Chapter Seven:
The small bedroom was dimly lit and Paul winced as he stepped down on his injured leg to reach a nearby dresser. It had several drawers, each containing a few sets of basic clothing. He drew out a fresh, clean shirt and touched the soft fabric thoughtfully. He took a few limping steps back toward the bed and sat down.
The Lady Deathstrike had insisted he change his bloody pants immediately after she finished treating his wound and she had shown him both the dresser and closet where the clothes were in his quarters.
Paul had complied without argument and had not said a word to the woman while she was present. He had very little contact with women during his life, aside from the few female scientists and soldiers who had been assigned to him over the years, and they had always been cold and distant, even when he was a child. Her presence had made him extremely uncomfortable, though her direct and unemotional manner had been very similar to those random women who had worked for Systems Operations or for Stryker.
The boy who called himself Pyro had been much more easygoing. He reminded Paul of his own brothers; while the boy was friendly enough, his eyes also looked haunted. Pyro was a mutant, too, after all, and Paul wondered what kind of traumas free mutants had in their lives.
Nothing close to what we did, Paul thought bitterly. He pulled off his old shirt, the last remaining piece of his Systems Operations uniform, and drew the new one over his head.
He picked up the old shirt and examined the red stain near the collar. It was from one of the many nosebleeds he had after he used his power. He was a Pusher, his gift was mental domination over another, 'pushing' someone to do what he wanted them to do. Using his power had always given him headaches, but as he grew older, the other side effects had become more common. Whether it was because of the innumerable experiments he had been subject to or simply was a drawback of his mutation, he did not know.
Paul stared at the shirt for a long time, and thought of a woman named Charlie McGee. She had been a free mutant, at least for most of her life, but she had been subject to the same experiments Paul and his brothers had.
Charlie had been the one the other scientists always whispered about, the one mutant who got away, the one who escaped by fire. Then, when Paul had been only twelve years old, she had come back. The little girl they feared had grown up, and she escaped again.
Now, a little less than a quarter century later, she apparently had two children of her own. Her children had been able to blend into the mass of free mutants, whose numbers only continued to grow by Stryker's calculations.
Paul clenched his hand around the bloody shirt tightly, suddenly feeling his anger fully for the first time, and he threw it across the room. He was breathing heavily, his new emotions fading from fury to sorrow as he thought again about his brothers, the two who died, the three who may have escaped.
I'll find them, he thought firmly and stood again from the bed.
Paul walked to the room's adjoining bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. He thought the image staring back at him looked very old, much older than he actually was. He had been twelve when Charlie came...add about twenty-four years or so and...
"I am thirty-six years old," he said aloud, and touched the stubble on his unshaven face, "I am thirty-six years old...and this is the first day I have ever been free."
Paul placed his hands on the sink for support as he leaned forward. Tears of bitter sorrow, and incredible relief, flowed quickly down his cheeks, and he repeated his words again and again.
"I'm thirty-six...and I'm free...I'm thirty-six...and I'm free..."
After a few minutes, Paul lifted one shaky hand to his face and took a few deep breaths. He turned on the water, and splashed it into his eyes. The water was cold at first, but quickly became warmer. The cold faded, and he lifted his eyes back to his reflection.
He did not know how much time had passed when the knock sounded on the bedroom door. Paul inhaled sharply in surprise, and waited. The rapping was repeated and Paul took a few uneasy steps towards the closed door.
Over his entire life, the simple courtesy of having someone knock before entering his private room had been a rarity. Paul moved to within inches of the wall and listened. He heard someone mumbling on the other side, a female voice, followed by a much deeper male vibrato. The sound of knocking came one more time before Paul turned the knob and opened the door cautiously.
Erik Lensherr gave him a pleased smile and nodded in greeting.
"Good afternoon, Brother," the tall man said calmly. Paul edged out into the main living area slowly, regarding Erik and the blue woman behind him known as Mystique with suspicion.
Erik did not blame the weathered mutant for his mistrust, and motioned toward the simple sofa and chairs.
"May we sit?" he asked Paul, who frowned in confusion at Erik's polite, though commanding, demeanor.
Paul nodded, and waited for the other two mutants to sit before he painfully eased himself onto one cushioned chair. Erik stared at him silently for a moment, a strange mix of pity and understanding lining his face.
"I hope you've found your accommodations comfortable," Erik said.
Paul nodded again, "Yes...they're fine. Thanks. And," he paused nervously, searching for the proper words, "thank you for...attending to my...well, for helping me at the base..."
"Of course," Erik replied, tilting his head forward slightly as if he was very honored by Paul's appreciation, "For that is what we do. We help...other mutants. Especially those like yourself, who have suffered such great injustices at the hands of Homo sapiens."
Paul nodded one last time and looked away from the other man.
"You're Magneto," Paul finally said, and met Erik's gaze again, "They trained us to capture you, you know. They told us...you were our enemy..."
"They lied," Erik said, his voice echoing slightly through the room. Paul averted his eyes again and shifted nervously. Erik regarded him closely before speaking again.
"I suppose," he began, "After watching two of your brothers die at Stryker's hand, you are beginning to realize who our true enemy is..."
"But, now Stryker's dead," Paul said quickly.
"Yes," Erik replied, "But many of his followers are not. There are still many people in this world that would prefer to see all mutants contained, as you were for so long. To keep us in prisons and study us until death or madness comes. To force us to work for their goals, abuse our powers for their own gains. However, their downfall will be their failure to realize that we are the powerful...we are the superior race...and despite whatever technologies their obsolete minds can devise, we, mutants, will eventually dominate them."
Paul stared at Erik Lensherr as he spoke, and felt a new bitterness listening to this gilded and learned mutant.
"What do you know about it?" Paul suddenly spat, and Erik frowned darkly as he continued, "Huh? What the hell do you know about being a prisoner? About being tortured just because of what you are? My whole life, I've been a prisoner. The only time I tasted free air, it was full of smoke and fire from another free mutant¸like you. Yeah, that's what me and my brothers called you people. Free mutants. Charlie didn't help us, and she knew what we were...what the Lotprogram was doing to us! Don't talk to me about being a prisoner..."
Paul's voice grew quieter as he finished his last sentence, and he ground his teeth and stared at the floor. He did not notice Erik's motion until he stood within a foot of him. Paul stood quickly and stumbled backward, hissing as his injured leg burned in protest of the fast movement.
Erik Lensherr extended one arm toward Paul, but not in a threatening gesture. Paul stared at him and followed Erik's gaze to the numbers on his forearm. The Pusher frowned, uncertain at what he was seeing. History had never been a major part of his education with Systems Operations, but it was still obvious that the older man was marked with a kind of serial number...a prison number.
After a moment, Paul glanced up again and met Magneto's intense gaze.
"I do know, Brother," he said firmly, "Never doubt that. I was a prisoner, as you were...I watched my family die, as you have...and I will not see it happen to our people again."
Magneto lowered his arm and then extended it toward the Pusher.
"Join us," he said, "We shall find the brothers you lost...and together, we will all help built a better world for mutants...where freedom will not be such a luxury."
Paul was still staring with quiet disbelief at Magneto when he took his hand.
Behind them, Mystique smiled approvingly. When Magneto turned to leave, she joined him, and they left Paul behind with thoughts of his future.
As they walked quickly back to the main chambers, Mystique did not miss the pleased expression on Erik's face.
"He will stay," she said softly, and without question.
Erik glanced over at her...and smiled.