He has been drumming his fingers on the arm rest continuously for the past ten minutes, thinking of the next measures to take.

"He hasn't returned and it's been almost forty-eight hours..." He tells himself and then questions, "Am I being too concerned? Maybe he went somewhere..."

His thoughts drift to every possibility where Hank could have gone or done. A club? A library? A one-night stand? At this point everything is a possibility...

Or maybe something worse, Charles thinks and rushes to the phone.

"Hello my name is Charles and I'm occupying room 729," He tells the front desk, maintaining a normality in his voice, "Has my friend returned to the hotel anytime during the last seventy two hours?"

As he grabs a pencil and notepad, stamped with the hotel's logo on each page, the receptionist describes the schedule of the times when the Professor and Hank left or returned to the hotel .

Charles puts the phone down after receiving all the information then stares at the sheet of paper that has scribbles of numbers and words etched onto it:

HANK

26th July:
DAY (early evening) - Left together
NIGHT - Came back together

27th July:
DAY (early afternoon) - Left together
DAY (early evening) - Came back together
NIGHT (evening) - Hank left alone

28th July:
DAY (morning) - I left alone
DAY (afternoon) - I returned alone

29th July:
No activity

He rubs his forehead as his eyes scan over the enscription multiple times, confusion racing through his mind. He had received all the information he need but yet, he was lost and his doubts still uncleared.

Charles shuts his eyes and concentrated. He realizes that using his powers on an occasion like this could actually lead to some conclusion.

His astral version scans every thought of every person he encounters through his mental database mapping an entire populations mind.

He opens his eyes abruptly, realising that he has found a signal. It is not as string as he would hope for but he can sense Hank's presence somewhere in the city... but a strong 'forcefield' pushed him away from gaining any other intel.

*****

He has his gaze, fixated on the vibe... As if he can visualize a line leading him to the 'x' that marks the spot for his goal. He knows that his friend is somewhere close to be found, perhaps somewhere under-

Charles stops and furrows his eyebrows. The word 'under' stuck out to him, as if it were the answer he had been searching for all along.

CLANG!

He jerks in his seat, with sudden fright as a loud sound of metal beating against metal comes from ahead. He squints his eyes, using his palm as a visor against the sunlight.

Someone stood vacantly at a house on the corner of the street. He can only see a figure, he is not sure if it is a male or female, young or old.

Charles starts to move ahead, towards the house as his attention is glued to the rather peculiar sight. The house had no windows, and only a large dark brown door. It looks like a block of concrete, standing with solitude for decades without any wear and tear.

He tilts his head with confusion as his perspective changes and the single person turns into two standing side by side, hand in hand. A boy and girl stare at him as he pushes his wheel chair on the pavement. They stand as still as statues, literally, and Charles has to look twice to make sure that they are not decorations for the front yard of the-

CLANG! THUMP!

His world spins on the edge of consciousness, Charles freezes for a moment as he regains his coordination.

He looks to his front and reaches out to wrap his hand around a street light pole. He stares at it for a moment, the blow to the head disoriented him for quite a bit.

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut then opens them. Charles moves ahead a little, away from the pole, then turns back to look at the house-

The Professor furrows his eyebrows with bewilderment. The boy and the girl are nowhere to be seen, the front yard is completely empty.

And at this moment, a realisation occurs to him... that the town he is in presently is completely deserted. There is not a single other person around, the streets are desolate and the wind blowing softly makes the atmosphere slightly more eerie.

Charles cautiously starts to wheel his chair forward, towards the end of the road, while his eyes dart around to make sure no one was attempting to attack him.

Just as he feels as though he has no luck in continuing on this path to find Hank, he spots two men scavenging through a garbage bin. They appear to be homeless, from their appearance, sporting bushy beards, long hair sticking out from hats on their heads and thick worn coats covering their bodies. The Professlr hastens towards them with a glimmer of hope.

"Hello? Excuse me?" He calls out as he approaches their proximity. The men stop their task of finding a decent meal or scoring useful items, and turn towards the Professor who smiles at then softly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but wanted to know if you could help me with finding my friend who is missing," Charles explains and the men look at each other and raise their eyebrows.

"Que dis-tu?" One of the men questions and the other repeats, causing Charles to frown. The men do not understand English, nor a word that Charles had said.

The Professor gathers his thoughts for a moment before asking, "Je suis désolé, parlez-vous anglais?" He hopes that they would understand English, making his communication with them far more easier.

"Nous savons seulement Français," The man with a plastic bag in his hand replies and Charles approaches them slowly.

"Mon ami est absent. Son nom est Hank McCoy et je voulais savoir si vous savez autour de lui," He explains, "Il porte des lunettes et a les cheveux bruns. Il était vêtu d’une chemise blanche avec blue jeans et baskets."

The men shrug their shoulders with no response and Charles sighs. "Il est environ six pieds de hauteur," He further adds for clarification.

The man holding the plastic bag walks closer towards him and looks straight at the Professor. "Je suis désolé, nous ne savons rien de cet homme," He answers then smiles softly, "Mais nous vous aiderons."

"Nous avons quelque chose qui peut aider," The second man informs and Charles raises his eyebrows with hope. As the man reaches to take something out of his bag, Charles turns to watch his action.

"And what would that be?" He questions while the men circle around him, standing uncomfortably close, "Um what are you-"

ZIIINNG!

Charles grabs his head, covering his ears as an agonizing pain pulses through his mind and body. A defeaning ringing noise fills his entire field of hearing, causing him to almost fall out of his wheel chair.

"ARGH ST-S-STOP!" He yells with misery, reaching out to grab the clothes of the men in attempt to make then stop, "WH-WH-WHA-WHAT IS THAT?"

THUD!

Charles falls limp, unconscious in his seat as the ringing comes to a halt. As the men pick him up and carry him towards the other side of the road, a white van pulls up to the curb and the door swings open. The men throw Charles inside then follow in, taking a seat and removing their extra layers of clothes and wigs.

As the van drives away, Charles has a sense of consciousness to hold on to. But it is of no use to him. The only thing he can perceive is that he's being hauled away to some place unknown... And he may never return from.