Yeah. A new chapter. Who woulda thunk? Please read and review, and more will come. As a side note, I want to shamelessly plug a couple of RPG boards that I highly recommend. (What doesn't need advertising these days?)
X-Men Evolution: http://allylefey. (For some reason the link wont show up. PM me if you're interested)(Needs characters. A few of the available: Bobby Drake, Emma Frost, Beast, Mystique) Apocalypse plot in effect. I play Roberto Da Costa if you want to contact me.
X-Men Evolution-Next Generation: http://z4. (PM for link) All your favs from X-Men Evolution are all grown up. With children. Drama drama drama. Might I add that it is an OC paradise. I play Roberto Da Costa on this one too. Along with coughs a few others. Join in on the fun.
This time around, Pietro was able to navigate his way through the darkened hall and into the rec-room of the base with no difficulty at all. Instead of relieving Pietro of worry, this only made him more nervous. Colossus, Pyro, and Gambit were huddled around the large table, immersed in a hushed discussion, and all three looked up in unison when Pietro entered the room. No one said a word, and they observed him with such grave faces that Pietro was inclined to leave. Instead, he remained by the door for a moment, hands twitching at his sides, pretending that he didn't notice the air of foreboding that was almost making him physically sick. Clearing his throat, Pietro glanced around the room anxiously before actually crossing it. As he passed the table at which the three Acolytes were seated, Gambit gave a solemn nod in his direction while Colossus and Pyro stared on. No one said it, but Pietro knew exactly what they were thinking. Dead man walking.
Drawing all the courage he could manage, from an uncharted reserve, Pietro pressed on down the hallway of steel to meet his fate, or, ironically enough, his maker. There was no doubt in his mind that Magneto was going to kill him. Or come close to it. As his feet carried him, step after step against his will, Pietro tried not to wonder how he would be punished this time. There was nothing he could do but anticipate the worst. No matter how hard he tried to find ways to escape, Magneto was not one to be ignored or disobeyed, and Pietro cursed himself for being stupid enough to think that he could slip through the cracks so easily.
Finally Pietro stood before the great door of Magneto's office. The bright, fluorescent lights reflected into his weary eyes off of the metal surface in front of him. He didn't feel the need to summon the energy it would take to announce himself. Maybe Magneto had stepped out for a bit. Maybe he had dropped dead. This bout of hopeful wishing was silenced by Magneto himself.
There it was. The hulking metal mass of door slid to the side. He was done. Absolutely no turning back now. Magneto knew where he was and Pietro knew he wasn't going to be able to escape until he was finished with whatever he was planning to do. Every muscle in Pietro's body tightened, and he half-expected to hear some sort of cracking sound as he re-adjusted his joints to march through the doorway. But there was no sound other than that of silent defeat.
The lights were unbelievably brighter inside the room, and Pietro felt a headache pounding away near the base of his skull as he took the familiar place in front of his father's desk. But this was worse than all those other times. The vibrant glare of the light forced everything out of hiding. There was nothing you could fear that couldn't be seen, and that made Pietro even more uncomfortable than he already was. He felt like he was inwardly choking through his throat, but he didn't open his mouth to expose the tight, heaving he was experiencing on the inside. Magneto would only enjoy that, and he wasn't going to give the satisfaction of knowing how badly he was already affecting Pietro.
Magneto sat, as usual, in his rotating chair, and Pietro could not recall a time when such a menacing look was ever directed towards him. Pietro could sense the silent anger behind the desk. The dangerous glint in the cold eyes. The clenched fists resting on the metal surface.
"S-sir," Pietro tried to stand tall, but they both knew he wasn't fooling anyone.
"Quicksilver," the word was thrown like a sharp knife through the thick, pressing air.
Pietro twitched slightly at the sound of his codename. If Magneto wasn't even going to call his son by his actual name, that meant that Pietro was not a person in his eyes. Not a living breathing individual capable of thoughts and ideas. It happened frequently whenever he was strategizing, or sending the Acolytes out on missions. He often treated his lackeys like they were machines, only meant to serve and obey his every command. Pietro wasn't a lackey. He was Magneto's son. This obviously changed nothing in Magneto's eyes.
"Why do you think you are here?"
Pietro blinked. They both knew perfectly well why Pietro was there. He was there because he hadn't been doing exactly what Magneto had asked him to do.
"Because I didn't give you all of Xavier's 'secret plans'," Pietro responded sarcastically, with a roll of his eyes.
Magneto was quiet, and Pietro could feel the inner fury radiating from his every pore. Pietro hadn't meant to answer like that, but it was his standard defense mechanism and he had forgotten himself and the position he was in for that brief second. He was tired of this. Tired of Magneto telling him he was worthless, which was bound to happen next. Tired of being his father's pawn. Sick and tired of everything. He didn't want to have to worry anymore about Magneto or what he could do. Maybe he would get lucky and Magneto had already decided to kill him. It had just occurred to him that there was no reason to care, and this was empowering. Pietro's stance was defiant, daring Magneto to do his worst.
"…You are here because you deliberately disobeyed my orders."
"Yeah. Isn't that what I just said?"
Pietro could see the conflict in Magneto's features as his brain registered what was happening. Pietro was directly challenging him, and Pietro enjoyed watching his father struggle with what to do about it.
"What has gotten into you boy? You dare to speak to me like this?" he slowly rose from his seat, hands on the desk in front of him.
Pietro pretended to think about this, "Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?"
He watched with a smirk as something exploded inside of the man facing him. His heart was beating a million times per second, and the adrenaline coursing through his sickly veins. His life was in the balance, and he was willingly setting his head on the chopping block. What did he care? What the fuck did he have to live for anymore? There wasn't a point.
The axe was in the executioner's hands now. The only thing left to do was see if he would swing it.
They stared each other down, father to son. Pietro's wide, reckless eyes filled with haughty anticipation against Magneto's narrow, enraged ones. Suddenly, Magneto threw out his hands, and the desk along with everything on it, tipped sideways and shot straight into Pietro's body, thrusting him backwards into the wall.
Pietro let out a sharp yelp, his breathing marked with short, labored gasps. A few ribs were broken under the immense weight pressing him against the wall. It took everything he had to push the desk away enough so that he could move. Pain was the only thing he could feel or think. One of the sharp objects Magneto had always prominently displayed on the desk punctured his thigh, and he winced feeling it move with him.
Magneto slowly approached him, and though his face showed nothing, Pietro could see the pleasure behind his eyes. Pietro's breathing quickened, his chest rapidly expanding and detracting as his father drew closer. So, was this the end? Pietro had gotten what he had wanted, but now that he had it, he didn't want to die like this. At the mercy of Magneto.
"Now you see," Magneto said, getting so close to his son's face so as to take in every detail of the suffering and anguish that was his doing, "Those who disobey me always get what they deserve. You will serve as a lesson to anyone intending to do what you have done. You have died in vain…my son."
Pietro choked, the raspy breathing continued as he took in everything Magneto was saying. It was all so typically Magneto too. The arrogance. The superiority complex. Anger emblazoned in Pietro's eyes as he was granted a surge of strength. A slender hand curled around a pen knife on the floor, out of sight.
Pietro opened his mouth and a mirthless laugh was accompanied by a trickle of blood that streamed down the side of his cheek.
"I…am not…your fucking son."
Pietro lodged the pen knife into Magneto's exposed throat. Magneto's eyes widened, and he fell backwards from the blow. Pietro wedged his way out from behind the desk, and ignored the protests of his damaged body. He needed to get out. He pulled a pen knife stuck in his leg with one sharp pull and tossed it to the ground. Pietro hobbled to the door and out, knowing that he almost certainly was not going to make it. But he needed to try. The pain was unbelievable, but he needed to get out. He had to try.
His breathing continued at short, pressing intervals, as he weaved through the halls like a rat in a maze. Finally, he made it out. Alive. He might have passed the Acolytes at one point, but he didn't know if they had seen him. Gasping for air, he leaned against the grimy wall of the warehouse. His mind and his body were numb. Completely numb. There was no way in hell he was going to get back to the Institute. But he started walking again all the same, blood trickling from his thigh and his mouth. He felt broken, but only in the sense of his body. He himself was strong. He done it. He had stood up to Magneto, and there was a chance he would never have to deal with him again, but Pietro wasn't even going to hope.
It was in an out-of-the way alley that Pietro laid his body to rest next to a set of trashcans to sleep.