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In the kitchen of a private residence overlooking Camden Lock, a young woman gasped in surprise as the full cup of coffee slipped out of her fingers and shattered across the floor.� She hesitated for a moment before stooping over to pick up the china fragments, unable to explain just why - the second she'd dropped the cup - her mind had been overwhelmed by blistering anger.

For a high-grade telepath such as Emma Frost, the psychic backlash of Jono's fury was a hundred times more intense.� Wincing from the klaxon-call ferocity echoing through her brain, the White Queen projected a message to the rest of the team to hurry over to the table.

<I don't know who this mentalist is, Angelo but if he doesn't get outta my face in the next five seconds ... >

Angelo tried to push his friend back down onto the seat but to no avail.� By now, the others had arrived on the scene, totally taken aback by Emma's telepathic summary of the events (and, in Jubilee's case, secretly delighting in the Soap Opera-esque dramatics of it all).� An unflappable Cal lazily examined them.

"Ah, you must be the mutant Massive.� Bang on schedule.� So nice to finally meet you in the flesh."� His cold eyes melted to slush as they impaled themselves on Monet's aloof features.� "Especially you.� Man, I can hardly wait until - "

The girl bristled as he ended the sentence with a lecherous laugh.� "And what, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?"

"Why should I spoil the plot, sweetheart?� So much nicer for you to wait and see, eh?"

<See?� Totally barkin'!>� Jono lunged forward and grabbed Cal by the lapels of his leather.� <I don't know what asylum you busted out of, pal but I'm tellin' you to piss off before I do something we both regret.>

A quarter of a mile up the road, the latent Psi steadied herself against the sink and tried to pass off the sudden inexplicable pang of psychotic aggression on PMS.� That was all it could be, right?

With a contemptuous sneer, Cal swatted his 'brother's' hand from his clothing and gave a pantomime yawn.� A red rag to a bull;� Chamber's fingers moved towards his facial bandages, no longer caring if any non-mutant happened to see him unleashing his psionic energy.

From his position behind Paige, Everett could just about see Emma's face - could see enough to read that her telepathy had discovered the same thing as his aura.

"Sit down, Jonothon!"� Emma was ordering.� "And shut up!� He's telling the truth."

Chamber's legs buckled underneath him.� Emotionally pole-axed, the youth crashed back onto the seat.

"It's true."� Everett stepped forward.� "I could read his aura as soon as he came in and the signature ... .� Well, his power's way different but the signature's fundamentally the same as yours."

The tall man gave a smirk of vindication and threw himself onto the bench opposite his devastated sibling.� Two filthy biker-boots banged onto the table as he lounged back, hands tucked behind his shaved head.

"Nothin' like a family reunion to make you thirsty."� He indicated towards Emma and grinned.� "You look like you're not short of wedge, darlin'.� Be a good girl and get this round in."

After the pub landlord had been kind enough to donate a bag of frozen peas to the 'reduce Cal's severely bruised jaw' appeal, the questions began in earnest.� At least, Jono's friends did the asking;� he just sat in murderous, dark silence, alternating his attention between the unfamiliar street and the arrogant freak cadging cigarettes and adoration off of his team-mates.� No matter what Emma's psioic insight and Everett's bloodhound deductions said, he knew this wasn't what it seemed.� Not for a moment.

For his part, Cal was counting down the seconds until Paige quizzed him on his favourite female hair colour.� After he'd answered 'Black' (and winked suggestively at a squirming Monet), he could finally get down to business.� Deep inside, a deflated sigh spasmed once and died.� Sometimes, existing on a different time scale to everyone else really sucked.

Three ... two ... one ...

"Black."� Wink.� Flinch from her gorgon-stare.� And don't forget the dramatic pause in which to have an enigmatic puff on the cigarette.� "But now we've been introduced, I need to ask your help."

Jonothon gave a sarcastic laugh.� <Like you didn't see that coming, guys!>

"Let's jest hear 'im out, son,"� Sean warned.

Artistic fingers tightened the leather support of his Tartar-style top-knot.� "There's some people after me.� I need you to take me back to America with you - to use your powers to throw 'em all off scent until I can disappear."

"On the run, huh?"� Jubilee studied his dyed black hair, his multiple piercings and the tribal tattoo carved onto the side of his head.� "Y'know, if I was tryin' not to draw attention to myself that's exactly how I'd look."

"And who're you on the run from?� Drug dealers?� Pigs?� Fathers with shotguns?"� Angelo threw a satisfied look at Jono as he leaned back into the chair.

Out on the street, a large 'Black Maria' pulled up opposite the pub.� Jono examined the ten or more occupants with curiosity.� Dressed like the filth but the demeanour ... the aura ... all wrong.� Every copper he'd ever met resonated a sense of holier-than-thou pomposity that made even the plain clothes boys stand out like a sore thumb.� Looking at the closed, almost emotionless faces in the van, he could feel nothing but a ripple of impending doom.

<I think we're about to find out.>

Cal's arrogant air imploded on a shock-wave of pure terror.� What little colour his complexion possessed ebbed into near transparency as he swung round to gaze out the window.

"Jesus wept!"� He leapt to his feet, panic reducing his movements to frantic twitches.� "I didn't see this coming!� Why didn't I see this coming?� You've gotta help me, Jono!� All of you!� I don't wanna go back there."

Jubilee tried to calm him down by offering their services but Sean insisted on knowing the full story;� as an ex-police officer, he wasn't prepared to aid and abet a possible felon, no matter whose brother he was.� By now, Cal was near hysterical, his eyes never leaving the vehicle out on the road.

"How d'you think I knew you lot'd be in here, huh?� The slaphead and the classy bird know, don't you?� You were on a mission in Africa helping out some bloke called Maggot.� Thought you'd spend a coupla days in London to take in the sights and cheer up gloom-boy here.� Ten hours 'til your flight leaves Heathrow."� He adopted Emma's refined, slightly jarring tone.� "'Take in one last place, Jonothon?'"� Cal laughed at Sean's amazement.� "I'm a pre-cog, Paddy O'Riley.� Amongst other things.� See glimpses of a possible future and react accordingly to make it happen.� And I've followed this all the way through but it's not working!"

"Ye still haven't answered me.� Why're the police after ye?"

More laughter, hysterical and choked.� Tears glistened in his cobalt blue eyes.� "Police!� If only!"

Outside, the double doors at the back of the van were flung open and the occupants jumped out into the street.� Amongst their number, previously unseen, was a willowy, unassuming brunette in figure-hiding grey fatigues.� She seemed troubled, guilty almost - an expression that deepened with every step closer to the pub.�

"I'll tell you who's after me, mate.� Those murdering bastards, Black Air!� Now, please - get me out of here!"

Dark shapes gathered outside the opaqueglass door.� A tiny slither of stale air breathed through the slight gap in the door - a slight gap widening by the second.

"Too late."� Emma allowed a portion of her mind to encompass those of the non-mutant occupants of the pub, altering their perceptions enough to allow Generation X maximum anonimity.� "They're here."

In a flat a thought away from the pub, a young woman popped two paracetamol on her tongue.� So much barbed tension scratching at the back of her eyes ... .� She swallowed the pills and staggered off to bed, drawing the cold pillow over her face.� What would it take to get rid of the pain?