"Professor?"
Charles Xavier looked up at the feeble voice that had come from behind his door.
Wide sapphire eyes stared cautiously at him and he welcomed them with a soft inviting smile.
"What can I do for you Pyro?" he inquired, setting down his silver writing pen on the varnished oak top table. The eyes disappeared behind the door for a moment, considering a reasonable request, before reappearing shyly with the rest of the small fragile body. He quietly closed the door, sure not to make any noise, and shuffled across the large circular room to the table, where he plopped down into a large red and green armchair.
"I want to remember," he said.
Charles nodded, looking the boy up and down.
"I want to know about my parents, if I have any siblings, about Aero and Ember…"
"Aero and Ember? How do you know about them?" Charles said suddenly, cutting the boys sentence in half. Johns baby blues looked up at the professor hopefully.
"I dream about them every night professor. But I have no idea who they are," he said quietly, looking down at his hands, as if ashamed.
"I think it best you start at the beginning, John, right from the beginning," the professor said, pulling a file out from a drawer to the right of him.
"What?"
"Shiro Yoshida. A.k.a Sunfire. He is the first person you should speak too," the professor said, handing the file to John who took it with shaky hands and immediately flipped opened it.
"He is sadly de-powered now, but he runs a small bar in Sydney where you grew up."
John's eyes scanned the old man in the file. He had dark grey hair, short, with a little moustache and goatee.
"Will he help me?" john asked, closing the file and resting it on his lap.
"Shiro would do anything for you, John."
16 years earlier. Sydney Australia.
He had run as fast as his small, delicate body could carry him. The pouring rain belted down across his back, pushing him further into the mud that seemed to swallow up his tiny feet. Tiny hands wiped at a mixture of rain, sweat, tears and blood from his swollen cheeks and his unusually bright eyes scanned the clearing frantically. His fingers tips were blackened, charred and he bravely ignored the pain as he brushed strands of blonde hair from his eyes, the hair whipping against his exposed, raw flesh.
"Help!" he shouted, pleaded almost as his surroundings became more and more unfamiliar. Before he could do anything to stop it, his aching legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed down into the flooded, muddy street. He wailed, his legs burning and his chest aching with a piercing stabbing sensation. Bloody tears streamed his pale, shivering face as he screamed for somebody, anybody, his tiny hands reaching out into nothingness. He shivered again, the rain soaking through his little red jumper and denim dungarees. The denim became heavy, and clung to his burning skin in an agonising grasp. Just as he had stopped screaming, about to give up hope, he felt a pair of hands around his waist, lift him up. Up out of the mud, up into the air. He screamed again, as he was bundled under a jacket and the darkness took over him. His little hands curled into fists as they pounded against the chest of the person who had captured him. He beat and he kicked and he screamed until fatigue embraced him and he hung limply, ignoring the pain that covered him like net.
The next thing that he was aware of, was that he was sitting on a wooden table, his mouth open with a pair of hazel, almond shaped eyes peering into it. His little eyes were barely open and he glared at the almond eyes with hate and confusion.
"Whats your name little one?" the strange man said, taking off his grey jacket and draping it over the boys shoulders. His voice was low and husky, and the rattle of a smokers cough. The boy began to scream again, tears streaming his face as his body rattled with sobs and gasps.
"Are you hurting?" the man asked. The boy managed to nod.
"Can you tell me where it hurts?"
"Everywhere."
"Ok son. My name is Shiro. Im not going too hurt you, I want too help you ok?" the man said. The boy looked at him for a moment, his trembling lips formed a pout. They were turning blue.
"I need to get these wet clothes off of you ok?"
The boy, defeated just slowly lifted his arms as Shiro undone the buttons on the dungarees. He stood the little one onto his feet and carefully slid them down to the boys ankles. Shiro took a step back, his stomach churning as he stared at the boys skinny legs. The boy started to cry again as cold air hit the bloody, blistered, burnt legs.
"Ok ok sweet," Shiro cooed, pulling the dungarees completely off and throwing them in a heap on the floor along with tiny shoes and socks. He carefully peeled the red jumper off, the boy wailing as bits of flesh came off with it, exposing pink raw skin and pulsating blisters. Shiro ran over to the telephone over by the old radio set and grasped it tightly.
"Ambulance. I need and ambulance, and police!"
The boy looked down at his bruised, tortured body end let out a long breath. He knew nobody loved him. He knew he was unwanted. But who could ever love him now? Now he was disfigured and mutilated. His mother was right. He was ugly.
"Wrap him in a blanket? Ok ok… keep him hydrated… 5 minutes ok thank you!"
Shiro disappeared into a backroom, and the little boy collapsed onto the table. The world as spinning and he found it difficult to heave in breath.
"Stay with me little one," came a voice, though it was distorted, like it wasn't really there. He knew he was being lifted, wrapped and cradled but his vision was blurred and everything sounded like he was underwater. He took in one last breathe, before all went black.
Present day- Sydney Australia.
John's steel capped toes tread lightly across the sandy roads, his sapphire gaze scanning the shops and bars. His eyes settled on an old wooden sign, the letters hanging gingerly by the odd nail.
"Shiro's bar."
John's infamous smirk pulled at the edges of his lips and he set off towards the bar, pushing the old creaky door with his gloved hands. The bar was empty and dull, dust, no longer able to settle, hung thick in the air.
"Yoshida-San? Anata wa doko! (where are you?)" he called, stepping gingerly into the dingy atmosphere. A small movement in the corner of the bar caught John's gaze and he turned his attention to what appeared to be a heap of rags.
"Come here," said a deep, husky voice from the rags. John swallowed, and inched forward nervously. He stopped a few feet away and perched himself on a barstool across from the dirty grey rags. Hazel, almond shaped eyes stared up at him, and a head lifted from the rags. The two men stared at each other.
"Only one little one, I know, with those eyes," the man said.
"Shiro?" John asked desperately. The man smiled, his olive face creasing with years of wisdom as he gently cupped John's face with on hand. He stared into his eyes, searching for the years of lost moments.
"Eyes like rain," he croaked, letting John's face go and sitting back in his stool, a rumbling cough exploding from his chest. John's lips parted slightly as he stared at the ancient face.
"I need help," he whispered, his eyes unable to leave the kind gaze of the elderly man before him.
"Of course, little one. Or else, you would not be here. How may I offer my services to you?"
"I need to know about my childhood," John said desperately, hoping to make it a quick visit.
"Ah yes, Charles called ahead, saying you were anxious for answers. But we need to slow it down, my child. Take it one step at a time."
"But I need to know now!" John asked desperately.
"Patience was never one of you strengths child," the old man chuckled.
"Johnnie… Remember the saying I tought you as a boy, 'ni usagi wo ou mono wa ichi usagi wo mo ezu'"
John thought for a moment. "One who chases two hares… wont even catch one?"
"Yes. You cant to do things at once my child," the old man said, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. The old mans tired eyes lay too rest on the young man across from him once again.
"Such a troubled child, you were," the old man sighed, stroking his beard with a frail jittery hand. John's features softened as he watched the old man reminisce.
"How did I end up with you?" he asked. "What happened to my parents?"
A sad, pained look came across the old mans face, his hazel eyes closing lightly. John shuffled uncomfortably in his stool.
"Did they," he whispered. "Die?"
Another look came across the older mans face, but john wasn't sure what it was.
"Unfortunately not."
16 years earlier
He watched as the young boy was carefully placed on a snow white hospital bed, the nurse gently stroking his hair as he cried. Shiro wanted to reach out to the boy, too comfort him as doctors poked and prodded with needles, but couldn't stand to see him in such distress. He looked away, ashamed that a human being could be conscious to feel such burning pain.
"Excuse me, may I talk to you?" the nurse said as she stepped lightly over to him. Shiro nodded and followed her into a separate cubicle.
"Where did you find him?" she asked, her dark gentle eyes gazing at him. Shiro cleared his throat, feeling as if he hadn't spoken for years.
"Outside my bar. In the rain," he croaked, clearing his throat once more.
"He's our baby," the nurse said. "The poor little mite is always in and out of here."
"What's his name?" Shiro asked, gazing sadly in the direction of the screams.
"The bitch didn't give him a name," the nurse spat, referring to the child's mother.
"We call him Saint John. After the name of the hospital," she added, pointing to the badge on her dress.
"All we know is that his surname is Allerdyce and that his mother is a heroin addict," she said sadly, adjusting her hat on top of her perfect fifties inspired curls.
"Sadly, we cant keep him here and no one will adopt him," the nurse carried on, peeling back the curtain to check on a now silent little boy.
"Good, he's sleeping."
"Why will no one adopt him?" Shiro asked, standing to join the nurse. The nurse stared shamefully at the floor.
"He's… he's a mutant child," she sighed, her dark eyes resting on the sleeping child's face. "Nobody wants the burden."
Shiro's face took on a disgusted image.
"Do you feel he is a burden, Nurse?" he snapped, crossing his arms across his chest. The nurse gazed forlornly at the child.
"Of course not. But sir, you must understand, if I didn't already struggle too feed my four children, St John would be at home with me." she assured, her tired fretful eyes tearing away from the sleeping child. Shiro just nodded and left the room.