A/N: This is the sequel to my story Time of Trial. If you have not read that one, I suggest you do so, or you will likely be confused. To move to another topic, here are some things you should know.

OCs: Sting/Elyon Ryder, Cognitia/Bella Robertson and Legend/Jared Moretti are my characters. You may not use them without my permission.

Genres: This is like supernatural/action/adventure/spiritual/suspense/f riendship/romance sort of thing. If you end up scratching your noggin, quizzically tilting your head and saying, "Huh?" at that list, don't say I didn't warn you.

Disclaimer: The X-Men and all related characters and names are owned by Marvel Comics and partner companies. All copyrights associated with the X-Men belong to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

That being said…enjoy!

Experimentation. It is both a key to learning and a fundamental step in the scientific method. Were humans without the ability to question and to test, we would not be the advanced society that we are today. But sometimes, experimentation occurs at the deadliest of hands.

1. RETURN

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK—THE NOT-TO-DISTANT FUTURE

The thing about Midtown was that there were so many things to look at. I found myself staring at the bustle of all the people, gazing at the different stores with their fancy window displays and gawking at the tall buildings which seemed to stretch up endlessly toward the sky. I had been to Manhattan once before, but it had been brief and out-of-the-way in an alley before moving on to my current home. I reminded myself of a small child visiting the county fair for the first time, and in many ways, I was.

I felt someone nudge me. "Focus on the task at hand, Sting," was the tense whisper.

"I hear ya, Cyke," I said, glancing up at Cyclops, who was also known as Scott Summers. "But I've never been to a big city like this before. I can't help it." I'd like to see him try growing up in Southern Appalachia without ever going anywhere so grand.

Cyclops sighed, clearly conflicted by our current assignment and his pity for me.

A passerby muttered to him, "Nice shades."

Cyclops adjusted the ruby-quartz visor which covered his eyes and was the only thing to hold back his dangerous, concussive optic blasts. "Thanks." He turned back to me. "Just try not to get too distracted."

I smiled to myself. Poor Cyclops was always worrying about everything. We had left for New York City over twenty-four hours ago to find our target, and so far we had staked out almost every street of every borough without luck. Despite the stress, he always was trying to make sure that everyone else was happy. I guessed that came with being field leader.

I watched him as he checked the translucent red screen of his scanner. "Anything?" I fiddled with my black leather duster, which was the only thing that covered my uniform. If people were to see its complex design, they would likely tell their friends, who would tell their friends, and so on until too many people knew for us to be safe. No one was supposed to even suspect our existence. It was one of the many challenges of being a mutant.

"No." Cyclops frowned. The scanner was intended to check someone's brainwaves for the differences caused by the mutant X-gene from a distance. And our target was just that—a mutant.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to keep waiting." I fiddled with my light brown hair. I had decided to wear it down for this mission, so that I didn't look like I'd just walked out of The Matrix or something. It was the longest of any of the women who lived with us at home, as it had grown since March from my waist all the way down to my hips.

The wind picked up, mussing Cyclops' dark hair. "I should contact Jean," he said. "Maybe she and Wolverine have had some luck." He pulled his cell phone-like communicator from his belt and hit the number for Jean's own device. "Jean? Yeah, we're fine here. Have you and Wolverine got anything?" There was a pause. "Oh. I see. You two keep looking, okay? And be careful."

I loved hearing him talk to his wife (he and Jean had been married in the middle of June). There was such concern, such care, such love, in his voice. Of course, I had someone who talked to me that way too, back home.

"Jean's scanned every mind in Uptown," Cyclops informed me. "But there's no sign of the girl. Wolverine can't get a scent, either."

I huffed under my breath. "Rats." I pulled my own communicator from my belt. "I guess I'll call Rogue, see if she's any flukier than us." I dialed Rogue's number and held the communicator up to my ear. "Rogue? You there?"

"What's up, sugar?" The eighteen-year-old Mississippian sounded far more cheerful than our situation currently was.

"Cyclops and I need to know how things are looking in Downtown." I tapped my foot patiently while I waited for her answer, watching all the people walk by.

"Hmm…I don't have the slightest lead. We should keep looking, though. It can't be long till we find her."

I exhaled deeply. "All right. Contact us if you do find something, though."

"I know, I know," Rogue said. "I've been through the drill a thousand times. Talk to you later." I heard the beep on the other end as she closed her device.

I looked back to Cyclops as I clipped my device onto my belt. "Think we should get going?"

Cyclops scanned Broadway one more time. "Yeah. That's probably best." He put the scanner (which Wolverine had so thoughtfully dubbed "the weirdo detector") back into his coat pocket.

Just as we were starting to assimilate into the crowd milling around us, I heard someone speaking in harsh tones. I reached out to touch Cyclops' arm. "Wait!"

The voices were male and sounded like teenagers, as they constantly cracked in some places and sounded horrifically menacing in others. "Just admit it and we'll leave you alone, Aquilla," one of them said. "You're a filthy mutie!"

I hated hearing these words for two reasons. First, there was a bill pending in Congress called the Mutant Civil Rights Act, so someone saying this was definitely a legit act of racism. Second, they were terribly similar to the words I'd heard last summer when I'd been assaulted, only when I'd been cornered, the phrase was, "Tell us the truth, Ryder. Tell us the truth that you're a filthy mutie!" That attack was the reason I left my parents in Johnson City, Tennessee after college. And now I was listening to it happening all over again. But I didn't mention these feelings to Cyclops.

"Aquilla?" Cyclops gasped, proving that he had been listening too. "Isn't that the girl Cerebro found?"

Even as he spoke, a girl's voice came into the conflict. "No! You've got it all wrong! I-I'm not a mutant, I swear I'm not!"

We whipped around to see five boys, teenagers as I had assumed, following an average-looking girl with wavy blond hair and brown eyes down the sidewalk at a quickening pace.

"Cyclops!" I hissed. "The scanner!"

"I've got it," he muttered, holding it up. It beeped loudly with a sound that could have passed for a PDA. "That's her! Call Rogue—I'll get Jean and Wolverine!"

I grabbed my communicator with speed and grace. We had all been trained to deal with taxing scenarios like this one. Once again I dialed for Rogue. "Rogue, we've spotted her!"

"Really?" Her surprise was evident. "Where?"

"On the east end of Broadway," I replied as calmly as possible. "But she's in trouble. There are a few guys tailing her, and they look dangerous. Come as quick as you can. We'll handle it for now."

"Of course I'll be quick." I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I can fly, remember?" She shut off the communicator.

"Rogue's coming," I said to Cyclops. He was just now re-clipping his device, so I followed his lead. "She'll be here s—"

A shriek cut through the air. "NO! Get away from me!" All of a sudden, the girl was pushing us and everyone else aside, the five boys at her heels.

"Follow her!" Cyclops ordered. "We have to get to her before they hurt her!" He started to run after her. I sprinted by his side, taking two light-footed steps for every one of his. Oh, the joys of being tiny. I shoved people aside, not bothering to apologize for their protests.

The thugs were moving the girl dangerously close to the street, but Cyclops and I had no choice but to follow their path.

Come on, Jean, hurry, I thought. Aside from being telekinetic, Jean was also a telepath, and a tremendously powerful one at that. If anyone could placate the building chaos, it was she.

"Cyclops! Sting!" It was Rogue, quickly catching up to us. She had definitely flown over to us, though it was a wonder she wasn't causing a scene. Flight, super strength and extreme durability weren't her natural mutant abilities, however. Her true gift—or curse—was that she could absorb the memories and sometimes the life force of anyone with whom she made skin contact, and if they had special gifts, mutant or otherwise, she absorbed them for a time. A few months ago she had accidentally, and permanently, absorbed her new powers from a woman called Colonel Carol Danvers in an awful misunderstanding.

"Rogue!" Cyclops glanced over his shoulder. "Glad you could make it!"

Up ahead, the jerks were running the girl into the street. "Cyclops!" I called as Rogue started to dash by my side.

"Leave me alone!" the girl screamed. All of a sudden, her skin and hair began to glow a bright, fiery orange, and for a brief moment she looked to be made of rock as flames jumped from her flesh.

"Aw, crap," I muttered.

Cars slammed on their breaks. People stared. I think I saw red camera lights blinking, but there was no way to be sure, and we didn't have time to care.

The teenage boys looked shocked, but they only began harassing the girl further. We had to intervene.

Cyclops pressed the dial on his visor, releasing a fast, crimson optic beam and making the boys all separate from one another. They shouted in alarm and turned to face us as we joined them in the street. "I wouldn't keep up with that, if I were you."

"Oh, yeah?" one of them, who seemed to be their leader, snorted. "And who do you think you are to stop us?"

I gave one of them, the one with honey-colored hair, a hard push with my own telekinesis. He fell onto his bottom and looked at us with wide-eyed fear. "I think we're a force to be reckoned with," I said, igniting daggers of fire over each of my hands.

Meanwhile, the lava-girl was inadvertently beginning to set the concrete around her ablaze.

At that moment, Wolverine ran into the conflict, his wind-blown brown hair, muttonchops and unmerciful glare making him look like a frightening animal. He stopped short of the leader kid, crouching and extending his long, adamantium-laced claws, three from each hand. "I'd rethink what you're about to do if I were you, bub," he snarled.

All of the boys were rammed backward as a telekinetic wave hit them and Jean Grey-Summers walked toward us, her long red hair blowing behind her.

"Jean," Cyclops addressed her. "You have to calm her down, before she destroys the whole block."

"I can do that, Scott," Jean said, calling Cyclops by his name. She closed her eyes and held her hands up to her temples.

The lava-girl grabbed her head and moaned. As her skin returned to normal, she started falling to the ground.

Rogue and I darted up to her. Rogue caught her before she could fall. Gently, I touched the girl's face. Even through my black leather gloves, she was burning up. "Do you think she'll be okay?" Rogue asked me.

As though answering her question, the girl opened her eyes. She regained her focus as she saw us, a confused expression coming to her delicate, doll-like features. We must all have looked very strange to her, what with our matching leather jumpsuits and long coats.

I made sure my tone was as comforting as possible before speaking. "Amara Aquilla?"

"Yeah?" Amara's voice was scratchy.

"You don't have to be afraid, Amara," Rogue said. "We're here to help you."

"Who are you?" Amara didn't seem afraid. Actually, she just appeared to be inquisitive.

I smiled kindly. "We're the X-Men." My back tingled with paranoia, and I looked over my shoulder. No one threatening was there. Why did I feel so cautious? I turned back to the girl. "We need to get you out of here before—"

BOOM! Something exploded beside us, and we were all pushed five feet to the side, so that we were scrambled at the feet of Cyclops, Jean and Wolverine.

"What the heck was that?" Rogue demanded.

I looked over at the place where we had been. The asphalt was charred and smoking, and in our spot was a big harpoon. Jean must have pulled us back before the blast. "I don't know," I said. "But apparently it was potentially fatal."

Jean gasped suddenly and rushed to stand in front of us, holding up her arms. Gunshots rang out then, but the bullets only ricocheted off of Jean's telekinetic shield. I heard civilians yelling, and their feet shuffling and tapping as they hectically tried to get to safety.

"Who is that?" My voice's pitch raised an octave.

No sooner had I said the question than three people stepped forth from behind one of the various cars which had been parallel parked along the road. One was a tall woman in an all-green ensemble that matched her emerald hair. The other two were both men, the first of which could only be around five-seven, was obviously of Inuit descent and wore black clothes, not to mention that he had a case strapped to his back containing several weapons like that which had detonated on the street and nearly killed Amara, Rogue and me. The second man, who had long black hair and dark skin, towered over the other two and wore gray clothes, and he carried a gun that looked more like a cannon.

The green-haired woman pointed to Amara. I couldn't hear what she said, but her lips formed the shape of the words, "Get the girl!"

"No way," I muttered. I rose to my feet and stood protectively in front of Amara. "Stay behind me," I ordered, looking quickly back at her. She nodded frenetically.

At that moment, I felt a pain in my head. It was not too sharp—more like someone was pushing me, trying to get into my mind. However, everyone else except Jean was reeling and seemed nauseous. I noticed that the green-haired woman seemed to be concentrating intently. This must have been her doing.

I looked over at Jean. Hellfire? I asked.

'Go ahead,' she said.

I turned my eyes to the green-haired woman and accessed my mental power, making her believe that fire was coursing through her veins. She fell to her knees with a screech and the pushing feeling dissipated. My teammates stood as the Inuit turned to his attention to his comrade. "Vertigo!" he shouted.

Vertigo turned a baleful glower to us. She then motioned to the tall man. He aimed his hand-cannon at us and a torrent of bullets rushed toward us. Jean formed a telekinetic shield. By the time the bullets stopped firing, the trio was gone. They had simply vanished.

"We should go," Cyclops said.

Rogue and I helped Amara to stand. "Come on," Rogue said sweetly.

"Where are we going?" Amara asked.

"To a safe place," I answered. "We'll tell you more about it on the jet."

"You have a jet?" Her childlike wonder was amazingly endearing. I nodded.

Using her powers, Jean masked us from the spectators' minds so that we could get back to the rooftop where we'd left the Blackbird jet safely and without trouble. Luckily, this wasn't too far away, so even though we walked in silence, it wasn't for long.

Rogue buckled Amara into her seat while I went up to the cockpit to talk to Jean. "What was that about?"

"I don't know." Jean looked frustrated. "I can't tell who those people are, either. Something's blocking me out." When she turned to look at me, I could have sworn that there was some kind of blazing raptor in her eyes.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I quipped, "Where are the Fantastic Four when you need them?" Jean wasn't amused. I went for something else. "So, what was that green-haired lady doing? You know, Vertigo." From her name, I could probably guess, but I wanted to make sure.

"She was disorienting everyone else," Jean said. "It didn't work on me because of my psychic shields. And I'm guessing that you were unaffected because your power cancels out hers somehow."

"I just hope none of that ends up on the news," Wolverine grumbled. "Chuck wouldn't be too happy about that."

Cyclops started the engines. "Even if it does, the Professor will know how to handle it," he said confidently. "He always has a backup plan."

I knew that Cyclops was right, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that something would go wrong, if it hadn't already.

After the incredibly short plane ride home, Jean and Scott landed the Blackbird in the hangar and talked privately. Wolverine headed off by himself, most likely to change out of his uniform. Rogue led Amara down into the hangar, whispering to her the whole way. Like Wolverine, I went away alone, heading out into the hallway of the mansion's subbasement and to the elevator. I had someone I needed to see. I pressed the button for the ground floor.

As soon as the elevator opened, I rushed out into the hall. I heard a piano (Liszt's third "Liebestraum"), and I followed the sound of the music to the parlor. When I approached, a goofy grin spread across my face. Standing in the center of the room was my best friend and more, Kurt Wagner.

Kurt, who was also known as Nightcrawler, didn't have the most common of features, and I'm not just talking about the handsomeness of his face. His more normal characteristics were his height of five-foot-nine, ten inches taller than my four feet eleven inches, and his blue-black hair, which stuck up in curly, tousled tufts and accentuated his widow's peak. His stranger traits were skin of the most lovely deep blue; bright yellow-gold eyes; scars all over his body resembling angelic symbols which he'd given himself; three-fingered hands, if you count his thumbs; two-toed feet; pointed ears; fang-like canine teeth and a spaded prehensile tail. But I did find this strangeness fascinating and even attractive, oddly enough, though he would most certainly be good-looking if he were an average man.

He broke into a breathtaking, bright-white smile when he saw me, and I couldn't stand the distance for much longer. I sprinted toward him and threw myself into his arms. He caught me, spinning me around before setting me back on my feet.

"Hey, Kurt," I said casually.

"I missed you so much," he whispered. His soft tenor mixed with his German accent always melted my heart.

"I was only gone a day." I pulled back to stare at his entrancing face.

He stared at me, too. "Technically, you were gone for two days." He stroked my face tenderly, and his hand lingered there. His eyes smoldered like liquid topaz before he leaned down to kiss me.

If I could, I would spend at least three to four hours of each day kissing Kurt. Maybe more, since he was so good at it. I wrapped my arms around him and stood on my tiptoes so that he wouldn't have to bend over so much.

His hands rested at my waist, and he gently pulled my hips into his. I sighed, tilting my head to get closer to him and pressing myself against him. A low moan sounded in his throat.

The feeling I always got was that of being light-headed and absolutely giddy. It was a very nice high, in my opinion.

He was just starting to deepen the kiss when we heard someone. "Ahem," Logan coughed subtly. We broke apart to face him, and I felt myself blush. "I hate to interrupt," Logan continued, "but we need Sting in the lower levels."

I frowned, then turned back to look at Kurt. He seemed just as disappointed. I patted him on the arm. "I'll be right back, okay? You've got lesson plans to work out, anyway." I shrugged.

"Don't be too long," he said.

I waved and followed Logan back down to the subbasement. "What is it, Logan?"

"Rogue, Jean, Scott and I all have to introduce ourselves to the new students, get them settled in," Logan said. "And we have to break in the new guy."

Oh, yeah, the new teacher. I couldn't quite remember his name, but it was something funny, Chinese perhaps—Xorn, was it? "So what do you need me to do?"

We turned the corner into the hall leading to the hangar. "I need you to take Amara to the office, let her call her parents," he said. "Then you need to give her a tour, show her the ropes. I figured you'd get along with her easily, since your powers are kind of alike."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Fire wasn't exactly magma; and besides, Amara seemed meek and complacent. I had a habit of being more bold and brash, sometimes to the point that it got me in trouble, but I was working on it.

We entered the hangar once more to see Amara standing in the center of the space rather awkwardly, seeming unsure whether or not she should be there. Logan leaned down and muttered, "Good luck, Imp." Then he left us to go and speak with the newbies.

I turned back to face Amara again. Poor child, she looked so worried and almost scared. I smiled as warmly and welcomingly as I could, holding out my hand to her. "Come on, Amara," I invited. "Let me show you around."

She hesitated, but then she closed the distance between us and put her hand in mine. "Okay."

A/N: Okay, so I know that this is just a little short. But I hope you think that I have improved on my action scenes. Can you tell where this leads, and who those people were? If you can, you get a warm, fresh-baked (pretend) chocolate-chip cookie.

Don't forget to leave a review!

(note: has been edited since initial publication.)