In the time before Onslaught, the city of St. Louis, Missouri was known as the Gateway to the West. The large arch built next to the Mississippi River symbolised this idea. Tourists would come from near and far to visit this monument to the expansion of the United States. They would gaze up into the sky, marvelling at how far mankind has come, wondering how far mankind would go. It was only fitting that this architectural representation of the American dream was one of the first monuments to be destroyed in the war.

Twenty miles west of the ruins of the Arch, two figures stood together on a hillside. One was the woman known only as Rogue. Possessed of the ability to drain another person's memories, abilities, and life with a mere touch, she was the leader of the X-Men's Blue Squad. To her right stood Il Sung Kim, code-named Scrambler for his ability to disrupt the functions of anything he touches.

The two mutants stood silently, looking over the sparkling waters of the river. "Almost looks peaceful up heah, don't it?" Rogue asked quietly.

"If you ignore the charred ruins it does," Il replied, a slight touch of humour in his voice. He turned towards her, expecting to hear at least a chuckle. Instead she stared out into the horizon, a sad look on her face. "Is there something wrong?"

She sighed. "The world's really gone to crap, hasn't it? Ah mean, even if we do find something up in South Dakota, what difference would it make? It ain't gonna stop Onslaught. Maybe whatevah the Right's got up theah, we should let 'em keep it. Maybe they can stop him."

"And when they win, will it be better?" Scrambler asks, already knowing the answer. Rogue shook her head slowly. "So we must do what we can to stop it all at once. The other squads are taking care of Onslaught's forces. They will succeed and so will we. And then, maybe everything will be better."

She looked up at him. "How can you be so sure?"

He smiled down at her. "My father taught me that as long as good men fight, evil can never prevail. As long as we do not lose hope, we can never lose the battle. It may take many years, but in the end, they will fall."

Rogue stood up, her eyes still focused on the waters. "Ah hope you're right, Il. Ah'd hate to think this was all for nothing."

Two years ago...

"I hope you're right, Blake. I'd hate to think this was all for nothing."

Dr. Donald Blake scowled as he remembered Stephen Lang's words. The nerve of the man, to have so little faith in him. After all, it was Lang that insisted Blake head up the research team at the Right's labs in the Badlands. He had tried to refuse, but Stephen Lang could be a very convincing man when he wanted to.

Donald finished washing his hands and held them out so his assistant, a quiet man named Brad, could put the surgical gloves on them. He walked over to the operating table and gave one last look over everything. He looked at his watch and spoke into the microphone attached to his collar.

"It is now o'nine thirty-three. The subject has been prepped as stated previously and is under anaesthesia. I will now inject him with matter from test subject 118-A." Brad handed him a needle filled what appeared to be scraps of metal suspended in liquid. Donald readied the syringe, checking for any air bubbles, and then plunged it into the man's arm. He pulled it out and looked at his watch again. "The time is o'nine thirty-four. The subject has been infected."

Blake walked to the other side of the room. A large glass window separated him from test subject 118-A, the alien they had found a year ago. He had called himself Warlock, and was a member of shape-shifting techno-organic beings called the Technarch. He came to Earth to escape a fight. Lang hoped to use him to end one.

"Sir, I think you should come to see this," Brad said, a hint of excitement in his voice. Blake turned from the window and walked over to the table. Fine black lines criss-crossed the subject's skin, growing in size and number. Blake looked up at Brad, a broad grin stretched across his face.

"Wait till they get a load of this."

Present time.

"Get a load of this."

The group of mutants stood atop a butte a few miles from the Right's research labs. But instead of the group of buildings they were expecting, they found one massive structure. It was yellow, and every now and then, parts of it appeared to shift. Rising from the centre as a tower that appeared to slowly grow before their eyes.

"Ag, we'll have a hang of a time getting in there," commented Maggott, his two worms, Eeny and Meeny, crawling around his feet.

Amara snorted. "I shall level it flat and flood with molten lava. Then we will no longer have to bother with these people." She shifted into her lava form, but before she could do anything, Rogue lay a hand on her shoulder, her recently acquired invulnerability protecting her from Magma's heat.

"Hold up, shugah. Bishop wants us to find out what they're up to, and we can't do that if everythin's been destroyed, now can we?" Amara shifted back.

"I suppose that would not be wise. But keep in mind, you only need to ask."

"Good, now lemme think here. We need to get past their defences, but first Ah gotta figure out what they might be."

Bedlam tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, boss lady."

"What is it, Jesse?"

"I think I found the way in." Rogue looked in the direction Jesse was pointing. Five objects made of the same material were headed their way. As they got closer, the X-Men could make out humanoid features.

"Intruders identified," came a voice from one. "Classification: mutants. Objective: assimilate or destroy."

"What the hell --"

One year ago...

"-- do you mean someone escaped? Somebody must've helped. Hey, I don't want your sorry excuses, just find him!" Stephen Lang yelled as he slammed his phone down. Donald Blake smiled. As petty as it seemed, whenever something in Lang's life went wrong, it made him a little bit happier.

"Trouble?"

Lang glared at him. "One of your test subjects has escaped. If Onslaught gets a hold of him, we might as well kiss our asses good-bye."

Blake rolled his eyes. "Sure thing, Lang. I'll keep that in mind. Now, what did you call me here for?"

Stephen leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of his face. "I was just wondering how the project was going. All the subjects responding well?"

"Exceptionally. After the first few...mistrials, we haven't had any problems. It is my understanding that they are being trained in their powers. And that they are quickly becoming adjusted to their new bodies."

"Did you like the name I came up for it?"

"Phalanx?" Donald shrugged. "It's all right. What's so significant about the name?"

"Because that's what we are now, Donald. Everyone involved in this project is like family now, close-knit. No one else in the world is part of our special little group out here."

"What are you getting at, Lang?" Blake asked suspiciously. Stephen had something up his sleeve. He could feel it.

"How long have you been crippled?" Stephen asked, abruptly changing the subject. Donald blinked. His childhood was a fuzzy memory. Sometimes things would seem crystal clear, and then the next day everything was a blur. His family (his family?) were long gone, and he hadn't kept touch with any of his old friends. He couldn't even remember the name of the high school he graduated from. In fact, he could only dimly recall anything before college, and those memories were few and far between.

But Stephen was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He couldn't tell him the truth, so he made up a story. "I was in high school. Some mutie gang jumped me. I survived, but my leg didn't." Lang nodded knowingly, as if that was the answer he had expected.

"Wouldn't you love the chance to walk again? To run?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose."

Lang leaned in closer. "Let's make a deal. Let's infect ourselves with this virus. We'll be the most powerful men on the planet, Donald, you and I."

"What's the catch?"

"No one knows but us."

"What about Hodge? Haven't you been making updates to him?" Cameron Hodge, a most respected member of the Human High Council, and also the unknown leader of the Right movement.

"He doesn't know anything about the project. I told him that the alien had died and we could find no use for it. Like I said, no one else in the world."

Donald stared into his lap for a long time. As much as he hated Lang, the idea was tempting. As long as he could remember...which really wasn't that long...he had been disabled. Passed over as weak on numerous occasions, he was tired of the world pushing him around. He looked up at Lang's face. For a moment, he saw another face hovering over Lang's, and the word 'trickster' came into his mind. His vision cleared though, and it was Lang's sardonic smile that he saw. He pushed down his disgust and stuck his hand out.

"It's a deal."