Chapter 7: Humans and Wolves

"You should have killed me when you had the chance!"

-Magneto, 2004

Once he had gotten past the city, what he saw was more than incredible—it was surreal. Though many of the houses in what had once been a busy suburb had crumbled over time, or had unknowingly become casualties of war, a great number of them stood upright and relatively untouched, aside from broken windows. He had walked for many hours and he was tired.

Magneto approached a sturdy looking house. It was brown and white, large, and though the door was slightly off kilter, the numbers etched into it were clear, 559. He reached and touched the numbers, metallic, golden. They gleamed in the sunset and seemed to dimly reflect the reality they had once represented, but did no more. He walked through the door. It was eerily quiet and the air was still. "Is there anyone in here?" A light breeze was his answer.

There was a long hallway, which led into a kitchen. He searched the drawers and found matches and candles. He lit the candles as darkness began to fall. He wondered if Tymah and Daytripper were dead—he wondered exactly how many people, how many mutants had died on account of him over the years. He wondered who had lived here. It was rather like the images he had seen of Pompey, after Vesuvius had destroyed it. He remembered hearing that people had been caught so off guard, that the blast and the subsequent lava and dust had covered and killed them during whatever activity they had happened to be engaged in at the time. When he had seen the pictures, he had seen bodies of men and women, petrified through time, sitting at table, or weaving, hammering or simply holding a child, frozen in time, unaware that they were dead.

And though there were no bodies here, there were forks, knives and plates, set up as if at any moment a mother would call her children down to dinner. There was a pot on the stove—whatever had been inside of it was gone, but it was dirty on the inside, waiting to be washed. A cutting board and a knife rested on the counter. The plates were clean and for some reason that made him sad.

Trying not to think of these people whose lives had been ended before they could eat their dinner, their last meal, Magneto looked into the cabinets for any food that might have survived. He found a can of condensed Campbell's chicken noodle soup, opened it and ate it as it was. He could not bear to sit on the chairs that had been waiting fifty years to be sat upon, so he sat on the floor. He could not even contemplate sleeping in the beds he knew would be upstairs, so he slept where he sat.

All night he dreamt of a faceless family who constantly tried to come down to dinner, but were prevented every time.

Daytripper woke up alone, on a dirty floor, facedown, with his arms positioned uncomfortably under his body. He struggled to sit up and tried to massage his prickling arms to life again. He saw nothing at first, no bars, no windows, no walls. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he thought he could see a doorway. Before he had decided to go to it, the door opened.

"You awake?" said a man's voice.

"I hope not," said Daytripper.

He heard the other man laugh. "Get up."

He got up.

"Come here."

He went.

The man punched him in the face and he went down like a tree. The back of his head hit the ground hard, bounced slightly, and he was out again, pleasantly unconscious.

Tymah spat blood. Sky looked closely at her. "You're Cured. You have no power and he obviously does not care that you've been captured. Tell me where he is."

"Why?"

Sky backhanded her. "It is not for you to ask!" she screamed. "Just tell me!"

Tymah rubbed her burning cheek. "Explain to me why. Why you would keep this secret for so long! Why it was a secret in the first place! It doesn't make any sense!"

Sky grabbed her by her hair. "You stupid human," she growled, "there's a reason why you don't know! If you knew, you would be one of us!"

It dawned on her, quite suddenly, that Sky had been trying to hide something all of this time, and had just failed. "Oh my God…." Tymah whispered, "you don't know."

"What?" Sky released her grip and Tymah crawled away, head aching, ribs smarting. She was so bruised, she was not even sure what hurt exactly—or if her whole body was simply broken.

"You don't know…" Tymah repeated. "You have no idea why you've been doing what you've been doing…why you've had to hide…why you've had to keep Magneto the way he was."

"Shut up human!" Sky reddened. "We know! I know!"

Tymah continued in an almost delirious state. "You could have freed him at any time. If you really thought he was meant to rise with the Brotherhood at his right hand and have absolute power over mutants, you could have freed him." She leaned heavily on the wall, every inch of her throbbing with pain from repeated "questioning." She laughed breathlessly. Pain and deprived sleep had made her daring, almost euphoric. "You don't know…" She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Tymah very nearly giggled and would have continued to do so, until Sky hit her a final time, and she passed out at last.

"Hey, hey…shh…"

Tymah woke up to a calming voice, urging her to be quiet, as she jumped up with a painful start. She could feel how swollen and bruised she was within moments. Her blurred vision cleared and the young man that stood over her continued to 'shush' her.

"Spit?" she asked quietly. "What are you doing here…?"

He put his finger to her lips. "You have got to learn to shut up," he said. "Listen," he whispered, "I don't know what the hell is going on, but you have to believe me, that I had nothing to do with what Sky did to you."

Tymah nodded. "I know that…" she whispered.

"Y-you do?"

Tymah nodded again, trying to smile.

Spit sighed. "God, I thought that you thought that this had to do with us. With Himmel and the Elementals, but I'm telling you, it doesn't. I don't know what in hell Sky is playing at, but Himmel doesn't even know you're here."

Tymah shook her head. "I can't even begin to tell you."

"Then don't. I don't care. You're my friend and I don't trust Sky. Come on," he stood up and offered his hand to her.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm getting you out of here."

Tymah looked away. "Spit…" she said ruefully, "you don't understand. I've been Cured."

"You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know that?"

She put her hands to her face. "Oh God, do I look different?"

"Except for the bruising, no."

She stared at him. "Then…how do you know?"

"I know because there is nothing keeping you down here. No guards. No locked doors. Sky thinks you'll be too afraid to leave without your powers. Godspeed is."

"Godspeed?! She's here?"

Spit nodded. "Down the hall. And that guy you were captured with. He's down there too. And there's nobody around that's keeping you here. You can just leave."

Tymah pushed herself off of the floor, and took Spit's hand to make the rest of the way up. Every movement ached. She put her arm around her stomach and limped down the hallway, still clinging to Spit's hand. "Here's that guy," Spit gestured to a closed door. She opened it.

Daytripper lay on the floor, clearly unconscious. She got to her knees gingerly and tried to rouse him. "Tripper, wake up. Come on. We're getting out of here." He moaned and his eyes opened.

"Tym?" he murmured. "Are you going to punch me in the face too?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, good," he replied. "Cause every time I wake up, someone comes in here and punches me in the face."

"Can you stand?"

"Um…you mean, up?"

Spit took Tripper by the arm. "Come on, man," he insisted, "we're on borrowed time here."

Daytripper got to his feet in a dazed kind of way. He looked at Tymah. "Oh, wow, you're a mess."

"Thanks," she muttered. "Spit, help me."

The three of them made their way further down the hallway. Daytripper looked around him in a confused stupor. He might have had a concussion or something worse. They came to another door which Spit identified as Godspeed's room. They entered.

Godspeed lay on the floor with her eyes closed. "Sky, I swear if you don't kill me today, I am going to give you a reason," she said without opening her eyes.

"Godspeed?" Tymah said, her eyes flooding with tears. Godspeed jumped up.

"Oh my God," she whispered, "Tymah!"

"Godspeed…" Tymah repeated. "C-come on, we're getting out of here."

"Tymah, I told you if I should be captured, you were not to come for me!" Her tone of elation at seeing Tymah had quickly changed into anger.

"We didn't…come to rescue you," Tymah explained shamefully, "we were—captured."

Godspeed looked at her in horror. "Oh no…" she moaned. "You've been Cured. Sky Cured you!"

Tymah could only nod, as her tears cascaded down her face. "W-we have to leave. Now."

"Not without my powers," Godspeed responded.

Spit interjected. "Commander, do you really think that Sky will let you get your powers back? She'll kill you before that happens!"

Godspeed looked at the wall. "Then I will die."

"No!" Tymah declared. "You can't! We succeeded, you succeeded! You must come and know your victory!"

Godspeed got to her feet and stood as powerfully and steadfastly as she could have ever been, with or without her powers. "I will not go out there as a Human!"

"You don't have a choice!"

Godspeed came towards Tymah and held her shoulders. "Yes I do. And knowing that my efforts have actually accomplished something will make it easier for me to die."

"No!" Tymah cried. She felt like a child. She was a child! "Please…" she begged. "We need you," she hid her face in her hands, "I need you!"

"Hey…do I hear footsteps?" Daytripper asked curiously.

"Shit…" Spit said, "come on. It's now or never."

"Please come with us!" Tymah begged one last time.

"Tymah," Godspeed answered soothingly, "it is over for me. Take her and go," she said to Spit.

This was not happening! No! She reached for Godspeed, but Spit had her arms. She called for Godspeed, but Spit's hand blocked her mouth. She watched as the door closed, as Godspeed smiled and looked at her for the last time. The door seemed to erase Godspeed altogether, make her obsolete. She knew she was crying and that she wanted to scream. Her aches and pains and broken bones seemed to disappear as she struggled to save the woman she had served for so long and come to love, the only mother she had ever known, and one of the few people she had ever cared about. The door swung and slammed on the only part of her life that had ever really mattered to her.

And, as easily as a door swinging on its hinges, it was gone.

Knowing how far away he was from the Canadian border, Magneto had taken a chance, and had made his magnetic bubble to float above the ground and travel faster. After some hours, he set down again, to rest, exhausted from maintaining a continuous field. He was somewhere in the Adirondacks. The lake was pristine and the trees seemed untouched by the chaos that the rest world had been through. He scooped up some water with his hand and drank it. Like the air, it was cold, crisp and clean. For a moment, his only desire was to stay by that lake and never leave it.

Magneto had not been so touched by that house he had spent the night in to be foolish enough to leave without supplies. He had found a man's coat, a good pair of boots, a sweater, a hat and some gloves. He had found a backpack and had put socks and underwear he had found in drawers inside of it, along with whatever nonperishable food he could find and an empty water bottle, which he now refilled. More importantly, he had also found a map, which he consulted after filling the bottle.

His greatest challenge would not be getting to the border—he was, in fact, almost there—no, the problem would be finding the human colony once he got there. The border stretched for miles and he could not be sure where exactly the colony would reside. There was certainly no indication on the map.

However, he had an idea of where they could be. The Canadian border fell right in the middle of Lake Ontario. He felt that it would make sense that a people who were refugees of a sort, ought to be near water. If Pyro had been right and the human colony was at the border between New York and Canada, Lake Ontario would be the first place to look.

Spit led Tymah and Daytripper down a tunnel until they reached a flight of stairs which led up to grate, from which they could escape. They climbed the stairs and found that much of the grate had been buried in rubble, but that there was a small opening through which they could squeeze one person at a time.

"I'll go first," Spit said. He would make sure the area was clear. And protect them if it was not. Daytripper helped Tymah up after Spit had given the go-ahead and followed a few moments after.

The city was dark and quiet. Spit went ahead of them a few feet, and then beckoned them forward. They went nearly twenty blocks before anyone spoke. "Alright," Spit said, "The river is a few blocks away. There's a boat there. It has an engine, but I suggest rowing it until you're clear of the city. Hide in the suburbs until you're healed, and then…" He shrugged. "I don't think you can come back, Tymah," he said, "but there's some supplies on the boat, some weapons and food and clothes and stuff."

"Oh, well that is just the nicest thing I have ever heard…"

Tymah and Daytripper turned. Sky stood, with Magneta at her side, smiling sadistically. "Unfortunately, none of you are going anywhere." Lightning crackled in the sky and electricity sparkled on her fingertips. Spit was quick, though. He thrust a fireball at them without a second thought and they ran.

"Get down!" he shouted, as a metal beam came swinging through the air. They hit the ground and the beam sped over them. "Come on!" he screamed. "Move aside!"

They did and a blast of fire came shooting out of Spit's hands. Tymah saw Magneta shield herself from it, but she could not see Sky. The fire caught on to some rubble in the street, set it ablaze, blocking Magneta's way, and then it exploded. Daytripper held Tymah to the ground, shielding her from the blast with his body. Spit called to them, pointing furiously at a storm drain. He dropped into it and Daytripper pulled Tymah up and led her to it. Once in the sewers, Spit guided them through tunnel after tunnel of water and waste until Tymah was sure she would vomit. She noticed the tunnel getting wider and wider and then, at last, it led out into the open air.

Spit did not need to tell them what they had to do next. He jumped, and they followed, down into the Hudson River. The salt stung every wound and the icy water enflamed every injury. But she swam! She felt a hand close on her arm, pulling her towards them. She surfaced, along with the others. "We can't go to the boat!" Spit called. "She knows about it. We have to hide."

"Where?"

She never got an answer. Without warning, the river suddenly sucked into itself, pulling them in like a receding tide. Though they tried, they could not swim against it. Lightning flashed as they were pulled deeper into the river. The water became a wave and threw them all bodily into a whirlpool. Tymah looked up, struggling for air, and saw Sky floating above them against the glow of a full moon, commanding the storm. Thunder like she had never heard and lighting like she had never seen cascaded behind Sky like furious fireworks. The whirlpool drew her in at last, and she spun and spun. Every time the lighting flashed, she saw one of them—sometimes Spit, sometimes Tripper. She spun so violently, she thought sometimes that she saw herself. Her body grew limp and she let the water take her. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. The waters calmed, the whirlpool disappeared. Daytripper surfaced, gasping, clawing the water for something to hold onto.

"Where's…where's…Sky?" Tymah asked breathlessly.

He shook his head.

She looked up. The sky was empty and clear, as if nothing had just happened. "Wait! Where's Spit?"

Daytripper looked around him. Without a word, he dove into the water. After a minute, he came back up, pulling Spit with him. Tymah swam to them and shook Spit and slapped his face. He came to rather unexpectedly, spitting up river and coughing.

Tymah was relieved beyond measure and threw her arms around both of them, nearly dragging them back into the depths. "I guess…" Spit said, sputtering, "I guess I'm coming with you guys."

They were there. And they saw him immediately. Floating in his magnetic field, high above the ground.

Below him was a mass of tents and makeshift cabins and more and more people spilling out of them, and looking up at the sky. At him.

He set down outside of the camp, but it made no difference. A hundred people were on him at once. He let them take him and bind his hands with rope. He offered no resistance, and he said nothing.

They pulled him into the camp. Children and adults alike stared at him in wonder. Some of them grimaced, some were agape, others spat at him. Someone slapped his face.

He was taken into one of the wooden cabins and tied to a chair. A man wrapped in animal skins and patches of old clothes made sure he was securely tightened and then backed away from him. "You mind telling me what you're doing here, mutant?" he asked.

"I'm looking for someone," Magneto answered.

"Really?"

"Yes. I was told he would be here. I must see him."

The man crossed his arms. "Who might that be?"

"When I knew him, he was called the Wolverine. His name is Logan. He is a mutant."

Clearly, from his expression, the man had not expected this reply. He looked at the other men around him and then back at Magneto. "Who should I say is calling?" he asked.

"Tell him Eric wants to speak with him. He knows me."

"Eric?" the man scoffed. "What kind of a mutant name is that?"

Magneto smiled to himself. "Everybody has a cool mutant name these days. Eric is more unique."

This seemed to amuse the man. "Well, I guess if you know Logan, you might be alright. Greg," he said to one of the men, "go find Logan." Another man nodded and headed toward the door.

"Thank you Greg," Magneto said.

Greg left, and the man turned once more to Magneto with that same look of curious amusement. "You didn't put up much of a fuss," he commented.

Magneto shrugged. "If I had, it would have defeated the purpose of my coming here."

"What is you purpose here, Eric?"

He smiled. "I only wish to see Logan." The man nodded, and eyed him curiously. "Well, you know my name. It's only fair that I should know yours."

His expression changed in a moment. "Fair?" he growled. "Don't use that word here. Don't talk to me about fair!" he yelled, jamming his thumb against his chest as he said the word 'me.' "Fair has no place in this world. That word is obsolete."

Magneto realized his mistake and regretted it. "You'll forgive me," he replied quietly, "there is a great deal of which I am not aware. It was not my intention to offend."

"Holy shit!"

The crowd of fur-clad men suddenly broke apart, like a piece of paper, and the Wolverine ripped through it, claws extended. He pushed passed the man who had bound him to the chair and headed straight for Magneto.

He froze suddenly, just as his arm came around for a swing. The tips of his claws were centimeters from Magneto's face, but he held them there. "Hello Logan."

"This is one hell of a nightmare!" Logan growled, unable to move.

"It's not a nightmare. This is real."

"Please God just let me kill him!" he cried.

"Logan," Magneto said in a measured tone, "in a moment, I'm going to let you go. You can kill me. It's your choice. But I swear to you, this is real. I am not a dream."

"Not possible. You died fifty years ago!"

"So I've been told."

Logan struggled against Magneto's power, but to know avail. The men stood dumbfounded, frightened and confused. "You can't be alive…" Logan said unsurely.

"I am alive," Magneto insisted. "I don't know what has happened. And I don't know why it has happened. But it has. And I need your help."

Logan began to laugh. "You have got to be kidding me."

Magneto stared at him. He had changed. There was anger in him, as there had always been. But now, it was of a different kind—an anger built upon despair, and hopelessness. A darkness in his eyes and countenance, reflective of an inconsolable grief, an uncontrollable rage. He had let his beard grow, and his hair was long. He looked wolfish, animalistic. He was his namesake now—the Wolverine, in every sense of the term. And as Magneto watched him, he saw his feral eyes glow with a conflicting desire—he wanted to kill Magneto, yes, but even he was not immune to curiosity. There was a chance that they could work out their differences, but an even greater chance that Logan would slit his throat. Well, seeing as he was supposed to be dead anyway, Magneto was not averse to the idea as much as one might expect. He took a deep breath and looked directly into Logan's eyes.

"I'm going to let you go now."