FROST ENTERPRISES occupied seven secluded acres to the southwest of Chicago. Groves of thick fir trees surrounded it on all sides, shrouding the complex in darkness.
The limo glided through the night air, decelerating to an almost silent halt as it reached the guard’s station. The car’s paint job was spotless, its surface as clean and unmarred as if it had just been thoroughly scrubbed. The driver lowered the tinted window and stuck his head out. He wore a pawn’s mask and Kevlar armor.
“Juan Quinones,” he said, handing over an ID card. “Reporting in.”
The guard swiped the card, then smirked at the driver.
“Juan?”
The driver stared at him.
“C’mon, Johnny.” The guard waved the card in the air. “Since when do you go by ‘Juan,’ man?”
The driver shrugged. “Just trying it out.”
The guard swept his eyes across the front cabin. In the passenger seat, a second pawn sat huddled under a blanket. Only a masked face was visible.
“What happened to you, Rick?” the guard asked.
“Tangled with the muties,” the driver replied. “He needs a little patching up.”
The passenger waved a hand, feebly.
The guard gestured toward the back seat, which was hidden from view behind tinted windows. “You bag ’em?”
“Came up empty.”
The guard whistled. “Queen’s not gonna be pleased.”
“Tell me about it.” The driver sighed. “Time to take our medicine.”
“Vaya con Dios… Juan.” The guard reached into his booth, triggered the gate mechanism. “You’re gonna need it.”
Inside the gate, a narrow paved road wound around the complex. Warehouses and laboratories rose up at uneven intervals, shielded from one another by metal fences and copses of trees. The limo cruised toward an employee parking lot, moving at a steady, unhurried pace.
Cyclops parked the car. He whipped off his pawn mask and his ruby-quartz glasses, slapping his visor into place before his deadly eye-beams could blast forth. The passenger shrugged off the blanket and tore off her own mask.
“Slick job, Juan,” Kitty Pryde said.
Cyclops raised an eyebrow. “This is your audition for the X-Men? Sassing the leader?”
She shrugged, smirking. Cyclops toggled the privacy barrier down and turned toward the back seat.
“Kurt, you ready?”
Nightcrawler stuck his head through the barrier window. He gave an exaggerated thumbs-up sign.
“Good—you’re with me. Kitty, you’ve been here before, you said you’re good with computers… scout around, see if you can hack into the system, but do not engage these people. They’re armed and extremely dangerous. Got that?” He paused, then added, “If you find the others, free Wolverine first. Then stand back.”
Kitty nodded, eyes wide. She gave a little salute, melted though the car door, and was gone.
“That one,” Nightcrawler said, “is quite something.”
Cyclops nodded. “She might be just what we need. A fresh start.” He clicked open the doors, and they stepped outside into the cold air. A two-story laboratory building stood nearby, its entrance guarded by three men in pawn uniforms. They didn’t even glance over at the car. The parking lot was dark, gloomy enough to conceal two costumed figures from view.
“Something feels different,” Nightcrawler said, keeping his voice low. “About this mission, I mean.”
Cyclops shrugged. “It’s Jean’s plan.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
“Speaking of which…”
He gestured up at the top of a line of trees. A light was rising there—a distant glow. The pawns noticed it, too. They moved away from the building, pointing upward and talking in low voices.
Nightcrawler grinned. “Follow my lead.” He vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing a few meters closer to the building.
Cyclops took off at a run, ducking low, keeping his eyes on the treeline. High above, the distinctive flame trail of the Phoenix resolved into view, blazing across the sky. The guards ran toward it, barking into their shoulder-radios.
Cyclops glanced back as he reached the door. The guards were clustered out in the parking lot, visible in the glow of a light pole, staring upward. Jean was too high, moving too fast, for them to make out her human form within the flame.
Nightcrawler teleported in, startling Cyclops. “You have the keycard?” he asked. Cyclops nodded, pulling out Johnny Quinones’s card and running it across the security pad. With a click, the door slid open.
The corridor inside was all metal, lined with heavy doors and clouded windows. They’d pieced together a rough layout of the complex from Kitty’s description and Jean’s mind-scan of the pawn. If the information was accurate, this building held the testing lab where the other X-Men were imprisoned.
“We appear to be lucky so far,” Nightcrawler said, indicating the empty hallway. In the next instant they heard footsteps coming from around the corner, several yards ahead.
“Why did you have to say that?” Cyclops reached for his visor.
“Hold on a moment, mein Freund.” Nightcrawler touched his arm. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”
Cyclops stepped back, frowning. A pawn strode into view, his weapon raised. A second guard joined him, then a third.
“Kurt?” Cyclops said.
The blue-furred mutant vanished, reappearing in midair beside the first pawn. He punched the man in the face and teleported again, reappearing behind the second pawn. He brought both fists down on the man’s neck and vanished, just as the third pawn was turning.
He appeared again, slightly higher this time. “Boo,” Nightcrawler said, slamming his fist into the man’s masked face. The three guards dropped to the floor simultaneously. Another BAMF and Nightcrawler reappeared back where he’d started—at Cyclops’s side.
He hadn’t touched the floor once.
“Very impressive,” Cyclops said.
“Thank you, sir!” Nightcrawler gave a theatrical bow.
Scott.
Cyclops jumped, looked around. The voice had been in his mind.
Jean?
No. This was someone else.
Scott Summers? the voice said.
“Kurt, we’ve been spotted.” He whirled toward Nightcrawler. “Go. Find Storm and the others!”
Nightcrawler hesitated. “But—”
“They’ve got a telepath—she’s inside my head. I’ve been compromised; you need to go on alone. That’s an order.”
Nightcrawler nodded. “Be careful.”Then once again, he vanished.
Cyclops shook his head, tried to clear it. When he looked up, past the bodies of the fallen guards, he knew what he would see.
She stood alone, an icy vision in high boots, a tight corset, and a dramatic white cape. Her sharp eyes showed no fear, no hesitation at facing off against one of the most powerful X-Men. Again, her voice sounded in his head.
A pleasure.
He felt tendrils of thought, electrical impulses probing, reaching into his brain.
You’ve suffered a loss, she observed. I learned that much from your friends. But your psychic structure… it doesn’t match that of a man in mourning.
Cyclops stepped back, closing his mind as best he could. Forced himself to think of trivial things—celebrity gossip, traffic reports in Westchester, the topiary around the mansion.
Chilly outside. Do I need a haircut?
“Oh!” Emma said aloud. “You’ve been taught defenses. By someone close to you, perhaps?”
“What’s your game?” he asked. “Why are you kidnapping mutants?”
“That?” She made a dismissive gesture in the air. “That was Shaw’s idea. You’ll meet him soon enough.”
He stepped forward, touching the control stud on the side of his visor. She didn’t move.
“Do I have to go through you?” he asked.
“That’s one option.” She smirked, then looked strangely thoughtful. “Yet I think the two of us have a lot in common.”
He felt a burst of anger. Behind his visor, his eyes flashed red.
“Now I’m sure of it,” she murmured. “Summers, we’re both in the business of training mutants to use their gifts. My school is just a bit… stricter than yours.”
He shook his head, tried to clear it. She’d withdrawn her probes, respecting his privacy… for some unknown reason. Yet the sight of her, the sound of her words, touched something inside him. Something he couldn’t identify.
“Ms. Frost… Emma,” he said. “What do you want?”
“You know, no one ever asks me that.” She gave a little laugh. “I think of myself as a fourth-wave feminist. I seek to advance my status within a very stuffy, male-dominated—but powerful—organization.”
“The Hellfire Club.”
“Yes!” she said. “And it’s not just about me. I’m a sort of warrior, fighting in the cause of all women. That’s why I sought to recruit your little Kitten. Remember her? Frizzy-haired nerd with the annoying habit of walking through walls?”
“What have you done with them?” he demanded. “Storm and the others?”
“I’ve been… tapping their minds. Collecting what they know, gaining valuable bits of, shall we say, intel. I’ve learned a lot about your school, your team. A lot about you, too.”
“Are they alive?”
“I play a rough game, Scott, but they’ll recover. So far.” She took a step forward. “I have something else in mind for us, though.”
He felt rooted to the floor, unable to move. He could smell her perfume now—a sharp, intoxicating scent.
“I’m not attacking you, Scott Summers.” She reached out and touched his chest. “I’m giving you a chance. Shaw is… well, our relationship is complicated. You know how that goes.”
I do, he realized.
“The point is…” She smiled. “I might prefer a different partner. Someone less steeped in the stifling traditions of the club, less rooted in the past. Someone more my equal.” She raised her head toward his, touched his chin. “Imagine,” she breathed, “your X-Men, soldiers in the most exciting game of all. A game with rules, rewards… punishments…”
Her lips were inches away now.
“…and you, their White King.”
Her words were absurd, insane. And yet, there was something about this woman… He found himself drawn closer, mesmerized on a level he could barely understand.
Jean, he told himself. Think of Jean! She’s just come back from the dead, for the second time. You can’t betray her now, can’t be taken in by some telepathic trickery—
Emma pulled away. She turned, raising an eyebrow.
A deep-red glow appeared from a branching hallway, expanding to fill the corridor. As Cyclops watched, the light resolved into the fiery form of a bird of prey, its flaming head whipping from side to side in silent fury. At the creature’s heart stood Jean Grey. Her eyes flashed bright, then darkened to a smoldering, inhuman yellow.
As she turned to face Frost, every inch of her body seemed to pulse with rage.
“The White Queen,” she said.
Emma’s eyes went wide—the first sign of doubt, of weakness, that Cyclops had seen in her. She studied the Phoenix, watching it for a long moment yet betraying no fear. When Emma turned back to face him, a strange emotion seemed to play across her face.
With a shock, he realized it was pity.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Scott Summers, I am so sorry.”
* * *
DIRECTING THE X-Men to the Frost complex had been easy. Navigating the maze inside? That was hard. Kitty hadn’t exactly memorized the floor plan. On her previous visit, she’d been too busy running for her life.
Midway down a narrow corridor, she heard footsteps and froze. She phased through the wall, into a small supply cabinet, and waited until the heavy tread of boots faded into the distance.
Think, Pryde! Where did Jean Grey say the holding cells were? What did she read in that guy’s brain? Kitty paused only momentarily to consider the absurdity of that thought. Then she phased back into the hallway and continued on her way.
She ducked in and out of the corridor, hiding whenever someone approached—doctors in their lab coats, pawns in those creepy masks. She barely managed to phase through the wall before a trio of knights, in their heavy red armor, ran past with guns drawn.
It’s getting easier to use my power, she realized. Is this what it’s like to be an X-Man? Even with all the danger, she had to admit: It doesn’t suck.
The corridor dead-ended at a massive steel door. Glancing around quickly, she ducked her head down and charged through— then stopped cold, suppressing a gasp.
The room held three cages, all suspended from the high ceiling. Storm occupied the first one, with Wolverine in the second, and Colossus—Peter—in the final cage. Slumped inside the barred enclosures, they all looked drugged. None of them looked up at her arrival.
Kitty started toward Peter—but no, Cyclops’s orders had been clear. “Free Wolverine first,” he’d said. “Then stand back.”
She moved toward Wolverine. He knelt on the floor of the cage, almost naked, his hands gripping the bars. He really looked like an animal, a mindless beast. Not even hostile—just helpless.
“W-Wolver…” she said. “Logan?”
He didn’t look up. She reached toward him—and felt a wave of dizziness.
The cages, she realized. They must… do something to your brain! Backing off, she circled the cage. On the side facing the wall, an LCD touchscreen with a small keyboard jutted out above the cage’s central lock. The screen was mounted on a metal arm, far enough from the cage that she could reach it without feeling wonky. Kitty rolled up her sleeves and cracked her knuckles.
“Time to hack this bad boy,” she said, then raised a hand to her mouth, terrified that someone might have heard. Holding her breath, she listened.
Nothing.
* * *
FIVE FRUSTRATING minutes later, she still hadn’t found the command to open the cages—but using the touchscreen, she had managed to hack into the Hellfire Club’s main server. The menu page bore the club’s insignia, the stylized “H” and pitchfork that she’d seen on their hovercraft, with animated flames rising up from it. Subliminal images winked on and off, too fast for her to make out.
She browsed the menu. A page with a comedy mask, adorned with a sinister mustache. A message board devoted entirely to whips. An auction site with an alarming selection of leather clothing.
I’m in the Dark Web, she realized. There are subsites here devoted to slavery, human trafficking. What else are these guys into? How deep does their network go?
One thing’s for sure. This isn’t “suitable content” for a thirteen-year-old!
Wolverine let out a groan. Kitty looked up from the screen. Frustrated, she swiped at the lock with the back of her hand. Her power activated instinctively, protecting her from harm. As her hand passed through the mechanism, the lock clicked open.
She backed off, startled. Huh, she thought. Guess I don’t know everything about my power. Maybe I need some of Storm’s training after all!
The cage door swung open, and Wolverine rolled out. Kitty held out her hands, caught him—and together they tumbled to the floor. Logan groaned again, and clutched at his head. Then he saw her.
“You’re… the kid.”
“And you’re surprisingly heavy.”
“Why’s it so… flamin’ hard to think?”
“It’s the cages—they make you dopey. Come on… you should be okay in a minute.” Still eyeing him with alarm, she led him away from the cage. Logan moved like a wounded animal, all sharp motions and low grunts. She knew he was one of the good guys, but he was also the most frightening man she’d ever met.
“Not just the cages,” Logan growled, louder and angrier this time. “That ice lady… she did somethin’ to my head.” He glanced at the cages holding Storm and Colossus, then growled again. “What’re you doin’ here, kid?”
“I’m rescuing you!”
Before she could reply, a bolt of force slammed into her from behind. Kitty twisted around and tried to phase, but it was too late. Some sort of charge surged through her, sapping her strength. She fell to the floor, unconscious.
* * *
“OKAY, MUTIE. Freeze it right there.”
Wolverine glared at the two pawns standing in the doorway. Normal humans. No special powers, except for the weapons in their hands.
A wave of dizziness passed over him. He’d felt this way once before, back during the Weapon X project. When he’d been kidnapped and drugged, his skeleton forcibly bonded to a layer of unbreakable Adamantium.
What did that witch do to me?
The dizziness passed. Ignoring the armored men, he crouched down to check on Kitty. Her eyes were closed, but her pulse was steady.
“Let’s climb back into that cage, mutant.” The pawn’s mask distorted his voice, but his gun hand shook slightly. “Nice and slow.”
Wolverine turned toward him, holding up both fists. “Chief, you just made the biggest mistake of your life…”
Snikt.
“…and the last.”