CHAPTER 56 THE SEA BETRAYAL
The Caribbean Sea was calm, the waves rolling like silver silk under the moon. The yacht cut through the water at an easy pace.
Charles Xavier sat in his chair, sipping brandy, his brow furrowed even in vacation. Across from him, Dr. Peter Corbeau adjusted his glasses, the hum of machinery faint from the cabin below.
"Charles, you look troubled. These dreams of yours again?"
Xavier's voice was low, tight. "Yes, Peter. Dreams of FIRE. A cosmic storm tearing across the heavens. I need your surveillance system trained upward. Scan the skies for any sign of an approaching fleet."
Peter leaned back. "You're certain this isn't just a nightmare?"
Xavier's hands clenched. "I've learned to trust my nightmares."
The yacht's deck trembled. A shadow fell across them. Metal wings blotted out the stars. A Sentinel descended, water churning from the downdraft.
"Target identified. Xavier. Neutralization engaged."
Charles's eyes blazed. "NO!" His mind erupted, a psychic blast striking the machine. The Sentinel reeled back, its sensors sparking.
Xavier gasped, sweat pouring down his face. "Stronger... my power grows with every dream. But at what cost?"
Peter shouted, "Full speed! Get us out of here!" The yacht engines roared, waves splitting as they fled.
The Sentinel raised an arm, energy crackling. The blast struck the yacht broadside. Wood and steel ripped apart. Flames spat into the night as the vessel broke.
Xavier and Peter were hurled into the black sea. Salt water closed over their heads, dragging them down.
Charles thrashed, gasping, but a metal hand pierced the waves, seizing him. His body convulsed as another shock coursed through him. Darkness swallowed his mind.
The Sentinel lifted him, limp and unconscious.
Its mechanical voice boomed across the waters, a message not meant for men.
"Solar flare... APPROACHING LIMIT. Protocol initiation required."
With that, the giant rose into the night sky, Xavier clutched in its fist.
Far away, Logan dangled in the iron grip of another Sentinel. His body was slack, his eyes half-closed. He forced his breathing into a steady rhythm, feigning unconsciousness.
Through narrowed lids, he saw them-the machines gathering together, their numbers swelling. In their midst, Jean and Banshee lay motionless, still bound, still blacked out.
'All here. All prisoners. But I can't tip my hand yet. First time dealing with these tin cans. Need to know what they are. Need to know WHO'S PULLING THE STRINGS.
Logan let his head loll forward, his body a dead weight. The Sentinels carried him toward the unknown.