinet would want to capitalise on some good publicity. The implications for the economy and the citizens of this country…the deal would certainly change how she is perceived in the eyes of the public. Perhaps we could contact the media and ask them to produce some pieces about our new relationship?"

Claudine placed her glass of champagne on the coffee table. She folded her hands in her lap. Her maroon eyes narrowed, as if she were mulling the proposal carefully. Daken looked on, arms crossed and smirking.

After what seemed to be a long pause in conversation, she finally replied, "I can look into it but cannot guarantee anything. Tyger has a great deal to contend with at the moment."

Roberto nodded. "I understand but I really do think it would be in everyone's best interests if she makes an appearance—even if it is brief one."

"You will recall, Mr Da Costa, that I am Tyger's emissary. My decisions essentially reflect hers."

"Yes, I remember that being made very clear to me. However, you must understand that my company is poised to invest a great deal of capital here. Such news will be definitely be covered by the media. Given that Tyger is the face of Madripoor, it would look strange should she not appear and make a statement about the deal. I not only have to think about the company's public image but my shareholders as well. "

"And if she declines…are you saying you would renege?"

"If you were in my position, Claudine, what would you do?"

Bobby was curious to see how she would respond. Would that mask of control falter when confronted with pressure? As civil as Roberto was being, there was no denying his persistence. With each passing second Bobby wondered how far would they would be able to push her before she revealed her true colours.

Claudine shifted in her seat slightly, her long, slender fingers reaching for the arms of the chair. Her maroon eyes flashed as she stared at Bobby and Roberto. Then she inhaled deeply before replying in a haltingly cool voice, "I would ensure I knew who I was dealing with before even considering such an option."

Parked several feet the presidential compound was a battered, dirty panel van with faded signs for a rubbish collection business affixed to the sides. The vehicle had been moved from its previous location, a block away from the property. The decision had been made following confirmation that it was safe to do so.

At first glance, the van appeared to be rather innocuous. It could have been lost in the throes of downtown traffic. Closer inspection, however, revealed that the back windows consisted of one-way mirrors, which were tarnished. The remaining windows were tinted. The body was composed of steel and aluminium. The combination was sufficient to withstand small arms fire and most shell fragments.

Inside, a row of seats had been removed to allow room for several pieces of surveillance and communications equipment. Lightweight and sophisticated in design, these were items specifically created for covert operations. A powerful laptop computer provided the transmission from a remote camera, broadcasting images from inside Tyger's home to the monitor in high-definition. The visual details were concurrently subjected to content analysis, including facial recognition. Meanwhile, the immediate perimeter was observed through the use of a retractable periscope. Audio information from within the presidential compound was relayed through a receiver inside the laptop. Given that little was known about the subject of the extraction, a lighted workstation had also been installed. In addition to a stretcher, there was a medical litter, oxygen tanks, and compartments for basic medical supplies and gear.

The designer of the vehicle, Forge, used his extensive Genoshan connections to smuggle it into Madripoor without incident. Along with the van, he also provided headsets for those responsible for surveillance. For the teammates tasked with the covert aspects of the assignment, Forge fashioned various devices to escape suspicion. Miniature recorders were inserted into the flesh plugs Roberto wore in his earlobes. Meanwhile, the lenses of Bobby's sunglasses and Roberto's contacts were fitted with microscopic HD cameras, broadcasting images back to the surveillance team. Forge had also affixed screens to these items as well, which allowed the receiving of instant messages. Communication devices were built into wristwatches given to all team members. Such equipment also afforded the option of relaying both auditory and digitally dictated message between members.

The field team leader for this assignment, Rogue, was monitoring the events inside the presidential apartment via the laptop. A grim-faced Logan sat in the front passenger seat with a copy of the compound's security system schematics in his lap. He was providing guidance to Amara, who was in the process of disabling the various alarms while Dani subdued the guards through the use of her projections. Sam was perched behind the periscope's eyepiece, maintaining watch over his friends who were currently within the gates of the compound. Finally, sitting behind the wheel of the van was Gambit. The tall, lean Cajun thief was surveying the scene outside as he absentmindedly shuffled a deck of cards.

The Southern Belle was beginning to breathe a little easier with each passing second. So far, everything was going according to plan. The combined impact of Forge's technological contributions and Xi'an's psychic shields allowed Bobby and Roberto to enter the property without rousing any suspicion. Once inside, the teammates relied on other means to lend further credibility to their cover. As CEO of Da Costa International, Roberto demonstrated the business acumen that helped his company reach new heights of success. Bobby complemented Roberto's presentation through his knowledge of international accounting practices and tax laws.

While the meeting was taking place, Dani and Amara were dispatched to the gates of the compound. The uniformed guards were quickly overpowered by one of Dani's telepathic illusions. Although the projections were only evident to these men, the degree of terror was very palpable and sent every one of them scrambling to desert their post. Some climbed over the walls before Amara set to work on the callbox, unlocking the gates and disabling the cameras. It was the opening of the wrought-iron gates that facilitated the escape for the rest. This drew the attention of the remaining members of Tyger's security detail who had been posted directly outside of the front door. Advancing inside the gates, Dani confronted the tar-like man and his hominid-like companion. Before either one could charge at her, she projected another series of illusions which involved images from their pasts. The impact was immediate. Both men fell to their knees, cowering and covering their heads.

After receiving the go-ahead from Dani, Amara marched past them and towards the front door. There, she retrieved her tool kit and contacted Logan with a request for directions for the last of the alarms. Listening to the laconic Canadian's gravelly voice, Amara snipped at the wires carefully.

With Logan continuing to provide technical assistance, Rogue focused her attention on the events transpiring on the laptop's screen. Roberto and Bobby were continuing to engage Claudine in conversation. Although their expressions seem to convey civility, the audio revealed an increasing level of tension. The Southern Belle frowned as she listened to Roberto attempt to cajole an appearance from Tyger. He was suddenly aggressive, testing how far he could push his hostess.

"If you were in my position, Claudine, what would you do?"

Rogue bristled. She studied the slight change in Claudine's expression. The veneer of gentility and cool was eroding somewhat.

"I would ensure I knew who I was dealing with before even considering such an option."

Her frown deepened when she heard Claudine adopt a somewhat threatening tone to her voice in her response. She was utterly dumbfounded as to why Roberto decided to take on an antagonistic role. Given his current vulnerability, did he feel the need to assert himself in some way to compensate? In the end, his motives did not matter. He knew damn well what the stakes were—successful extraction versus international incident. After weeks of surveillance and planning, Rogue was going to be damned before she would allow someone's ego to be the downfall for this mission.

Part of her wanted to fly into the apartment and shake some sense into the swarthy Brazilian. Instead, she spoke into her microphone in the calmest voice she could muster. "Back off, Roberto. Keep her calm and distracted. Remember that."

Onscreen, Roberto was shaking his head. "I didn't mean to offend," he said, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Although he was addressing Claudine, it seemed as if his words were being directed towards Rogue as well.

Then he continued, "Given the scale of this deal, I am considering how things will be portrayed. Good publicity would be mutually beneficially for both of us. The better the PR, the more likely other investors will be attracted to the country."

After a moment of silence, Claudine returned the smile. "But of course," she finally said, leaning back in her chair. "Apologies for my rather strong remarks… I'm afraid we are a little on edge due to the current state of affairs."

Bobby, whose face was drawn in a tense expression during the awkward encounter, relaxed slightly. Then he commented, "Money and politics… A great recipe for stress, as my father would say."

Claudine nodded in agreement, raising the champagne to her lips and taking a sip.

Back in the surveillance van, Rogue wanted to be relieved. She desperately yearned for that confidence she had experienced at the beginning of the operation. Unfortunately, it seemed to be relegated to a distant memory now. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots and she could hear her heart thudding loudly in her ears. Despite Claudine's return to her genteel façade, there was still something unsettling. Her eyes, glittering and maroon, remained impassive as she smiled. Duplicity seemed to exude from every word uttered and from every movement made.

Just as disquieting was the sense of familiarity with Claudine. Like her teammates, Rogue could not help but feel as if she had met this woman before. The physical features and certain aspects of her demeanour were recognisable…but in a different context.

"Amara's shut down the entire network," Logan announced, his rumbling voice cutting through Rogue's thoughts. He climbed into the back of the van and settled himself next to her.

A startled Rogue stared at him, emerald eyes wide. "Good," she replied, scrambling to reorient herself to the ultimate objective of their assignment. Solving the riddle that was Claudine Renko would need to wait. "Let's start gettin' ready."

Logan nodded, pleased with her decision. Following weeks of intelligence gathering and operational preparations, the Wolverine was eager to finally taste some action. He had grown weary of what seemed like endless waiting. Despite possessing one of the sharpest tactical minds, Logan always identified himself as "the man who gets things done".

Yet, there was something quite different about his enthusiasm for action. Logan felt restless—almost to the point of agitation. His usually objective perspective to field work had become tainted with frustration. The very idea of remaining in Madripoor for any longer was akin to a prison sentence. Moreover, the inactivity associated with planning came to be viewed as passivity and at times, helplessness. These were the moments when Logan felt the most troubled. He hated this loss of control and the vulnerability associated with it. Such emotions reminded the gruff loner of times when his very existence was predicated upon nothing but pain and sorrow.

Much like now.

The recent and devastating events back home seemed to be conspiring to drag him back to the fathomless depths of anguish. In spite of his commitment to be focused and professional, Logan's thoughts strayed. He found himself ruminating about that night and the days that followed. His inability to be there for two important people in life weighed upon him heavily, evoking guilt, disappointment, and frustration.

Even though the decision to depart had not been his, Logan wished that he declined the request. Leaving Jubilee had been the last thing he wanted to do. Given his previous history of absconding from her side, Logan had sworn to be a constant in her life. He was determined to break free of those old patterns. His past transgressions nearly rendered him obsolete in her life. In his absence, she found ways to cope independent and worst of all, had seemingly found a replacement in Scott. Logan would be damned if he allowed that to ever happen again. This time, he would be the one to provide her solace and comfort through these dark times.

Much to their collective dismay, his professional obligations impeded his ability to fulfil that promise. Each passing day in Madripoor represented missed opportunities to be the Logan she needed. His chest tightened as he thought of those tearful, old-soul blue eyes and the last hug she gave him at the airport. Although Jubilee said she understood the rationale for his leaving once again, her embrace conveyed a different story. At that moment, she was the Jubilee he had first met—a hurt and lost child searching for safety in the chaos.

Then there was Jean Grey. Although the romantic tension had dissipated between them, Logan could not deny the telepath still held a place in his heart. She had been one of the few who dared to see past the hardened, feral exterior to discover the deeply human Wolverine. Consequently, he was fiercely loyal to her. Anything she asked of him was provided—no questions asked. Years of serving side-by-side and their close friendship afforded her the comfort of knowing that she could depend on Logan. He, in turn, was resolute in his commitment to maintain this trust.

Logan supposed it was this bond that rendered deep feelings of shame when he thought of Jean's final moments. As Logan locked eyes with her for one last time, he realised he was unable to save her. At the time, it was difficult to pinpoint the cause of his hesitation. There had been so much confusion in the events leading up to that point. However, Logan was certain of one thing: all the trust she had placed in him had been in vain. Their last goodbye had been a result of his failure.

It was a distinction he would not soon forget.

The gruff loner continued to be preoccupied as Sam Guthrie brushed past him to retrieve another communicator. Rather than focusing on preparations for the extraction, his thoughts concentrated on his return to Westchester. There, he could seek atonement and make sense of the emptiness.

Rising to his feet, Logan tried to clear his head. Reason dictated that the sooner the team could remove Tyger from the premises, the sooner the departure. He casually took one last glance at the screen to apprise himself of the present conditions in the apartment. It was at that moment, time stood still.

What the hell?...

The heavy cloud of brooding that weighed him down moments ago had lifted. In its wake, was an overwhelming sense of incredulity. Logan was reeling, transfixed by the video feed on the laptop. A fragment from his past was on screen, reminding him of a life that was now very much removed.

His green eyes widened as they stared at the young man by Claudine's side. This was the first time he had seen a clear picture of the individual in question. The surveillance photographs Jessica had turned over were fuzzy. In these pictures, the young man's face was often out-of-focus which left his hairstyle as the only defining feature. Now, Logan was able to study the mysterious Daken in greater detail. Shock nearly paralysed him when he saw his own jawline, scowling mouth, stony eyebrows, and chiselled physique mirrored in this young man. Logan even noticed similarities in body language, from the clenched fists to the slightly hunched shoulders. Daken's eyes—almond-shaped and dark—were identical to those of his mother who died over sixty years ago.

Itsu.

Rogue was about to give the orders to march when Logan threw down his headset, yanked open the back doors of the van, and jumped out. Confused, she scrambled after him. Sam, who had observed the laconic Canadian's troubled reaction to the video feed, climbed out as well. A quizzical frown furrowed Gambit's brow upon the sudden exodus from the vehicle. He quickly slipped the deck of cards into his pocket before following his teammates.

The Southern Belle considered taking flight to collect her colleague. She even thought about brushing her cheek against his in order to subdue him should he resist. However, the rational part of her mind argued that the team needed the Wolverine at full strength. Realising this, she swallowed her desire to scream through her teeth and continued following him.

They were quickly approaching the gates when Rogue finally caught up with him. She snaked out a gloved hand and grabbed his shoulder. "Where ya goin'?" she demanded, struggling to not to lose her temper. Even though she had witnessed Logan's insubordination over countless missions, it was not until this moment that finally empathised with an often exasperated and irritated Scott Summers.

Logan scowled, jerking his shoulder out of her grasp. "I got some business in there." He nodded towards the compound.

"We all do." She placed her hand on his shoulder again. Rogue wanted to implore him not to test her—not when they were so close. However, she was rendered silent as she gazed upon Logan's hardened expression. It was the same look he wore when conveying that no amount of reasoning would change his mind.

As if to confirm her fears, the Wolverine wrenched away from the Southern Belle a second time, growling softly. "Mine's personal," he replied tersely, his green eyes flashing increasingly beneath thick brows.

"Dammit, we have a plan," Rogue countered, trying to sound authoritative rather than pleading. "Let's stick with it. No individual agendas until we see things through."

"Sorry, Rogue. I have to do this."

"Why? What's goin' on?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Try me. What's got ya all riled up?"

"I said it's personal. We can talk about it later but right now, I gotta get in there."

"Logan, ya can't… At least wait for me to give everyone the word that we're comin' in. Can ya do that?"

"Rogue, I need to be inside."

"Logan, stand down."

"Sorry. Not now."

With that, he pushed past her and proceeded to storm towards the compound.

Stunned, Rogue and the rest of her team stared after him. Her first instinct was to go after him again. But in the end, she hesitated. The Southern Belle had observed something very disturbing about her friend. Despite his efforts to present as brusque and cool, Logan seemed rattled. His eyes were widened with what appeared to be confusion and apprehension. In the all the years they had known each other, never had she seen him so shell-shocked. The experience left Rogue feeling unsettled herself, and wondering what could possibly elicit distress in a man who stared down the most vile and terrifying of enemies. The only definite at the moment was her own level of unease.

Sam, too, was becoming increasingly anxious following Logan's abrupt departure. Normally, the Southern gentleman had no reservations about Logan's ability to hold his own in a combat situation. Given the current state of his mind, however, it was likely that Logan's tactical insight would be compromised. As it stood, the team was on the precipice of watching their carefully planned mission go awry.

Equally disconcerting was the likelihood of indiscriminate violence. Although Sam had never witnessed Logan in the throes of a berserker rage, second-hand information obtained from others who did painted a grim and frightening picture. During these episodes, Logan's humanity abandoned him in favour of satisfying the primal need to excise his anger. As a result, his ability to distinguish friend from foe was often impaired.

The eldest Guthrie immediately thought of Dani and Amara. Neither of them would be in a position to immediately placate Logan or even defend themselves as they continued to be occupied with Tyger's security. Sam's mind became inundated with the possibilities. Each instilled a heavy sense of dread.

Turning to Rogue, he said, "Ah gotta go afta him. Get the gals on the horn and let 'em know what's comin'."

Before the Southern Belle could respond, Sam launched himself forward.

Inside the gates of the compound, Dani was standing over the remaining members of the security detail. The two mutants, a tar-like man with magenta hair and a stocky man who seemed to be completely covered in hair, were cowering at her feet. Her psychic projections capitalised on their greatest fears, which she magnified ten-fold. In the case of the man with elastic, semi-solid form, Dani took advantage of his claustrophobia and manipulated him into believing he was trapped inside a cavernous box. As for his hirsute colleague, illusions relating to his abusive adolescence played out before him.

Infiltrating the compound had been relatively simple. Despite limiting field work in order to teach and mentor, both Dani and Amara made the transition to covert operations without any difficulty. It was as if neither one had taken a break from active duty. While the extensive briefing and intelligence gathering played major roles in the smooth entry into the compound, the former New Mutants were more likely to cite other factors. Unspoken cues and familiarity with each other's powers could only be produced from their years of training and solid friendship.

Dani found subduing the initial front of uniformed guards straightforward. Given that the men were humans, she bombarded them with images pertaining to their own mortality. The decision paid off as it was enough to drive them from their assigned posts. In the wake of the guards' departure, she and Amara were able to enter the premises.

It was at that point, they were confronted by the two remaining members of Tyger's security detail. They were positioned several feet from the building's entrance. Unlike the uniformed guards, these men were mutants. The hairy one had been the first to charge, baring a set of sharp, yellowed teeth. His colleague seemed resigned to stand back and watch him address the intruders with an oily smirk. However, it was not too long until he soon revealed the extent of his abilities. He began to extend an arm towards Amara, who had already ducked past the other man to make her way to one of the control boxes. As things began to escalate, Dani quickly assessed the two mutants and discovered their fears. She then focused and devised separate projections for each. Almost immediately, the two were rendered helpless and collapsed to the ground in terror.

The young Cheyenne briefly glanced over her shoulder, towards the presidential residence. She was relieved to see Amara in the process of snipping the last wire of the alarm system. Once that was accomplished, they could depart for the van while the second team proceeded with the extraction. So far, everything was going according to plan.

Just as Dani was about to contact Rogue on her communicator, the Southern Belle's drawl rang in the earpiece she wore. "Change of plan, gals. You two are the extraction team now."

This piece of news nearly caused Dani to lose focus. "Wait… Why? What's going on?" The questions seemed to exit her mouth in rapid succession, reflecting her level of confusion.

"Wolverine's decided ta change things up," Rogue replied tersely, making a mental note to strangle him later. Standing outside of the gates alongside Gambit, she contemplated her next move. "He's headin' your way right now. Sam's on his heels. And FYI, two more hostiles are comin' ta join the party in about two minutes."

A hint of anxiety tinged Amara's voice as she joined the conversation. "What happened to Logan?"

"Somethin's spooked him fierce," Rogue said, her tone reflecting the tension that permeated throughout every fibre of her being. "Hopefully, Sam can talk him down. The important thing is for you gals ta get Tyger out now. Y'all know the layout of land."

Confronted with this new information, Dani was finding it difficult to sustain the concentration needed to maintain her projections. "I've got two mutants here with me," she said, referring to the men still shrinking back from her. "If I go in, who's going to deal with them?"

Before Rogue could reply, the sound of shredding metal pierced the airwaves.

Startled, Dani's attention strayed. She turned towards the direction of the wrought iron gates. Several feet away, a wild-eyed Logan stormed through the remnants of metal, claws fully extended. Less than a second later, Sam Guthrie swooped down in front of him. The Southern gentleman made a point to position himself directly between his teammate and the pathway leading to the entrance of the presidential residence.

Watching Logan shove Sam roughly aside, Dani suddenly became aware of her lapse. Panic seized upon her when she noticed that the two mutants she had subdued disappeared. She cursed inwardly, conducting a physical and telepathic scan of the perimeter. Her efforts were hampered from the residual psychic strain brought on by maintaining separate projections earlier. Much to her dismay, the initial findings yielded nothing.

Dani activated her communicator as she continued the search. "Heads up, everyone," she announced, hoping her gaffe would not be detrimental to their assignment. "The two mutants previously in my custody are now unaccounted for. Watch out for a man with pink hair and oily, black skin, wearing a purple trench coat. He was accompanied by a shorter, hairy man last seen wearing blue shorts and gloves."

"Sounds like quite the pair," Rogue quipped, attempting to mask the unease settling over her. The situation, as she saw it, was beginning to become untenable. Logan possibly unhinged for some unknown reason, two rogue individuals from Tyger's security detail, and more members en route from the apartment—were all factors that would likely culminate in some disaster. Peering at the Cajun thief, she made a decision.

"Gambit and Ah are comin' in," she finally said, reaching the dismantled iron gates. "We'll try ta smoke 'em out. Moonstar and Magma, get inside there now. Keep an eye out for Ruckus and Slab. They're the ones on the way down."

Logan was about to follow Dani towards the front door when he was thwarted yet again. Sam had grabbed his shoulder and held him back, allowing Dani to make the trek alone. Furious, the Wolverine jerked out of the eldest Guthrie's reach. Then he spun around to face the unwanted interloper.

"What the hell do you think you're doin?" he demanded, flashing his admantium claws in the Southern gentleman's face.

Sam tried not to flinch, which he found to be difficult given the impression that Logan was willing to use the sharpened metal at that moment. Part of him hoped he could build upon the mutual understanding borne from their conversation this morning. However, based on the glowering expression darkening Logan's countenance, this seemed to be a very remote possibility.

Determined to stay the course, he said quietly, "Let Dani and Amara get Tyger out. If they need us, they'll holler."

"I ain't interested in Tyger," his teammate snapped, narrowing his green eyes into razor-thin slits. With a rumbling growl, the Wolverine edged the tips of his claws towards Sam's cheek. "Now, get outta my way."

"No can do."

"I wasn't askin'."

"Logan, we gotta hold down the fort for 'em here. Rogue and Dani said we got four possible hostiles to deal with."

"To hell with them and with you, Hayseed."

Before the Southern gentleman could attempt at further reasoning with Logan, his feet were swept off from underneath him. He peered down at his ankles, which were bound together by a black, sludge. His long, lean frame was then flung into the air. Sam struggled to free himself, trying to propel his body upwards. However, his efforts were hampered as the tar-like substance spread from his ankles to his shoulders. Despite his continued resistance, the eldest Guthrie was gradually pulled away from Logan and the building. Within seconds, he was staring into the oily, sneering features of his adversary.

"Looks like Gorgeous George found a pest in the garden," the tar-like man spoke with an Australian accent. His yellow eyes glittered as he eyed Sam with unadulterated sadistic glee. "Let's say you and I get better acquainted, mate."

Logan claws still extended, leapt at Gorgeous George in an attempt to assist Sam. His trajectory was disrupted by the hirsute man Dani had subdued earlier. As a result, the Wolverine found himself knocked away. The air seemed to be exorcised from his lungs as he struggled to roll onto his back before springing to his feet.

Eager to exact retribution upon his attacker, Logan drawled, "What's up, hairbag?"

The remark infuriated the other mutant. He snarled, revealing a set of sharp, yellowed teeth. "Hey, who told ya my name?" he demanded, his fists clenched. "You makin' fun of me?"

Logan raised a brow at him. Had he not been preoccupied with entering the presidential apartment and confronting Daken, the exchange would have evoked a chuckle. Instead, the Wolverine was confused and somewhat irritated. "What?"

"Nobody makes fun of Hairbag!" With that, he lunged at Logan.

Entering through the shredded remnants of the wrought-iron gates, Gambit was greeted with a disturbing sight. Sam was being restrained by a tar-like man with magenta hair. His entire body seemed to be encased in a thick, black substance. The other mutant cackled as he proceeded to squeeze the Southern gentleman's body with his oily hand. Each passing second of suffocation brought the young man closer to his demise.

Merde. The Cajun thief quickly slipped his fingers into the pocket of his brown, leather duster and drew an ace of spades. Charging the card with some kinetic energy, he tossed it at Gorgeous George's back. "Gambit says you fight fair or you don't fight at all."

Despite the compact size of the charged object, the resulting blast was akin to a grenade. The pale pink explosion was enough to send Gorgeous George backwards, forcing him to drop Sam. Rogue, who had taken to the skies to appraise the situation to update Roberto and Bobby, dove towards a choking Sam and swept him into her arms before he hit the ground.

She carried him towards the footpath leading to the entrance. A concerned frown marred her forehead as she performed a brief examination. The last thing Rogue wanted was to lose someone, especially a friend, during the course of a mission. To her relief, he was quickly on the mend. The mottled shade of pink that previously coloured his face was disappearing. Although Sam continued to hunch over, his coughing lessened.

"You okay?" Rogue inquired anxiously. There was a moment when she believed Gambit's intervention was poorly timed. Thank God for the Swamp Rat…

He nodded, managing to stand fully erect and wiping the tears from his pale eyes. "Yeah, thanks," he rasped, waving her off with a grimace. Then he peered in the direction where their teammate and Hairbag were exchanging a series of vicious blows. "Go help Logan. Ah'm gonna make sure the gals make it inside."

Rogue initially hesitated but when she saw the dogged look on Sam's farm boy face, she acquiesced. "Keep your communicator on," she told him, raising herself from the ground. "We're gonna haveta update each other as we go along."

He nodded again before propelling himself in the direction of the building's entrance. Upon reaching his destination, Sam was alarmed to discover both his teammates had been ambushed. Dani was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Slab. Amara, meanwhile, had been grabbed by Ruckus and was being pulled away from the control box.

Still weakened by the strain of separate projections, the young Cheyenne appeared to be struggling with her larger opponent. Her mental and physical reflexes seemed to have slowed somewhat. Although she had been able to dodge most of his strikes, Dani's diminished strength left her vulnerable to a blow that sent her in a supine position.

Slab grinned triumphantly before charging forward with his meaty fists. "Ah'm gonna enjoy this."

Fortunately, Sam had recovered enough to intervene. He steered himself into Slab's path, shielding Dani in the process. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, the eldest Guthrie threw a punch across the other mutant's jaw. "Some oughtta teach ya how ta treat a lady."

The force of the blow knocked Slab off of his feet. His skull slammed against the ground, rendering him unconscious. The impact also created a series of cracks along the concrete footpath.

Before settling back on the ground, Sam pulled Dani to her feet. Even though she was often capable of holding her own in a confrontation, she was not too proud to recognise help when needed. Smiling weakly, she said, "Thanks."

Just as he was about to inquire about her physical state, his thoughts suddenly went to Amara who was continuing to struggle against Ruckus. Both he and Dani turned their gazes to the front door, where the blonde Roma Nova native was attempting to jerk her wrists free while screaming at her assailant to let go. Based on the language Amara was using, it appeared that Logan's influence extended beyond disabling the security system.

Immediately, Sam and Dani rushed towards their teammate. Ruckus, meanwhile, sneered at them. Then he shook Amara firmly by her wrists to demonstrate his superiority under the circumstances.

"I think you better watch your mouth," Ruckus warned the former New Mutants with a sardonic grin. Then he added, "…and mine."

Absorbing the surrounding sound waves into his vocal cords, he opened his mouth and released a scream. The concussive force from the near-deafening sound brought Amara to her knees. Sam and Dani were thrown several feet from the impact. In the distance, Wolverine was wobbling back and forth as he struggled to cover his ears. Rogue, who had been floating overhead, clutched her head before falling to the earth. As for Gambit, the Cajun thief was struggling to retreat from the oily clutches of Gorgeous George.

Amara grimaced. Given her close proximity to Ruckus, she was experiencing the deleterious impact at a more extreme level. Her eardrums seemed to be close to shattering and there was a sharp pain radiating from around her skull. Even more agonising was the probability that the team was facing dire consequences should Ruckus continue his bellowing.

Summoning what seemed to be her remaining reserves, she concentrated on the ground beneath her feet. Amara tried to think about power that laid in the molten rock in the Earth's core. Suddenly, a dull warmth began to envelop her willowy body until she was able to assume her energised form—one that emitted intense light and heat.

The effect on Ruckus was immediate. The leather of his purple gloves melted in response to the fiery contact with Amara's wrists. Exposed areas of skin blistered and turned a bright shade of pink. It was as if his skin was consumed by flames. His screams were cut short, replaced by cries of surprise and utter pain. Instinctively, he let go of Amara and waved his hands in an irrational attempt to alleviate the burning sensation. Ruckus staggered away, his once arrogant countenance now ashen and haggard.

However, Amara was not completely convinced that Ruckus no longer posed a threat. She saw tenacity in his amber eyes. Whether it was out of loyalty to Tyger or the need to address his wounded pride, he appeared determined to exact more damage. No amount of physical trauma would impede his desire for destruction.

Just as Ruckus prepared to deliver another devastating shriek, a set of slender fingers pressed against his cheek. All colour quickly drained from his face and his jaw suddenly went slack. The resolute expression disappeared as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. Within seconds, Ruckus collapsed to the ground.

"That's enough outta you," Rogue remarked, standing over the disabled Ruckus and putting her glove back on. The Southern Belle had recovered enough to pull herself off of the ground before sensing trouble afoot. When her suspicions were confirmed, she decided to provide a more long-lasting solution. While the consequences ushered in some reprieve for the team, the individual impact was less than satisfactory. Rogue felt as if she were harbouring a whiny child inside her psyche.

Trying to shake the echoes of Ruckus's shrill voice, she motioned for Sam and Dani to join her and Amara by the front doors. "Y'all need ta get in there and find Tyger now," she told them, fearing further deterioration of their current circumstances. "Ah'll let Roberto and Bobby know y'all on the way. Hopefully, they can stall Claudine a little while longer until Tyger's out."

Sam's blond brows furrowed together quizzically. "Ya sure ya don't want me here?" he asked. The question was not intended to undermine Rogue's authority as field commander or to evade the responsibilities of the extraction. Rather, he was concerned about the continuing danger on the ground.

While no telepath, the Southern Belle was well aware of the eldest Guthrie's concerns. Even though Ruckus was effectively out of commission, his peers maintained their resistance. Logan was engaged in a very close contest with Hairbag. In the throes of a fierce struggle, the men's arms were locked and their backs and shoulders seemed to form a table top as they pushed against each other. Gambit, on the other hand, was taking a more elusive approach with Gorgeous George. After nearly depleting his supply of cards, the Cajun thief began to charge various objects in the hopes of eliminating him as a threat. Due to being on the run during this encounter, he had very limited time to induce a great deal of kinetic energy into each item. The resulting effect produced weaker explosions.

Rogue turned her attention back to the former New Mutants. She tried to conceal the rising level of doubt coursing throughout her entire being. Chaos seemed to be slowly overwhelming them. The carefully rehearsed plan was now in tatters. Peering into the faces of her younger teammates, the Southern Belle could easily discern their growing anxiety and dread. It was at this point that she recognised the importance of being their anchor in this storm. The assignment and the safety of those around her depended on it.

Nodding curtly at Sam, Rogue finally replied, "We'll be fine. Just help Dani and Amara with gettin' Tyger out. If the boys inside have any trouble as far as Claudine and Daken are concerned, then give 'em support. Y'all stick to the layout Jessica passed to us. Remember, first priority is Tyger."

The former coal miner and his friends nodded their agreement—albeit with some reservation.

Rogue either chose to ignore their collective wariness or missed the cues entirely. Gathering an insentient Slab in her arms and taking to the skies, she called out to them, "Be ready to rendezvous at the van in ten minutes. Now, if y'all will excuse me, that walkin' tar pit needs ta learn how ta keep his sticky fingers ta himself."

In spite of Roberto's seemingly successful efforts in diffusing the tension with Claudine, Bobby still felt uneasy. With years of covert operations under his belt, there was something very disturbing about this particular assignment. Granted, there was never any room for complacency as far as clandestine operations were concerned. However, there was always the comfort of the known and tangible. This pertained to the certainty of a plan, awareness of an enemy's motives and abilities, and the ultimate outcome.

Unfortunately, none of these luxuries were afforded to him at the moment.

Rogue and her team's efforts and investment of time into careful planning had not been lost on Bobby. He had no doubt in his friend's abilities as field team leader. Over the years, the Southern Belle had proven herself just as capable as Scott. From the selection of personnel to the logistical details, she could be trusted to ensure all aspects of a given assignment were properly addressed.

Rather, Bobby was troubled by particular members of her team.

Namely, Logan and Sam Guthrie.

Normally, Bobby would not hesitate to trust the two with his life. Having served with both men a multitude of times, he could attest to their competence and team commitment. Sam, in particular, had demonstrated himself to be a loyal friend when they infiltrated Graydon Creed's presidential campaign together. Logan had one of the first at Bobby's side following their encounter with Black Tom.

Unfortunately, circumstances had changed. The hostility emanating from the two men was easily palpable. While neither overtly expressed their displeasure with him, it was clear they were less than pleased with his presence. Bobby knew resentment on behalf of Jubilee drove their collective disdain towards him. It was not as if he were blind to such an assessment. In fact, Bobby was inclined to completely agree with them. But part of him feared that this rage left them susceptible to allowing personal prejudices cloud their judgment. Such a perception left Bobby feeling more vulnerable than he usually would during an assignment. It was an unpleasant sensation, especially given his covert role.

Then there were the unknown variables. Thorough as Jessica Drew had been in her intelligence gathering, there were a few gaps as it related to Tyger's inner circle. The quality of some of the surveillance photographs had been compromised, resulting in blurry images. This was the case with pictures depicting Daken, who had simply been identified as Claudine's personal guard. Data pertaining possible mutant abilities for the group was limited at best. Jessica was only able to concretely note that Slab had super strength and that Gorgeous George was able to shape his semi-elastic body into various shapes and sizes. Other than this, the team was left to make their own observations once in direct contact.

For Bobby, the person who most unnerved him was the one whose background was deeply shrouded in mystery.

And, at the same time, the one person who seemed to be very familiar to him.

Claudine Renko.

Even though Bobby had spent the better half of the morning in her company, he had learned very little. Throughout the meeting, she made a point to distance herself from him and Roberto while portraying an engaging front. Claudine shared little personal information, deflecting even the most innocuous of questions. Inquiries as to the nature of her relationship with Tyger, as well as duration, were also pointedly avoided. Similarly, her political aspirations were glossed in favour of offers of additional snacks and tea. In his mind, it was like conversing with a ghost.

Yet, there was always a hint of something behind those maroon eyes. It was difficult to pinpoint what exactly that was—arrogance, curiosity, or malevolence. Perhaps, it was a combination of the three. In any case, Bobby felt unsure as to where he stood with her. Such a position made it difficult to gauge her motivations and anticipate her next move—aspects that were integral in a successful operation.

The only instance when Claudine revealed her emotions was when Roberto had challenged her. However, this proved to be brief as her veneer of cool, enigmatic calm had returned just as quickly as it had disappeared. But even then, this lapse provided a chilling snapshot of an angry Claudine.

As their meeting continued, Bobby began to experience misgivings about the operation. While his abilities did not include telepathic or psychic powers, he did sense that something had gone awry. Initially, Bobby had attributed his nagging doubts to the inability to assess Claudine and his preoccupation with Logan and Sam. Tried as he did to assuage his own anxieties, Bobby could not shake the feeling. It served to further undermine his confidence, forcing him to question the planned course of action.

His suspicions were soon confirmed when his lenses became flooded with a series of instant messages.

PLANS HAVE CHANGED.

EXTRACTION TEAM IS NOW MADE UP OF MAGMA, MOONSTAR, AND CANNONBALL.

TEAM IS INSIDE BUILDING.

WOLVERINE, GAMBIT, AND I ARE OUTSIDE OF THE COMPOUND.

TWO OF FOUR HOSTILES HAVE BEEN PUT OUT OF ACTION.

HAIRBAG AND GORGEOUS GEORGE STILL POSE THREAT.

ICEMAN AND SUNSPOT, MAINTAIN COVER IN SUPPORT OF TEAM.

WHEN EXTRACTION IS COMPLETE, DISABLE REMAINING HOSTILES BY WHATEVER MEANS AVAILABLE.

LETHAL FORCE SHOULD BE LAST RESORT.

PREPARE TO VACATE PREMISES IN TEN MINUTES.

Bobby maintained his mask of composure, trying not to betray the information that had been relayed to him. The alteration to existing plans was disturbing. Not that he held any reservations about the new team. Sam, Dani, and Amara were quite capable of holding their own. Years under Xavier's tutelage and various field assignments provided the trio with more than enough experience. Moreover, they had been present throughout the development of the extraction plan. But for Bobby, it was the sudden nature of the modification that unnerved him. After extensive briefing for the original team, what could have possibly forced Rogue to change her mind?

His grey eyes glanced over at Roberto. Like Bobby, the swarthy Brazilian appeared cool after receiving Rogue's update. The two of them exchanged looks, conveying their mutual understanding of the situation. Buy the team ten minutes and then out.

Easy enough, Bobby mused to himself. There had been countless missions where he had been tasked with providing diversion for his teammates. Depending on the circumstances, Bobby was adept at using either his powers or relying upon his charm.

Given his weary psyche, however, the former option seemed more accessible and less energy-consuming than the latter. Even presenting his cover proved to be trying. Focused as he tried to be, Bobby yearned to close himself off to the world. Sitting here and discussing the nature of tax law and accounting practices seemed trivial when compared to the sorry state of his personal life.

Bobby was fully aware that his thoughts were self-centred. His faulty logic, fuelled by grief and resentment, robbed him of his objectivity and his ability to empathise. He came to believe that his pain was a very personalised experience. In quick succession, Bobby Drake had lost so much—his identity and independence, a trusted friend and surrogate sister, and the woman who had been his soul mate. No one else could ever understand the ensuing agony and anguish. Being around other people—even those who represented a threat—intensified the hurt. Conversations and other aspects of basic interaction were bitter reminders of a life that was beyond him now.

Yet, the rational part of his brain recognised this was not the time to immerse himself in this mire of self-pity and loathing. There were other people depending on him. His teammates, particularly the still powerless Roberto, needed him to fulfil his role. With his professional integrity as the last remaining constant, Bobby would be damned before allowing his personal turmoil compromise his team obligations.

He attempted to wrench himself free in order to focus on the task at hand. To his dismay, continued engagement of Claudine and Daken would require a more passive and sociable approach. Bobby suspected the two were mutants but could not be certain of this. He also believed that Claudine was capable of some form of telepathy as evident by her earlier attempts to read him. Regrettably, the intel provided lacked information as to what their abilities were. As a result, Bobby could only conduct a superficial assessment based on appearance and behavioural observations. Due to the ambiguity of the situation, he was resigned to quash the urge to encase them in a frozen prison and retreat to the vehicle with Roberto. There was no telling how they might react. Furthermore, there was the possibility that acting rashly could place the mission and the safety of his teammates in jeopardy.

Stall, stall, stall, Bobby reminded himself, picturing a clock. By his estimates, he and Roberto had about nine more minutes.

Studying the faces of their hosts, Bobby racked his brain in search of further means to occupy them. While Claudine seemed content to sit back in her chair and sip champagne, her associate appeared less than enthusiastic. Indifference coalesced with impatience. Bobby surmised that had Daken been in charge, the meeting would have ended as soon as the contracts had been signed.

In an effort to continue under the auspices of their cover, Bobby was about to ask Roberto and Claudine about a press release. However, he was silenced when his ears detected a low, rumbling growl. Had Bobby not known that Logan was elsewhere, he could have sworn the gruff loner was present in the room.

This rare outburst from the usually laconic Daken caught Claudine's attention as well. She placed her now empty champagne flute on the coffee table and peered up at him. "Care to share your thoughts, Daken?" she asked, gazing up at him with amusement and fascination.

Before replying, Daken's body stiffened. He tilted his chin upwards, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. Then his scowl deepened. Narrowing his eyes, he turned to Claudine and said tersely, "Something's not right."

For the second time that morning, her façade of calm faltered slightly. A brief flash of confusion manifested as a crease in her smooth, alabaster forehead. The coolness in her voice eroded. "What is it?"

He continued sniffing the air and cocked his head to the side, as if listening for sounds undetectable by the normal human ear. Meanwhile, Bobby and Roberto were rendered speechless in the face of the growing similarities between this young man and Logan. The physical resemblance and the nearly identical personality traits alone had been striking, possibly leading one to conclude some remote connection between the two men. His demonstration of heightened senses provided evidence of an even stronger connection.

What happened next, however, was proof positive that the commonalities went far deeper than previously thought.

Springing from the knuckles of each tightly clenched fist appeared two bone claws. A third claw emerged from the inside of his wrists. Further inspection revealed them to be porous and slightly darker than actual bone but still razor-sharp.

Roberto swallowed hard, peering over at Bobby anxiously. Crap.

Daken glowered at him. It was as if he could sense the CEO's increasing trepidation, which seemed to irritate him to no end. Lips pursed, he turned his attentions to Claudine. "Security's been breached," he informed her gruffly. "I'm going to check the perimeter. Can you handle yourself here?"

Any trace of apprehension quickly vanished from her face. The air of superiority and confidence returned. Placing a hand on his sculpted forearm, she purred, "Don't worry about me. Go see who are our new visitors are. "

She then retrieved a compact, semi-automatic, snub-nosed revolver from underneath the cushion of her chair and added, "I think I'll be just fine."

Daken grunted in response, pulling his arm away from her grasp. It appeared that the sexual harassment was beginning to wear away at his patience. Between Claudine and the two strangers, it was unclear which party he loathed more.

As he proceeded to exit the room, a scowl was etched deeply into his face. Flashing his bone claws at Bobby and Roberto, he hissed, "When I'm done outside, we're going to have a conversation of our own."

With that, he stormed off.

Had Bobby not been occupied with the precarious nature of his current predicament, a wry comment about how the world needed another Wolverine would have been made. Instead, he was scrambling for a way to salvage their cover. Clearly, Daken's wariness had graduated to outright suspicion. Heightened senses aside, the man was no idiot. With Claudine privy to his every word, there was no question that she would be convinced as well.

Conflicting with the need to regain the validity of his cover was the realisation that the extraction team was in danger of being ambushed. Based on Rogue's messages, they probably accessed the apartment already and were conducting a search of the various rooms. Bobby knew the team needed to be warned and if necessary, be given support. If Daken was truly anything like Logan, he had the potential to be a very dangerous adversary. What was even more troubling was the impression that the younger man seemed to be devoid of any moral compass.

With his mind playing out various scenarios involving the extraction team and Daken, Bobby was cognisant that he could no longer maintain his cover and its passive role. He had to act. But first, Claudine needed to be subdued. Raising an outstretched hand towards her, Bobby began to lower the temperature before generating ice crystals to create a prison.

However, the process was interrupted by an ominous click.

Shivering, Claudine aimed the weapon at Roberto's forehead. "I advise you to reconsider your course of action, Mr Roberts," she said haughtily. "I can assure you that I'm an excellent markswoman...even when faced with such conditions."

Colour drained from Roberto's normally olive skin and his teeth were chattering. His onyx eyes widened, revealing the extent of his emotions. Left with no means to defend himself, Roberto's confrontation with his own mortality elicited terror that was particularly palpable.

Despite his fear, he knew his faith had to be placed in Bobby Drake. Sitting next to him was an experienced X-Man—one with omega-level abilities. If there was one person to rely during such dire times, it would be Bobby.

Finally, Roberto looked Bobby in the eye and managed to speak between the rattling of his teeth. "D-do whatever it takes, man."

Then he added silently, Just don't let me down.

Claudine laughed. Apparently, the cold was doing very little to undermine her resolve. "Your bravado is truly entertaining, Mr Da Costa," she remarked smugly, fingers steady on the trigger. "I suppose that same headstrong attitude is responsible for your multi-billion dollar international conglomerate."

Then she addressed Bobby, gun still directed at Roberto. "Please don't mistake my amusement for benevolence," she told him with a trembling chin. "It would be in your collective interest to desist. Well, unless you're interested in gambling with the life of Mr Da Costa here."

Bobby glanced over at Roberto. Even though the younger man had cast his vote of confidence, overwhelming dread lingered. Although Bobby was confident he could encase their hostess-turned-captor in a block of ice, there was some doubt as to whether he could intervene in time to stop the bullet from making contact. The probability that Claudine was merely boasting her abilities was equal to the probability that she was actually being candid. Recognising this, Bobby did not believe he could use his teammate's life as a betting chip. Reluctantly, he lowered his hand and allowed the frost in the air to dissipate.

Claudine smirked triumphantly, maroon eyes glittering. "Now if you would kindly explain to me what you're really doing here…"