He could deal with a lot of things.

Pain.

He lived with it his entire life.

Frustration.

He was walking agitation.

Bitter Cold.

Chilly weather hadn't affected him since his early teens.

But it was hunger, hunger that quickly became ruler of him. That which controlled him and led him to do some really, really stupid things.

He couldn't ignore hunger, not really. It would start as a grumble, work it's way into an empty pit that actually hurt when focused upon; and then lastly the urge would rise, the need for the filling of the appetite, the undeniable, unavoidable reaction that more often than not led him to getting into a lot of trouble.

That night was no different.

But if only it didn't lead into running into her.

If only.

One could more than dwell on the if onlys lately.

If only the mutant registration act hadn't passed.

If only Sentinels weren't created and improved upon after every encounter.

If only mutants weren't hunted down and killed.

If only days weren't long and nights weren't so silent.

If only.

He unlike other's, actually had a place to get some real food rather easily. Maybe he should have gone into the gas station he passed by on the way, or the grocery store that looked relatively safe that night. But he didn't. For he was tired of canned food; greasy hot dogs and bitter coffee, sick of pasteurized meats and dry bread. So he went to the only place he could.

Franks'.

How he had even made friends with the old man was a story in itself, how the guy and his wife actually tried to help him, and even fed him home cooked meals, was another thing entirely. Even if he did have to sit through their subtle religious hints, that made the food go down a little more quickly than it should have.

But he always went back when desperation for some sort of normal human contact took hold of him. It didn't happen often, but of course, that night, out of all the nights.. it had to happen.

If only.

He knew something was wrong when he parked the car, he didn't even have to lean over to see that the lights weren't on. The cat that was usually lying in the window not there. He should have driven away then, shouldn't have taken the keys out of the ignition and walked to the front door, should have minded his own business and gone back to the gas station just a quarter of a mile away.

But he had a chance of being recognized every time he did that. Especially since they started installing the new "improved" security cameras; the ones that were linked to the mutant registration database that could snap your picture and alert the authorities before you even finished microwaving the cheap, rubbery cheeseburger that had a knack for always overcooking itself.

Yes, he had dealt with that before, even if he was getting better at avoiding the automated informers. One time though, he had nearly gotten himself killed, the only thing that had saved him was how the young kid behind the counter had started acting rather strange; looking at him even more openly necessarily for someone in his position. He had stared hard at that boy, making the kid gulp nervously as he backed away slowly from the counter. And that was when he knew.. The tremors started then as his would be captors arrived; chaotic actions that led him to his near capture..

But that was months ago, he had gotten less careless. Obsessively so.

So maybe the tiredness was what made him continue on, even thought maybe it should have made him do the complete opposite. He was knocking on the door before he even knew he was standing on the porch. He hadn't expected the thing to give out under the weight of his hard knuckles; the darkness to seem more complete as the night spread the moonlight into the usually warm doorway.

Emptiness.

And then he almost tripped. His head snapping downward, a rather natural reaction to such a thing.

If only.

If only he hadn't looked down.

Frank and his wife Debbie.

Dead.

He didn't have to lean down and check. He had seen enough death in the last two years, that recognizing it was second nature.

They had been killed. And he couldn't help thinking it was because of him.

The sounds rushed back to him that had been lacking since he discovered the bodies.

It was twisted bliss that filled him when he realized someone was behind him. Cold unrestrained anger that burned deep and hard that got him moving fast and out of the way of the first bullet shots. The feeling of the lifeless bodies behind him that kept him going forward.

Fire burned relentlessly, thrusting forth and around him as he lit it from a flamethrower that he had customized himself when the nightmare started. It worked flawlessly, giving him what he needed, fueling his retribution, burning through the fire proof clothing of the mutant catching militia, material that might as well have been cotton.. Yells and screams filled the air. Fire continued to build until it smoldered and died, thick smoke taking its place.

No one was moving any more.

No human anyway.

That was when the Sentinels appeared out of the night sky. The ground shaking underneath his feet as they landed. His breathing already strained, his vicious smile of victory fading into a loathsome frown, until it turned upwards into a crazed grin.

He could take them too.

He cursed loudly, shouting obscenities at the towering tin men. Their only response was a synchronized command for surrender. He told them loudly what he thought of that idea. And showed them his answer just as swiftly.

Two were taken care of, not as quickly as he would have liked, but they still weren't going to be getting up off the street unless someone brought along a king Kong sized spatula with them.

But there was still one left.

And he could barely stand. His vision a cloudy thing, that seemed worse in the darkness.

That's when he decided to make a run for it.

He didn't get far.

Another Sentinel appeared in front of him. And soon enough he was blocked in.

Closer they came to him. He backed up only to back into the other. Until he couldn't move.

"Surrender Mutant."

Sensations came back to him as he felt a cool breeze move his jacket against him, his fingers feeling as if they were made of elastic, his arms no better. He could use a good stretch, a couple hours of sleep. And.. some food.. But then he realized.. He was no longer hungry. Not in the least.

He laughed rather painfully then.. It echoed strangely through him. Stopping suddenly when visions of what was in the house behind him came into his minds eye. He straightened out, lashing out his right hand as a flame built and exploded in front of him.

He felt the heat for one intense second. He welcomed it, welcomed the end that would be by his own hands; knowing it would be moments before it engulfed him and the Sentinels as well. But then something crashed into him, at the same time a flash of red shot above his head.. He heard commands being shouted in an assured, controlled voice.

A familiar voice. One from his past.

His body was still moving, but not by his doing. The ground rushed underneath him, scenery changing as it was replaced by new surroundings. Until the world slowed down and centered. He was then dropped rather roughly onto the ground.

"I got him."

He turned to look at whoever was speaking, but all he saw was a flash of blue bleeding into the darkness, heading toward the sounds of battle off in the distance. He turned around once more, trying to stand and failing. His vision circling around him.

"Y'ok?" John? "A hesitant pause. "... Pyro?"

Gently hands on his arm, someone leaning down on the ground near him. His vision trying to focus on the person before him, his ears taking in the sound of the voice.

Her voice.

That voice.

If only.

If only he hadn't passed out.