Logan responded with a grim expression of self-assurance. More than a few times had he got things done in underground tunnels. He supposed he'd gotten to like the setting; shadowy, his victims-to-be never quite anticipating where he'd strike. This plan was shaping up already.

From any other young person, anyone new to the team, so to speak, Xavier would've corrected "no, we will plan this" but he recognized the progress here with Ryder. And though Xavier felt it would be likely the plan would require some fine tuning to meet his standard of action, the present consequence to disagreement is Ryder would simply go without them. The X-Men could work with that.

"Our computer in the War Room should suffice." He knew she didn't need to be shown, but all the same he wheeled himself around to start heading that way.

It happened to be the same location they would've come whether a computer request been made or not, as Xavier had intended to call the briefing with his remaining X-Men directly and that is where it would've been held. Though Ryder's timeline of "when they get back" appealed to him. More time to consider things. Not to mention decompress, namely in the case of Jean. Though Xavier knew she was anything but fragile on her own, her present condition warranted consideration, and even the strongest needed time to breathe following affecting circumstances; especially those that were, in part, brought on by themselves.

---

"I should see what's happening. I'll bring you to medical, first." He shifted out of their close position.

"No, Scott. I already told we checked out alright."

"It doesn't feel that way." A glance down.

Jean actually smiled. "It's trying out a different position today." She adjusted her own while she moved her own hand in something of a massaging manner. "I don't think you can find it as well, but trust me."

Scott was reassured enough to smile slightly himself, though both were fleeting.
They rose together.

"I still don't know what I was thinking. . ." Distress was gradually giving way to reasoning. Jean had a vague sense that she had actually had some sort of clear thought to her actions, but whatever it had been felt so far back in her mind now, she couldn't see it for the present glare; maybe she only wanted there to be an explanation so badly.

Scott had paused, eying her, but the vestige went away completely.

Jean shook her head. "What had happened to you and Ryder?" At least that was an event from this morning with a sure answer. She eyed the state of his uniform as if noticing it just now.

They headed for the elevator while Scott answered: "We wound up in Genosha thanks to Sentinels patrolling the Atlantic searching for it. Well one, in this case. A double KO then I found myself looking up at Magneto before I was carried off to their medical facility."

"He rescued you?"

"There's a lot that was surprising. . .That's what I want to talk about later."

Down in the basement, they met Logan in the hall.
"Doing okay?" he eyed Jean.

"Fine, thank you." She really didn't want the attention right now, but did appreciate his caring. "How has it gone?"

"Well enough. I'm hitting the Danger Room." He shifted a departing look -really something of a glare- towards Scott as he headed off.

Scott's brow furrowed as his gaze followed Logan.
What was his problem?

'Good timing, Scott,' Xavier's voice rang quietly in his -and Jean's- mind. 'We're in the War Room. Jean, if you wouldn't mind meeting me in my office. I would like to discuss matters.'

The couple exchanged a look.
Scott took Jean's hand briefly, laying a kiss on her lips before separating.

The door to the War Room opened shortly thereafter, permitting Cyclops to stride in. He found Ryder at the computer and Xavier sitting-by. These past few minutes while Ryder was setting up, Xavier had been in a quiet state; thinking more than outright observing her.

"Ryder is presently laying down the groundwork for our response to Umbra's assault," he explained to his leading X-Man, already turning towards the door in prep for exiting. "She will be taking the initiative in deciding how we proceed. Lend your expertise."

Following Ryder's lead? An interesting prospect. Cyclops watched the Professor go thinking his manner was unusually terse. He only got like this when whatever was on his mind was particularly troubling. Cyclops didn't really have to wonder at it. He reverted to Ryder, folding his arms across his chest.

"So what are you doing specifically?" he queried. More out of liking to know the score than anything else.

With people gathered in the War Room, Ryder assumed control of a computer. Every single LED in the screen fell under her control, and images of Umbra's inner workings spilled outward directly from her mind. A vast complex, dark and dreary in some depictions and bright and normal in others. They were snapshots of things she had seen, places she could never possibly forget no matter how hard she tried. Folds in a battle map.

"Most of Umbra is underground," she began. "Hidden and made really fucking winding for the sole purpose of confusing anyone who gets loose down there. Most of the place is set to defend itself automatically, and they haven't had the time to fix that. So once I'm inside, the entire building is mine to control."

A loose diagram of the place showed up, in three dimensions. There were areas blacked out, and areas highlighted. "Guards are stationed there. In these areas, they have shielding that blocks my powers, by only when the doors are shut. All I have to do is think for a few minutes and their barracks are torn open. The research wing is where records and data are stored. Just about all of their computer storage is vulnerable- I've been through it a thousand times, I know everything on them."

The images contorted and turned into the shape of a gun, next to it were images of the armor used by guards. It had weakpoints, flaws in its inherent design that a strategist could point out. "When you get to the absolute lowest floors, past elevators and checkpoints and all the other shit they have? That's where you find the guy who built the place."

There was a grainy image of an office, which didn't look fully coherent compared to the rest. Almost surreal in its visual. And in a chair sat a man all too comfortable there. Andrew Becker.

"He's mine."

Cyclops took in every image Ryder displayed and every word she spoke as if he were a student studying for a test. One which would be timed, with the grade scale relating to more than just basic success rate. Coming out with a "90%" might mean you lost "10%" of who you came in with. That would be a fail.

The student analogy persisting, Cyclops did also find this material interesting.
Interesting, though largely disconcerting.

Behind his visor, he shifted his eyes towards Ryder at her firm statement of Andrew Becker being hers.
That bridge could be crossed when they came to it, and that fell under the part of the plan that would be his to make alone.

Right now, he actually had something else on his mind.
"Do you know of anything across Umbra like Cerebro? Something which could connect your mind to technology to the same extent Cerebro allows for standard telepathic connection?

---

Xavier arrived at his office some minutes after Jean, finding she'd made use of his tea maker; presently setting a cup down for him on his desk.

Xavier made no move towards it however, and did not speak. In fact, he'd paused between the now closed door and the desk, looking lost in the matter that brought them here.

Jean, her own cup of tea in her hand, broke the silence: "I'm sorry. Ever since Umbra something's been off with me. I should've gone to the Disaster Shelter with Hank-" her voice lowered, "I never should've placed myself in a position where any of that could've happened."

Xavier: ". . .perhaps."

Jean regarded him anew, realizing: "That's not what's on your mind."

"Perhaps it should be. Though presently I find myself unable to think of anything other than. . ." A heavy sigh escaped Xavier's lips. He stared at nothing, shaking his head subtly.

Jean waited patiently for him to continue, thinking she knew now what -or rather who- the subject was.

Though Xavier's next words came as a question: "How many children have I helped throughout these years?" He looked her way yet didn't appear to be focusing on her. "Youths who found safe haven, for the first time, within these walls. Who were told nothing was wrong with them, for the first time, by me. . ." His voice grew stronger yet with a slight waver to it, as he came from the past back to the present: "Yet, to my own daughter, I've given only the impression that I desire to fix her."

Jean's answer was thoughtful: "Ryder's only known captivity, with zero meaningful interaction. At least not positive. We can't expect her to recognize our intentions for what they are."

"So am I naive then, to have hoped for certain progress? Some has been made. Only not with me."

"You've spent your life encouraging others to see from your perspective. For a lot of us, that's what we needed. But I don't think you'll get anywhere with Ryder if you don't make your starting point hers." Jean's eyes shifted from Xavier then, as if her words had hit on some breakthrough in her own mind -some thought suddenly coming to her. Though it was gone before she'd had the chance to actually see it, like the flit of a shadow across a blind. What had it been?

Xavier didn't catch this shift. "Ryder's perspective. . .Ryder's mind. . .A vastly foreign land even to someone like myself who has traversed through many. I find myself divided between the feeling I will never have the privilege of seeing it for what it truly is, unguarded, I mean, and the feeling that I never should. . ." He closed his eyes. "Though in either case, likewise, I find myself wanting to. More than any other mind I've had the responsibility of knowing." His eyes opened; seeing the paradox clearly now.

”Yeah, you’re looking at it,” Ryder commented, pointing a thumb at herself. ”Me. All I have to do is get in there and the whole building is mine to fucking control. They made me so I’d be that powerful, they just didn’t think I’d be more just powerful.”

The images on the screen shifted to a map of the computer systems. ”Everything in there is redundant- One thing breaks, something else picks up the slack and keeps operating. I’ll cripple it regardless, so the bastardized have to actually worry about keeping their systems up.” Diagrams of the elevator system appeared and demonstrated that there was no possible way to get anywhere quickly without them. Shutting them off as well as other intersectional systems would prevent the vast majority of the guards from doing anything about their assault.

”I’ll be heading down as deep as possible, so don’t try and slow me down.”

Though taking in what Ryder further explained, Cyclops focused on the answer she'd given to his question. "Alright, so you're your own Cerebro. And apparently the carnage you left as a parting gift wasn't enough for them to give up on whatever they designed a living supercomputer infiltrator for. Makes sense given how much time they put into you. Yet to have come here lookin' for trouble was foolish. And that's without you having even been here for it. . .

"This has been a very patient project of theirs up until now." He unfolded one of his arms, turning over his palm, "why such a rush then to try and reclaim you that they came seemingly no more prepared for the job?" He refolded his arms. It makes me think they're either working with a deadline or they're worried about something. Like more of their secrets being revealed. . .We don't have a definitive answer on the function of that device in your brain."

"We have considered it might be a built in failsafe for this exact scenario. A kill switch. And they either want to be sure they can't still salvage their plan, or it has a limited-range detonator. Either situation, it would be worth considering if getting near them again could be dangerous for you."

”The thing in my brain isn’t your business, but it’s not a weapon for them to turn me on anyone else,” Ryder noted. ”That’s not how it works.”

She wasn’t about to explain how it gave her the technopathic powers she leaned on so much. Nor was she willing to let them figure it out. That just wasn’t their business, something she wanted to keep close. ”Once I’m down there in the sub-levels, the only thing that matters is that they’re not walking away. They won’t stop me, so when we do…”

---

The Blackbird soared over Scotland, well into the areas that Ryder was no stranger to. The range of her psychic abilities was wide enough that they had at least another five minutes before they’d arrive there properly. In some proper combat gear that they managed to grab, Ryder used her powers to oscillate a power generation component of her improvised rifle, filling up a dense battery. Ryder felt it charging up to full capacity, through a microcontroller that had been planted into the “receiver.” With Cyclops up front and Ryder reluctantly connected to Xavier through a psychic link they set up, they were prepared.

”We’re getting close, so give me a minute.” Ryder shut her eyes, and worked her way into that network she lived in for so long. If a person could navigate the world with perfect familiarity, this part of the world was like her street. Everything she manipulated through her powers had its own feel and “imprint.” It made things easier when she came back to them.

The mansion quickly became muscle memory to her, and this?

This wasn’t even a conscious thought.

---

Down in the underside of the building, far from the light of day his brother never saw, Andrew Becker sat at a desk. He typed away at a computer, looking over data the intelligence wing had compiled on Xavier’s mansion. He had been going back and forth with Umbra about tapping Moira. She was useful in her own ways.

He sipped a mug of coffee, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

”I know. I’m trying.”

It was a nascent feeling of presence. Something not truly stimulating of the senses yet nevertheless felt.

”We know she hasn’t left. We’ll figure it out, okay. You’ll have your host some day, just not-“

The fluorescent lights above his head went out. The screen on his desk blinked off. His office was momentarily plunged into darkness.

And then the emergency lights came off. Shouting came down the hallway.

”…Today.”

Becker stood up, drawing a pistol from under his desk. ”I need to take care of this, you just sit tight. I bet it’s her.”

The response was not a human voice, nor that unexplainable presence. Rather, it was a wave of awareness that washed over the man; The feeling one got when they suspected someone was being watched, only beyond potent.

”No,” he warned. ”She’s not ready for you yet. Don’t ruin your chances by tipping her off.”

It became anxiety, paranoia, and impatience. Andrew didn’t feel it, but he couldn’t ignore the sensation of it.

”You’ve waited this long, you can wait a few more-“