To Be Assertive.

Alright... I really can't decide between a handful of characters, so I'm going to do a few miniature samples to get my feet wet and see which clicks. If you have an opinion about a certain sample I give, don't hesitate to voice it!

Jessica Drew - Spider-Woman

Jessica loved being an Avenger more than she would have ever thought beforehand. She didn't think it was being adored on an international scale as a super hero, or the fame, as it most likely appealed to Anthony. Spider-Woman couldn't, with clean conscience, use more righteous causes for justification, either. Steve no doubt loved being an Avenger because, through it, he could uphold his morality and fight for the American dream.

No. Jessica knew she was more shallow than that, but not as shallow as wanting to be famous through her status as an Avenger. Maybe, at the heart of the matter, the answer was more sentimental than the brunette cared to really accept? The Avengers were a family to Spider-Woman. More than anyone had been before - even Nicholas hadn't provided as much compassion towards Jessica as the Avengers had.

Jessica loved being an Avenger, true. Yet, there was a part of her that missed this. There weren't many missions for the Avengers that required stealth and subtlety, but this was one of them. Spider-Woman felt like she was exercising a disused muscle as she swept through the shadows. Before she was a super hero, Jessica had been an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., then Hydra, as a double-agent, and even the anti-Skrull operation that called itself S.W.O.R.D.

There had been individuals with similar backgrounds to Jessica's who had been Avengers. The Black Widow, for one. Natasha was never on the roster long, however, and usually stayed off the public's radar. Meanwhile, those like Clint relished the chance to bask in a spotlight that more sinister assignments disallowed. Spider-Woman supposed that she was somewhere in the middle, between Hawkeye and Widow's opinion on publicity.

Being out in the open, adored by the public was a nice change of pace compared to being in high-pressure environments, lying through your teeth and knowing that being caught would mean death, or worse. Again, Jessica missed this. Hadn't truly realized how much until she was skirting the view of security cameras and sliding through maintenance tunnels in the dark.

There was some horrendously detailed explanation as to why Jessica needed to steal a certain number of files by manually inserting one of Iron Man's little toys into the network, but Spider-Woman didn't much care for the justification. Her mind had to stay focused on the task at hand to avoid being caught. Being an Avenger, battling giant mutant robots in Manhattan usually didn't require this amount of unwavering attention.

This was like therapy to the woman.

Jessica swept a few locks of hair out of her face in the gloom of the maintenance tunnel that she was crouched in. Directly below was an outlet, sealed from the other side, that she was going to have to make use of. Comm. links were forfeit under the climate of the situation. The Avenger's adversaries were high-tech enough to make Tony have to access their files manually via the little USB stick that Spider-Woman was carrying. That meant that picking up a communications signal would be too easy.

The cap that she'd have to use was directly above a corridor that was monitored by cameras. She'd have to be careful about utilizing it, and cover her tracks as she went. Jessica placed one hand on the center of the panel, and the other shone an acidic yellow from within, illuminating her crimson and gold costume and playing over the lenses of her mask. Zzzt! There was a focused spark of bio-electric energy, and teh panel came free, it's seal busted.

Jessica employed her body's ability to adhere to any surface on the hand resting on the panel to stop it from falling into view of the surveillance cameras below. Carefully, Spider-Woman crawled through the opening and remained pressed against the ceiling, out of view. She lightly pressed the panel back in place and, with another two minute zaps of Venom Blasts, welded it in place. Loosely enough to use a little force to open again, firmly enough to avoid it falling and giving her away.

Almost there, Spider-Woman thought to herself. She moved like her namesake, agilely slipping over the surfaces of the ceiling and around a corner at the end of the corridor. There was only one set of double doors between her and her goal, but they were protected by two guards and another camera. Thank heavens for high ceilings and crappy helmets, Jessica thought. Her elevation, coupled with the design of the guard's head-wear meant that she was offered a little more freedom of approach.

There was a few abnormal bulges in her costume along the forearm and calves where Tony had insisted she conceal several nifty, stealthy gadgets in case of need. Jessica slipped one of these out now. The device was no bigger than a pea, round on one end, flat on the other. With a flick of her fingers, Spider-Woman sent the little bud flying through the air, where it attached to the camera. A red light flashed softly from the gadget. Jessica smiled in satisfaction.

Crawling above the two guards was easy. She dropped behind them, using her ability to fly to soften her descent so that there was no possible way she was heard. One of the guards was down in moments, and as his companion was turning in confusion to see what had happened, Spider-Woman's thighs clamped around his neck. Leaving both unconscious bodies, and extricating an ID card from one of their persons, the double doors slid open onto an empty room covered from ceiling to floor in tech.

Spider-Woman wasn't exactly ignorant when it came to advanced technology. As an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. alone, you had to be well-versed in the use of all weapons and gadgetry, not to mention those organizations she'd served since. That meant that Jessica was impressed not out of stupidity, but because of her experience. The Avenger slipped through the terminals until she found the primary console. Spider-Woman glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was onto her, and popped Tony's USB stick into the slot provided.

Great. Now all I have to do is get out, she thought, an attempt at irritability, but not able to trick herself. This was nice. Returning to her roots. At least, what roots she cared to return to.

Janet Van Dyne - Wasp

Returning from the dead was liberating, but it was also a serious drain on the nerves. Janet stood in her and Hank's bathroom, leaning against the counter and looking at her own reflection numbly. Good. The makeup had covered the bags under her eyes. Janet was happier than she'd ever been before. It was as if her supposed death during the Skrull invasion, and subsequent return - though, it wasn't so much 'return' as 'being found' - had set everything in a bizarre, brilliant balance.

Apparently it had taken Janet's death to make Hank get a handle on himself. Had it not been for her husband, misguided though he'd been in the past, she would still be stuck in the Microverse. Wasp didn't know what kind of turmoil had transpired since she'd been lost to that other world on earth, or everything that had occurred between her friends - her family. What was important was that, when Janet was found and brought back, they were all together. Happy. Her heart had almost burst.

Hank's new attitude was what completed the perfect new life that Janet was living the most. Though to most of their friends he seemed like a new man, to Janet he was simply now the person that she always knew he was capable of being. A loving husband, a gentle heart, a brilliant mind and a protective personality. When your most beloved friends had been under the belief that you were dead for the past few years, though, reunions were more than smiles and hugs.

There were tears. Tears of joy, but even so. Wasp had been drained from it all after her return party, and had proceeded to sleep in until two o'clock in the afternoon the next morning. Hank was out in the dining room, reading some document or another. Janet could hardly go two minutes alone without him checking on her. It was sweet, but difficult for Wasp to remain upbeat when running on so little energy.

Janet blinked the sleepy haze from her eyes, ran one last coat of gloss over her lips and stepped back to admire her entire appearance. Being in her old costume was almost nostalgic, but for the first time since returning from the Microverse she finally felt things settling into normalcy again. A new average. A perfect pattern. Today she would be making her new debut as a member of the Avengers again.

The roster had been shuffled since her last time on earth, just like everything else. Even though change was hard to adjust to at first, Janet was realizing that, like everything else, these changes might be bittersweet, but the new was so much better than the old. Wasp smiled at herself. Even she could see the twinkle in her eye that hadn't been there in years. "Hank!" Janet called, striding into their bedroom.

Her husband nearly fell on his face in his rush into the room. "What? What is it? Are you alright?" Janet's look of surprise turned into teasing scorn while Hank clasped his hands around her shoulders. "I'm fine, babe. I was just going to tell you that I'm ready." Hank looked at her closely. She had a feeling that regardless of perfectly applied makeup, he wasn't fooled. "Are you sure? You should have a few more days to rest before-" Wasp pressed her index finger of his lips to silence him.

"I can handle it," she assured. Janet smiled and pressed a quick kiss on Hank's jaw. "Whatever it is. Together? We can handle it." The couple wrapped each other in a close embrace, and in the light of a new and brighter future as the sun trailed from the windows at Janet's back, both were prepared to triumph.

Natalia (Natasha) Romanova - Black Widow

While Natasha Romanova sat behind the controls of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s swiftest stealth jets, she couldn't help but replay her last conversation with Maria Hill over and over in her head. Natasha reached a gloved hand over and flipped several specific switches before she lessened the jet's velocity. Behind the Black Widow, arranged in harnesses on either side of the jet's meager cargo hold were six of the most elite S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer; the cell that Natasha would command on this particular mission.

Black Widow wasn't one to work kindly with others by choice. More importantly, though, she was one to do what needed to be done. Working as an Avenger for that short stint, cleaning the streets alongside Matt and occasionally Hawkeye, she had some experience. The scenario now was even better - thankfully. Black Widow wouldn't have to play nicely with other heroes or vigilantes who thought that their plans, ideas and strategies were supreme. Didn't have to worry about some billionaire playboy in a suit of high-tech armor blowing everything up - though she did admire Tony's approach in the proper circumstances.

No. This time? Black Widow was working with six individuals who did what she did. Not only that, but they had to take orders from her. If all went according to plan this would be an easy hit. Natasha still couldn't help but wonder why Maria had chosen her to send on the assignment, though...

003 HOURS EARLIER...

"Agent Romanova," Maria Hill said, standing on the other side of a briefing terminal. Black Widow hid her disgust well. This woman could never take the place of Nicholas Fury. She was just a little girl playing a man's game. "Yes, Commander?" Her face showed perfect manners and attentiveness. "You're being dispatched on a stealth mission of classified importance." Black Widow knew when to speak, and when to wait for the inevitable answers to come themselves. Maria prodded the projected images of the briefing terminal and files opened detailing the assignment.

"Our sources indicate that a rogue vigilante has systematically been finding and eradicating A.I.M. outposts." Natasha raised auburn brows in intrigue. To think that an unaffiliated rogue could find A.I.M. outposts that even S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't, and then to realize that that same person destroyed them was hard to believe. Black Widow thought it unlikely... but not impossible. "Your assignment is to track down the perpetrator and take him into custody. The last thing S.H.I.E.L.D. needs at this moment of instability is to have anyone who isn't our operatives destroying this organization's enemies."

Natasha knew why Maria Hill wanted to take this individual in to custody. Most likely it involved blackmailing them in to signing on as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. and if they didn't agree? They'd find themselves locked in a deep, dark hole where no one could save them until they did. "And if the target does not comply?" Maria glared darkly at Widow. The Russian simply stared in response. "I trust you to judge the situation and decide when you have no other course of action than elimination." And that's when the new S.H.I.E.L.D. Commander turned on her heel and marched away.

STEALTH JET...

Black Widow spoke over her shoulder. "Prepare for landing." She reorganized the controls and turned the jet into a daring nosedive.

MOSCOW... 0100 HOURS...

Everything was in perfect position. Finding the target was surprisingly difficult to Natasha - but ultimately achieved. Black Widow herself had been tailing him at a remarkable distance, and her team of expert operatives were feeding her intel and moving into place. The fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't find an actual identity to match with this nameless, faceless, 'rouge vigilante' was startling. That alone spoke of how formidable her target must be. Black Widow wasn't leaving anything to chance - not even the aim of a sniper. She was handling this... personally.

The tactic that her target used - moving into abandoned areas of Moscow to bait her - was to-the-point and simple. Still, it worked... on most people. Black Widow simply abandoned the trench coat that she, herself was wearing and took to the rooftops with a well-aimed use of her Widow's Line. Now she danced through the shadows above her target, waiting for him to reach just the right intersection of alleyways. Two steps... One step... Natasha hurtled off of the condemned complex she was perched on and landed lithely in a crouch directly before her target.

Black Widow straightened into a ready stance, her black Kevlar suit shining in the lights of the street lamps as they reflected from the dusting of snow around them. "Do not attempt to flee or attack," she said calmly, Russian accent punctuating the statement, "you are surrounded." The six operatives that made up her team came just into view from posts behind dumpsters and in windows of the buildings around them. Then it hit her. The glistening eyes behind locks of dirty blond hair. Her eyes widened, her fingers twitched. "Bucky?"

Carol Danvers - Ms. Marvel

Carol Danvers was not an operative for S.H.I.E.L.D. Not in the standard use of the term, at least. Technically she was fairly freelance, but she had a history with the government corporation, and a respect for Nicholas Fury. Running ops that required her experience, skill set, or just in the case that S.H.I.E.L.D. was running low on agents able for dispatch wasn't unheard of for Ms. Marvel. Nick new how to poke at her soft spots, too.

Like right now.

Offering her an assignment that had to do with New York's general safety was incentive enough, and Carol knew that working in tandem with Fury would give her the greatest access to information on the situation, resources notwithstanding. Ms. Marvel was researching a gun-running network whose base of operations, S.H.I.E.L.D. believed, was based in a network of tunnels beneath Roosevelt Island.

When you could punch holes in titanium and fly at speeds that rivaled the Air Force's most elite jets, most didn't assume that you could be less blunt. Carol wasn't as good at stealth as Jessica or Natasha were, but it wasn't like she was a novice, either. Her powers sometimes acted as a liability, but Ms. Marvel knew how to employ them in a way that aided her cause, whatever it may be. This time that meant not getting caught.

Carol floated over Roosevelt Island, eyes narrowed, watching the progress occurring in the shipping yard of one of the plants there. The same plant that was supposedly acting as a front for the gun-running network. Ms. Marvel watched a truck pull up to the entrance, get clearance from the guard stationed there, and trundle on in. This was her chance. Carol knew from observation, as well as the intel offered by S.H.I.E.L.D. to aid her endeavor that the truck would move into underground avenues.

Why worry about slinking in herself, when she could be escorted under everyone's noses? Carol poured on a burst of speed, enough to move swiftly, but not break the sound barrier or cause any unnecessary noise in the act. The woman soared toward the earth in a shaded patch of the shipping yard thirty feet to the left of the truck, where she leveled out. Flying several inches above the ground, Ms. Marvel slipped unnoticed beneath the truck, where she held her breath to fend against the fumes and latched on.

The truck moved onto a descending road that stopped at an industrial door that blocked the underground tunnels Carol knew were probably swarming with armed men from whatever organization that was behind the gun-running rig. Ms. Marvel had to floated soundlessly out from under the vehicle and wait, hovering, on the side when the guard waiting in front of the door checked beneath. While he walked around the vehicle, Carol descended back to her hiding place.

The door slid open noisily, and the truck pressed on. Carol waited until she was underground, and the door at her back had closed again, then she rolled out from beneath the transport and behind a pile of crates beside the dusty subterranean roadway as it turned a corner. Ms. Marvel could see railways that ran the lengths of each tunnel, which probably meant that they were using some kind of related modes of transportation to traffic tools and cargo throughout the network.

Scaffolding supported certain sections of the tunnels, but for the most part they were structurally sound. Carol used her enhanced hearing to probe for any voices, breathing or heartbeats up ahead. Convinced that there were none, Ms. Marvel peeked out from behind the crate. Besides the quickly fading grumble of the truck that she'd been concealed under, there was little sound she could make out in the tunnels. Wait... there was something... A technological hum.

Ms. Marvel took to the air and flew swiftly, keeping close to the ceiling and out of the construction lights that were propped up at intervals. She followed the hum at a crossroads, knowing that the other turn she might have made led to a cluster of armed men around a bend in the tunnel talking among themselves. Carol was impressed, in a grim sort of way, just how extensive the tunnel network sprawled. Was she still under Roosevelt Island, or was the river above her, separated by several hundred feet of rock?

The hum grew louder. Carol's boots touched the dusty ground, and up ahead the earth rose to a higher level in an alcove connected to the tunnel, which dead-ended. Ms. Marvel slowly mounted the incline, and stopped at the crest of the earthen ramp. Before her, creating startling contrast with the rock wall behind it, was a high-tech power generator with coils of thick chords that disappeared into the earth. Carol blinked in surprise. This was beyond any standard tech used in the criminal underworld.

Beyond even Hydra, Ms. Marvel thought. Who had manufactured it? What organization was behind this operation, that had the ability to possess such technology - whether by genuine resources or through theft or plagiarism, it didn't matter. "You know, I never bought into the whole 'blondes are stupid' schtick." Ms. Marvel whirled about. Standing in the tunnel from whence she'd come was a man covered in a padded outfit from head to toe, wearing some kind of strange gauntlets around his forearms.

"Shocker," Carol said darkly. "But you sure are proving the nay-sayers right, girlie." The super-heroin had held her hands readily at each side of her. Yellow photon energy bloomed around both palms. "I never took kindly to those jokes." Shocker snickered. The air around his hands wavered with intense vibrations. Behind the criminal, line after line of men stood at the ready. Not just any kind of scum, either. Trained, elite mercenaries, outfitted in advanced, uniform armor with powerful firearms at the ready.

Then, on cue, from every crate in view, Carol heard a sudden chorus of technological chirps and whirs. With a shower of splintered wood, robot after robot shook out of their confines and assembled behind Shocker as well. Ms. Marvel scowled. This was definitely much more than what she, or S.H.I.E.L.D. had believed it to be. How was she going to get out of this one, then? "Oh, baby," Shocker said, smirk prominent even though his face was covered, "you have no idea what a mess you're in."

Ororo Munroe - Storm

Ororo Munroe was alive. Here, hundreds of feet above the world and suspended by the wind alone was where she thrived. Her hair shone like starlight against the radiant sun above, contrasting against her chocolate-colored skin beautifully. Up here? Ororo was no more. Only Storm existed. Severed from the turmoils of the earth and the horrendous flaws in humanity. The day had called for clouds, but Ororo could not contain the unbridled joy that swelled in her hear. That joy was personified - literally - in the heavens that Storm soared through so masterfully; Clear, bright azure skies striped with wisps of slender clouds streaking through each horizon.

Storm's dazed expression split in a dazzling grin when a hawk swirled on a thermal next to her. She twirled in the air and let out a glorious laugh when the predator glared her way. Ororo must have impressed the creature because it tilted and spiraled in another direction. She twisted in turn, tucked in to a more focused flight to swerve on her own to gain more space in the endless sky. Below the earth was a speckle of emerald forests beginning to change colors and glistening waters not too far away. Prominent as a crown among the earth below was a rambling mansion with climbing terraces, covered in ivy.

Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngster.

Home.

Ororo looked down at the great structure and then back toward the radiant sun. The look of shining glee on her face flickered with uncertainty. She wanted to stay here. Like a leaf borne on the back of a gale. Like a true Wind-Rider. Still... If Storm would sacrifice the heavens for anything it would be Xaviers. That and Kenya. Ororo bit her lip and let out a lengthy sigh. She tipped down in a daring dive that sent her shooting like an arrow from the string toward one of the empty terraces of the mansion. This early in the morning very few were actually awake.

In the last twenty feet before landing, Ororo's speed stopped suddenly. She pulled herself in to an elegant forward flip and touched her bare feet on the marble surface. Storm straightened slowly and ran her fingers through her hair. The rustle of wind in her senses told Ororo that she was not alone... "Hello?" She looked around the terrace. There was someone else near, her instincts told her that. Storm thought of calling to the wind, allowing the currents to tell her the individual's whereabouts, but discarded the option.

The X-Mansion was supposed to be a safe haven for those who came to it. Storm felt that she might be perceived as intruding on another's privacy, divulging their location in such a manner. Perhaps she was sensing a new addition to the Institute who was too timid to formerly introduce themselves. Ororo tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and was about to feign as if she supposed no one was there after all when a shape solidified from the foliage at her back.

Ororo knew something was wrong. Her eyes widened just as a growl tore through the morning quiet. Storm dove forward, rolling into a lithe crouch as a creature composed of muscle, claw and murderous rage hit the marble where she had just stood. Sabertooth's attack cracked the stone, and he looked up at the Wind-Rider with sweet malice in his eyes. "Surprise, surprise," he whispered, tone gurgling past the saliva that dripped between his fangs.

"Victor," Ororo said, tone deep and dangerous. "Why are you here?" Sabertooth shouldn't have been attacking the Mansion. Beyond the obvious reasons, he had clashed enough with the X-Men over the years that this petty attempt was not only beneath him due to experience, but beneath him due to his intellect. Limited as it may be. The assassin didn't like Storm using his actual name, however, because his eyes narrowed further still at hearing it.

"To kill you," he bellowed. Sabertooth launched himself at Ororo again. The woman was agile beyond what most assumed of her, and a competent hand-to-hand combatant, but her powers did not aid her in that realm. Sabertooth's did. On her own physical ability alone, Storm never would have been able to move out of her opponent's path before his claws cut her to ribbons. Thankfully, Ororo didn't have to rely on the power of her limbs alone.

Wind ripped over the terrace and Storm glided over the stone with astounding speed out of Sabertooth's reach. She flipped backwards, gliding over the gusts to touch down on the railing. "I am not usually so generous," Ororo said, "but I will allow you to leave this place and not come back. Attack me again, and you will not leave unscathed." Sabertooth cackled. Storm was surprised that no other X-Men had appeared to investigate, but perhaps there was a reason for their absence?

What was Sabertooth playing at? "I don't think so. I've always wondered how easy it would be to make you bleed." Summoning lightning was the first thought on Ororo's mind, but that meant that it would be the first on Victor's as well. She did not think that he would be very capable of dodging the assault, but one could never be too careful with the monstrosity of a mutant. Storm needed to do something unexpected.

"A goddess does not bleed." Ororo's eyes shone with white light. Sabertooth tried to pounce once more, but he was borne on a sudden gale, sent spiraling skyward. Storm gestured one commanding hand toward where Sabertooth spiraled, growling in outrage several hundred feet above the Mansion. Abruptly, the whirlwind accumulated snow, until a micro-blizzard unfolded around the assassin.

Ororo dropped her hand, and the phenomenon dispersed as quickly as it had arisen. Crssh! A hailstone the size of a large boulder crashed onto the terrace before Storm. Glimpsed within was a surprised-looking Sabertooth. The ice began to crack. Fine lines spiraling around the edges as Victor strove to break from his frigid prison. "You were warned." With that note of finality, thunder boomed at deafening volumes over the grounds of the Institute. A bolt of lightning struck Sabertooth, shattering the ice.

Anna Marie - Rogue

"Why can't Ah go, Professor?" Rogue stood in the X-Hangar, hair still tousling in the residual gusts from the X-Jet as it hit top speed, shooting out of sight. Charles sat in his chair, looking troubled, eyes shut in thought, hands steepled in front of him. "They're going off to fight the horsemen of Apocalypse," Rogue persisted, tone obviously worried and displeased at her lot, "they need all the extra muscle they can get!"

Remy was on that jet. Along with Scott, Jean, Ororo and Logan. They might have each been pretty fearsome in their own right, but against a threat like Apocalypse? Rogue needed to be there. Fighting alongside them! What if someone got hurt? Every fiber of the southern belle's being told her to soar off in the wake of the X-Jet. She'd get there after the rest of the X-Men, but at least she could contribute.

The only thing that kept Rogue from doing just that was her trust in the man seated next to her. Professor Xavier must have had a good reason for keeping her behind. She just wished he'd get to the darned point already. "I need your assistance elsewhere, Rogue." She had guessed as much. "Doin' what?" Time was sort of important at the moment, and even though the Professor probably had more on his mind than she could have imagined, he needed to get to the point.

"I've identified the horseman calling himself Archangel." The Professor opened his eyes finally, and in the air before Rogue bloomed an image, a projected image of the man's thoughts given life through his telepathy. The image showed the horseman that Rogue had seen on the news footage. The one with blue skin and metal wings, who was obviously the leader of the other three. "That's Apocalypse's head honcho, ain't it? His favorite?"

The Professor nodded solemnly. "Yes, but we've seen him elsewhere. Just within the last few days." Another image appeared of a blonde man - quite the looker, in Rogue's opinion - that tickled her memory, but she couldn't quite place. "We saw him on Muir Island," Professor pressed, helping her connect the dots. Rogue's eyes widened. "That was the guy who said Doctor Poultice had cured him! Changed him back from bein' a mutant!"

"Yes," the telepath said grimly, "though his current state conflicts with that claim." Rogue's lips pursed in thought. "So you think that whatever the doctor's doin' isn't changin' mutants intah humans, it's turnin' 'em intah..." The Professor nodded again. "Yes, I assume. But that means that there's a connection between Doctor Poultice and Apocalypse. I need you to go to Muir Island and see if you can find a weakness to the horsemen, but be careful."

Rogue gave a firm nod. "Don't worry, Professor. I'm on it." The young woman shot into the air, pushing her speed to it's limit. She turned into a streak of emerald and gold, a comet in haste, pelting out over the Atlantic towards Scotland. The flight took Rogue longer than she expected, even after she hitched a ride sitting on the wing of an airplane. Finally, though, Rogue descended on her own power over Muir Island.

There was Doctor Poultice's research facility... but it had a gaping hole blown in the roof! Rogue's eyes narrowed warily. Floating through the opening and into the dark laboratory room, Rogue forsook stealth for speed. "Doctor? Doctor Poultice? What, did you decide to put in a new skylight?" She heard a hiss as one of the doors to the lab opened. Rogue turned toward the source. "Doctor Poultice?" A voice came out, silky and cunning, and definitely female. "Not at the moment."

Rogue scowled. All possibility of things going well had just disappeared. "Mystique."

Lorna Dane - Polaris

"You've got to quit beating yourself up over it." Lorna lay on her side on the bed, head propped up by one hand. Standing at the room's dresser, lifting clothes from a suitcase to fill the drawers with, Havok maintained an angst-filled silence. Polaris wanted to slide her arms around him from behind and lay her head on his shoulder. She knew Alexander Summers well enough to be certain that that would only make him more frustrated.

"It was just a training exercise," Lorna persisted, "and had everyone gone with the plan-" Alex interrupted her, voice near a growl of frustration. "We would have still failed." The mistress of magnetism slid into an upright position and looked gently at Havok through the mirror that he stood before. "We're a new team, Alex. We still need to learn each other's strengths and weaknesses. It takes a while to warm up to a new bunch." Havok grudgingly looked back at her in the mirror, then he sighed in defeat.

Alex dropped another garment into their top drawer and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the dresser. "What if I'm not cut out for this? For leading X-Factor?" Lorna smiled thoughtfully. How could Alex be so certain of his abilities outwardly, but on the inside wrestle with feeling inadequate? Polaris knew that Scott had the same issue behind closed doors, or he used to, the man had changed so much recently. Was it a Summers thing?

"You know that you are," Lorna said with gentle conviction. She stood and moved in front of him, touching her finger against his chin and raising it so that she could look him in the eye. "And until you can see that, I'll just have to be the one to see it for you." Polaris nudged Havok's arms open and slipped her own around his torso. "How did I get so lucky?" he asked, teasing. Lorna smiled. "Beats me."

Strange, how Havok's single snicker could make her feel so good. How his hot breath warming her hair made her knees fight against going weak. She saw the necessity in learning to fight alongside the rest of the team as a cohesive unit. Even though X-Factor Investigations was supposed to be relatively peaceful, too often they were forced to defend themselves or fight. Havok might have been reverting to his field training by insisting that they have exercises together, but the other members of the group were less than invested in the idea.

"C'mon," Lorna said suddenly. She slipped her hands down Alex's arms and caught them on his fingers, pulling him away from the dresser. "What? Where are you going?" Polaris tugged him towards the door. "We," she corrected him, "where are we going. And we're going to give you target practice." Alex blinked at the idea, then shook his head, confusion turning to determination to stay put. "We still need to get unpacked, and I don't need practice."

Lorna paused and quirked a brow at him. "Really? I think you're getting a little rusty." He gave her a dry look, not falling for the bait. Polaris sighed softly and rolled her eyes for good measure. "Fine. But you need to loosen up, and target practice always helps." Alex fought her. He whined and moaned all the way to the yard where Polaris stood between two heaps of metal tiles. "Bet you can't hit them all."

He was stubborn, Lorna would give him that. Alex still didn't rise to prove her wrong, but she saw the seriousness in his eyes when she spoke. That just meant that he'd try hard, but make it look nonchalant. Havok didn't know that Polaris knew him just as well as he knew her. The woman's eyes shone with a film of pale green light. The tiles shifted, and then began whisking, one at a time off each top of the various piles to soar towards Alex.

He was already calming down. Good. Maybe Lorna would be able to have him laughing by the end of it. She liked a challenge. She was dating Alexander Summers, wasn't she?

Amora - the Enchantress

When Odin Alfather and Thor Odinson had issue with one another, it was not a guarded secret in the immortal plane. The skies were in turmoil, in this place that was supposed to be forever locked in paradise. Not that it's current appearance gave any indication to that supposed truth. Half of the city lay in ruin, and spires of the Alfather's castle itself were crumbled or caved in the aftermath of Loki's most brazen new move.

The god of mischief had marched on the capitol with a small legion of frost giants. Yet, just that small number had sufficed. Amora the Enchantress had witnessed, concealed in the shadows of one of the watchtowers on the city wall a safe distance away. Asgard's greatest warriors were no match for the ferocious giants, and their frigid magic. Until, with a cackle of thunder, Thor had arrived in all his glory.

Thor had bested the brutes, as Amora had expected. No oafish giants could stand against the power of Thor. Then, Loki Laufeyson had stood against his brother, and their battle had been fit for legend. Until Thor, as typically and irrevocably as he had smote down the giants before him, defeated his brother and brought him before the king. Amora dared not use her mystic prowess to spy on the meeting that had transpired. She would have been able to easily conceal herself from Thor, the Warriors Three and the pompous Lady Sif.

Odin would have spied her without issue, however. Not that the Enchantress needed spy on the council. Thor obviously had not agreed with his father's judgement, because thunder and lightning waged war on another above the king's throne room. The whirling winds reached a crescendo, and then the doors to the chamber burst open. Thor, nothing more than a speck shooting like an arrow loosed from the string, soared over the city, down the Bifrost and on to Midgard.

Amora stepped out of her hiding place on the city wall, lowering the hood of her emerald cloak to show the beautiful features that had been hidden beneath. She tilted her head in grim cunning. Now was the time. Amora cast out both hands, and light bloomed around her fingertips. An emerald portal opened beneath the sorceress's feet and swept up her body, swallowing her whole before it dispersed, lost to oblivion.

On Midgard, Thor stood atop a building top, looking out over the realm that had just caused conflict between him and his father. Because he vowed to return to his homeland if the need were dire, but otherwise swore fealty to the Midgardians. That he should protect the mortals. Thor's contemplation was interrupted by a pleading voice. "Thor! Thor! Hurry!" The god of thunder spun his hammer and was borne aloft, floating down to the balcony of an adjacent building where a maiden stood.

Her features were beautifully, but plain, her blonde hair and light green dress danced in the wind. "What is it, mortal?" The woman cast a hand toward the bay. "There's a battle at the docks! The police need your help!" Thor's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Fear not, maiden, I will not fail." Another whirl of his hammer, and he was off again. The woman watched him go, expression turning from pleading to lax, if a tad grim. Emerald mist swirled around her momentarily, and in the aftermath Amora revealed herself.

Thor, she thought, regretful, will you ever learn not to trust a fair face? Amora took a deep breath, and waved her hands. With a dazzling display of light that suited her color pallet the same as ever, she was gone. The Silent Isle. So, that was where Loki had been banished by the Alfather? The place looked like a gnarled tree, branches interwoven to create a complex spire with a wide base, and a mirrored tower of intermingled branches to echo the vague tree-trunk shape downward as well.

The Isle did not float in the ocean, rather in the skies, and all sound was forfeit, and all color was leeched by the crows that watched the damned, opening and closing their beaks but never making a sound. Amora materialized with Skurge the Executioner in tow. Loki lounged near at hand, looking contemptuous, but bored. His gaze rose to hers in mild amusement that did not entirely conquer his fury. The Enchantress raised a single brow.

Amora was not bound by the enchantments of the one who was banished to the Isle, and either the Alfather did not predict her involvement, or he underestimated the magical strength of those who might stand alongside Loki. The Enchantress cast out her arms and a bubble of energy swept out from her, carrying with it sound, light and color. The bubble swelled until it consumed the small area that she, Skurge and Loki occupied.

"He believed me," Amora said as Loki rose slowly to his feet. The god of mischief gave her a cunning grin. "Of course he did," the Asgardian said in a tone that would have been charismatic, had it not been for the sneer that his silver tongue gave it. "My brother always was made dizzy by your pretty face, Amora, my lovely Enchantress." The sorceress was not as amused as Loki, though he did not note this, too busy snickering to himself and pacing. "My plans are unfolding perfectly."