Chapter Thirty:

Tyron shivered violently, curling into himself on the cold ground. Freezing couldn't even describe how cold he was at the moment. His breathing came out in short pants and his enter body shook.

"Let..." He croaked, moving to stand. "Let me out." He wasn't loud, and the walls of his freezing prison were probably thicker than he thought.

Slowly, Tyron rose to his feet, shivering violently. He put his hand to the wall, but instantly took it back when the coldness felt so cold that it burned. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't breathe.

"Let me out!" Tyron yelled again, and gained no response. He inhaled a few sharp breaths before clenching his fists and banging against the freezing metal. Tyron screamed the entire time, until his throat felt raw and hoarse, so he was forced to stop. But, he didn't stop pounding.

Eventually, he heard a click and Tyron took a step back, ready to run, but was met with a big bucket of water instead. Tyron stumbled back, sputtering as he heard loud men laugh at him as they swung the big metal door closed again.

Tyron was left in the dark and the cold so cold he could even shiver. The water thrown at him had hardened easily and was now forming icicles on his lashes. Tyron had the overwhelming need to sleep, but at the same time, he knew that if he did, he probably wouldn't wake back up.

The cold and the boredom and the humming of the freezer seemed to soften his thoughts however. Soon, his mind and body have way to the cold and he was out.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Tyron heard the door open and he sluggishly sat up. A man had to practically pry his behind off the floor since Tyron had been sitting there for a while. Tyron didn't mind as the man roughly took Tyron's hands and yanked on them. Tyron couldn't feel his fingers, they were so numb.

Slowly, he was dragged outside. Tyron eyelids opened, but his eyes rolled aimlessly and unfocused. He heard talking around him, so Tyron tried to shake himself awake. But, he had little to no energy to move, so he was left simply wiggling.

Someone noticed this and started bellowing with laughter. They pointed at him and slapped their knee. Tyron inhaled, and bit his cheek, annoyed. As soon as he regained feeling in his... Everywhere, he would kill this man.

Tyron parted his lips to speak, but his throat burned and his words hoarse. "W... Wh... Where am... I?" He demanded roughly before falling into a coughing fit.

The man chuckled, "Nowhere, yet, Mutie," he promised, the took him by the leg and began dragging him through the building. Tyron groaned, trying to fight him. But he was very strong. He turned, looking for anything metal, but it was all out of his reach.

Tyron breathed heavily, trying not to panic. But, after being in that freezer for hours, hardly able to breath and not being able to see anything, he had been a little unnerved.

Finally, the man opened a door and turned into a room, roughly swinging him in. The room was empty, and other than the door he just entered, there was one other. It had no handle and instead seemed to look like it slided.

The man closed the door and Tyron could hear the loud metal lock slamming in place. He swallowed, looking around.

Tyron tried to remember why he was here. He... Went to one of Zion's clubs before it opened. He promised him that he would fight for him, if he kept his men off the streets that upcoming Friday. He said agreed, and then Tyron left. Then, he betrayed him... And they took him. Here. This was the Ring.

Tyron felt a wave of nausea hit him and he nearly stumbled over. The door had slid open and revealed noise and bright lights at the end of a tunnel. Tyron moved back, Zion broke their deal, he wasn't going to fight for him!

He nearly backed up to the wall, if spikes hadn't protruded from them now. Tyron stared in shock as they quickly came closer, closing in on him. He had no other choice. Tyron swallowed, eyes glancing back and forth from the walls to the fight nervously. With his trepidation, the walls sped up, and Tyron was forced back several feet, if he didn't want to be impaled.

Tyron turned back to the opened and tried to shake out his hands. They still felt numb and he was still cold as hell - which isn't the best metaphor, now that he thought about it.

He turned and left through the opening. The mindless chanting and screaming got louder and more excited. Tyron felt sick again, and then the walls of the tunnel also started to close in as well, with dozens of spikes as sharp as knives.

Tyron hurried up, and finally entered the ring. It wasn't very wide, but it was extremely tall. From the ceiling to the floor, there was thick metal mesh in order to protect the people watching. They were screaming and yelling obsencities, and throwing food at him, which Tyron wiped off in disgust.

"Metal Man!" A familiar voice praised. Tyron looked around for the owner, but couldn't see anyone. He scowled, anger fueling him. All this metal around him made him hungry, and he hasn't eaten in days.

Then, the other door opened and another man ran out. Tyron stared, he wasn't a man, but a child. No older than fourteen maybe. He looked scared but also fierce at the same time. When his eyes made contact with Tyron's he turned wild, practically roaring at him. Then, he rolled his shoulders and seven foot scaly wings slid out of his back and shook themselves in the air. They were bleeding and had holes in a few areas, but he didn't seem to mind.

Tyron stared at the boy's face, he had seen that face before. Where... Where did he see it...?

"Bat!" The announcer yelled and Tyron winced when the entire crowd cheered. Tyron could only guess who their favourite was. "Three... Two... One... Fight!"

Giving him no time to think, the boy lunged, his hands were reaching for his throat and they were clawed and sharp. Tyron moved instantly, going for the metal mesh wall. Before he could even absorb anything, electricity went through his bones and Tyron screamed, letting go. His skin was burning, and the entire crowd laughed.

Tyron groaned, twitching. He saw a blur and then the boy was on top of him, straddling his body and his hand raised. Tyron's eyes widened, and he grabbed the boy's arms, wrestling them away from his face, but he was strong.

Tyron grunted and kicked him off him, staggering to get up. He shuddered, the only metal around him was the electric mesh and the dangling ones from the ceiling. Which, he couldn't reach.

Tyron realized that he was on a whole new layer of fucked.

The boy raised his wings and hissed at him. Tyron held out a hand, as if calming a dog. "We don' have to fight," Tyron said calmly as the boy eyed him madly, circling him. Tyron walked too, keeping his eyes fixed on him. "They can't make us. We can stay 'ere an' talk to one 'nother. Do ya wanna do tha'? I don't wanna fight ya." The boy showed no signs of hearing his words - which might have been because of the increasing volume in the room.

The boy lunged at him again, and Tyron jumped out of the way, grabbing his face and the back of his neck. He pressed it against the electric fence for a few seconds. He held him there as the boy spazzed in pain, gesticulating his limbs. After five or so seconds, Tyron lifted his face and pulled him away.

The boy twitched, suffering from the effects of the electrocution, but otherwise still breathing. The metal grating had been burned unto his face and Tyron winced looking at it. He knew it wouldn't heal kindly.

Tyron noticed that the crowd had began to shout two different messages simultaneously. one of which being, "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!..." and the other being. "Two to in, one comes out!"

He didn't sound like both unsatisfied groups of people, and when it began to merge.

When it became known that he had no plans on killing the boy, the people began to complain loudly. They threw half eaten food and cold alcohol at him. Most of it hit the railing and sizzled, but some got on him. Tyron turned, disgusted, and kept the boy's body safe. He wouldn't let him die. Not here. He was too young.

"If you don't kill him," the announcer said, "You don't get to leave."

"I ain't killin' nobody!" Tyron snapped, cradling his body to his chest.

The announcer didn't say anything else, but the crowd still complained and booed at him. Tyron didn't care. He wasn't here to be a puppet for their play. He was a dog.

The side doors opened and Tyron's eyes widened when he saw two men both holding huge guns. Tyron covered the body's body as much as he could. The two men fired at him. Combining their distance and the velocity of the bullet, made the impact burn white-hot with pain.

Tyron bit his lip hard enough that blood started to seep from it, and land in the boy's hair. They continued to shoot and he slowly continued to absorb the bullets.

It took both men at least five minutes until their ammo ran out. The room was semi-quiet, a few murmurs still running through the crowd.

The door behind the two men closed firmly. And they turned behind them, shocked. "Whoever goes in the Ring, must fight," the announcer reminded as Tyron rose. He picked up a bullet shell that had rolled over to him and popped it into his mouth. Although being shot wasn't his idea way to absorb metal, it was a necessary, in this instance.

He ignored the burning pain from his back, and slowly morphed his hand into a long, sharp knife. The audience noticed this and began screaming. The two men, albeit terrified, pulled out identical eight-inch knives. Tyron charged them, not caring when they swiped at his clothes uselessly.

He plunged his blade into the heart of one man, making him sputter, blood rising in his lungs, before he tipped over.

The other man held him around the neck, and tried to slit his throat. It didn't work, and only made the knife get smaller and smaller with every desperate attempt. He waited until all the man had left was a measly handle, and then turned around. And stabbed him as well.

He left the two men bleeding out on the floor, and went back to the boy, who had started to wake up, now. He looked startled and angry when Tyron approached him, but Tyron still held out his hands.

"M'not goin' to 'urt ya," he promised. The boy didn't believe it, going back to the wall. Tyron moved to sit down where he was, not going any closer. The boy noticed and stopped moving away. "We don' 'ave to fight," Tyron promised. The boy said nothing.

The door opened again, this time with dozens of men with identical guns. Tyron looked from him to the boy, who was now not protected at all. Tyron stood to run to the boy just as all the lights when out. He felt himself grab someone's hand. It was small and coarse. Tyron reached to where he assumed was behind the boy, and felt the giant wings.

"It's me, it's me," Tyron promised. Then, he heard gunshots. Tyron took the boy in his arms again. This time, the boy didn't complain. He was trembling with fear and covered his ears to block out the noises.

Tyron listened quietly. He heard saw lights flashing, but they were moving too fast for his eyes to see. He recognized the sound of its guns, though.

It was Tony. And, assuming Tony was here, then, the others had to be too.

Relief swept over him, but Tyron didn't move. He felt a few poorly guided bullets hit him in the side and some in the head, But he was fine. It hurt like hell, but he was fine.

Finally, the lights turned back on, and Tyron was able to see Tony and a few of the others. Tony was standing in the Ring with him, the men who once held menacing guns at his feet. Natasha was in the audience, with dozens of drunken men and a few women at her feet. Tyron knew Steve and maybe even Clint had to have been here as well.

"You have terrible picks in hangouts, kid," Tony said, semi-jokingly. He rolled his eyes.

Tyron laughed, and the boy he held trembled, still holding his ears. "'Ey," he said soothingly. "It's a'ight. We're safe now, don' worry." The boy said nothing and Tyron gently pried his palms from his ears. "We're fine," he repeated so he could hear him now. "We're safe."

The boy nodded slowly, backing away from Tyron. Natasha came from the stands, somehow finding a way to get to the Ring. Maybe there was a set of stairs around the side?

She ran into the Ring and forced Tyron to show her his back. "Goddamn it, Tyron!" She snapped, when she saw all the bullet holes, but no wounds.

Tyron knew what she was looking for and chuckled. "I told ya bullets don' 'urt me," Tyron shrugged.

She shook her head, then whispered, "Your bandages are loose." Tyron nodded. He could feel it. "Come on, then," she said louder.

"Who's the kid?" Tony asked, gestering to the small boy, who looked very small in all this. He was still shaking slightly.

Tyron went to him and tapped his knee. He looked up. Tyron noticed now that his once wild eyes, were now big and yellow. Tyron smiled sympathetically, offering his hand. The boy was hesitant, but he took it.

"Let's get out of here," Natasha said, as they began to walk out. Tony led them to an exit, where he saw a big car - definitely Tony's. Steve was speaking with the police, but turned when they began to exit.

Steve caught Tyron's eyes and Tyron immediately recognized the relief. He wrapped everything up with the police men and made a beeline for Tyron. Before he knew it, Steve was crushing him in a tight hug. "Tyron! Don't ever do something like that again!" He ordered and Tyron laughed, a good smile spreading across his face.

Steve ran his hands down his back, as if to double check that he was alright. He was fine for a minute, until his fingers snagged on Tyron's bandages. His chest bandages.

Tyron pulled away immediately as Steve stared at what he was holding confused. Then he looked at Tyron, who was trying to hide how chest, but it was too late. Steve could see them through his shirt.

Steve's face was blank and Tyron began to panic. Last time this happened, last time he was this face, he was put through hell.

"You're... You're a girl?" Steve asked him.

"This... I... I can explain, I-"

"Why didn't you say anything?!" Steve snapped. Tyron felt sick. He couldn't do this, not here, not now. He saw Natasha get out of the car, speaking to Steve. "Tyron, why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?!"

Everything began to hit Tyron at once. He was scared and cold and exhausted and in pain. He felt exposed and terrified and sick and desperate. He knew he couldn't be here. He knew that if he stayed, he'd be in the same position that he was in with Baron. Tyron knew that he'd never be free again.

Tyron turned and ran. He heard Natasha call after him, and Steve, but Tyron didn't stop. He ran for several blocks, twisting and turning through the streets of Queens.

Tyron ran for what felt like forever. He ran until he saw the sunrise. Then, he stopped. He looked at the sun and its beauty and simplicity. Tyron turned to a musty alleyway full of dumpsters and rats. He climbed the rusty, old ladder to an apartment building. He went all the way to the top.

Tyron sat on the roof for hours, huddled there as he cried. The simple sun burned above him, but its warm rays felt cold against his skin.

Tyron sat for longer than even he knew, just thinking and sitting. He heard a familiar person land in the roof, and step over to him. "Hey..." Tony said. Tyron said nothing. "Look, kid... I... We don't think any different of you."

"Ya lyin'," Tyron called him out.

"Okay," he sighed, starting over again. "I, for one, am a bit hurt. Wish you told me sooner, but I don't care. Steve, is... More asshurt than me, honestly. He's a bit angry-" Tyron shuddered, turning away from Tony. He noticed and quickly began to try to amend this. "But, he's fine. He'll get over it. We'll get over it."

Tyron said nothing. Then, he sniffed and wiped his face. "What day is it?"

"Well, now it's Thursday." Tyron nearly choked.

"Thursday!?" He squeaked, moving to stand, but he was so exaushted. He nearly tripped over his one feet. He didn't have any bad injuries - if you didn't include Michelle's knife wound and staying a day in a freezer. His back was still sore and Tyron hadn't actually slept in nearly a week. Not to mention, the most he ate was a bullet shell, which is like starving for a week and then eating one popped popcorn.

Tyron felt so exhausted. He needed to pick up some bandages, and he needed to prepare for Friday. One of his plans didn't work, though. He looked at Tony, who's gaze was fixed on the horizon.

"Why'd ya come for me?" Tyron asked softly. Tony turned to him, almost as if he had forgotten why he had been up there.

"You were in danger," he said. "We were watching in the crowd. You and that kid were going to die, or end up killing one another."

"But, now," Tyron sighed, running his hands down his face. "If Baron finds out tha's m'workin' wit' ya... 'E won' let 'is guys come Friday." Tyron covered his face and his puffy red eyes. With a voice that sounded very muffled, he said, "I told ya not to come!"

"You'd rather yourself be killed?" Tony scoffed. "I think the word you're looking for is 'thank you'."

Tyron looked up and the man, anger and frustration in his eyes. "No, the word m'lookin' for is stay outta this!" He said, pointing an angry finger in Tony's face. "Tomorrow s'the Riot. If Baron finds out that I know ya - that ya have helped me - then he's not gonna wanna do it. And it he doesn't do it, then nobody will and Lars and everyone like him will be forgotten. Every Mutant - hell, even every Enchanced - whose ever died unjustly will jus' be swept under the rug. Mutants like me, like the kid, will be considered Subhumans, maybe even slaves! And guess what!? Nobody will care! Nobody ever cares! They all just keep going - they all don't know who lost their loves because they were different in a way that they can't help. That we can't help! We'll... We'll be seen as dirt. As less than animals and nobody wants to do a single damn thing about it." Tyron was panting from his rant. His face felt flushed with anger and Tony just stared at him.

After nearly a minute, he spoke, "Is... Is this about Laurence, or Pietro?" Tyron stared at him, opening his mouth, but Tony kept talking. "I feel like, you want this to be about Laurence. Feeling unheard, angry, and against the system, you keep saying Laurence whenever you say that. But, you're angry and upset and hurt also because of Pietro too, aren't you?" Tyron stared at Tony, his jaw tightening. Tears free in his brown eyes and Tyron turned around so he didn't show it to Tony.

"I got work to do," he muttered, going for the ladder.

"You couldn't have done anything, Tyron," Tony tried to tell him. "It wasn't your fault. He was to far away. You couldn't do anything about that. You shouldn't-"

"Shut up!" Tyron finally screeched, his entire body trembling with anger. "Jus' shut up! Ya wront! Ya wrong! What's the use of mutation if ya can't even use it to save his life!? The one thing he needed and I couldn't get to him fast enough! I loved him, I loved him, an' now 'e's gone." Tyron sniffed, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks again. He didn't want to cry in front of Tony, especially about Pietro.

"It's okay," Tony said peacefully.

"S'not," he sniffed, rubbing his nose. "I jus'... 'E made me happy," he murmured. "Just as much as Chris did. I wanted if to be him. I wanted to love him, Tony. It wasn't fair. It wasn't."

"I know. I understand, Tyron, but all this - rioting and destorying cities - is this what he would've wanted?"

Tyron stared at the man. Then, he turned away. "I have to go," he murmured.

"Wait, Tyron," he reached out to grab his arm, but Tyron yanked it away.

"Don' touch me!" He snapped, and then his eyes widened, as if he were surprised by his own words. A second later, his glare returned and he turned again and ran.

Tyron did not look back.