Envisionings (2nd Edition) Part 5 ⛓👁

Blackness. . . .except for a domed, grey web. In the near distance, shapeshifting flashes,

like what goes on when you close your eyes after looking at light. The flashes move

further away, begin to dissipate, until all that remains is a reddish fizzle.

The red floods the space behind closed eyes, and Jean Grey opens hers to the sun, promptly having to reclose them.

She turns her head away before trying again; trying to get her bearings.

Awareness floods her mind as sound does her ears.

They were fortunate to have all but landed before they were hit apart.

"Scott?" She starts to push herself up. One arm is injured, so she shifts most of the effort to the other.

He's nowhere in sight. "Scott!"

Her resonant call isn't returned by even so much as a discernable stir.

Jean's attention shifts to the burning remains of their aircraft, though not panicked. She at least knows Scott isn't there.

It still has to be addressed.

Looking down at her hands, Jean turns them over -only so far on her injured side. She looks up to some of the broken metal and, aiming with her good arm, makes an attempt to telekinetically move it.

She can do so smoothly. Nothing shorting-out her powers like before.

This seems to give Jean a thought, but there's business to attend to first. Using her telekinesis she finds and deploys the jet's fire extinguishers.

Afterward, for good measure, she makes use of a small body of water, namely to dampen the surrounding environment; a telekinetic forcefield acting like a basin to transport the water through mid-air.

Jean's strength almost falls with the release of her last catch of water, like lowering a heavy box and dropping more than setting it down.

Flexing her hands again, Jean draws a collecting breath. Working with reduced* power is challenging when she needs it, yet a challenge she chose.

She can work with this power.

*Jean detached herself from her higher power when she descended back to Earth, after her time as a cosmic entity. This is explained in Envisionings (2nd Edition) Part 1!

Raising her hand now to her head, Jean shifts concentration to her other power.

If nothing is interfering with her telekinesis, nothing should get in the way of her telepathy, either.

. . .yet all she can detect of Scott is a residual mental signature. It's aside unfamiliar ones, but stands out clearly; a path she can follow. . .

. . .While we follow the story back to the X-Mansion, where someone else is having a less-than-direct experience finding what they seek.

Young Female: "Come on -which one of these actually turns this thing on..."

The voice of Storm is suddenly heard: "It won't engage without a passcode given only to X-Men."

We see we're in the Danger Room's Control Bay, where Jubilee now promptly turns around, caught, yet presses on with youthful energy: "See that's why I'm here! I thought I could be the newest member!"

Storm smiles. "You are not yet through with your academic studies."

"A junior" -the word seems disagreeable to her- "reserve member, then! I've been thinking of it since* Cyclops and Iceman were down --before that, but especially then since without them you guys were missing some of your long-range punching power!"

*For you, dear reader, the situation Jubilee references hasn't happened yet. For her and the X-Men, it happened a short while ago. Stay with our adventure and all will be revealed! ~Tra

She's spread her fists out down beside herself, intending to emit just a few controlled sparks in an emphasizing gesture --but in her enthusiasm the pyrotechnic energy-maker accidentally shoots out a few.

One finds its way to the Control Panel.

"Oh no! I didn't just short it out, did I?!"

"Given its surge protection I should think not."

Exhaling with relief, Jubilee rushes to finish her case before she does anything else: "So anyway -with Iceman and Rogue away visiting their folks right now and Cyclops off on a mission with Jean, not to mention Wolverine and Nightcrawler back to theirs, the X-Men are down quite a few numbers! So I thought I'd get some practice in in case something comes up before any of them get back!"

"Do you not already get practice through Cyclops' Danger Class?" Jubilee roles her eyes: "Sure, but that class is for kids. I say it's time I advance from class to the real thing! -Or well, the next thing closest to the real thing."

Storm almost laughs at Jubilee's endearing drive: "The X-Men's numbers are still fine," -Jubilee's face falls, thinking Storm will disregard her wish- "but one so eager ought to have an opportunity to test themselves. If it is 'real' practice you want, you can have some with me. To blow off some of that excess energy," she adds, not critically, pointing to Jubilee's hands, "if nothing else."

"Score!" She punches the air, this time successful in distributing only a few, superficial accent sparks. "Thanks, Storm!"

"Go in ahead," Storm directs, while she moves to program the sim.

And while an X-Man hopeful enters the unreal expanse of the Danger Room, we return to the very real, close quarters of the X-Men's leader's Confinement Room.

While the chains didn't allow for him to lie down, Cyclops can at least sit back. Take further burden off himself by leaning against the walls, which he presently does. Letting his body recover from the latest session.

As he did so, he participated in one of his "alone-time" activities: active listening. It had yet to amount to much. The only sounds that really told him anything, the only ones that ever rewarded his dedication, were the echoing tread of his captors' footsteps as they neared his cell for another go.

The sessions were frequent -how frequent, he didn't know. How long had he been in this place, already?- and always involved the mutant called Perish affecting his body in some way. Not always did his muscles falter or his senses disconnect. That "full body experience" seemed to be a one-off. All times afterward the affects were more concentrated, systematic. In fact feeling more like a scale, where between depletion and ill-feeling excess was this strange middle ground where he actually felt sharper in specific respects; more conditioned. Even amped.

By each session's close the state of his body would be returned to how it was before they started, technically, though he never felt exactly the same then as he did at the onset. His body was being put through the wringer. For science. That much he did know.

Though besides the physiological variations, the sessions followed the same pattern exactly: Enter; Force him down (he just assumed the position himself; save himself the man-handling); Swap out his visor for their contraption; Affect his body; Force him to blast; Pause Blasting; Inject him with something; Affect his body again while blasting resumes; Cease blasting; Replace his visor (why not just keep their contraption on and save themselves that step?); Return his body to pre-session state; Leave.

As soon as he'd learned the pattern Cyclops started planning; another of his alone-time activities.

The next time they came, he was ready.

"Tell me what you're doin' with Jean?" He demanded. If things went right he'd find out for himself, though he couldn't give them any indication of this.

The third beat to the sequence -swapping out his visor- was about to occur. He would have only a fraction of a chance to act before the contraption was placed, and working within that fraction of time the X-Man known as Cyclops did what he typically must never do--opened his eyes unguarded--

--KKZK-ZHOOOOOOMM!!!!!--

--with a precision tilt of his head Cyclops focused his wild, untrammeled blast --ricocheting it back and past the two startled scientists --shattering the cross-section of his chains!

He turns his eyes on Perish, then-- having felt it when it dropped from the startled scientist's hand --grabs his visor, slipping it over his presently closed eyes while he shoves the scientists back with his other arm --blasting them now he has full control.

For all he knows they're not mutants; an unmitigated blast would've hit them differently than it hit Perish.

Suddenly-- CHOOOOHHM

A beam comes through the door hitting him squarely in the back-- --Cyclops is thrown head-on into the back wall, and the Enigmatic Voice can be heard again: "Perish! Reverse your disadvantage. . ."

The heap on the floor that is now Perish manages still to reach out a gaunt hand, and the pained shake of it gradually steadies as Cyclops now falters; his mind suddenly running slow. . .his muscles, once again, failing to do what he needs them to, if he could even think through the descending mental fog on what that is; his vision fading away. . .

. . .this time ahead of his consciousness.

The Enigmatic Figure steps into the room. He surveys the two knocked-out scientists and the one fallen X-Man, looking from the former -"Fools"- to the latter. .

"A few simple adjustments won't have that happening again." . .yet he seems to have enjoyed that little show; a sadistic grin forming across his shadowed jaw.

"We'll give these two time to recover," he states with mild derision, "then continue on our regular schedule."

He strides out. . . and so too do we leave the X-Men's unconscious leader, to reconvene with Jean Grey; trying to reach that very consciousness.

Day has long given way to night as Jean finally comes up on a road, while the vestiges of Cyclops' residual psychic signature finally fade completely from her detection.

Even as they do, Jean is overcome with a sense of more. Her face reflecting some torment as she knows something is happening to him, though not what, and not where.

'Scott!' She calls out psychically, urgently. 'Where are you?'

While he hadn't heard the mention of "simple adjustments", Cyclops -rechained- became cognizant of one upon waking. Something was now stuck in his arm where they usually injected him, except in this case, in the opposite arm.

Cognizance of the second adjustment would come in the pattern of the next session: ahead of their swapping out his visor, Perish now placed him in a depleted state. Though it seemed he would still be returned to baseline in between sessions, Cyclops was smarter than to attribute that to mercy.

It was the same reason he now understood why they always returned his visor to him.

Even with strength in his body -diminishing though it was to attrition- he had no power; they wanted him to see, even with his visor, he had no control.

He reasoned they kept his mind clear, as well, so he could adequately take in this dismal state of affairs. . .But a mind had more agency than a body bound. . .

'Jean. . .If you are in here, I think I'd know given what we have. . . So then where? . . and are you safe. . .'

He concentrated. Trying to see if he could tap into their psychic rapport; find the hallway between their minds. . .like he did unconsciously the last time* things were dire. . .

*For you readers, that time's still to come. Stay tuned! -Tra

. . .but he didn't feel anything. Save for a growing anxiety.

No control.

'What's happening while I'm here. . ?

. .what else am I gonna' be too late in knowing. .'

In the emptiness of this answer-less thought, the silence closed in on him. . .

Meanwhile, it was about to be anything but silent for Jean Grey.

It was as though her question, uttered into the astral ether, was a drop of water in a pond of similar questions, rippling out to touch the others, and causing them to echo back to her:

'He's gone!'

'They don't care." 

'She didn't just run away!'

"-What will it take?!'

'Another one--"

"--just another one missing.'

There are no souls in sight, not that Jean expected there to be; she can feel a distance to these calls. As though what she's picking up is the anguish of loved ones searching for their missing -and the apathy of others- that has suffused the "psychic air" of this highway:

'Why won't you help?!'

'When will they give up -accept the truth already.'

'They're not runaways!'

'Why can't these mutants stop getting into trouble? Like it's in their genes or something.'

'When are these mutants gonna' learn to take care of their kids?'

'If my parents were mutants, I'd runaway too.'

--and Jean goes from inundated to stunned by the picture these echoes bring into focus: all exclusively to do with missing mutants.

'Jean! . .'

Somewhere in the tumult she hears it.

She's certain of this, though the voice is so faint- -it gets lost in the mire.

Back with Cyclops, he's in a position indicative of having come to attention. Had he really heard her voice or had he been dreaming?

He was met with only a contradictory silence. . . .until other voices echoed through his mind.

Though unlike Jean's experiences, these were voices he knew; voices from his own past; one of them his own: '--I would never have stopped if I'd known you were still out there!'

Echos: 'You were still out there.'

Another male voice echoes back: 'How hard did you even try?'

'Did you even try?'

Pained, Cyclops overwrites these memories with a concentrated thought: 'Jean. . ! I won't stop.'

We come to find Jean Grey as she arrives at a truck stop. With a couple more disturbing pieces of hearsay, the voices ebb away:

'It's a conspiracy-'

'-They're taken in the trucks.'

Was that all of them? Or have they subsided from Jean having also arrived at a physical point for their pleas: missing persons posters dotting the space. However, they seem about as heeded as the hanging voices: old, weather-worn copies written over with graffiti. New ones carelessly obscured by other means; one literally right under someone's feet. They kick at it before, on a second thought, they commit to doing better --picking up the "litter" to deposit into a trash can. It's unclear whether they even saw what it actually was, and if it would've made any difference.

A nightshift employee comes out of the convenience store a little ways on, joined by one from the hotel. They share a smoke break and a little conversation which we can just overhear:

"Hear that big sound today?"

"Yeah. Sounded like one of our planes crashed, but I haven't heard anything about it."

"My aunt said all the planes here are accounted for. UFO, I guess."

Jean doesn't have to wonder what they're talking about -in any respect. She'd already noticed it: the recognizable lights of an airport tower in the distance.

Before their X-Jet went down, she and Cyclops hadn't yet arrived at the coordinates provided to them by Xavier.

Scott's signal from before. . .there was something affecting it; like a valley does to radio waves.

Jean knows where she has to go.

Though first there's something she has to do. No one around now to pay attention, Jean raises her hand towards the trash can. With her telekinesis she extracts the poster, uncrumples it, and secures it in prominent view by tucking the edge of it underneath some other paper pasted on the side of a vending machine.

With a pained look, she then turns away from the road. Whatever's going on here will have to wait. Or maybe, hopefully, where she's going will hold the answers for all.

A vow is made the desperate voices:

'I won't stop.'