Wir Sind Keine Dämonen

Rogue woke from her nap, not clear at first as to why. She opened one eye cautiously. Dr. Hank McCoy arched an imposing blue eyebrow from where he leaned against the doorframe. Rogue shut her eye and groaned.



“Now, Rogue…”



“Ah’m not that sick, Ah swear.”



“Mr. Wagner is still praying on the roof after your conversation with him this morning and Scott has retreated back into repairing the Danger Room,” Hank sighed. Rogue arched a brow.



“You think he might finally get it working again? Stryker really messed up the circuitry around the entranceway…”



“Rogue…”



Bamf!



Both of them jumped as Kurt suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke. He seized a bewildered Beast by the collar of his suit’s jacket.



“Herr McCoy you must help Scott vith the danger room!” he cried. Both Rogue and Beast stared at him for a long moment.



“What?” Beast finally asked.



“Scott has finally got into the control room again and he explained to me all of vhat the room can do and you must fix it and teach me to make programs so zhat I can be a pirate!” Kurt explained in a jumble of words that came out so quickly Rogue asked him to repeat them. Kurt’s tail drooped a little that his fantasy-propelled glee attack had been apparently slowed by having to repeat himself. Hank seemed to be at a total loss.



“You want to design…swashbuckling pirate Danger Room programs?” the fuzzier of the two blue mutants asked. Kurt’s tail swished idly as if there was nothing at all absurd about this idea, and his yellow eyes were wide and innocent.



“Yes.”



“Well,” Rogue proposed, “The Danger Room will probably still need some extensive repairs after what Stryker’s men did to it.”



“Stupid, stupid men,” Hank grumbled. “Destroying what they didn’t understand and hoping to make off with a weapon. It was hard enough to fix the lab…”



“You could probably improve it vastly now, with all the imaging you’ve been working on to hide the Blackbird from more satellites and all,” Rogue suggested, winking at Kurt, who perked a little with an odd smile. Hank was staring into space now, looking thoughtful and…driven.



“Yes…I suppose I could––No! No, I should be getting back on the public relations front in Washington. They’re talking about getting me into the presidential cabinet,” he protested. Kurt’s tail and pointed ears drooped pathetically, but the fact that his eyes were yellow and slightly glowing made it harder to pull of an effective ‘puppy dog face.’



“Well, if you’d rather leave it to Scott and…maybe Warren,” Rogue mused. Hank frowned a little. He had always been a little jealous of Warren Worthington’s monetary connections pulling in scientists who thought they were so much better than him when they were just assholes…



“I suppose I could take…some leave,” he warranted. Kurt perked up and grinned, his white teeth stark against his dark features, the tattoos on his face looking a little intimidating even as he hugged Beast like a child who has been told they get the giant chocolate bunny this Easter.



“Thank you, Herr McCoy! You vill fix it and make it fantastic and teach me how to make it full of pirates!”



“You are very strange, Mr. Wagner,” Beast sighed, but patted the other mutant on the shoulder.



“Tell me you haven’t used the Danger Room for entertainment? It is…like zhat American show…it has reruns all the time and a man who looks like ze Professor: Start Wreck!”



“Star Trek,” Rogue and Beast amended.



“Yes! Ze Hallowed Deck!”



“It was the Holo…nevermind,” Beast sighed. Rogue appeared amused.



“Now, Kurt?”



“Ja, Rogue?”



“Ah’m sorry Ah yelled at ya earlier. It was mean and Ah apologize, but can you both get outta my room just now? Ah need my beauty rest…”



~



Logan nervously moved down the hall. He could hear things like circuits being manipulated and arguments about pirates, but someone also had a blowtorch. Either that, or Cyclops was having a really, really bad day. Yet, Logan still moved forward, compelled by the trail of Rogue’s scent. He’d gone to check on her this afternoon and she had been gone. Thus far, he had apparently tracked her moving in the direction of the still-damaged hallways beneath the mansion that Stryker had felt needed to be crippled on the off chance his mutant-killing plan went awry somewhere, so that at least his enemies would be unutterably irritated by the extensive repair process. Rogue leaned against a recently repaired doorway that Logan eyed with frank suspicion.



“What’s goin’ on?” he asked. Rogue jumped a little.



“Damn, you’re quiet! Ya almost scared me,” she accused. Logan arched a brow imperiously. Rogue rolled her eyes. “Scott finally fixed the Danger Room entrance and Ah persuaded Beast to help fix and upgrade it.”



“Ah. I wonder what One-eye's sudden inspiration might have been,” Logan mused mockingly. Rogue snorted.



“Ah was ill, and Ah probably could kick his ass.”



“I’d pay money to see that.”



“You’d pay money to watch anyone kick Scott’s ass,” Rogue countered.



“Yes, but watching his own pupil with my psyche in her head do it would somehow just make it sweeter,” he growled.



“Ah don’t count too much as his pupil with you in my head. Ah haven’t sparred with him since he recruited me, and he had me give Bobby and John a couple lessons,” she offered.



“So he’s underestimated my protégé. Good enough,” he mused. Rogue shot him a look.



“Protégé?”



“What?”



“Ya need to see me fight, Sugah,” she laughed with a shake of her head.



“Apparently so, if ya can kick Scooter’s ass.” They both paused as the whole Danger Room filled with a scene of Armageddon-like destruction. Kurt bamfed into the middle of it with a bandana decorated with skulls and crossbones around his head, a sword in hand and general swashbuckler apparel about his person. He looked around.



“Wrong scene, Herr McCoy,” he shouted. There was a loud sigh over the sound system, offering Hank’s exasperation.



“I have yet to input any new program data, Kurt,” his voice droned, as if this had happened many times before. Kurt looked put-out, but vanished in a puff of smoke, presumably to the control room to rejoin Hank. Logan blinked.



“Where did he get a pirate costume?” he asked.



“It was apparently from an act he did in the Munich circus,” Rogue explained.



“He struck me as the swashbuckling type…y’know, once you get past the prayer book.”



“Ah thought it was an odd combination, but he’s already a well-read German Catholic Gypsy ex-circus performer who looks like a demon, so what’s a slight fascination with Errol Flynn to top it all off?”



“An interesting guy to drink with,” Logan replied.



“Point made,” Rogue agreed.



~



Whispers around the school by the third week of repairs offered theories that Mr. Summers had “pulled a Logan” and run off on his motorcycle to mourn Jean. It seemed to the majority of the school the only reason that no one saw him around anymore. The fact that early-risers still saw the bleary-looking leader draining half a pot of coffee before heading to the lower levels again did little to assuage the rumors. Similar could be said concerning the sightings by the junior team. On a related note, it was briefly rumored that Mr. Summers had run off with Kitty Pryde because of the time she spent with him and Hank in the lower levels learning the intricacies of the Danger Room hungrily. Kitty' slove for technology amused the rest of the junior team. Rogue affectionately called the sleep-deprived Kitty a geek when she slumped over the breakfast table one morning, and Kitty had only looked up and smiled very evilly. Rogue had since taken to avoiding the lower levels and talking to Kurt about religion when he wasn’t planning fencing scenarios and babbling about how Scott was a jerk for not telling him sooner about having taken fencing while at college and now being too busy with repairs to practice with him.



Logan sensed a buzzing excitement in the air as he came down to breakfast halfway through the third week following Rogue’s challenge of their Fearless Leader. Rogue seemed to be half-hiding behind Kurt, who seemed to be pouring over a programming manual or an encyclopedia of quantum physics. Logan, sitting across from them, recognized Hank’s handwriting on the pages. That explained everything. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a smug-looking Scott Summers, his hands at last lacking the smoky sheen that came from working with machinery and circuitry for hours on end. Beast sat beside him, half asleep on the table.



“So, they’ve got it running, then?” Logan asked. Kurt gave a grunt of agreement. Rogue let herself be momentarily distracted by the proficiency which men showed in the interpretation of grunts. Since absorbing Logan, Bobby and John, she had found herself understanding such simple and seemingly undiverse sounds to translate into a whole multitude of meanings. Men and grunting, she thought idly.



“Rogue?”



“Hmm? Yeah, Logan, they got it running. They announced it to the team and junior team this morning...” Her voice was hesitant.



“And?” Logan prompted.



“They need someone to ‘test’ it as it may still be unstable in some of the programming areas,” she finished. Logan smirked a little.



“Nervous?”



“Logan, Ah’ve seen the simulations. Some of them make rescuin’ me from Magneto look like a walk in the park. Those men are secretly cynical, evil, sadistic little bastards,” she hissed. Logan glanced at the two men in question. Scott adjusted his sweater and Beast slumped a little further in his doze. When his gaze returned to Rogue and saw her looking too, and saw her realize that her ‘sadistic bastards’ were looking a bit short of villainous, he chuckled darkly. Rogue shot him an embarrassed glare.



“Oh, shut up,” she muttered. “When this is all ovah, ya owe me Jack Daniels.”



“Rogue…” Logan warned. Even Kurt looked up, slightly incredulous. She shot them both a look.



“Come and watch the simulation. Ah bet anything that Scott will ask me to ‘test’ his little Danger Room before noon, so we’ll probably start before dinner. Ya can watch Scott’s face, ya get to see me fight, and ya get to find a new addiction,” she offered. “Ah will be owed whiskey by the time it’s over.”



“Addiction?” Logan echoed incredulously. Rogue smiled wickedly.



“She seems to think zhat you enjoy violence,” Kurt translated absently.



“Wanton virtual destruction with whoever’s program you input, accessible at any time and as violent as you like and you don’t think you’ll be spendin’ a lot of your time in there?” she mocked. Logan blinked.



“Tell me more about this destruction.”



“You are both bad influences on me,” Kurt sighed.



“This from the man who wanted to kill Blackbeard and be able to smell burning fuses on the wind,” Rogue countered. Kurt frowned.



“He vas a bad man,” he persisted, not quite pouting, but close.



“And Ah’m a badass Southern wench,” Rogue offered. Kurt scooted away a little.



“You are also a little evil, I think,” he said tentatively.



“Kurt, you told us about the priest you rendered speechless at confession,” Logan sniggered. The blue mutant blushed, turning his cheekbones faintly purple.



“I am a Catholic,” he said firmly. “I nevar said I vasn’t a naughty Catholic. And anyvay it vas only tvice.”



Rogue burst into giggles.



“We’ll get into a philosophical debate about the differences between, and merits of. ‘naughty’ versus ‘evil’ when Logan gets me some whiskey,” she sighed when she finished. Logan snorted.



“Fine, but no more than a few shots,” he relented, taking a sip of coffee.



“What kind of shots, Logan?” Scott said suddenly as he approached. Logan scarcely managed not to choke and shot the man a glare. Scott raised his eyebrows innocently.



“Mornin’ Scott,” Rogue greeted, somewhat nervously. Kurt waved absently, apparently amused by Logan’s reaction.



“Ah, Rogue, I have a favor to ask,” Scott began cheekily. Rogue shot Logan a knowing look.



The Danger Room drill for Rogue was arranged for an hour and a half before dinner.



~



Rogue was standing calmly on the far side of the Danger Room when Logan entered the control room. He gave a thoughtful whistle as he scanned the controls, which earned him an annoyed glare from Scott. Hank shot him a tired smile from where he monitored several computer screens. Kurt seemed to be examining one of the control modules in a state of frustration even as Kitty broke away from the rest of the junior team, who were all there to observe, in attempt to explain Hank’s notes to the confused blue mutant. Logan could hardly blame him. Hank’s notes had a language unto themselves, despite the furry blue mutant’s claims that they were technically in English most of the time, and it was generally indecipherable to everyone who was not a Nobel Prize worthy Physicist.



“Are you ready, Rogue?” Scott said into a small radio. Rogue adjusted the small earpiece concealed by her hair.



“Did Logan drag his ass in there yet?” she teased. Logan swiped the radio from Scott’s hand before the other man could react.



“Yeah, yeah, Rogue. You can start showin’ off now,” he countered.



“Give Scott the radio back, Sugah, he’s supposed to be givin’ me instructions,” Rogue told him with slightly annoyed tones, but Logan could hear her amusement. Handing Scott the radio back, he saw her smirk on one of the monitors as Hank began initiating the test program.



“Okay, Rogue, you will be tracking other mutants in an urban setting, and gathering intelligence on anti-mutant organizations while you’re at it,” Scott explained. Rogue rolled her shoulders nervously. She wore street clothes: black denim, hiking boots, and a blue jacket with the X-insignia on the collar that her hands remained hidden in.



“Anytime now, Fearless Leader,” she murmured.



“Program #4287-X17,” Hank commanded into the intercom, his voice momentarily filling the whole Danger Room. Cityscape filled in after the command as it faded. Rogue tugged down the zipper on her jacket as warm steam puffed from the grate that suddenly appeared under her feet. Her eyes widened involuntarily. People all around her, so suddenly, along with buildings, cars and the dark city sky, city lights preventing the stars from reaching her eyes. She could smell exhaust, the distant odor of cooked food and the touches of garbage and wet concrete that fill the air in Urban America.



“Daaamn, Beast, you do great fuckin’ work,” she breathed. Hank grinned cheekily. Scott shook his head.



“Don’t be too disoriented,” he warned.



“Good Luck, Cyclops, Ah just had a whole damn city appear around me, give me a second for my head to stop spinnin',” she murmured, her lips scarcely moving as she began walking down the city street. Logan raised a brow as he watched her on the monitors. Her movements were different than usual as she began hunting and watching. She moved casually, her eyes seemingly focused straight ahead and distant. A warm breeze that smelled of Chinese take-out lead her to open her jacket the rest of the way. Scott, too, looked at her somewhat curiously. Fingerless gloves and a black tank top meant different things to them than to a normal humans on the street, but she wore them carelessly, boldly, as she hit Main Street. She carried herself like a naked weapon.



Loud voices reached her ears and she moved toward them and the crowd in the street. Paper signs, angry men, and the very distant sounds of sirens: Rogue scanned them.



“Anti-mutant rally before a building that looks like a branch of city government,” she said idly. Scott paused slightly before answering, his eyes darting over the monitors.



“Affirmative, Rogue, we are not to get involved, find another route,” he commanded.



“No problem at all,” Rogue affirmed, easily slipping down a side street and moving on.



“The road you’re on leads to one of the clubbing districts. One club in particular is rumored to have an underground mutants-only room; it’s called Generation. We think Magneto has been using the place to recruit, so be on alert, but check the place out,” Scott commanded.



“Affirmative, Oh Captain My Captain,” Rogue replied quietly. Logan poked Scott.



“You teach her to act like that?” he asked. Scott snorted.



“No, I believe calling me ‘Oh Captain My Captain’ wasn’t part of any lessons I gave her,” he snapped.



“One-eye, for once I wasn’t insultin’ ya.” Scott appeared shocked, and looked over his shoulder at Logan. “I meant the near ventriloquism she’s pulling off when she uses the radio,” Logan explained, tapping his ear to illustrate. Scott blinked in surprise behind his shades, and Logan was unnerved because he could tell.



“Oh, ah, no.”



“She told me about it when I asked her,” Peter offered from where he stood half watching Rogue and half eyeing Kurt and Kitty’s programming confusion curiously. “She said years of muttering sarcastic comments under her breath in Mississippi helped a lot.”



Scott was still surprised enough to give an amused half-smile, even as Logan sniggered.



“Approaching the club,” Rogue’s voice transmitted. Eyes returned to the monitors as Rogue passed the bouncer with a cheeky wink.



The club floor was hidden under a low cloud of fog, and the only lighting seemed to come from the flashing colors that alternated around the dance floor. The beat was loud enough that the radio in the control room had to be turned down. Hank was half-giddy with pride, and stole Kitty away from Kurt to babble about volume control and lighting. After getting a drink from a bartender with green hair of questionable origin, Rogue showed her first hint of nervousness, and Logan saw her nostrils twitch as she headed towards one of the boothed tables near the bar. Once isolated and shielded slightly from the noise she spoke with her lips hidden under her hair as it fell around her face.



“Ask Wolverine what smells like a combination of a male bobcat marking his territory and iron shavings,” she said quietly. Scott blinked and looked over his shoulder at Logan, who was glaring at Hank.



“Ya put Sabertooth in there?” he growled. The furry blue mutant suddenly sobered.



“What? No, he shouldn’t be in there,” he said nervously, leaping back over to his controls.



“Rogue smelled him,” Logan said.



“Really? I thought she no longer had your senses,” Hank murmured, tapping away at the keyboard.



“You don’t need his senses to smell Sabertooth,” Scott muttered, not realizing he was still on the radio.



“Tell me about it,” Rogue agreed. Hank bit his lip.



“I must have added him to the program accidentally when I was working on the upgrades for olfactory data because of how it always adds to the authenticity of an environment, but it should have gone into his file not this scenario,” he babbled.



Meanwhile, Rogue eyed the dance floor until a door, apparently to a back room, suddenly opened. A small group of somewhat scruffy young men and women were listening to a single woman at their front. As she turned away from them a little, her eyes landed on Rogue, who saw them flash yellow for the smallest moment. Rogue watched her move her group toward the bar, and carefully hid herself in a small crowd leaving the dance floor, pulling the hood of her jacket on until she reached the door.



“Mystique is in the club with a group that are probably mutants, and Ah’m not stayin’ there without backup,” she hissed, scarcely audible.



“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Scott agreed. “We’re trying to work out the information you gave us about Sabertooth. We’re pretty sure he’s not in the program and that it was just a glitch.”



“Hell, maybe his smell was on Mystique and she left it there,” Logan muttered. Scott seemed to debate on the merits of repeating it to Rogue, but seemed to be fighting graphic mental images that caused his mind's eye to burn.



“Hey, you!” cried a loud, slightly drunk voice as Rogue passed an alleyway. Not looking down it, she lengthened her stride as she kept walking by. “You! I know all about you freaks in that club! We all do, don’t we, guys?”



“Oh, shit,” Rogue growled under her breath. Heavy footsteps approaching. She walked faster, but a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Whiskey and hate laced his breath and she could see his friends moving in from the corners of her eyes. “You should listen when people talk to you, Girlie.” She spotted the glint of a knife. She could feel the men’s eyes, and those of the watchers in the control booth. Then she was only aware of the men as the first one spun her around to face him and pressed the muzzle of his gun to her throat as he pulled her into the alley. Swallowing thickly, she felt her eyes to widen involuntarily, giving her the appearance of nervousness. It didn’t feel like an illusion, and perhaps she had already forgotten that it was.



“Ah’m listening,” she said. The man chuckled.



“I bet you are.” He tossed back her hood with the gun’s muzzle and traced the streak in her hair. “Well, you got stripes, ain’t you special.”



“Fashion’s fashion,” she said, not showing fear. The man with the gun seemed a little nervous.



“I told ya they had mutants in that damn club,” one of the other men hissed.



“Yeah, they do,” Rogue said with a wicked grin. “Ah don’t think ya’ll wanna know what Ah can do, gentlemen,” she purred, lifting her hands slowly. The man with the gun seemed distinctly nervous.



“You’re not faster then a damn bullet, Girlie, put your hands down,” he snarled. Rogue arched a brow.



“Ah’m not?” she asked innocently. The man’s eyes went wide and his grip on the gun loosened just a little. Rogue grabbed his wrist, covered by his shirt, pushing the gun aside to point at one of his friends, and then twisted until she felt tendons snap even through his sleeve and she caught the gun when he dropped it. The man screamed, and Rogue moved quickly, pulling his damaged arm behind him and twisting, holding him like a human shield and causing his beweaponed friends to hesitate even with their knives. She clicked the safety off the handgun and pointed it at the man who called her a freak.



“Go. Now,” she growled to all of them, sweeping the sights of the gun from one face to the next, and then back. They looked at each other, and ran down the alley. Rogue looked at her meat shield. He seemed to be sobbing.



“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” he whimpered. Rogue rolled her eyes, and knocked him unconscious with the handgun and strolled out of the alley, tucking away her new weapon about her person.



“What’s my score?” Rogue whispered. Scott looked over his shoulder. Everyone seemed to be holding up sheets of paper with numbers on them. Peter: 8, Bobby: 9.5, John: 7.9, Kitty: 9.2, Kurt: a happy face, Hank: 7.242, and Logan: 10. Scott sighed heavily.



“The crowd seems pleased enough, but I think you could have handled it more peacefully…”



“Oh come on,” Rogue growled.



“You didn’t have to pistol whip the last guy,” Scott countered.



“I thought it was a nice touch,” Logan added. Scott made an exasperated noise.



“Wolverine said he thought it was a nice touch, didn’t he?” Rogue mused.



“Stay focused, Rogue,” Scott said tersely. Rogue smirked a little.



“Ah’ll take that as a yes,” she mused. Scott shot dirty looks at the amused peanut gallery.



Rogue kept walking, slowing down when she smelled it again. Her expression darkened. She heard a shrill scream and immediately ran toward it, cursing.



Back in the control room, Scott looked at Hank expectantly, only to then turn grim. Hank was pounding the keyboard madly with his surprisingly dexterous fingers, his expression approaching panic. Logan immediately turned solemn.



“What’s going on?” he snapped. Hank made a sound of discomfort.



“Hank,” Scott urged.



“He’s in the program and I can’t get it to shut down or change,” Hank said through gritted teeth.



Rogue ran three blocks and paused, trying to figure out again the direction the sound had come from. Another scream reached her ears, cut off halfway through ominously, and Rogue tore off down an alley. Scott was shouting warnings in her ear, but Rogue heard only buzzing and pressed the button for temporary radio silence.



She knew Sabertooth was here, and she knew a girl was screaming. These two things combined erased the memory of illusion from her mind and she pulled off her jacket, carrying it as a lump of fabric in one hand and exposing her skin, her defense. Anger flushed her face as she rounded a corner and skidded to a halt, breathing a little too calmly and her vision just a little too clear. Sabertooth grinned at her, oblivious or careless concerning her rage. She bore her teeth in a more threatening manner.



“Ah, the little leech-girl,” he growled. Rogue tossed her jacket to one side and slid into a stable, whippy fighting stance, palms tilted toward him in a subtle threat like the first hint of a cobra's spread hood. She could smell blood, and see a limp body behind him. She doubted that it was breathing, but she could see the glossy pale brown hair covering its face.



“Did Magneto tell you kill her or did he just let you off your leash for tonight?” she inquired. The girl on the ground behind him coughed weakly. Rogue did not look at her, but took a step toward Sabertooth. He raised a brow.



“What do you think you’re doin’, little girl?” he barked, grinning wider. Rogue wrinkled her nose. “I can rip you apart in a second. You don’t smell like that little metal runt; he’s not around. You’ve got no one to rescue that pretty little ass of yours.”



“You try just touchin’ me, then, huh?” she taunted. Sabertooth stalked closer, his clawed fingers spread wide and threatening. His movements were slow and meant to intimidate. Rogue let him force her to circle slowly and sized him up. The only advantages she had seemed to be her skin and her speed.



With a snarl, Sabertooth lunged, swiping at her abdomen. Rogue leapt to one side and let his momentum carry him a little before whipping around to face him, only to again dodge one slash of his claws and then another. He was backing her toward the far wall of the alley when he lunged again, but Rogue darted around him and ran toward the opposite wall. He whirled around to follow her, and caught a glimpse of the underside of her hiking boots before they continued past his head and connected with the middle of his spine. She had run up the wall, a trick she had perfected on a dare in middle school in days long past, and kicked off so that when she flipped over to land she caught him in mid-lunge, off balance, and knocked him to the ground. Stumbling over him once he had fallen and gritting her teeth at the sharp pain in her ankle upon doing so, she pulled the handgun from the back of her jeans, aimed inexpertly, thanked god she was still in close range, and managed to put four bullets in Sabertooth’s head before he regained his feet. Three more bullets hit the brick wall of the alley. He lay facedown on the concrete, bleeding in a satisfactory manner.



To be safe, Rogue approached his limp body, after pulling on her jacket again, kneeled on his spine, wrapped her arms around his head with care not to let her bare fingers touch his skin despite her earlier threat, then suddenly twisted and heard all the vertebrae in his neck go awry with a satisfying wet crunch. She tapped the communicator in her ear, taking herself off radio silence.



“How long is he out?” she panted. A long silence followed as Rogue approached the wounded girl, limping slightly, pulling her jacket sleeves to cover her bare fingers as she examined her. She was alive, but breathing shallow and bleeding to a disconcerting extent.



“Wolverine says ‘about an hour or two tops,’” Scott said, his voice terse and angry. Rogue nodded solemnly and started to arrange herself a means of lifting the girl without touching her skin. A voice called down the alley, followed by footsteps. Rogue tilted her head. She should have heard the footsteps first.



“Hey, is anyone there? I heard shots!” the man panted. Rogue looked him over. His feet weren’t bare, but they had sounded like it when he ran…



“Go away, Mystique,” Rogue growled. The man paused, his expression confused, then curious, and finally resigned. His image shivered and vanished, replaced by the blue woman. Rogue reluctantly turned from the wounded girl and stood to face Mystique. She let her jacket fall to the ground behind her and rested her hands on her hips, then gripped the hem of her shirt in her fingers.



“Make any sudden moves and Ah whip off this shirt. You wanna die, just get a little closer and see if you can manage not to touch any of my skin with you naked and me halfway there,” Rogue growled. Mystique eyed her with an unreadable expression.



“As…enticing as that idea might be, do you want to risk having me in your head, child?” she purred in a voice like a dozen people speaking at once. Rogue lifted her shirt enough to show her belly button.



“You wanna risk findin’ out? Ah bet you know where Erik is, and Ah bet Ah could find out too. Just think, too, that Ah could look just like you,” Rogue challenged. Mystique’s eyes narrowed, but she took on the shape of the woman from the club and backed away back down the alley silently.



“Shut down already you piece of shit! Oh ERROR, you say! There’s an ERROR alright! Shut down program!” Hank’s voice suddenly roared over the intercom. Rogue flinched, and then felt distinctly nauseous as the world around her contorted, faded and then suddenly vanished entirely. She felt bereft, and oddly seasick.



“Rogue? Rogue!” Scott called over the radio. Rogue shook her head to clear it and readjusted her earpiece.



“Ah’m fine. God, that’s fuckin’ surreal! And you said the injuries were simulated, Scott. I twisted my damn ankle on Sabertooth’s virtual spine!” she complained.



“Should I send someone down to help you?” Scott returned, his voice somewhere between relieved, irritated, and guilty. Rogue picked up her jacket and took a few experimental steps, gritting her teeth.



“Ah think Ah’m okay…”



BAMF!



“You vere fantastic!” Kurt cried from amidst his cloud of slightly sulfurous smoke. He pulled her jacket from her fingers, wrapped it around her shoulders to cover her bare arms and hugged her in congratulations. Rogue tensed reflexively, the patted his side awkwardly as her arms were pinned.



BAMF!



They were in the control room. Logan snorted at the sudden burst of smoke, but smiled brightly at the perplexed and still shell-shocked Rogue. Kurt pulled back and grinned.



“Ah said Ah was fine,” she pouted. Kurt shrugged.



“It vas bring you here, or continue to vait for you here vith nothing to do but bash my head into ze control panels,” he sighed.



Scott cleared his throat. Everyone turned quickly to look at him, most of them nervous. Rogue managed to keep her expression mild and slightly aloof despite the buzz of adrenaline, the throbbing pain in her ankle, and the beginning buzz of endorphins racing up her leg. Scott’s face was solemn.



“You disobeyed protocol, acted recklessly in an emergency situation within the malfunctioning Danger Room, and managed to twist your ankle in a virtual landscape designed to allow only simulated injuries,” he recounted. Rogue opened her mouth to object, but Scott suddenly lifted a sheet of paper. Scrawled across it in permanent marker was a very brief message: 10.0.



Rogue stared for a long moment, glanced around at the other shocked faces and at Scott’s faint smirk, and finally burst out laughing.