Erik Lensherr looked out at the rest of the world; the bars to his cell were not metal, as he had so desperately hoped they would be when they had shoved him into this place. He ran his fingers across the closely set bars, making soft 'dong' noises as they hit the next pole; he knew what it was... He knew this would happen sooner or later...

The camps were being filled with people like him – the mutant genome was being erased.

He knew it would happen eventually; after all, he'd seen it before. First signs were obvious – the separate benches, the labels... The fact they were needed to register if they showed signs of their problem. He had seen this before, he had lived through it before, and he wanted it to be true that he would do so again – but somewhere in the back of his mind, as he stood in the empty, depressingly plain cell, he doubted he would survive it again.

Sighing and holding back the tears he had suppressed for so many years, Erik stepped back and took a seat on the white washed chair that stood with cowardice in the corner of the room, its legs wobbling shamefully as he sat down upon it. He propped his elbows on his legs and dropped his head into his hands.

What was he going to do?

Then another thought hit him.

Charles Xavier.

What of him? What of his closest, oldest friend? The man who had saved him from the edge of the abyss, pulling him back into caring arms; what of him? What of the man he cared so much for? Was he to suffer the same fate as he?

"You're lucky, mutie," Erik heard a guard say in a Texan accent, his stern, authoritative, smug tone ricocheting off the walls, "You have a friend to die with."

Then... A voice, a voice that gave him hope beyond hope and shot him through the heart all at once, "Violence is not the answer, my friend... These are children and innocent men and women, how will this genocide solve anything?"

Tears fell from the cold eyes of the man on his shameful chair as he stared desperately out of his cell, unsure of whether he wanted it to be true or a hallucination...

"What was your name, mutie?" The guard asked as the footsteps neared, his thick accent louder and clearer now, "Charlie? Well, Charlie. You're a threat... And we don't do too good wit' threats."

"Charles... And I am no threat, not to you, not to anyone."

No. No, no, no. No... Please, dear God no, not him. He can't die. Please, anyone but him. He saved me. He can't die. He couldn't help it. He couldn't help but let out a ragged sob of despair as the man he loved came into view, all of his strength was seeping out of him, down into the drains, Not Charles... He repeated to himself, Anyone but him.

The mutants were not given privileges. No clothes, no luxuries one would expect in a home or a hotel... Nothing. Not even each other.

They were to live out the rest of their days as dogs in solitary before being put down.

All except those two; Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr.

Tear stained and broken, Charles shuffled into his cell, his eyes to the ground. He didn't even have the strength to look up... He didn't even know who he was trapped in a cell with. He couldn't see the weeping mess of a man that gawked at him in shock, horror and relief. He couldn't see his friend as he opened his mouth to speak, only to swallow his words back down again, terrified in case he said something stupid, of all things.

Finally, after minutes of listening to the pained crying of his friend, Erik stood and walked up to Charles, "My friend..."

His eyes widened and his breath hitched, but Charles remained silent and faced the ground, unsure of what to say or do.

"Are you okay?" The silence between Erik's words remained, and he cupped his friend's face in his hands, forcing him to look him dead in the face, "Look at me..."

A loud, heart-wrenching sob escaped the newcomer's lips before he choked, "Why?"

"Because they fear us, my friend..." he rested his forehead against Charles', "I will get us out of here. They are not going to take you. Anyone, anyone but you, Charles... They will not take you..."