Previous disclaimers apply. It's really not worth suing me :p The chapter
title is taken from the back of the Star Wars Episode 1 video case; I used
to say it all the time as it really annoys one of my friends. Now I can't
get the Star Wars theme out of my head! Star Wars and everything related to
it belongs to George Lucas etc. If I owned Star Wars I wouldn't be here.
Author's note : The views of Pyro expressed in this chapter are his, not mine.
: Thank you to everyone for reviewing! It brings a smile to my face to open my email inbox and see the reviews in there!
Chapter 3: Every Journey Has A First Step
Pyro went back up to his room after the meeting, pausing only to watch Mystique leave to begin the operation that Magneto had - in a moment of spite - entitled Mutant High. He extracted the letter from under his mattress and put it in his pocket before going back downstairs. He had decided to go down to the nearby town and sit in the library there to write. He told Magneto that he was going to practise for his part in the operation.
The walk to the town calmed his nerves, however he still glanced occasionally behind him to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had thought that the lie had gone down well, but with Magneto you could never tell. He reached the library after about thirty minutes of walking, and settled down to write.
I was born to an alcoholic father and a drug-addicted mother. My father disappeared when I was three months old, and then came the long succession of my mother's boyfriends: old, young, fat, thin, Asian, Caucasian [Author's note: is that spelt right?], African, Latin-American; it didn't matter - they were all violent and none lasted longer than four months, except one guy who lasted five and a half because the judge who was supposed to be serving the restraining order on him (on behalf of my mum) was involved in a car accident and another judge had to take over.
Meanwhile, there was me - the little kid who stood in the corner and watched as Mummy got belted around by complete losers with breath that stank of alcohol or worse. They'd start off nice; giving toys and playing games. Then, as their relationship with my mum soured, they'd either start ignoring or hitting me. One of them, in a drunken rage, broke my arm and threw me down the stairs, then as my mum came running to find me, he pushed her too. She had been pregnant at the time, but when she fell she lost the baby. At the hospital they said that it would have been a little girl.
My mum was a mutant - did I ever tell you that? Her power was the ability to absorb vast amounts of water or liquid through her skin: kind of like a sponge; and then expel that water at will. I wonder what nickname she would have got . Hydro maybe? I don't know; I was never good at nicknames. I presume my dad was a mutant too; my mum rarely talked about him.
The progression of boyfriends went on till I was about eleven years old. Then came Carlos Street; a self-named Businessman. My mum, hoping for a job, became friends with him, and then became his mistress. This arrangement worked for about three months, before things got nasty when Carlos discovered that my mother was a mutant. He came to our house at 3am and started bashing on the door, yelling for my mum to let him not. She opened the door and he kept shouting at her, telling her she should have told him, that he never wanted to see her again and that she was a disgrace to humanity. He hit her across her face, knocking her to the ground. I came downstairs to see what was wrong and I watched it all; I watched that bastard throw her on the couch and kick her.
Then I felt a strange glow inside me and I cried out. Carlos looked over towards me and told me to go back to my room. While he was distracted, mum grabbed a log from the dying fire and hit him on the head with it; the sparks re-ignited for a second and before I knew what was happening I had control of them. Mum saw and realised what this meant; she begged me to put them out quickly before the neighbours - attracted by the noise - came to see what was happening.
Carlos had fallen to the floor, but now he started to get up, growling at my mum and threatening to kill her. He grabbed a shard of glass from a vase he had knocked onto the floor when falling and he started to move towards my mum holding it in his right hand. I panicked and - turning the sparks into balls of fire - I sent them towards Carlos.
He didn't have a chance. I held the fire on him until my mum grabbed my arm and forced me to stop the flames. I can't explain what I was feeling . it's the same feeling I get every time I let my power out. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. Power-tripping. Like drugs but without the side effects. It felt damn good.
By that time my mum stopped me, Carlos was dead. Our immediate neighbour - an 87 year old widow with insomnia - came in first; when she saw the charred body she screamed and fainted. Other people from the surrounding apartments came running. They kept asking how it happened, and then someone said it: "Mutants" They might as well have branded us. The mob drew back a little but I could sense a change in their mentality . like something - some primal instinct - had been released. My mum sensed it too, and she told them that it was her fault . that she had unleashed the fire that killed Carlos.
I tried to tell her not to, but she didn't listen. One of the men - a 47 year old science teacher - grabbed her arm. "Let's give the mutant some of her own medicine," he growled. "Burn her!" The other people started nodding and laughing. "Burn the witch" someone yelled, and the whole mob took up the cry. The science teacher who had started it all cast about for a match. He struck one against the side of the match box .
I killed eight people, Bobby. Eight people. I grabbed the fire from his control and I sent it searing and burning through their flesh. They were screaming, they were running . and I enjoyed it. Are eleven-year-old boys supposed to enjoy that? I wanted to hurt them for hurting my mother. I wanted them to suffer as they had intended my mother to suffer.
A man kicked me in the face and I blacked out for a second. When I came to I was lying against the couch. I could hear screaming, I could smell burnt flesh. And then I saw her . I realised. I had also killed my mother. In anger against her tormentors, I had sent her to exactly the same fate. My power - my "gift" - had killed the only relative - only friend - I had left.
I don't exactly remember what happened next. All I can remember is anger and pain. Anger at the people - the mob - that had broken in and threatened my mother. Anger at Carlos for hurting my family. Anger at myself for not holding back. Pain at the knowledge of what I had done. But I think I hurt those people . those "humans". For all their "humanity" they can be cruel and heartless. For all their technology and their "superiority" they have not evolved too far from the savages roaming the hills 10 000 years ago. I think I made them regret coming into my mother's house. I think I killed some more of them.
I ran away that night. None of them were game to get in my way. I stole a lighter - my shark lighter - from a drugstore. I went on the run for four years, living off my wits and stolen wallets. I became known as the fire- kid, and I earned a gudging respect from other people living on the forgotten side of life. They knew not to mess with me, and I knew not to mess with them. The problem arose when I forgot the rules . yes, I admit it: I was wrong. I wandered into their territory accidentally. I paid the penalty.
One of their street-rats stole my lighter from my pocket, and they set upon me. About 10 of them, grown men. I was lucky to live through that night. As they ran off, one threw my lighter back to me, but I was far to weak to use it - as they knew. The humans had left me lying in the gutter with several broken ribs, concussion, a broken wrist, and severe bruising all over my body . but they had also left me my life. I managed to crawl back to the shelter I had found, and I waited there for my body to begin to heal. I had heard about Xavier's refuge for mutants, and thought I'd give it a shot. At the very least, I expected to be able to stay long enough to get well again, and then leave.
I waited for a week in my shelter, but I was still in lots of pain. I realised that I had to get out of there, and so I let, taking my lighter only. I chose a night to leave, figuring that there would be less people on the street to ask questions. I made it part-way to Xavier's mansion before being unable to continue, and having to find a corner to curl up in for that day. I continued on the following night, making it to the gates of the mansion before passing out. I was found - still unconscious - in the morning by Scott - Cyclops - who took me inside the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.
A/N 2: There you have it, chapter 3!! Please let me know what you think . I've tried to explain why I think Pyro is so angry, and what has been driving him. There's more to some; let me know what you think of my take on his backstory. Please, after reading, review!!
Author's note : The views of Pyro expressed in this chapter are his, not mine.
: Thank you to everyone for reviewing! It brings a smile to my face to open my email inbox and see the reviews in there!
Chapter 3: Every Journey Has A First Step
Pyro went back up to his room after the meeting, pausing only to watch Mystique leave to begin the operation that Magneto had - in a moment of spite - entitled Mutant High. He extracted the letter from under his mattress and put it in his pocket before going back downstairs. He had decided to go down to the nearby town and sit in the library there to write. He told Magneto that he was going to practise for his part in the operation.
The walk to the town calmed his nerves, however he still glanced occasionally behind him to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had thought that the lie had gone down well, but with Magneto you could never tell. He reached the library after about thirty minutes of walking, and settled down to write.
I was born to an alcoholic father and a drug-addicted mother. My father disappeared when I was three months old, and then came the long succession of my mother's boyfriends: old, young, fat, thin, Asian, Caucasian [Author's note: is that spelt right?], African, Latin-American; it didn't matter - they were all violent and none lasted longer than four months, except one guy who lasted five and a half because the judge who was supposed to be serving the restraining order on him (on behalf of my mum) was involved in a car accident and another judge had to take over.
Meanwhile, there was me - the little kid who stood in the corner and watched as Mummy got belted around by complete losers with breath that stank of alcohol or worse. They'd start off nice; giving toys and playing games. Then, as their relationship with my mum soured, they'd either start ignoring or hitting me. One of them, in a drunken rage, broke my arm and threw me down the stairs, then as my mum came running to find me, he pushed her too. She had been pregnant at the time, but when she fell she lost the baby. At the hospital they said that it would have been a little girl.
My mum was a mutant - did I ever tell you that? Her power was the ability to absorb vast amounts of water or liquid through her skin: kind of like a sponge; and then expel that water at will. I wonder what nickname she would have got . Hydro maybe? I don't know; I was never good at nicknames. I presume my dad was a mutant too; my mum rarely talked about him.
The progression of boyfriends went on till I was about eleven years old. Then came Carlos Street; a self-named Businessman. My mum, hoping for a job, became friends with him, and then became his mistress. This arrangement worked for about three months, before things got nasty when Carlos discovered that my mother was a mutant. He came to our house at 3am and started bashing on the door, yelling for my mum to let him not. She opened the door and he kept shouting at her, telling her she should have told him, that he never wanted to see her again and that she was a disgrace to humanity. He hit her across her face, knocking her to the ground. I came downstairs to see what was wrong and I watched it all; I watched that bastard throw her on the couch and kick her.
Then I felt a strange glow inside me and I cried out. Carlos looked over towards me and told me to go back to my room. While he was distracted, mum grabbed a log from the dying fire and hit him on the head with it; the sparks re-ignited for a second and before I knew what was happening I had control of them. Mum saw and realised what this meant; she begged me to put them out quickly before the neighbours - attracted by the noise - came to see what was happening.
Carlos had fallen to the floor, but now he started to get up, growling at my mum and threatening to kill her. He grabbed a shard of glass from a vase he had knocked onto the floor when falling and he started to move towards my mum holding it in his right hand. I panicked and - turning the sparks into balls of fire - I sent them towards Carlos.
He didn't have a chance. I held the fire on him until my mum grabbed my arm and forced me to stop the flames. I can't explain what I was feeling . it's the same feeling I get every time I let my power out. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. Power-tripping. Like drugs but without the side effects. It felt damn good.
By that time my mum stopped me, Carlos was dead. Our immediate neighbour - an 87 year old widow with insomnia - came in first; when she saw the charred body she screamed and fainted. Other people from the surrounding apartments came running. They kept asking how it happened, and then someone said it: "Mutants" They might as well have branded us. The mob drew back a little but I could sense a change in their mentality . like something - some primal instinct - had been released. My mum sensed it too, and she told them that it was her fault . that she had unleashed the fire that killed Carlos.
I tried to tell her not to, but she didn't listen. One of the men - a 47 year old science teacher - grabbed her arm. "Let's give the mutant some of her own medicine," he growled. "Burn her!" The other people started nodding and laughing. "Burn the witch" someone yelled, and the whole mob took up the cry. The science teacher who had started it all cast about for a match. He struck one against the side of the match box .
I killed eight people, Bobby. Eight people. I grabbed the fire from his control and I sent it searing and burning through their flesh. They were screaming, they were running . and I enjoyed it. Are eleven-year-old boys supposed to enjoy that? I wanted to hurt them for hurting my mother. I wanted them to suffer as they had intended my mother to suffer.
A man kicked me in the face and I blacked out for a second. When I came to I was lying against the couch. I could hear screaming, I could smell burnt flesh. And then I saw her . I realised. I had also killed my mother. In anger against her tormentors, I had sent her to exactly the same fate. My power - my "gift" - had killed the only relative - only friend - I had left.
I don't exactly remember what happened next. All I can remember is anger and pain. Anger at the people - the mob - that had broken in and threatened my mother. Anger at Carlos for hurting my family. Anger at myself for not holding back. Pain at the knowledge of what I had done. But I think I hurt those people . those "humans". For all their "humanity" they can be cruel and heartless. For all their technology and their "superiority" they have not evolved too far from the savages roaming the hills 10 000 years ago. I think I made them regret coming into my mother's house. I think I killed some more of them.
I ran away that night. None of them were game to get in my way. I stole a lighter - my shark lighter - from a drugstore. I went on the run for four years, living off my wits and stolen wallets. I became known as the fire- kid, and I earned a gudging respect from other people living on the forgotten side of life. They knew not to mess with me, and I knew not to mess with them. The problem arose when I forgot the rules . yes, I admit it: I was wrong. I wandered into their territory accidentally. I paid the penalty.
One of their street-rats stole my lighter from my pocket, and they set upon me. About 10 of them, grown men. I was lucky to live through that night. As they ran off, one threw my lighter back to me, but I was far to weak to use it - as they knew. The humans had left me lying in the gutter with several broken ribs, concussion, a broken wrist, and severe bruising all over my body . but they had also left me my life. I managed to crawl back to the shelter I had found, and I waited there for my body to begin to heal. I had heard about Xavier's refuge for mutants, and thought I'd give it a shot. At the very least, I expected to be able to stay long enough to get well again, and then leave.
I waited for a week in my shelter, but I was still in lots of pain. I realised that I had to get out of there, and so I let, taking my lighter only. I chose a night to leave, figuring that there would be less people on the street to ask questions. I made it part-way to Xavier's mansion before being unable to continue, and having to find a corner to curl up in for that day. I continued on the following night, making it to the gates of the mansion before passing out. I was found - still unconscious - in the morning by Scott - Cyclops - who took me inside the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.
A/N 2: There you have it, chapter 3!! Please let me know what you think . I've tried to explain why I think Pyro is so angry, and what has been driving him. There's more to some; let me know what you think of my take on his backstory. Please, after reading, review!!