Author's Note:

The following is a series of stories that chronicles the life of Matthew and Thomas Macarthur, two characters of the author's own creation. They are mutants living in the world of the X-Men.

The plan is to publish the series in volumes which are divided according to major events in the main characters' lives.

The universe in which this takes place is that of the movies X-Men, X2: X-Men United, and X3: The Last Stand. The story begins about 15 years prior to the movies and progresses up to and beyond the movies. The author has chosen to ignore movies made after X3 either because he was unwilling to modify the story as it already existed in his head or wanted to use characters from those movies in different ways.

While this volume (as an origin story for his own characters) is rather light on other X-Men characters, the author promises to include many more in following volumes.

Metal Twins

Volume 1: Origins

A Mental Conversation

Are you sure that I'm the guy you want for your team?

"Yes, Matthew, I have been watching you for some time."

Even with my history, my background?

"Yes, I believe that you are a good man."

Professor, the authorities may still be after me, and my upbringing wasn't exactly ideal.

"We can protect you from the authorities. You don't have to run anymore. And, Matthew, you are not your father. I would like the chance to show this to you. Will you join us? Will you become one of my X-Men?"

Not Such a Happy Home (17 years prior to X-Men)

Dad's home. Matthew Macarthur watched nervously as his father entered the house. Matthew was just a ten year old boy, living with his father, his mother, and his identical twin in their Chicago suburban home. But as quaint and nice as things seemed to be on the outside, Matthew's live was anything but nice.

Is this going to be a good night or a bad night? Thought Matthew. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. So he silently climbed up the stairs to the second floor loft. There at the edge of the loft laid Thomas, Matthew's identical twin. He was looking down upon the kitchen below. Matthew joined him. He was too scared to be down stairs in case his father got angry, but he had to watch. What else was a ten year old boy to do?

The boy's father approached their mother who was cleaning up after supper. "What are you doing?! Putting things away?! I'm hungry!"

"We just finished eating, dear, but the food is still here," said their mother in a sweet voice. The boys had hear that voice countless times before. Their mother used it whenever she was attempting to calm her husband's anger. She set a plate of food in front of her husband. He immediately dug into the potatoes with his fork, but splat the food out again.

"This food is cold! I come home after a hard day's work, and all I want is a nice, warm, home-cooked meal."

"But dear, I never know when you're coming home. I cooked this for the boys and me about 15 minutes ago. If you would have come home right away it would have been warm."

"Woman, I don't want to hear you excuses. I just want a warm meal. Is that too hard?"

"No, I can heat it up for you." She put her hand on his plate to take it away, but he grabbed her arm and violently pulled her in front of him.

"Don't touch my food while I'm eating!" Then he struck her in the face, knocking her to the floor. Matthew and Thomas covered their eyes, and their mother began to cry. "I will have order in my house! And a hot meal! I will have no more of this!" He dumped his meal on top of his wife, gravy and all. He then stormed up the stairs to the second floor, there he saw the two boys watching him from the edge of the loft. Matthew cowered in the corner next to Thomas. "What are you two looking at?" Neither boy said a word, as their father entered his bedroom.

The two boys slowly got up and went down the stairs. Their mother was cleaning herself and the floor. "Oh it's all my fault. I should have waited until your father was home before cooking the chicken."

Thomas spoke first. "Mommy, why does Daddy hit you?"

"Oh, he's just upset about something at work. We are here to comfort him and give him our support here at home. I am just not being a good wife."

Then Matthew found the courage to speak, "He shouldn't be hitting you, Mommy."

"I don't expect you to understand this right now, Matthew. Now why don't you two get your jammies on and get ready for bed? You know how your father doesn't like you to be up so late.

"But it's only eight o'clock!"

"Get, now, Thomas; get to bed."

Fugitives (15 years prior to X-Men)

And so it continued for years. But the boys got older. Matthew got wiser, and Thomas got angrier. And their father got more and more violent. In the boys' twelfth year he had become progressively worse, often beating their mother without any explanation.

One day he came into the house and slammed the door. He immediately walked to the living area under the loft and sat down in his favorite chair. The boy's mother was preparing dinner in the kitchen, and Matthew was helping. Thomas was on the stairs leading up to the loft pretending not to be there. Matthew watched his father. He seemed angry and stressed.

Out of the corner of his eye Matthew caught sight of his mother. She had taken a step forward and then back again. He could see the dilemma in her eyes: go to him and comfort him, or stay invisible like the boys were doing. Then he saw her made up her mind. She took two steps forward when Matthew grabbed her hand, silently pleading her not to do it. She shook off his hand and went forward.

"Honey, you're home early. I don't have anything ready yet, but I can…"

"Woman! Can't you see I don't want to be disturbed? Everyone is always interfering with me: at work, at home." Suddenly he grabbed her and shook her. "Even my own wife pesters me!" He hit her and then threw her on the ground.

Matthew's mother pleaded before him in a truly frighten voice. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want."

Matthew was paralyzed like many times before. His father continued to shout at her, and he kicked her in the ribs. Suddenly, the thought entered Matthew's mind. He's going to kill her! At that point Matthew changed. He was no longer the scared child. One look across the room to his brother and Matthew knew that Thomas had reached the same point. Wordlessly they communicated what they needed to do.

Matthew walked boldly forward. Thomas too came closer from his position by the stairs. Matthew approached his father as he was on top of their mother, and he said, "Stop." At first it was weak and barely audible, but the second time he mustered the courage and the lung strength necessary. "Stop!"

His father stopped. Slowly his father turned toward him. "What did you just say?"

"I said, 'Stop.'"

At first his father seemed shocked. But then his father's face got red with anger. "You presume to give me, your father, orders. I ought to beat you until you can't speak anymore."

Then Thomas spoke up, "Then you better do so to the both of us."

Their father slowly got up. Their mother remained on the floor. He slowly moved toward Matthew. Thomas stood beside his brother. Matthew felt his heart beating in his chest. His father stood before him, paused, and then reached across his body to deliver a back handed slap.

Then a strange thing happened. Matthew knew exactly what would happen next. He saw the path of his father's hand; he knew where it would hit his face, square on the right jaw. It seemed so clear to him. Matthew knew what was about to happen. His reaction was simple and instinctive. Block, Armor. He willed that his face be as hard as metal, such that he would not be hurt.

Then it happened, just as he foresaw. His father's hand hit his face right on the jaw bone. But it didn't hit flesh, rather it hit something hard. The force of the blow knocked Matthew down, but he wasn't hurt. He put his own hand to his jaw, but it didn't feel like skin, rather it felt like metal.

His mother was screaming. Matthew turned around to see his brother, Thomas, trying to hit his father. But his father grabbed Thomas and threw him out in front of the fireplace. Matthew noticed a bit of blood on his brother's hand. Then Matthew saw his father's bloody face. "I going to kill you, boy! No one hits me and gets away with it!"

His father charged at Thomas, who got on his feet and ran up the stairs. His father grabbed the poker from the fire place and followed him up the stairs. Fearing for his brother's life Matthew chased after them. He got up the stairs into the loft where he saw his father, fire poker raised, strike down on his brother. Thomas raised his arm to block the poker, and the distinctive sound of metal striking metal could be heard.

CLANG. And then he struck again. CLANG. And again and again. CLANG… CLANG... CLANG. He delivered blow after blow until the fire poker was bent out of shape. Thomas' arm was still raise, and the gleam of metal shown in the low light of the loft.

His father looked at the bent metal in his hand and the metal coating his son's arm. "You mutant freaks! I ought to have killed you on the day you were born."

Matthew looked at his hand. As it formed a fist metal encased it like a glove. He walked forward and began to hit his father. Thomas did the same. Their father fought back, yet whenever he would strike, Matthew could see beforehand where the blow would land, and thus Matthew could move out the way before the blow even came.

Then their father changed tactics. Instead of throwing punches he began to wrestle. Matthew felt himself being tossed further back into the loft. He got up and again saw his father attacking Thomas. He had his hand around Thomas' throat, trying to strangle him, but Thomas delivered a strong kick to the knee, causing him to drop Thomas. Matthew charged in, and Thomas landing on his feet also pushed hard. Both brothers using their young twelve year-old bodies pushed their father into the loft railing. At first the railing held, but then it began to give way, until it broke free under the force of their father's impact.

What happen next seemed like an eternity for the brothers. Their father fell in slow motion, back first over the edge of the loft, down to the first floor. And then he landed…on the glass coffee table in the middle of the floor. There he lay sprawled out, perfectly within the frame of the table except his legs which had landed on the metal frame. Glass and blood was all over the floor. And it was silent.

The brutal man lay motionless before them. They just looked down upon him.

The silence was broken by screams. "Johnathan! Johnathan!" Their mother rushed to her husband's side. He didn't response to her. Then she looked up at her sons. "Murders! Murders!" She turned to the door. "Murders! Someone please help! Help!"

Fear came upon the brothers. One look at each other and they knew they were thinking the same thing. Run!

They turned and ran to their room. Thomas went straight to the window, paused, encased his arm in metal, and broke the window. He climbed out on to the roof and jumped from the second story to the ground. Matthew followed. He landed on his hands and feet, and he rolled to avoid hurting himself. Thomas was already on top of the wooden fence, offering his hand. Matthew took it, and both of them jumped the fence.

They cut through backyards, hopped fences, ran through alleyways and across streets. They ran and ran; never separating and always helping the other. Driven by fear, they ran miles in the dark. Finally Matthew spoke.

"Thomas, we need to stop."

"No, we can't. They will catch us."

"We can't out run them. We need to hide."

And so they did. They escaped deep into the city. They found a freeway overpass. A homeless man had already claimed the spot, but he didn't wake. They found themselves a somewhat comfortable spot, and they lay together and slept through the night.

That was the very first night that the brothers Matthew and Thomas spent as fugitives. They would soon get used to it.