Alien, Ghost and Vampire

Faora unclasped her breastplate, leaving it on the floor, and in one quick move she ripped her skinsuit, baring herself, her blue eyes never leaving Kal's. They stared at each other in silence, excited, aroused, the air filled with steaming passion.

"Do it, Kal," Faora provoked him. "I know you want to."

He hesitated, torn between concern and sheer desire.

"I'll hurt you."

"Don't be a pussy, laser my fucking tits!" Faora demanded.

"Jesus Christ, Darcy, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Clark exclaimed, turning to the girl with disbelief written all over his face.

He was glad no one else was on that floor of the Avengers Tower at the moment, because there was no explaining what he'd just read.

"What?" Darcy asked, genuinely confused. He pointed out the part of the story, avoiding even looking at it again. "Oh, that. It's just, you know, a little bit of Kryptonian S&M. Don't you guys have that?"

"No!" Clark answered immediately, then paused. "I think not. I hope not."

"Well, damn, guess I'll rewrite it then."

"Please do!"

To his dread, however, things were far from over: Darcy took a small notepad from her pocket.

"Let's see… I don't suppose Kryptonians go into heat, do you?"

Clark closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head; where the hell was Thor?!

"Do you guys have, like, a pack structure? Alpha and Omega kind of thing?"

Clark closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Darcy, I don't know what you're writing and I'm afraid to ask, but Kryptonian reproduction was regulated by our government, babies were pretty much made in special chambers using strands of DNA according to the function they would have in society. There wasn't… Any of this stuff."

If he thought this would dissuade her, he was severely mistaken.

"That's exactly my point!" Darcy agreed, happily. "Imagine how pent-up Faora would be!"

"I don't want to imagine any of that!" Clark shot back, horrified at the very thought of a 'pent-up Faora'.

What even gave Darcy the idea of writing a love story between him and that psycho Kryptonian killing machine?!

Clark thanked all the gods when Thor and Jane appeared in the room a second later.

"You're here!" he exclaimed, relieved, quickly going to the God of Thunder. "Let's go!"

"That excited for training?" Thor asked, a bit confused, as Clark all but dragged him away.

"Wait, I have more questions!" Darcy yelled from where Clark left her, getting up as well.

"Yes!" Clark answered, quickly glancing to see if Darcy was following them. She was.

Clark started walking faster.

"That is what I like to see!" Thor boomed.

Jane was left alone in the room, a truly perplexed expression on her face.

"What the hell?!"

Tony checked his watch for the tenth time, frowning; it was unlike Pepper to be late, that was usually his job.

Deciding to go after her, so they could actually have lunch instead of dinner, he asked Jarvis to locate Pepper and entered the elevator, still bewildered about the fact that he, Tony Stark, was the one on time for a change.

Something truly urgent must've had happened, Tony wondered, but if so, why no one warned him?

The elevator stopped on the floor he designed for training — probably the sturdiest place in the tower, save for the underground safe rooms —, and Tony followed the sounds of fighting, of bodies hitting the floor and of a lot of grunting. And there, finally, he found Pepper.

Alongside a bunch of other people, all so focused on something that they didn't even notice him.

Pepper was standing on the back of the group, staring transfixed at the big screen that was transmitting whatever was going on inside the sealed "sparring room for the superpowered", an epic blush burning her cheeks. On her right, maybe a step closer to the screen, was Romanoff, her head tilted to the side as she watched, a pleased glow on her eyes. To Pepper's left was Jane Foster, Thor's girlfriend, with her jaw agape and wide eyes. Finally, sitting almost too close to the screen, was the eccentric — and if he was saying that, then the "weird levels" were off the chart — Darcy Lewis, biting her tongue while she scribed furiously on a small notepad.

Curious, Tony approached quietly, and looked over to see what exactly they were all watching; his eyes widened to the size of plates.

Clark and Thor were both inside the sparring room, shirtless, one on top of the other as they rolled on the ground, releasing nearly animalist grunts every now and then; a little less clothes and a little more olive oil, and Tony would've believed he was gazing into the past, watching a wrestling match of one of the Olympic Games from Ancient Greece.

He was sure the gathered crowd wouldn't have minded one bit if they'd abided by the ancient Greek dress code, but as it was, they were having the time of their lives.

"See, Kal? This is Asgardian wrestling, no way to free yourself from this, you can struggle all you want."

"Sure about that?" Clark answered, as Thor pinned him down. "I think you're not considering the fact that you're not fighting an Asgardian."

Saying this, Clark took off, flying like a rocket ship with Thor still holding him from behind, until he crashed against the ceiling; the hit was so powerful that the sensors of the sparring room flared red for a moment, and Tony even felt a slight shake.

And all that force was applied directly to Thor's back.

The Asgardian grunted and let Clark go for a moment; it was all he needed. He spun in the air, and this time he was the one immobilizing Thor.

"How about that?" Clark asked, grinning. "Torquasm-Rao is full of nifty tricks."

"Not bad, Kal, not bad," Thor said, also grinning, and he actually sounded really proud. "But you also forget that you are not fighting a Kryptonian, you are fighting the God of Thunder!"

The moment he said this, pure electricity flared from Thor's body; the electromagnetic surge making the lights all over the Avengers Tower blink. Clark took the full force of the lightning bolts, his muscles spasming for a moment.

Enough time for Thor to free himself from his hold and throw Clark back to the floor.

None of them took a single second to breathe, blurring towards one another and clashing in the middle of the room, both trying to force the other down, wrestling for dominance.

"You do realize thunder is just sound, right, God of Noise?" Clark provoked him, good-naturedly.

"Mortals gave me the name to honor the awesome sounds Mjölnir makes when I hit my enemies with it," Thor defended himself. "But why am I explaining myself to you, 'Man of Steel'? Steel is soft!"

As if to prove Thor's point, their feet started to bend the reinforced steel plates that covered the floor; Tony should really improve that.

"Ready to give up?" Thor asked, and despite his expression being one of pure struggle, Tony could see he couldn't be happier.

"Please, I could to this all day," Clark shot back, doing his best impression of Cap while he tried not to laugh and lose his footing.

Darcy Lewis put her pen down for a moment, nearly drooling as she watched the screen.

"Me too," she sighed, like a lovesick teenager. "Me too."

All the women watching unconsciously nodded, agreeing with Darcy's statement; Tony rolled his eyes. Enough was enough.

"So," Tony said, and all of them but Romanoff jumped, "this is why we're late for lunch, then?"

Tony had actually never seen Pepper look this embarrassed, as she turned to him, face about to light on fire; she quickly took a look at her watch, widening her eyes when she saw the time.

"I mean, I totally get it, it's natural," Tony went on. "Even my eyes wander from time to time—

"From time to time?" Romanoff interrupted, raising a single eyebrow, but he ignored her.

"— but if we don't leave now, the restaurant is going to close." He nodded at the screen again. "Unless, of course, 'you want one', in which case I will remind you that when I said that" Tony briefly glanced at Natasha, who once again raised an eyebrow", I was summarily denied."

Pepper sighed, face still as red as Krypton's sun, then turned around.

"Okay, I guess I deserved that," she admitted. Then she stared at him, eyes full of fun promises. "I will make it up to you, I swear."

At that moment, Tony didn't really care he wasn't the reason Pepper was all fired up; he would be the one to collect the rewards, after all.

"After lunch, though," Pepper added, kissing his cheek. "I'm starving."

Well, that was disappointing, but better than nothing.

"Does anyone want to come?" Tony asked, now that he knew there wouldn't be any fun during lunch. "My treat."

"I actually have plans," Romanoff answered, "with him." She pointed at Clark. Then she looked at Jane and Darcy. "Girls, show's over."

Saying this, she pressed a button and spoke through the microphone.

"Guys, if you're done, may I borrow Clark for a moment?" Natasha said, her voice echoing inside the training room.

Both Kryptonian and Asgardian stopped punching each other — something they clearly were enjoying for some reason —, a bit confused by the voice. They probably had no idea that a crowd had been watching them.

"Be right there, Natasha," Clark said, his voice distorted by the microphone.

It didn't take them long to arrive — both now wearing normal clothes, to the girls' disappointment — and after happily greeting them, Clark and Romanoff left to do god only knew what.

Thor and Jane's plans, however, Tony had a pretty good idea what was involved, seeing that the astrophysicist threw herself at the bewildered God of Thunder the moment Clark and Romanoff got into the elevator, and left the room in his arms.

It seemed Pepper wasn't the only one affected by their training, which was slightly better for Tony's ego. They were about to turn around and leave, when Darcy Lewis let out a long disappointed sigh, closed her notepad, and ran to them.

"No Kryptonian, no Asgardian… Guess I might as well have lunch with you guys," she said, beaming at them.

He shared a look with Pepper; well, who the hell told him to invite the weird girl, anyway?

"Adamantium," Natasha started, showing him an image on her computer. "Ever heard of it?"

There were two pictures, actually. One was of a clearly boiling metal-like substance, kept inside a big chamber that reminded him of a coffin; the other was the x-ray of a person — a person that had claws, for some reason —, but the skeleton was entirely grafted in metal.

He had no idea how someone could survive a surgery like that, so he was most likely seeing the x-ray of a corpse.

"Can't say I have," Clark finally answered, turning to Natasha, who was watching his reaction.

"After the end of WWII and the beginning of the Cold War, the US and the soviets were locked into a clash for supremacy, as you well know," Natasha started to explain. "The constant threat of a nuclear war made sure that these countries wouldn't face each other in the battlefield, but there was a global struggle between them, politically, economically and militarily, each searching for an edge."

She tilted her head slightly.

"In other words, an arms race of the likes this world had never seen," Natasha went on. "Some of the greatest minds on Earth were given the resources and funding so they could research and develop new kinds of weapons, weapons that ranged from better nuclear missiles to actual Super-Soldiers, inspired by Captain America's success in WWII."

Natasha typed fast and turned her computer so Clark could see: there was a picture of a man in glasses wearing a lab coat.

"One of these minds belonged to a man called Dr. Myron MacLain," she said, introducing the man Clark saw. "Dr. MacLain took it upon himself to solve a problem the US realized it had when Howard Stark created Cap's vibranium shield: a lack of ultra-resilient metals." Natasha shrugged. "They all saw what Captain America managed to accomplish with a single shield made of that metal, they saw its incredible potential, but aside from a few samples here and there mainly used for experiments, they had no way of getting more."

She looked at Clark.

"Imagine how the course of the war would've changed. Non-nuclear weapons with amazing destructive firepower, indestructible vehicles, body armor so tough that a soldier could survive near impossible odds, armored military bases that could withstand even the strongest attacks… The possibilities were infinite, so the US funneled money into his research so that Dr. MacLain could find a worthy substitute."

Natasha gestured at the computer.

"That substitute was a virtually indestructible metallic alloy he named 'adamantium'."

"Indestructible?" Clark asked, raising his eyebrows.

Natasha shrugged again.

"Nothing is truly indestructible, I bet there is even something out there powerful enough to hack Steve's shield to bits, but the alloy Dr. MacLain created was so strong that it could withstand anything they threw at it." She had a slightly impressed expression on her face. "The records show that a sample of it endured a nuclear bomb test without a scratch."

That was impressive, Clark agreed.

"But, of course, not everything about adamantium was great," Natasha continued. "It was incredibly difficult to process it — any deviation on the formula, any impurity, made the whole thing useless —, and its raw liquid form had to be kept at a constant high temperature, because the moment it cooled, nothing short of magic could shape it anymore… And, maybe the greatest sin of all, it was incredibly expensive to make."

She rested her arms on the chair.

"It simply wasn't viable. No matter how useful it might have been, the cost was so absurd that the US Armed Forces decided to shelve the experiment and direct their funding into other ventures." Natasha tapped the table absentmindedly. "Eventually, the soviets tried to capture Dr. MacLain, to put him to work for them, but the attempt failed, resulting not only on MacLain's death, but in the destruction of his lab. And so, the very secret formula of adamantium was lost… At least until near the end of the Cold War, when another scientist managed to replicate it."

Natasha showed him another man on the screen.

"Colonel William Stryker was a military scientist working on several top-secret projects in the US Armed Forces, and one of those projects was recreating the formula of adamantium, which he did. I am unsure if he altered it or not, but he was deemed successful and given even more trust and funding… Something that proved itself a mistake, because Stryker committed several unethical experiments that resulted in the death of various high-ranking members of the US Armed Forces, many top scientists in the country, and billions of dollars worth of damage. Colonel Stryker was arrested and the whole thing was, once again, shelved."

Then she looked at Clark, who was doing his best to hide his confusion.

"Okay, that's very interesting, but why are you telling me all this?"

Natasha smirked, as if she were waiting for that question.

"I'm telling you this, Clark, because I believe that if there is anything on this planet tough enough to hurt you, then it's probably adamantium." He widened his eyes. "And for some reason, after so long without anyone remembering the thing even existed, adamantium began to be moved around the world in great quantities again."

Clark was so surprised that it took him several seconds to say anything.

"You really believe this alloy is strong enough to hurt me?" he finally let out.

It wasn't arrogance, it was a fact: Kryptonians under a yellow sun were incredibly durable. So far, nothing on Earth had been able to even scratch him, and he had endured quite a bit over the years.

"You're not invulnerable, Clark," Natasha retorted, serious, "just amazingly tough. If you're hit with enough force, by something nearly or as hard as your own body, you can be hurt. This is not a theory, we've seen it happen. Zod and his forces, the Dark Elves, Asgardians, that damn dragon… They were able to injure you, even if only a bit."

She looked down, face frowned in thought.

"If shaped as a weapon and unleashed with enough force… I don't know, Clark, but the possibility exists." Natasha looked back at him. "But it's not what I think that matters, it's what your enemies think. And I strongly believe that one of them — or maybe several — are stockpiling adamantium for one singular reason: to kill you."

Clark stared at Natasha for a long time. While her expression showed little, he could almost smell her worry; he always took her advice seriously, of course, but this time he decided to take it a step further.

It wasn't always that something unsettled Natasha.

"What makes you think that, Natasha?" he asked.

The SHIELD agent typed on her computer, bringing a large amount of data on the screen.

"It started slowly, almost imperceptibly, but the reserves of adamantium in the world began to change hands," she explained. "Old Cold War storages, labs, ancient facilities, the black market… It took SHIELD a while to notice, but adamantium started to be moved around, bought by shell companies, disappearing on unmarked ships, vanishing to the middle of nowhere."

She brought up another set of pictures on her computer.

"A considerable number of mining companies settled all over Africa were either bought or forcibly nationalized by the governments of the countries they were in. This is worth noting because Dr. MacLain brought several of the elements used to make adamantium from many different countries in Africa, and Stryker's formula is probably no different. Then, there's this."

Natasha pointed at the screen.

"Colonel William Stryker has been pardoned and released," Natasha announced. "It was all very hush-hush, but SHIELD had no reason to be suspicious of anything when he was appointed as one of the lead scientists in a military top-secret project. A project not even I could find out what it's about, not without digging too deep and letting them know someone's watching."

She looked at him.

"You like James Bond, right? Have you ever read Goldfinger? 'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action.' I happen to agree with this quote."

Clark took a while to process what Natasha told him. Not because of the, frankly, shocking revelation that even SHIELD was being kept out of the loop in all this. Not because of the convoluted plot Natasha had uncovered.

No, another thing caught Clark's attention, something far more urgent.

"He was let out?" he asked, staring at Natasha. "You think the government and the military are involved in all this?"

Clark looked down, disappointed. No matter how much he helped, no matter how willing he was to cooperate, it seemed there were people who would never trust him. Maybe it was ridiculous of him to feel like that, but that saddened him.

Natasha sighed.

"The government is not as unified as you might think, Clark, neither is the military. There are different factions with different interests." She paused. "But yes, some inside the government and the military are involved in this… I just don't know who yet."

He looked at nothing for a while, in silence, still trying to understand all this.

"To be honest, Clark," Natasha started, "this is not surprising at all. Sooner or later, someone would look for a way to put you down. I'm honestly surprised it took this long."

Clark snaped his head up.

"Jeez, thanks!"

She lightly slapped his shoulder.

"You know what I mean, Clark, you've stepped on too many toes." Natasha looked at him and Clark saw a rare expression of respect on her eyes. "Do you know when was the last time there was peace on Earth? No wars, no armed conflicts, no invasions, no genocide?" He waited for the answer. "Never. But since you appeared, we've been pretty damn close to achieve that."

Natasha shook her head slightly.

"All major wars were put on hold. Military interventions and annexations were halted. Civil conflicts ended before they even began. Airstrikes and bombings were stopped before a single one of them fell. Ethnic cleansings were prevented. All that because of you. And you didn't have to kill a single person to achieve this." She smiled. "Billions worth of damage to military equipment all over the world, yes, entire contingents of troops forced to retreat to their countries, leaders of different factions taken to neutral ground and forced to talk, and even war criminals brought to face justice in other countries, but not one death. Impressive. And scary. So much so that the most powerful nations in the world put all their big military plans on hold, simply because they had no way to counter you if you turned your attention to them."

She paused, glancing at him.

"The Avengers were present in many peace talks, and Stark singlehandedly stopped many conflicts in the Middle East, but what you did was unprecedented."

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I just stopped innocent people from being killed," he finally said. "War is stupid, it's unnecessary. We can coexist without it."

"Yes," Natasha agreed, surprising him. "But at least for now, there are many who profit from said stupidity, and you're hurting that profit. It's no wonder those people are pissed off and looking for a way to kill you, is it? Criminals are all the same, after all, private sector or government."

Unfortunately, she was right about all that, even if Clark didn't like to think the worse of people.

"Anyway, I have a clue that might shed some light on this," Natasha continued, bringing up a set of images on the screen. "It's why I called you in the first place. Take a look."

Clark widened his eyes.

The pictures Natasha showed him were, to say the least, gruesome. Ten men fallen in an alley, torn apart in such a way that the entire floor was covered in blood and body parts; arms, legs, hands, heads, all shredded to pieces, as if someone had put them inside a giant blender and turned it on.

"Look at the wounds," Natasha said after a moment. "Tell me what you think."

Ignoring the sheer brutality, Clark zoomed the image, trying to focus on the injuries; he glanced at Natasha in surprise for a moment. It wasn't like anything he had seen before. The cuts were so clean, so precise, that the flesh seemed to have parted by itself instead of ripped apart by a blade. Skin, muscles, bones, nothing exerted even a little bit of resistance against whatever weapon was used.

It was as if the body parts had simply decided to detach themselves willingly, without any outside help.

He had never seen anything like it.

"Adamantium," Natasha explained, simply. "Pretty impressive, isn't it?"

Clark wasn't sure if "impressive" would be his chosen word to describe this, but in a morbid way, it kind of was. He could see now why Natasha thought adamantium a threat; human bodies stood no chance when put against it.

How would a Kryptonian body fare?

"Who are these people?" Clark asked, finally managing to take his eyes from the massacre.

Natasha smirked. "Now, this is where things get interesting. This happened last week, in Tokyo. Just out of curiosity, have you heard anything about it?"

Again, Clark was surprised; how could such a carnage have happened a week before and he — a reporter, an honorary Avenger and Superman — not have heard about it?

"Not even SHIELD knew about this, and I wouldn't either if my contact in Tokyo's police force hadn't called me," Natasha said. "It just… Disappeared, as if it never happened."

"But how? Who could've done this?" Clark asked, then felt his blood turn cold. "The Hand?"

"I don't think the Hand is going to show up so soon after the beating they got. It will take them some time to lick their wounds. And it's not really their M.O. But they're not the only people with such power in Japan. There's another. And coincidentally — or maybe not — all those men happened to work for them: Yashida Corporation."

Clark had heard the name before — hard not too, when dealing with a company of that size —, but he never would have guessed they might be somehow involved in this.

"Yashida Corporation was founded after WWII, by Ichiro Yashida, in order to help revive Japan's destroyed industry and economy," Natasha explained. "And they managed to do just that. Yashida Corporation grew powerful, revolutionizing medical's technology in the entire country and the world. They have their fingers in everything it happens in Japan."

She smiled at him, almost predatorily.

"They also have one of the greatest reserves of adamantium in the world. Something SHIELD suspected they've been stockpiling even before all this happened, but couldn't prove."

Clark looked at the images again.

"They own a lot of adamantium… And now their men are being killed with adamantium blades. How do we go from one to the other?"

Natasha opened her arms.

"That's what you will find out," she said, simply. "But I can bet anything you want that whatever is happening there is connected to all this."

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action.

Yes, it seemed that was the case.

"You're probably right," Clark admitted. "I'll fly to Tokyo today and—"

"Not as Superman," Natasha interrupted.

"—what?"

She sighed. "If Superman starts to fly over Japan, they'll crawl back to whatever holes they came from in the first place. You won't be able to find a thing. You have to be discreet."

Saying this, she took something from her pocket: a plane ticket.

"I hate planes," Clark groaned, but took the ticket, nonetheless. "They're so slow."

"Yes, I suppose to someone who can cross the globe as fast as you they would be. But such is the hard life of mild-mannered Clark Kent, isn't it?"

Natasha was enjoying this far too much for his liking.

"Guess I'll need to find a hotel, then," he sighed.

His Japanese was probably more than rusty. Maybe he should visit his ship first, and use the Kryptonian mind-device to hone his language skills before going, or before attempting to book a room in Japanese.

Surprising him, however, Natasha shook her head, tossing a key on the table.

"I did some modeling in Tokyo once," Natasha explained, "to create a backstory for one of my aliases. I still have the apartment. And, with it, a reason for Clark Kent to be in Japan." He frowned, confused. "You're good with a camera, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he answered, cautious. "Not my specialty, but I'm not bad. Why?"

He was already dreading the answer when he saw her far too amused smile.

"Because I got you a gig. A photoshoot, to be precise."

"Of what?" he asked, slowly.

"Why, models, of course. Lingerie models."

Clark just stared at her, unable to say anything.

"Don't worry, they're good girls," Natasha said with a smile, getting up. "Friends of mine. And I told them great things about you. You're gonna like them." She closed her computer and turned to leave, before looking at him again. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here, the address."

She placed a small paper on the table. Clark took it, absentmindedly reading the address, finding the thickness of the paper a little weird; he flipped it. It was a photo.

A photo of Natasha posing wearing black lingerie, looking at the camera with smoldering eyes.

"Why do you do this to me, Natasha?" Clark finally asked, feeling his mouth dry as he did what he could to look away from the picture; it was harder than he thought.

He felt her breath tickling his ear when she leaned closer.

"You're always so composed," Natasha whispered, the sultry voice sending shivers down his spine. "I would like to see what happens when you finally snap."

Saying this, she kissed his cheek and went to the door.

"Call me when you arrive, will you?"

Clark could only nod; maybe he would wait a little bit before getting up.

"Itadakimasu!" Kitty Pryde happily exclaimed when the bowl of ramen arrived, before grabbing her chopsticks and digging in.

Rogue just rolled her eyes, unamused by her overall cheerfulness, before doing the same.

"Aren't you tired of eating noodles?" Rogue asked, struggling with her chopsticks, her southern accent even stronger in her annoyance. "We're eating this every single day since we arrived in Tokyo!"

"What do you want me to do?" Kitty asked, slurping her ramen. "You're the one who doesn't eat raw fish!"

"I'm sure there must be something else to eat!" she retorted.

Kitty just rolled her eyes, unwilling to get into an argument with the increasingly incensed Rogue. It wasn't as if she was enjoying being left behind by Logan, but what could she do?! Realizing Kitty wouldn't argue, Rogue decided to eat, or at least to stab her own meal with the chopsticks for a while.

They've been in Tokyo for five days, Kitty, Rogue and Logan, looking for a mutant Professor Xavier had found using Cerebro; a mutant who was, apparently, killing people in droves for some unknown reason.

That was a big "no-no" in their books.

If the missing mutant was being hunted down or hurt, then it was their job to step in and bring her to safety. If the missing mutant had lost control over her powers, then it was their job to help her regain that control. And if the missing mutant was using her abilities to hurt people on purpose, then it was their obligation to stop her.

But mutants killing people, regardless of the reason, could not be allowed to go on, for all their safeties; they were already feared enough.

And fear could turn into hate and persecution very easily.

So that was the job: find the missing mutant and bring her to the mansion, preferably peacefully. Except it was easier said than done. The Professor couldn't get a precise location, the crime scene had been cleaned spotless and Logan had little to no patience to bring them with him as he wandered looking for clues, so that left Kitty and Rogue in a tough spot.

They had absolutely nothing to do. And that was frustrating as hell.

Sighing, Kitty eyed Rogue, who was fuming as she stabbed her lunch. The goth style she liked to wear was actually less flashy in Tokyo than it was back home, the green and black clothes covering her entire body with the exception of her pale face; a necessity more than simply a fashion statement, because Rogue could kill with a single touch of her skin, her ability to absorb essences still as uncontrollable as it was when they met.

Her auburn hair — shoulder length, with distinctive white streak bangs — was covering most of her face, but Kitty could still see the heavy — but tasteful — makeup she used, a purple shadow over her eyes and a purple lipstick.

And she could also see how outraged her friend was; Rogue was quick to anger, always had been, and the situation wasn't helping her good mood.

Kitty, on the other hand, was calmer, or at least she liked to think so. She knew very well she could be impulsive, and she didn't always play by the book — as many often liked to think —, but hers and Rogue's personalities were like day and night.

It didn't make them enemies, far from it, but it did make them butt heads more often than not.

Even their looks were completely different. While Rogue usually dressed like a seductive goth — a look probably chosen and exacerbated by the fact that she was anything but promiscuous —, Kitty looked like a girl next door, with her brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and her slender figure normally dressed in common shirts, sweaters — today she had a pink one — and normal jeans.

At first glance, they didn't even seem to belong to the same group — even more so now, than when they were both high school girls —, but of course, they did; they were mutants, after all. And while Rogue could absorb abilities and talents when she touched people, Kitty could avoid any all touch whatsoever.

She called it phasing, the ability to go through solid matter by instinctively shifting or separating her own atoms through intra-atomic spaces; or so Mr. McCoy had explained.

Kitty found it far easier to say she could go through walls. Like a ghost, but a pretty one.

But even with her powers, Kitty was finding difficult to escape from boredom. Japan was awesome, but this wasn't a vacation, it was a mission; except it wasn't, not for them. They were stuck in a limbo, unable to work, unable to have fun, and no matter how much calmer Kitty liked to think she was than Rogue, it was beginning to grate on her nerves too.

They needed to find something to do.

She grabbed her phone, trying to find a way to pass the time. There wasn't anything interesting happening in the world — no Avengers VS dragons or any alien invasion —, none of her friends had anything interesting to say — Kurt did send a funny cat video, though — and she had already read and reread her favorite fanfictions — Faora: The Path to Atonement had updated the day before, with the epic revelation that Kryptonians went into heat, something that caused a major confrontation between Superman and Thor for the Alpha status and the right to mate with Faora.

Kitty wondered for a moment if Logan — the Wolverine — ever went through something similar. He was kind of animalistic, wasn't he?

"You have that stupid smile again," Rogue spat, as if her happiness offended her. "Do you have to read your porn while we eat?"

Far from being embarrassed, Kitty fired back.

"If you want to talk about porn, don't forget that I'm the one who keeps the mansion's computers up-to-date, and thus I have access to everybody's browsing history." Kitty raised her eyebrows as she stared to Rogue. "And yours, my dear Rogue, has some of the filthiest stuff I have ever seen."

Rogue's cheeks flushed a bright red.

"I can't have a boyfriend!" she defended herself.

"Well, maybe that's a good thing for everybody involved!"

"Screw you!"

"I rather not, I've seen some of the things you're into!"

Lunch quickly devolved into a fierce, but oddly hushed — they were in Japan, after all — argument, as the two mutants fought like siblings; the everyday life of those who lived in Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. It probably wasn't the picture of a well-adjusted friendship, but at least it was familiar.

And they both knew that, despite the arguments, they would always have each other's back.

Kitty immediately proved this when she spotted something very interesting through the window.

"Shhhhhh!" Kitty quickly shushed Rogue, swinging her hand madly to make her stop talking. "Look!"

Confused, Rogue finally shut up and turned to look; her eyes widened as much as Kitty's when she finally spotted what she had seen.

It was hard not to, because the guy was big, especially compared to the Japanese crowd parting like the sea around him, everybody shamelessly staring at the obvious foreigner like they were; except that, while everybody was looking at him probably because of his height, Kitty and Rogue were staring for a connected, but ultimately different reason.

The guy was hot!

Tall, handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes, and muscles that Kitty couldn't remember seeing even amongst the highly trained X-Men she lived with. He was wearing glasses that seemed to completement his manly, strong jaw, a plaid shirt that did little to hide his godly physique, and jeans that hugged his thighs in such a way that Kitty had to stop herself from drooling a little bit.

"I think I'm in love," Kitty swooned.

Rogue hesitated for a moment.

"I think I know him," she said, and Kitty turned fast to look at her.

"Oh, don't tell me you know him from one of yours raunchy vide—"

"No!" Rogue interrupted her, blushing a bit. "I know him from one of our team meetings." She looked at Kitty. "I think that's Clark Kent."

Kitty frowned for a bit. Clark Kent, Clark Kent… Clark Kent! The reporter responsible for exposing that whole 'Mutant Factory' thing, the reporter who had recently made a story on the Kingpin and that craziness with the dragon!

"I think you're right," Kitty admitted, slowly, looking impressed at Rogue. "How did you recognize him so fast?"

"I actually pay attention to our team meetings," Rogue shot back.

"Yeah… I'm sure the fact that he's that hot didn't have anything to do with it, did it?"

Rogue's blush told her everything she needed to know. Smirking, Kitty went back to watching Clark Kent. What a coincidence! Really, the odds of them meeting in Tokyo of all places was minimal. Was Fate itself trying to tell her something?

Unless it wasn't a coincidence at all, the thought suddenly occurred her.

Clark Kent was an investigative reporter, one that had his nose deep into weird stuff. Stuff that the Avengers usually dealt with. Stuff the X-Men dealt with. And now he was suddenly there, in Tokyo, just when a mutant going on a killing spree popped up.

Slowly, Kitty looked at Rogue, who apparently arrived at the same conclusion.

"You think…?" Rogue started.

"Yeah…" Kitty agreed, serious.

In an unspoken agreement, they got up, left their lunch behind, and went after Clark Kent. Maybe they were wrong, maybe the guy was just on vacation, but for his sake and the sake of the unknown mutant, they had to be sure.

Logan wouldn't be the least bit happy with all this, that was certain.

Clark couldn't help but to smile as he walked through the streets of Tokyo, happy to finally be able to stretch his legs after the ungodly long flight; a flight that he very nearly missed, because he had to first fly — as Superman, not on a plane — to the other side of the world to help solve a gigantic crisis.

He still wasn't completely sure how a 200,000-ton container ship got stuck in a canal, and he was even less sure how exactly they intended to solve that problem by sending a single excavator, but he was glad he was able to help before things got really bad.

The increasingly long line of ships stuck behind it was already becoming really impatient, and Jessica would probably be happy that the stuff she ordered online wouldn't be delayed so much.

Clark got back to New York and arrived at the airport in the nick of time; he was the last one to board, and he might have been overthinking it, but he suspected Natasha delayed his flight for a few minutes, because the looks he got from the flight crew were less than friendly.

And then he had to find ways to distract himself for nearly 13 long hours, as the plane pretty much crawled to Japan.

His boredom disappeared entirely when they landed, and Tokyo appeared in all its glory. It wasn't the first time Clark ever visited the city, of course, but usually he didn't have the time to walk around and just enjoy it.

Tokyo was awesome.

It was packed to the brim with life, full of lights and colors and sounds that gave the city almost a personality. The smell of different foods and the unfamiliar songs played with unfamiliar instruments hit Clark as soon as he stepped out of the plane, a dead giveaway that even if he was in a big city, it wasn't New York anymore; something he no doubt noticed as he went through the crowds, feeling even taller amongst the Japanese than he felt back in the US.

Of course, there were also the stares.

He did his best to ignore it, he knew it was normal — foreigners, though not as rare as they once had been in Japan, were still an oddity —, but Clark could feel every single eye glued on him as he passed, so much so that he double-checked to see if he wasn't wearing his Kryptonian skinsuit by accident.

Clark was not used to draw attention as, well, Clark. In fact, he spent most of his life doing everything he could to achieve the opposite. So it was a bit weird to see such an interest in him, not Superman; unnerving, to be honest, but he was sure he would get used to it, eventually.

The stares accompanied him as he walked on the streets and inside the subway, up until he arrived at Natasha's apartment; once he did, however, Clark immediately forgot about them as he laid eyes on the building. And the moment he stepped in it, any and all concerns he had about being stared at vanished for good.

Replaced by pure shock.

Either SHIELD was paying for that, Clark guessed with wide eyes, or Natasha was far richer than he had ever imagined.

Land was becoming more expensive every day, in the entire world, but in Japan, Tokyo, the word "expensive" took a whole other meaning; too many people, not enough room. Houses and apartments were built smaller, efficiently, to maximize the use of available space and, at the same time, be affordable, but when it came to big places, it was a different story. They charged for every square meter of it, a lot.

Natasha's apartment wasn't just huge, it was also located in Shibuya, one of the wealthiest districts in Tokyo.

It had rooms so large that they had an echo, each and every one of them decorated with the finest furniture. It had three floors: one seemed to be for personal use, bigger than Clark's entire apartment back in New York, one was decorated entirely as a modeling studio, and the last one seemed to be modeled to receive party guests. It had six jacuzzies, each big enough to fit several people. It had an immense balcony with a tremendous view of Tokyo. It even had a rooftop oriental garden!

It was the kind of place Clark imagined Tony would buy, not Natasha. Then again, this place belonged to "Natalie Rushman", not Natasha Romanoff, so maybe that was the difference.

Clark was still going through the apartment, amazed, his bags right beside the door, when the doorbell rang; he stopped what he was doing, startled, then went down the stairs to open it.

It seemed the surprises of the day weren't still over, because the moment he opened the door, a group composed of some of the most beautiful women he had ever seen barged into the apartment, beaming at him, without even introducing themselves or waiting for permission.

"You're finally here! Natalie did say you were cute!" a blond supermodel teased, a hint of Swedish accent in her English.

"Cute? More like hot!" an ebony-skinned South African countered, circling Clark like a predator.

"I'm glad she decided to share," said a stunning Japanese one, winking at him. "I'm glad we're all staying in the same building, we can all visit each other whenever we want."

Clark hadn't the time to even say anything when the models started to make themselves home, shedding some their clothes without a hint of shame, to put on what he assumed by Natasha's commentary would be lingerie sets. Makeup artists and hairstylists entered after the models, and soon enough the apartment was full of people laughing and talking, some Japanese pop song was blasting throughout the rooms and beautiful women with barely any clothes on were dancing around without a care in the world, waiting for the photoshoot to begin.

Natasha didn't make idle threats, Clark concluded still a little bit stunned, as he closed the door. He really didn't know why he ever thought she would be joking.

"Okay, maybe we were wrong," Kitty admitted reluctantly.

"You think?!" Rogue retorted, as if she had stated the most obvious thing in the world.

Which, it seemed, she had. They had followed Clark Kent when they spotted him from the restaurant, watching him from afar as they walked through the streets of Tokyo like a pair of spies, both certain that at any point the reporter would start to investigate the same mutant they were trying to find.

Instead, they followed him straight to a very luxurious apartment. An apartment that was full of half-naked supermodels.

It hadn't been difficult to infiltrate the place, not when Kitty could literally walk through walls; all it took was hacking a few cameras — something very easy to do with X-Men tech — and a minute later they were in.

And now they didn't know what to do, because there wasn't an investigation of any kind happening there, but what appeared to be a lingerie photoshoot turned full-blown party. The entire apartment was filled with people dancing, there was a terrible Japanese song blaring though the very expensive sound system, waiters were walking around with trays full of weird looking sushi and other Japanese snacks, and supermodels in lingerie were parading up and down the place, shaking their bodies to the beat or simply relaxing in the jacuzzies. It was so chaotic that no one didn't even look at them twice!

Rogue would have never imagined Clark Kent would be such a playboy — he seemed so innocent! —, but a single glance told her that he was just as surprised by this as they were.

It seemed Clark Kent was there to make a few bucks. Someone probably hired him for a photoshoot in Japan, he accepted, the whole thing ended up turning into a big party — which could or not be a normal thing, Rogue had no idea —, and it just happened to be at the same moment a mutant decided to appear in Tokyo.

Coincidences happened.

"I gotta say, I didn't see this coming," Kitty said, her wide eyes still glued to Clark Kent, who was running around the place with a panicked expression, trying to keep the drunks away from the furniture.

"Yeah… Well, let's go back, then," Rogue said, accepting that the entire thing had been a waste of time.

Another night of doing jack shit awaited them.

Before Rogue could move to the door, though, Kitty grabbed her; Rogue flinched — an involuntary reaction she still hadn't completely mastered —, but forced herself to relax once she noticed her skin was still covered.

"Wait, I have a better idea!" Kitty said, grinning.

Rogue immediately knew it was a bad idea.

"No!"

"Rogue, we have nothing better to do! We're literally going back to stare at the walls. Why don't we just enjoy the party?"

She couldn't believe Kitty's audacity!

"Maybe because we weren't invited?" Rogue replied, lowering her voice, though no one was paying attention to them. "Maybe because Logan will freak out once he finds out?!"

"Look at his face, Rogue!" Kitty argued, pointing at Clark Kent. "Do you think he invited anyone? And Logan doesn't have to know. Even if he finds out, well, it would be his fault for leaving us alone!"

Logan's fault or not, they would be the ones to get yelled at. But, slowly, Rogue was starting to agree with her reasoning, in no small part because she was fed up with being left behind. If Logan didn't need their help, well, they could do whatever they wanted, right? They weren't kids anymore.

Sensing that her reluctance was fading, Kitty pressed on.

"Come on! When was the last party we've been to? We're working too much! Let's have some fun!"

Rogue hesitated, then gave Kitty a small grin.

"Yeah!" Kitty exclaimed, happy. "But we have to do something to fit in first."

Saying this, Kitty dragged Rogue to a nearby empty room and closed the door. Confused, Rogue looked around; there was no one in the room, but at some point the models must've used it to change, because the place was covered in all kinds of clothes.

She understood what Kitty wanted to do the moment she grabbed some of them.

"No, no, no!" Rogue said, immediately. "Are you crazy?!"

"They'll know we weren't invited and kick us out," Kitty insisted, unconvincingly.

"You just said no one here was invited! And people weren't even looking at us!"

"It's a necessary precaution," Kitty went on, unfolding the silky garment.

A green lingerie. A tiny bikini-likegreen lingerie.

"I kill people with my skin, do you really think I should be wearing this?!" Rogue retorted.

"We're in Japan, Rogue, not Brazil! People don't go around touching each other here. And there's a silk tunic that goes on top of this, no one would be able to touch you directly."

"I'm not wearing that!"

"Think of it as a pajama party," Kitty said. "Come on, Rogue, I've never been to one and I'm sure you haven't either. When are we ever going to have another chance?"

Rogue didn't know if it was because of Kitty's puppy-dog eyes or her own repressed desires coming forth, but before she realized she and Kitty were changing into the supermodel's lingerie sets.

They admired themselves on the mirror for a moment. Rogue was wearing a green set, with a silky transparent tunic top that went to the middle of her thighs. It seemed it was custom made for her, it even had a pair of silk gloves! Kitty was wearing a pink one, far more revealing than Rogue's, but tasteful; Logan wouldn't agree, of course, but maybe that was the point of all this.

"To think I complained about all those days we spent in the Danger Room," Kitty said, admiring her toned body.

She wasn't wrong, X-Men work really had its benefits… Other than helping mutant-kind, of course. They looked good.

"I'd like to see Logan's face if you told him his training made us look better in lingerie," Rogue said.

Wolverine's furious face popped up on their minds at the same time and they laughed so much they couldn't stand straight.

"Alright," Rogue said, her face red, once she regained the ability to talk. "Let's go to the party."

"Wait!" Kitty said, and Rogue turned to her, confused; Kitty was holding her hand up, wiggling her fingers. "I'd prefer if you didn't, like, hurt anyone trying to dance, so…"

Rogue frowned and very nearly smacked Kitty, but she couldn't help but to agree with her statement, even if it pained her to do so; dancing just wasn't her thing. Begrudgingly, she took off her glove, raised her hand and very briefly touched the tip of Kitty's index finger.

Both of them stepped back as if shocked, shuddering, as part of Kitty's essence passed to her.

As much as she hated to talk like Kitty, her memories provided the perfect description for this feeling: that was, like, pretty icksome!

"Now let's go party!" Kitty exclaimed.

Kitty was having the time of her life!

She and Rogue were dancing in the middle of the room, their moves so synchronized that it seemed both bodies were obeying a single mind; which, in a way, it was true, because Rogue's moves were Kitty's moves, learned instantly when she touched her.

A necessary precaution, because Rogue really couldn't dance all that well.

Quickly enough, people were drawn to them and they were all dancing, having fun, laughing and talking to each other in several different languages; not that all of them could understand one another all that well, but the alcohol helped.

And the place was filled with famous people!

Well, that's what they told Kitty, she wasn't exactly up-to-date on the ins and outs of Japan's celebrities, nor did she know much about the supermodels attending the party — that was more Kurt and Spyke's specialty —, but she got tons of autographs anyway, including from a very large — but adorably shy — sumo wrestler. People back home would be so jealous of them!

The food was spectacular, the drinks were better than anything she had ever tried, and for a moment Kitty could pretend she was a famous actress, mingling with her famous peers.

But if the universe had one unbreakable rule, it was that no party attended by an X-Men would remain peaceful to the end.

It started with the shy sumo wrestler.

To be fair, it wasn't really his fault. The waiter was the one who tried to pass behind him, too close, and since the sumo wrestler was nearly as big as the Blob, when he turned, the small waiter was sent flying. The skinny waiter clashed against their group, dropping two of the distracted models down immediately and pushing the rest.

Both Kitty and Rogue managed to jump back and escape the avalanche of bodies, but there was one thing none of them could have predicted, much less avoided — at least not after a few glasses of champagne.

The tray.

The metallic disc hit Rogue in the face with a loud CLANG and sent her stumbling back, dizzy and clutching her nose; she was so dazed that she didn't even notice the couch behind her, at least not until she hit it and flipped over. Kitty watched, horrified, as Rogue went down, head first.

But before Rogue could crash, someone was there, holding her: Clark Kent.

Kitty didn't even see from where he came from; one second it seemed Rogue would fall, and the next he was there, hands on her back, holding Rogue as if she were a Disney princess. Kitty exclaimed in shock, hands covering her mouth.

It wasn't Clark Kent's fortunate timing that made Kitty widen her eyes in despair, however, it was something far, far worse: his hand was touching Rogue's naked back, right where the fragile silk was torn when she flipped over the couch.

Clark Kent was touching Rogue's uncovered, deadly skin.

Kitty felt time itself had stopped. She couldn't hear the music, the shocked gasps, the yells of pain of the models or the deafening sound of the tray hitting the ground. Her eyes were fixed on Rogue and Clark Kent, just waiting for the chaos to start.

And just as predicted, it happened: Rogue's eyes went wide and she let out a guttural moan, so loud that even Kitty was startled.

Dear God, that was bad, Kitty thought, horrified. While Rogue couldn't control her draining ability, when she was prepared and the area of her skin being touched wasn't too wide, she could more or less suppress the amount of energy taken; Kitty herself touched her a while ago, without any lasting damage. But now? Clark Kent's hand — a big hand — was nearly enveloping Rogue's lower back and Rogue was anything but ready for that kind of contact, as her — quite frankly embarrassing — moan proved.

What was worse was that Clark Kent was still holding her, lifting Rogue from the ground so she wouldn't fall down, and Rogue was just too out of balance, too dazed and too lost in the absorbing bliss to jump away as fast as she needed to.

Kitty readied herself for the moment when Clark Kent would pass out, hopefully not in a permanent coma, and she was already thinking of ways to escape the place without drawing any more attention.

Except none of that happened.

Rogue still had her eyes rolled to the back of her head, reminding Kitty of Storm when she used her powers, completely lost in what seemed to be pure ecstasy, when Clark Kent put her down, looking at her with genuine worry.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Concerned and still conscious, Kitty noticed with great surprise, without showing a single indication that Rogue had successfully drained him; which she did, Kitty was certain, because Rogue still had that overwhelmed expression on her face. Clark Kent had no bulging veins, no spasms, no signs of pain.

He hadn't even flinched!

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay," Rogue stammered, shaking her head. Then she widened her eyes, probably realizing what had just happened. "What about you?!"

Clark Kent seemed a bit surprised by the question.

"I'm okay," he smiled. "I'm not the one who almost fell." He glanced at his hand, the one he used to grab Rogue, with curiosity. "Though I think I felt a slight static shock when I caught you. Weird…"

He shook his hand and then smiled at Rogue again; Kitty had to control the urge to go there and slap Rogue's dazed face as she stared at Clark Kent.

"I'm going to check on the others. Will you be okay?"

Rogue only nodded, apparently still unable to say anything coherent, and Clark went to check on the waiter and the models; Kitty took the opportunity to run to Rogue and drag her back to the room where they had changed before.

"What the hell happened?!" Kitty asked as soon as she closed the door. "You touched him, didn't you?" Eyes still wide, Rogue nodded. "How is he still conscious?"

She didn't answer, so Kitty snapped her fingers in front of her.

"Wake up!"

"I don't know!" Rogue barked.

"Was he… Immune? You couldn't drain him?"

"Oh, I drained him," Rogue exhaled, her eyes gaining a scary glow. She stared at Kitty. "Kitty, it was… It wasn't like anything I ever felt before. The amount of vitality, of energy…" She stopped talking again, shuddering; Kitty almost took a step back. "Not Scott, not Storm, not Magneto, not even Logan felt anything close to it. It was like… Like it had no end! It was an ocean of energy and I was only able to drain a few drops."

Kitty couldn't believe her ears. So far no one had been able to resist Rogue's touch for long, and certainly not without giving any indication Rogue had been draining them. But it went far beyond that.

Clark Kent hadn't even noticed he was being drained!

A static shock, he said; Logan, with his near invincible healing factor, had been put into a coma for days after being touched for less than a minute!

"He's a mutant!" Kitty whispered, shocked.

They stared at each other, eyes wide.

"We need to talk to Logan. Now!" Kitty said.

Rogue nodded, fast, and they started to look for their clothes. Kitty didn't even want to imagine what Logan would say, but at that point they had no option; things had spiraled out of control faster than they could predict. As quickly as they could, they got dressed and went for the door. Rogue grabbed the doorknob to open it.

The whole thing came out, ripped out of the door in a single movement.

They stared at the doorknob in Rogue's hand, stunned, and were even more astonished when they noticed Rogue's fingers etched on the metal, as if she had pressed a stick of butter instead of solid steel.

"I'll open the doors, you just… Don't touch anything!" Kitty said, alarmed.

Rogue only nodded, a panicked look on her face.

Both Kitty and Rogue flinched when Logan's nostrils flared.

He just looked at them, without making a single move, and they instinctively tried to make themselves seem smaller, pressing against the couch, never meeting his eyes; they knew Logan would never hurt them, of course, but that didn't make things any less terrifying.

"What if he weren't a mutant?" Logan started, after a long silence, his voice deep and raspy. "What if he were a weaker mutant?"

Rogue just looked down, knowing full well the consequences of her powers, and Kitty had to stop herself from consoling her.

"And what would you two have done if the guy was put in a coma, or died, and the people there found out you were mutants?" Logan continued, his eyes hard. "Have you ever seen a furious mob? I have. It's not pretty."

"We—" Kitty started but was cut off.

"You disobeyed me," Logan interrupted. "Put a civilian at risk, put yourselves at risk, and the mission too."

He let out a mix of a sigh and a growl.

"Do you know why I brought you two with me?" Logan asked.

Straightening herself, Kitty tried to answer.

"My ability to infiltrate any place would prove invaluable in any mission, especially one where we have next to no intel. Rogue can quickly incapacitate any mutant, and with a single touch she can access glimpses of memories that may be useful to us. Also, my hacking abilities—"

"I brought you two," Logan cut her off, "because I was told, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't pick a team, One-Eye would pick it for me, and he would come along."

Well, that was humbling, Kitty thought.

"And I brought you," Logan continued, "because I thought I could trust you."

Kitty and Rogue lifted their eyes, looking at Logan; then he finished in the most brutal way he could.

"I'm disappointed in you."

She would have preferred to be yelled at.

Turning his back at them, Logan grabbed his jacket and went to the door.

"From now on, you will stay here," he opened the door and looked at them, his eyes ablaze. "You won't go after that reporter mutant by yourselves, and you won't play detective trying to look for the other one. And God help you two if you disobey me again."

Saying this, Logan stepped out and slammed the door.

After a few minutes of absolute silence, they were finally able to breathe again.

"Holy fu— That was intense," Kitty exhaled, taking her hands to her face. "I honestly didn't think Logan could still lecture us like that. We're not kids anymore!"

Rogue was still quiet, looking at the empty wall. That wasn't good.

"Hey, Rogue," Kitty started, softly. "It was an accident. You know that, right?"

"It shouldn't have happened," Rogue said, curtly. "How many people do I have to put in the hospital until I learn that I have to be responsible with my powers?"

"Come on, nothing happened!"

"But it could have!" Rogue retorted. She sighed. "Logan's right. We disobeyed him and we put someone at risk, someone who didn't deserve that."

"True," Kitty admitted, feeling pretty bad about the whole situation too, "but—"

"There's no 'but', we fucked up," Rogue interrupted.

"So that's it?" Kitty argued, weirded out by Rogue suddenly obedience to the rules. "We made a mistake, yes, but we found out something important: Clark Kent is a mutant! Are we just going to leave it like that? We're X-Men, it's our duty to help mutants, and Clark Kent deserves to know he isn't alone!"

Rogue was in silence for so long that Kitty actually thought she would ignore her.

"No," Rogue whispered. "We can't ignore this, you're right." She turned to Kitty. "Every person has the potential to be a force for good, and he deserves the chance to reach that potential. We have to talk to him, even against Logan's wishes. He can punish us later."

Saying this, she immediately got up, picked her bag and went to the door.

"You coming?"

Kitty just stared at her for a moment, baffled.

"Are you sure you aren't drunk?"

Clark sighed, enjoying the breeze of the night on his face; he finally was able to end the "spontaneous" party in the apartment — something so "unplanned" that several people showed up at the same time, and there were even waiters to serve food that Clark never bought — and now he could actually work on the real reason he was in Japan in the first place.

Investigating the murders of the Yashida Corporation men and finding out how that was connected to the adamantium being moved around the planet.

For that, he first needed to go the crime scene and see what he could find.

While the streets weren't empty, the late hour had done a good job in dispersing the crowds, and Clark could move fast, avoiding all the staring, which was always a plus. The neon lights all around Tokyo gave the city a distinct look, and he could clearly hear music coming from the bars and restaurants nearby, but all that was blocked from his mind the moment he arrived at the crime scene.

Like Natasha had told him, they had done a great job cleaning the place up. It was impossible to tell such a gruesome crime had happened there; at least impossible for a human.

To his Kryptonian senses, however, there were still clear marks of all the violence. His eyes could see the traces of blood stains on the alley, even after they were washed away, pretty much covering all the ground and parts of the wall. The smell of blood was there as well, hidden behind the chemicals they used to clean everything, but present nonetheless.

Focused, Clark walked around, tracing the shadow of the footprints left behind on the scrubbed blood puddles, searching for fingerprints, small pieces of torn cloth or even strands of hair; he touched a part of the wall, recently fixed to hide what were definitely bullet marks, and kept going until he stopped in the middle of the alley.

There, very faintly, his Kryptonian eyes picked something interesting: two scratch marks on the ground.

Adamantium scratch marks, given how easily they scraped the concrete.

Clark stopped for a moment, thinking; he had a pretty good idea what had happened there.

There were ten people — adult males, from the size of their footprints and the angle of the shots — fighting a single opponent; a smaller opponent, Clark realized with dread, even smaller than the average Japanese woman.

A child, he concluded, feeling as tense as he was confused.

The men — from Yashida Corporation, no doubt — were apparently caught by surprise, but organized themselves and surrounded the child. From the pattern he could see in the footprints, they attacked together, using small blades and pistols; he touched the wall and breathed deeply for a moment. They'd managed to hit the child, two gunshots and what seemed to be a sword slash according to the blood spatter, but weirdly enough it was not enough to put the kid down.

What happened, Clark determined with eyes wide, was just the opposite: the child fought back, completely ignoring what should have been fatal wounds, wielding two pairs of adamantium blades, slicing and dicing everything and everyone around.

The blood didn't lie. Limbs were removed, heads were taken off, organs were shredded, until all ten men were dead and a pool of blood formed on the ground.

And then the kid was gone, seemingly healed, because there were no traces of blood leading out of the alley other than small child-sized footprints, footprints that stopped by a manhole leading underground.

Clark knew the kid had to be long gone by now, but he still reached to open it and gather more clues; the moment he was about to do it, however, he heard footsteps approaching.

Rogue was feeling as if she had gulped-down a gallon of coffee mixed with energy drink, and then, just for good measure, injected herself with a vial of pure adrenalin straight in the heart.

Her entire body was nearly vibrating because of all the energy, strengthening her muscles, quickening her thought processes and reflexes, making everything around her seem so slow; and making her incredibly fast too.

She only noticed how much faster once she realized Kitty wasn't by her side anymore, but standing all the way back, on the opposite side of the street, staring at her with wide eyes.

Rogue had to consciously restrain herself as she walked, force her own body not to move at the speed it wanted to move, hold her own strength back so that her feet wouldn't open craters as she walked; the simple act of speaking a word a bit louder than she'd intended had been enough to crack the windows of a nearby building! It was near maddening, to have to control each and every movement she did so she wouldn't break everything around her.

It was like living in a world made of cardboard; Rogue didn't know if that conclusion came from her or from the unintelligible memory flashes she had ever since she touched Clark Kent.

But that wasn't even the worse part, no, the worse part was her senses suddenly wreaking havoc in her own head!

She nearly passed out when a car ten blocks away honked, the sound so loud to her ears that Rogue felt as if a knife had been plunged into her brain. Her eyes suddenly could see everything, close or far, big or very small, well illuminated or not, and even through walls, clothes and people!

Surprisingly enough — or maybe not — closing her eyes did nothing to help, since she could still see things through her own eyelids.

Her sense of smell was suddenly so good that Rogue could smell the entire neighborhood, well enough to distinguish different seasonings being used in different restaurants' dishes, prepared miles away; she could also smell the toxic smoke from the vehicles, the sweat on people's skins and even the underground sewage system.

And because of her sudden enhanced palate, Rogue could almost taste all that, at all times.

Rogue had no idea what kind of powers she had absorbed when she touched Clark Kent, and the memory flashes playing on her mind were nearly incomprehensible, but it wasn't like anything she had ever experienced. At first, Rogue thought Clark had enhanced strength, like Colossus or the Blob, but it went far beyond that.

It was a collection of gifts, or maybe a very broad and versatile one, with such immense power that Rogue felt overwhelmed; for Clark's sake, and her own, they needed to find him and bring him to the X-Mansion.

The very thought of someone losing control of all that power — or worse, going full Magneto — frightened Rogue to her very core.

"How are you doing, Rogue?" Kitty asked again, worried, as they walked fast.

"Better," Rogue said, wincing a bit. "It's getting easier to control the, well, everything. I think my mind is unconsciously decoding some of those memories I got, because I'm getting better at focusing on what I have to focus." She saw a glimpse of Kitty's skull for a moment and shook her head; her eyes went back to normal, no longer seeing through skin. "Not comfortable, though. I don't know how the Professor never got wind of Clark Kent, because with this power, he should've been glowing like a sun when he peeked with Cerebro."

"Some are more resistant to telepathy than others," Kitty said, uncertain.

Rogue nodded, and then they stopped talking, finally arriving at Clark's apartment; just in time to see him leaving to go somewhere. They glanced at each other, waited until he turned the street, and started following him from afar once again.

It took more time than Rogue would've liked to admit to notice that she recognized where they were going: the very first place where the mutant they were searching for killed all those people.

Once again, Rogue and Kitty glanced at each other, but this time with urgency; after the party, they had decided that Clark wasn't in Japan to look for their missing mutant, that it had been all one big coincidence that he was there at that time.

They were rethinking that conclusion, because Clark Kent was going directly to the mutant crime scene and that was definitely not a coincidence.

They followed him through the street, walking faster, ready to enter the alley and meet him; except that, when they finally arrived, no one was there. Confused, they looked at each other, then around, looking for him. There wasn't anywhere to go, how could he be gone?!

He wasn't, they found out soon enough. He was somehow standing right behind them.

"I remember you two," Clark Kent muttered, startling them. They turned to look at him, seeing him frown for a moment. Then he sighed. "You're not models at all, are you?"

"What, we're not pretty enough to be models?!" Kitty retorted, incensed.

Feeling Kitty was about to stray from the point of the conversation, Rogue stepped forward.

"I'm Anna Marie, but call me Rogue," she introduced herself. "This is Kitty Pryde." Rogue met his blue eyes. "You're right, we crashed your party, but we had a very good reason for that."

"What reason?" Clark Kent asked.

"We know what you are," Kitty announced.

By the way Clark Kent's face went pale, that wasn't exactly the right way to start that conversation.

Clark felt his blood turn cold, and he stood frozen, staring at the two young women.

How could this have happened? Who were they working for? SHIELD? CIA? Some criminal boss he didn't know about? And how could they know he was Superman? Was that why they had infiltrated Natasha's apartment? To find out his secret? To gather proof?

He had so many questions that he didn't even know where to begin, but suddenly things stopped making sense.

"You're a mutant," Kitty Pryde added, sounding absolutely certain.

What?!

Clark didn't even realize he had asked that out loud, but he must have had, because Kitty went on.

"You don't need to be scared!" she said, raising both her hands. "It's alright. We're mutants too!" Saying this, Kitty walked to the wall and pushed her arm through it. "See?"

She didn't break the wall, she didn't use some kind of enhanced strength to pierce the concrete, Kitty Pryde's arm literally went through it as if she were some kind of intangible ghost.

"My mutation allows me to shift and separate my own atoms through intra-atomic spaces," Kitty explained, as if she had memorized that line, her arm still in the wall. "In other words, I can phase through things."

He didn't even know what was going on anymore, so he just stood there, staring stupidly at them, expecting things to make sense eventually.

"And I can temporarily absorb other mutants' life forces, their energy, some of their memories and their gifts when I touch them," Anna Marie — Rogue — said. "That's how we know you're one of us."

That part brought Clark out of his stunned state.

"You absorbed my powers?!" Clark asked, as shocked as he was worried; then something else, something even more important took precedence. "You absorbed my memories?!"

"Just a bit of both!" Rogue answered, fast. "The longer I touch someone, the more I get. You caught me before I fell at your party, it was an accident. It was enough for me to get a bit of your power and hints of memories, but not much, nothing that makes any sense."

Saying this, she also approached the wall; and, like Kitty, she put her arm through it. Difference was, Rogue definitely used raw strength to do it, her fist opening a hole in the concrete with incredible power.

His power.

Clark could barely believe what he was seeing. This was as incredible as it was frightening. There was a mutant in front of him — the very first Clark had knowingly met — who was capable of copying other mutant's gifts, and she had absorbed some of his.

A mutant version of a vampire; except Clark wasn't a mutant, he was an alien.

And even so, Rogue's mutant abilities had somehow replicated his extremely complex Kryptonian physiology just as easily as it had replicated an ordinary mutant's abilities.

He had no words to describe how shocked he was.

"I know this is surprising," Rogue continued, slowly, eyeing him as if she were afraid he would run at any minute. "I know it can be scary, believe me, it was the same with me. But you're not alone. There's a place for people like us, a place where we can learn how to safely control our abilities, a place where we can be ourselves without fear of being hurt or ostracized."

Clark didn't know what to say in response to that. What could he say? That he wasn't a mutant? How would he explain his abilities then? Saying he was an alien? That would be the same as admitting he was Superman, and he wasn't about to do that to people he didn't trust, people he didn't even know. Would they believe him if he said he was an enhanced, like Jessica or Matt? Would the memories Rogue got from him spot his lie?

Luckily for him, his stunned silence seemed to be expected by them. He imagined it wasn't every day that a mutant encountered other fellow mutants.

"That's why we're here," Rogue said, opening her eyes and looking around. "We came to find the mutant who killed these people."

That startled him into motion.

"Mutant?" he asked. "You know the one who did this?"

Both of them shook their heads.

"Then how do you know about this?" Clark insisted.

"Because it's our job," Kitty answered, simply. "That place we told you about? It's a school for people like us. A place where we can learn about our abilities, how to use them, but most importantly, how to use them without hurting others. We have a team to find mutants all over the world, so we can help them, keep them safe… And keep others safe from them when there's need for it."

Clark wondered which was which at the moment. On one hand, the mutant — if they were right about that, because they also seemed certain Clark was a mutant himself — had butchered ten people.

On the other hand, the mutant was very likely a child, given the blood patterns he read, a child who had been shot and cut by ten adult men.

He needed answers and those two seemed to have some of them. Clark looked at them.

"Look, you don't have to commit to anything right now," Rogue said, before he could open his mouth, probably expecting a denial. "Just… Let's eat something. Let us tell you about the school first, then we'll see."

That would work, Clark thought; he nodded.

The meat was sizzling on the small grill.

"Why didn't you tell me there's barbecue in Japan?" Rogue asked, glaring at Kitty, as she stuffed her mouth with several bite-sized pieces of beef. "You knew I was fed up with ramen!"

Kitty shrugged, eating her sushi.

"I like ramen," she said, simply. "And I'm vegan."

"You're eating fish right now!"

"Doesn't count."

"And you ate a five-pound steak that time Logan took us to Madripoor!"

"It would be rude to refuse!" Kitty countered. "Logan was very proud of Princess Bar's specialty."

Clark watched the two girls argue back and forth for a minute, while he grilled his meat; it was, in a way, fascinating. It was clear that they were friends, good friends, but they argued fiercely and often… Almost like sisters.

Maybe they weren't related by blood — at least he didn't think so —, but they were family.

People were so afraid of mutants, some going as far as to think they were living bombs just waiting to go off, but if they could see what Clark was seeing, many would rethink that. They had abilities, yes, they could use them for good or evil.

But at the end of the day, Clark was looking at two young women that were no different than millions of others all over the world.

Aliens, gods, mutants… People were just people. There was a lot more in common than there were differences, and once everyone realized that, maybe they could all live in harmony, without fear.

"This meat is amazing!" Rogue groaned. "I've been craving something like this for days. Meat, maybe a steak… Beef bourguignon with—"

"Ketchup," Clark completed, eyes widening.

Rogue met his eyes, slightly embarassed. "Oh! I guess that craving is yours."

Clark still hadn't been able to get used to that. Rogue didn't only copy a bit of his powers, like she explained, she copied some of his memories. Flashes of it, parts of his psyche, his personality; so far, she didn't see anything that gave away his secret identity, but the little tidbits she got were shocking enough.

"Beef bourguignon with ketchup? Are you serious?!" Kitty exclaimed, disgusted.

"Hmm… Followed by a slice of apple pie," Rogue added, sighing. "Damn, now this barbecue isn't gonna cut it anymore."

"I'll find you a slice of pie later," Clark promised her. Some place in Tokyo had to sell apple pie, and he could take the chance to buy some local sweets for Raven to try, she would enjoy them. "But you were telling me about the school…"

The "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters", they told him; they had also called it "Mutant High".

Clark was simply amazed by the idea, a school for mutants to learn how to control their abilities. A place where mutants all over the world could live without hiding who they were, safe from those who would hurt or discriminate them. A place where they could live as "normal people".

Did SHIELD know about this? Normally Clark would bet they did — there was no way they would miss a large gathering of mutants inside the US, especially since they told him the school existed for a while now —, but given that the Headmaster was, according to them, a powerful telepath that used his abilities to not only find mutants all around the globe, but to also keep them safe, who could tell?

Not for the first time, Clark was thankful for all the training he had in keeping his mind guarded, and he hoped it would be enough to defend his mind. That kind of power could be easily abused; after dealing with things in Tokyo, Clark had already decided to pay them a visit and see things for himself.

But so far? A school that helped young mutants to live normal lives, free of fear? That sounded incredible.

"Right…" Kitty said, putting her chopsticks down and looking at him. "You know how people can get when mutants are involved." She looked around the empty bar, talking softly. "Unfortunately, some don't take it very well. That goes double for mutants who can't hide their gifts. It's not uncommon for people to get hurt or, at the very least, isolated."

No, unfortunately it wasn't uncommon, Clark knew that very well. He might not be a mutant, but his abilities always kept him apart from people when he was a boy, and he had the good luck of looking like a normal human.

"This is bad enough," Kitty kept going, "but some mutants are dangerous." She glanced at Rogue, who made a conscious effort not to meet her eyes. "Not because they want to be, not because they're bad people, but because they can't control their powers. That's where we get in."

"And who's we?" Clark asked.

Kitty grinned.

"The X-Men," she said, proud; it was a catchy name, Clark concurred. "We're a team of mutants. We find mutants who need help, we bring them to the school when they want to, and we stop bad mutants from abusing their powers and hurting people." She shrugged. "I mean, who else is gonna do it? You've seen the stuff some of us can do, right? And the Avengers and Superman weren't always around to help."

That was true as well, Clark agreed in silence. Mutants were just people, and some people made bad choices in life. Except that when that person was born with enough power to challenge an entire army and win, things could get ugly very, very fast.

Magneto was there to prove that, unfortunately. A mutant terrorist, guilty of several crimes, including developing and using a mutagenic weapon that could forcibly activate dormant traces of the X-Gene in normal humans.

Except the process was so traumatic to the body that few, if any, lived to tell the tale; the experiments in the Mutant Factory Clark shut down were said to be inspired by that technology.

It was a good thing Magneto was now safely behind bars; plastic bars.

"And Professor Xavier is the one who finds these mutants?" Clark asked after a few seconds, hoping to clarify that part.

"Yep," Rogue answered, chewing her meat. "We told you he's a telepath, right? He has a machine called 'Cerebro' that can enhance his powers, so he can pretty much scan the entire world. Mutant and human's minds work a bit differently, enough so that he can pick up where they are, get a sense of their powers, if they need help or not... That's when we come in."

"Not all mutants need help," Kitty added. "In fact, most of us have abilities so inconsequential that they don't even notice they're mutants. But there are some who are the opposite, some who are born so different that they don't have the privilege of keeping the fact that they're mutants to themselves. And there are those who have abilities that can give them away and even put others — and themselves — at risk."

"Don't know how the Professor didn't find you, to be honest," Rogue mentioned, eyeing him; Clark hid his uncomfortableness. "You're a powerhouse."

"It happens," Kitty said fast, noticing his discomfort. "It doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, some mutants are just resistant to telepathy. Take the one we're trying to find, for example. The Professor couldn't give us a precise spot of where she is."

"Why?" Clark asked, interested.

"Well, I'm no telepath, but…" Kitty explained. "That whole 'mind reading' stuff is a grossly oversimplification of how things work, or so Jean tells me. The mind is not a book with pages full of words that you can read, it's a maelstrom of thoughts, memories, sensations and dreams that are happening all at the same time, constantly. So a telepath is not exactly reading a book when they glimpse into someone's mind, they're just trying to… How did Jean put it? 'Put together a puzzle that has missing pieces, while a storm is blowing the pieces you have away.' Of course, when you're dealing with mutants, it goes beyond that."

"How so?" Clark asked.

"All minds are different, right? But in the end, they're all human minds, they have more similarities than differences. With a mutant that's not necessarily true. Some of us are built different," Kitty said, shrugging. "Some are telepath themselves, some are naturally resistant, some just think different, their minds are more, what's the word? Feral, I suppose."

Rogue agreed.

"True. I absorbed Logan's abilities a few times, his mind is completely different. It's like he doesn't think using words, but feelings, images, scents… Pure instinct. It can be overwhelming."

Clark didn't know who Logan was, but he imagined how his mind would feel to a telepath. He couldn't know exactly how much his mind differed from a human — after all, even depowered, he was never human —, but from what he could gather there were some glaring differences when it came to memory and thought processes.

To put it simply, Clark remembered everything, and he could think faster than he could fly; he imagined something like that would be, at the very least, a bit unsettling to a human telepath.

"Do you mind if we asked you a few questions now?" Kitty asked, uncertain, drawing Clark's attention back to the conversation.

A bit tense, Clark nodded.

"What exactly can you do?" Rogue asked first, going straight to the point. "Like I told you, I got some of your abilities, but… Mutants often have one gift, but you? You're strong, fast, your senses are incredibly enhanced…"

"My body can absorb sunlight," Clark started, deciding to tell the truth with a few omissions. "I don't understand exactly how it works, but my best guess is that my cells use that sunlight to produce energy and, in turn, supercharge my body. The strength, the speed, the senses… They're all a consequence of that."

"Hmm, I suppose I drank some of your energy alongside it, because I haven't been in the sun yet," Rogue mused, then she widened her eyes. "Are you telling me things are going to get even worse when the sun rises?"

Clark honestly had no idea, so he just shrugged.

"God, I hope this fades before the night is over… No offense," she added, hastily.

He just waved it off with an understanding smile.

"Shouldn't these abilities have faded by now?" Kitty asked. "I mean, you touched him for what? A few seconds?"

Rogue shrugged, not knowing how to answer, but Clark got the feeling she was just as puzzled as Kitty; maybe his alien physiology had something to do with that, Clark considered, or maybe he had just transferred a lot of raw energy to her with a single touch, but it was quite clear to everyone that something was different than usual.

He dearly hoped it wouldn't end up hurting her.

"What I want to know is how did you learn to control this," Rogue said, looking at him, an expression of awe on her face. "It's… It's too much! I was almost overwhelmed when it finally hit me, and I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for your memory flashes, that I would have been." She leaned closer. "How can you have this much control?"

Kitty also got closer, interested.

"My parents helped me," Clark admitted. "It wasn't easy, believe me, but they were always there for me. They helped me train, they came up with ideas to hone my gifts, they helped me to clean up when I messed up… If it weren't for them, well," he looked at Rogue, "you got a taste of what I can do, so you can probably imagine how things would have gone."

Rogue got a little pale. She swallowed.

"Must've been nice, to have parents that care," she said, bitterly.

Implying hers didn't, Clark concluded; he felt a pang of anger. Parents were supposed to be there for their kids, no matter the challenge, but it seemed a lot of them weren't.

"Is this a common theme with mutants?" Clark asked, softly, looking at them.

Kitty sighed.

"More than we'd like," she said, slowly. "Especially in cases when the mutation can't be easily hidden. But there are some who are great, like mine. Still, training a mutant is no easy task, I doubt my parents could've done it. I owe a lot to the school."

"How did you…?"

"My powers began to act up when I was fifteen," Kitty told him, happily. "I didn't know I was a mutant yet, but I knew something had to be wrong when I phased through the bed and fell into the basement one night, while I was sleeping. It scared the hell out of me," she admitted, and Clark had to agree this would've scared him too. "Professor Xavier found me using Cerebro and then he and Jean — she's the telepath friend I mentioned, one of the first X-Men — came to talk to my parents. They took it a lot better than I expected, better than me really, and they agreed to send me there, so I could learn how to control my gifts."

She looked at Rogue.

"Rogue was a bit more complicated, she can tell you later, but we met in the school and we've been living together with a bunch of other mutants ever since," Kitty continued. "To us, it was a school too, a literal one, since we were young, but the 'extracurricular activities' were the real reason we were there." Kitty glanced at him, hesitantly. "I know you got things handled, and you definitely don't want to relieve high school, but I'm sure you could learn something about yourself there."

"She ain't wrong," Rogue agreed. "I did, and I didn't exactly go there expecting the best."

"At the very least you would meet people like you," Kitty added. "Maybe even make some friends."

Clark could understand the sentiment. If there were a Kryptonian school somewhere, with others of his kind, that could teach him about his gifts and, even more importantly, about his species, Clark would've gone there without hesitation. He grew up without even knowing what he was, what he could do, how his body worked, and there was only so much his parents could do to help him.

It was probably the same with mutants.

"Is that what'll happen with the mutant you're looking for?" Clark asked, suddenly. "You'll take her back to the school?"

"Yeah," Kitty answered. "Well, hopefully. We'll talk to her, try to solve things peacefully, but what she's doing… It can't go on. For her sake and the sake of mutant-kind. If she keeps doing this, she'll end up hurt or worse, and we already have plenty of enemies."

Clark thought for a moment, then made a decision.

"I'll tell you what: help me find her, and we all go back to the school. How does that sound?"

The girls glanced at each other, almost as if having a silent conversation; then they turned to him.

"Deal!" they said at the same time, smiling.

Clark hoped he knew what he was getting into.

She smelled the air.

Sweat, blood, fear… They were still chasing her through the tunnels, just as planned.

Hiding in the shadows, she took the opportunity to complete the next step of her strategy. Moving fast, she tossed her bag down and opened it, gathering its contents. Her eyes could see in the dark, but she didn't even need to use them as her fingers moved quickly, setting the timer.

One hour. And then she lifted her shirt, exposing her stomach.

SNIKT!

Blood gushed from the wound as soon as the adamantium touched her skin, the blade cutting through her belly so easily that it was as if skin and muscle were afraid of the metal, trying to avoid it no matter the cost.

Her breath hitched but she never flinched, not even when she grabbed the rectangular package and stuffed it inside her own stomach.

A second later, the wound was closed as if it were never there to begin with.

She retracted her claws and cleaned the blood as fast as she could; footsteps were approaching.

It was time to get caught.