Chapter One:
Everything was gray, he could remember that clearly; everything was gray...colorless...
The rain was falling in cold pellets against the faces of men, women and children as their captors lead them down the muddy alley way. The boy was looking up, trying to find out what they were walking towards though the rain, but he was too small to see over the adults surrounding him.
On one side, his mother was holding onto him by the shoulder and upper arm, her wide-eyes darting around at the guards lining the pathway. On the other, his father was holding his small hand tightly. Every now and then, the boy's father would glance down at him and smile reassuringly. However, his father's eyes seemed to be dull...gray, just like everything else...empty of hope...
The boy felt his chest tense as a large gate became visible...
He knew what was going to happen...
It always happened...
As they reached the end of the alley, armed soldiers tore the boy away from his parents. Nasty, leering faces glared at his father, aiming the rifle at him, and ushering them roughly on. He could hear his mother screaming his name as she was forced further and further away...
The boy was weeping, afraid...and angry. He ran towards the gate as it closed between him and his family…
He knew what was going to happen...
It always happened…
The boy reached out to his parents, willing them back from the dark place they were heading. He could feel strong arms of the guards grab him around the waist, trying to stop him...but the boy was stronger. He began to reach for the gate, the metal all around him, ordering it down, commanding it to fall...
Suddenly, the boy felt the arms around him fall away and he fell to the ground. He looked upward, expecting to see a vicious grin before the butt of the rifle knocked him unconscious...but the guards were gone. He looked toward the gate and realized everyone was gone. Everyone except his parents...
He ran towards the gate with elation, calling for his mother and father. The pair stood, hand in hand, still looking sad and lost, as dim as ghosts, but the boy did not care. This time it would be different. This time he would reach his parents. This time he would save them. He would tear down the walls, tie the Nazi guards in barbed wire, and watch as all his people ran from this place...
Before the boy could take more than a few steps, he ran head first into an invisible barrier. His head and hands pressed against its soft, cold surface, which molded around his outstretched hands, but did not break.
The boy jumped back in confusion and fear. He looked around, and realized he was inside a transparent white room. Through the clear wall, he could still see his parents gazing sadly at him. The boy screamed, and began to pound his small fists against the unbreakable plastic.
No! he thought in terror, No, no, no nonononononooooo
The boy spun around, searching for a way out. He could still see his parents standing in the rain, which was now beating hollowly against the roof of the plastic cell. He screamed and screamed, searching for an escape...he needed metal...if only he had one piece of metal...just one...
The boy looked outside again, and noticed a leering, smiling face watching him coldly. He cried out, and took a step away from the clear wall. The man was older, wearing wire spectacles that were strangely untouched by the rain. The man did not stop smiling as he turned away from the boy and headed through the ruined gate towards his parents. His 20th century military uniform was out of place in the boy's world, but the man's eyes were as vicious as those of the Nazi guards...
His parents did not move, even as grinning image of William Stryker took a gun from his belt and raised it to his father's temple.
NO! the boy began to scream again, fighting against the plastic, suffocating, watching with helpless horror as Stryker's grin widened, and his father closed his eyes...
***
"Magneto?" a voice said, and Erik Lensherr started as he was pulled from his thoughts.
On a small island, several hundred miles off the Atlantic coast of North America, Erik Lensherr sat in quiet thought in his office, the silence only broken by the rhythmic clang of metal on metal. Five spheres swung slowly back and forth, the reverberation of their impact on each other, perhaps harsh to some, was soothing to the tall gray-haired man.
He had not been able to sleep, his dreams keeping him from any real rest...but it was something he had grown accustom to over his long years. The nightmares were always different, but never really changed. Erik had simply endured them, as much as he endured keeping the numbered tattoo on his inner arm. The past was a menace, the pictures of his family's happy life marred by a red flag and a crooked cross. But, it was the source of his rage...his need for revenge...and, as he had quickly learned in his youth, it was also the motivation that moved him to action.
Remnants of the past were cold reminders of what the future may hold again for his people, for mutants.
The only solace he had ever found was in the cold embrace of the steel around him. For that was what he was, that was what he had become. No friend or lover had ever touched his soul, which was as steeled as his island fortress.
His 'office' was large, though not nearly as immense as some of the island's other chambers, and had been carved directly out of the mountain itself. The metal beams fortifying the walls seemed to have been molded into the very bedrock, and the light gleamed off of them with buffered reflection.
The voice that had spoken had sounded from the small intercom panel imbedded in Lensherr's long metallic desk. He did not respond immediately, gathering himself from his disturbing memories, and waited until the call came again.
"Magneto? This is Mystique...Please respond."
Erik smiled with an honest warmth, that ended before it touched his eyes.
"Yes, Mystique...report," he replied, his voice resounding through the room with unquestionable authority, any trace of the small child of his memories erased by decades of tempered resilience.
"Deathstrike and I are approaching the Island," Mystique replied, her words spoken quickly, almost fluidly, though as commanding as his own. Magneto knew how easily her voice could become vicious and hard...as well as soft and seductive, and a pleased expression fell across his face.
"Very well," he said, "I will meet you at the hanger gates."
Magneto paused a moment in thought before adding, "Was the reconnaissance successful?"
He could almost hear Mystique smile as she replied, "Yes. Beyond our expectations."
"Excellent," he said, "I await your arrival. Magneto, out."
Magneto sat back in his metallic chair and watched the spheres suspended over his desk swing back and forth. His body was still and tense, but his mind was moving quickly, measuring the success of the returning mission against what was still left to be done.
Since escaping the destruction of Alkalai Lake, Magneto had been striving for one simple goal...rebuilding the strength of his Brotherhood of Mutants. The world may still hate mutants for what they are, but the near-death experience shared by the entire population (excluding himself and his old friend Charles Xavier) had forged a new sense of fear among so-called normal human beings. This incident had also left many mutants with previously dormant genes lost and in need of a leader.
Once, in times past, Erik Lensherr may have been agreeable to a world of equality with human beings, working openly together with them to create a better future for everyone. But, that was no longer an option for him, as Erik Lensherr or Magneto. He had seen his people die once because they were different, an entire population nearly destroyed by the whims of a mad man.
And, he had almost seen it happen again, through the plots of William Stryker.
Perhaps it was the months of torture and mind control that had caused the image of the fallen General to appear in Erik's dreams, but again, he would endure it. For the mad man was dead, and mutants, his Brothers, had survived.
Magneto planned to become their leader, a voice for all those frightened and weak children being shunned by those they had once trusted. He would be the one to bring them together, to show them their own power, the power to defend themselves against those who would deny them the right to exist. In order to accomplish this, he would draw the most powerful of mutants to him, strengthen his army, to prepare for war he knew was coming. Mutants, with all their superior gifts and talents, would be annihilated if they were too weak to stand as one and conquer their tormentors. So, together, as Brothers, Magneto would lead mutants to a new and glorious future.
And, if anyone stood in his way, he would destroy them.
Rising quickly, Magneto marched out of the room, leaving the haunted past for later dreams.
Behind him, each of the five silver spheres settled to the desk. Not in a falling clatter, but with calm, focused intention.
He would not fail his people again…