Creation. This term is thrown around too loosely, way too loosely. What is a creator? Was god? Creations are simply meant for popular, or helpful things. You claim god is a creator, he created man, but when Frankenstein created his monster, you called him a freak. I, Henry McCoy, must know, am I a creation, or a virus?
I am a mutant, a deformed mutant. Like my friends, I chose to do something with my life. That choice was mine, and no one else's. I chose to protect the people that hate and fear me, I chose to make sure there houses were safe from other mutants attacking and killing them, but why? I ask myself why, and then I remind myself, I am a good person, not like Magneto Mr. Sinister. I make the world clean and safe for people to live in peace with each other.
"Hank, what's wrong" You look bushed sugah," my friend and comrade in action asked me. Her name was Rouge, and she was cursed with the ability to absorb human's and mutant's thoughts, strengths, abilities and in the case of mutants, their powers. She looked happy striding in with her arm around her boyfriend Remy's waist.
"Bushed? I am not tired Rouge if that is what you mean. I was just doing some more research on the infamous virus that plagues the world," I said looking to Rouge and smiling.
"You mean da Legacy virus Hank?" he asked me with a pondering look.
"Precisely Remy," I answered him looking at his confused face.
"Why you not jus say dat? Bunch easier den all dat mumbo jumbo you just said," he stared at me with his waist around Rouge.
"Why must I always take the complicated path in life you ask? It's my modèle Gambit. You have got yours I've got mine," I answered him walking on to the kitchen.
"Whatever Hank, we'll work on your people skill later mon ami," Gambit yelled backwards walking to his room where he would most likely spend his time quarrying with Rouge over getting a kiss.
I walked on to the kitchen and took out the milk cartoon.
"A fragile misguided human on the inside, a ravaging scary animal bearing on the surface," I spoke to myself taking a swig from the cartoon.
"Hey bud, you and I both do it, but lets next time try not to get caught," Wolverine said at the doorway.
"Ah, my ferial friend, where have you been? House has been quiet to your liking," I responded as he walked in.
"Bar, also to my liking. Anyway, where is everyone? House is as quiet as a mouse. We usually got someone with the radio blasted to the god damned roof," he spoke harshly and looked down the hallway.
"Must be asleep. If you'll excuse me, I was just getting a little parched. I have to go get some more research done. I am on the brink of something," I strode off and into my lab. I looked around and noticed something was missing, something big. I went to my station and put on my goggles, never can be to safe. I heard something from the corner of the room. It sounded like a smash. I pounced over there. A child was kneeling down frightened. He had scrapes and flesh was hanging off his body.
"Sir, can you help me please? My parents, they..." he whispered tearing. He started to cry but stopped, trying to act like he was hard and tough inside.
"What did they do to you? Did they abuse you?" I thundered questions at him. I was furious. Who would do this to a child of a mere eight years of age?
"They hurt me, cause I a mutie," he spoke in a little voice. He quivered and then sat on the floor.
"Your own parents?"
"Yes sir." That pissed me off. For the first time I could see where I had gotten the name Beast from, and for the first time, I was proud of it.
I am a mutant, a deformed mutant. Like my friends, I chose to do something with my life. That choice was mine, and no one else's. I chose to protect the people that hate and fear me, I chose to make sure there houses were safe from other mutants attacking and killing them, but why? I ask myself why, and then I remind myself, I am a good person, not like Magneto Mr. Sinister. I make the world clean and safe for people to live in peace with each other.
"Hank, what's wrong" You look bushed sugah," my friend and comrade in action asked me. Her name was Rouge, and she was cursed with the ability to absorb human's and mutant's thoughts, strengths, abilities and in the case of mutants, their powers. She looked happy striding in with her arm around her boyfriend Remy's waist.
"Bushed? I am not tired Rouge if that is what you mean. I was just doing some more research on the infamous virus that plagues the world," I said looking to Rouge and smiling.
"You mean da Legacy virus Hank?" he asked me with a pondering look.
"Precisely Remy," I answered him looking at his confused face.
"Why you not jus say dat? Bunch easier den all dat mumbo jumbo you just said," he stared at me with his waist around Rouge.
"Why must I always take the complicated path in life you ask? It's my modèle Gambit. You have got yours I've got mine," I answered him walking on to the kitchen.
"Whatever Hank, we'll work on your people skill later mon ami," Gambit yelled backwards walking to his room where he would most likely spend his time quarrying with Rouge over getting a kiss.
I walked on to the kitchen and took out the milk cartoon.
"A fragile misguided human on the inside, a ravaging scary animal bearing on the surface," I spoke to myself taking a swig from the cartoon.
"Hey bud, you and I both do it, but lets next time try not to get caught," Wolverine said at the doorway.
"Ah, my ferial friend, where have you been? House has been quiet to your liking," I responded as he walked in.
"Bar, also to my liking. Anyway, where is everyone? House is as quiet as a mouse. We usually got someone with the radio blasted to the god damned roof," he spoke harshly and looked down the hallway.
"Must be asleep. If you'll excuse me, I was just getting a little parched. I have to go get some more research done. I am on the brink of something," I strode off and into my lab. I looked around and noticed something was missing, something big. I went to my station and put on my goggles, never can be to safe. I heard something from the corner of the room. It sounded like a smash. I pounced over there. A child was kneeling down frightened. He had scrapes and flesh was hanging off his body.
"Sir, can you help me please? My parents, they..." he whispered tearing. He started to cry but stopped, trying to act like he was hard and tough inside.
"What did they do to you? Did they abuse you?" I thundered questions at him. I was furious. Who would do this to a child of a mere eight years of age?
"They hurt me, cause I a mutie," he spoke in a little voice. He quivered and then sat on the floor.
"Your own parents?"
"Yes sir." That pissed me off. For the first time I could see where I had gotten the name Beast from, and for the first time, I was proud of it.