"Andrew! Stop this, right now!"

Matt is yelling at him and there is blood on his face from a cut. The cut probably stems from a shard of glass. The shard of glass probably stems from his telekinesis.

He is badly burnt, his arms and legs and chest are on fire, but still, his mental faculties are clear enough (and honed by his anger) that he can wave an arm and send a car flying at his cousin slash ex-friend.

Matt flies away just in time, still screaming at him to stop. He glares, and feels the rage welling up inside him, pushing at his mind and screaming like a boiling teakettle, and suddenly, all the windows around him explode.

Now, he is screaming as well, screaming in betrayal and anguish and hatred. Hatred, most of all; it burns through his veins as rich and red as the blood that pumps from his heart. There is that tugging sensation, and he directs his gaze onto one of the upturned police cars and throws it-

"Stop!" Matt howls, throwing up both hands in an attempt to muster a shield like Andrew did. But he's too weak.

(Dimly, Andrew remembers the Legos)

The hood smashes into him first, and he can see Matt's eyes oh-so clearly; big and wide and shocked, like, Andrew I'm your fucking cousin how could you do this to me? before Matt's eyes close and he goes flying into a brick wall. He hears a crunching sound, and something squishing, and then he cannot see Matt anymore.

Numbly, he stares at the spot where his cousin was, his brain dredging up painful memories of himself, Matt, and Steve screwing around like teenagers are supposed to, all that crazy shit in the Walmart and playing football up in the sky and almost getting hit by that plane and drinking Slurpies on a skyscraper because they could.

He lets out a shrill cry and collapses to his knees, tears streaming down his face and burning like acid.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

There are the sounds of yelling and of the police scrambling back to their feet, guns upraised once more. He sees this, hears this, but not with his ears.

He hears in his mind, and he doesn't know why, but he does know that a lot of people want to kill him right now and they are very close to doing just that and no, no, he doesn't want to die just yet-

"Get the hell away from me!" he screams, throwing out his arms again. There is a ripple in the air, an actual waver like a heat wave, and a powerful surge of energy bursts from him like a bubble and smashes into the cops, throwing them back even further and, in some cases, shattering bones and tearing through flesh like its paper.

The cars nearest to him crumple and bend and ultimately explode, shrapnel raining through the air and fearful pedestrians scurrying out of the way. Fire blossoms, but none of it touches him. Instead, miraculously, he watches it contort into bizarre shapes: horses, winged demons, dragons with curved fangs and taloned claws.

Turning his head, he sees the perpetrator-a dark-haired man with an obviously unstable smile on his face, grinning as he gestures and seemingly shapes the fire to his will. The pyrotechnic creations scatter, howling and hissing and chasing away the remaining loiterers while spewing fiery vengeance.

How the hell is he doing that? The meteor only granted him and the others telekinesis, not this shit. What the fuck? What the fuck?

Blearily, he stumbles to his feet, tired and hurting and dazed, when a voice calls out, "At ease, brother!"

There is a man in a cape and a weird helmet walking towards him. The man is old, his face is lined, but his eyes seem friendly. He stretches holds up a hand and the other guy-the fire manipulator-stops with a rueful frown and lets his arms drop. At once, his fire creations disperse, the flames dissipating into the air.

"You are hurt, I see," the caped man says, drawing closer and examining his injuries with a clinical eye. "Burned, but we can fix that in time."

"Wha-who are you?" Andrew asks, pulling away in nervousness. "And who's he?"

"His name is Pyro," the caped man replies in a calm voice. "Aptly named for his pyrokinetic abilities, though he can only control fire, not create it. As such, exploding those cars made his powers much easier to use."

"You-you..."

"I am Magneto," says the caped man, extending a hand. "And I am different, just like you, and just like Pyro."

Andrew shakes his head. "No. Are you telling me there were m-more meteors...?"

"Meteors?" Magneto inquires. "No. I was born naturally with my powers, although you seem to have acquired yours from an external source of interference." He shakes his head. "No matter. Any mutant is a friend of mine."

"Mutant?"

"You are special, are you not?" Magneto asks. "Your ability-telekinesis-seems quite developed already."

"I practiced," Andrew murmurs, quiet.

"Yes. And for one so young, you are quite accomplished." Magneto pauses. "You have been alienated. Bullied. Treated unfairly."

"Yeah."

"And have you taken it? Allowed yourself to be trampled by the inferior?"

"No," he responds, remembering the bully's teeth with clarity and the exhilarating rush of power, of control after he ripped them out.

"Good," says Magneto. "Because we, we mutants, should never allow ourselves to be treated as such. We, young man, have powers beyond regular comprehension. And humans," he sneers, "will never understand what we can do. They will abuse us. Terrorize us. Try and exterminate us. This is why we must fight back and show the inferior species our might."

His head is reeling, but Andrew senses a glimmer of truth in this man's words. And in himself, a desire to embrace this philosophy.

All his life he has been bullied. Now is his chance to strike back.

Now is his time.

"What is your name, if I may ask?"

"Andrew."

"Well, Andrew, if you do not desire to remain here," Magneto says, spreading a hand and waving around at the destruction, "would you like to come with us?"

When Andrew hesitates, Magneto adds, "We can help you develop your powers in ways you cannot even imagine. We will turn you into something greater, something more powerful. You will never, ever be mistreated again."

Andrew considers this, considers the shithole life he has lived, considers his scumbag of a father and his mother, who is now gone, and Matt and Steve, who are also dead, and answers, "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Follow me, then."

And with that, Andrew lifts off the ground and drifts after Magneto.