Cyber leaves Tyger Tiger’s penthouse in Madripoor. A wolf enters as soon as he is gone. Jessan pulls out her gun and levels it at the snarling canine in her living room. “Don’t move,” she tells it. “I’ve just suffered one animal – Cyber – to leave here unmolested. You will not be so fortunate.” She asks the dog to just give her a reason to pull the trigger, but it does nothing. It just stands there, pensive and sullen. It reminds Jessan of someone she knows: her lover, actually. She sees something moving under the wolf and asks what he has with him. A housecat crawls out from under his fur. “A wolf…and a cat,” she says. “Like a wolverine…and a tiger?” The connection is too strong to ignore. Jessan sighs. “I believe this is the point where I’m supposed to say…what’s wrong? Is it Timmy? Is he trapped?”
Elsewhere, “trapped” is the word that best describes Wolverine’s current predicament. His mind is trapped reliving events that never happened, in a time that never was. Worse, he is stuck facing Cyber, his least favorite person and his overall worst nightmare.
The two grizzled warriors face one another with their claws bared. They charge simultaneously, hacking and slashing furiously as they pass. After coming to a halt with their backs facing each other, Cyber turns around and looks at Logan, while Logan does the same. Logan sees Cyber’s smirk and realizes he lost the duel. His body, now neatly sliced into several lateral sections, falls apart like a roll of sushi. That certainly cut him down to size, Cyber jokes. Wolverine, wide-eyed at his defeat, declares he is not finished yet. Cyber begs to differ. He walks over to Logan’s cross-sectioned body and spits on his head. “So long, Logan,” he says. “It’s been surreal.”
Jessan’s touch stirs Logan back to consciousness. He continues to grumble. She kneels down and examines his wounds, astonished by the pain he must feel. Wolverine finally realizes the woman at his side is his lover Jessan and asks how she found him. His friends brought her, she says, adding she can’t explain it any further. She slowly helps him up, mindful of the gash in his belly.
As soon as he whiffs Cyber’s scent on her hand, Logan snaps, now fully alert. “He had you, just like he had her!” he snarls, unsheathing his claws in her face. Is nothing Wolverine’s anymore? First Cyber took his mind, now he has taken his woman. He’ll kill her for this transgression.
She interrupts him sternly. If Logan truly believes she would let a monster like Cyber defile her, then he may as well go ahead and kill her. Wolverine stares at her a moment, slowly regaining control of his temper. He falls to his knees, looks up into Jessan’s eyes, and asks for her forgiveness. “How could I stay mad at a face like that?” she asks, brushing the top of his head with her hand.
Wolverine blames his murderous outburst on his nearly-fatal stomach wound, his bizarre nightmare, and his encounter with the one man in the world able to give him the creeps. “Tough day at the office,” he says. Jessan had a rough time too; she tells Logan about the drugs Cyber forced her to buy. He asks her to elaborate, but she says it can wait until later. Wolverine and Tyger Tiger put their arms around each other and walk home as the sun comes up over Madripoor.
Meanwhile, at General Coy’s mansion, Cyber negotiates yet another deal on the drugs in his possession. He finally accepts the general’s price and informs him the deal will take place at midnight tomorrow. However, he adds that Tyger Tiger will disapprove of the transaction, and she has several friends who may share her disapproval. General Coy asks if Cyber factored in that their disapproval might have violent consequences. “Factored it in?” Cyber asks. “My dear general, I’m counting on it.”
Beast sneaks into Frank Payne’s bedroom and tries to wake the sleeping assassin known as the Constrictor. To his surprise, Frank whips a handgun out from under his pillow and holds it to Hank’s forehead. No one catches the Constrictor unaware, Frank says, laughing. Hank slaps the gun out of his hand. He has no time for Frank’s games, and demands to know who assigned Frank the contract on his life. Again, the Constrictor tells him he was hired by the Red Ghost. They never actually met in person, though. As usual, Frank’s agent organized the contract, allowing Frank to concentrate squarely on the kill. With that in mind, he produces a hunting knife and lobs it at Beast.
“It might behoove you to concentrate harder,” Beast says, catching the projectile weapon with his foot. Did Frank ever ask himself why an ailing, senile enemy of the Fantastic Four would hire him to assassinate Hank? He may be a former Avenger, Defender, and X-Man, but he has nothing to do with the Fantastic Four. “Face it, Frankie,” Hank says. “You’ve been set up.”
Frank asks what he means. Beast elaborates further. He asks how Frank is already out of jail, a mere five hours after his arrest. “I escaped!” Frank says in his defense. “Okay, so they left the cell door open, but still…are you implying someone in the Belgian Ministry of Defense is using me?” Affirmative, Hank replies. He sees the Constrictor reaching across the bar in his room and tells him not to even tough his grenade launcher. What grenade launcher, Frank asks guiltily? Tired of arguing, Hank gives Frank his Constrictor costume and tells his new partner to get dressed.
Meanwhile, the Red Ghost lay strapped to his life support systems in the medical wing of the Belgian Ministry of Defense. In a daze, he asks why his children have abandoned him. Vague apparitions of his three Super-Apes appear out of the shadows and tell him it was Commander Courage. He took them away from their master and changed them. But now, they’re back, the Super-Apes say. They will never leave the Red Ghost again. Together again, he mumbles as he reaches out to the specters. On the other side of the viewing window, the nurse asks her colleague if he can hear what the Red Ghost is saying. The doctor replies it doesn’t matter, as the man is clearly hallucinating.
The entrance to the Belgian Ministry of Defense is heavily patrolled. The guards are not ordinary men, however. Spiky, garish armor covers their bodies, while the portions of the faces not shrouded by spiky manes reveal devilish, grinning teeth and red eyes. Observing them from a distance, the Constrictor asks Hank what these men are. Hank tells him all he knows. Commander Courage refers to these creatures as Were-Borgs, a fact he learned while they escorted him from the defense an hour ago. He needs to get back inside, and he needs the Constrictor to cover him. As Beast leaps at the first guard, the Constrictor asks why he should help, but Hank reminds him of the little mystery of who set him up. “Good point,” Frank says, reluctantly deciding to assist.
They make quick work of the Were-Borgs. In fact, it goes so well, the Constrictor asks why his help was even needed. Suddenly Beast shouts as one of the fallen Were-Borgs springs up behind Frank. He turns around and pulverizes it with one of his adamantium coils. Its body disintegrates. While their bodies appear strong, they seem to dissolve upon physical contact. Beast tells him to keep that in mind. The Constrictor turns around and sees they have been ambushed by legions of these undead Were-Borgs.
Inside the compound, two Were-Borgs monitor the escalating scuffle outside via security monitor. One of the guards asks if they should sound the alarm, to which the other agrees. Before they can trigger the alarm, however, Hank’s French friend appears from behind and holds a gun to each of their heads.
Outside, Beast realizes the bodies of the Were-Borgs decompose so rapidly because they are already dead. They must be the reanimated victims of the Brussels serial killer, somehow infected by a Techno-Organic virus. “Great. Since they’re already dead,” the Constrictor says, “we don’t have to be polite!” After defeating this wave of warriors, Hank and Frank head to the door. It’s time to split up, Hank says as he leaps away.
Although he did not inform the Constrictor they would be splitting up, Hank is confident the assassin can hold his own. Surely he will seek out the man who hired him, leaving Hank free to find whomever it is who kidnapped Jennifer Nyles. His search is not long. He finds Jennifer behind the first door he opens and shouts in excitement. “Jennifer?!”
“It’s Dr. Nyles to you, Dr. McCoy,” she says as he barges through the door. “Only my close friends call me Jennifer.”
“Then it’s true,” Hank says. “You don’t…remember me?”
“I have a vague recollection,” Jennifer says as she pulls a handgun out of her jacket “…that I owe you something.” Hank gasps, but before he can do anything else, Dr. Jennifer Nyles shoots him in the chest.
London’s Savoy Hotel offers its patrons many things: a view of the Thames, a comfortable bed, and a place to freshen up before going out in public. Selene, the Hellfire Club’s Black Queen, enjoys all three of the perks, although the latter of which through most unusual means. Sitting up under the covers of the queen-size bed, Selene enjoys a post-coital cigarette while watching television. The subject of tonight’s news broadcast is none other than the recently rejuvenated superhero, Lady Jacqueline Falsworth Crichton.
On the screen, the beautiful Jacqueline explains how she reversed 48 years of aging. Despite her head of white hair, Jacqueline’s face beams of youthful energy, a stark contrast to the news channel’s file photo taken only a year earlier. Several people have alleged she somehow commandeered superstar Michael Jackson’s cryogenic chamber, but Jacqueline finally lays those claims to rest. She reveals she received yet another blood transfusion from the original Human Torch, only instead of being granted super-speed, she was gifted with a reversal of the aging process.
Selene perks up in her bed. It seems her trip to London wasn’t a complete waste of time after all. “Lady Crichton, you and I must get together and swap beauty secrets,” she says. Her first order of business, however, is to call her guard Steven into the room. The masked Hellfire Club foot-soldier enters the room and gasps. Lying next to Selene in bed is the smoking husk of the hotel’s bellboy. “Be a dear, won’t you? Call down to room service,” Selene orders. “Have them send up a younger bell boy and an older bottle of wine.” Some things simply do not improve with age.
Meanwhile, in a small village north of London, Ken Crichton patiently waits for the arrival of his mother. When she finally arrives, Ken sits her down so he can finish painting her portrait. Unfortunately, completing the painting will be tricky, as Jacqueline now looks 48 years younger than she was during their previous session. Spitfire calls the attempt daft, as the painting looks nothing like her. Irrelevant, Ken says. As an artist, he seeks out the essence of each person, which doesn’t change with age.
Jackie senses another reason for this meeting and asks her son why he really called her. He admits he worries about her growing lonely. “Been years since father passed away, and you know you’re not getting any younger,” he says. Jacqueline smirks. “Stow the grin. You know what I mean,” Ken corrects. Jacqueline certainly sees his point, but informs him of a conundrum of her own. Men her actual age get nervous around her youthful beauty, while dating boys her physical age simply is not an option. Why, Ken isn’t setting her up with one of his college friends, she asks?
Ken tells her to perish the thought. He does add, however, that he considered setting her up with someone in between those two extremes. Remember Nigel Peters, the pub owner, he asks? Of course she remembers him; she saved him from an apartment fire when he was merely a child. He asked for her hand in marriage when he was a bit older, but Jacqueline declined. Ken asks if she would consider marrying him now. Jacqueline snaps at this question. She is a grown woman and doesn’t need to be pushed into a relationship! While she appreciates her son’s concern, she is perfectly content with her social life in its current state. “He’s inside and wants to talk,” Ken says. Jackie begrudgingly thanks her son. She may as well meet the man.
Cursing herself as she enters the pub, Jacqueline walks right over to the bar and says hello to Nigel. He fumbles over his words, unsure of how to address her. “Mr. Peters, let me be frank with you,” Spitfire says. “First off, if you don’t know how to address me, I sincerely doubt that you’ll know how to address your feelings for me. Second, it appears that all you know about me is my ‘super powers’ and the station I was born to. These have nothing to do with who I am inside. So you tell me, Mr. Peters – what is it about me, as a person, that arouses this great interest in you?”
Ken eavesdrops on his mother’s berating of Nigel from the window. He is rooting for Nigel to redeem himself when someone grabs him from behind. Ken spins around, and sees a frighteningly beautiful, dark-haired woman in a black leather corset. She calls the boy a tender young morsel, but assures him she has plans for him other than feeding.
Inside the pub, Nigel tells Jacqueline she certainly talks a lot. She blames it on her super-fast lips. Regardless, Nigel just fancies her, is all. Is that a crime? She begins to answer when a loud crash from outside interrupts their conversation. Jacqueline rushes outside. Her son is nowhere in sight, while nearby, a helicopter is making a getaway. She looks at Ken’s easel and sees a crude message scrawled in black paint telling her to be at Fasthill Common in five minutes. If not, Ken will die. Jacqueline throws off her robe, revealing her Spitfire costume, and speeds off to the common.
She arrives, and after skidding to a halt, addresses the sinister woman at the common. Selene introduces herself. “You’re charmed, I’m sure,” the Black Queen says before filling Spitfire in on their situation. She has shackled Ken to voice-activated explosive device nearby. Selene only needs to speak a single code word for it to detonate. Even at her highest speed, Spitfire can’t surpass the speed of sound.
“So I haven’t a prayer of outracing the sound of your voice,” Spitfire says, analyzing the situation. Selene interprets this comment as compliance and tells Spitfire she wants her blood as payment for her son’s life. Rejuvenation is a hobby of hers, but her current means of doing so has its share of complications. She wants a taste of Spitfire’s much simpler method. She seems to possess a mutant regenerative power triggered by her transfusion of synthetic blood. With intensive study of her metabolism, blood stream, and glandular system, Selene hopes to one day duplicate this process.
“In short, you plan to vivisect me,” Spitfire says. Selene nods in affirmation. Spitfire sternly stares at her for a moment. Then, she throws her first kick. Then a punch. Then two more punches. Not ruddy well likely, she says, knocking Selene to the ground. With the villainess momentarily incapacitated, Spitfire turns and runs to save her son.
Selene smiles devilishly and speaks the codeword. “Fire.” Her voice detonates the bomb, which seemingly envelopes both Jacqueline and Ken as it explodes. Selene has seen enough for one day. She asks her guard to take her home.
Unbeknownst to Selene, both Spitfire and her son survive the explosion. As the helicopter flies away, Jacqueline shakes her fist and vows revenge. In the meantime, however, she needs to tend to her wounded son. What a narrow escape, she says, before gasping at the blood splattered all over Ken’s shirt. He assures her it is only red paint. “You scared me out of ten years of my life, Ken!” she says. Ken laughs; she can certainly spare them!
Later, Ken presents the portrait of his mother Jacqueline to Nigel Peters. Nigel commends the realism of his work, saying it almost feels as if she Jacqueline is in the room. She is, Ken informs him. Nigel gasps as he looks and sees Jacqueline standing in the doorway. What should he do now, he asks? Ken urges him to stay calm and just be himself; that is exactly what Jacqueline intends to do.
As they share a drink, Jacqueline apologizes to Nigel for speaking so abruptly the other day. Lucky for him, she firmly believes in giving people second chances. Now that is something to raise a glass to, Nigel says. However, he has a question for Ken: is his mother even of legal drinking age?
“What’s wrong with this picture?!” Mojo shouts as he peers through his eviscerated copy of Varioty. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong! There’s no news in my paper!” Mojo’s assistant, Major Domo, apologizes; they were afraid the news might upset him. Mojo claims he never gets upset. Moving on, he asks Major Domo for a ratings update, but the news he bears is bad. All of their ratings have plummeted. By prime time tomorrow, Mojo’s media empire will be no more. This can’t be, Mojo says, but Major-Domo insists it is fact. Flipping on the TV, he shows Mojo the problem: a new format of television called the documentary has emerged and become exceedingly popular. On the screen, a documentary shows a confused duckling walking headfirst into a wall and falling unconscious. Where’s the plot, Mojo asks? His assistant informs him there isn’t one; audiences no longer care about plots or stories.
Mojo grumbles at this new art form. He cannot compete with art! He specializes in mass production! Suddenly, his other assistant, Minor-Domo, has an idea. She dances excitedly in front of Mojo until he listens. Her idea had better be good, he tells her. She is interrupting a perfectly good tantrum! Minor-Domo nervously clears her through and states her suggestion: maybe they could make a documentary of their own.
After giving the idea extensive deliberation for a few seconds, Mojo decides he loves it. He asks his Yes-Men if they also think it is a good plan. Yes, they say! Mojo decides to get another opinion, and brings out his puppet, Mr. Biggles. “Why hello, Mr. Biggles. Do you like my idea?” Mojo asks his hand-puppet. “No! I‘tink it’z stooped! N’that ev’ry one who liked it shood be zapped to bitz!” Seemingly taking his puppet’s advice, Mojo charges up an energy blast in his other hand. His Yes-Men scamper. However, instead of blasting them, he turns the beam on his ornery hand-puppet, incinerating it. The time has come to make movies.
With Major and Minor-Domo in tow, Spiral teleports herself and Mojo to Professor Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester, New York. Mojo asks his six-armed sidekick if she is excited about this new project. Spiral tells him to shut up; dancing through space and time requires all of her focus. Would he prefer she mess up, and leave him stuck halfway between New York and the Wildways? Major-Domo tells them to be silent. They are near the lair of the X-Men and cannot risk making noise. Won’t they be seen, Minor-Domo asks? Spiral has the solution to that problem. She dances once more, transporting them to a plane of existence undetectable by all human forms of observation.
Now essentially invisible, Mojo declares it is time to plan the scenes of their film shoot. Major-Domo corrects him; in a documentary, one doesn’t plan scenes so much as shoot unscripted. Okay, Mojo says, they will just have to go in and zap the X-Men into action! Again, Major-Domo has to correct his master. The goal of the documentarian is to observe the subject without interfering in any way, shape, or form. “Foo!” Mojo says.
They finally find some X-Men. Minor-Domo calls for quiet on the set and commences the first take of “X-Men in Their Natural Habitat.” Mojo screams in disdain when he glimpses what they have come to film: Storm tending to some wildflowers, and Beast relaxing with a good book in the shade of a tree. “Boredom, boredom, boredom!” Mojo shouts. “Where are the Sentinels? The Brood? Black Tom Cassidy? Unus the Untouchable? The Terrible Toad?” Nearby, Colossus and Cyclops collaborate on cutting down a tree, eliciting yet another groan of disgust from Mojo. “Brilliant! Just brilliant! More footage of Better Homo Superiors and Gardens,” he grumbles.
Suddenly, Mojo hears a familiar SNIKT! noise coming from inside the mansion and grows excited. That is the sound of Wolverine’s claws, meaning he is surely up to something nasty. However, upon finding Logan in the kitchen, Mojo learns the mutant is merely using his claws to slice celery. Grumbling, Mojo declares the new project over.
A sudden telepathic announcement from Professor X offers Mojo some hope. The time has come for the X-Men’s daily Danger Room training session, for which they must convene immediately. Mojo and his invisible camera crew follows the X-Men to the Danger Room and have the unique opportunity to film Iceman, Jubilee, Archangel, Storm, Rogue, Colossus, Psylocke, Marvel Girl, Cyclops, Gambit, Psylocke, Wolverine and Beast battling scores of brutal training robots. The potential footage is priceless; Mojo’s studio may be saved after all! In fact, maybe now he can even afford those Merengue lessons he has always wanted. Unfortunately, Minor-Domo approaches and informs her master they ran out of film five minutes ago. Mojo grumbles and knocks her over the head.
Later, in the Wildways editing room, Major-Domo, Spiral, and Minor-Domo go over their uncut footage ten minutes before it is supposed debut. Major-Domo declares it an utter disaster; their cinematographer had the camera facing the wrong way the entire time and ended up shooting five reels of his own face. “What colossal dunce pulled that off?” Spiral sighs. Major-Domo gives her three guess as he holds the film reel up to the light, seeing Mojo’s fat face in every frame.
Mojo appears on the over-sized television screen in the editing room and asks his aides about his X-Men documentary. “Well, your flabbiness, we seem to have hit a snag,” Major-Domo begins. Mojo interrupts him and asks one thing: is the film ready, or isn’t it? Of course it’s ready, Major-Domo says. Then play it, Mojo shouts!
Surprisingly, the show turns out to be a huge success. Varioty magazine runs a piece on “The Mojo Face-Show,” giving it rave reviews. Working to recreate its success, the crew begins production on the sequel immediately. Spiral and the Yes-Men take turns beating their master with oversized mallets in order to elicit the desired variety of facial expressions. Mojo, wincing in pain, asks if it isn’t too early to begin working on the sequel. However, his love for show-biz triumphs over his physical discomfort, and he smiles. Mojo couldn’t be happier.