"The Academy's completely ghosted us, Jean! I can't raise anyone!" Jean Grey and Ororo, codenamed Storm, had completed their delicate extraction mission, successfully locating and retrieving the terrified, demon-like Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler) from a church in Boston. Now, airborne in the sleek, custom-built X-Jet, they faced a far more terrifying mystery.
"What's going on? Is Scott still not back yet? Aren't Logan and Colossus supposed to be there, doing their version of 'nothing'?" Jean asked, her brow furrowed in genuine distress as she checked the console's communications log, her fingers hovering near the controls.
"No, according to the remote telemetry data transmitted by the plane's signal sensors, the entire compound is empty," Ororo replied, her voice low and edged with dread, her eyes fixed on the empty, green screen that should have been showing activity logs.
"There's no signature of any major electrical activity, no life-signs beyond background animals… nothing. I don't know what nightmare scenario has unfolded, but the place is deserted."
"We're not there, the Professor is gone, the kids are gone… this certainly looks like a perfect opportunity for any number of our enemies to strike," Jean murmured, her fingers tapping nervously on the armrest. A dark suspicion crossed her mind, something colder than fear.
"But where did the Professor go? And why didn't he leave any contingency plan for total radio silence?" She closed her eyes, extending her formidable telepathic consciousness, pushing it far beyond the jet's shielded cabin.
"Is it… is it my fault? Did I bring this disaster down on your family?" Kurt, huddled quietly in the jump seat, looked at Jean Grey and Ororo with unbearable self-consciousness, his voice barely a whisper in his native German.
"Hush now, Kurt. This is absolutely none of your business," Ororo said, her tone softening immediately as she walked over and placed a reassuring, yet firm, hand on Nightcrawler's shoulder. "Just try to stay calm and quiet. Don't disturb her, she's trying to contact the Professor the old-fashioned way—with her mind."
"Hoo!" After what felt like an eternity, Jean Grey finally snapped her eyes open, the sheer mental exertion making her sway slightly. She shook her head heavily at Ororo, a look of utter defeat washing over her face.
"It's no good, Ororo. I can't reach Charles—it's like he's shielded or simply too far away. Scott's mental signature is nowhere near the typical range, and even Logan, whose thoughts are usually as subtle as a bulldozer, is completely absent from my perception."
"That's it!" Ororo suddenly snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up with professional purpose. She moved decisively to the cockpit, flipped a series of panels open, and then retrieved a slim, curved metal plate—a bespoke satellite phone. "Perhaps we should rely less on raw power and more on Professor's superior technology. We can use this to contact them."
This curved metal plate was a highly specialized, secure mobile device designed by the Academy. It bypassed standard cell networks and used a secure, mutant-developed satellite link, minimizing the risk of their calls being compromised or eavesdropped on. More importantly, it was engineered to punch through all but the most extreme forms of signal jamming.
"Beep beep beep!" The insistent, high-pitched ringing cut through the tense silence of a New York Chinatown basement.
Logan, currently helping Hank McCoy (Beast) and the others organize their cramped, temporary safe haven, instantly recognized the sound. It was the special phone Cyclops had insisted on keeping in the car. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the curved metal plate. He hadn't expected it to actually work in a signal-dead basement, let alone ring.
"Hello?" Logan barked into the phone, his usual abrasive tone softened by urgency. He frowned deeply. "Scott? Jean? Who the hell is this?"
"It's me, Logan. Ororo," Storm's voice was unmistakable, though slightly miffed. Was she, the mighty Storm, really so unremarkable that she needed to announce her own name?
"Oh, Ororo. Where are you?" Logan paused for only a fraction of a second, then immediately launched into the situation report. "Listen up! Xavier Academy was suddenly attacked. It was a military raid sent by a guy named Stryker. Did you manage to contact Charles?"
"No, Jean can't reach Charles either, it's like his mind has been forcibly removed from the planet. Tell me where you are! What about the children at the academy?" Ororo asked, glancing quickly at Jean Grey, who nodded grimly, confirming the mental vacuum.
"Colossus got the main group of children and the most vulnerable ones out first, through the secret escape route. Banner, John, Bobby, Anna, and I stayed to cover the rear. We're deep in Chinatown, sheltering with some local connections now…" Logan answered, relaying the information instinctively, his mind already formulating the next steps.
"Chinatown? Understood. We'll plot a course and come find you now!" Ororo nodded decisively, already moving to the controls of the X-Jet.
"Hold on, Ororo, you'd better not fly the jet straight over that area! This is New York City, not rural Connecticut. You'll be far too conspicuous, and there is absolutely nowhere for you to safely land or conceal that thing in a dense, heavily policed area,"
Logan quickly warned, his voice urgent. Flying an advanced military-grade jet into Chinatown would cause worldwide panic and media exposure—the absolute opposite of their mission.
"Don't worry, Logan," Ororo replied, her tone dripping with calm, professional confidence, bordering on arrogance. "The Professor's plane has the most advanced stealth technology in the world. It's absolutely impossible for us to be detected by standard US military radar, let alone the NYPD!" She shook her head dismissively and hung up the phone.
In Ororo's confident view, when it came to advanced, disruptive technology, Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters was light years ahead of the technologically pedestrian US government!
"Beep beep beep!" Not long after Ororo resumed flying the X-Jet toward New York airspace, she suddenly heard a loud, blaring alarm from the radar console, immediately shattering her conviction.
"Unidentified aircraft detected crossing restricted airspace. I order you to identify yourselves and land immediately. You will be escorted to the nearest Air Force base. You have ten seconds to comply and confess!"
"Repeat! Descend immediately! You have ten seconds!"
"Um… didn't you just say we would never be discovered, Ororo?" Kurt asked Ororo timidly from the back, his blue skin turning a shade paler beneath the cockpit lights.
"Blast it all! How did they possibly find us?" Ororo muttered, her face a mask of furious concentration.
"It defies logic! Our planes were clearly running a full-spectrum radar cloaking and electromagnetic shielding! Which utterly insignificant, overfunded bastard decided to equip the US military with that level of detection gear?!" Ororo showed no intention of landing or identifying herself, instead muttering angrily while slamming her hands on the controls.
Meanwhile, in his gleaming, high-tech lab, Tony Stark suddenly sneezed—a surprisingly loud, robust sound. He looked at the holographic image of his AI, Jarvis, with some confusion.
"Jarvis, did I just contract some common, plebeian cold?" Tony asked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
"Sir, according to the immediate physiological scan, you do not have a cold or any viral infection. However, your physical condition is, shall we say, marginally suboptimal. I suggest you engage in some appropriate, non-alcoholic exercise immediately. Of course, any group activities involving, say, flying or intercontinental teleportation are specifically excluded from the scope of 'appropriate exercise'…" Jarvis offered his advice after scanning Tony Stark's vital signs.
"Weak? Are you completely deranged, Jarvis? I am the world's most powerful, handsome, and technically proficient playboy!" Tony Stark decisively shook his head, verbally rejecting Jarvis's patronizing suggestion, but in the back of his mind, a tiny, nagging voice admitted that he did seem to be slightly less sharp, slightly less energetic, than he had been a year or two ago.
Back in the sky above the bustling New York metropolis, because Ororo refused to identify herself or land, the two F-16 fighter jets chasing the X-Jet began to open fire—a concentrated barrage of high-caliber machine gun rounds cutting trails through the night sky. Ororo was forced into a series of desperate, bone-jarring evasive maneuvers.
"Doesn't this plane have any weapons systems for retaliation?" Nightcrawler asked Ororo, his teleportation instinct twitching wildly. From his perspective, the plane looked incredibly advanced but was easily detected and was currently flying unarmed against military aircraft. It seemed like a terrible design flaw.
"With me here, Kurt, we are the weapons system!" A hint of absolute, primal confidence flashed in Ororo's eyes. This was her element, her domain. A thought flashed through her mind, and she drew upon the deepest reserves of her mutant power. Her beautiful, vibrant eyes began to turn white, the pupils dissolving into a milky, swirling vortex of unleashed energy.
"K-THOOM!"
Thunder rumbled, not from the distant clouds, but erupting right above the X-Jet, followed by immediate, sharp bursts of lightning and the rapid formation of localized tornadoes.
The swirling winds and lightning bolts instantly blocked the path of the chasing fighter jets, forcing the pilots to break off their attack and attempt to stabilize. Ororo's plane, however, easily flew through the eye of the swirling chaos—she was the eye of the storm.
"All done!" A satisfied, triumphant smile appeared on Ororo's lips. She had neutralized the threat with the beauty and sheer destructive force of nature. But before she could speak a single, congratulatory word, the console's alarm erupted again, louder, more frantic, and far more terrifying than before.
"Beep! Beep! Beep! Missile Lock! Missile Lock! Estimated Impact in T-minus 12 seconds!"
"Oh no! They've launched missiles! Jean, your help now!" Ororo's expression finally shattered, replaced by sheer, blinding panic. Missiles were not bullets; they could not be outmaneuvered by a simple vortex.
Jean Grey gritted her teeth, the immense weight of her latent power bubbling to the surface. Her eyes flared, instantly turning a fierce, incandescent red, with the raw, terrifying image of a Phoenix—a bird of pure, uncontrollable flame—flickering violently within them. She pushed her mind out, desperately trying to mentally seize the fast-moving projectiles.
Instantly, one of the two tracking missiles lost all power, its guidance systems fried and its internal mechanisms seized, causing it to plummet harmlessly into the ocean below.
But the sheer mental output required to perform that act was paralyzing. Jean could no longer muster the strength, the concentration, or the sheer terror necessary to stop the second, rapidly approaching missile.
"Follow me, jetz!" Nightcrawler screamed, gritting his teeth in pure desperation. He suddenly grabbed Jean Grey and Ororo's shoulders, not caring about protocol or destination.
With a sudden, explosive puff of brimstone-scented black mist, the three of them vanished from the plane. They reappeared an instant later, violently tumbling onto the hard, cold ground in a dark, forested area not far from the crash zone.
"Hmm?" On the ground, Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto) had just reached out his hand, preparing to gently guide the descending X-Jet, whose metal hull was now screaming under his control, into a safe, controlled crash landing. He planned to use the plane as leverage. But as he did so, he saw the Nightcrawler trio spontaneously materialize a short distance away—they had just teleported out!
"Boom!" In the moment Magneto was stunned by the sight, the remaining missile struck the X-Jet. The jet's stabilizer and half of its tail assembly exploded into brilliant, flaming wreckage.
The plane spun violently, turning into a massive, uncontrolled metal fireball that plummeted, howling, through the night air toward the ground.