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Thank you, Match Day gods.
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Like...CerealKiller Hackers?
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Thanks, Dad.
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Shit, that's every God damn day.
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Former...lots of things on this site. Above all, former RPer/creator.

I'm retired, I'm gone. Keep creating, always.

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Although quiet drives were rare things, he found the pickup of the protectee from the small airport just north of the Capital District of New York, and the subsequent drive into Albany, to be a landscape of gentle, green rolling foot hills that seemed to melt into the Hudson River valley, with the Catskills Mountains hazy in the distance.

It would have been downright relaxing, if not for the protectee, and the reason for their presence. The handheld encrypted radio bleeped into activity, breaking the quiet drive.

“We have a problem.”

The man seated behind the driver of the large, black, General Motors SUV gave a wry smile, and brought the radio closer to his mouth to answer, “What problem?”

“She’s here, but she isn’t alone. Fucking Magneto came with her.”

Greg Joseph found his eyebrows perk at both the mention of the man, and the way in which the Agency analyst on the other end of the radio said it. Fucking Magneto, the senior analyst said, and he found himself not blaming them for it.

Joseph found himself pausing before responding, exchanging a look from the Special Agent in the front passenger seat, before turning his head to the right, to the man seated quietly in the seat behind the front passenger seat, eyes perking at the protectee, “News to you?”

“I had no idea, no. I just knew she was coming.”

Everything about Paul Bailey told the former US Army Intelligence and Law Enforcement turned CIA Mutant Desk Chief that he was being honest. A soft sigh escaped him before the radio went back to his mouth, Joseph taking another pause as his mind raked across the files and reports in his mind. “…we don’t normally see her alone, do we?”

Even the Special Agent in the front passenger seat looked back at his boss, a curious look on the Agent’s face. What are you getting at? Their senior analyst’s feminine tone softened, as her mind played catch-up, “Jean Grey?”

He didn’t have the patience for them to find it, themselves, “Think about every time we’ve seen her go through a Krakoan Gate. Is she ever alone?...no, right? Never? Meanwhile, Ororo Munroe sneaks out and surprises our analysts on the subway, or pops into Wakanda, or Kitty Pryde is boating around the world's oceans, or Emma Frost is strolling through gates solo like she owns the world…why is this woman different? Why is she never alone?”

“Could be coincidence,” the tall, blonde, former college athlete Special Agent in the front passenger seat offered.

The senior analyst came back over the radio, ”…she’s either always with teammates, family, or children. Or…”

“Or the woman who zapped an entire star and killed an entire solar system of people because she got godly levels of bitchy isn’t someone they want walking around the world alone.”

A surprise voice chimed in, the man next to Joseph, the woman’s former brother-in-law, “She’s not like that.” Even the driver peeked back in the rear-view when Bailey spoke up, as the thin man with the crown of brown hair on a quickly balding head shifted slightly, realizing every eye in the vehicle was on him, now, before continuing, “…I lost the love of my life, my wife. I lost my children.”

There was a knife’s edge of emotion deep enough for Paul Bailey to lose himself in, but Bailey took a slow breath before speaking more, “I knew her parents. I knew every sister and brother. I knew every member of that family. None of them ever spoke of her like that—not even remotely. And I knew her, myself. She’s not like that, Deputy Director. I would have told those Shi’ar aliens the same thing when they murdered my family, and her’s, adult and child alike. I would have died too, had I not been working late that night. Whatever this Phoenix did, it wasn’t Jean Grey. My wife and our babies bet their lives on that. They killed them all anyway. Justice, they called it, I was told…I don’t know about this Shi’ar Empire, Deputy Director, but I should hope MY government, THEIR government, wouldn’t be so quick to assume the same horrible thing.”

The car slowed to a stop outside the four-story over-a-century-old red-brown brick building that shared the entire city block with the cement parking garage that acted as secondary parking for New York State government buildings in the area. The corner space of the old red-brown brick building was The Hollow, a bar and restaurant popular with both the state government employees from their state buildings surrounding the street and the lawyers from the US District Court just a block down the street, across the 797 Interstate that divided Albany from the riverfront of the Hudson. They stood outside on the sidewalk, staring into the backseat of the long, black, American-made SUV.

“…okay,” Greg Joseph said, nodding, “Let’s do this.” The tall, youthful, former college athlete of a Special Agent was out of the car, first, not saying a word, just opening the back passenger seat to let Paul Bailey out.

Bailey got out, immediately embracing the sister of his late-wife, and aunt of his late-children, Jean Grey. Joseph watched for a second, until he looked past the two, and saw the man still staring at him. The mutant, Greg Joseph corrected himself in his thoughts as he got out, putting on his best Sunday morning church of a smile. “Greg Joseph, Mutant Desk Chief,” he walked right up to Erik Lensherr, offering his hand, same as he always did, same as his daddy always taught him to do when meeting someone for the first time. Friendly, but respectful, firm. Same as he taught his son, he thought, as he looked at Paul Bailey and the woman, again.

“It’s okay.” Jean smiled at Paul, doubtless telepathic words passed between them as they stared at one another, Jean slipping her arm into Paul’s, pointing them down the sidewalk and heels clicking on pavement as the two started walking, towards the end of the city block, towards the car park, casting bright green eyes over her shoulder, at Magneto, then, to him. “Hello, Mr. Joseph. I hope we’re not keeping you too busy? Thank you for bringing Paul.”

He nodded, that Sunday church steps smile cemented on his features, the Texas in his accent as clear as the sunshine of the day, “Yes, Ma’am, one of the few times the Mutant Desk gets to do something so wholesome. We’ve been busy the past year since the uh…what do you call it? Birth of your nation?” He asked, not wanting to just call it ‘that Krakoa thing’, looking to the man keeping pace with Bailey and Grey next to him to answer the question, to Lensherr.


The woman had arched a blonde brow as Jean Grey walked into the Grove, the scent of fall and freshly fallen rain mixing with the blonde’s perfume, Krakoa looming over them all, watching, leaves a brilliant reddish brown today. The metallic scent of the old man that stood behind her, watching as Jean approached, hit her last.

• --|A|-- •

Her mind instantly translated the Krakoan to what she had always known him as before: Apocalypse. That he was the first, the most notable, among so few mutants to change their names from what they had always been to a Krakoan language variant did not escape her, but there was time for curiosities between the blue giant and Jean.

“You’re going, I take it?”

Jean smiled a thin, bemused smile at Emma Frost. “What gave it away?”

Frost’s head tilted, as she took in the full view of the redhead, before blue eyes widened and her frosted lips looked to near gasp, “…my God, Jean Grey, is that a designer you’re wearing?”

The smile on Jean slipped, but the bemused look in her green eyes did not. It was a designer, though Jean refused to confirm that aloud, or even tell Emma which designer…not that Emma wouldn’t know it, already, knowing Emma Frost. She wore black; skinny black slacks, a thin black cotton V-neck sweater, her feet in black leather hiking boots with black steel tabs and black laces. The coat atop was a rich brown wool peacoat, her red hair long and straight, offering contrast between the black and rich brown.

”I would not recommend the Manhattan gates, Jean Grey.”

Jean blinked at Big Blue, surprised, “Surveillance?”

“Worse,” Frost sighed, a heavy, deflating thing that seemed to signal no end of annoyance within the White Queen, “those human cultists have only become more fervent. We’re concerned, well…”

”You are the Phoenix. You are the Mutant Alpha. They are fools, but they are not ignorant to who we are.”

Emma cringed, though otherwise ignored it, “Just…you’re going alone, we don’t want a scene…may I recommend the Capital District gate?”

“…there’s a gate in Albany?”

Emma smiled, and, once more, Jean was smiling back. Catty, playful, “Have fun, Jean.”

There was something Emma wasn’t telling her. Jean knew that because of her telepathy, but not because she was reading Emma. She knew from experience what Emma looked like when she was holding back, because she had seen the woman’s mind when she had done it before in the past to others. Shaw had “casually” asked Jean to explain the tell on Emma, but Jean could do nothing but disappoint Shaw. If you hadn’t seen Emma’s mind as an active observer, before, you just weren’t going to pick up any tells on the White Queen. Shaw had muttered something about telepaths before giving up.

Whatever it was, Jean was certain she could handle it. A nervous, anxious energy filled her as she left the Grove. It wasn’t whatever Emma kept to her chest; it wasn’t the Cult of X warning from Apocalypse. It was going home. She hadn’t been since the Phoenix held the entire area hostage, attempting to persuade Jean to stay in their union.

Instead, with Logan’s help, she ended the relationship as best she could and moved on. But that didn’t seem to count, to Jean. She had experienced it within the White Room, yet, still, the extermination of nearly her entire family; brothers, sisters, their little children haunted her. Going home meant experiencing it all anew, a feeling that pressed down on her as she let out a sigh and felt her booted feet leave Krakoa’s ground and her body slip into telekinetic flight, to expedite the trip to Carousel, where most of the gates to major population centers could be found. It was after clearing the canopy and descending that she saw the gate—and the figure next to it, awaiting her.

What are you playing at, Emma?

Her booted feet touched down just feet from the gate, and him. Green eyes regarded him softly, if curiously, “Hello, Max. You look dressed for a funeral.”


Jean Grey
Location: House of M, Krakoa


Worried about my plans? Jean felt like she was smirking, but managed to keep the emotion locked away and away from her outward expression. That remained perilously blank as she watched the man who used to try to kill her on the regular when she was a teenager, and most girls were worried about parties and having a life and school. Life was a crazy thing, and Jean had to try to keep a lid on just how much she enjoyed it all.

It was fun. Even the bad parts. It was still life, sometimes so mundane and agonizing in pace, sometimes so filled with anxiety or fear, sometimes heartwarming and thrilling. Perspectives had a way of changing when you experienced what she had, alive and ‘dead.’ It never seemed to matter. What mattered was timing. She was painfully aware of the timing at play here, now, and his request.

Also, he was worried about her PLANS. It was cute, and she re-doubled her efforts at holding her expression. When he was done, she finally broke, letting a smile slip past to her pink lips, “Sometimes I have to remind myself it’s the body of a forty-year-old, but the mind of a ‘get-the-hell-off-my-lawn’ man that is far, far older.” The way he summoned her, welcomed her in, then just stood right up on that soapbox and gave her the classic earful.

“So last time I was here you threw me on that table over there,” she said, twisting at the waist to turn and literally point to the exact large dining table in the adjacent room of the palatial House of M, “and ripped my clothes off.” Turning back to him and settling her hands back in her lap her smile had grown larger but seemed the kind of sharp not even the Master of Magnetism could control.

“Council, huh?” She really did try not to let the laughter bubble up as she spoke, but it became impossible at the end. Jean Grey all but giggled at Magneto. She was having way too much, and it was finally time to lift the veil and show Erik she was gently messing with him. Mostly. “Yes, Erik, I will take the offered seat next to Storm. I worry about Charles, too,” the sigh was almost out of place on the woman’s face in that moment, but fears existed in times good and bad, not just bad.

All of this, as she juggled multiple lines of communication. The first, Emma had contacted her about Wanda, and Jean had begun to lend her strength to the telepathic dragnet over the island. At the mention of Magneto, Jean revealed she was with him now, about the Council seat. A very Emma congratulations followed, ominous as anything Jean had heard all day, as well as a request to inform the man. On the other end was Sage about unusual data points from various levels of surveillance on the island and its systems. She tagged Logan and Quire, who was likewise occupied with the telepathic dragnet.

“Anyway, Emma wants you to know we can’t find Wanda, and her kids are in the Green Lagoon, one with a mighty attitude. Go figure, with that bloodline. Sage is reporting some weirdness, so I guess we’ll see how much fine-tuning we need on security measures and how fast X-Force responds. Scott and I were talking Treehouse with Forge. Business before pleasure, apparently a common theme around here.”

Her way out was the way in, just a take off with a wave his way instead of a landing.



[Volume 01]................................[PROLOGUE]
[Volume 02]....................................[INVASION]


She was the last to be told. She was not the last to know. The message was cryptic and guarded from both Scott and Xavier, Scott with his texting code words and Xavier with his arm’s-length-telepathic signal. There had been a short discussion about heading off to Westchester for the meeting, but the truth of it was the old mansion had seen far better days. Instead, they all opted for a property along the Massachusetts shore.

There was irony to a mutant nation being discussed in such early stages at the white beach shores of Cape Cod. It was all such a distant memory. Jean Grey walked into a room filled with family, and a few others. There were clearly those who had found out already, and those who either hadn’t or hadn’t cared to listen to what had been whispered in their ear weeks ago.

Xavier went one by one, around the room, as the X-Men, past and present, and had it out about his change of direction and ambitious new plan for mutantkind. Unsurprisingly to her, each of them focused more on the change in direction of Xavier’s ideology. Living together, united, had become just co-exist peacefully as possible on the same planet. Now that was just gone, and some of the people who had spent their lives fighting and dying for that dream were more than just a little surprised to hear it was no more.

That they were all just moving on.

The last person Xavier came to. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was just star-crossed destinies. As a room filled with X-Men stared on, there was absolute silence as two preeminent telepaths stared coldly at each other, their discussion between them. When Gambit protested that everyone else had heard everyone else’s words, Xavier replied that privacy would be respected. Jean was the one who linked everyone into the room into the conversation.

Into Jean Grey warning Charles Xavier. “I will uphold my values. I will keep us honest…Charles, I will keep YOU honest.” He feigned some level of outrage at the suggestion, but Jean hadn’t a single moment’s patience for it. She said precious little about the dream he was giving up. There was a sense of knowing something, of some second sense that Jean couldn’t shake regarding the direction they were taking.
And it was all focused on Xavier.

Half a year ago, now. Yet it was a memory that didn’t shake the red-head in green and gold bodysuit as she smiled and greeted those nearby, those who approached, as she made her way through the dense crowd, exiting the northern most giant tree within the vast valley of the Carousel; centrally located on Krakoa, the Carousel was an area used for lavish Krakoan festivities and celebrations. The giant trees lining the valley were used for a variety of functions, from residential to industrious, their lobbies holding numerous Krakoan gates that linked around the world.

Concussions burst in the sky as the night dazzled crimson hues, burnt oranges, brilliant blues, pale purples, vivid pinks, glowing greens, and seemingly to Jean every color in the spectrum of color. Scott was waiting for her, but her most pressing matter was the new Council: Magneto had taken the unusual step of asking for her directly, privately, regarding a Quiet Council matter. Given the Quiet Council ruled the mutant nation of Krakoa, Jean felt the appoint was pressing and meant braving the thick crowds of mutants celebrating the birth of their nation, the vote of the UN on the issue of Krakoan sovereignty now in the past, a much needed win for all of mutantkind.

Once she was outside and on the ramp she felt safe to focus her telekinesis and lift her frame from the ground, taking flight in a bright haze of dark pink. She saw the points, she heard what was said: “That’s her, one of the originals. Yeah. The one that killed trillions.” If it bothered her, Jean didn’t show it, the look on her face pleasant, taking in the sights and sounds of an event that changed world history, and an event Jean wasn’t sure she would ever see.

At least in this reality. The House of M was a tall, slender, palace of intricate, delicate, beauty woven into every room and corner of the home of Magneto. He had helped craft the large building with Krakoa, itself, a collaboration of earth and metal that left the Master of Magnetism content enough to call The House of M his new house on his new home. Jean Grey approached the structure with a familiarity, landing on an upper balcony and letting the psychic force of telekinesis open the glass doors for her, stepping in and catching sight of the man immediately.

She nodded, as his eyes stared into her’s, a meager greeting. “Erik. You wanted to see me?”
















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