In a small room of metal and stifling darkness, a boy with black hair, aristocratic features, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes, no older than ten, wearing an orange, worn-out jumpsuit, sat patiently in the room's corner, facing the room's steel, bolted door.
Around his neck was a steel, electronic collar, glowing faintly in the room.
The room had a stagnant smell of stale air and earth, with a pervasive, muted silence. However, just barely, the boy could faintly hear the sounds of screams and bullets and feel faint vibrations every now and then on the metal floor.
For months, he didn't know how long, the boy had been trapped there, experimented on like some animal. Studied and observed like some goddamn science experiment!
The boy took a calming breath, his hand clenching his clothes tightly. The suppressed hatred was starting to rage to the surface as his escape grew closer.
His hope to be rescued was the only reason he had allowed himself to continue living this half-life, unrealistic as it may be.
The boy had long since concluded that escaping on his own was impossible. There was no clever plan to be made, no prisoner uprising to instigate, or guards to manipulate. It wasn't some fairy tale or fantasy novel. It was reality, where prisons kept prisoners in, bullets killed, and the collars that restricted their powers were tamper proof.
If there were any means of escape, he would have found it.
After a dozen or so minutes, the constant gun fire had lessened, becoming irregular as the last of the guards were stamped out, or so he assumed. Finally, silence ensued completely as far as he could tell, the last noise or vibration having been minutes ago.
Now, all he had to do was wait for his unknown savior or new owner. That was fine though, if there was one thing the boy had learned during his time in captivity it was patience.
As time passed, the boy unconsciously started to rub the numbers tattooed into his left arm with his thumb, a habit he had developed there. Subject 132; that's what they had called him, leaving a permanent reminder etched into his skin.
The only thing that stopped him from pacing was his little remaining self control and the room's small width—a little over five feet.
Finally—after what could have been minutes or hours—the steel door was ripped off its hinges and locks by some invisible force and thrown into the corridor beyond.
The boy's eyes widened.
Fear and relief dawned on him quickly as he realised that only a mutant could do that, and the only mutant he knew to be capable of that was Magneto.
Sure enough, a man stepped into the doorway. In the dim lighting, he could make out the man's tall stature and his metallic helmet.
The boy's breath caught in his throat as Magneto raised his hand in a casual gesture and the collar tore in half.
Instantly, he felt the thrumming, endlessly energy humming beneath his skin and he gained awareness of the countless atoms and particles that made up his surroundings. He could sense it; the entire facility's infrastructure, the dead bodies, the destroyed doors and rooms. Most importantly, he could sense the outside, feel the air brush against his senses like it would his skin.
Subject 132's eyes snapped open. "Thank you… Magneto?"
Magneto nodded, extending his hand, and the boy took it gracefully. In a swift motion, Magneto pulled him to his feet. "There's no need for thanks, boy; this… this never should have been allowed to happen in the first place."
The boy nodded.
He could make out fury and righteous indignation etched onto on Magneto's features, as if the world had failed him. That was a feeling he knew well.
"Are… are the others safe?" The boy managed to ask, feeling like his throat was closing in.
"Mostly," he replied, grimacing darkly, "but not all. Can you walk?"
The boy nodded, strangling the emotions inside him; there would be time to deal with that later.
"Follow me, then," the man said, taking his hand gently as he started to walk down the corridor with the boy. "Your suffering is over. I promise."
The boy laughed mockingly but not unkindly at his words. "You shouldn't promise things you can't control. Thanks anyways, though."
Magneto sighed softly in response in a way that expressed profound sadness.
They walked silently from then on. Moving through metal corridors and hallways, past bullet torn walls, shredded bodies; soldiers and scientists. The air was metallic, smelling of blood, and he could hear the sound of blood dripping on metal.
As they walked, the boy made sure to keep an eye out for his fellow prisoners. There were 11 of them in total as far as he knew—himself included. Fewer now, he supposed. There used to be at least 146; subject 146 was evidence of that. Like him, they were kids, most younger than him. And of course, they were all mutants.
They weren't allowed to interact much, especially with him. However, their existence gave them some solace in the knowledge that they weren't alone. From what little he knew of them, the boy had gleaned that those who survived did so not because of their power, strength, or even economic value. No, their survival was predicated solely on whether their mutation was beyond scientific understanding or not.
"What's the date? The boy asked suddenly, stepping over a body dispassionately.
"July 18, 1975."
Four and a half months, then, subject 132 thought.
Looking at the blood painting the walls and bodies littering the floor, the boy felt neither the thrill of revenge nor a child's horror. He doubted that even before the… ordeal, he would've felt compassion for the scum before him. Now, all he felt was disgust—and an iron resolve, the kind men of conviction feel when facing unspeakable evil.
These cannibals had violated the principles of human existence, operating on a morality of death. This was only the natural conclusion to their creed, to their evil.
The boy's time in purgatory was not a complete waste. Stuck in a cell as he was, he couldn't do much of anything, but he could think. And so that's what he did; he thought of his own morality and philosophy and his captors'.
After minutes of walking they had passed the parts of the facility familiar to him—the underground area. The design of the facility above ground was militaristic, but it allowed for a little light to pass through, enabling him to see Magneto more clearly.
The man, surprisingly enough, wore casual jeans and a t-shirt. He had short, dark hair and heavy, brown eyes. He was middle aged, and his expression was stern like steel tempered through tragedy.
This is it, he thought, staring out of the facility through where he assumed a thick metal door used to be as he walked down the corridor beside magneto.
Without hesitation, the boy sprinted down the corridor and out through the door, feeling simple joy in the action of his body. The moment he was out he took a deep breath of fresh air and laughed freely in triumph. He would never forget the pride—pride at his achievement of life—that seemed to hum under his skin and then settle deep in his bones, making him vibrate with restless weightlessness.
The sky was clear, shining a brilliant orange like the ocean's surface reflecting the sun's light. The sun itself was just peeking over the horizon, emanating a warm, golden glow that thawed the chilly air and illuminated the barren plains surrounding the compound.
For the first time, the boy took the place of his confinement totally. It was more of a fortress than anything. The building he had exited reminded him of a giant stone bunker, with fortifications peeking through the top where armed men would patrol. Surrounding it were tall watch towers, military vehicles, a high stone wall that was decimated on one side—likely Magneto's doing. Like everything else, the place was littered with dead soldiers, dented walls and torn structures.
Where the twenty foot wall was reduced to rubble, the young mutant could make out children sitting in a huddle, wearing orange uniforms, gazing out at the sunrise in silence.
The boy started towards them in a slow jog, Magneto not far behind him.
Seven, he thought sadly as he neared them; three were missing. The boy didn't know any of them particularly well, only being on a first name basis with a few, but their death saddened him and infuriated him even more so at the injustice.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," the young mutant said loudly as he neared them, causing them to flinch as their heads snapped in his direction.
He put on a charming smile for their benefit as he waved kindly.
"Will!" A boy with a head of long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes called out to him energetically. "I knew that place wouldn't get the best of you! And you guys doubted me."
"Just like you knew the other three lived, too, right, John?" said another boy with pale skin, red eyes, and curly, black hair. "I'm glad you made it, Will."
William stood beside their sitting forms. "Me too, Mark. I haven't lived enough to let death claim me just yet. I'm too greedy for that," he said with a helpless shrug.
A girl, around eight or seven, with silver hair and red, swollen eyes from crying snorted. "Really? I think I've had just about enough of life."
William smiled in radiant mockery—not at the girl, but at the lie that fooled her. "You've mistaken life for the absence of death; it's not. Life is… I haven't experienced it enough to describe it, but the moments I have lived were the happiest moments in my existence; those that casually disregard it as you have just done are either ignorant—or evil, like those who tortured us."
The girl said nothing in response, only trembling where she sat, her arms resting on her knees and her head half buried in them, as if hiding from the world. The boy's words had neither alleviated the trauma on her blank face or the exhaustion in her posture, but the faint glimmer in her grey eyes told William he had rekindled something snuffed out. Hope, perhaps.
"Yeah, Rachel! What he said," John chimed in, nodding enthusiastically, "It can only get better from here!"
William shook his head with a wry grin and patted the energetic kid on the back. He'd come to learn that the range of John's emotions went from overbearing enthusiasm at best to cautious optimism at worst. "Never change for anything, John."
John laughed. "You too, man!"
William vaguely heard Mark slapping his forehead at John's infectious laughter.
One of the youngest girls—perhaps five—yelped, pointing up at a large blue van floating silently over them. The others jumped to their feet startled. William only watched in wonder at Magneto's display of magnetism as he gently set the van on the road beyond the gate now reduced to a pile of stone and twisted metal.
"I'm afraid I'll have to cut this reunion short; this place will be swarmed by government agents soon, and we'd better not be here for that when they do," Magneto said as he walked over to them.
"And where will you be taking us?" Mark asked, eyes narrowed.
Magneto gave his best comforting smile as he gazed upon the frightened children. "To a refuge of sorts, where you'll all be able to learn in peace," Magneto informed softly.
"I-I want my Mommy!" A boy, only three or four, cried out with choked sobs.
William's expression softened in compassion. Carefully, he picked up the kid softly, supporting him with one arm as he rested the boy against his shoulder and rubbed his back with his other hand in a gentle rhythm. The boy immediately wrapped his small arms around William's neck in a constricted grip as he cried into it.
Magneto sighed heavily, as if burdened by a great weight. "Unfortunately, if you were to reunite with your families you would most certainly be captured again. Your families will be notified of your situation if it's safe, though. We can discuss your future later; we simply don't have the time right now. I can only promise that you'll be protected and taken care of," Magento said, his tone laced with empathy and urgency.
There was a pause of silence, before William broke it. "He risked his life saving ours. I think that earns him my trust and more besides, so I'm going with him. It can't be worse than staying here, and if it is, I'll survive that, too," The young mutant stated, his words precise and fluent with an undertone of resolve, smiling in grim conviction.
Based on what he observed and knew of him, William had concluded that Magneto was likely sincere, and that he was a safer bet than whatever foreign government might find them. However, the others were simply too scared and traumatized to trust anyone, so he let them depend on him to make the decisions, to take their worries and make them his own for a while.
For a moment, William gazed upon them, looking each of them in the eyes unflinchingly before he started walking to the van with controlled grace, nodding casually to Magneto as he passed him.
As if a silent consensus had been reached, six young mutants followed after him a moment later. For most, their eyes shifted around, searching for enemies, their steps slow and cautious, as if they didn't trust the ground they walked on. Their posture, though, reminded him of a tall tree defiantly resisting crushing winds of despair. He liked to think that was because of him.
The boy he was carrying had been lulled to sleep, and he took care not to wake him as he slid the van door open, revealing its dark, empty interior. Gently, William laid the kid resting against his shoulder in the back of the truck. He frowned at the van's hard, cool metal, but there was little he could do.
Once all the kids had settled in, William stepped outside the van and gazed down on the facility that had been the source of so much hardship.
"What're you doing, boy?" Magneto asked harshly, "we need to leave!"
"One second," Will replied as he raised his arms high, pointing them to the sky above the facility.
For the second time in his life, and the first time in four months, William activated his mutation. His eyes turned a bright luminescent white, except for the edges; they were a stark, neon red. The air itself seemed to still in hushed silence, as if caught in an invisible grip, and then it vibrated.
High above the facility, a pin-prick of white appeared, as if the sky had birthed a star. Then, it fell. As it slowly fell, it grew into a giant, arcing wave of pure white with a red tinted edge. By the time it reached the facility, it had reached half its size. Even before they collided, the facility's roof started to melt, like chocolate under the sun's light. Then the flare of plasma hit, disintegrating everything its path and melting its surroundings. When the white wave had dissipated, all that was left of the facility was a molten crater.
William leaned against the van heavily; the attack had taken all the concentration he had, and his mind was exhausted even if the power contained in his body still felt boundless.
It was worth it though, to destroy all records of their existence and powers, and to let the three mutants who died there rest in peace, before their bodies were desecrated and dissected.
"Boy," Magneto said, looking at him with wide eyes, "what's your name?"
"William," the boy said with a heavy breath as he gazed triumphantly at the destruction, "William Aurelian."