Glasgow, Scotland
Then

A man in a plain black t-shirt and jeans with a gunmetal gray leather jacket walked under the oppresively gray skies over George Square. The clouds threatened rain, as they always do. The young blond man crossed towards a park bench, where his contact waited, dressed as always in a black trench coat, slacks, a wrinkled white shirt and a loose tie. He possessed a five o’clock shadow and as he leaned back against the bench, sunglasses hiding his eyes, he casually smoked a Silk Cut cigarette. The blond sat beside him and the two men were silent for a few moments, staring out at the statues of Robert Burns.

“So why Scotland?” asked the blond, his accent unmistakably American. “Run out of friends in your homeland?”

“Runnin’ out of friends everywhere, it seems,” said the man in the trench coat, speaking with an English accent. “Made me wonder why you asked to meet with me, Summers. You bailed on X-Corps at a time when we were in a bind. Next thing I know, I’m seein’ stories about you tossin’ CNN correspondants out of buildings.”

Alex Summers sighed. “As I recall, when Xorn, Stacy and I told you we were leaving, you gave us your blessing. Said you needed to cut down on numbers anyway.”

“Trying t’ be diplomatic,” said Pete Wisdom. “Truth of it was Bishop had issues with you when we were discussing recruits, felt your Brotherhood dalliances and your time in that other universe made you a loose cannon. So last thing I needed was an ‘I-told-you-so’ from that prick.”

Alex chuckled. “I take it you didn’t enjoy working with him?”

Wisdom groaned before taking a drag on the cigarette. “Every time we disagreed on something, he’d always pull that ‘I’m from the future so I know what’s best’ cryptic bullshit. You try working under those conditions.”

“Good point,” said Alex. “X-Corps didn’t really work out the way we hoped, though. I heard about what happened.”

Wisdom scoffed. “You and the rest of the bleeding world. “‘X-Corporation Funds Mutant Militia.’ Not exactly the most flattering headline. Worthington shut us down after that to maintain deniability. He’s mostly stayed quiet since then, helped out the Avengers to try and get some positive press. The X-Men have mostly been quiet, well except for you.”

“The war is getting worse, we both saw that with X-Corps,” said Alex. “But now they’re gone and the X-Men have been really quiet. Someone’s got to stand up for mutantkind.”

“What’s with the sales pitch? You askin’ me to join you?”

Alex shook his head. “You did your tour, you deserve a break. I’m only asking you to keep an eye on what we do.”

“So what, I’m your contingency plan?” asked Wisdom.

Alex gave a hesitant nod. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. If something happens to me, I need to know that someone with a likeminded worldview and approach will take the reins. Someone with the ability to pull together their own team and run their own operations.”

They sat in silence again. Wisdom contemplated the offer as he stared at the statue, a pigeon landing on Burns’ head. When it flew off, a white streak slid down the bronze statue. Wisdom extracted the pack of cigarettes from his coat and held it to his companion.

“Smoke?”

“No thanks. Those things’ll kill you, Pete.”

“We all die some day, Alex.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Alex Summers stood and looked down at Wisdom. “I’m not asking you for an answer right now. Just think it over, I’ll be in touch.”

Wisdom nodded.

“Give my regards to Betsy.”

Wisdom slyly smiled. “Give ‘em yourself, she’s been monitoring this whole conversation.” He saw the incredulous look on Alex’s face and snickered. “Oh come on, Summers. You didn’t really think I’d come to a meeting with a known terrorist without back-up, did you?”

“Don’t ever change, Wisdom,” said Alex as he turned away and began to walk towards Queen Street Station. “Your paranoia’s your most endearing quality.”

ALPHA & OMEGA

Part I

By Desmond Reddick and Dino Pollard

Genosha
Now

The abandoned airport that served as the base of operations for the X-Men had been abandoned once more as of late when the team was betrayed and captured by the very man who brought them together—Alex Summers himself. But now, the team had escaped from the blacksite prison called Sandstorm and came back in time for Magneto to discover them.

Now, Erik Lehnsherr sat at that round table, the red and purple helmet associated with the name Magneto resting on its metal surface. Rachel Summers was still comatose, lying in the team’s medical facility not far. Gambit sat across the table from Magneto, and as he told the tale, his red eyes were focused on nothing in particular, just sort of staring off into space.

“Honestly don’t know how you did it, Magnus, but that team you sent after us was somet’in’ else,” said Gambit. “That was some nice forethought on your part.”

“LeBeau, I never sent any team,” said Magneto.

“How’s that possible?” asked Warpath, leaning over the table with his hands braced on the surface. “We saw ‘em. Psylocke sprung us and pointed us in Gambit and Lila’s direction. She told us to go on without her, some sort of psychic attack or something.”

“Soon as Xorn healed me, I opened up a portal here to get us away from there,” said Lila. “Psylocke said Rachel was in a psychic coma, and I didn’t wanna risk staying there with her. Maybe we should’ve gone back…”

“You cannot blame yourself,” said Magneto. “But I never sent any team after you. This prison you mention, I never knew of it. The government gave no indication of where you were located because of fear that it would invite retaliation. I already tipped my hand when Storm and her team attacked, if I had pushed the United States for more information, it may have damaged Genosha’s current standing in the international community.” Magneto sighed. “What of the others? Ecstasy, Skullfire, and Avalanche?”

“We are not sure, but it is perhaps safe to assume they are with Psylocke’s team,” said Xorn, his voice echoing inside his metal helmet.

“Dere’s more,” said Gambit. “The man in charge of Sandstorm? Ahmet Abdol.”

Magneto groaned. “The Living Monolith. Last I heard, he’d been exiled to space. I thought—or perhaps prayed is a better phrasing—him dead.”

“Yeah well, if there’s one t’ing you should know better than anyone, it’s that the dead don’t alway stay that way,” said Gambit.

“Indeed,” said Magneto.

Warpath stood and crossed his arms. “So what’s our next move?”

Magneto rubbed his chin as he thought about that. “A pertinent question, one I will have to consider. Remy, please take Lila to the medical bay.”

“But I’m fine,” said Lila.

“Just in case,” said Magneto. “With everything that’s happened lately, we will have to determine whether or not this is a venture worth continuing.”

Washington, DC

Dressed in a perfectly-tailored suit, the young black man walked through the front doors of the Department of State building. He walked right up to the front counter, where a security guard stood to meet his gaze.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Ian Munn,” he said.

“Your name?”

“Randall Kitson.”

The guard nodded and picked up the phone. He dialed the extension and waited. Once the call was answered, he explained the situation and once he gave Kitson’s name, Munn wasted no time in approving him. The guard hung up the phone and looked at the visitor.

“You can go on ahead,” he said. “He’s in—”

“I know,” said Kitson as he walked from the counter. He rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and found the appropriate office with IAN MUNN on the name plate outside the door. Without even knocking, Kitson entered.

“Good to see you, Ian,” said Kitson with a smile.

“Mr. Kitson,” said Munn, although he didn’t seem happy to see the mutant bounty hunter. “Or should I call you Lockdown?”

Kitson smirked and helped himself to the vacant chair in front of Munn’s desk. “I’m here for some information. Tell me what I need to know and you can consider your debt repaid.”

Munn sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

Kitson reached inside his jacket and drew a smartphone. On it, he brougt up a photo of his target and passed the device to Munn. “I’ve been hired to locate this woman. Stacy Leevald.”

Munn looked at the phone, studying the reptillian-like face of the woman. He handed it back to Kitson. “So why come to me?”

“Because Ms. Leevald currently goes by another name,” said Kitson. “Ecstasy. She was one of the mutants arrested in the DC attack.”

Munn sighed. “You’ll have to inform her parents that she’s a terrorist suspect and is currently in custody.”

“Where is she being held?” asked Kitson.

“That’s classified.”

Kitson waited for a few moments, studying Munn’s face. He was hiding something, that much the bounty hunter could tell. “You know you don’t want to hold out on me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Munn glanced around the room as he said those words.

Kitson nodded and stood. “Suit yourself. Just be aware that you still owe me that favor. And the longer you wait, the higher the interest on that debt rises.”

“Wait.” Munn hesitated after those words. Kitson smiled. A moment later, Munn gave up what he knew. “All I can tell you is that she’s not being held anywhere. There was a break-out. Really messy incident, too.”

“So where is she?”

Munn shrugged. “She’s escaped. No idea. That’s all I know, honest.”

Kitson nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

The Pentagon

“Where’s Bohannan?”

Malcolm Colcord sat behind a large, mahogany desk. The horizontal blinds on the window behind him were open, backlighting his head and making it difficult to see his face, and that was just how the scarred man preferred it. But for Emma Frost, it was a source of annoyance. What intrigued her, however, was that his mind was completely shielded from her considerable psychic abilities.

“He’s training the new recruits,” she said. Emma wore a suit as white as the snow, with a mini-skirt that left little to the imagination and thigh-high boots. Her top, if it could be called that, was more like a bodice and very low-cut. There was a jacket that went with her ensemble, but at the moment she had it draped over the chair in front of Colcord’s desk.

“Speaking of…” Colcord gently tossed a manila folder across the surface of his desk. Several photographs spilled from the folder, depicting shots of their recruits in action. “Your thoughts?”

“Oh, Malcolm…” Emma purred as she sauntered to the edge of his desk. She laid her palms flat on the surface and leaned forward. “I’m much more interested in what you think of them.”

Colcord steepled his fingers together. “I think your interest in me stems mostly from the fact that you can’t get inside my mind. Further, that not even horrific facial scarring will deter you from seeking out men in power, not because that is what turns you on, but because that is who you prefer to manipulate for your own ends.”

Emma crossed her arms over her barely-covered breasts and gave a little pout. “I see you’ve been studying my file.”

Colcord nodded. “I have. Now study the files of our recruits. I want them ready for action at a moment’s notice. Don’t fuck this up, Frost. If you do, you’ll have more than just me to answer to.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed and her tongue shifted between her teeth from side to side behind her closed mouth. Rather than toss out her own barb, she bent forward again and shuffled the photographs back into the folder. Once she finished, she scowled at Colcord.

“I’ll have you know I have been keeping a close eye on our recruits already, and they will soon be prepared for anything you throw them into. This team will be a force to be reckoned with.”

“They’d better, Emma. If Plan A fails, the X-Factor Initiative will recquire a swift and violent Plan B.”

“You worry too much, Malcolm. If the Omega Clan fails, the X-Factor Initiative will put a quick end to the X-Men.”

Colcord leaned back in his seat. “So you know where they’ve scampered off to.”

Emma shrugged as she stood, folder in hand. “Not yet, but with my psychic abilities and our little pet tracker downstairs, they’ll turn up fairly quickly.”

“Good. One last thing, Emma.”

She turned to see Colcord lean forward. His face, a ragged mass of scars, came into clear view. But it wasn’t his scars that made her flinch—she had seen his and much worse besides—rather it was the horrible smile stretched across his yellowed teeth.

“Put some fucking clothes on. This is the Pentagon, not a go-go cage.”

Emma quickly left his office, clutching the folder she’d taken from his desk. She didn’t turn around, but she could hear his muffled laughter as she walked down the hallway.

New Mexico

Originally a Hulkbuster base, the New Mexico military installation was later converted by Bastion into the base of operations for Operation: ZERO Tolerance. But later, thanks to the aid of Senator Kelly, the X-Corporation purchased it in secret and made it the central base of operations for the X-Corps.

Now with X-Corps defunct, the base was abandoned once more, and it was here that Pete Wisdom chose to set up this new team of X-Men as a base. Unfortunately, their first mission out, liberating Havok’s X-Men from captivity, did not go quite as planned. Although everyone was able to escape, so were other mutants held captive there. And only two of the old team accompanied Wisdom’s team.

After a night’s rest, Pete had the team wake early and gather around the table in the mess hall. He even prepared breakfast for everyone, something which everyone felt like telling Wisdom he shouldn’t have—and not in a good way. None would actually voice their displeasure, however.

“How’d you make this coffee, Wisdom? Dry out a turd then drop it in the filter?” asked Dominic.

Almost no one.

“There’s a diner about fifty miles down the road, feel free to walk,” said Wisdom. “‘Sides, it’s Turkish coffee. It’s supposed to taste like that.” He took a sip from his own steaming cup and once the coffee hit his tongue, his face contorted in such a way that it looked as if he’d just been kicked in the groin. Gently setting the cup on the table, he reached for his cigarettes.

“Eggs look good at least,” said John Allerdyce. He noticed the purple-haired Japanese woman setting a tea kettle on the stove. “You’re not eating, Psylocke?” He scooped some of the scrambled eggs onto his fork and shoveled them into his mouth. After two bites, he paused and reached for a napkin.

Betsy snickered. “I’ve been with Pete long enough to know he’s a bloody awful cook,” she said.

Stacy nearly gagged. “Never thought I’d miss the food from Sandstorm.”

“You can all just go straight to hell,” said Wisdom.

“Perhaps we should focus instead on the task at hand,” said Tessa. She was in uniform, complete with her technologically-enhanced red-tinted sunglasses. “Now that Sandstorm has been eliminated and the X-Men liberated, we need to determine our next move.”

Wisdom removed the cigarette from his lips and knocked off the loose ash into the tray. “Straight to business, Tessa. Why I like you.”

“Good question, though,” said Calvin Rankin. “What is happening now?”

“Some time back, Alex Summers got in touch with me. Said if things went tits up, he wanted me to take over in his stead,” said Wisdom. “This strikes me as very interesting, given his betrayal.”

“Mind control, of course,” said Fantomex. Like Tessa, he was in his uniform, a white bodysuit with a full face-mask and trench coat. “Given the amount of times you fall under some villain’s thrall, you’d think you’d start adopting counter-measures.”

“Well not all of us have—” Calvin paused in his sentence and then changed it to a question. “What are your powers?”

“I’m all things to all people,” said Fantomex.

“Could be mind control,” said Betsy. “Madelyne Pryor’s pretty powerful, and there was someone else involved as well. A very powerful psychic who called himself the Headmaster. He was controlling Stryker, and assuming his claim of being a student of the Shadow King is true, he would have been able to manipulate not only Stryker, but also Alex.”

“But we won’t know for sure, since that tosser Skullfire decided to fry Summers,” said Wisdom. “Which brings us to what happens now. We—”

“Stop,” said Tessa. “We have incoming.”

“Incoming?” asked Stacy. “Incoming what?”

Almost on cue, long tendrils broke through the ceiling, tearing a hole in the roof. Three figures stood there. One was a man with chalk-white skin and blond hair, dressed in red and with tentacles extending from his wrists. Another was a woman with short dark hair and tentacles extending from her chest, decked out in black. And the third was a man, but his head was encased in some sort of glass helmet that seemed to contain a blue energy. All three bore the omega symbol on their outfits.

“Incoming that,” said Tessa.

To be continued