A Case of Mistaken Identity.... Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel, the Coda to Wildstorm, and the story to me. Charles Xavier used to run a school for gifted youngsters. As far as the IRS and the Westchester County Clerk's Office is concerned: he still does. But it has been a lone time since he actually _taught_ any of his students, because for the most part, his 'gifted youngsters', almost all mutants, born with abilities far greater than regular humans, have become adults. Noble warriors, fighting for the Dream he cherishes to the core of his very being.... The hope that humans and mutants can someday co-exist peacefully on a planet that is rapidly becoming too small for them all.... It has been a week since his children of the atom returned from Siberia. And as has been happening far too often on their missions lately--they returned with a little bit more of their souls missing... He'd tried reinforcing their convictions, easing their nightmares with emptiness, but it seemed that all his efforts were in vain, for even his Dream couldn't take the place of those nightmares. And even with his own powers amplified with Cerebro, he was forced to expend more effort piecing together fragmenting psyches, and the strain was beginning to wear down even a man of his mental fortitude... He gazed at the parabolic holoscreen, with a bank of Shi'ar control panels spread before him, and the Cerebro helm enhancing his ability to access the memories associate with the re-enactment program that played out before him. His usually serene, regal face was haggard, his eyes red with unshed tears and a lack of sleep. "Computer--end re-enactment program." he said, with a sense of resignation in his voice. Jubilee's gum cracked several times in staccato rhythm, echoing the stiffness in his shoulders. "Omega Red escaped. The Soul Skinner was killed. And the State Security agents responsible for the situation will simply sweep it under the rug..." he reviewed, to no one in particular. "You should not be saying the word 'rug'..." the young Amer-Asian muttered around the sticky pink bubble, as she laced on her rollerblades. She wondered what this world was coming to, feeling far older than her 15 years, and wondering at her own sanity at following the X-Women through that portal several months ago in the Hollywood Mall... "Did you say something, Jubilation?" the Professor inquired, feeling a bit more than irritable at her continual gum-cracking. "Just cracked my gum..." she retorted, to which he responded, "An annoying habit, child...." She snorted with disgust, "So's hooking yerself up to an alien dishwasher, an' scrubbin' out the insides o' yer head. But y' don't hear me complainin'." She didn't understand half things that went on around here, and frequently felt left out of the day to day happenings of the Mansion. Part of it was her age, and the other part was her self imposed isolation... "Would you mind terribly, speaking up a bit?" Xavier requested, as he lifted the heavy device from his head with a weary sigh, "This empathic imaging helmet is _not_ very conducive to conversation, is it?" "Depends on what ya wanna converse about..." Jubilee replied absentmindedly as she checked the new wheels she'd installed on her Shi'ar improved inline skates. They spun with satisfactory smoothness, and she performed a few stunt moves around the comm-centre... The Professor decided to probe her feelings and reactions on the recent mission, "I simply wondered if seeing Piotr and Illyana lose their parents had any adverse effect on you..." She definitely didn't want to go there, it was a dead-end, just like Mulholland... " 'Cause my folks got aced once?" she retorted, trying to sound casual, "--s' far as I can tell, life's nothin' _but_ losin'." She continued to race around the smooth deck-plates, trying to forget what hurt, trying to ignore ol' Baldy's attempts to pry her out of her shell, she decided to change the subject, "Just a matter of losin' as little as possible, while livin' as much as ya can!" She took off down the hall, at an alarming rate of speed, "Let's go check on Petey an' the Pimple..." Charles' eyes followed her thoughtfully, he didn't say anything. He would allow her to hide behind her facade of indifference. But he knew better, it didn't take a telepath to see through the brick wall she had erected around herself... just as she has seen through _his_. Maybe that's why they had bonded of late? Because they have so much pain in common... But can't the same be said of all the X-Forces? Ever since he returned from his self imposed exile in the Shi'ar Imperium in distant space, why has he felt so damn distant from them?? He allowed himself to ponder the issue as his hover-chair drifted down the length of the subterranean complex to the sickbay. Perhaps, because he fears getting to close, and that would end up hurting too much, feeling their pain too close to his own fragile defences? He entered the room where Peter was tending his younger sister, "Piotr, how is Illyana today??" The big, brooding Russian looked up, acknowledging his presence, "She is still fighting the rather nasty flu bug she contracted when we arrived, Professor." He stirred the warm chicken soup he'd prepared to feed her with studious care, not wanting to reveal his deeper pain and worries... Jubilee simply watched, trying not to show any of the things she was really feeling deep down inside... She only hoped her mask would hold a little longer. "It _has_ been a few days at that--has the child been tested for strep throat?" Xavier asked, trying to offer help without intruding. He manoevered his hover chair in the small space, preparing to leave. "She'll be fine, sir. _I_ will care for her." Piotr replied stiffly as he carefully spooned some of the soup into his little sister's mouth, "I will not allow her to be hurt again..." The Professor tried again to reach out to the young man, laying a paternal hand on his massive shoulder, "And you, Piotr? Who will care for _you_?" he asked gently, "How have you been holding up under all this stress?? Your parents' death must--" Charles tried to soothe the young Russian's anguish, but found the stoic facade that Piotr Rasputin had created to conceal the deep wounds that his grief and guilt had left in his mind prevented much more than casual contact. It was a project for later, though he did manage to telepathically steady the young man for the time being. "I am doing what I have *always* done--what _we_ have always done--" he replied tiredly, turning to look at the man who'd given him purpose for all those years, "--I am surviving." The pain was apparent in his eyes as his facade slipped for a brief moment, "I am carrying on...." he whispered. Jubilee couldn't take any more, and decided to motor before she broke... "Well, all my best to the Pimple..." she tossed over her shoulder, "But I don't feel like gettin' her bug..." She sped away from the heartbreaking scene, "Hasta Lumbagos...." Her rollerblades carry her quickly, but not quickly enough to escape the nagging doubts that plagued her... She avoids her pain... She runs from it, thinking how ironic that she wound up in a place like this....a house filled with as many people who are as deeply wounded as she is... The corridor that lead to the elegantly appointed corridors of the mansion proper... "Well speak of the devil...." she whispered to herself, shocked at the attire her teammate had been wearing when she appeared in one of the doorways along that corridor. "Psylocke!!" she exclaimed, looking up and down the other Oriental woman's rather daring attire... Secretly wishing she'd ever look *that* good in a skin tight black mini-dress and heels up to yin-yang... She was flat everywhere, while the violet-maned ninja had formidable enough curves to make a Playmate jealous... The aloof telepath swept past her, "When we're not on a mission, I'd truly prefer you call me Ms. Braddock, or Elisabeth. Or Betsy if you _must_..." Jubilee was freaked by the icy tone of the woman's voice, "Howzabout I call ya late for dinner?? Say, ya seen Wolveroonie?" Psylocke sighed, disliking to deal with things as trivial as a child, especially one as obnoxious as Jubilation Lee, "Outside. Walking toward the boathouse." She continued on, toward her quarry; as Jubilee skimmed down the parquet floors, "Figures! S' fragging twenty degrees out there...." Betsy's stiletto heels struck an eerie staccato rhythm as she made her way to the lower levels where the hanger bay was housed. She heard the rather distinctive sounds of a pneumatic wrench being applied to a particularly frustrating part of the Blackbird as she quietly made her way over to the man who was dogmatically arguing with an engine cowling. She admired the sight with almost predatory pleasure, wetting her lips as the thrill of the conquest began to seep into her body... Scott Summers. Cyclops. Field leader of the Blue Team of the X-Forces... Cursed with optic blasts that prevent him from opening his eyes without the protective ruby-quartz glasses. But that doesn't mean that Scott is necessarily blind... Why then, for months now has he been so unable to see the obvious? Betsy leaned on the landing gear, admiring the way the old tank top and fatigues played over his body, envisioning just how she'd like to see those muscles tense, and what she'd rather have his hands doing... than repairing a cold, impersonal object like the hi-tech aircraft... Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. She switched her long violet-black hair over her shoulders to display her voluptuous body to better advantage... She pulled the other end of the air tube from the compressor. Scott cursed under his breath as the pneumatic wrench proceeded to strip the last bolt holding the engine cowling in place... The thrust of the sudden release caused him to loose his footing on the ladder, sending him, the ladder and a whole tool box clattering down onto Betsy... "Oofff..." he groaned as his head came into contact with a more forgiving substance than the concrete deck: Betsy's breasts... "Scott--?!" she gasped, not having anticipated this, "--are you hurt?" She pushed herself up to meet his eyes, which were fastened on her with an odd, confused expression. " *Betsy??* I--I didn't know--you....uhm-- you were here--uhm-- I _slipped_... I'm uhm....I'm sorry...." he stammered, totally thrown off guard by the sensuous, exotic woman who was beside him... She leaned forward, tilting his face up to hers, and gently licking the blood off the shallow cut on his cheek. He tried to ignore just how erotic a gesture it was, but she was suddenly *very* hard to ignore.... "Don't be sorry, Scott...." she whispered, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed searchingly into her teammate's face... His breath caught in his throat as she lifted his chin with one hand, and molded his body to hers in a passionate embrace that was nothing like he'd *ever* experienced with Jean... Her kiss was as intensely erotic as the mind-touch that accompanied it... Part of him wanted to surrender to it, and part of him fought against those needs and desires... He regained control of his rebellious body and pushed her away, "Betsy--I.... We...shouldn't..." "Why _not_, Scott?" she asked, confused by his sudden rejection, though he was not overly rough... "I...*can't*...I mean, I shouldn't..." he tried to reason, as his face flushed as bright a ruby as his goggles. He arose to leave, trying to escape the compelling presence of this tempting, exotic woman who'd been in his thoughts for weeks now. "--This isn't right, Psylocke! This isn't going to happen...." "Whether you *want* it to or not?" she asked archly, daring him to try and weasel his way out of this one. Her violet eyes defiant, sparkling in a way that partly begged him not to go, and partly daring him to... "What I want?" the veteran X-Forces field leader asked bitterly, " *I* don't know what t hat is anymore..." He left the ninja sitting on the floor of the hangar bay, eyes blazing and arms crossed in stony silence. As he turned to head up the stairs, he encountered his old flame, Lady Jeanne Grey. Telepath and telekinetic par excellence, teammate, and until recently, lover... She was dressed with impeccable taste as usual, a classic Irish beauty: long hair like fire, eyes like emeralds, and ivory skin... "JEANNE??!" he gasped. "Scott, are you ready for lunch?" she inquired, her eyes dark with gentle concern. "Are you alright?" She sensed his emotional turmoil, though she didn't probe past his 'public' mind. She couldn't help but worry, because normally his state of mind was so clear to her, and she found solace in his simple, straight forward approach to living. "I'm fine.... Everything's fine..." *I can't stay...* ran through his mind, though his lips said otherwise, as he rushed past her, up the stairs... feeling trapped by her presence. "Scott?!" she called after him, confused by the sudden change in his mind, and the terrible conflict with in him... *Scott?* She looked around for some explanation in the dim light of the stairwell, sensing another mind... "What's happened?? Who...." She saw a silhouetted figure emerge from the hanger bay, revealing the smug, aloof visage of the "other" telepath... A violet eyebrow arched over an amethyst eye, "Hello, Jeanne... Too bad about lunch...." Psylocke leaned against the door frame with a sensuous grace that unnerved the graceful Englishwoman. In her life, Lady Jeanne Grey had fought many battles, been to the far reached of the galaxy and stared death in the face more often than she cared to remember... and yet, today she ran from the cold stare of a team-mate like a frightened child. Because, suddenly she knows...knows with a stunning certainty that all of the thoughts, loves and desires of the man she loves are suddenly unknown to her! But should she have been surprised? Hasn't it always been a struggle for the two of them? Haven't they always been forced to chip away at the emotional barriers that life as mutants and metahumans, as members of the X-Forces has built around them?? [Maybe it's just that her arms are weary...the chisel worn, the hammer has lost it's bite. Or maybe, just maybe--beyond the struggle and the barriers, she and Scott have precious little left. And can she really blame him?] she asked herself as she watched Jubilee out one of the second story windows of her room, where she'd sought refuge. The late afternoon light gleaming on her gold silk blouse, and setting her hair afire. Why does she feel so much _older_ than she really is? Why has time taken away all their spark? All their energy? Does living in this house, being one of the X-Forces, mean that youth and innocence have to be left behind? She watched the young Jubilee clattering along the cobbled paths which she'd TK'd free of snow earlier that day, on her trademark inline skates. The girl was in search of Logan... "Wollllveriiiiineeee??!!" Jubes hollered, her own voice echoing teasingly back from the woods, "Major noogies, dude... Yer makin' me 'blade on cobblestones!" It took her a few minutes, and one of the uncleared paths... "There you are.... Whatcha doin'?" she asked as she watched him systematically pruning a dead tree with an adamantium claw, oblivious to the cold temperatures or the whistling wind through the trees.... "Thinkin' " he muttered, as he attempted to carve something recognisable from the trunk... "Well, that's never a good sign, is it?" she grumbled, shivering as a particularly chilly breeze wafted down the back of her cloak.... Wondering just what caused his contemplative mood. He never brooded without good reason... "No, it ain't, Jubilation--darling." he replied quietly, "Thinkin' about everythin' that's happened lately... How every one of our losses-- Petey an' his parents--Scott, his kid... Me loosin' Mariko. How for all that, the scales just don't balance. We give out a lot more than we get... Listen t' me, expectin' life to be fair. I know more'n anyone, life kicks you in the gut, an' when you get up, it kicks you down again, only harder..." His ears pricked, and nostrils flared as he caught something in the wind, his claws ejecting with an audible snap... Jubilee freaked, "Wolvie, don't you stiffen up now...Whoa--! What's with the claws??" He spat like his namesake, "Thought I smelled something funny...." Jubilee followed his gaze out to the deeper woods, to a shadowy figure that neither one could make out... "But it was just Betsy..." Jubilee interjected, "Out *here*? In that "I-want-sex" outfit _she_ was wearin'? Sheesh....doubt it!!" Elsewhere, Jeanne sensed something on the periphery of her telepathy... She looked out the window of her room, she thought she saw someone, but it moved so quickly, it seemed merely a shadow, a phantom in the afternoon light. But a quick telepathic scan reveals nothing out there, save for Logan and Jubilee... A mind, not unfamiliar to hers, yet not expected to intrude on her thoughts quickly withdrew, it's owner deftly deflecting her scan. She must not know... But her state of mind is dangerous, and soon, if she grows any stronger or more sensitive, she will have to be...protected, the other mind tells itself, else next time she might discover things are not quite as they seem... Her scan picks up activity indoors as well. Someone is using the 'danger room'. Working out, playing games... Games. That's all it's good for now, isn't it?? She left her room, and took the lift down to the sub-basement... The observation deck was open to her, and she watched the 'games' carried out therein. Recalling other, happier times... Once, it was used to hone their metahuman abilities, but Jeanne was aware as the others that their abilities don't really *need* to be honed anymore. No.... Now, they use the holodeck as an escape from reality. A chance to play.... games. And what's the harm in that? She watched as Henry McCoy and Remy LeBeau; codenames Beast and Gambit, took their frustrations out on robotic opponents... Gambit was testing some new additions to his collapsing bo staff that Forge'd made the last time he'd stopped by the mansion... "M'back to fighting form, am I not, mon ami?" he bragged as the swept the rod of secondary adamantium through two of his foes. Beast was involved with his own set of antagonists, but was full of wry wit as ever, "From *my* angle back here, you look just as dimply as can be, Remy!" A minor explosion echoed throughout the holodeck, and Gambit whooped with sheer joy, "Now, Henri--just 'cause I'm as likely t' win this scenario--f'r the third straight time--is no reason t' be testy, non?" Hank hung by his prehensile feet and continued to plague the gorgeous Cajun. "Testy? Moi? But, I sing, and bounce along so merrily..." He brushed his unruly auburn hair out of his strange red and black eyes, mopping the sweat off his face with a sigh... "On th' serious side, Beastie-Boy--what's botherin' you, eh?" "M'sieu LeBeau, you *are* the curious one, aren't you? You know what that did to the proverbial cat!" he rebuked good-naturedly, "Maybe, Gambit, I'm depressed because you're soooo much better than I am--at least in 'danger room' etiquette..." He launched himself into an impressive acrobatic display that would have put the most gifted of gymnasts to shame, "Or perhaps--just, perhaps, my Cajun friend--to boost your confidence after your recent injuries, I *let* you win!" He left the ex-thief staring at him in bewilderment, and no little envy... *Or maybe, he just doesn't care anymore,* Jeanne thinks, *Maybe Hank McCoy has simply outgrown all this?? Maybe he's wondering if it isn't time to move on? Get on with his life, see things with new eyes...* She left the observation deck, and dropped by the examination suite of sickbay, where Rogue was having her recently injured eyes examined by Storm.... She looked up, and smiled as she saw her best friend enter the complex, "Jeanne, I was finishing up the last of Henry's diagnostic scans on Rogue's retinal damage. It appears her optic nerves sustained no permanent damage...." Jeanne smiled wanly, "And how does that translate, Ororo?" She leaned over her silver-maned teammate's shoulder to get a better look at the scans... Storm shrugged, "I confess I am no expert. But for a residual sensitivity to light, she should be fine...." She smoothed her long pale hair out of her sky blue eyes, as the other woman gently rubbed her tired eyes, and replaced the shades she'd been wearing for the last few weeks. "It's about time!" she exclaimed, "Ah'm a little tired'a puttin' mah trust in people t' tell me where mah next step is goin' t'and!" Jeanne smiled knowingly, "I take it Remy hasn't been the ideal set of eyes?" A faint chuckle escaping her lips, and she was glad for the distraction. "You kiddin' me, girl?" Rogue groaned, "That boy sees where *he* wants t'go clear enough... Ah just don' know if it's th' same direction Ah want..." Tears welled up in Jeanne's eyes as she empathised with the young steel magnolia, "You don't know if you trust him, do you? It's funny. We put our lives in each other's hands--but our hearts? That's another matter...." Ororo quietly embraced her friend, seeing her in distress, though she didn't know why. It pained her to see Jeanne like this, and she thought she might know the source of the redhead's emotional state. "The truth is, Jeanne, we are all guilty of hiding our feelings, our problems. And no one more so than I. Hiding our emotions behind his veneer of steely resolve. Ironically enough, they are altogether *human* traits, are they not??" Jeanne bucked up for the moment, letting her 'stiff upper lip' return as she calmed herself with a sigh, "For all the times we've been called 'mutie-this' or 'genejoke- that'--you'd think we would be better able to handle being simply--human..." She's as beautiful today as she was the first day he laid eyes on her. A sight you'd never forget, Warren had once said... What could have happened to cloud over such a clear memory? Why does life keep adding layer upon layer of complexity to what should be otherwise, a relatively simple equation? Scott gazed at a picture of Jeanne from her modeling days, the glass shattered, though why he couldn't recall... He'd been packing, though where he'd planned on going he still wasn't sure.... Simplicity and clarity... Those are two things Scott Summers feels he desperately needed at the moment. And those two things he knows he won't find by staying here... He replaced the photo on his dresser, and finished fastening his suitcase when his train of thought was derailed by the voice of his mentor, "Scott...?" He turned to see the familiar figure, seated in the golden hover-chair, "Professor? Sorry, sir, you surprised me..." The world's most powerful telepath raised a Spockish eyebrow, "In the middle of something, I see..." His keen blue eyes penetrating Scott with concern and that curiosity that never seemed to invade one's privacy, but always did... "Oh, the suitcase? I'm just--taking off for a few days." he replied, choosing his destination on the spur of the moment, "I'm going to fly up to Alaska to see my grandparents. After everything we've been through lately, I need some time alone, sir." Charles' eyes noticed the bits of shattered glass that clung to the framed photo of Jeanne, making him wonder what was really up, but he respected his student's privacy and their judgement to handle their personal lives... "I understand" he said, though he really didn't... "Is there anything I can do--?" Scott cut him off, afraid to reveal anymore, his nerves escalating, "No, Professor, Thanks--I just need time off." He collected his suitcase and a warm jacket for the ride to the airport. It was snowy and bitterly cold outside in the New York winter... On his way out, he encountered more meddling, no matter how well intended. Storm. She was bringing the results of Rogue's retinal scan to the Professor, when she noticed him. Perhaps she could get him to see reason? She stoped at the foot of the stairs, entreating him, "Do not run away from your problems, Scott. Do not abandon those who care for you...." He looked up at the regal woman with a sullen glare, "Ororo, I thought you of everybody here, would understand! Why are *you* making this even harder for me?" he demanded. She reached out to catch his arm, hoping that he would not be foolish, "Because of the very same mistakes that I made, Scott! The decisions I delayed, the feelings I ignored. I _lost_ Forge...I do not want to see you build the same fortress of solitude I have..." She still hurt over that incident, and rarely revealed just how much it had cost her. But Scott was oblivious to just how much courage it took for her to reveal even a trace of that hurt... "It saves us from being hurt, Scott...but it also prevents us from feeling joy...." He shook her hand free, and turned away from the woman who'd beaten him in a contest to become the senior field leader of the core X-Forces... "I appreciate it, 'Ro--I do--but when it comes to building walls, I've been doing it longer-and better--than anybody I know..." He was unaware that Jeanne was standing on the balcony above them, and had witnessed the entire exchange, her voice shook--her eyes gleaming with unshed tears, "Yes, you have, Scott. And where has it gotten you??" He turned, suddenly aware of her. "Good bye, Lady Jeanne" was all he said as he turned and walked out the door.... Jeanne wiped a tear from her eye, and steeled her resolve. She wasn't going to let him go that easily... She wanted answers, and the only source was somewhere on the mansion grounds. "Computer? |breep| "Locate Psylocke." |Referent presently involved in Holodeck program sequence.| came the patent 'Majel Barrett' voice that Hank'd insisted on programming the Mansion's central computer with... "Thank you..." she whispered out of habit, when the computer offered further information... |Also identifying anomalous presence of Elisabeth Braddock in...| it continued. "Never mind...." Jeanne replied as she headed down to the subterranean levels where the ultratech systems and facilities were located. Her mind running amok with questions she wanted answers to... Thrust. Parry. Swipe. Contact.... Fist to flesh. Cartilage tore, bone cracked, blood rushed.... Since she was a child, Betsy Braddock had wanted to run like the hounds on the chase. All her life, she wanted the perfect, synchronised union of body and mind. And now that she had it, Psylocke revelled in it--exalted in it lived and breathed in it.... And nothing and no one would take it away again! She battled facsimiles of the Coda warriors and assassins who trained and retrained her. Stretching herself to the limits of her ability as a warrior. She was in her element, though she's never stopped to ask herself just where those abilities came from, or what their price might be.... She 's lives for the fight, and takes her passions from moment to moment. There was no past--nor future. There was only the now. |Defense perimeter alert--anomalous energy signature....| the computer reported. Jeanne pressed the program abort with her personal access code, her face steeled and her body rigid with indignation as she watched the Oriental telepath snap in her direction as other opponents faded... "We need to talk." she stated calmly, keeping her Irish temper under careful control, as the computer announced |Combat sequence 134.a45. Abort sequence initiated and authorised.| Psylocke stretched with the grace of a predatory cat, and yawned as if utterly bored, "What ever about, Jeanne?" The redhead blocked her path, her emerald eyes ablaze, "About Scott." The computer interrupted them again, |Cerebro scan detecting duplicate energy signature. Reading resident Elisabeth Braddock...| "Computer, silence yourself!" Psylocke snapped, as she snatched a towel from a recessed valet slot in the wall, "What is there to discuss, Jeanne?" She brushed the smaller woman aside with callous disregard for her person or her feelings. Fairly ignoring the outraged gasp from her... So Jeanne came right to her point... "Are you and Scott--having an --affair??" The ninja chuckled, "Oh, my... No.... An affair. No, Jeanne, not an affair..." She evaded as she continued toweling off as if nothing were out of the ordinary about their conversation... though she took care to display her spectacular figure to it's best advantage. She took a deep breath, and wet her lips as she thought about what she would do, given the chance... "I *want* him to run his fingers through my hair, Jeanne. I *want* to feel his back tense beneath *my* fingertips.... I want to see him smile, to see him let go for a change..." she smiled vixenishly, "but no, Scott and I are not having "an affair"...." Jeanne's temper snapped, as she spun the other woman around by the arm, "Then.... have you telepathically manipulated his mind??" Psylocke snatched herself away, indignant and seemingly outraged, as her rival continued squawking about this and that.... "....Don't turn your back on me, Betsy!! Answer me!!" But what Jeanne couldn't see, was the faint cerise glow that began to emanate from the Oriental's hand... That psychic 'knife', that was apparently the focused totality of her telepathic powers, as she was so fond of saying... "Why don't you just see for yourself, your Ladyship?" Psylocke spat as she impaled Jeanne on the energy spike... A look of perverse pleasure crossing her face as she watched it affect the little mouse. Caught unprepared, it cut through Lady Jeanne Grey's passive defenses, surging in a convulsing spasm through her spinal column... Shredding the fragile sense of self that a telepath as powerful as Jeanne held most sacred. It was an intimate violation that transcended the term that most closely applies to it... And as consciousness fades, Jeanne sees the truth--she understood Psylocke's motives and actions...but the knowledge dissipated as darkness enveloped her.... "Now you know, Jeanne Grey!" she declared, triumphantly, "You will not remember, but you *do* know!!" "As do I..." said a soft voice, with a cultured English accent. Psylocke whirled around to see a vision she'd never thought to see again. Herself, as she had been before the Siege Perilous. Sleek, hi tech pewter armour, an ebon cloak and cowl, and the face that had been called that of "England's Most Beautiful Woman".... "Oh, Jeanne! What a simply marvelous endgame!" she commented to herself, "Programming a holographic sequence of my earlier self--forcing me to question what I am now, in full view of what I once was..... I wouldn't have thought you capable of such a duplicitous maneuver...." The beautiful half Otherworlder smiled coldly at Psylocke, "And you would have thought right, Kwannon--considering she is not responsible for my presence here..." A strange amethyst light reflected eerily from her hands, making her armoured form strangely ethereal. The sudden slip-slide of psionic energy manifested itself as something resembling an amethyst light-sabre.... "You are, Kwannon." she said softly. Psylocke was stunned, "You created a psychic *sword*?? And what did you call me--_who_ are you?!" Genuine fear was showing on the ninja's face for the first time. The Otherworlder moved with speed and grace to rival hers...the first slash of her blade missed, but in her aggressive counter, the second hit home... [I am the one thing you have feared most, since first awakening to see the world through new eyes....] the lady-knight revealed, [I. Am. The. Truth.] And suddenly Psylocke no longer fought like a force of nature... She felt a hard, hacking shovel dig into her mind. A feeling that was both, incredibly, equal parts pain and pleasure--and she knew instinctively--this was what it felt like when she used her power against another. And yes, it hurt; but she fell with a slight smile taking pleasure in realising just how much pain she had inflicted on others, and how superior she had been to her opponents in both mind and body..... The Otherworlder shook her head, she did not revel in causing others pain, but one who had violated her in so intimate a fashion deserved the agony of sharing that violation.... Her reverie was interrupted by a gravelly voice that was quite "What is going on here? An' while yer at it, tell us _who_ you are--how you got in here--an' why you expect to walk outta here on two legs...." Wolvie snarled, his claws extended. An adolescent Amer-Asian girl followed close on his heels, shouting "What he said, with a cherry on top?" She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the cavalry arriving behind him... At least they were familiar face... Storm and Rogue. The bald man in the hover-chair must be Sir Charles Xavier, she surmised, recognising his likeness... She dissipated her psi-blade with another slip-slide of psionic energies, [I mean no harm to any of you....] Storm interrupted her, as she and Rogue lifted the comatose Jeanne Grey from the floor where she'd fallen after Psylocke's successful mindrape... "Then why have you attacked us? And why are you wearing Elisabeth's old Psylocke armour??" The English accent gradually thickened as it always did when she was annoyed. She carefully removed the 'mask' as she answered her old friend's query in mindspeak that all of her audience could hear, [Ororo, I find your questions to be slightly redundant. One: I did not attack any of you only Kwannon. Two: I only wear the armour of Liz Braddock--] Charles was stunned, sensing the woman's powerful mind, "No..." He whispered in shock and realisation of what had happened here.... She threw the hood of her cloak back, her long amethyst hair spilling over her shoulders from it's impromptu bun; and matching amethyst eyes gazing intently back at them. [--Because I am Elisabeth Braddock. And this woman is-and always has been--an imposter!!] She was met by the skeptical gaze of Logan, a very confused Jubilee; and the equally shocked expressions of her old teammates, Rogue and Storm. The Professor was at a loss for words as she knelt by Jeanne, the amethyst butterfly mask spreading across her face, and Jeanne's... She began gently trying to soothe the brutal damage that had been done to the other woman's mind.... Let them worry about Psylocke. Her immediate concern was Kwannon's other innocent victim.... Liz Braddock's eyes narrowed as she reached deeper into the redhead's mind, there was more wrong than simple mindrape by Kwannon. She couldn't put a finger on it, but something nibbled at the edges of her Sight. Something that demanded further investigation on her part... Her concentration was so focused on Lady Jeanne Grey, that she missed the subtle twist to Kwannon's mind, and missed the otherness in the redhead's mind, something Jeanne and not Jeanne. And to her way of thinking, it was as though a bomb had gone off in the other telepath's mindscape.... perhaps it had?