Zéro. [ Video ]
[ At first, only sounds are heard - dishes rustling against one another, doors opening and closing, a string of cursing in French. Video pans to first a cup of coffee, then darkly painted fingernails, and finally a picture of the entire Monet St. Croix, clad in her X-Factor uniform of t-shirt and leather. She's sitting in a café, fiddling with the communicator. ]
Ah, I see. Très mignon. It seems this device is capable of broadband communication and I'm currently broadcasting. To whom, I wonder? It's clear that I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto. My surroundings resemble a poor man's New York - slightly preferable to utter mess that is Detroit, but even then only just. I suppose the problem is that I was there immediately before being summarily pulled here, wherever here is. Hello, faux-New Yorkers. This is Monet St. Croix, both brains and beauty behind X-Factor, and, at least so far, this is the least unpleasant alternate dimension I've traveled to.
[ Monet is the picture of composure as she regards the communicator, sipping her coffee. Someone less traveled, someone of lesser ability might be taking this transition badly, but Monet is confident that she'll figure everything out. As long as he isn't here... shaking off the memory, Monet instead waves sheets of paper at the camera ]
A voice had welcomed me to this city, called me a hero and handed me these. Could it be that this is what's becoming of registered mutants? Hm. If so, at worst, there's a very dangerous game being played here. At best, it means that Rictor is wandering around as well. Where could we have been taken? Past? Present? Different timeline altogether? It stands to reason that I wouldn't have been given this device if I wasn't meant to find out.
As I seem to have some time on my hands, it couldn't hurt to do a little investigating. First things first, however; I'm in desperate need of a hotel room and a shower.
Interdimensional travel is always so filthy.
Ah, I see. Très mignon. It seems this device is capable of broadband communication and I'm currently broadcasting. To whom, I wonder? It's clear that I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto. My surroundings resemble a poor man's New York - slightly preferable to utter mess that is Detroit, but even then only just. I suppose the problem is that I was there immediately before being summarily pulled here, wherever here is. Hello, faux-New Yorkers. This is Monet St. Croix, both brains and beauty behind X-Factor, and, at least so far, this is the least unpleasant alternate dimension I've traveled to.
[ Monet is the picture of composure as she regards the communicator, sipping her coffee. Someone less traveled, someone of lesser ability might be taking this transition badly, but Monet is confident that she'll figure everything out. As long as he isn't here... shaking off the memory, Monet instead waves sheets of paper at the camera ]
A voice had welcomed me to this city, called me a hero and handed me these. Could it be that this is what's becoming of registered mutants? Hm. If so, at worst, there's a very dangerous game being played here. At best, it means that Rictor is wandering around as well. Where could we have been taken? Past? Present? Different timeline altogether? It stands to reason that I wouldn't have been given this device if I wasn't meant to find out.
As I seem to have some time on my hands, it couldn't hurt to do a little investigating. First things first, however; I'm in desperate need of a hotel room and a shower.
Interdimensional travel is always so filthy.