Storm

She did not trust her companion. Storm had dealt with Masque too many times to trust the man. But given the situation, needs must...

When Masque had first come to her with a story about several of the new Morlocks going missing she had been skeptical. Her responsibilities to the Morlocks were no longer binding, she no longer lead the Morlocks, it had been years since she had that duty. And Masque was not to be trusted. But the idea of mutants going missing... that... that was not something to be ignored. Turning a blind eye led to tragedy. The mutants who went into a soup kitchen only to never come out?

Storm knew that their world was littered with sordid tales of evil men that used the illusion of good to cloak their vile deeds.

Men like Masque.

What made her agree to come was that when she had asked Jean Grey to use her psychic powers to scout the location, Jean could not find anyone in the building with her telepathy. A blank spot to someone as powerful as Jean Grey? That was a giant red flag.

Making sure to keep Masque in front of her Storm followed her fellow mutant to the building. She was surprised that Masque had told her to dress as a civillian, she was almost stunned when the man had eschewed his robes for an old beaten up fedora and a ripped and torn trench coat. His outfit blended into the crowd as he walked in the front door of the building.

Following behind Masque Storm looked over her stylish and new outfit. New boots, new jeans, new blouse, new coat all designed and created back at Forge's laboratory out of the same durable materials the X-men's costumes were made of. At the time it had seemed prudent, given Masque's untrust worthy nature. But now, as she walked toward a soup kitchen in a bad neighborhood, filled with people down on their luck? The outfit was out of place.

Storm jolted as something struck her. She reached for her exposed neck and felt something sticky and wet, already her skin itched. She crused herself for being foolish enough to take her mind off of her surroundings. First she stepped back, putting space between herself and Masque, second she called upon her power... she called upon her power... her power.... "W-what?"

"Good work Neg-8." Masque crowed. "Very good work." Masque laughed, "Having a little trouble, weather witch?"

"What have you done, Masque?" Storm demanded, readying herself for a physical fight. "What is this?"

Masque huffed, "Delirious, do your job."

Storm stepped to the right as the solid wall on her left wrippled and warped. Suddenly there were two teenage boys standing in its place. The young Hispanic boy had viscous liquid dripping from his fingers. Like the type of liquid that had been splattered on her. The young Asian boy beside him snapped off a mocking salute to Masque, then like many telepaths did he pressed his fingers to his temple.

Storm staggered. Something was wrong... something... she felt... strange... her head... why did she feel... drunk? She needed to flee. She had to... she had to get away. Storm tried to turn back toward the door but stumbled and fell against the wall behind her. She felt.... so dizzy... her head... so-

Storm collapsed.