"All I'm able to discern is somewhere out in the Atlantic, they both simply vanished." Xavier delivered these words as he removed the Cerebro apparatus, some 15 minutes after he received the distressed call from Jean Grey who, presently standing by, spoke with checked frustration: "I'm positive I could come to a better answer, but with how my powers have been malfunctioning I'm reluctant to try. . ."

She knew she couldn't locate Ryder any better than Xavier, who even with Cerebro saw his daughter as only a vague mutant signature where he knew to look.
But Jean's psychic rapport with Scott was something else. Yet being connected to such a broad network as Cerebro allowed, powers amplified on top of that,
the risk to other minds -as well her own- was far too great to put any one life on top of.

"Storm and Wolverine can take the other aircraft to where I lost their signals. In the meantime I'll contact Moira and keep trying."
He repressed a thought in the back of his mind that Ryder wasn't merely incidentally involved in whatever happened.

Jean as well. . .She had to be settled enough with the game plan for now, and hold fast to the fact that neither Ryder or Cyclops were killed. At least in the latter's case she, and Xavier, would've known instantly. Still, given the degree of what she'd felt. . .She hoped where ever they were was forgiving. . .

---

Forgiving? It wasn't a word one usually associated with the Master of Magnetism

"Take him to the infirmary. He barely looks capable of holding up the weight of Xavier's expectations another second."

Ryder's wake up call had been effective. Trouble was, Cyclops found himself with two key problems when he came to. Firstly, he was bound to the chair -not overly tight; enough to keep him in place yet not exacerbate his fresh injuries. In fact the stability was probably helping as, second of all, the burning shards of metal that were figuratively -literally?!- in his chest told him he'd been set back to stage -1 where his ribs were concerned. Couple that with the catching sensation on every other breath and warm, salty expectorations that came with and he knew he was lucky to be staring into the face of the X-Men's long time adversary, Magneto, a.k.a. Charles Xavier's old friend Erik Lehnsherr.

Still, Cyclops' driven need to put the missing pieces together -namely what happened after he went down- had him trying to gain further information- looking around, trying to speak-- he knew Ryder was alive at least, but was her "thunderclap of telepathy" for his own sake or her need? Had more sentinels followed the first? It was no use. He literally choked on his words and had to submit lest he succumb.

"When will the X-Men learn struggling is futile?"

At this, Erik's attention shifted back to the world beyond the telepathic and light refracting force dome, where he could feel the metal of the jet in the atmosphere as a shark may taste blood in water.

As it seemed, reaching out to touch it was unnecessary. It was already coming to him. Though at a clip much too fast to cause anything but disaster if not corrected; so he did-- as though the earth's magnetic fields were layers of a ballistic vest catching the bullet in its path -without the deforming effects.

Beyond what Ryder would feel physically, her experience would be as though she blinked and a new world came into view, as the jet came through the semi sphere which kept probing eyes -and minds- from typically seeing Genosha.

Built of metal molded with an artist's hand, it had a futuristic and altogether otherworldly look to it. The architecture showing flashes of certain, historical styles, yet mostly standing out as its own. This was no man-made city: it was homo superior's.

Where the jet would come to stop was a mixed platform of rock and metal, looking very much like some kind of landing pad. Though what aircraft usually made use of it wasn't anywhere to be seen.

There were a few other mutants immediately in sight besides their helmet and cape-clad leader. Whether they were his personal entourage or merely lookers-on was up to their visitor to decide. Presently Magneto fixed the waif with a highly astute stare. The damaged jet making it only too easy to do so.

"And who do we have here? Charles' latest devotee?"

As the jet landed down on the strange pad, the mutants gathered around would feel their minds invaded like cold water down burnt skin. Ryder dropped out of the ruined aircraft and glared at the man with the metal helmet. His kind was untouchable, but he was the easiest target here. One flick of her wrist, and that covering would be buried in his rib cage faster than he could blink.

She was scanning the others’ minds for evidence on Cylcops. All the while, she reached out with her telepathy to find that, sure enough, he was alive and was being taken care of at the very least. That was one problem taken care of for the time being. The other was was in front of her. She had no idea where she was, the jet’s radar didn’t give any indication of this being here. Ryder just looked away for a second, and some force took her here. So something unusual was going on without a doubt.

”Not sure who the hell you are, but I’m leaving with the guy who can actually fly this thing. You can try and stop me if you think you’ll survive, but I’m not in a great mood right now,” she warned.

”You’ve got ten seconds to explain yourselves before I start destroying this. Start talking.”

Magneto looked around having heard -and seen out of the corner of his eye- the gathered mutants reacting to something negative.

His attention returned to the one in front of him. This child had just done something.
This bothered him. Though -his citizens already recovering- also intrigued him.

Her threat hit him likewise, and though his eyes held warning, his lips turned up; he wasn't about to be intimidated by this urchin.
Magneto gave a certain look to two mutants whose buttons were more easily pushed; they stood down.

"Explain why I allowed you passage here instead of leaving you to search endlessly for your injured, whom I saved from near-certain death? This is the ungrateful generation, isn't it. And you will not be destroying this," now his expression, and tone, was dead serious. Though held no combative edge, as yet; the X-Men's longest-standing foe actually wasn't looking to fight. "This is a sanctuary, child. Those robotic extensions of the human's simple impulses," -his eyes turned skywards as he referenced the sentinels; though none could be seen- "patrol in search of this place. If you prefer to return to the mercy of their radar, by all means. You'll find your pilot recovered in remarkably short time, though it will still take some. If I can trust you won't harm the citizens of Genosha, you may wait for him where you like."

With that Magneto gave a half-turn, and stood as though he were a living marker of a crossroads.
Ryder could walk past him towards the city proper, if she liked,

--most of the other mutants had already started walking away, one looking like they thought they were taking their chances in doing so.
The more defensive two doing so gradually, as if undecided if they should -or wanted to- stay or go--

or Ryder could stay right where she was.

Of course there was always the third option. . .Magneto's steely eyes conveying his readiness should she make that mistake.

Ryder, being the feral little shit that she was, mostly stood down when the old man in the helmet referred to this place as Genosha. She viewed the entire world through monitors and screens. She could be within hundreds of feet of any device with a connection to the internet, and find her way to any place that existed through that. Ryder was smarter than she looked, she knew the name of almost every country out there by heart.

“Genosha” didn’t ring a bell.

The sheer curiosity of that was water to the flames. A “sanctuary” for mutants sounded utterly fucking worthless to her, having grown up in a “sanctuary” for mutants her whole life.

But more importantly, she needed to find Cyclops. So she played along, and let Magneto walk away. Without saying a word, she walked off of the landing pad, and into the so-called paradise itself.

I know you can hear me. You’re somewhere in this city. I don’t know where. Figure something out before the fuckwit in the helmet makes a move.

If someone like Xavier or Jean spoke to Cyclops telepathically, that was a good indicator they were keeping enough of a tap on his mind, at least for the following few moments, that he could think back to them.

He had a feeling Ryder wasn't that kind of telepath. That she preferred the "call" to be one-way, and frankly, having her in his head was rather a different experience. . .he made no effort to respond. Both had enough intel on the other, for now: Ryder knew he was in the city. Now he knew she was, too -sounding no worse for wear. She wanted him to figure something out. Was this Ryder trusting him? Or was this a warning that if he didn't want her brand of a solution, he had better be the first to come to one. . .his mind became suffused with a sensation of artificial darkness, some kind of void. . .Wait, this wasn't--

Next thing he knew, clarity came like waking from a dream.
Indeed, from a lain position, Cyclops took in his surroundings and the condition of his body. He felt surprisingly little pain, and not like he was on medication for that.
There was someone there.

They met his gaze -as well as it could be met, anyway, given his visor. "Gen has used her abilities -a projected healing factor- to treat your injuries. It still takes time, so you should stay with us for the day at least."

"A projected healing factor?" He understood what this other mutant meant by it, but having not encountered such a mutation before, it interested him.

"It requires Gen to touch the point of injury, so we did have to perform surgery so she had access to your lung and ribs, though she healed the incision points on her way back out."

They had, of course, removed the chest portion of Cyclops' uniform, so presently he looked down at his bare skin, surprised to find that he could only find faint traces of any procedure--like wounds at a healed-over stage of a much later point. "How long has it been since I was brought here?"

"Three quarters of an hour."

Cyclops was impressed. This must be what it feels like to be Logan.
"Someone else arrived here after me," he got back to business, being careful as he transitioned into an upright position, though he hardly felt the need to be.
"Do you know where they are?" He slide his legs off the padded medical table and was standing a second later.

The other mutant shook their head. "No one else has been brought to us. You're fine to go look for them."

Even without their permission, that was exactly what Cyclops intended to do. "Thank you." He looked around, and not seeing any other mutant, he added,
"thank Gen for me." At their nod, he suited back up -damaged though his uniform now was- and left.

His second surprise came when he happened on Magneto after only a couple minutes of looking around.
The Master of Magnetism appeared to be in the middle of constructing some other type of building, with all the ease and creative flex as a hobby sculptor.
Cyclops had paused and was at an oblique angle to him, but Magneto caught sight of the X-Man. "Up and about, I see."

Another moment of a measured look, part on Magneto himself and part on his work, Cyclops walked closer. "I was flying with someone. Where are they?"

"Wandering freely around here, where they desire not to be. Perhaps she'll learn, though Charles has never been much for instilling free thinking."
He turned his attention back to his task.

Maybe a 'thanks' for orchestrating his medical aid would've made it past Cyclops' lips had it not been for this slight against the Professor. Instead he wordlessly left the older man to his construction. 'You don't bother me, I won't bother you,' the silence seemed to say.

Though Magneto spoke before he got too far:
"I would be more careful if I were you. . .leaving a family behind."

It took just a couple seconds for Cyclops to understand what, specifically, Magneto was referring to.
In the same moment, his expression contorted. "If that's meant as a threat, Magneto-"

"It's not. . .I had, once, what you're preparing for." Magneto looked straight at him. You should seriously consider making this where that life starts.
Give your family the chance mine wasn't allowed."

Cyclops looked upon him like he was seeing someone other than the once leader of the Brotherhood. . .somewhat.
Behind his visor his gaze lowered as his thoughts went to the subject(s) of the conversation.

"You're familiar now with the mutant medical care we have. What human hospital exists that you know of, that would consent to bringing another of our kind into what they believe to be their world?" At this, Magneto turned away. "The invitation is extended indefinitely. When you've made the correct choice, get word to me and I'll ensure you safe passage. As I've already told your feisty charge, sentinels patrol these skies in search of their Atlantis."

Cyclops continued on to find Ryder, feeling for once, that Magneto had actually given him something worth thinking about.
And he didn't like any bit of that.

Genosha seemed like a different place than anything Ryder was familiar with, as much as she was personally familiar with anything in the world. She walked down a street where mutants, and not a single human, were going about their days. It was a busy morning, with flying mutants setting up the outside of what looked like a stage where a few others were making shapes with illusions. Chairs were being arranged for a currently absent audience by a psychic, while a glowing green portal allowed others to slowly trickle in.

Someone on the stage waved at Ryder. She started walking faster.

Ryder didn't want to be here. She didn't know who these people were, and that alone made the X-men a preferable option. She didn't want these people getting the idea that she was one of them, mutant or not. She kept walking down the busy downtown area, where others were out and about. Genosha had the appearance of a city where actual people ran things, not a desert of concrete and rebar like most places. There was nothing sterile about the city, buildings were colorful, made by people who wanted warmth in the landscape. It was obvious based on Ryder's surroundings. There weren't parking lots outnumbering buildings, but sprawling sidewalks that let people roam free.

Ryder always wondered how humans could tolerate metal coffins on wheels as the main way to get around their own homes. But then again, she wasn't human. Maybe that was why she didn't care very much for this, either. It was a human problem, and this was a solution of Genosha, which wasn't her world.

She passed a large, circular building made from red-orange stone. Cube-shaped protrusions jutted out in what Ryder assumed were places for people to sit inside. The words "Genosha City Library" were played out in silvery letters above a pair of double doors, atop a flight of stairs marked with what looked like street art. Ryder could see people moving around inside, and wondered what they had tucked away. She stared the building down, feeling around inside with her power, and didn't find much on computers. They had a digital backlog of every book, but not much about mutants.

What kind of mutant utopia didn't have an extensive library of mutant books? That was just a disappointment more than anything. If they were this special, they could just write their own.

She turned and kept walking. It was warm today, warmer than the old man's mansion or the lab. Warm in a comforting way.

Ryder passed a park, where kids half her age were throwing a soccer ball around with their powers. The ball shot at her like a bullet, and was promptly stopped midair with her powers, still spinning at an absurd speed where it floated, and Ryder hadn't even flinched. A kid with four arms and skin like craggy stone ran over to her, barely three feet tall.

"Sorry!" They croaked, their voice was grating to Ryder. "Nice catch, you wanna play with us? We really need a goalk-"

"Leave. Me. Alone."

Ryder turned and glared daggers at the kid. Her eyes might've set them on fire if she wanted, and that alone was enough for them to shut up. Ryder flicked her wrist, and the soccer ball was sent flying back over his head with a loud crack of the wind. The four-armed mutant flinched, and Ryder walked away.

People were staring. She didn't care.

She felt out with her powers for Cyclops, he was significantly closer, if her psychic abilities were correct.

This place is getting on my nerves. The jet can fly, it's not busted that badly. We don't need to stay here any longer than it takes for you to stand up.

She was exercising extreme levels of patience by not leaving without him.

I already ripped one of those machines apart. I'll do it again.

Cyclops filed away what Magneto had put into his mind to ruminate on later, focusing on task- when he found someone else's thoughts suddenly put into his head. Again he experienced the peculiar sensation like his head was suddenly too tight- like Ryder's mental voice was no more agreeable to being confined than she was in body.

It wasn't painful. More like vaguely uncomfortable.

He instinctually braced himself for what was going to follow "I already ripped one", but was relieved she was only referring to the sentinels. And, she'd said the jet could fly. Had she landed it here? If she had, he would be impressed. Though, what hadn't Ryder proved capable of in just the short time they'd been acquainted?

Cyclops had paused when her voice sounded in his head and he now resumed looking around. It took only another minute or so before he saw her coming around a building about a half block's distance away.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he stated once he'd come to be standing in front of her. Assessing her visually she certainly looked to have been spared any further harm. His sense of remorse was alleviated.

Still. . .he had been responsible for Ryder and blew it. Again.

He'd learned some time ago that it didn't matter how prepared you were, didn't matter if you did everything right, somethings were not in your control. No matter how much you took in your hands, something was always out of them.

But that concept didn't apply here, as Cyclops didn't feel he had done everything right - he hadn't checked all the boxes that he was able to check. Not in his opinion.

Which seemed to be a refrain with Ryder.

If he'd done a better job intercepting her at Umbra, she wouldn't have made it to town which resulted in injury to herself as well as to others. If he'd been better prepared up front, he wouldn't have gotten himself compromised nor would he have been away from Jean which, unsettling circumstances notwithstanding, lead to his rookie level mistake of allowing his attention to be divided. To the subsequent result of Ryder getting away from them -from him, again- and the very final consequence of what happened in the black forest.

And now? He'd been alert and task-focused enough, but still the jet went down. He went down.
If Ryder had been a causality he didn't think he could be convinced it wasn't by his failing.

At least that wasn't the reality he was facing.

"We can go. . .Where's the jet?" Sure the nurse had told him he should stay with them for the day, but he felt fine enough. He wasn't going to make another mistake by testing what patience of Ryder's he felt she had left. From what little he'd glimpsed, Magneto did appear to have a good, even a great thing, going here.

There was just one problem as it pertained to their leaving.
No sooner had Cyclops asked the question when something caught his eye, and there, traveling over their heads in the direction Cyclops had just come, was the unmistakable side of a Lockheed SR-71.

Having turned with its movement, Cyclops watched as it came to rest by where he'd left Magneto, who now repurposed it for the building he was erecting.

Cyclops strode back over as other pieces of the jet sailed overhead; to the fascination of the soccer kids.

"I thought you were giving us a choice to stay?" Anger flashed in his face and his tone.

"I didn't arrive where I am today by not taking advantage of what I was given. I do thank you for your gift of metal."

His smug smile and tone was like kindling to Cyclops' emotion, but he kept it in check.
"How can I get message out from here?"

"You needn't bother." At this Magneto looked up, which caused Cyclops' gaze to go skywards as well, just in time to see the expanse of blue clouding over too suddenly to be a natural change of the weather.

Magneto paused his construction to grab at the sky, and within moments the slate grey clouds gave way to charcoal black and took shape; a piece of the sky coming down on the city until it became apparent it was the X-Men's second jet.

Magneto had felt it resist before it had surrendered, those on board clearly realizing this was where they'd been headed all along to pick up their strays.

To the further fascination of the young and growing interest of the older, he landed the jet right there in the city square.
Its engines were already off.

Storm disembarked, returning the heavens to their previous state of clarity as the X-Men now had the knowledge that Magneto must have his own means of keeping undetected; they hadn't known they were coming up on Genosha until they'd felt his magnetic pull.

Wolverine followed, looking around like 'what is this joint?'

And next down the ramp, surprisingly, was Xavier. "We didn't know what happened to you," he stated, almost by way of greeting as his eyes fell on Cyclops then set on Ryder; a certain look crossing his face. He had wanted to see for himself that she was alright, not wait passively for the information to be conveyed. The time for him being a distance away from her life had passed.

There was one thing in the entire universe preventing that old man from getting his head imploded like a damaged submarine, and that was the fact that Ryder noticed a second jet coming down long before Cyclops had. The computer, the systems that told the jet to fly to their last known location, the turbine engines breathing fire in its wake, it was just as easy to find for Ryder as it was for Magneto.

Genosha might’ve been a mass grave, otherwise.

The X-men… God, that name sounded so fucking stupid to Ryder, They touched down and expressed their worry. Ryder was surprised a bit surprised that the guy in the wheelchair would come all the way out here, but Xavier wasn’t getting a pat on the back for it. She was just glad she didn’t have to hijack something to get out of here.

”We’re done here. If we’re going, then let’s go,” she said, not so much as a thank-you for their obvious worry. Ryder turned around and leapt dozens of feet into the air, landing with a loud CLANG in the cockpit of the jet that Magneto had pilfered. Sounds of metal twisting announced the sight of scrap being flung out, littering the streets of Genosha. When Ryder emerged again, the damaged chest laser she looted was floating behind her. She dropped down with it following her, unbothered by the distance of the fall.

”This is what happens when someone pisses me off. We’re done here.”

"What kinda' scrape did you get into?" Wolverine asked Cyclops dispassionately, noting his damaged uniform with the dried blood on it.

"Are you hurt, Cyclops?"

"I was. Though I'm fine, now."

It was a somewhat puzzling response, though Storm didn't ask for details.

Xavier was about to confirm Ryder was alright when she spoke first, catching their collective attention even more so as she made her remarkable jump. For the seconds before they realized where she'd landed, a unified thought went through their minds: 'Is she intending to jump her way across the Atlantic?'

The X-Men aside, it was almost like a game of chess.
Magneto had made his play, seeing what the girl would do.

He'd been careful. He knew the X-Men were arriving and timed his disassembly of the initial jet just so. Still, as he used his powers to manage the carelessly discarded shrapnel, preventing it from causing any harm to citizens or the structures of their home -it almost coming off to the less worldly as some planned show- he felt the merest elicitation of fear.

He'd nearly played his hand too arrogantly.
This new charge of Xavier's was one not to be messed with, the likes of which Magneto hadn't witnessed before.
He'd gotten the information he'd wanted. Though, like the fear, there was a degree of...regret.

"Watch yourself with this one, Charles." Though Magneto wasn't making the kind of warning you'd think. "Not every mutant is meant to be one of your X-Men." By this he meant a student made to conform to the ideals with which Xavier shouldered them. Magneto liked what he saw in Ryder.

Still, his flicker of regret didn't extend to her leaving this island. As far as he was concerned now, no further association between Ryder and the nation of Genosha need be had, and he gave her no further acknowledgement.

He did have a final one for Cyclops, however. "Meeting" the boy's eyes as he crossed towards the jet, and giving him a communicative look. "It may also be a wise idea to have them practice planning flight paths." He kept his eyes on Cyclops despite still speaking to Charles, then rose up by his magnetism and hovered high above the city, extending his enshrouding "bubble" with him as he went. As far as he could see, new sentinels hadn't yet replaced the destroyed.

The X-Men were starring at what Ryder had reclaimed. It put the dots together for Wolverine and Storm, though was a sight, to be sure; Wolverine actually smirked. Xavier and Cyclops were reminded of the stuff she had gathered after running away from Umbra, though Xavier was more eyeing Ryder herself; not liking the implications of her words as they pertained to his old friend, and Cyclops' attention was half internal; Magneto's closing words stirring his guilt.

Storm half-turned back towards the jet, then paused. "Professor. Would you say it is an opportune time for one of us to see the life Magneto has made here?"

"Yes, in fact I do. We can collect you on our way back."

"Actually, we won't be making that way. Hank will have to hit the work bench, again." He had noticed among the jet debris the device they had been delivering to Moira. It was a delicate sort, and Cyclops was pretty sure the damage had been incurred when the sentinel had destabilized the jet. "And we might need you for cover," he added to Storm. "According to Magneto, sentinel encounters are likely around here."

"Another time," Storm then agreed with a hint of wistfulness, as they made to re-board the jet.

"Back home then, I guess. You up for flyin' this thing? I can't stand playin' co-pilot."

In answer, Cyclops proceeded to the cockpit. Though with his hand on the chairback, he paused, looking back to where Xavier was situating himself. "I'm sorry, Professor." He summed up what had happened.

"No lasting harm seems to have been done," he stated forgivingly, his eyes returning to Ryder who clearly was no worse for wear. "To either of you, anyway." This was in reference to the remains of the sentinel.

The lightness of his comment didn't land for Cyclops, and he just took his seat. Another question came into his head though, which he voiced: "You knew something happened through Jean, didn't you?"

"Yes. Either she or Hank should be be monitoring communications for our word."

Cyclops nodded. He'd get the message out they were fine and returning once the jet was in the air.
He and Storm proceeded to engage it for take off.

Once they were at quiet cruising altitude, Xavier spoke to Ryder: "Merely an object of interest, or a reminder of which one of you came out of the confrontation?" he asked of her prize, indicating it via a nod towards the jet's cargo area. It was an indirect way of asking Ryder how her first encounter with a sentinel has left her feeling.

Ryder ignored the looks of shock and subtle fear as she loaded her sentinel core into the cockpit. She took a seat near the front of the jet so she could fly through the glass if another one of those machines got the drop on her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that there had to be a reason that she couldn’t detect the sentinel on its approach. And there was usually only one explanation for why that was the case. The same reason Wolverine was ultimately unreadable, unbeknownst to Ryder so far.

She wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with the old man. Not that she was ever in the mood for a conversation.

”I’m gonna take it to pieces,” she said. ”Break it open and see if it’s useless or not.”

Xavier quietly smiled. For as much as he'd been around youth in his time, he didn't need to be a telepath to know when one didn't desire to talk; even one as otherwise incomparable to the usual as Ryder. He could tell, too, she was mulling something over. Really that could be described as her personality. It was clear since they first met she was the type who lived in her mind. How, really, could she be anything else given the way her "life" was.

All things considered, though, Xavier couldn't help feeling a kinship. A thinker like himself. An analyzer.
If she gave him the time of day, and had the emotional awareness, she might've picked up on what of his deep relief that she was safe was showing on his face.

He left her to whatever mental analytics she had going on in the present moment, and turned his head towards a side window. Only to shift attention forward in the next second as, Storm providing cover, there wasn't anything to see out anywhere besides the cockpit windows, where infrared view had been engaged.

Xavier wasn't really interested in taking in his surroundings, anyway. Prompted by Ryder into a place of his own mind. Though he came to observe when Cyclops made an attempt to communicate to the Mansion. There was no response.

He and Storm exchanged a look. Though really, there could be any of a number of reasons why Jean or Beast may've been taken away from monitoring the lines. At least as many reasons as they had kids at the school.

As they flew on, however, Scott started to feel unsettled. Somehow in a way that seemed divorced from his rationale. He found the feeling growing the closer they came to home, and by the time they were descending towards the Mansion -Storm's fog long since cleared- he had both an answer and a further question about it.

The Mansion grounds were not as they'd left them.

"What the hell happened here?"

Multiple trees were felled. There were divots the length of trenches in places. The water in the lake seemed lower.
Was this the result of some students' powers, or the students themselves, getting out of control?

Another look was exchanged between Cyclops and Storm.
Neither thought that to be the case.

They skipped the hanger and came to land straight on the grass behind the Mansion so they could check things out directly.

One of the balconies laid in ruin, as well,

"Hank. What happened?" Scott demanded as soon as he saw the beastly X-Man coming towards them.

"Was anyone hurt?"

There was one in the return party who wouldn't require his explanation.
As Ryder disembarked from the jet, it would be as though, with each step, she was wading into a memory.

It would play out before her as though someone had started a film in her brain and her eyes were the projectors, the scenes hers alone to see, and not by anyone's intent; an imprint which psychically filled the air.

Vehicles not only halted and brought down, but deconstructed. Reassembled into crude, new vessels around those who had vacated them, their transport now becoming their prisons --flung around like playthings. There was a certain control to these volleys. They weren't intended to pulverize those inside, only bang them up. Just the start of a ploy to scare them--terrify them into waking up to what could, easily, happen.

Ryder would further see, as if it were a digital rendering of a possible scenario, transparent bricks jetting out from the Mansion's walls to become projectiles --narrowly missing heads, missing limbs; to become other possible prisons --threatening burials as would-be runners were suddenly made to forget how to move their legs, and they'd trip, staring up at the bricks they waited to come down upon them.

There would be no doubt to Ryder's mind that these "projections" were in fact what had happened. Evidence since erased by the bricks' return to their starting points, the Mansion made whole again. Though much grass was trampled or torn up.

What Ryder was witnessing had been, you could say, Jean Grey's game of chess.
Umbra operatives had come to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, seeking one in particular, and Jean Grey had showed them a few different ways this game could play out. Showed them in a mixed theoretical and literal way: besides the aforementioned scenarios, helicopter blades were detached, turned on their sides and made to come at former pilots like saws --tearing up the ground though no flesh. Spheres of lake water encasing their heads like perverted diving helmets, starving them of their oxygen, though not too far.

When she was through with the mixed mental/physical game, she went full mental.

Inverting fear as she caused them to see each other as Ryder. To let them sit with the knowledge of how merciless their colleagues could be towards their "target", and feel the terror of being that target themselves. Their weapons forced on each other, even fired, though the projectiles controlled. Thrown away with the illusions as instantly as if someone had snapped their fingers to bring daydreamers to attention.

In other words, Jean literally only scratched their surfaces. Ultimately fighting them with psychological warfare; shaking them to the cores that might've been thought nonexistent within them. Playing it all as merely a demonstration game. Nothing besides superficial wounds being actually inflicted, physically speaking. Though psychically, in every case, Jean Grey made certain they wouldn't just be left to imagine the myriad horrors that could've befallen them. Using a trick of the mind she'd had them feel as though they had gotten crushed by metal prisons; hacked by helicopter blades; buried by bricks; shot with whatever weapons they were packing; or flattened into bloody pulps by tree trunks used like natural hammers striking humanoid nails.

Ryder would perceive these psychic remnants as impossible-to-ignore though vague sensations of discomfort in the relative places of her own body, with a final one being like a mild loosening of limbs akin to turning a screwdriver not even one full turn on a screw. Enough to demonstrate that it could keep going and unseat the screw, yet not actually causing any disconnection. Jean Grey had reminded her combatants that, just like her work on the Mansion's facade, she could tear them limb from limb if she so chose. She could've done everything in their minds, yet wanted them to know she wasn't merely an illusionist, hence the tandem work with her telekinesis.

Finally, Ryder would see how Jean had brought down the balcony. She wouldn't perceive an image of Jean, but by the residual emanations of power it would be clear that's where she had been standing the entire time. The only act that didn't seem intentional, hence it requiring reconstruction; not something she could simply return to place like the bricks.

And this, along with the few felled trees and stretch of scratched earth, was the only evidence of what had transpired that anyone else could see.

The visuals and sensations, the lingering potential of Jean Grey's power, hung in the air for only Ryder to perceive.
Beyond even the perception of the more developed telepathic mind to whom hers was related, as this potential was of the kind she, herself, had realized back in the Black Forest.

In other words, it was as though Ryder's mind had looked into a mirror. It wasn't a clear reflection. Yet there on the surface was a handprint hers could fit against.

A recognition that Jean Grey and Ryder, if only in this one respect, weren't so different.
Except for the choices they made with their power,
and the impact those choices had on them.

The Beast had finished summarizing the event in as much time as it took Ryder to experience it. Now he concluded with the only information that sat outside of that experience: "Jean managed to telekinetically break her fall, but seemed, then, in a different place mentally. She having already reassembled the Umbra aircraft sometime earlier in her display, they took advantage of the moment to retreat as suddenly as they had assaulted --which fortunately hadn't been so sudden that we couldn't gather the students in the Disaster Shelter."

"Where is she?!"

"Laying down in the main library. I've already--"

He didn't get to finish. Cyclops was already hurrying there.

"They're going to come back. . ." He -and anyone else who came- would find Jean speaking in a low tone.
"They're going to come back and now they know all they have to account for. . ."

She didn't know what terrified her more:

• the thought of how they might go about doing that,
  or how, given she could've stopped them from getting away with this knowledge, whether by simple detainment or by following through
• the thought that she should've.

All of the psychic feedback that Ryder got from this disaster might've elicited something akin to sympathy or relief that no one had actually been killed. Umbra's soldiers were impeccably trained, after all. They were equipped to kill anyone that stood in their way, and they were not at all shy about attacking children. But Ryder wasn't sympathetic. She walked through the mansion and observed the real destruction that had occurred, following after Cyclops.

She walked into the library, and she was fucking disappointed.

Anger was not the word to describe her feelings. Anger was for people that weren't used to being wronged. Anger was for people who had the freedom to distinguish between right and wrong. No, what Ryder felt was the same thing she had felt for her entire life, violent.

Ryder was raised like an animal in a cage. She knew at the end of the day that she wouldn't be safe until the thing that caged her no longer existed.

Jean should've known they were serious when they came here. Jean had the chance and she spared a predator.

"What kind of fucking "mutant sanctuary" are you running here, where you let those fucking people get loose?!" She shouted, the moment Jean came into view. "You could've killed them all, and now they know what you're fucking capable of! How stupid do you have to be?!" She was fuming. These people didn't understand what it meant to fight for survival, to have everything held just out of reach until it was taken by force.

Ryder knew they'd come for her eventually, but the fact that these idiots were so full of themselves that they'd act like they were a big deal for mutants only to fold this easily... It pissed her off. If she was this weak, then Ryder wouldn't be freed from Umbra.

"Now they're going to come back. I'll do it my own damn self." Ryder turned and walked out, leaving them to figure things out alone.

Xavier had been observing Ryder. For his own part, he could sense an indescribably strong output of psychic energy had occurred here, and had the feeling Ryder received, shall we say, much more than a sense. That was something to pursue, whether in thought or conversation, later. More pressing were the emotions stirred thereafter. He watched his daughter stalk after Cyclops, though trusted her emotional state, for the moment, to his X-Men -Wolverine having also headed inside; in part knowing how Jean would be feeling right now, and in part because he didn't like the aggression emanating from the younger psychic.

"Hank, how long ago was the departure?"

"Long enough that we would be looking for fog in a cloud, to turn a phrase. It was Jean who sounded the alarm, not our airspace surveillance system.
If both our aircraft weren't in the field at the time, pursuit could've been considered."

"Very well. See to the students with Ororo," he gave a directing nod to Storm.

"I'd been about to deliver the all-clear when I heard the blackbird's approach," Hank responded by way of affirmation as he went off with Storm.

At as best a pace as he could, Xavier then headed into the Mansion.
Though he had a different destination in mind than the library.

---

Cyclops, while still on the way there, removed the upper -blood stained- portion of his uniform, then slowed his pace once he came to the door so as not to burst in.

Jean was laying on a sofa with one arm across her forehead.
The other almost clutching her midsection.

She looked up from her muttering as Scott came to kneel in front of her.
Jean didn't need him to say anything to know he knew what she was talking about. She saw it in his face.

She opened her mouth to say something,
but it was Ryder's voice that was heard.

"That wasn't the pla-" Jean -easing into a sitting position- started to assert, but Ryder wasn't giving her a chance to get a word in edgewise. Instead Jean listened with a bothered expression that clearly conveyed she didn't need Ryder to throw these words at her: they were already exactly what were going through her head. A lion kicked when it's down.

Scott couldn't take it.
In one motion he was up and facing Ryder --you didn't need to see his eyes to know he was glaring. The contortions of his face, tensing of his muscles, closing of his fists. His emotions were clear. Yet figuratively he bit his tongue. Wrestling, in the span of seconds, with what you could call an imagined chain of reaction. "You don't know a damn thing you're talking about!" he wanted to close the distance between and say straight to her face. Yes- Ryder certainly did when it came to the Umbra agents. But no- she certainly did not when it came to Jean. Nor "these people", had he been able to know what her present thoughts were on them. Fight for survival? Have everything held just out of reach until it was taken by force? Her life and theirs weren't painted by so different a brush, only in different shades.

But next in the chain would be Ryder's reaction to his, and honestly where would that go?
No place productive. More likely counter-so.

Ryder's parting words shifted things, however, and he did begin to stride after her-

Wolverine, knowing as better as Cyclops, hadn't stopped Ryder despite wanting to sort her out himself for calling Jean stupid.
But he did get in the way of Scott -"Get off! Ryder loose on a revenge spree is the las--"

"I'll head off whatever needs to be. Take care of your own business." He cast a look of certain care towards Jean, and left.
He had a feeling about something that he blamed Scott for. Forget about "it takes two to tango".

"I didn't mean for this outcome--I. . ." Some mix of desperation and anger flashed in her eyes. "I just wanted this all to finally stop."

He looked down to where both her hands now clutched, bringing one of his to hers and the other to her upper arm at the same time he looked back up to speak, but his lips hardly had a chance to move when Jean spoke again: "There was zero sense to my actions! This will become a wildfire." Her eyes shifted back and forth as if the scenes were already playing out before them. "-I don't know what came over me. . ." she admitted in a whisper. Fear flooding over her previous emotions.

"Jean, listen to m-"

"It was like years ago. . .though I didn't feel the Phoenix with me. . ." finally, she met his "eyes" again. "Maybe that was more me than we'd thought."

In an instant he was holding her close. "That was never you."

"This was."

"-was not the same. You kept in control, here." He could feel her shaking her head against his. "We're going to. Ryder has the right idea making the next move ahead of theirs." Jean pushed out of the embrace.

"We can't let a confrontation between them happen again."
She fought to interrupt the memory of the last time, already feeling sick.

"Without question. Which makes Ryder herself the fallout we'll be fighting against."

"There's no way we can convince her we'll handle this." She was speaking around how they'd likely really be fighting Ryder. Her hand rising to her forehead as she stepped aside from Scott, needing to move yet halting right after; her thoughts manifesting in her body: where could they move from here?

---

"Hey, kid!" Wolverine caught up with Ryder. "If you're thinkin'a recreatin' that scene you left back in the forest, you should know: it could've been mistaken for one of mine." He gave her a significant look. "You're not the only one who's got a penchant for exacting revenge. And I don't got Jeannie's moral compass, either. So, anything else that might be good to know about Umbra? I mean if that prison of yours was only one facility housing those 'roaches, you can't be in two places at once. . .Though I wouldn't put it past ya'."

Ryder didn’t stop walking. So Wolverine would just have to keep up with her. During the time she had spent here so far, Ryder didn’t see or walk through much of the mansion in person, but through her powers, she had the layout of the place memorized like the back of her hand. It was as simple as following directions on a map to her.

Wolverine’s bragging got on her nerves. Really? He thought he was remotely comparable to her? Him asking about Umbra was a step further than what she was willing to entertain. Ordinarily, she would just go off and do it herself, but these idiots were here, and more likely to get themselves killed than her. Admittedly, Ryder didn’t care that much, yet logically speaking, it was ideal since she planned on taking advantage of their naive generosity. Ryder wasn’t so blinded by anger that she couldn’t understand see a tactical advantage for what it was.

One hallway after another, she went deep into the mansion, until

She turned and opened the door to a space full of machines used to make things for the X-Men’s use. The Blackbird, their security systems, whatever they needed to be the so-called heroes of the day. Immediately, things from an adjacent storage room began flying towards her, floating around with her psychic powers.

”They only care for themselves and their disgusting little project,” She explained to Logan. A CNC machine whirred to life, as metal plates were tossed into it to cut some strange design out.

”They wanted something perfect, something they could use for their fucking goals.” Heavy capacitors and conductor coils orbited one another, strands of high-gauge wire slinked through transistors, and entire circuit boards were loaded up with microchips from the room’s reserves. Everything slowly melded together like watching a planet form out of cosmic debris.

The metal parts flew across the room, accompanied by bolts and plates of stock glass. ”They’ve got more than they let on, because they keep secrets from everything. They thought I didn’t know, but I know everything about them. They wanted a fucking weapon.”

Drill bits flew towards her, spinning up to an absurd speed and punching holes in the metal shapes with a precision that Ryder hadn’t demonstrated before. Bolts and screws were layered into them with metal brackets. And as if to punctuate her statement, everything slid together as if she were completing a thousand-puzzle in one fell swoop. A chain reaction of components finding a point of rest, all in the shape of a weapon.

A rifle.

”So I’m going to show those maggots what happens when they make a weapon they can’t control.”