In the circles of Intel that I happen to dabble in, certain jobs will spring up. These certain jobs are called Smears. One of these Smears happened to fall into my lap at a time that my work schedule was empty. Before I even looked over the file, I noticed that the amount being paid to the bloke that did the deed was enormous (more than four times what I normally charge for an assassination). However, when my eyes finally fell down to the file content, I then knew why this was a victor. The bidder had placed a circle around Magneto's chairperson: Exodus. Personally, I was not exultant when I heard that Genosha was given to Lord Magnet on a silver platter, but who am I to complain about such affairs?

     Now, if you haven't guessed by now, I research and clean up messes for a living. That's all you need to know. The reasons why I took this case was not really the ones I tend to follow. I was informed through a colleague that this job needed my expertise. Of course, I thought the git was joking but then I actually got looking into the case. Whoever was going to take it up was going to need a lot of skill to pull it all off. Considering that I had already started the search, I might as well have finished it. Therefore, I took the case up and the money that went with it. That was the foundation of what would be a nightmare.

DISCLAIMERS: Marvel owns the characters, I don't. That sums it up.
 

     What had become clear the most through my original searching of Exodus was that he hadn't joined Magneto in Genosha. Exodus's big game was to forward the teachings of Magneto in the world and he was doing that now. Of course, only Maggie's followers knew where the next big session was going to be for Exodus. I had tracked down one of the loners of Magneto's cultic society down to a club in London. You would be slightly astounded how many stray mutants are going under that insane Hitler protégé textural experience these days in local cities. I know I was.

     As I was saying, I had caught the lad in the alley right outside the club; it had that nice damp and dark feel to it. Now one thing any man in this field has to learn, is that the nasty gits never travel alone. They always have a pair or pack of other clansmen, gangsters, or basic pawns around them. Take those out before you venture any further with the actual target.

     "I'm going through a 'Crimson Period', fuckwits. You're my canvas."

     "Kill him before --"

     Once that is complete, pin the subject down as quickly as possible. Preferably against a wall, where you have almost total control over the subject. I would suggest also having shot the subject within a limb. The shoulder is one of my favorites in these events. Let just a bit of the blood drip out of wound before you actually talk. Give the subject time to panic. If you really want to sodding scare the subject, wrap your arm around the subject's neck after you have positioned yourself behind him and begin to choke him.

     "Speak. Speak or become a still-life."

     "S..."

     "Exodus, a mutant terror, plotting against mankind. What is he going by these days?"

     "Sovereignty..."

     Once the subject has given the information, terminate him or her. A remorseful traitor is useful to no one. It's a give and take situation. It occurred to me then how to find the answer. No one knew enough to help me find Exodus outright. They'd all heard where he had stayed recently. That was in the past and I needed to know the present. He'd been traveling, preparing for something. However, he kept mobile all the while. Hotels, car rentals, plane flights, not to mention meals and purchasing a clean pair of jockeys. They all required one thing. A credit card. Erik Sovereignty was Exodus's current alias, I needed that for sure and then the only other thing I needed was a computer console. A modem and five minutes peace, then the trail of his platinum Master Card surfaced.

     I used my own credit card to snag me a seat to Manhattan. It was my typical alias these days as Peter Sagacity. Back to New York. Back to the US. Back to where Kitty was. A year ago, I wouldn't have thought about taking another case like this again. I was in the thick of satisfaction. Yes, even I can be happy. Don't think you'll ever see it -- you won't.

     As I was saying, Katherine Pryde and I have quite a bit of history that isn't too pleasant to reflect on. She brought me back to the world, one could say, which is interesting, considering just how far I was gone from it. Some could say, right back to where I was when I took this case. It was a vicious circle in the life of a spy.

     When I had landed, I did not waste time to get my things in order. That is just not how I work. I work as if everything is due the next day. Therefore, I have to push myself to the extent that no one else is even thinking about at the time. In the airport's loo, I locked the door and propped my briefcase up on the sink. As I opened the briefcase, I pulled out the file, and then the small containers that laced the inner case, each container being a little 'gift' from the British Intelligence, before I left it. I washed my face to remove as much sweat and oil as I could, then I layered my face with an anti-moisture cream from one of the containers. I have a mean habit of pacing when I am thinking, let alone going through a carton of Marlboros while doing so.

     Finally, the image popped into my mind and I then went to work with the containers. By the time I exited the loo of the airport, I was no longer Pete Wisdom. Matter of fact, I wasn't even Peter Sagacity.

     I had chosen the appearance of a fifty-year-old: hair a light brown for his age, eyes a very pale brown, and a round nose that dented sharply in the middle because of fight as a child. While my lanky body still lingered down with my ashen white Cambridge shirt, stained noir slacks, and trenchcoat, all that could be fixed soon enough. As I made my way out of JFK, I snagged a cab.

     While most taxi drivers are extremely annoying, this one knew from the look in my eyes that I wasn't to be bothered during the drive. As the taxi made its way towards the marked location, I pulled out the plans from briefcase and ran over it for the fifth time. If it did not go right, all would end up chaos. Funny enough, it did, but we'll get back to that.

     The taxi pulled up in front of the awful red brick building and I pulled out my wallet. I pushed aside my normal cash and handed the taxi driver the American dollars for the amount. Memory serves me correctly, I even gave the person a tip. It is a rarity not to be bothered in the second phase of a case.

     I slid out of the cab and turned my attention to the brick building. You don't think I would actually give you the name of the place, do you? Nonetheless, this clothing outlet is under the gray zone. It keeps no records, deals only with those that tend to our breed, and if you need a nuclear item you can most likely get it here in a few days time. While all I needed was ragged clothes, it's reassuring that right behind the panty row there sits a few dozen bloody machine guns. God bless America, eh? Did I also mention that at this particular place, it doesn't deal in cash? It deals only in gold, which just so happened to fill one of my containers in my briefcase. I stepped out like your average Joe Friday who just lost his job on the force because of sexual harassment charges, coffee stained Hawaiian T-shirt to the cut blue jeans, and bearing that tacky American accent: John Cole was born.

     I did something that is uncommon in America today: I walked to my next location. My newly bought Timex showed that in sixty minutes the man of the hour was to light the torch of the games. I passed down to the abandoned warehouse and encountered the Magneto party outside of it. I gave them clearance of my counterfeit name, my mutant power to project blades of heat, a fictional background that would suffice for the evening and I was welcomed. I've never been one to attend such functions but I made chitchat for the moment being. Until I found the spot in the balcony that was slipped into shadows. Four minutes before Exodus was to move on stage, I removed my shoes. I ripped the soles out, and then slid the pieces out of the shoes, the pieces of what would be the murder weapon of Exodus.

     Using my hotknives would stamp the whole case as one of my own, then I would have every nutcase who followed Magneto after my own head. By the time I fully had the weapon pieced together, Exodus was on stage. I slowly brought the scope up to my eyesight and narrowed it down to his head.

     "Cheers, my faithful Acolytes, chosen disciples of Magneto's glorious path! This is the first of many sessions of our fold to bring us to a new dawn, a new dawn of mutantkind. Our almighty Lord Magneto has taken Genosha. Soon, my brothers and sisters, we shall be free. Those who stand against our rights are fools!"

     My fingertip was already on the trigger, I was clearly out of sight, and all I had to do was yank down on the trigger. Yank down and all of that chaos could have been prevented. Instead, I didn't take the shot. I wanted the moment to be right.

     "Those who doubt, will fear when we rejoice! We are the sign, the sign of what tomorrow brings on this earth. You will know my name is Exodus, when you feel my vengeance!"

     It was time. Before I could make the shot, I heard the familiar crashing and rushing of voices. The frustration was almost painful as I lowered my weapon to look at the quarrel that had erupted back down on the stage. The legendary X-Men were doing what they do best -- ruining things. Honestly, it wasn't the fact that the Smear job would have to be put off, but the fact one of the X-Men who were on this assignment was Shadowcat that bothered me. For those who are joining in late, Shadowcat is the codename for Katherine "Kitty" Pryde. We made mention to her earlier.

     From the looks of it, the X-Men had assigned four men on what was clearly a six man mission. All of them I actually knew personally, which isn't surprising. Wolverine, I knew when I was in my younger days as freelancer. Kitty, Comrade Nutcase, and Nightcrawler I all knew from Excalibur, a little group that they had going on Muir Isle. I worked with them for a bit, no matter how much I don't want to admit it.

     While I kept to my spot watching the scene in the shadows, I took a few observational notes. For example, Kitty had regressed almost the same as I had. While I had reverted to my ways of work, she had shifted to the speaking pattern of a sixteen-year-old. The whole thing took about seven minutes to understand that the X-Men were still outnumbered. The smell of brimstone was clinging to the air, bodies lay all over the place thanks to Wolverine's claws, the Tin Russian was throwing things left and right, but when Kitty had taken a fall, that is when I decided to jump down from my spot. Of course, I would fall right on my arse. I was never one for grace, you can check that in my records.

     As I stood, I quickly ripped the facade off my face and warmed my fingertips on up. There's a rumor that the English folk say about me, that I once went into a town for Black Air, and I was the only one to walk alive. Let's just say it isn't a rumor.

     Wolverine didn't have time to notice that even with her ninja training, Kitty couldn't take on four different clansman -- he had his hands full with the big dog himself, Exodus. I slid up beside her, then I released a wave of hotknives into the stomachs of the clansman. The shock on Kitty's face was worth having to redesign the way I was going to take Exodus out of the universal picture (I had taken the contract, I would have to finish the job sooner or later).

     There was no time for greeting as a pulse of sound slammed both of us against the wall. Seems one of the cult's members had that sweet power. I was a Catholic before I grew up enough to know what reason was. However, as my head slammed into the wall and that blackness took over, I recalled right before that a moment with my mother as I was a child at church. Don't ask me why.

     Jean Rousseau once wrote that "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains." I awoke to realize what that meant. My hands were cuffed above my head and the cuffs were attached to a chain that extended from the ceiling. Every sound was an explosion in my head, a clear sign that I had been drugged in the past few days and some of that sweetness still lingered in my veins. When my eyes were able enough to open fully, it didn't startle me to realize I had been placed in a dungeon that would have had Beccaria and his abolishment of torture movement shrivel up and wet himself.

     I was placed into a dungeon that looked and most likely was still in use. An arm lay beside my feet, the flesh a purplish color. The wounds on the knuckles seemed to have been a nail that was used for stabbing. The wrist had been placed, as it appeared, in a bear trap. Bear traps can grip into a limb and nearly cut it off like a hot knife through butter. The one that they must have used for the wrist had to have been stopped before it was totally closed. The wrist still was intact to the forearm aside from the wound. After that, was just the clear ripping of the arm: the muscles can only be described as forever locked into a strain. The torturer must have ripped that limb off by pulling. Most likely, a rope was attached to the bear trap that was on his wrist and the bear trap was pulled outward by one of the torturers before either the hand or the arm was ripped off. The fact the bear trap hadn't been closed completely had been a favor to the hand but a fatal error for the rest of the arm.

     I noticed first off that the dungeon had actual cave walls and the sound that plagued my mind was that of dripping water in the distance. I suppose they didn't take to kindly to me executing one of their clansman, or the fact that they found that little homemade weapon beside me. I wondered about the rest of the X-Men. Clearly, Nightcrawler would have escaped. Wolverine couldn't have been kept down. Then there was Kitty and the Russian -- they both had faults. I would soon discover that they tied Rasputin up and used him as punching bag later. Sadly, I learned this while I was in front of Kitty. I couldn't burst out laughing. Don't get me wrong, I would have.

     Whoever hung me in this position was full aware of how I used my mutant power and just how to use it against me. For a moment, I am going to stray from this tale and explain a bit of that bloody power of mine. I project blades of pure heat from my body, but most importantly from my fingertips. As all the gifts one are born with, there are the side effects to them. My fingertips cultivate to an immense heat, it is at this heat that pain can be felt from the tips. This throbbing is the production of the blades, which release from the tips. I can bring the blade's heat up to the very surface of the sun to just a slight burn. With the use of my judgment, the blade can last up to a minute to an hour. Now, back to the tale of this discomfort.

     I was somewhat disappointed when a guard came in to drag me out of my own private dungeon. I had grown very fond of the blood stained environment. My hands remained cuffed, and the chain dragged me along. Had this been any other case, I would have just terminated the guard and made my way to freedom, but this case dealt with Pryde. I just could not risk it. The boasting guard made a few fatal errors, however.

     A) He informed me that my cover had been blown.

     B) Exodus had taken us (for now I am placing myself as part of the crew that was captured, don't think I mean the X-Men) to Genosha.

     C) That we were to be granted trail before the grand Magneto.

     That's exactly what greeted me when I finally reached the destination the guard was taking me to. A very Romanesque region came into my sight, where Magneto's entire cult was gathered around in a circle of seats. Aside from this all, sitting in their own little box, was Punching Russian and Kitty, both badly bruised. Exodus, Magneto -- hell, the whole court was going to pay for those bruises on Pryde, but there would be a better time for that. I was also later told that Pryde and the Tin Can were kept in actual rooms. The fact I had came into the picture undercover was why I was placed into that lovely dungeon. Too bad the gits didn't know why exactly I was there in the first place.

     "Now stands former brother Colossus, and X-Men. They are charged with abandoning their own species. What do you each plea? Guilty or not guilty?"

     Of course, neither one of them were in the mood to speak. Let me correct myself there: neither one could speak. The bruises and wounds on their body prevented just that. I noticed that Kitty was starting to attempt to speak, but I quickly stepped in.

     "Depends."

     "Depends on just what, Traitor Wisdom?"

     "You say that I betrayed my species. Are you part of that species? I know Webster's definition, I even know Churchill's, but what is yours, Exodus?"

     "Yes, Wisdom, I am part of your species. The species that this world is owned to now, the species Lord Magneto will grasp and then shape. Now what is your plea?"

     "Hm."

     By now, even Magneto was watching intensely. There is something about the face of Magneto when he is thinking. His white eyebrows will lift just a tad up on his forehead, his eyes will narrow in an instant, and both corners of his mouth will go totally flat.

     "In that case, toerag, I'm guilty. I would never want to be on your racially prejudiced haughty secret society bandwagon. How's that a plea for you? T--"

     I had not noticed the guard behind me raise his rifle but I did feel it slam into the back of my head. It was a long while before I saw light again. When I did, I awoke hanging from the ceiling of that dungeon. I would learn that after I was taken from the court, Comrade Nutcase and Pryde were taken to a hotel to stay as prisoners. It was when I awoke in that dungeon that I came to meet the local torturer. He went by the codename "Black Sheep;" he was a real swell chap. He loved long walks on the beach, poetry, the views of the world, and using an electric cattle prod to ram against someone's side so he could smell the burning flesh.

     When he decided to take the cuffs off me to place me on to the wheel of tacks, I decided that it was time that the dungeon could have a little devoid of English blood on the floor. A fleet of nicely heated hotknives sprang into Black Sheep. With all that built up frustration, I pretty much left the corpse of him only identifiable by teeth records. The hue of my hotknives is not that hard to explain. The actual chemical response is called a yellow flare. The intense heat that is built up in my skin is colorless, but it reacts to the sodium in the pores. Perhaps I'm just a bloody sadist, but I find the appearance of my hotknives shredding through a person's body rather dramatic.

     Truthfully, it wasn't Magneto's best move bringing me into Genosha to hold me captive. I have contacts there. Many contacts, in fact. So, after I left the dungeon in scorched pieces, I then moved into the shadows of Genosha. Now when I say shadows, I mean the areas where a wanted man can move without being bothered. Such places do still exist in even the darkest of territories. My location was never first priority of Magneto. The sod had his attention on the X-Men. Those he could manipulate to use against Xavier.

     The rains over Genosha had not yet reached the South, and the late afternoon sky was clear and blustery, pink and orange in the West. The air was unseasonably warm and heavy. I entered one of the stores in the war torn land and made a line towards the public telephones. For government training, getting a free call on one those machines is quite easy. I made the call, and placed a time for the pick up. Precisely at the same moment, officials were telling Exodus of the conversation's content.

     I made my way to the rebuilt library in Hammer Bay, keeping my face down to the pavement in an attempt to avoid standing out in the crowd. Exodus has a few toys up his sleeve. One of them happens to be teleportation. As I slipped my way into library, Exodus appeared before me in all his glory.

     Now, another tip you might want to take to heart if you ever want to get into this business, is to always have names that mean other things used in conversation. For example, we'll use the ones I had with my contact. I had informed my contact that I was in need of 'cigarettes.' Now, my contact knows that means high explosives. Make sure your contact knows that you are using coding messaging. Its pointless to have a code that no one else knows but you. I also had informed my contact that I needed them in a briefcase with the 'government files.' That means that a timer should be placed on the 'cigarettes,' and it's also bait for the nasty git to open the briefcase.

     Exodus was staring me down as he hovered above me. By now you must have also figured out that my fighting moves aren't real classy. I bolted for that door, where a ripple of psychokinetic blasts followed my steps. I recall seeing an amused grin on Exodus's lips as I was cornered in a room of the library that had no windows and only one door, that being the one I had ran in to enter through. Exodus then turned his attention to the briefcase. It was now my turn to be amused. I paced, waiting for the timer.

     The timer had been set for five minutes. I quickened my pace, making for the doorway but five seconds later I heard an ear-shattering sound, like a thunderclap, and felt a hot blast of air lift me from my feet and hurtle me across the great room like a dead leaf in an autumn gale. The aching of my bones didn't bother me; I had made the contract. So much for the man who was supposed to be invulnerable. Then again, hard to be invulnerable in about seven different pieces. I gathered myself, aside from the cuts from the explosion and quickly got out of Dodge.

     Magneto didn't take too kindly to my erasing his chairman, which didn't help my trying to get Kitty out of her prison. The clansmen were out; I couldn't even turn to my contacts this time. I would have been spotted if I had. I took one of the clansmen out, and slipped on their attire. It was a mixture of spandex and armor; I would have preferred that wheel of tacks. The only perquisite of that task was the fact the person had a pack of Marlboros on him. Listening to the broadcasts from the walkie-talkie, I learned of the location of the 'war criminals.'

     I plotted just how I was going to get into that grand hotel, get Pryde and the Russian out, and take Magneto out while doing it as I smoked those cigarettes. None of it was going to be easy. None of it was going to be.

     The uniform covered every one of my features that I could not change. I finally decided to make my move right after dark. From my observation during the hours before, every three hours guards were switched. That left a four minute period in which no guards actually were watching the entrances. As the guards moved from the doors to check out with the other guards, I quickly slipped into the hotel. I was dressed in the Royal guard outfit, so no one that saw me questioned me. That, in itself, was now an illegal act in Genosha. Only other officials had the right to question another.

     I slipped onboard one of the elevators, adjusting the gear and waited for the doors to open. Nothing but the mission at hand was on my mind. My wounds from earlier didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Kitty out of this mess. Then I would clean it. Finally, the doors opened. A guard greeted me.

     "Identify yourself."

     "Identify this."

     Much like a remorseful traitor, someone who has seen your cover must be executed for the security of the mission. I made my way quickly to the assigned room where Pryde should have been staying and yanked the door opened. She was there. Again, that shock came over her face as I pulled that helmet off my head and my real face was shown to her.

     "Pete --"

     "Get your things together. Time to sail, luv."

     Unfortunately, I had to release the Russian as well. I made my way to his room and opened it up. He appeared to be sketching something on a pad of paper with a pencil. I muttered slightly as the git didn't even look up to his rescue party. However, the muttering got his attention.

     "Wisdom! You should not be here, my friend. They will come for us and you will be dead."

     "I'll take my chances. Grab what you need and let's get going. I don't want to still be in Genosha by daybreak."

     "This is ill-advised..."

     "Do you want to leave or not? If you want to leave, I'm going. I'm not coming back. If you want to stay, then just keep on doodling."

     The alarms had quickly picked up the heat pattern of my body on that level, not to mention the fact didn't respond to his walkie-talkie, and the alerts were on full. What I never grasped was why Kitty just didn't use her powers to get the Tin Russian and herself out of that situation. She has never told me why, but I suppose she knew that I would save her. On the other hand, she may have just been too sore to think at all, but a smartass like Pryde could never admit to that. However, Pryde did phase us down to the ground floor, where we caught the show of the guards rushing to the elevator and stairs. Too bad when they got up to the floor, the only person there was dead. Through the night, all three of us made it through the bloody disarray of what Genosha is. We made it past the boarder, even if it did cost a few more lives, enough to catch the SS Liberty at dawn.

     Pryde thought it best to give Shadowcat some rest for a while and is still healing from her wounds; Rasputin quickly regained his status as an active X-Man. As for yours truly? I'm at her side as she heals, and after that? Who knows?

     You might be thinking, I thought you were going to make Magneto pay?

     Well, that's another tale, now isn't it?