AN: I think this is my first X-Men fic not about my favorite, bestest X-Man ever, but I think this mutant is so bad ass and their powers are extremely cool, and they're extremely powerful, with an awesome kickass personality too. i do know some topics might be a bit iffy and sensitive, and i will always respect others and all that, and if some thing are offensive or antagonistic coming from an antagonist character, please keep that in mind that is the character, not my views, this is story telling in a basic form. that being said, i'm just excited to write this because I love this character so much,and it's actually rare for me to actually LOOOOOOOOOOOVEEE any character in the X-Men that isn't Cyclops. though i do love the other characters as the x-men, it's just not usual that i would put more focus on one that wasn't scott. hope you enjoy!
Sweat mingled with fear and blood underneath the black garment she wore. Her heart was beating underneath, and her breath was short and rapid, her stomach felt like a fast sinking pit of quicksand.
A man came towards her, a stick in his hand, "Take off that filthy niquab you dust mite! Slave, you don't need that cover, show your masters what pretty young thing is underneath."
She vehemently said in a low tone, "We are all comprised of the same dust, how dare you insult yourself too. You are not worthy to lay your repulsive eyes on me, and the form I was given, born with."
His tunic was open, showing his shining sweating tan chest, and the man put his hands out, aggressively forcing her clothes off. As soon as his hands touched her, her stomach dropped and she felt air tearing her up inside, through her.
She was growing, spreading, she was free, she was out of her body. She had no physical body or limit binding her down to this earthly life. She felt power, and she was not afraid anymore, she was not anything, she just was one with the dust, she was an element of nature.
Following the sounds of a million whistling winds, she scattered and swept at him, her body had ceased to exist and disintegrated into particles of fine sand, sharp and needle-like when rushed with a lethal speed. The particles felt connected though, they were her.
The sound of a billion gritty, flaking sand swarming around the screaming man engulfed him, showing not an inch of his flesh as it covered him, swept through him,
Dust filled his mouth and nose, his insides, it was corroding him alive, eating him alive and burying him with accelerated force and speed. Slave owners and traders came rushing in, waving whips and sticks around, one even carried a gun.
They pointed and gaped at the sand storm swarming one of their own.
All they could hear was sand and wind scuttling about with an awesome power.
The man pointed his gun at the cloud and shot, but his bullet went uselessly through the flexible and disconnected sand.
With a giant whoosh, it stopped, and the cloud fluidly blew to the floor, and quickly assembled, piling up onto the floor into a pillar of sand in the shape of a person. There was the serene sound of sand slipping against the ground.
Finally, the sand solidified, and a girl slumped against the floor, wearing a traditional niquab, her entire body and head covered
Her tired and exhausted inky dark eyes shone at them, as they stared, in awe and then rage, cursing at her and pointing their weapons.
She stared at the bleached and dry skeleton flayed on the floor, completely whittled down to the bones.
She stared as a fleck of dust fell out of her garb's folds.
Limply, she continued to stare at the skeleton as rough hands yanked her off the ground and dragged her to the slave pens, talking of punishment for her, and about law authorities executing her for the heinous crime and monster she was.
The man in the red sunglasses and the woman with white hair, the tall American and the Egyptian weather goddess who had come for her right when she was being tied to a post for all of the public to scorn and torture for something no one could understand, took her to a room, inside of a large mansion with controlled temperatures inside.
The man, Scott, said, "This is your room, with Laura." He did not say too much or act fake and enthusiastic, but he was sensitive, she could tell, just by his tone with her, and although he did not offer false consolations, she knew he understood some things better.
Ororo had been kind and her serenity and inner peace wilted the girl's broken spirit and homesickness for her mother.
A girl with long dark hair and black leather halter top and tight pants waited inside, clearing out some drawers, she sneered a little, but said in a straight forward voice, "Welcome, I'm Laura AKA X23, what's your name?"
Liquid black eyes stared at hauntingly from the window of her black hood, she said quietly, "Sooraya."
X23 flopped onto her bed and asked, "Yesterday, Cyclops and Storm and some of the others were alerted about your situation and hauled ass over to Afghanistan, that's quite a stretch, you must be pretty addled by everything. Want me to leave you alone and mind my own business or do you want to talk about it? Everyone here's different in their own way, I'm very different from everyone here though, so if you ever want to skip the petty stuff, come to me. Otherwise, keep out of my way."
Though the girl did not say anything, and her mouth was covered, her dark eyes looked at Laura with contemplation and narrowed in scrutiny.
Keepin it short to be safe.