A/N - Ambrosia; I never meant to offend anyone, so I'm sorry if I have. I apologise if I ever seemed... scary. I just answer questions to the best of my abilities. I'll admit, I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but that's only because I'm usually looking forward to answering any queries with the fic itself and what's to come. If I came across as anything else then I apologise once again. Please, ask your questions and make yours comments, whatever they may be. If I ever sound like I've got a bug up my butt... well, I didn't mean to.
Thanks go to everyone else who also reviewed last time; Krazy Xanadu, Unknown Source (thanks for the reviews of my other works, too. Much appreciated ^_^), tenshiamanda, Nemati and Alliriyan (off to read Forest Demon right now). And for those of you who wondered about Wanda... well, this chapter's for you.
Can I please ask for people to go review one of my other fics, called 'Running In The Family'? 'Tis Pietro-centric, and has a grand total of one review. *Sniff*. Also, I just completely revamped my bio, and I think it now ranks as one of the longest on all FF.net. Just thought I'd share that with you...
*******************
Fourteenth Fragment ~ 'Splintered Notions'
*******************
Lady Luck danced in the wasteland.
Or rather, Wanda Maximoff stumbled rhythmically.
She was dressed in mismatched rags; some were recognisable as hospital garb, others were more obscure. They had all been stripped off the carcasses of various corpses, and were streaked with blood and less identifiable substances.
She threw her head back and let out another peal of crazy laugher. She was Free. Free! The word was silk and satin on her tongue, delicious, delectable - rare.
She hadn't been free since her 'family' had abandoned her. Left her in that terrible asylum.
And yet that had been as nothing compared to the lab.
They had come for her, shortly after the first Bayville mutant sighting. An easy target. She had used her powers a little, in the asylum, when the guards got too rough with their games. In another world, these would have been dismissed, but in a time of mutant suspicion and paranoia, the strange events were token proof of her status as a mutie.
Thus, she had been 'relocated' to the lab.
The things they had done to her there...
As the years passed, she had lost all hope. Hope was not something they permitted there. It was immeasurable, and thus, a threat to their world of numbers, charts and graphs. She had even tried to kill herself, but the scientists would not let her. She was a prize specimen.
Then came the day of fate, the day when luck triumphed.
She had been put in a cell with another girl, a girl who had been there almost as long as her - perhaps longer - and who was almost as mad. Her name eluded Wanda. Not that she would have known it anyway. Names were one of the first things to be taken away from the specimens - replaced by numbers. Wanda was specimen no. 7541. She knew it. It was tattooed on her arm.
She remembered being pushed back into the cell, chained to the floor again after yet another day of tests and torture. She remembered the dull eyes of the other girl, broken so long before they met.
But that day there had been one difference, for the scientists and guards had become lax, smug, and overconfident. On this day they had forgotten to switch on the inhibitor collar that specimens like her were always forced to wear when not using powers for testing purposes.
The devil within her had emerged, then; roaring, defiant, and eager for freedom. She had wasted no time, hexing the room into submission and turning the chains, the walls, the porters to smoking dust around her.
There had been no guards nearby. The lab was impenetrable, inside and out. It had been built to last out any assault, any emergency.
Too bad it had not been built to withstand human stupidity and what it wrought.
No-one expected an escape attempt. The guards had become negligent.
For some inexplicable reason Wanda had dragged the other, broken girl with her. Perhaps because she wanted another to take the bullets zinging after them. Perhaps because some part of her fractured mind couldn't bear the though of leaving another to this place of... of *evil*. Perhaps it was simply easier than leaving her with her cold, frozen eyes in the dust.
Companionship had not been part of it. As soon as they got out and reached their miraculous freedom they had each gone separate ways
And somehow, someway, Wanda had stayed escaped ever since.
She continued to dance and laugh alone in the desert, tears falling from her bloodshot eyes like burning rain.
Now she was free.
Now they would pay!
They would pay for all the experiments, all the insults, all the beatings, and all the other things the guards had done in the night, when they thought they could get away with it on a poor, disturbed girl.
But they would pay most of all for the thing they implanted within her.
Her madness.
But enough of that. There had to be an order. An order of revenge. She could start with Mother, pay her back for giving birth to her. Yes, that was the way to do it.
But Mommy Dearest was dead. Nothing Wanda could do could affect her.
That left her father. Order of importance.
But where was he? Dead for all she knew. Powerful, if not. Too powerful, even for her.
Brother, then.
She could feel him, tugging at that silver bond between them; that bond that twins such as they shared. He was still there, waiting for her. Waiting for her to come for him.
Her brother would be first. She stood a chance against him. She could rend his heart in two right before his eyes, let the blood drip onto his chest as he lay dying. The feel of it was tantalising, and she played with empty air, overlong fingernails scratching dust motes, imagining they were his veins spilling red ichor everywhere.
Or, if he begged enough, if he pleaded enough, she might be persuaded to let him live, so that the siblings could take revenge on their sire together.
Oh, how she missed Pietro, how she loved him. She longed to be held by him, to have him talk to her, tell her stories. She longed to hit him, to beat him, to have him beg for mercy at her feet.
Giggling maniacally, Wanda stopped her dancing, and continued on her path to find her beloved, beloathed brother.
She trusted that luck would guide her. It always had before.
*******************
"Sehr gut, sehr gut," Kurt muttered to himself in the wake of Pietro's rearranging of the bus' upper level. The gasoline canisters were gone, replaced by cardboard boxes filled with Forge's creations, both big and small, and none of which Kurt recognised. "Much better. If we leave the upstairs windows open, the smell should be mostly gone by dawn."
{whine whine whine...}
_The hell?_ Kurt tilted his head.
{whine whine whine whine...}
There, under the artful pile of scrap. Kurt crouched and moved a piece. A small black nose thrust out, and a pink tongue began licking his hand.
"Hallo puppy," he whispered, surprised but pleased at the warm welcome. "Don't worry, you're safe with us. We have enough food so that we don't have to eat dog."
She had food and water. He'd have to watch and see who went upstairs to check on her before he consulted with the conspirators.
Besides, having a pet was good for people. He was living proof of that, and he descended back down the stairs with memories of Schwartzi his pet raven from Heirelgart dancing in his mind, plus all manner of other animals he'd tamed. Mamma had never been quite the same after he came home with a wolf pack in tow and asked if he could keep them.
*******************
Rogue stretched and scratched behind one ear. She must've nodded off again, for the sky above was dark, and the fire had been doused. In fact, it was the lack of heat that had caused her to wake.
That, and the small hand tugging at her arm. She closed her eyes, trying to turn over.
"Miss Rogue? Miss Rogue, Kurti says to get on the bus. We're leaving now. You can sleep there if you like."
"Mrrfl," Rogue replied, cracking her eyelids open. Robyn waited patiently as the emaciated mutant orientated herself a little more and stood up. "What time is it?"
"Time?"
"Time. Y'know, the hour, minute, second. Time."
"Oh. I can't tell time yet."
Rogue blinked. "Oh, right. Sorry." She yawned openly, and let out a tiny burp. "Oops, 'scuse me."
"Better out than in, Fraulein," Kurt commented as he appeared at her shoulder. Robyn leapt into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"Kurti, can I sit with you this time?"
Kurt smiled. "I don't think there's room for two where I travel, Kleines. Why don't you sit with Rogue?"
Robyn peeked at her new 'sister'.
"Sure. Why not?" Rogue shrugged, and was surprised when she abruptly acquired a ball of fluff that squeezed her tight.
"Robyn," Kurt gently prized the little cat-girl off and set her down on the floor of the hangar, "I think Rogue's a little too frail at the moment for bear-hugs."
"Nah, I'm fine," Rogue gasped. "She just caught me by surprise, is all. Ooh, my windpipe."
"Liebling, why don't you want to sit with Daisy and Myst- I mean, Mommy?"
Robyn frowned and fiddled with the tuft of her tail. "Pie-Pie said it's not good for me to sit with Mommy. Daisy neither. He said she's bad for us, and we should keep away from her." She looked up at them and tilted her head in such a manner as would've made anybody with even slightly maternal instincts to coo and declare her 'cute'. "He said some other stuff about her, too, but there were rude words. Daisy told me what they mean, 'cause her Pa used to call her them, but I don't like to say them. They're not nice."
At this, Kurt's brow knitted. If Pietro was trying to stir dissent against Mystique then his anger towards the shapeshifter was getting a little out of hand. Mystique needed the child contact of Daisy and Robyn to stave off her demons, and if Pietro was trying to deny her even that small comfort, then it was perhaps time to have a private word with him. He resolved to pull the speedster to one side before they boarded the bus.
"We goin'?" Rogue asked, breaking him from his reverie.
"Was? Oh, ja." Kurt, too, glanced up at the rapidly blackening sky. "The sooner we get on the road, the better. Ororo needs us to get to her as soon as we can."
"Ororo? That the Goddess y'all were tellin' me about before I dozed off?"
"Ja."
Robyn slipped her little hand inside Rogue's and said shyly; "I'll tell you all about the Goddess if you like, Miss Rogue."
Despite herself, Rogue couldn't help a small smile spreading across her paler-than-pale face. "I'd like that," she said, returning the gesture and accepting her hand. "I'd like that a lot. One thing though."
Robyn's expression turned a little uncertain. "Yes?"
"Stop callin' me 'Miss', would you? If we're gonna be sisters, then it's just Rogue."
Robyn just smiled and led her away.
*******************
"Pietro..."
"What?"
"The war is *over*. Both sides *lost*, OK? Everyone lost, and you can't win by waving one set of sins around to hide your own. We survived. Others paid the price. Get over it."
"What'dIdo?" Pietro raised his hands in the universal gesture for innocence. Kurt was not swayed.
"You know exactly what you did. You're poisoning the kids against my mother. Stop it."
"But... she's *Mystique*. She's only looking out for herself."
"She *was*, Pietro. Four years ago. Four years ago *you* were a self-centred prick who couldn't hang around to help his friend. Four years ago I was a scared spitless kid who ran out on his new family and left them to die. Should we be judged on what we did four years ago?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, Pietro shook his head. "Guess not."
"Right. Remember that." Kurt hobbled onto the bus and over to his mother. "Ach... I'm too tired to hang onto the straps, tonight. Can I use you for a pillow?"
Mystique looked up. Her son. One day, a babe in arms. Another day, a grown boy. And today, a man[1]. "You'd spend time with me?" She sounded surprised. Apparently, she'd heard the conversation outside the door.
Kurt winced mentally, berating himself for not talking to Pietro someplace other than right outside the bus. "You're my mother. How could I not?"
"Some people think I'm evil."
"Nobody's *all* evil. Everyone has their positive points."
She snorted. "Yeah? What's mine?"
"For a start, you can sit relatively still for six hours." He made himself as comfortable as he could get on the chair. "And secondly, you can shapeshift yourself some nice soft legs, ja?"
Mystique sighed. "Ja."
For the first time in her life, she held her son's head in her lap.
*******************
Strong.
Like Iron.
No... like Oak.
Like Stone.
He was strong.
He had to be.
For his people.
His people....
If he turned his head in a particular direction he could hear them over the whine and thrum of the engines that powered the stasis tubes.
Fuelled by his power, to save his children. Children of a broken world...
One, the scarred, scattered boy.
Gabrielle's baby.
A girl who ran with wolves.
Her mad brother.
Another who spoke in any tongue imaginable.
The poor little insect boy.
The girl who screamed.
The girl who sparkled and glittered and sang... until the gangs caught her.
A chalk-faced woman of damnable luck.
The families from the ruins of Europe and Britain.
He had found them, taken them from the pits of the respective hells they were in, healed them, and given them sanctuary. Of a sort.
One day there would be a place of safety, a place they could find... peace? Somewhere to grow strong. Somewhere to begin again, to take back the world. Then, maybe, after that he could rest.
Thin fingers steepled in front of a worn face
He was strong.
He was Erik.
He was what he was, no more and no less.
He was Magneto.
His eyes came to rest on a broken chessboard.
_And can you be sure that this time it will work my old friend?_
"One day Charles... one day. I come from a patient people, do I not?"
A sigh that was not a sigh. _What about those who are still on the Earth; the children? Our children?_
Erik slammed a fist down on the table, the noise echoing in the empty room. "Damn it, Charles! I have done all I can! I searched! I remember the contingency plans! I formed half of them, didn't I? All I can do is gather what children are left, and see them to a place of safety. The Earth... it is already ours Charles. Man has killed himself."
_Look again..._
"What?"
_Look again..._
Madness...
_Look again..._
Can a man without faith pray? Erik exhaled something, and gestured. A monitor flew from one of the walls, the screen flickering over various parts of the globe until it settled on three images.
An abandoned warehouse filled with equally abandoned aircraft, but dotted with familiar readings. He squinted, wondering.
"But I have been mistaken before."
And yet...
A patch of green in the middle of slightly unnatural electromagnetic resonance.
A lone figure dancing in the desert.
Sitting in a iron asteroid, far above the world,[2] Erik smiled.
His children lived, then? Was there hope for his bleakness?
There was a sanctuary, somewhere safe, where they could learn and grow and take back what was rightfully theirs.
And after that, he could rest.
Rest...
With a snort, Erik's head jerked up from where it had nodded onto his arm. He blinked into the dark room, re-orientating himself. The chessboard was still broken, but he no longer had an opponent, and the room around him thrummed like nothing had been moved. The monitors were all smashed, as they had been when he awoke one not yet ready to wake. Unusable.
A dream, or a portent?
He didn't know.
Most likely they were all false - the product of a tired mind and nothing more. He couldn't weep for either offspring or friends lost to him so long ago. No. They were gone - vanished.
He could not weep, for he was Magneto.
And he was strong.
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************
[1] He was 16 when the 'war' started. That makes him 20 now.
[2] _Ground Control to Major Tom_ side-fling. "For here am I, sitting in a tin can, far above the world. Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do..."
Thanks go to everyone else who also reviewed last time; Krazy Xanadu, Unknown Source (thanks for the reviews of my other works, too. Much appreciated ^_^), tenshiamanda, Nemati and Alliriyan (off to read Forest Demon right now). And for those of you who wondered about Wanda... well, this chapter's for you.
Can I please ask for people to go review one of my other fics, called 'Running In The Family'? 'Tis Pietro-centric, and has a grand total of one review. *Sniff*. Also, I just completely revamped my bio, and I think it now ranks as one of the longest on all FF.net. Just thought I'd share that with you...
*******************
Fourteenth Fragment ~ 'Splintered Notions'
*******************
Lady Luck danced in the wasteland.
Or rather, Wanda Maximoff stumbled rhythmically.
She was dressed in mismatched rags; some were recognisable as hospital garb, others were more obscure. They had all been stripped off the carcasses of various corpses, and were streaked with blood and less identifiable substances.
She threw her head back and let out another peal of crazy laugher. She was Free. Free! The word was silk and satin on her tongue, delicious, delectable - rare.
She hadn't been free since her 'family' had abandoned her. Left her in that terrible asylum.
And yet that had been as nothing compared to the lab.
They had come for her, shortly after the first Bayville mutant sighting. An easy target. She had used her powers a little, in the asylum, when the guards got too rough with their games. In another world, these would have been dismissed, but in a time of mutant suspicion and paranoia, the strange events were token proof of her status as a mutie.
Thus, she had been 'relocated' to the lab.
The things they had done to her there...
As the years passed, she had lost all hope. Hope was not something they permitted there. It was immeasurable, and thus, a threat to their world of numbers, charts and graphs. She had even tried to kill herself, but the scientists would not let her. She was a prize specimen.
Then came the day of fate, the day when luck triumphed.
She had been put in a cell with another girl, a girl who had been there almost as long as her - perhaps longer - and who was almost as mad. Her name eluded Wanda. Not that she would have known it anyway. Names were one of the first things to be taken away from the specimens - replaced by numbers. Wanda was specimen no. 7541. She knew it. It was tattooed on her arm.
She remembered being pushed back into the cell, chained to the floor again after yet another day of tests and torture. She remembered the dull eyes of the other girl, broken so long before they met.
But that day there had been one difference, for the scientists and guards had become lax, smug, and overconfident. On this day they had forgotten to switch on the inhibitor collar that specimens like her were always forced to wear when not using powers for testing purposes.
The devil within her had emerged, then; roaring, defiant, and eager for freedom. She had wasted no time, hexing the room into submission and turning the chains, the walls, the porters to smoking dust around her.
There had been no guards nearby. The lab was impenetrable, inside and out. It had been built to last out any assault, any emergency.
Too bad it had not been built to withstand human stupidity and what it wrought.
No-one expected an escape attempt. The guards had become negligent.
For some inexplicable reason Wanda had dragged the other, broken girl with her. Perhaps because she wanted another to take the bullets zinging after them. Perhaps because some part of her fractured mind couldn't bear the though of leaving another to this place of... of *evil*. Perhaps it was simply easier than leaving her with her cold, frozen eyes in the dust.
Companionship had not been part of it. As soon as they got out and reached their miraculous freedom they had each gone separate ways
And somehow, someway, Wanda had stayed escaped ever since.
She continued to dance and laugh alone in the desert, tears falling from her bloodshot eyes like burning rain.
Now she was free.
Now they would pay!
They would pay for all the experiments, all the insults, all the beatings, and all the other things the guards had done in the night, when they thought they could get away with it on a poor, disturbed girl.
But they would pay most of all for the thing they implanted within her.
Her madness.
But enough of that. There had to be an order. An order of revenge. She could start with Mother, pay her back for giving birth to her. Yes, that was the way to do it.
But Mommy Dearest was dead. Nothing Wanda could do could affect her.
That left her father. Order of importance.
But where was he? Dead for all she knew. Powerful, if not. Too powerful, even for her.
Brother, then.
She could feel him, tugging at that silver bond between them; that bond that twins such as they shared. He was still there, waiting for her. Waiting for her to come for him.
Her brother would be first. She stood a chance against him. She could rend his heart in two right before his eyes, let the blood drip onto his chest as he lay dying. The feel of it was tantalising, and she played with empty air, overlong fingernails scratching dust motes, imagining they were his veins spilling red ichor everywhere.
Or, if he begged enough, if he pleaded enough, she might be persuaded to let him live, so that the siblings could take revenge on their sire together.
Oh, how she missed Pietro, how she loved him. She longed to be held by him, to have him talk to her, tell her stories. She longed to hit him, to beat him, to have him beg for mercy at her feet.
Giggling maniacally, Wanda stopped her dancing, and continued on her path to find her beloved, beloathed brother.
She trusted that luck would guide her. It always had before.
*******************
"Sehr gut, sehr gut," Kurt muttered to himself in the wake of Pietro's rearranging of the bus' upper level. The gasoline canisters were gone, replaced by cardboard boxes filled with Forge's creations, both big and small, and none of which Kurt recognised. "Much better. If we leave the upstairs windows open, the smell should be mostly gone by dawn."
{whine whine whine...}
_The hell?_ Kurt tilted his head.
{whine whine whine whine...}
There, under the artful pile of scrap. Kurt crouched and moved a piece. A small black nose thrust out, and a pink tongue began licking his hand.
"Hallo puppy," he whispered, surprised but pleased at the warm welcome. "Don't worry, you're safe with us. We have enough food so that we don't have to eat dog."
She had food and water. He'd have to watch and see who went upstairs to check on her before he consulted with the conspirators.
Besides, having a pet was good for people. He was living proof of that, and he descended back down the stairs with memories of Schwartzi his pet raven from Heirelgart dancing in his mind, plus all manner of other animals he'd tamed. Mamma had never been quite the same after he came home with a wolf pack in tow and asked if he could keep them.
*******************
Rogue stretched and scratched behind one ear. She must've nodded off again, for the sky above was dark, and the fire had been doused. In fact, it was the lack of heat that had caused her to wake.
That, and the small hand tugging at her arm. She closed her eyes, trying to turn over.
"Miss Rogue? Miss Rogue, Kurti says to get on the bus. We're leaving now. You can sleep there if you like."
"Mrrfl," Rogue replied, cracking her eyelids open. Robyn waited patiently as the emaciated mutant orientated herself a little more and stood up. "What time is it?"
"Time?"
"Time. Y'know, the hour, minute, second. Time."
"Oh. I can't tell time yet."
Rogue blinked. "Oh, right. Sorry." She yawned openly, and let out a tiny burp. "Oops, 'scuse me."
"Better out than in, Fraulein," Kurt commented as he appeared at her shoulder. Robyn leapt into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"Kurti, can I sit with you this time?"
Kurt smiled. "I don't think there's room for two where I travel, Kleines. Why don't you sit with Rogue?"
Robyn peeked at her new 'sister'.
"Sure. Why not?" Rogue shrugged, and was surprised when she abruptly acquired a ball of fluff that squeezed her tight.
"Robyn," Kurt gently prized the little cat-girl off and set her down on the floor of the hangar, "I think Rogue's a little too frail at the moment for bear-hugs."
"Nah, I'm fine," Rogue gasped. "She just caught me by surprise, is all. Ooh, my windpipe."
"Liebling, why don't you want to sit with Daisy and Myst- I mean, Mommy?"
Robyn frowned and fiddled with the tuft of her tail. "Pie-Pie said it's not good for me to sit with Mommy. Daisy neither. He said she's bad for us, and we should keep away from her." She looked up at them and tilted her head in such a manner as would've made anybody with even slightly maternal instincts to coo and declare her 'cute'. "He said some other stuff about her, too, but there were rude words. Daisy told me what they mean, 'cause her Pa used to call her them, but I don't like to say them. They're not nice."
At this, Kurt's brow knitted. If Pietro was trying to stir dissent against Mystique then his anger towards the shapeshifter was getting a little out of hand. Mystique needed the child contact of Daisy and Robyn to stave off her demons, and if Pietro was trying to deny her even that small comfort, then it was perhaps time to have a private word with him. He resolved to pull the speedster to one side before they boarded the bus.
"We goin'?" Rogue asked, breaking him from his reverie.
"Was? Oh, ja." Kurt, too, glanced up at the rapidly blackening sky. "The sooner we get on the road, the better. Ororo needs us to get to her as soon as we can."
"Ororo? That the Goddess y'all were tellin' me about before I dozed off?"
"Ja."
Robyn slipped her little hand inside Rogue's and said shyly; "I'll tell you all about the Goddess if you like, Miss Rogue."
Despite herself, Rogue couldn't help a small smile spreading across her paler-than-pale face. "I'd like that," she said, returning the gesture and accepting her hand. "I'd like that a lot. One thing though."
Robyn's expression turned a little uncertain. "Yes?"
"Stop callin' me 'Miss', would you? If we're gonna be sisters, then it's just Rogue."
Robyn just smiled and led her away.
*******************
"Pietro..."
"What?"
"The war is *over*. Both sides *lost*, OK? Everyone lost, and you can't win by waving one set of sins around to hide your own. We survived. Others paid the price. Get over it."
"What'dIdo?" Pietro raised his hands in the universal gesture for innocence. Kurt was not swayed.
"You know exactly what you did. You're poisoning the kids against my mother. Stop it."
"But... she's *Mystique*. She's only looking out for herself."
"She *was*, Pietro. Four years ago. Four years ago *you* were a self-centred prick who couldn't hang around to help his friend. Four years ago I was a scared spitless kid who ran out on his new family and left them to die. Should we be judged on what we did four years ago?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, Pietro shook his head. "Guess not."
"Right. Remember that." Kurt hobbled onto the bus and over to his mother. "Ach... I'm too tired to hang onto the straps, tonight. Can I use you for a pillow?"
Mystique looked up. Her son. One day, a babe in arms. Another day, a grown boy. And today, a man[1]. "You'd spend time with me?" She sounded surprised. Apparently, she'd heard the conversation outside the door.
Kurt winced mentally, berating himself for not talking to Pietro someplace other than right outside the bus. "You're my mother. How could I not?"
"Some people think I'm evil."
"Nobody's *all* evil. Everyone has their positive points."
She snorted. "Yeah? What's mine?"
"For a start, you can sit relatively still for six hours." He made himself as comfortable as he could get on the chair. "And secondly, you can shapeshift yourself some nice soft legs, ja?"
Mystique sighed. "Ja."
For the first time in her life, she held her son's head in her lap.
*******************
Strong.
Like Iron.
No... like Oak.
Like Stone.
He was strong.
He had to be.
For his people.
His people....
If he turned his head in a particular direction he could hear them over the whine and thrum of the engines that powered the stasis tubes.
Fuelled by his power, to save his children. Children of a broken world...
One, the scarred, scattered boy.
Gabrielle's baby.
A girl who ran with wolves.
Her mad brother.
Another who spoke in any tongue imaginable.
The poor little insect boy.
The girl who screamed.
The girl who sparkled and glittered and sang... until the gangs caught her.
A chalk-faced woman of damnable luck.
The families from the ruins of Europe and Britain.
He had found them, taken them from the pits of the respective hells they were in, healed them, and given them sanctuary. Of a sort.
One day there would be a place of safety, a place they could find... peace? Somewhere to grow strong. Somewhere to begin again, to take back the world. Then, maybe, after that he could rest.
Thin fingers steepled in front of a worn face
He was strong.
He was Erik.
He was what he was, no more and no less.
He was Magneto.
His eyes came to rest on a broken chessboard.
_And can you be sure that this time it will work my old friend?_
"One day Charles... one day. I come from a patient people, do I not?"
A sigh that was not a sigh. _What about those who are still on the Earth; the children? Our children?_
Erik slammed a fist down on the table, the noise echoing in the empty room. "Damn it, Charles! I have done all I can! I searched! I remember the contingency plans! I formed half of them, didn't I? All I can do is gather what children are left, and see them to a place of safety. The Earth... it is already ours Charles. Man has killed himself."
_Look again..._
"What?"
_Look again..._
Madness...
_Look again..._
Can a man without faith pray? Erik exhaled something, and gestured. A monitor flew from one of the walls, the screen flickering over various parts of the globe until it settled on three images.
An abandoned warehouse filled with equally abandoned aircraft, but dotted with familiar readings. He squinted, wondering.
"But I have been mistaken before."
And yet...
A patch of green in the middle of slightly unnatural electromagnetic resonance.
A lone figure dancing in the desert.
Sitting in a iron asteroid, far above the world,[2] Erik smiled.
His children lived, then? Was there hope for his bleakness?
There was a sanctuary, somewhere safe, where they could learn and grow and take back what was rightfully theirs.
And after that, he could rest.
Rest...
With a snort, Erik's head jerked up from where it had nodded onto his arm. He blinked into the dark room, re-orientating himself. The chessboard was still broken, but he no longer had an opponent, and the room around him thrummed like nothing had been moved. The monitors were all smashed, as they had been when he awoke one not yet ready to wake. Unusable.
A dream, or a portent?
He didn't know.
Most likely they were all false - the product of a tired mind and nothing more. He couldn't weep for either offspring or friends lost to him so long ago. No. They were gone - vanished.
He could not weep, for he was Magneto.
And he was strong.
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To Be Continued...
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[1] He was 16 when the 'war' started. That makes him 20 now.
[2] _Ground Control to Major Tom_ side-fling. "For here am I, sitting in a tin can, far above the world. Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do..."