It was a sight that still sent a shiver running down Cafas' spine. Thousands of people choking Times Square and beyond. The last time he'd faced such a sight, it had been in similar circumstances. The memory was still clearly present for him, and for the perimeter of NYPD officers, who he could almost see praying that their riot gear would be unnecessary. He found some familiar faces there. Men and women he'd exchanged life debts with on a minute to minute basis.

This time will be different.

The X-man turned his vision forward once more, shoulders squared. Left and right stood X-men in full uniform, at ease in stance alone, raised seven feet off the ground by a steel stage. In front of them, the collective mass of those in New York touched by the tragedy in Odessa. A sea of humans and mutants alike, signs held aloft, ships upon the waves of chanting, gathered to support people thousands of miles away, and in the wake of the destruction wrought, demand peace.

He was painfully aware of the steel platform beneath him, of the clasps and buckles of his uniform, of the wire running through the microphone a few paces away. He was focusing on those, and on the love and shared pain that had gathered so many, to block out his own pain. The memory of how long the jet flight to Texas had felt, and how impotent they had all seemed, standing around the burned out ruins of that building far too late to help, was far too fresh a wound. He had to ignore it. He had to ignore the warm tears on his face. He had to be able to speak.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and he was the closest the X-men had to a public face.

How do you even begin to comprehend something like this...

His boots rang against the metal stage beneath him, though only he could hear them. The microphone crept closer, and he tried to run over the words he'd written on an increasingly tear stained napkin on the flight home. Morning sun streamed between buildings, the heat and humidity already oppressive in his soot stained, smoke drenched uniform. He stopped a foot away to clear his throat, then stepped onto his mark.

"A moment of your attention, please." He started, waiting a few beats for a hush to descend as his amplified voice echoed from the buildings and billboards around them.

"As you may know, I am Cafas Johnson, and we here are the X-men."

He'd had no idea where to begin, he'd had to pick something.

"It is with heavy hearts that we, and the various mutant rights groups that organised this rally, thank you all for coming out today, to support the mutant community."

Many people had gotten absolutely no sleep between the first news broadcast and that very moment, to make sure it went smoothly.

"As you all know, on the twenty fourth of June, Odessa, Texas was the site of a tragic, and horrific bombing of a mutant shelter, which has left forty nine dead, and a further fifty three wounded, the majority displaced children."

The figures. A necessary part, he was assured. He'd felt sick writing them. Speaking them nearly choked him.

"This attack has shaken our community, and stirred fear in the hearts of us all. Today, we are gathered to remember the individuals and families at the epicenter of this event..."

He couldn't even imagine their pain. He wouldn't know where to begin. His pause stretched perhaps over long, as he struggled to find the words on his palm cards through stinging tears.

"And to request peace in this time of fear and pain. To cry for an end to the attacks on our community, to beg our own to take no revenge. To tell the world, that violence should not be our path. WILL not be our path."

Could not be. They simply couldn't afford for this to turn into the riots again. The damage done there was responsible both for the complete political inaction, and for the META bot program, just poorly disguised stalker bots.

"To show those who seek to drive us apart with brutality, that they are vastly outnumbered. A tiny minority. And that we would all come together to make a better world despite their best attempts."

Maybe this time it would happen. This time they could do it. It would actually go somewhere and the world would be so much better for it. He hoped so dearly that it would.

"Let us show them, that in the face of hatred, we would stand tall in peace. For the memory of those who have so tragically passed, and for the hope of those that will inherit the world we create."

It was nearly over. Cafas was incredibly grateful that his voice hadn't cracked. His throat was certainly threatening to do so, tightening with sadness.

"Now, as the clock strikes nine, I would ask you all to observe a minutes silence with me. May your thoughts and prayers go to the innocent people affected by this incredible tragedy."

He timed it pretty well, all things considered. There was an awkward seven seconds waiting for the clock to tick over, but at least he hadn't gone over. Cafas stood to attention as it did, the X-men behind him following suit. It felt like the longest, most heart wrenching minute of his life.

Once more the clock ticked over. Cafas stood back at ease. "Thank you all, and thank you once again for coming. It's incredibly inspiring to see so much love, in the face of hatred."

The X-man fell back in line.

Abby kept her hands from fidgeting with her belt. She was dressed to show off her discolored legs. She didn't like it, but the rally was for peace. For encouraging mutant and human relations. But she was really nervous.

She had asked Cafas to take her, once she found out he was going to be there. And he had agreed! He let her come with, though she was off to the side of the main stage. She could see the X-Men lined up, some of which she still didn't know the names of.

She listened to Cafas's speech. Other kids were hurt because of their differences. Things they couldn't control made people fear them. Fear them enough to hurt them.

>> "And to request peace in this time of fear and pain. To cry for an end to the attacks on our community, to beg our own to take no revenge. To tell the world, that violence should not be our path. WILL not be our path."

Peace. Abby aborted a movement to mess with the headband she had put on. She wasn't visible from where she stood. But there were people backstage with her. A few of the stage workers had motioned towards her so she knew she was being watched.

The little blonde thought back to the gathered group of students around every television all turned to the same thing. A lot of older kids had missed classes to watch the news. She had been able to get a seat early on. Watching the news of the bombing was terrifying. They were still pulling bodies out too. So many that they didn't have the real numbers for hours. One hundred and two people total. Forty-nine lives taken. Fifty-three more to be decided. She knew there were still some in critical care.

The adults and older kids were worried about a repeat of riots that happened before. Abby didn't know much about that time in New York. But the research she had done showed that a lot of people were hurt during them. She didn't want that.

>> "...May your thoughts and prayers go to the innocent people affected by this incredible tragedy."

She closed her green eyes and remembered the photos the news had showed that morning. Several of them were younger than she was. She prayed they were safe and without pain wherever they were.

>> "Thank you all, and thank you once again for coming. It's incredibly inspiring to see so much love, in the face of hatred."

There was silence for a moment. Then one of the nicer stage workers bent down to her ear. "Go on, Honey. Say a few words," the woman whispered. Taking a look at the woman, Abby nodded. Cafas had said to listen to the adults while he was out there.

Taking a breath, Abby raced out into the silence of the crowd. She slowed as she got to the too tall microphone. There wasn't time to move it though. She went up on her toes to get closer. "Please, no more fighting," she called out. "Please?"

She took a look out at all the people. So many. Too many. She turned and ran to where she could hide behind Cafas. She hoped her words would help.

The multitudes of people standing in Times Square had choked out any sign of the pavement beneath their feet. On a typical day, people stuck to their group, walking along the sides of stores, occasionally stopping to take pictures. But on this, the day following a horrible attack, the Square was jam packed with both mutants and mutant allies.

Juliette made her way through the crowds, attempting to get a better view of the stage. She silently cursed her small stature. If only she were as tall as the X-man standing at the microphone. Then maybe she could see over the crowds rather than trying to peek between the heads of the people in front of her.

It wasn't that she minded the crowds, though. People had really come together following the attack. It was truly incredible to see the pride of the mutants that had gathered, showing off their various abilities without any fear or worry about being called out.

Juliette managed to wriggle herself past the shoulders of the people in front of her to a relatively good vantage point. A hush fell over the crowd as the X-man with bright pink hair stepped forwards.

Juliette watched attentively, keeping her eyes fixed on him out of respect. He introduced himself as Cafas Johnson and began his speech. It was moving to listen to, especially since the emotions from the previous night's attack were still fresh in everyone's minds.

A woman a few feet away from her had broken down into tears, clinging desperately to a photograph of what looked like a young boy. Juliette stepped through the dense crowd and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Trying to imagine what the families of both the deceased and the survivors were going through was nauseating. She couldn't imagine ever losing someone in such a hateful, violent way. Even with the time to prepare for her mother's passing, it was still difficult to sleep for the first while following her death. To loose someone so abruptly... She couldn't fathom.

Following the moment of silence and the X-man's potent words of closing, a young girl took centre stage. She was tiny, so the mic had to stand on her tip toes, though even then she had a difficult time reaching. Somehow, it made her words even more important. Her innocence shone brightly over the crowd, a beacon of hope in a dark time.

The crowd remained silent for a few seconds more before Juliette broke it. She felt bad for doing it; it had been such a serene moment. However, she had made the decision to start clapping.

The crowd around her soon erupted into a mixture of clapping and cheering in agreement with the little girl and solidarity of those who had fallen the day before.

He hated to admit it, but pink hair was actually a decent human being and good public speaker. They had gotten off on a bad footing, and he had not done much to fix that. In the light of the events in Odessa, he felt like maybe he ought to do something about that. In situations like these, you either isolated yourself, or you opened up and let others in. He wasn't an upstanding human being, and he wasn't a mutant, but the attack had still affected him. Kids were kids. They were off-limits. That someone would do something so heinous left a bad taste in all of his mouths. People needed to talk about it. Everyone needed to listen. He had included himself in the group of people who felt like something had to be said and something had to be done. So, he was listening to pink-hairs speech and giving the guy a degree of respect for the position he was in.

He agreed about violence being a terrible course of action. Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent, someone had said. Asimov, probably. And violence was bad for business. He had not been a part of the riots and the mutant registration act, because he had been on the run. Elliott had not been part of a family that would turn him in for that with some bogus accusation about him being mutant. What had happened could possibly happen again, if the reaction was bad enough and the wrong things were said and done. History repeats itself. He was self-aware enough to know the importance of preventing that.

He frowned.

Even he wasn't low enough to pick pockets in a crowd like this. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Seriously! He was listening, so he heard the little girl beg for an end to fighting. Heart-melting, really. Hopefully, people would listen.

Someone started a clap. It picked up. It's hard to clap with hands that only have a thumb and two fingers, but he gave it his best effort. He did not have much more to add. His clap was just a drop in the bucket, but it was there.

What would they do? The bomber had been caught. Now was a time for silence and mourning, and kind deeds and words. Unity. He could understand that.

It was humid. The air sat heavily upon the assembled crowd like the oppressive sorrow that had descended since the massacre in Odessa. The heat was made only worse by those concrete clawing fingers and their decadent neon signs, constantly marketing one video or some product. Here in the center of commerce and tourism they gathered to remember and talk peace.

No doubt the heat and humidity were building. Devon had made it through discussions with his peers at Sanctuary and even security and government officials without losing it. More than a tear had been shed with the touch of drizzle upon his city block. But now, standing here amidst the X-Men, fellow mutants, sympathizing humans, and the unsure masses that dared to traverse the rally in 'such chaotic times,' Devon was having trouble not feeling angry.

Cafas Johnson cut a large, imposing, and handsome figure as he spoke before the crowd. Devon had to wonder if the pink hair was an affectation of his mutation or if the young man merely favored a different look, the punk scene, or something else. He wasn't one to judge on appearance, though considering this X-Man was now a public face for the X-Men at a peace rally Devon did question it.

It was naively idealistic to talk peace, to say violence would not be the path. These were the X-Men who worked with the NYPD, whose META bots could swerve out of control at whim it seemed. If someone brought violence down upon their house, would they not respond in kind? Perhaps vengeance was not the path they wanted, but returned violence would likely be if they were targeted. What hypocrites would they be then. And who would bring peace to the deceased?

The X-Man, who Devon did note was admirably trying and whom Devon certainly hoped was saying what he thought best, called also for a moment of silence. Devon was silent in the moment, but he did not gaze down, bend his head, or close his eyes as did many around him. This wasn't a time for silence. Would the dead want them to be quiet? He doubted it. If he and those he worked with had been silenced forever by an attack at Sanctuary, then he would demand voices shouting loudly to the sky, for protection for others, for litigation to ensure their rights and safety.

It was great to see many come together in solidarity. Many needed that. However, Devon was conflicted on the young girl's presence. He could not tell her age, but that didn't matter. The seeming of innocence was strong, made only more powerful by her need to rise up on the tips of her toes to speak into the microphone. Living with fear that someone could act in terrorist fashion was no way to live. Ignoring the threat of it at a place like this was also foolish.

Devon applauded heartily at her words, more for her presence than the message. She would learn otherwise one day and the thought of such turned his stomach in knots. The kids at Sanctuary had long ago lost such wonder of the world and seeing it happen to people like them on television had only sharpened the knife that cut away their childhood.

In defensive posturing, Devon folded his arms over his chest and sighed. His azure eyes were clouded as he fought at the anger burdening him and the weather of Times Square. Woe to anyone who threatened this child or anyone nearby. He remained vigilantly watching and listening, keenly aware that in a crowd such as this danger could easily disguise itself.

Jiri took a sip of coffee.

Classes were canceled. 49 dead, 53 wounded, and classes were canceled. Not at real schools, of course. Just at the Mansion.

That said pretty much everything Jiri had to say on the issue. He took another sip. It was pretty scalding, but he was pretty sure this was all a dream, so it evened out.

If this wasn't a dream, then Cafas Johnson could have bothered to wear a uniform that he hadn't rolled in dirt. Not even the world's most famous mutant movie star would have decided that here was the place to apply his movie theatrics. He'd have worn a fresh uniform, pressed and clean, and taken a damn shower first, to show respect for the dead.

And the X-Men wouldn't have been too deep into Cold Steel's mini-fridge to get to Odessa in time. They wouldn't be up here talking the same old line about peace, like the word was a magic spell, and saying it would some how change the world. They'd have at least bothered to put together a plan, some kind of action. Something that all these people had gathered here to hear, that everyone listening could do: something that would be a real change. The world was watching and listening and ready. They wouldn't have wasted that, if this were real. Detouring traffic away from a few roads for a few hours? Not real change. Not even in a dream.

And they wouldn't have brought a child up on the stage, exploiting her innocence like a prop at a play. She looked a little like his sister, if his sister were older and gray-skinned-er. If his sister grew up and turned mutant, just like her brother. Some of the kids who'd died were her age, or younger.

His age, or younger.

What could the X-Men understand about that? What gave them the right to speak for the dead?

If this wasn't a dream, the pink-haired poser would be too angry to cry. There was a burning feeling behind Jiri's eyes, and it was hot and it was dry and anyone who wasn't feeling the same wasn't feeling anything at all.

This dream was all talk. Just all talk. Again. It was all the X-Men ever did, when they didn't really care. If it wasn't their own people, they couldn't even be bothered to leave the city in a timely fashion.

Jiri spent the minute of silence looking straight at the X-Man, over the brim of his cup.

He didn't clap. He drained his coffee, threw it in the trash, and hopped down from his perch.

He hadn't woken up yet. He wasn't sure how. But he was pretty sure that 49 kids in Odessa had figured it out, and 53 had thought about it, long and hard.

Ambrose yawned.

It was a moving scene, that was for sure - all these people, filling up the streets and the square itself, all in support of those 49 dead. But to Ambrose, it was another box on a checklist. Organize a press conference to state JW's immediate reaction - check. Inspiring tweet and Facebook essay - check. Massive public donation to show his personal support - check. Now he was here to check off "attend the peace rally to show even further support." Then he'd be shuttled back to his building to hold the press conference. He might even fly to Odessa later that week, to show that he was willing to help out in any way possible.

No, maybe not. Ambrose frowned to himself as a pink-haired mutant took the stage - Cafas Johnson of the X-Men. He knew that, of course, but he didn't really care. As the man started to speak, Ambrose weighed the pros and cons. Pros - better public image. Cons - effort.

He'd probably just send out a platoon of JW-employed doctors to help, armed with the best in mutant medical technology. Easier for him that way.

Johnson called for a minute of silence. Ambrose hung his head, looking appropriately somber for the news crews whose cameras panned around the square. He wasn't in the middle of the mass of people - he was further to the back, flanked by bodyguards, but he saw out of the corner of his eye when one lingered on him, the cameraman clearly recognizing who he was. Good. There wouldn't have been any point in coming if nobody had noticed.

He scanned the crowd from his position, having nothing better to do as everyone stood there silently. He recognized a few faces - Elliott was hard to miss, with his green skin. Someone else clearly wasn't feeling the mood, and was staring straight at Johnson, sticking out over the crowd of people with their heads hanging. It took him a moment, but he recognized the boy as the one who he'd done the AMA with all that time ago. Well, it was a small world.

The minute ended, and a little girl took center stage. He didn't know her, but she was clearly a mutant. When she spoke, he applauded with everyone else. No fighting. He couldn't say he disagreed. But there was one thing a child's naïveté rarely understood - before there could be peace, there was always war. He was briefly reminded of the meeting where he'd laid out his own plans for peace. They might take a while, but if these peace rallies stayed so pathetically peaceful, he'd have to throw out his favorite option.

And a utopia sounded rather nice right about now.

Idly, as everyone else's thoughts were filled with ideas of peace and unity, he wondered if he'd have time to grab lunch before the press conference. There was a deli nearby that made the most amazing BLTs, and he could go for one right about now. And maybe a coffee, or he'd fall asleep delivering yet another mindless platitude about standing strong in the face of tragedy, like he saw plastered on the signs all around him right now. God, he hated break room coffee. Someone always tried to pour coffee out while it was being brewed, and then it ended up being unpleasantly weak or disturbingly strong, and that was one thing that really would put a damper on his day...

Words. Peace, silence, honor. They were all words. They weren't actions. Amelia had been critical of the X men for as long as she could remember, and she couldn't tell you why. But words was a pretty good bet. Hollow empty words. They were a response team when they could be so much more... And billed themselves as that. They should have been doing something. Being the mutants humanity saw doing good, putting up the effort, being the change, the positive role models people pointed to and said "see? Mutants can be good." Instead, they worked with the police as glorified vigilantes. That rubbed her the wrong way.

The police were doing something. They had to. But it was their job, as was putting their lives on the line. That was why she was training to become a cop. An X man was always a vigilante, even as a cop. They fought criminals. They responded to shoplifters. She heard Sam had even stopped a pickpocket. Not the best use of his talents. When calamity struck, sure, that was when they were needed. Some violent mutant criminals, too. But not the easy stuff police could handle. And not just in New York. The world was bigger than that. Their scope was too narrow.

Shin was up there with the other xmen. She respected him. And Mirror, ultimately. Amelia liked Sam, too. He was a good leader. He had his faults. It wasn't his fault he'd been thrust into a leadership role as large as the one he filled. He would have been better suited as a high ranking handsome team leader, rather than a figurehead. People looked to him for wisdom. He was worldly, but that was a different kind of wise. As for the other figurehead...

Cafas had some talent for acting. He had been in that big movie, and he had given this speech. Amelia felt the tears had been sincere, but he was an actor. She didn't know him and she didn't trust him. Ultimately, he hadn't done anything beyond talk. Unfortunately, that made him a figurehead and not a leader. What the world needed now we're leaders to lead them on.

She wasn't a leader. But she wanted to be. She wanted to be a high ranking officer on the police force. While Cafas gave his speech, she was thinking of all she could do to contribute to the peace, to New York, mutant kind, and the world.

The events in Texas had been heinous. She agreed. How could you not? She had already donated money to the right charities. Those kids and their families needed support. She agreed with Cafas on most things, but one glaring thing stood out. To her, it seemed like he was proposing the worst kind of peace. A tenuous "do nothing and hope others do the same" kind of peace. The Cold War of peaces. Basically, she felt what he was telling everyone here to do, the X man's big plan, was... Nothing. And nothing was one thing she could not do.

The humidity had become oppressive. It felt potent with potential as the clouds had drifted from stratocumulus to fuller cumulonimbus. They darkened to gray as they billowed, limiting the sunshine though ensured the heat still baked within. The shadowed lights of Times Square shone brighter still in the looming storm's darkness.

Devon, try as he might, was awash with anger. He'd tried to hold himself in check but his arms held little but the stress upon his shoulders. Watching the crowd was a mix of worry and annoyance. Reading the crowd fared him little better. Some were as idealistic as the others, but many seemed uncertain or just as unsure. He'd given a few hellos and even helped one man from his perch against a trash can, but there was little solidarity here. This was a waste of time.

It seemed the journalists had the same idea. They broke down their stands and put away their cameras. Was this all it was? A little show by the X-Men in unison with the NYPD and urging their fellow mutants - no - all humanity to peace? They'd hoped for more and so had Tempest.

With the faintest tinge of white-yellow deep within those skies, distant thunder cracked from overhead and the rain began to fall. All the held breaths and anxious wonder at what was next broke as the storm began to pour down upon them. They rushed for newsstands and shop's over hangs. Restaurants were suddenly rushed with new business. A couple ducked under the stage and a few made for the subway.

Tempest stuffed his hands in his jeans and trudged on, face against the pelting curtain, his thoughts flung forward ceaselessly into the future.

They needed more than this.

Serena was on the outskirts of the actual crowd gathered at the rally. She couldn't escape hearing about what was going on, it was frankly, everywhere. She had felt sick to her stomach earlier that morning when she realised she'd become so desensitised to the happenings of the world that her first thought wasn't of the families of the victims, but of the backlash that this could cause. This flashed through her mind, albeit briefly again as she glanced out at the city.

She remembered the summer after her powers had been activated, when the city broke into riots after just one or two incidents with humans and mutants that were well publicised. Now she was an adult, responsible for herself in the truest sense of the word, and she dreaded a similar event occurring. She knew a couple of X-men to a reasonable degree, the images of Katrina, Sam and Mirror flashed through her mind. She knew that this was going to be some kind of a statement about their plan to help deal with the hysteria that would follow.

As an X-man, relatively unfamiliar to herself began speaking about the incident the thoughts of the victims families that had been plaguing her since she'd thought of herself as desensitised earlier that morning swam back in. She knew what it was like to lose people to senseless, meaningless violence. It was even worse when it was a case of what effectively amounted to racism.

She'd heard murmurs about the X-men planning some form of action to help deal with the fallout and to reassure and protect scared members of the mutant community. Serena herself, wasn't sure what to make of it as the speech unfolded, but she had always never been one to believe in or do anything to reinforce the divides between mutants and humans, she always felt that a power was no different than eye colour, or being born with a learning difficulty, it was just a fact about a human being that wasn't necessarily good or bad.

As the end of the speech set in, her emotional state turned into more of a minor annoyance. She bit her lip in frustration. She wasn't necessarily mad at the X-men. She could see they were standing on tenuous ground already, but while it came as a re-assurance that they would not condone violent actions, and they wanted others to follow by example, it didn't come with anything else that stood out to her.

Her heart was warmed by how many people came to show a rally of peace. However she felt that their example was what most decent human beings would do anyway. Her view of the X-men was that they should always strive to be extraordinary, even among mutants. They should be helping everyone, and actively be viewed doing so. The bombing, the response. It wall felt wrong. There should be more active and powerful demonstrations of unity from humans and mutants right now. She waited a minute for the crowd to thin out, and then set off home.

On that day, Astrid was just another face in the crowd. No one stopped to stare at her wings, or to glance at their own skin in comparison with her own. There were so many other mutants in the crowd that no one payed her any mind. She shook off her wings angrily as people brushed past her obnoxiously. 

She glanced at the stage, her eyes locked on the X-man standing up front. He was trying far too hard to be sympathetic.

Actually, everyone was trying too hard. She wasn't sure why everyone cared so much about a shooting. People died every day and no one held rallies for them or used their deaths to incite an idea of change. Besides, if they really cared so much, why were they just standing around talking about it instead of actually doing something? Why weren't they looking for revenge or at least going to the scene of the crime?

Hypocrites, all of them.

Just when she thought the rally couldn't get any more difficult to stomach, the little harpy stepped on stage. Her short stature prevented her from reaching the mic, so she had to stand on her tiptoes. It was an added aspect in the facade of caring that the X-men were trying so hard to uphold. It was sickening.

The harpy whined for peace and asked for the violence to stop. She was one to speak. Astrid could personally attest to some of her less than adorable traits. What they really needed was more violence, not less.

They needed to get back at the people that targeted mutants. They needed to turn the idea that mutants were the problem around.

Someone had started to clap. Astrid scoffed and kept her hands locked at her sides. The speeches didn't deserve a round of applause. Without actions, they were empty words.  

Hades watched from afair. He was not really in the mood to be social. Being social meant concealing his... well his presence, which tended to scare the general population. When one has been a hunter for so long.... well.

From his perch on the top floor of a nearby building he had unobstructed line of sight over times square, a perfect sniper spot. Hades had scouted all the potential sniper spots before the even started. His employer was in attendance after all. Although he was not technically on protection detail for Ambrose, he was in the area and preferred to be through. After this was over he was flying out to Texas, he had a duty to perform. After all, a promise from one immortal to another was not something to be taken lightly.

The man's name was Racquel (pronounced rak-uwl with a rolling R to start) and he had been one of the senior staff at the mutant shelter and on duty when the bomb blast hit. He had been going through a philanthropic phase of late, all immortals went through phases in their long life span. Hades had met him round about 1527 in Rome during an interesting time in history. Yes Hades domain was mainly in Asia but with so much time on ones hands, one does travel now and then. Racquel was an immortal mutant with super speed. His domain was mainly Europe and once they became acquainted with each other they got along rather well. exchanging martial arts techniques as well as news. They were both members of the Immortal club. 

Now the Immortal club is nothing formal, and in spite of its name does not count all immortals as members. It is instead a loose network of immortal mutants who stay in touch now and then. To be considered you have to be at least 500 years of age. 1000 grants you membership with 2000 years giving you senior membership. Hades was, by his count and the count of others (1000 years of memory loss not withstanding) around 3000 years old which made him a veteran member. There was the usual courtesy of knowing which places were who's "stomping ground" and it was considered polite to let that person know before making a mess in their territory etc. There was also the final farewell. When one immortal finally died, it was customary for him or her to request that another member of the club remember the deceased in some way. For Racquel it was for Hades to wield his signature saber one last time in the form that he taught Hades the first time they met. Hence the upcoming trip to Texas.

All this flashed through Hades mind as he listened to the proceedings. Memories, four hundred plus years of memories flashed before him. For immortals, the length of their lives was both a blessing and a curse, the blessing was obvious, the curse was to watch all whom you may have grown attached to age and die, over and over again. Except for another Immortal. For an Immortal to die is a big loss. Hades shook himself, his mind changing gears. He had duties to perform and if he read the winds of change right, there would be escalating violence between Mutants and Humans. They had started asymmetric warfare, it was time Mutants, at least ones he know or had authority over prepared for it. He had people to train, an army to wield and assets to activate.

The wind blew the curtains by the window. When they stilled, Hades was nowhere to be found.