Here it is people, the redo of "Of Wolves and Porcupines?"

Remember I dont own Xmen.


You ever wake up one morning and complain about something stupid? Like maybe your bed wasn't comfortable enough and your back is a little sore. Or maybe you didn't like last night's dinner.

Well, you should be grateful. Some people don't have beds to sleep on, just the floor. They don't get hot meals every night; I bet they are lucky to get one meal a day. Hell, some of them don't have any form of shelter, and spend the nights freezing their ass off in the cold.

Then, for the very unlucky few, they live a life similar to that of my brother and I.

I'm sorry, where are my manners? My name is, I'm told, Pierce Miller, but I'm referred to around the facility as Subject 117-38. I'm a mutant; my gene was active at birth. My brother, Riley Miller, or Subject 117-37, older than me by four years and a powerful mutant, talks about my parents from time to time. About how the men in black suits came and offered them money in exchange from him and I. How they were killed when they refused to sell us.

I grew up in this hellhole; my brother always being there for me was the only thing that made this almost bearable. I used to dream about how he would use his mutation to fight off the guards and let us escape this God forsaken testing lab. That was 12 years ago, now I know escape is impossible.

So far there have been 36 failed attempts, 36 screaming mutants as the life was torn painfully from them in that damned genetic enhancer, or "the execution chamber" as we began calling it, since there has yet to be a single survivor. Well, not entirely true, one made it out alive; but he literally, no figurative meaning involved, exploded three hours later in his cell. That was a gory mess, one that I had to clean up since I was on cleaning duty that day.

Riley and I are the next subjects to go into the chamber; most likely it's next victims too.

The hour draws near. I can hear fellow mutants, my brothers in everything but blood. Some are offering condolences, others are simply crying because more death and there is one less person standing between them and the machine. I would be upset, but I know the feeling. Nobody, in their right mind, wakes up thinking, "the end is here."

I know you don't think anything of this, my story, but I write this in my final hours that maybe someday my bothers may be free from fear that they are going to be killed because some sick fucker wants to use them as lab rats. Sometimes, all it takes to change the world is one voice.

The time has come, the bolt has been undone and the doors are opening. My brother leaps to his feet, and tries to protect us, but its no use. I hear the dieing screams of guards, but another scream of Riley being hit with his high voltage collar. Neither of us is strong enough to take all of them down, even if they don't have the damned collars. The guards grant my one more minute to finish this, not realizing that I was putting it on the Internet. Please, don't let these killings continue. You may not see mutants as people who deserve rights and whatnot, but please, have a heart and stand up against people who would kill your children, should they be slightly different than everyone else.