CHAPTER 161: MASKS AT MIDNIGHT
Kitty Pryde's front yard was quiet, too quiet for how many battles had just been fought. The Blackbird crouched on the street like some alien bird, its engines cooling with a hiss.
Charles wheeled forward, smile soft. "We are grateful for your courage tonight, Katherine. You saved us all."
Kitty, clutching her backpack to her chest, managed a nod. "I… I didn't even think. I just… did it."
Logan crouched beside her, eye-level, his rough face unexpectedly gentle. "That's the way it works, kid. You think too long, you end up dead. You did good."
Her lips trembled, and then — the tears she'd been holding back spilled. She buried her face in his shoulder. Logan let her. He didn't hug her back, not exactly, but he stayed there steady as steel.
Colossus smiled, boyish and soft in the porchlight. "You are already one of us, Katya. Whether you know it or not."
"Da," Thunderbird muttered, crossing his arms. "But she should have a chance to grow up first."
Jean brushed Kitty's hair with a motherly hand. "You'll have that choice when you're ready, sweetheart. Tonight, go inside. Be safe."
Kitty sniffled, nodded, and ran to the door. Her parents appeared, worried but relieved. They waved thanks as the X-Men climbed back into the jet.
---
Back aboard, Storm leaned toward Alison Blaire. "So, Dazzler — perhaps you will join us? You saw tonight the kind of battles we fight. Your gifts would be invaluable."
Alison shook her head, glitter still caught in her lashes. "Look, you're all… incredible. But I'm not a soldier. I'm a singer. The stage is where I belong, not a battlefield."
Nightcrawler twirled his tail lazily, perched on a seatback. "Zat is understandable, ja. But if you ever change your mind…" He bowed with a grin. "Ze X-Men are a family."
Alison smiled faintly. "And I already have one — it's just dressed in sequins."
The Blackbird roared into the night sky, leaving Kitty and Dazzler behind.
---
New Mexico
The desert baked under the sun. A mansion of pale stone rose out of the sand like some mirage — the home of Warren Worthington III. Angel.
He greeted them on the landing pad, wings spread wide, golden in the sun. "Welcome to my little hideaway, friends! Always a pleasure."
Inside, the house was cool, rich with art and light. But Cyclops was restless, visor tilted down, jaw set.
"Warren," he said, "I need a word. In private."
Angel arched a brow but nodded. "Of course." He swept Scott up in his arms with ease, wings catching the wind, and carried them into the barren mountains.
Below, Xavier watched them depart, eyes narrowing. Why here, Scott? Why so far from home?
---
They landed on a rocky cliff, wind tearing at their jackets. Scott adjusted his visor, staring into the endless desert.
"It's the Hellfire Club," he said.
Warren frowned. "What about them?"
"Everything we've faced lately — Emma Frost, the ambushes — it's them. Someone on the inside knows everything about us. Our powers, our weaknesses. Even the mansion isn't safe. I needed distance."
Warren exhaled. "Hellfire Club… Scott, I'm a member. Social only. I've never seen or heard anything like this."
"Then they're hiding it even from you," Scott said, grim.
Warren paced, feathers ruffling. "There's a gala in New York next week. Black tie. If you're willing to dress the part, I can get you in. Maybe you'll find the proof you're looking for."
Scott nodded. "We'll be ready."
---
One week later.
New York City burned with light. Limousines crowded outside the Hellfire Club's brownstone mansion, tuxedos and gowns glittering under chandeliers.
A sleek car pulled up, and the X-Men stepped out transformed. Cyclops in a sharp tuxedo, Jean in a scarlet gown that shimmered like fire. Colossus in a tailored suit, Thunderbird glowering in his crisp black tie. Storm radiant in white silk, her cape flowing like liquid light.
They entered in pairs: Scott and Jean arm-in-arm, Ororo with Colossus, Thunderbird walking alone with a scowl.
Inside, the Club glittered — chandeliers, violins, masks hiding smiles too sharp to be friendly. What the X-Men didn't know was that cameras already tracked their every move.
Beneath, in the sewers, Nightcrawler splashed through the dark with Logan at his side.
"Smells like Satan's latrine down here," Logan muttered. He sniffed, claws sliding out with a soft snikt. "But these cables — they're live. Insulators only. We cut the sleeves, wires'll fry the whole place when we want."
"Clever," Kurt said. "Remind me never to play cards with you. You cheat dirty."
"Only way to win, elf." Logan slashed, sparks lighting the dark for a moment. "Now let's move."
They crept beneath the club, silent predators. But as soon as Kurt climbed through a grate, a hand like steel clamped his throat. Donald Pierce, half-man half-machine, sneered down.
"Caught a rat," he growled.
Kurt choked, tail lashing.
Logan lunged up behind, claws flashing, slicing through the cyborg's arm with a spray of sparks.
But another shadow loomed — Harry Leland, smug in a waistcoat, power rolling off him. "Down, beast."
Logan's body turned to lead. His muscles screamed as his weight doubled, tripled. He snarled, straining, but the floor cracked first.
CRASH!
The tiles gave way, and Logan plunged back into the sewer storm waters, swallowed by darkness.
Above, violins swelled, and on the dance floor Jean Grey spun in Scott's arms, smiling like a queen.