Vertigo screamed in shock and surprise more than in pain. Before any vestige of conscious thought could even begin to set in, she was already flinging herself frantically backward to put the mortuary at her back. Unfortunately, a second later agony flared through her laser-pierced shoulder, sending fingers of sympathetic fire across her chest and up the side of her neck. Her knees gave out and she sat down abruptly on the ground, her back crashing into the well-trimmed bushes which ringed the building. They were too thick for her to squirm into or under. She was trapped.

When she looked up, Scalphunter was standing over her, rifle slung casually over one brawny arm.

His expression was completely unreadable as he studied her from head to toe, taking his time. She didn't bother saying anything either as she clutched her shoulder and tried to stop gasping like a drowning fish. To tell the truth, she was quite busy enough kicking herself for forgetting about him -- or for letting herself believe for even an instant that the master assassin would be distracted for long by a false lead.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And dead.

"Well, Vertigo," he said at last. His voice was rough-edged but measured, as always. "Yes, don't look so surprised. I believed you for a while when you mentioned Carlton -- that spook's been a good three steps behind us for years now -- but I figured out the truth when you first went missing, back at the lair. I'll give you credit for a damn good try. You really gave us a run for our money."

She blinked up at him, amazed. He was dead serious. He rarely bothered to speak to a target. And he certainly never complimented one!

His expression was still unreadable but his voice was almost...gentle? "In fact, I'd have to say that I'm actually kinda proud of you. I always thought you had something better in you, kid. A pity it has to end this way."

...proud...of...me...?! Vertigo swallowed hard and dared to answer. "So why DOES it have to end this way? The only reason I ran away was because I thought you guys wanted me dead. Because I was useless. Now that I'm obviously NOT useless..." Her voice cracked and she cursed herself silently. Don't show weakness. Don't show weakness! "Well, why not let me come back? None of the others will remember any of this once Sinister reclones 'em. I...we can start over."

Scalphunter grunted thoughtfully and actually seemed to be considering her logic. Then he regretfully shook his head. "No can do. The boss never forgets. Speak of the devil, I really should bring you back to Sinister, you know. He was quite put out by your desertion...he'd probably just LOVE to find out what made you go rogue. You know that that means, don't you?"

"Y-yeah. Sure. Vivisection."

"Right. And worse." The Marauders' leader hefted his gun slightly, idly checking the setting with his fingertips and a glance. "So consider this a mercy killing, because I think you've earned the right to die cleanly rather than under the scalpel...or at Arclight's hands, if you know what I mean. Fair enough?"

For a moment Vertigo almost gave in, almost hung her head and meekly agreed. By Scalphunter's standards, he truly was affording her far more mercy than she deserved. He was right. A clean death was the best she could hope for, really. Even if by some miracle she DID manage to escape from Scalphunter, there'd be yet another fresh-out-of-the-tube royally-pissed-off team of Marauders hot on her trail by noon tomorrow. She couldn't go on like this...she was so tired...

Her hand had fallen away from her throbbing shoulder and had come to rest against something hard and cold at her side. Almost of their own volition her fingers crept around it and gripped it tightly, as if searching for something solid to cling to.

And then she realized that despite her near-paralyzing fear of Sinister's retribution, she DID still want to take the risk of living.

"Sure, fair enough, I suppose...but that doesn't mean that I have to like it," she replied quietly, stalling for a few more seconds. She flicked a switch on the device which she'd jammed deep into her pocket before leaving the lair. For a moment a new anxiety fluttered in her mind: Left-handed...I'll have to do it left-handed...AND unbraced...

She firmly pushed the doubt back down. You'll only get one chance, gal. Make it count.

In answer to her weak protest, she could hear Scalphunter shrug. The killing tools of his trade shifted with a faint metallic sound on the belts which criss-crossed his broad-chested body. "Nobody likes to die."

She took a deep breath and looked bravely up. "Yeah. You're right. Absolutely right. I DON'T want to die. Thanks but no thanks."

And with that she raised the cobalt-steel revolver that she'd grabbed (so long ago) from Misfire's shoulder-holster. And she aimed. And, as Scalphunter's normally neutral eyes went wide and he began too late to muscle his heavy rifle back up into position, she pulled the trigger.

The recoil sent a powerful jolt through her abused body, painfully jamming her hand and forcing her to drop the gun a moment later, but although she didn't regularly use weapons she HAD been taught the basics of handling firearms at an early point in her career as a Marauder. The shot was true. Scalphunter went down like a felled ox, heavily, without a sound; his rifle clattered across the pavement and rebounded slightly off of the curb.

Then the night was truly silent. And she was truly safe. Unless Sinister himself showed up, in which case she wasn't going to bother any more. She simply didn't have any more tricks in her bag.

Now well beyond any attempt at elation, Vertigo tilted her head back and wearily closed her eyes. She didn't really know if she could stand up at that point, so she elected instead to remain right where she was for the time being.

As an afterthought she activated the image inducer clipped to her collar. She was fairly sure that there was no one else on her trail right now, but she'd been wrong before and she'd paid the price. It couldn't hurt to be sheltered by invisibility while she lay helpless. Pity the thing didn't work well while she was moving...it would have come in handy over the last ten minutes or so...

Only about ten minutes? Feels kinda anti-climactic...

Anti-climactic?! What is WRONG with me? I just took out all, well, almost all of the Marauders. They're DEAD. I'm ALIVE.

But was it worth it...? something whispered fatalistically at the back of her mind. Oh, they'd be back. Within hours or days, the Marauders would be back. For as long as it suited Sinister, his pet assassins were without number...but there was only one of her. (Only one of her that counted in HER book, at least.) And she was in no shape to keep running. Hell, at this point, she was barely in any kind of shape to be walking.

Vertigo sighed and glanced around at the remains of the Marauders. Can't stay here. MOVE! She exhorted her muscles to get working, but now that the chase was concluded (...can't believe I beat them...) her legs didn't want to obey her at all. Her knees seemed to be terribly shaky and her fingers and toes were ice-cold and her eyes felt hot and wet, but she gritted her teeth and absolutely refused to give in to shock. To get her head back together, she took deep breaths -- or at least she tried to. Instead, she found that she had to breathe in short careful catches, as any attempt to actually fill her lungs shifted her shoulder and hurt like a bitch. Hell, at least she was still breathing.

Vertigo picked up the gun and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans shorts again. She relaxed completely to fool her body into thinking that she was giving in to its insistant demand for rest...then she abruptly dragged herself to her feet. For a moment a painful pulse roared in her ears and shoulder, but then it cleared and she was still standing. A good start. Now to get the hell out of the cemetery, find somewhere to hole up, pray that her shoulder didn't get too badly infected...

She took two steps forward before she heard it: a small rasp of breath, between two of her own. She froze and stared about wildly, first regarding the silent cemetery and then the bodies of her former compatriots. It was then that she caught sight of the slight movement of Scalphunter's chest, rising and falling in a shallow but steady series of hitching breaths. He wasn't dead. She hadn't killed him after all.

Should have known that it would take more than one bullet to stop HIM, she thought grimly, already drawing the revolver from her pocket again. It was plain what she had to do, and she had to do it quickly, before he had any more time to possibly regain consciousness. After a wary few moments spent assuring herself that he wasn't playing possum, she crouched awkwardly down to press the muzzle of the gun squarely against his temple.

But then she paused. For a long moment she stayed there, staring down at the injured killer, frowning slightly. Thinking hard.

Then with a sigh she stood up, stuffing the unused revolver back into her shorts.

It wasn't that she suddenly felt any remorse for shooting a helpless enemy in the head -- not at all. It was the realization that if she killed Scalphunter, then none of the Marauders would remember this night. None of them would remember that she, Vertigo, had beaten the entire team, right down to the last man.

None of them would remember that she was worth something, after all.

Carefully, she skirted around Scalphunter's sprawled body and plodded towards the grass. After a moment's consideration, however, she changed her mind and headed back towards the mortuary. If there was a driveway, it had to lead to a street, and in New York a street meant quiet deserted alleys where she could go to ground.

It was then that the applause started...a lazily even chain of light claps. The very sound was heavy with irony.

Vertigo closed her eyes in momentary pain and then turned slowly, regarding the dark cemetery through tired blue eyes. She didn't even bother to tense up this time. There was no point.

Sinister.

Sure enough, a shrouded figure now stepped from beneath the nearest ornamental tree, cloak whisking across the close-cropped grass. He deliberately clapped a few more times and...

Drained and resigned as she was, it took Vertigo this long to notice several basic discrepancies. For one, she'd never known her master to completely envelope himself in a simple long black cloak before -- he was fond of his gleaming armor and his dramatic entrances. Secondly, the black-gloved hands which were now reaching up to push back the cloak's hood were definitely far more fine-boned than Sinister's own.

Thirdly, Sinister was at least a foot taller.

The figure's stern voice broke unexpectedly into her thoughts. "I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from thinking that name in my presence. If you do not cease and desist, I might just change my mind about what I am about to offer you."

The ex-Marauder blinked. The voice confirmed that this was certainly NOT Sinister: it was quite female, a precise husky contralto, silk over steel. And as the hood slid back, a cascade of long straight red hair gleamed in the first glow of the rising moon.

Vertigo knew this woman, though she'd never expected to see her again. This woman was dangerous -- VERY dangerous. And she hated the Marauders more than even the X-Men ever had.

Stiffly, she nodded to the other woman in recognition. "Madelyne."

"You remember me?"

Vertigo cleared her throat uncomfortably. It had been years, but she was impossible to forget. Like I'd forget Sinister's favorite pet project? Like I'd forget nearly getting demolished by the X-Men when we were sent to bring you back after you escaped from us that first time? She quickly squelched that thought, wary of the rogue telekinetipath's temper. "Uh...yes. Um, look, there's no polite way to say this, but--"

"--'Aren't you supposed to be dead,' you mean?" Madelyne Pryor smiled humorlessly. As was already blatantly apparant, her telepathy enabled her to gaze straight at Vertigo despite the makeshift "invisibility" projected by the activated image inducer. And although she was the mirror image of the sweet-tempered X-Woman Jean Grey, there was something behind her intense luminescent green eyes which gave Vertigo the screaming creeps. "I had some 'help' from a young man you're familiar with yourself, I believe? Hmmm...no...I suppose not."

Vertigo sighed. "Look, can you please just cut right through the 'gloating villainess' bit and get to the point? I've already had my fill of that from Arclight. Either tell me what you want to tell me or get whatever it is you have planned over with, okay? I'd had a REALLY bad day."

Madelyne looked taken aback at that for a moment. Then she actually chuckled -- a genuine, human chuckle -- and the stiff mannerisms fell aside. "All right, then, since you insist. Here it is, pure and simple: I have a proposition for you. I've recently joined a certain organization--"

"Who?"

"I can't say until after you accept. You understand, of course? Good, thank you. My point is, the former Qu...mmm, the previous 'holder of my current status' is not one to take my 'intrusion' lightly. I need to establish my own power base, and quickly. I need to have my own people around me, people I can trust."

Frankly, Vertigo was more than a little skeptical...and more than a little afraid that she wasn't going to make it through the conversation. She tried to keep her posture casual and her breathing normal, but the pain in her shoulder was becoming a serious distraction. She could hardly pull in enough oxygen to think clearly. "Uh...huh. And you think you can trust me?"

"Of course." Madelyne was absolutely serious. "I know that you are admirably loyal when treated properly. I can get you the medical attention you need -- do you seriously think that shoulder is going to heal without massive infection? And I have more than enough power to protect you from the Marauders AND--" she grimaced with distaste "--from HIM."

It WAS tempting. "All right, you have a few good points...but how the hell did you find me?" Vertigo was proud of herself for keeping her voice rock-steady. There were now red spots swimming at the edges of her vision. Hold it together. You've been hurt worse.

Madelyne made a vague dismissive gesture with one hand. "Oh, my new 'employer' has his ways. And his contacts. Your phone call to the police helped. Frankly, it sounded too interesting to pass up. Only three people I know of have had the guts to turn their backs on Sinister. I'm one. You're another. And you need me now. Tell me that I'm wrong."

Vertigo opened her mouth in automatic defiance and then discovered that she couldn't deny it. She closed her mouth and shook her head mutely.

Madelyne sensed her victory close at hand. Her voice was at its sweetest and most reasonable as she coaxed, "Come on, girl. Come with me. I'll take you out of here, away from here. Serve me and you'll have a future...serve us well and you'll be able control your own life. Just reach out and take it..."

Vertigo's head was a spinning tumble of conflicting thoughts -- hope versus suspicion, dreams versus memory, surrender versus a newfound fierce independence. It sounds good...it sounds like my only chance...can I trust her...? This is a woman who almost handed the whole freakin' WORLD over to a bunch of DEMONS just because she felt a little neglected -- and would have killed her own kid to do it!

Ohhhh, but what other choice do I have?

Madelyne simply stood quietly, watching her intently but holding her peace; her shoulders were bare and her black cloak rippled clear down to the grass. The cemetery was as quiet as death, gravestones now faintly silvered by the crescent moon. Time waited.

Vertigo decided.

Eh, what the hell. I just hope that this turns out to be the lesser of two evils. And anyway, my feet are starting to get cold out here.

The ex-Marauder set her jaw stubbornly and pressed one hand to her shoulder -- she was just about at her limit, it felt like the entire arm was about to fall off -- and stepped unsteadily forward to join the Hellfire Club.

NEXT: The curtain has indeed gone down on our heroine, but the fat lady has not yet sung. Come back for the epilogues, folks. Yes, "epilogues," plural -- there are still a few loose ends to be tied up. You might yet be surprised.