The day was muggy, bleak. A lazy drizzle fell over top the vaulted sky rises and down onto the streets below, the soft pitter-patters forcing the people to scurry from one shelter to the next. It was almost artistic the way in which the cities energy flowed in and out; likes waves of an ocean never breaking upon a shore. The sound likened to a symphony, for indeed it was one. Not of strings and chords, but of blares and chaos. And all around, life played out as a moving painting, from one still to the next.

Yet underneath the cars, trucks, and footfalls was another world entirely. A world of near silent dolour. It was here, within the wreckage of an old subway track that a different breed of people took their rightful place. There were the misbegotten, the outcasts, and broken. Unwanted by the world that clung to its pretty materialism to distract them from the lesser points of life. It was here that a semi-city was build, beneath the real one above. It had no cars, no streets, no utilities, just rows of make-shift houses and burning debris for light and heat. It had no fancy clothes or restaurants; just ragged bands of what could be salvaged, crudely stitched together by worn thread and tore cloth, and meals of left over dumpster scraps. And it was here to two 'upworlders' walked, strangers to this place.

Ororo Munroe, in her own primal elegance, gently pushed the wheelchair of Professor Xavier around the rugged terrain, marveling at the scene around here. "Professor," her voice slightly breaks, "are you sure that the boy is down here? This hardly seems the place…"

A placid smile over took the Professor's face as he kept his face directly ahead, not bothering to fully take in the view before him, "With all certainty, Ororo. And, what better place to hide than amount the forgotten?"

Storm took a weak smile of her own, "I suppose you're right. It's just so, so depressing here. To see all these people and how they suffer here while the world above acts completely oblivious to their existence. It's heartbreaking in every way."

There was no response; there wasn't a need for one. The solemn understanding of the pity surroundings fully expressed the impact of any words. So the passage of the two strangers continued, unabated by the native habitants, until their destination became garishly apparent. Literally walled off with a large collection of refuse from the rest of 'community' stood a makeshift campsite. Two flimsy poles held up a tattered awning while light flashed in wicked shapes against the shattered wall behind it. It was a veritable mansion among the shanty town around it. Pushing Xavier through sloppily centered wall gap, Ororo was slightly a gasped by home she found. The whole structure was perfectly laid out, fully-furnished with the entire accommodations standard to any high income home. Leather couches, queen bed, a working television, dinning room, and even standing electric lamps. On one couch lounged a teen, barely paying any attention to the world about him. He wasn't exceptionally tall, the average height for others his age, nor was thin or wide. He was, for all appearances, a normal teenage. An idle hand played through cropped raven while listless green eyes paid half attention to the evening news on the screen before him.

"Quite an impressive place, Mr. Silverlake."

The boy shot up with a start at the sound of a new voice, a quick flash of shock taking his face before replacing itself with a perfect form of stone. "If you're here from my father, you can just tell him to go fuck himself now. I'm not leaving."

With a broad smile and slight chuckle, Xavier wheeled himself further into the room, with Storm taking her place beside him without a word. "Such colorful language for one such as yourself. Regrettably, I do not come on behalf of your father, Mr. Silverlake. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Professor Charles Xavier, and this is my associate, Ororo Munroe." Storm replied merely with a polite nod of her head.

The boy took a short pause, mulling over his two visitors before stiffing him into a more formal position, a warm smile of his own, "Please, call me Bastion. And I apologize for sounding rude, I don't get many visitors. I would offer you something to drink but as you can see, my accommodations are somewhat limited at preset."

"Precisely why I've come to speak with you Bastion. A good friend of mine, who happens to know your father, informed me of what had occurred and asked me to help. After hearing your story, I was more that happy to offer. And so here I am."

"Oh, is that so? Well, Professor Xavier, I hate to break your heart but I don't need any help. I am making due quite well on my own."

Ororo cocked an eyebrow, glancing around about here, "As we can see."

Bastion echoed a dry laugh, "Heh, this is merely temporary. Just waiting it out a while until I go to get a job. Then I'll get a real place to stay."

"I can offer that to you now, Bastion…"

"I don't need your charity."

"Oh no, not charity, a chance at life. You see, I run a school for gifted students such as yourself. Should you choose to accept it, there will be a place there for you. A bed, meals, cloths, and most importantly an education. You could get back the life you had before, you could go places, make a difference in the world."

Turning away, Bastion slowly began to chew on his lower lip. A difference. Other kids had never really thought about, but it had always been his passion, his father's passion. Disease, poverty, hunger, oppression, he was hyper active in pressing these issues at every chance he could get. Mostly he'd been brushed off, never taken seriously, but he knew that in the future – when he was older – that would change; an education was very important to that though. "I…I can't pay anything, and my father most certainly wouldn't."

"There is no cost, we are a privately funded school open to everyone."

Bastion bit down harder, "I don't…I don't exactly get along with special students."

"I'm aware of your previous family background and the atmosphere that you were surrounded in. While I understand it will take some adjusting to, I am confident enough in your ability to adapt. Plus, the students and other teachers are very out going."

"…I…I have crazy sleep schedules, and I'm all over the place, constantly causing problems."

"Now you're just fishing for excuses. You've been the poster child all your life, never a single school reported incident, highly active in extra-curricular, excelled in your courses. I promise, Bastion, you'll do fine here."

The shook his head, letting out a deep sigh, "Fine, I'll go. Let me get my things."

Without another word, Bastion stood up and went to his bed, pulling out a large duffle bag which he quickly began to stuff back full of clothes and books that were littered around the area. Fully packed, he quietly rejoined the pair at the entrance to his makeshift home. A quick flick, and the illusion melted away. The television went dead, reverting back to its shattered frame, the couches, bed, tables, and other furniture faded back into crudely stacked boxes, bent frames, and ripped up garbage. Storm, slightly taken aback, cast a quick glace to the young teen who merely shrugged in reply. "Illusion," he stated flatly, "let's go."