A Start

The next few months passed by in a blur of endless lessons and constant, but mild, unpleasantness, and I became something of Shaw's lap dog as we traveled to and fro various Nazi headquarters and death camps. I was never far out of his sight, however, and had no extra time to practice the more homicidal aspects of my talent onto anyone of import.

However, this period in my life was not what you would call boring or uneventful. Sure, there were stretches of days and weeks where nothing memorable happened, but they were always punctuated and spiced by a few high-excitement, usually uncomfortable situations, most dealing with certain lessons that Shaw put me up to, including more trips to white rooms filled with knives and pain-inducing instruments. True to his word, Herr Doctor did not bring in any more 'motivation,' but he did not relinquish the desire to poke me with needles and bind me in restraints for long periods of time. I lost quite a bit of innocence, unsurprisingly, under his tutelage. I suppose that was the point—to become a warrior, not to stay a child. Regardless, I learned a great and many little tips that I filed away for later use.

For example, I came to realize that when arranging to meet a possible foe, one must always do it in a public place with many witnesses to decrease the likelihood of the situation coming to blows. Of course, that didn't always work, but the bystanders were only human, after all. In addition to this, I learned that in such public places, one should position oneself in a corner, or with at least one natural barrier guarding your backside, to avoid getting snuck up on. And, above all else, one must always make sure where the exits are, should they need to be utilized.

Aside from fairly common-knowledge strategies like that, Shaw overviewed the teaching of common, practical, formal, and traditional methods of fighting. I learned how to street brawl, which was fairly straightforward and easy, you simply had to gather all your fury and batter the daylights out of your opponent with any weapon that was at hand. He taught me how to sword-fight, which I thought was antiquated and rather useless, but Shaw insisted.

"This is how we've been fighting for centuries!" he'd always remind me. "Just because we can kill one another now with the push of a button, that doesn't mean that we shouldn't forget the ways of our ancestors!"

I found swords weighty, however, and difficult to wield. Nevertheless, I eventually got the footwork down, and my arms and back became stronger, so that I was whirling and twirling exceptionally well as I sparred a random soldier who was handy with the blade in the courtyard at some camp in Germany. I didn't realize Shaw had been watching until I heard his clapping from behind me.

"Well done, my boy!" he cried delightedly. "You certainly are coming along!"

I didn't stop or turn around or drop my guard, should the officer get any funny ideas, so I just kept on and grunted by way of response. Shaw circled, assessing our abilities and moves.

"Ah, see, you had an opening right there," he said to me, stroking his chin lightly. He was correct—I had had an opening. As the soldier shifted his weight from his right to his left, he had dropped his arm just a hair, so that I momentarily had a straight shot to his heart. Of course I didn't take it though—this was just practice after all, I didn't actually want to kill the man, Nazi or not.

"Next time you see one, take it," Shaw said with finality. "Do not hesitate; your enemies will not either."

I tore my eyes away from my fight to look at Shaw questioningly. He had his flat, unreadable face on, and returned my gaze with hard eyes. They did not accept questions or misgivings. They gave orders that were to be followed, or else. And, just like that, I was in a fight to the death.

Something in the air shifted, filling with the tension and adrenaline of a high-stake competition, and my eyes locked with the man I fought. He had heard Shaw too, and he looked at me with calculating respect. Skill-wise, I was a worthy opponent, despite my obvious youth, and, being Shaw's protégée, I posed as a real threat. Meanwhile, he, a full-grown man with strength and experience on his side, would be difficult to take down.

Sweat poured down my face as we dueled, but I didn't dare slow down or let my arms rest for just a minute. I didn't notice a small crowd start to gather—no one existed except him and me. Once, early on, the soldier feinted a blow to my left and instead dove into my right. I recovered just in time to parry it, but it still glanced of my side, scraping past my ribs with a fiery bite. I stepped up my game there and then, and came very close to slashing open his chest seconds later.

In the haze of it I lost track of time—it could have been hours or only a matter of minutes before I spotted my next opening. The battle had progressed from a display of showmanship to a sort of haphazard brawl, since my initial wound, which I no longer felt, so great was my focus. When you're fighting for your life like that, time tends to slow down, and there is no future and no past, just you and the sword. It didn't even occur to me that I could probably melt both our weapons with a thought. I was too wrapped up in my activity, which I zoned into completely, forgetting myself.

I didn't hesitate when I stabbed that man. Looking back on it, I suppose I should have. He was my first real kill, the first life I took with my own hands, and yet… I felt nothing. There was no inner debate in my mind seconds before it happened. I didn't flinch or pause or even think about it. I saw the opening and I took it. I suppose that says something about my character.

With a grunt, I thrust my entire body weight through the tip of my sword, propelling it through his chest, puncturing his body cavity with surprising difficulty. We met eyes once more, his brown ones wide with surprise. He seemed to be in shock, rather than unbearable pain. Still standing, he staggered towards me, reaching out for my shoulders for support, but he fell, and there on the ground, he exhaled his last breath.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and stared at him. He was so… inanimate and non-threatening. It seemed in comprehensible to me that he had been trying to kill me just a second ago—he was just a heap now. Not a person; a pile of limbs, a piece of mass with no purpose or function. As an afterthought, I wrenched my sword free of his chest, and was soon enveloped by a laughing, approving, congratulatory Shaw. Apparently I had done well.

After mastering sword fighting, Shaw taught me more modern methods of destruction, demonstrating how to shoot a gun, and telling me the basics about missiles and bombs. This was also fairly straightforward, requiring little to no finesse. I found myself unintentionally guiding my bullets, as I target-practiced with Shaw, so that they always found the bulls-eye. He found this generally amusing, but what he didn't know was that I was imagining his face on every single target.

Finally, after all of this, was I allowed to perfect my own ability. At this point, I decided that all my previous lessons in fighting had been a waste of time, as I could easily and efficiently stab someone without lifting a finger. Why would I hit someone in the face and smash a bottle over their head, when I could just kill or stun them with their own belt buckle? It seemed all very silly to me, shooting guns and sword fighting, but Shaw had his reasons. I privately felt that it was to make me realize what normal people have to deal with, what he himself had to deal with. The thought of my being above him made me smirk with pleasure, because really I knew that I was the powerless one in our relationship.

He took amusement in leading me in one direction or another, whether physically or mentally, I came to realize during that time. He liked to operate under the veil that this was for my own good, that he was the benevolent mentor in our situation; but really I knew it just helped him pass the time. In fact, I think he was rather bored with the whole Nazi world-domination scene. Definitely on one of the more fringe factions of the party, his beliefs and theoretical military tactics dealt entirely with 'supernatural' beings or objects, including but not limited to utilizing mutants such as myself, obtaining the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail, somehow creating undead mercenaries to fight entire battles, and constructing a bomb so large and so powerful that it could wipe out a whole country within a matter of seconds. However, he set the most stock in the idea that if the Reich could form a cohesive army of freaks like me, they would be unstoppable. Privately, I agreed, though I couldn't imagine that there were many of us out there. However, most of the Nazis tended to be more conservative and wary of the more out-there methods of conquering Europe, and Shaw's plans fell on silent ears. But as the war became increasingly futile in year '45, Shaw's campaign proved fruitful, as the Fuhrer personally assigned him the task of creating a 'specialized' army.

Overwrought with excitement, Shaw shortly after pulled me into his office to uncap one of his long-winded high-energy speeches that he usually reserved for powerful politicians.

"You know what this means, little Erik?" he practically exploded, foaming at the mouth. It took a great amount of will not to step back in horror. Not waiting for my flat, one-word response (as were most of my remarks nine times out of ten), he kept on going.

"This means that I have the resources—no, the money—to track down more people like you and me! I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for a very, very long time. Now I finally have the wealth and the position to create an army, to gather lonely and confused mutants up and to mold them into machines to do my bidding, my own!"

In his excitement, he must have forgotten that I was in fact a person with ears and a brain, and that I could easily put two and two together and realize that he was 'teaching' me for purely selfish reasons. But, then again, I already knew that, and I was really only staying with him for purely selfish reasons—revenge. So I kept my face a clean slate, emotionless and thoughtless, pretending that I didn't actually hear him.

"—of course I'll need to find a seer or a telepath to find them all, and that in itself will be difficult—" he said, muttering to himself rather than me. "—but then when that's done, it will be probably easy for them to come with me – oh I can't wait! You can't imagine the things some can do, little Erik. What you do is remarkable, simply remarkable, but there are some that are positively unbelievable!"

He blabbered on like this for quite some time, pulling out a bottle of liquor to celebrate. He thoughtlessly handed me a glass, and I drank it, the amber liquid burning my throat all the way down.

That was how it started. With a blank check, Herr Doctor and I flew off in an airplane – an actual airplane; my young self was mesmerized – to Delphi to consort some kind of oracle. I was not permitted to come with him, and instead waited at the airfield, curiously inspecting the immense vehicles.

There was a humming in them that I hadn't noticed before, each particle of metal alive to my mind like a million small creatures. I held my hand inches from one plane, arm raised past my head to reach it, and it bristled to my touch, like hairs on an arm. I touched its body, cool and hard, and almost felt a heartbeat, imagined or otherwise. I concentrated, closing my eyes and holding my breath, imagining the metal around my hand fitting to its shape. Nothing happened; I was still not ready, not strong enough to dent something, let alone take down Shaw.

I sighed and sat down and waited for a long time, earning strange and almost frightful glances from pilots and mechanics, who looked at me and my uniform and saw a lost child-soldier. They were Nazis themselves, of course, in this German air base, and were not at all taken aback by the swastika pin on my lapel, but instead were wary of my apparent status as Shaw's assistant. They thought he was dangerous, and naturally, by association, so was I.

Shaw came bouncing back after many long hours, waving a wad of paper in my face ecstatically. "I was given names and locations of dozens – dozens! – of other mutants! I called into headquarters and we can start gathering them immediately! Well? What are you waiting for? Let's go!" We had climbed into the plane, and Herr Doctor was now yelling at the pilot to start the plane and be out of here.

"Where to?" the pilot asked.

Shaw unfolded his paper and looked down, a grin spreading on his face. "Liverpool, England."


A/N: Whoa, guys, sorry for the long hiatus. My muse is often intense and fleeting… But I saw the movie again today, and it seems to have revived me some. Did anyone else orgasm when it first cut to Michael Fassbender? Anyone? Maybe it's just me, but that man is SEXY.

Anyways, I do have something of a plot mapped out in my mind… You should stick around to see what it is. And you know what keeps me going? An inbox full of reviews *hint hint*. Stay classy, people of FanFiction.

PS: I have changed the name of my story. Apart from being the incorrect numbers, this story is much more than just Erik's life in the camps. So, from now, it's just The Life of E.L.