Ive been looking for a story titled 'Nine Crimes' in the X-Men section for ages as I think it got deleted. I had saved the link to my bookmark on my iPod and now I can't access it and unfortunately I can't remember who wrote it either.
I can't remember much, but from what I remember Pyro, Mystique and Toad were in it with other characters too. Some of it took place in Lake Tahoe, Nevada. Pyro ended up being an escaped experiment and it involved the Friends of Humanity.
Below is some details that I saved to use in a roleplay account of Pyro on Bebo.
Damage: John has a scar that ran a ring right around his throat. It looked as if he had hung himself, not with a rope but a red-hot poker. The worst part was the white scratch marks where he tried to rip the contraption off with his nails. Most of his fingernails were missing and a lot of the torturing involved, water and thumbscrews. Every one of John's vertebrae were visible through his near-translucent skin, but that was nothing compared to the multitude of wicked cuts slashed into the flesh. They looked fresh enough, a few months old at the most, criss-crossing up and down his spine, sunken like red gorges in the white skin. The more pronounced of the wounds were bordered with small 'x's, marks of messy stitching. Someone had hit him, again and again.
Appearance: He has brown hair – darker now that it was wet – and it hung limp and damp, most of it quite short, as if it was recovering from being all but hacked off quite recently; it was all uneven and there was a longer hank at the front. John's face was drawn to the verge of gauntness and he looked beyond exhaustion. The black circles under his eyes were etched so deeply they seemed to be a permanent feature. His pallor was a sickly, chalky white that was tinged with deadened grey around the cheekbones, his skin waxy and almost translucent; you could see the veins pulsing blue and violet beneath it. Slashed across his forehead was a thin white line, a scar. That wasn't the only mark. Besides the scars, John's nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been badly broken and set by someone who was not quite a professional; it did not take away from his appearance, though, more it gave him character. A small bruise lingered on the rim of his cheekbone, a little under his left eye – the tale-tell reminder of a recently broken jaw. True, they were heavily shadowed and red-rimmed, the pupils were exceedingly small – just tiny black dots in a deep brown – and the irises were heavily bloodshot and carried an oddly yellowish tinge, but those factors amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things. It was that they were empty. His eyes were empty. Completely empty. Blank and emotionless. Devoid and bereft of life. They did not flash and gleam dangerously like Pyro's, or sparkle mischievously like John's. They did nothing. They simply scanned images and passed them onto the brain for processing, nothing more. John needed to tape both his wrists: they had shattered at Alcatraz – great heat to great cold in a split second – and then fermented in the dark, as he had done, with no one to set them.
If anyone knows where I can find this story or even has it saved, could you possibly send me a copy or the link to it. It would be much appreciated!