Since that day in the cemetery, Max's life was becoming easier. He and Dr. McCoy would come to school early, and spent those morning in McCoy's room, just sitting in an increasingly companionable silence.

For Max, it was a relief to know that someone knew about his past and didn't smother him with pity. Dr. McCoy—Hank, he reminded himself (the teacher had insisted on being called that in private)—was only person to see him cry since Sarah died. There was a lingering wariness he held towards his teacher, overly-suspicious that he was going to be abandoned because of his past, but the blue-haired professor continued to prove his paranoia wrong. Hank wasn't aware of it, of course, but he held a great deal of his trust by treating him as an adult more than a student.

For Hank, it was the first time someone had completely opened up to him. Even Charles Xavier, the one man that could help him deal with his mutation, was probably keeping secrets from him. He understood why he did that, of course, but it was nice be trusted, to hear someone's full story. As much as he wanted to help the poor boy, however, he realized that the only way to truly help him was give Max the space he needed; treating him differently would likely only push him away.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to share little tidbits of each other's lives. He told Max about how teaching has always been a passion of his, ever since he started going to school. Becoming someone that can responsibly guide hundreds of people into their adulthood is the best way he can help others and feel accomplished at the same time. Max respected his passion, but was still somewhat mystified how teaching teenagers was even tolerable, much less enjoyable.

The school year was coming to a close, and Max was feeling more at ease with himself than he thought was possible. For the first time in years, he had a friend. A friend who was at least fifteen years older than him, but a friend nonetheless. Somebody that he could let inside his walls and not worry about being rejected. He still had nightmares most nights, but now he actually had someone to talk about them with. It was… nice, he decided.

OOOOO

Somehow, everything else has been looking up for Max as well. Carmen had moved to Texas, and Max was able to get promoted. Granted, it was for the position of head cook instead of head manager, but he took what he could get. Fourteen dollars an hour times seven hours a day, six days a week gave Max five-hundred and eighty-eight dollars a week. It was miles ahead of his previous status of an entry-level cook.

Thanking whatever higher power was up there for his spotless attendance and his perfectionism, he used his new level of income to finally stock up his fridge. Apples, bananas, broccoli, carrots, peppers, corn, potatoes, and all kinds of other fruits and vegetables soon filled his refrigerator, and chicken and beef and pork chops and steak was stuffing his freezer. He would need all the healthy eating he could get; eating well means getting in shape is easier, after all.

'Speak of the devil', Max thought. In front of him was a small, red-bricked building, a little on the outskirts of Bayville. It looked tidy, and there was even a sign outside the door depicting a stickman kicking through a steel wall, screaming 'I got the power!', with a line underneath showing the one-hundred-dollar monthly membership fee. Smirking, the pale teen walked through the door.

OOOOO

It was nearing midnight, but Max still had some energy to burn, so he went looking for the Karate school his sister had wanted to go to.

The biggest surprise about fighting dojos, Max realized, was how varied the fighting styles were. There was a mixture of Karate, Tai-Kwan-Do, and even some Mixed-Martial-Arts spars. Karate held mostly the children and preteens, Tai-Kwan-Do was filled with people his own age, and the MMA hosted the fully built adults that all had at least sixty pounds on him. He just looked around, taking in the atmosphere of pain, sweat, and yelling, when a hand grasped his shoulder.

He tensed, but did nothing else to show his reaction. He heard a hearty chuckle behind him, although Max didn't know what was so funny.

"You know, when I do that to most people, they turn around and try to sock me in the face. You're a lot more patient than I thought you would be." Turning around, Max nearly dropped his jaw at the sight in front of him.

The man was about half a foot taller than him, with a face squarer than McCoy's. There was an old scar stretching from his chin to right below his right ear. His eyes were dark brown, yet held an air of merriment within. His hair was also brown, and was shaved to nearly nothing. He reminded Max of a former marine than an instructor.

"So," the ripped man started, "looks like you're interested in something you see. Anything in particular?"

Max shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I just want to be able to defend myself and those that deserve it."

Another hearty laugh. "So, a People's Champion, eh?" He pointed to the MMA area. That's over there, with the hardest of hardcore fighters. You sure you don't want to start off a little easier?"

Max shook his head. "If I want to make a difference when it counts, I need to hit the ground running. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

The other man grinned, his teeth nearly glistening in the light of the room. "I like your spunk, kid. Name's Robert, but everyone calls me Rob."

Rob extended his hand, and the invitation was accepted. "I'm Max, and I'm ready for the worst!"

OOOOO

He most certainly was not ready for the worst.

The entirety of Max's first hour was spent on his back. He was sparring against one of the more experienced members, and he was getting his ass handed to him. If he tried to charge in right away, his own momentum would be used against him. Waiting him out didn't do any good, since his opponent was taller and had the longer reach, and could simply grapple him and send him tumbling into the ground. It was the worst opponent that he could have gone up against.

Damn that Robert. He did this on purpose, without a doubt.

And sure enough, he was holding his sides, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. Mixed in with the smacking of skin from the other matches, it was getting on his last nerves. Even his sparring partner was smirking!

Clamping down on his anger, Max realigned his focus on the match at hand. He knew he couldn't win the match (if the sound of his body slamming into the ground wasn't proof enough), but he just needed to land one solid hit. That would mean it wasn't a complete waste of time. As Robert signaled round twenty-five to start, he took in a deep breath, and waited. His opponent, clearly bored with the proceedings, called out to Robert. "Boss, can I be done after this? I need to spend some time getting some actual training in."

Tilting his head in thought, Robert mulled the question over. He wanted to see what the new kid could do, and he wasn't surprised to see him getting beaten so thoroughly. What did surprise him, however, was how many times he got back up. Usually, most people would storm out after losing five rounds, complaining about the 'disrespect' they got and the 'unfairness' of the system. Nobody stayed until round twenty-five. Hell, nobody stayed there longer than ten minutes! This Max… He could be promising.

Agreeing with his choice, he voiced his decision. "Sure thing, Derek. However, there is a condition. If Max can last longer than three minutes, you have to spar with me next."

The fact that Max could hear Derek let out an involuntary whine was downright terrifying. If he wasn't able to even touch one of Robert's students, then just how good was the teacher himself?

Before he could answer that question, Max heard a growl, and refocused just in time to see the foot that was pushing into his chest, sending him down to the floor for the twenty-fifth time today. Unlike all the times before, however, he wasn't given even a moment of respite, as he pulled in his legs and his hands to his face in a poor attempt to block the fists smashing into the sides of his skull. He could feel his consciousness fading, and wracked his failing mind for a solution. Several pain-filled seconds later, he came up with a solution.

Hank was going to kill him tomorrow.

Spending a few more seconds to calculate the tempo of punches, Max lifted his head and slammed it back to the ground again. Hard.

Popping echoed around the room, and even Robert had to wince. He certainly wasn't expecting Max to make a move like that. Hell, he thought that the kid would have passed out, and was about to call the match when he saw him raise his head. Derek just had his fingers broken by a total newbie, and wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon.

But Max wasn't finished yet. His hazy mind forgot that it was a spar, that he should've stopped as soon as he slammed his head on the ground. All that mattered was finally proving that he wasn't completely hopeless. Grabbing Derek's left arm as an anchor, he launched his free hand like a piston, his fist meeting his opponent's face twice before Derek had enough strength to yank his arm free. The taller fighter rolled to his feet, blood dripping down his nose and the start of a nasty bruise forming right under his right eye.

Max tried to get off the ground, but couldn't rise any further than a sitting position. He saw the rage in Derek's eyes (well, more like his 'eye' at this point. That was a nasty bruise!), and knew he was in for it. Just as the only standing fighter moved to finish the fight, Robert clapped his hands, breaking through the buzz of the fight. *

"That's enough, you two," the scarred man said, narrowing his eyes. "Derek, get some ice for your face. That was a rookie mistake, rushing in so recklessly. Tomorrow, we will work on exercise eighteen until you can appreciate the art of strategy. Am I clear?"

Clenching his one good hand, he grudgingly nodded. He then turned around, muttering something about a 'lucky-ass punk'.

Sighing and shaking his head, Robert then turned to Max, and smiled. "Well, that was surprising! Nobody outside of the other MMA guys can even land a single hit on him, and I counted three times you made him pay. You're a diamond in the rough, and I'm proud to say that I'll be the one to train you…." He noticed that the kid in question was giving him a flat look. "Or maybe not? I know Derek can be kind of a jerk, but nobody else is like that, promise! We have a few sticks in the mud, but that's what you get in a swamp, right?"

It took Max a few more seconds than usual to process everything, but when he did, he let out a chuckle, which turned into a laugh, which turned into uncontrollable chortling that left Robert at a loss as to what he said that was so damn funny.

Eventually, he managed to turn his laughter into a series of sniggers. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just so tired and sore that everything pun related is comedy gold." Grunting with effort, Max slowly drew his body upright. "I'm here to stay," he declared. "After all, where else am I going to become a part of your 'swamp?'."

Another chuckle forced its way from the bloodied boy. Becoming serious once more, Max looked into Robert's eyes, his voice representing the epitome of confidence. "If I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about, then I have no choice but to come back here."

Robert flashed a humorless grin. "Kid, I'm not going to paint a pretty picture for you. Once you start, you'll be on a pace face than you've ever been before. Everyone starts at a hundred and ten percent, and it only escalates. Are you sure you can handle it, Casper?"

Rolling his eyes at the ever so subtle skin joke, Max took out his wallet, pulled out three hundred dollars, and slapped it in Robert's hand. "That should be good for the summer. I'll be starting at a hundred and twenty percent, if that's alright with you?"

Roberts' eyes lit up in amusement once again, and that was how Max knew he did exactly the right thing. "You know, Casper, I think you and I are going to get along just fine. I have lessons starting at midnight, if you're interested."

Max smiled at his good fortune. Sure, sparring until one in the morning would be hard, but it would certainly build character. And muscle, he admitted. Enough to make sure that should the need to fight arise, he would be able to actually do something. He finally had a semi-permanent plan in place, and he would make the most of it while it lasted.

OOOOO

*This is my first attempt to do an actual fight scene. If there's anything you guys have in mind for me to improve on, let me know!

Hello again, friends and fans!I'm happy to get out this next chapter as early as I did.College is starting to pick up again, and updates might start slowing down a little.Moving on!

I'm really enjoying writing out this story.I think having a main character that's an OC that isn'ta mutant is a fairly fresh idea, and I want to see how well I can pull it off. I'm open to suggestions of any kind (within reason :P).

Victo557, thank you for being the first person to leave behind a comment for me.I'm glad you're liking Max as a character, and I hope that I can keep him and the rest of the story enjoyable for you!

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!