The room was dark, and as you'd dwell further into it, you'd hear the wooden planks that made up the floor creek under your foot. You tried to be quiet, but the house spoke for you. It was almost pitchblack, but you could still find your way. On the walls there were paintings and shelves, on the shelves there were photos. Photos of people outside this gigantic mansion, but the mansion looked in better shape... And so did the people in the pictures. The pictures were old, certainly over a decade, maybe two old. You'd continue to wander in the seemingly empty house, till you reached a staircase. The flight of stairs lead down into a basement. You gently pushed the old door that revealed the basement. The Basement was dusty and you swore you could hear rats.

You dwelled further into it, untill you came to a door marked "Office – Knock Before Entering" You thought it was silly, but a notion came over you, and you knocked on the door before entering. As you walked into the door, your eyes widened and you felt surprised over the room you had found. A fireplace was burning, and the room had a nice brown color to it.

"Welcome.. How can I help you?" The bald man, sitting in a chair asked you. The man had a glass of scotch in his hand, icecubes in it that he sipped from ever so often.
"If you are who I think you are.. You already know" You said out loud. The man chuckled.

"Certainly. I do. I take it you want to start from the beginning then?"

"It all started in.."

New York 1946
26th April, 3:41 A.M

The flashing lights of the police car had stopped at the beach, a body was found. A ambulance was on it's way. The two officers talked to people, noteably the guy who had found the body. The body was mutilated. It was a woman's corpse. Blonde hair, average build, blue eyes. Pale complexion, caucasian. She wore a elegant dress and plenty of jewelry. She had a wide cut up her left side, going all the way from her hip up to her shoulder, and then on the back, she had two crossing cuts etched into her body. It was the second person the past month and a half to show up like this, out of the water and up on a shore in the city, with matching cuts, and no belongings stolen as far as the cops could see.

A man stood a bit away, leaning against his car. He wore a long coat, hat, dress-shirt, pants and a vest under the coat. He had quite the stubble on his face, and his features were rough. He sniffed into the air, using his enhanced senses, he knew exactly what the victim was. He growled as he got into his car and drove off.

***

9 A.M
Queens:

Samuel was just waking up. He didn't have to, he had nothing specific to do, well, nothing work-related. He had worked till 2 a.m last night at the bar, but he had had enough rest. He was anxious. He wanted to head to the 'institute'. For today was officially the first day. Sure. He knew everyone already, more or less. But today was the first offical day at the 'institute'. He had been waiting for this for almost an entire year. He would shower, shave and get dressed, plain shirt, jeans and leather jacket along with his boots he got out of his apartment. He walked around the corner and got donuts. A big box of them, enough for everyone. He would've stayed for a cup of coffee, flirted with the waitresses and what not, but not today. He had more important bussiness to get to. Samuel scoffed, as he headed back towards his house, and got into the run-down piece of junk he called his baby. It was a chevrolet Impala, and it sure as rain was run down, but it was Samuel's, and it got him from place to place without too much of a hassle.

Kimberly woke up and got dressed. Despite being one of the many people that the war wasn't kind to, she insisted to herself to dress like a lady. She picked a bright red cocktail dress that was a tad small but worked on her. She herself had nothing to worry about when it came to the institute. She knew her way around the world and this was just a part of another level of the world. She wondered if it was possible that her power could expand or this was the end of the road for development, she had many questions to ask the professor. She wondered if she would be the first one to the institute and if so if the professor could aid her in her questions.

9:47 AM
New York Train Station

It was always the case that the very last few minutes before arriving at a particular destination always seemed to take the longest, and in the case of Yukiko Masuyo that one strange fact couldn't have been more true. Staring out of her train window with her leather bag of everything that had ever belonged to her clutched tightly to her chest, she waited as finally, the train was slowing down as it entered the New York Train Station terminal. The small car Yukiko had spent a number of weeks in was then suddenly in a quick bustle as the other five people sharing the car with her began to get up and gather their things and then suddenly they were gone, leaving only Yukiko and an older woman, looking to be in her early seventies. Yukiko set down her bag on the now empty bench in front of her and stood up, offering a hand to the older lady as she struggled to get up.

"Thank you so much Yukiko, you certainly are a special girl." The older woman said, taking the young Asian's hand and got to standing. The relationship between Yukiko and the old lady started about a week ago when Yukiko had gotten off of a ship and boarded the train to New York. The older woman, who she now new as Hazel, took pity on the girl traveling alone and gave her a bit of advise. As Yukiko was sporting her red and black Kimono at the time, Hazel took it upon herself to suggest to Yukiko that a change in clothes might be in order considering her...background. Yukiko didn't understand much English, and therefore wasn't sure what the old woman wanted. When the train stopped to pick up and unload more passengers in a smaller city on the edge of New York, Hazel got off the train, on her own, and bought Yukiko some Americanized clothes that would fit Yukiko. From then on, the trip to New York was a pleasant one as Yukiko had made a friend and even learned some English. Unfortunately, New York was not Hazel's stop, only a place to stretch her legs for a few hours.

Grabbing her bag with her free arm, and lending her other arm to the old woman, Yukiko helped Hazel off of the train and led her through the busy terminal to a nearby bench where they both took a seat. Hazel took Yukiko's small, soft hands in her own worn and withered ones and looked Yukiko straight in the eye.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you Yukiko, I wish you all of the best of your new life here in New York." Hazel said, a soft twinkle in her green eyes. A wad of something Yukiko could identify as paper was exchanged between the old woman's hands and hers and upon investigating, she found a fifty-dollar bill in her hands. Yukiko returned the smile and bowed her head respectfully to the old woman.

"And...to you as well, Elder Hazel." Her English wasn't good by any means, and her speech was slow as if searching for the right words, but her general idea was understood.

Yukiko then stood and waved to the older lady before disappearing into the mass crowd of Americans. Right off the back she started receiving some strange looks and whispers behind her back, she could only imagine what America would have been like if she had shown up in her Kimono...God Bless Hazel.

Finally out of the terminal and onto the streets of New York, Yukiko took in her surroundings with a deep breath. This is where her new life would start, but just how on earth was she going to find the people her father had been associated with in a city like this? She had no names, no addresses, no phone numbers...

No, the only thing she had on her person was the clothes she was wearing, a bag with a few essential items, and now the fifty-dollar bill wadded up in her hand which she quickly stuffed into her petite bra for better protection. Not that she really knew the value of a $50 in the United States as she wasn't accustomed to American Currency, but she would have protected the gift even if it had just been a penny.

First thing was first though, Yukiko needed something to eat. She spotted an array of different areas where she could spend her money on a good meal, though most looked to be expensive and unwelcoming to 'her kind.' Suddenly, as her brown eyes spotted on a darker looking building with hardly a customer inside, a voice seemed to echo in her head.

"Go inside"

She quickly turned around to see if anyone was speaking to her, but not a soul was there that seemed to be paying attention to her. Again the voice sounded in her head.

"Go inside Yukiko. You will find a friend."

Hesitant, Yukiko took a few steps forward. It must have been this American air, jumbling up her mind like this. Still, she decided on going inside of the run-down cafe' and was immediately greeted by a thick wall of cigar smoke. Coughing, Yukiko barreled through the smoke and made it to the front desk.

What the hell did American's eat here?

"Uh, a bubble beverage?" Yukiko asked the grizzly looking man at the counter, who responded by just staring her down blankly.

"I think she means bubble tea." A gruff voice behind her stated and then suddenly, the hand of the man behind her was on her shoulder. Taking a surprised step side-ways, she looked to the stranger, about to punch his face in when she immediately recognized the man.

"Logan San?"

Logan, better known as Wolverine, gave Yukiko a great big smile and brought her into a hug, kissing her on top of her head.

"The hell are you doing in New York kid?"

For the first time in years, Atticus woke to the rising of the sun rather than the rising of the moon. It was a new beginning, of sorts. Today he was a new man. Packing his things, he looked around the meager apartment he had been calling home for the past two years. Few of the fixtures worked properly anymore, but blessedly, the refrigerator had never once failed on him. He still wasn't totally used to the idea of eating regularly, even though he had been eating three square meals a day since he had begun... hiring himself out. There had always been the constant threat of an employer backing out of a contract, or deciding he hadn't done enough to fulfill his end. He'd seen too many others like him fall prey to the vile impulses of the crime bosses who hired his type. Male mutants in that line of work were usually put down like rabid dogs if they failed; females had to endure worse. Most crime bosses weren't shy about their... appetites. Perhaps Katrina was better off. No. He couldn't let himself think like that. He still missed her, and he cursed himself for becoming a part of the very system that had taken her from him.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass yanked him out of his thoughts. Feeling something wet on his hand, he looked down, to notice shards of glass sticking out of his palm and the remains of a bottle of aftershave broken on the floor of his bathroom. The solution mingled with his blood, stinging harshly, as he picked the glass from his hand and discarded it. After running his hand under the tap and wrapping it, he found a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the glass, emptying it into a bin. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had navigated his morning routine as if on autopilot. Taking a towel off the rack, he wiped his face of any remaining shaving cream and rubbed his temples, clearing his thoughts.

Moving into the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee, then dug out some eggs and set to work frying them, and he jammed a couple pieces of bread into his run-down toaster. When his breakfast was ready, he sat down at his shabby table with a cracked plate, eating mechanically. Hearing a gunshot followed by a woman's scream, his gaze instinctively shot to the window, but he saw nothing. Probably on the other end of the alley. Someday, he'd come back to this place and set things right. But for now, his best chance of bettering himself lay in the hands of Xavier and his institute. After finishing his breakfast, he handwashed his dishes and mug, replaced them in their cabinet, and returned to his bedroom, grabbing his suitcase and a few other belongings, including an envelope and a set of keys. He threw on his long, moth-eaten tweed coat and a newsboy cap, took one last look at his apartment, and shut the door for good.

After heading down two flights of stairs to the ground level, he found the landlord's office, where he placed his keys and envelope on the desk, and told the landlord he'd be leaving, and that the envelope contained rent money for the next six weeks. With a smile that didn't quite touch his startling green eyes, he turned his back on the apartment, and with it, his former life.

Now to remember how to get to the Institute. He still had most of the map memorized from his breaking and entering assignment, but that was across rooftops and through back alleys, which wasn't exactly viable in broad daylight. Fortunately, he knew the city well enough to find his way with one or two missteps, and eventually he found himself at the door of the Institute. Feeling an odd mix of thrill and trepidation, he entered the building, completely at a loss for what to expect. His first sight was a girl, or the back of one, to be more precise. Curly blond hair cascaded in elegant waves, breaking against an expanse of navy blue wool. He slid up next to her, silent as an owl gliding along the ground searching for prey, taking in the interior with large green eyes, magnified further by the coke bottle frames he wore. "Hell of a place," he said, and immediately regretted it when his voice echoed, shattering the silence.

They say the Bomb was the explosion heard around the world. They say there was a Mushroom cloud like the Earth has never seen before. They say everything in sight of the damn thing literally turned to dust. They say it shook the very foundation of the world; literally, and figuratively. These are words representing sentiments that no one, none of 'them', have even fully wrapped their heads around. Let alone understand. If they're honest with you.

And 'they', those G-men, never are honest with you. I can tell you that from experience. But there's something else I can tell you from experience: It's the power of God, that bomb. 'The Bomb.' Americans are proud of it. Proud of wielding such a flaming sword during such a dark, desperate, time in the history of mankind. I'm not proud of it. I'm not satisfied about it. I helped make it possible. When the first one was set off in New Mexico, I woke up from a dead sleep hundreds of miles away in Los Angeles.

When the second one went off, the first released in hostility, I felt it sudden and sharp like my heart had skipped a beat. When the third one hit...I'll never admit it aloud, but I sat down and cried. I hope God can forgive me for what I've helped to bring into this world, because I'm just not sure I can ever forgive myself. That's why I'm here. That's why I left the only family I had left.

Because I can't trust these G-Men with what I helped to create. That's why I had to become an X-Men.

New York City, New York.
East Eight Street 'Marquee Theater'.
April 26th, 1946. 08:00 AM.



The projector was stuck, repeating the same clip from the same Universal Newsreel. It had been stuck for an hour now, ever since a few minutes after the girl in the blue jeans, sneakers, and faded baby blue plaid button up had entered into the theater from a back door; a shadow slipping into a room that was nothing but shadows against the brightly lit contrast of the large screen at the front of the room displaying the images and playing the sounds from the projector room above the auditorium itself.

A few minutes into the newsreel that started with 'Breaking News!', introducing images taken from the very US Army Air Corps bomber that had flown the mission to the United States public for the first time, except for the girl that settled into the second row, in the very middle seat to get a seat front and center. To get a close look at the images she had, someway, somehow, seen before in her dreams. She had told herself that's all they were; dreams. But Estella Rey knew better. Someway, somehow.

She knew better.

After the first five minutes of the images on repeat, the few people also in the auditorium of the theater began to get restless. One white Italian young man craned his neck back, and gave the Projector Room a shout. "Yeah, I'm trying to fix it." Was the Projector Room's response. After another ten minutes, the Projectionist left the Projection Room, frustrated and mystified. He wouldn't be able to open the door to the Projector Room back up. The girl in the second row, middle seat, made certain of that as the black and white and shades of grey images kept on the screen before her; showering her face in shadow and light, a face that never once changed in expression or focus.

Her eyes never left the screen, her face never waivering from the hard stare as the same images cycled again, and again. And again.

"Sorry folks, having technical difficulties. The gal at the box office will give a refund if you get tired of waiting."

The girl didn't move. Her eyes never so much as blinked, her only movement the thumb of her right hand slowly running over the silver rosary beads wound around the height of her hand twice over, held up at a slight angle, supported from the right elbow resting on the narrow wooden arm of the theater chair in which her body was slumped into.

A black man waited thirty minutes of the same seconds long sequence of grainy video before finally allowing himself a deep, heavy, frustrated sigh and relucantly standing from his seat, and heading for the theater box office. The girl heard three other people in the morning theater crowd get up and walk out, muttering, complaining. Leaving her alone in the auditorium of the theater, in the second row, in the middle seat.

She even heard the the Projectionist trying to explain that the reel wouldn't dislodge from the projector, that he had no idea why the reel was repeating only the same seconds long sequence of images. That after coming down to make his announcement to the theater goers he couldn't get back inside the door. It wasn't locked, she thought she heard him tell his manager. It was just stuck.

She thought she heard the manager of the theater call it 'creepy' that the newsreel was repeating the same images, again and again, considering just what the images were on the screen. The girl thought she heard that, but it was no more than a faint echo in the back of her mind like Southern California waves bouncing off the back wall of a Malibu oceanside cave. Distant, easily missed, especially with her focus so tightly on keeping the Projection Door stuck shut, on keeping the reel repeating this few seconds of video, and only these images before her on the screen. The pictures she'd seen in her dreams, seen whenever she closed her eyes.



Salem Center, Westchester County, New York.
1407 Graymalkin Lane, Xavier Estate.
April 26th, 1946. 10:06 AM.

The day was blue and bright, not a single hint of clouds in the sky as the last traces of a morning chill were giving way to the easy warmth of the approaching noon hour. The man's Mansion bathed in the sunlight and the warmth as if the old house hadn't gotten nearly enough of either recently. New York was no Southern California, Estella had learned that harsh lesson just days before when she arrived at the house, a late spring snow dropping no more than an inch and a half of snow the color of angel wings over the Mansion and it's grounds.

It was nothing, just a mild spring snow. "Likely the last of the year," one of the local train station attendants had told her that day, casual as he could be. For a girl who'd never seen snow before, there was nothing casual about it. There would be no mistaking New York for Southern California. Still there was a charm to the place; rolling hills covered in a thick canopy of green trees on either side of the Hudson River's banks, not that many miles to the east of the Estate grounds. Wooded hills that melted into grassy plain that was framed in by a thick woods as the grounds of the Xavier Estate started, grass a rich forest green in color even days after a spring snow. Not even a mile behind the Estate the manicured back lawns of the Mansion met the lake on Estate grounds.

From hundreds and hundreds of feet into the late morning New York sky, Estella Rey could see it all below her, stretching into the horizon past where she could see as she floated high above the Mansion. Yesterday she'd set up her bedroom. She'd been fortunate to be one of the first girls to show up, being able to take a corner bedroom for her own. There was little by way of decoration or furniture in her room: a bed with simple dark wood stained footboard and headboard, a twin sized mattress inbetween. A small desk with a single drawer and wooden chair. A chest of drawers the same wood stain as the bed with a mid-sized mirror leaned against the wall atop it.

There was a leather bound Bible on the desk, a half dozen opened letters addressed to her, and writing stationary with pens on the desk and a metal writing lamp. All of it, Xavier had provided. She told him she could provide her own things, but he wouldn't hear of it. That, or he knew just how Estella had gotten the money she'd brought with her, hidden in a place she was certain none would find it.

Nor did the man seem to approve of her, a teenage girl, smoking cigarettes. She didn't smoke that many, but from time to time...she would. At first she'd consider smoking them near the lake, until she felt as if she was being watched even back towards the lake. So she had gone where she was certain she could get away from any one that might see her. The same place she had hid from gangsters, police, and US Army men before: she went to the sky. Dr. Oppenheimer had theorized she levitated herself using no more than magnetic forces, while the white wild haired old scientist, Albert, theorized that somehow she was breaking down the bonds of gravity to achieve her flight. Estella never said she felt like Oppenheimer was right.

But that was only because all the other scientists said that Mr. Enstein didn't always take being called 'wrong' very well. Even if they had all said this in low voices, when they were certain Albert wasn't going to hear them. And, as one young scientist had told her, "Physics and the elemental forces of nature work in a way that most minds just don't naturally accept. It's counter-intuitive. And Mr. Enstein, you see, he's earned the benefit of the doubt with his intuition."

Estella finished the cigarette as her toes gently met the expansive back porch of the Mansion, her heels touching down half a heartbeat after. There was dread in her heart, and for once it had nothing to do with Oppenheimer, Enstein, or the rest of the scientists she'd spent so much time with. Xavier had given her fair warning that today was the day that most other 'students' would begin to show up. She wasn't sure how she'd react to other people like her. After having minds like Enstein put her natural, intuitive, powers in scientific framing, and explained to her what she was doing, even suggesting other uses and pushing her limits. Always pushing her limits. Always trying to see if she could focus down far enough, with enough detail, to tell them how close they were. To see if she could tell them how far they had left to go.

They wanted the secrets of the universe from Estella Rey. Estella could only give them "hot or cold." Reading was the only thing that kept her mind off of it the thoughts of the men and their chalk boards and their 'quantum' and 'atomic' theories. If there was one thing Xavier's did not lack for, it was books. The library at the Mansion was expansive as it was massive. One of the scientists that kept in touch with her had suggested The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha, a Spanish novel by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra in his latest letter to her. A Spainish novel? That she could do.

Now, she thought as she stepped into the large library of Xavier's mansion, her eyes scanning what at times seemed an infinite array of book shelves filled to bursting ...if only I can find it here.

There was way too much to get his head around right now, the weather of New York City definitely in the averages as the hot summer days began to gradually creep into spring. It must had been barely coming to May as the festivals were all pretty done and the leaves in Central Park were all returning to their full glory. There was much to be noticed in the ever growing city of New York; for one, you couldn’t see any mountains ahead or anything that resembled the countryside that wasn’t some form of plant or artificial lake.

If there was one think you noticed about New York was how fast it appeared to grow in the span of a month. New buildings were appearing and there was much talk about ‘housing the veterans’ going on but it was rarely seen, something that sounded fairly exciting to some but hell to others who couldn’t be bothered moving elsewhere. All this chatter and everything the little human beings were all concerned about in their daily lives was definitely some interesting sounds of the city, but when you’re homeless, confused and lost it is probably not something you wouldn’t get jealous of.

The young man named after a negative attitude, a word he was often called when he was young wandered the streets in search of food and shelter, going by the name ‘Snark’. It wasn’t a real name, then again who needed a real name when the world didn’t want you to exist. The homeless were all just extras in the world that belonged nowhere in society because they just couldn’t fit in anywhere, family didn’t want them and if they didn’t have a family then that was just too bad for them. The boy had especially bad luck in his life; first he was abandoned, then he was wandering the streets and now he was wandering somewhere that was thousands of miles away from where he originally started with no idea how he got there. He wasn’t dead yet, so that was definitely a plus.

Just why exactly had he ended up here, he had no idea. He couldn’t remember a thing and several months had passed since then, like an extended drunken wander. This city was like an entirely new world to him and held its own worries and fears, but at least the food was still plentiful during the spring. Lots of visitors had come to New York since the war had ended as well as the returning mass who had otherwise fled or gone to war were now taking up space, the streets hosting even some veterans who held an undying hatred towards people of his origin. It was an uncomfortable place to be, yet it had its perks and mysteries while carrying its downsides such as less Japanese homeless to talk in private with and more gangs wandering the streets.

If there was one thing Snark didn’t like about New York it was wandering the place with confusion on his mind and leading him down streets he wasn’t familiar with. He was so confused, he didn’t know what had happened to him or how he got there with his feet trying to lead him in directions he really wasn’t sure about going in. The people passing by would hardly make a glance at him, the amount of spare change being dropped had hardly managed to find him a decent meal from one of the local stands either and that was only today. Maybe he was missing some good grabs as his eyes wandered away in the momentary sparks of confusion, his chest feeling tight with worry over his own concerns.

His mind continued to tell him where he had to go, even though he had never been in this particular direction before. He could had sworn he was told to do something by someone, but he couldn’t recall who that someone was or what they even looked like. All he knew was they were definitely a wise man and someone he should listen to, or maybe they were a woman and he had only picked up on the idea of a man because he felt much more comfortable around other men than women; of course, it didn’t help that most of the women he had met either hated him because he was a homeless little Japanese kid or the women were in fact prostitutes trying to pick him up on the street corner.

The high rise buildings were not as prominent in this area, the buildings had become a lot smaller and there were fewer people. It was a nice area to be in, but there were so many buildings that just didn’t belong anywhere. They were mostly empty or very run down, it looked like somewhere where other homeless hanged out to try and find a place to sleep. Snark was more used to sleeping in Central Park where he had found a nice quiet spot where nobody went, the peaceful sounds of the wildlife being the best part.

He couldn’t wander anymore, he should really try and find somewhere to rest before he wasted too much energy on his feet. Letting out a long sigh as his eyes slowly directed themselves to the sky, Snark’s mind was gradually brought to a calm halt upon listening to his own body’s concerns and finally deciding to try one of these abandoned houses to shelter him out of the growing heat and calm his heart down. As his eyes wandered to the door as if checking to see if it was locked, soon looked to the streets to see if anyone else was watching him before opening the door, letting himself in before immediately coming to a halt. There were people inside and even if they were probably friendly, he couldn’t judge them quite yet. Just why did his mind direct him to this place? He was definitely feeling confused, but his fears just couldn’t direct him further than the door as all he managed to do was let in a draft into the already nasty smelling house.

When she didn't answer right away, Atticus looked over at her, noticing how her blond curls seemed to frame the profile of her face like satin curtains, and saw that she seemed to be lost in thought, her blue eyes almost misted over. Perhaps she had been here before and this place was bringing back memories? Or maybe she didn't know where she was at all and had gotten lost. He realized that he had assumed she was here for the same reason he was, and so had spoken without thinking or considering the situation. Next time he would have to be more cautious, though he suspected he had little to fear from this girl. Eventually she seemed to snap out of her hazy-eyed trance, and she turned towards him with a start.

Atticus stood there sheepishly as she flailed for the right words, regret on his features, for he had not intended to startle her. Dammit, Atticus, don't blow this. You're gonna scare her away. Now that she had her full attention on him and he could see her face properly, he noticed that she was very pretty, and he found himself hoping there would be more like her. She was totally not what he envisioned when he pictured what other mutants must be like, if in fact she was here for the same reason he was. He mentally shook himself, and the regret was replaced by an expression of faint amusement as he watched her flounder, and a grin broke out on his face as he raised an eyebrow at her sarcastic question.

"Excuse? I was invited to come here. You mean to tell me you weren't? That hardly seems likely." His eyes were fully on her, scrutinizing her and watching for a telling reaction or change in her body language to suggest she was hiding something. It was then that he noticed the hand in her pocket, clutching something tightly. A weapon, perhaps? He cursed himself for not noticing it sooner as his muscles tightened instinctively, and he almost lowered into a fighting stance, but stopped himself and straightened. If she meant him harm, he'd have been completely taken by surprise. But he hadn't been, and that counted for something. Reading people was something he'd been good at for many years now. However, he was usually careful to keep what he noticed to himself, since it tended to put others ill at ease. Which was something he was even more certain of happening if he had escalated the situation by preparing for a fight. He told himself he needed to stop being so twitchy and paranoid and learn to trust people as he awaited her reply, fully expecting her to flounder again as he realized the accusatory tone he had taken with his question, or perhaps become defensive. He braced himself for the latter.

Kimberly saw the curly-haired blonde and the man with glasses have a stand-off it seemed. She wanted to wait it out politely but that wouldn't do for her. Not in this environment at least. "Good morning my two dears." She said coating her words with sugar and spice. "I am Kimberly and it is an honor to meet you both. Are you with Xavier as well?" She asked as she gave her coat to the man with the glasses. "If so please hang this up."

With that she looked around the mansion to try to meet Xavier himself. She wondered if using her powers were allowed for mundane things. She had no idea where to start when it came to looking for the professor so far. "Excuse me, but have you seen Xavier yet?" She asked the curly-haired woman.

Yukiko couldn't have been more relieved, and not to mention quite shocked. A familiar face in New York of all places! Struggling with her English as she tried to explain to Logan that her father had been murdered which warranted a rather strange reaction from Logan. Instead of looking shocked, or sad, he simply nodded and closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if thinking over something deeply. He ushered her to the bar where they sat down and Logan ordered her a cup of hot chocolate since the pub didn't carry any bubble tea and ordered himself a beer.

The relationship between Yukiko and Logan started many years ago when Logan first arrived in Japan after World War 1 where he was immediately noticed for his talents by the Yakuza. At first to Logan it was just a job, but when he started to understand the culture better he realized just how many families had fallen 'prisoner' to the group and his heart went out to them. He made it his ultimate goal to help those families break their ties with the Yakuza, ultimately weakening the organization right under their noses. Yukiko's father and Logan worked together on this project in secret, meaning that Logan spent a lot of time at Yukiko's home. He didn't keep it all business though, he got to know the family and grew to love them as his own, Yukiko becoming like a little sister to him. Things were getting a little hot in Japan though and Logan had to leave, enlisting for the second world war and Yukiko never saw him again...until today.

"I was helping your father, we only had a few more families that we were able to help before he was going to send you, your mother and your brothers here to America. I had to leave though, and when I hadn't heard anything from your father after the war, I assumed he had been comprised so I came here to America to help people in a different way." Logan went on to explain to Yukiko, dropping the American language for the moment and speaking fluently in Japanese so Yukiko could understand him better.

"Father was compromised, that's why he was killed." Yukiko said bowing her head down, her dark brown hair curtaining her face but it was only for a small moment as she looked back up to Logan. "That is why I had to come here, I wanted out of the Yakuza but I didn't know where to go or who to turn to."

Logan extended his hand and rested it on Yukiko's tiny shoulder. "You did well by coming here, so long as you're here I will protect you."

There was a pause as the two just looked at one another, reveling in the fact that this was real, that they were together once again, and the two shared a soft smile.

Strange though, Logan was sent to this specific location by Charles to find a mutant and bring them back, was it coincidence or fate?

"Was there anyone else on the train with you Yukiko? Anyone that struck you as...odd or, out of place?" Logan asked quirking a bushy eyebrow. He didn't want to say too much as the topic of mutants was still strictly hush-hush, but when Yukiko shook her head no, Logan frowned. Perhaps Charles was mistaken...

Yeah right.

"C'mon kid, there's someone I want you to meet." Logan said paying the tab and grabbing Yukiko's bag for her, slinging it over his shoulder with ease. The two exited the pub and walked a few blocks before coming upon Logan's motorcycle where they both got on and Logan took them on the hour-long ride to Xavier's gathering place for the mutants. If Yukiko was somehow miraculously the mutant Charles had sent him to pick up, then he did right by bringing her there, but even if she wasn't he wasn't about to leave her at the train station to figure out a temporary living situation. No, they would talk to Charles and see what they would be able to do to help her.

---

The door of the warehouse flew open as the hulking figure of the Wolverine came inside. His eyes peered over the small group of kids already in the room and smirked a bit, pulling a cigar out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket and lit it up, taking a few puffs before stuffing the lighter back into his pocket.

"You're all a rather early bunch." He gruffed. He must have looked quite the site to the kids. His black hair wasn't at all in the usual style that the men had their hair cut as his seemed to sweep up into two different points on each side of his head. His white wife-beater tank top wasn't pressed neatly or washed properly as there was the usual stains of a hard-working man worn into it. The brown leather jacket he wore was thin, but also tight as his chest and arm muscles looked as if he could rip any one of them in half. The blue jeans he was wearing had rips and tears along the knee and shin area which wasn't at all 'proper' by anyone's standards. The only thing that even looked remotely acceptable about his attire were his brown leather boots, which looked to be in immaculate condition compared to the rest of his attire. But what probably stood out the most to the kids in front of him was the fact that slung over his shoulder was a small, lavender colored woman's draw bag which set off his entire persona as just...odd.

Though as if to explain not moments later, little Yukiko poked her head from around him and spotted the others in the room, looking up to Logan as if to ask 'who are they?' Logan didn't look back down at her though, instead he set down Yukiko's bag and walked to the center of the room, puffing his cigar a few times casually before clenching it in his teeth for him to speak.

"Charles Xavier, a name you should all know. If not..." Suddenly, thick metal blades slid from in between Logan's knuckles, extending out nearly a foot. The sound of the metal extruding from his skeletal structure rang louder than a dozen swords being drawn from their sheath and seemed to echo throughout the dusty, empty room. "...then get the hell out."

The small cafe was silent and eerie.

The lone waitress wandered over to the table at which two opposing individuals occupied, seeming to be awaiting her return. She offered them beverages, but only the man with his uncanny smile responded, ordering a coffee for the maiden and another for himself. Neither of them were to touch the cups more than a finger across the glass, never allowing anything to pass their lips but words and breaths.

“Do you ever smile?” the young man asked, his eyes searching for an answer. Her head was not upright, nor her attention on him, but all the while, he was certain that she was wary of him, listening tentatively as he spoke.

“Occasionally,” she answered.

The girl, no more than sixteen years of age, was tense in her booth, her hands around the cup as her fingers studied the patterns of the cafe's logo plastered upon it. She was frightened, he saw, by the vein throbbing in her forehead. She searched for answers, but did not hold the questions – he cocked his head and leaned in gingerly at the thought of this. “There is something you wish to find,” he noted. A statement. Not at all a question.

Her eyes flickered.

Hope. Desperation. Longing.

Shuffling through his pockets, revealing a pen and a crumpled receipt, the young man pressed it out, scrawling an address on it. He was reluctant in giving it to her, but only for a moment, sliding it over to her in one suave motion. With his eyes fixed solely on Ari, he payed the bill of the two neglected cups of coffee, and stood, towering over the girl.

“Goodbye, Adriana,” he said at last, “I hope to be seeing you in the near future.”

It had not occurred to her until moments after he'd left the cafe that she hadn't once mentioned her name.

_

Dusk had fallen over the small town, and Ari was several blocks from any sort of motel.

The man hadn't mentioned his name, but the paper he'd given her revealed it to be Charles. He'd left her an address – a place in New York, about two hours north from here. She felt for the paper, finding it to be where she'd last put it (her right pants pocket), and sighed purely out of relief. While she was skeptical of this man, it was but her only chance to possible understanding.

Something she so eagerly needed.

Spotting what appeared to be some sort of resting place up ahead, Ari picked up her pace, wanting nothing more than to rest for a few hours and hail some sort of ride in the early morning. Unfortunately, a few gentlemen behind her prevented Ari from arriving at the motel without any form of distress to keep her up at night.

“Sweetheart!” one of them howled, so terribly intoxicated. “Wait up!”

The others hollered in agreement.

Ari made the cliché decision of ignoring them, managing to bring herself to a comfortable jog. Once hearing them beginning to stumble fairly close behind her, Ari did not hesitate to sprint. She was no match against any sort of man in a healthy state of mind, but these men were drunk beyond belief. Their feet could not carry them to her, and when a thought of doubt crossed her mind, a boy made but a single wrong movement and fell to his defeat, taking down another with him.

They shouted vulgar things after her, but she made no efforts to tune in, racing to the motel – not bothering to slow down until she was already safely indoors.

Coming about an elderly woman at the counter, Ari rummaged in her pocket for two of the six bills Charles had given her, slamming it down on the table in an attempt to subtly ask for a room. The woman did not question her, but instead, fished the register for exact change and handed her a room key. Ari seemed to be one of the only occupants in this motel, for from what she'd seen at the desk, only three keys had been taken. Including hers. Not that she cared much. Less people meant she wouldn't be disturbed whilst sleeping.

Ari shuffled into the compact little room and did with it what she could. She made sure all of the locks on the door were secure and immediately headed for the bathroom. Shrugging off her clothes, she stepped into the warmth, taking it in as if this was the last hot shower she'd be given. It very well could be.

She remained in the shower for what could've been hours. She'd lost track of time after collapsing to the floor and sobbing as the rhythmic pit-pat of the water soothed her aching soul. She missed her father, despite all of his years of evading her. She missed her bedroom, and even what little friends she'd had among the patients. Perhaps she'd considered returning on one hand, but the other brought forth the idea of evidence. The woman who'd spotted her eyes had video footage to back her up, and multiple others who'd witnessed it as well.

As much as she'd like to think she'd be okay, she knew that she wouldn't. There was no way in hell she could go back.

Ari hadn't ever felt so completely and utterly alone before this.

Draping a towel over her shoulders, Ari climbed out of the tub and pulled her shirt and underwear back on. The girl had taken shelter in the queen bed around one o'clock in the early morning, underneath layers of blankets where reality couldn't find her, refusing to come out until it was all but necessary.

Atticus's question hung in the air unanswered as a woman dressed as though she was on a night on the town asked him to hang up her coat. How did I not notice her? She's wearing a bright red cocktail dress, for crying out loud! And in the morning! Seems there are some people more out of touch with society than me. He stared at her incredulously. "What, you think I work here? Look, lady. I was invited here same as you. Unless you're lost, which you look like you might be. Hang up your own coat." At least she had introduced herself. He wouldn't be doing her the same courtesy just yet, though.

Just then, the front door banged open, and a powerfully built man took a step over the threshold, smoking a cigar. He seemed to be dressed in old, faded clothing, and had a predatory sense to him that Atticus found oddly comforting in its familiarity. Clearly this man had seen things, done things. Something was off, though. He had a purple bag hanging from his shoulder, and seemed entirely ok with it. A petite Japanese girl seemed to have been following him, and she peered out from behind him. Atticus's instinct shifted; now the pair seemed like a girl and her pet dog, albeit he was still a very dangerous dog. The man finally removed the shoulder bag, setting it on the floor as he moved slowly into the room, with all the grace, power and confidence of an alpha wolf among his pack. He mentioned Charles Xavier's name, and then metal claws erupted from between his knuckles.

Talons slid out instinctively from Atticus's fingers as he dropped into a crouch, hackles raised. He moved to put himself between the newcomer and the two women he had been talking to, but found himself moving to the side as the blond girl stepped forward. Apparently she had found her courage, and she quipped at the newcomer sarcastically, almost haughtily. He was starting to like her already. She had spirit, and she almost reminded him of... No. He couldn't think that. It would be an insult to her memory. As she defused the situation, Atticus relaxed, returning to his upright stance and feeling his claws slide back inside his fingers. "I'm here to meet with Xavier as well." He said, still assessing the situation. He felt oddly mollified by the blond implying that she was here to meet with Xavier; his suspicions were confirmed. And this new fellow had to be a mutant, if he could pop out those metal claws, and he looked like he knew how to use them. He supposed that meant that the dismissive woman in the cocktail dress, Kimberly or something, was probably a mutant as well, and the Japanese girl. How many more were coming?

Feel: Smooooth Jazz


The Night Before

"Hey there sir, can I help you?"

The bar was quiet, it wasn't exactly late, only just past opening hours. It was a jarhead bar, or maybe squids or even devil dogs. He didn't rightly remember, nor did he rightly care. Maybe it was the six years of fighting together over one tiny set of islands, but even if the British Navy had always taken the piss out of the army, they'd never produced anything quite like the Americans in terms of internal competition and dislike. It was fairly amusing to watch, as long as he didn't get involved. Here, just like any other business in American, the service seemed ten times as fast and polite as anything back home.

"Yes. I'd like a Budweiser, please. King of beers." The closing comment was said with that typical sarcastic grin, although of course, the barstaff didn't 'get' it, that only made it funnier for Henry. He'd spent a good while fighting in Germany, and he knew many people who would fight to the death before they'd allow American 'water' to be proclaimed over beer's homeland. Pity about them going and losing the war then.

"Bud coming up."

"Oh, my God. Are you from England?"

Henry's grin only widened as he turned in his seat towards the source of said exclamation, or question, alternatively. She was pretty, potentially worryingly so. Most pretty girls his age had boyfriends, as far as he remembered, and there was no way this fine specimen of Caucasian redhead hadn't been fighting off dates ever since she'd started growing that quite wonderful chest of her's. Then it struck him again. The War. Of course there were single women, hell, as a single guy, he was practically an endangered species. How things had changed.

"Why yes, yes I am." Exaggerate the accent, good one Henry.

"Oh... that is so cute. Hi, I'm Stacey. Jeannie?" Henry's eyes followed the redhead's call, to an equally attractive, if more elegant than curvaceous, blonde girl in a booth by the window. How had he missed these two before? Must have been out of his mind, again.

"Yeah?"

"This is....?"

"Henry Warwick." Rising to the offered opportunity, Henry provided his name with full accent, maybe even a little over the top on his surname, it wasn't as if Americans would have any idea about how weighted such a surname was back in the old country, but even here, it could sound impressive. The cute little smile the original girl gave him confirmed all of that in half a second.

"Cute name." The second girl also smiled, earning herself a nod of the head from Henry.

"Jeannie, he's from England."

"Yup, Yelverton."

"Oh."

"Oh."

It was clear they had no idea where or what Yelverton was, they probably wouldn't even know Devon from Yorkshire. He winced slightly that, worst of all, they'd have no idea of the difference between Devon and bloody Cornwall, but in times of need men make sacrifices, and those weren't 'ohs' of boredom, they were 'ohs' of interest. Looking at these two, some semblance of faith might have been restored in Henry, but it was more akin to the Japanese and Indian theories of karma, than some Christian overlord. Better not voice that. Both of them were standing now, so, time for the charm. He swept to his feet, and with a fairly archetypal bow, placed his lips to their hands, one at a time.

"Wait till Carol-Anne gets here. She's crazy about English guys." The blonde, Jeannie, he'd have to remember that, spoke up, past a blush that was unmistakably forming on both of their cheeks.

That’s when a third girl, brunette this time, walked into the bar. At least half latina, he’d have to argue. Well, they probably weren’t all racists then, which was a plus. Evidently there must have been something he was missing, the universe didn’t quite align this well, in his experience.

“Hey, girls.”

“Carol-Anne, come meet Henry, He’s from England

“Well, step aside, ladies. This one's on me. Hey, gorgeous.”

Just as Henry was chatting, to three, very beautiful women, he felt a tap on the back of his shoulder. His grin remained firmly in place as he turned, met with the familiar face of a certain musician.

“Hey K, have you met Maria, Jeannie and Carol-Anne?” All three women said hello, but K, as was fairly usual, ignored anything but his initial purpose. Some called him simple, but Henry knew, the African American simply didn’t have time for what he didn’t want and right now, despite the attractive company of three women, his focus was on the English man in the middle.

“You said you’d fill in for us, we only need you for the first slot. Come.” An order, Henry was used to those, as much as that grated on him, but K meant no harm by it. Half of everyone had wartime experiences now, of course it was going to slip in to usual dialogue.

“Very well. Ladies if you wouldn’t mind waiting for a little while, I have a few songs to sing.” His declaration was met with three false-sad smiles, although in general he felt musical talent only piqued their interest further. He was pretty sure by this point he’d run all out of positive karma, so, better not mess up. By this point the bar was starting to fill up slightly, jarheads, it would seem, from the tattoos, although a fair mix racially, even if the minorities earned themselves some dangerous glances from the ‘alphas’ of the white packs.

The piano on stage was well worn, but surprisingly functional for said face. Sliding onto the stool, Henry gave the keys a few testing taps, before nodding to the rest of the band. While he was only a temporary replacement and had no real ambition in music, he had still practiced with the band somewhat, he was fulfilling a favour, he’d do it properly. Moments later the band, and whole bar, where in the swing of things. (this song, for the idea)

Once the segment he was required for was over, Henry stepped off the stage with a slight bow, returning, among a few whoops and cheers, to the three women, smiling at his own performance, if he didn’t say so himself. After a hushed moment of conversation, one of the girls, Carol-Anne spoke to him.

“Where are you staying?”

“I don’t actually know, thought I’d just check into a hotel, like in the pictures.”

“Oh my gosh, that is so cute.”

“No, no, no, listen. This may be a bit pushy cos we just met you but...why don't you come back and sleep at our place?”

“Well, if it's not too much of an inconvenience…”

“Hell no! But there's one problem.”

“Erm...The thing that's gonna make it more crowded...Harriet. You haven't met Harriet.”

“There's a fourth one?”

“Don't worry, you're totally gonna like her cos she is "the pretty one".
“Oh, well praise the Lord.” Not that he had any semblance of faith, but Henry felt the need to thank something for the current chain of events, starting to follow the three women to the exit, earning himself the usual glares, of daring to steal women from the ‘rightful’ patrons of the bar.

“Oh, and he's a Christian!”

---

The morning had none of the harsh glare that others felt after nights of excess, although he felt mildly bad his company would be feeling all the worse for it later in the same morning. It wasn’t like he could stop it, even if he’d wanted to, his mutation passing off his ailments to those around him, not that he expected they’d have all been feeling well for wear anyway. Only the first girl, Maria, the redhead, had been awake. He’d made some promise or such to be in touch, after a night of club-hopping with the free ladies, until they ended up back at their place, she seemed to have taken the most personal shining to him, and perhaps he could reciprocate that. Even still, he had business to attend to.

He’d met Xavier a few times, after coming to America, but he had yet to see his ‘hideout’ or meet many of his other companions, in fact he’d been putting it off somewhat. True they were mutants, but they all died like everyone else, would they really feel any different to the rest of humanity? At least until he met them, they couldn’t disappoint him so, there was still some hope of finding his ‘own people.’ His coat was a souvenir from his time in the military, a trench coat for the winters of mainland Europe, although he’d since had it dyed black. Approaching the address he was told to find, the coat caught in the bracing New York wind, whipping to, through his hair, although no matter how hard and fierce it was, Henry’s appearance and demeanor remained the same. There was no mark of the bullet that had entered his skull, his skin would not be reddened or damaged by breeze.

It was a bar, the discovery almost made him laugh. Early in the day, he didn’t expect to find any inhabitants, but as he pushed open the door, escaping the elements outside, he found a fair few individuals, while his first thought was normal patrons, he also considered they to had been called by Xavier.

“So, it may be early, but what are we all drinking?” He spoke with a smirk, noticing the somewhat tense atmosphere in the room, oh well, it’s not like a fight, even among mutants, could truly harm him.

Kimberly looked at the man who responded to her. "I apologize, I am used to common courtesy when I am in a place as nice as this. I also apologize for assuming you worked here." Kimberly blushed sheepishly at this as her parents weren't around enough to teach her much of anything. She put her coat back on and decided to swallow her pride after this display of rudeness. She did the same to the curly-haired blonde, who seemed put off by her sudden appearance.

The door opened and Kimberly saw a very grizzled man that clearly had seen a lot in life. He was carrying a purple bag that Kimberly decided not to ask about as the faux pas she made earlier was still making her tentative to make her be her extroverted self. A Japanese girl followed him, this made Kimberly uncomfortable as the Japanese people were the reason that her parents ignored her for most of her life. She bit her tongue however as the man she was with could easily beat her down into the ground. Kimberly took a step back once she saw blades pop from the man's knuckles.

Logan seemed un-phased by the blonde's sudden surge of confidence as she stepped forward towards him; in fact he had been hardly paying attention to her at all. Instead, his beady little eyes were focused in on Atticus and the claws that had slipped out from his fingernails. Upon his first reaction, Logan had to wonder if this boy had been a victim of Stryker as well, another test mutant like he was...but when Logan was able to focus in on the material makeup of the claws, he quickly realized that this wasn't so. He was both relieved and disappointed at the same time, Logan wasn't one to wish the horrors he had gone through at the plant on anyone else namely a kid...but at the same time (and though he wouldn't admit it) he was looking for a sense of familiarity, that someone could relate to the things that he himself had gone through. Logan then just had to only confirm something in his mind that he had already known for years...he was alone.

Yukiko watched as the boy took his predatory stance, claws at the ready and shackles on end. At first she was more confused than feeling threatened, this boy had claws too? She had only come across a single mutant in her life, being Logan, and therefore seeing the similarities in another person forced a couple of thoughts into her head. There were others out there, others like Logan, and hopefully, others like herself. Perhaps that is why all these people were gathered here...
Still, Yukiko had to roll her eyes at him a bit. If he even thought that he stood a chance against Logan, he was sorely mistaken.

"Baka." She mumbled under her breath, finding a spot against the room's wall and rested her back against it, propping her foot back having it bend at the knee slightly.

Moving his eyes upward from the boys claws, Logan was finally able to focus in on the boy. He was a bit on the scrawny side, at least in Logan's opinion, but he carried a few certain traits that Logan could easily relate to. The disheveled hair, the unkempt stubble and a distinct animal-like behavior.

The Protector

Moving his eyes from the boy, Logan finally turned his attention to the blonde who had approached him. Practically the first thing he had noticed about this girl was that she was immaculately good looking, she took care of herself well in every sense of the word giving all women out there like her a good name. It was refreshing really, he was sick of looking at the women that caked on makeup hiding their natural beauty...but this girl, the girl in front of him; she radiated pure, raw beauty, and it brought a slight smirk to the corner of his lips. The fact that she had her arms crossed over her ample chest wasn't helping his thoughts either as he found his eyes wandering, if just but a moment before locking his gaze with hers.

The Instigator

"Wolverine." He said, letting the blades slip back into his hand slowly, seeming to just melt into his skin. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the arms of the brown leather jacket threatening to pop at the seams from the sheer size of his deltoids and biceps.

Yukiko couldn't be certain, but she could have sworn that he was even flexing a little, again causing her to roll her brown eyes. Logan always had such a weakness for women. In her own opinion, it was his greatest downfall, for whenever a woman was in his life the preditor seemed to melt away in him, replaced by a love-sick puppy dog that was just begging for it's belly to be scratched. Yukiko then cleared her throat, a bit loudly in the short amount of silence that passed in the room, causing Logan to break eye contact with the blonde and look to her, where Yukiko just shrugged her shoulders lazily with a look of innocence on her face.

This then set up an opportunity for Logan to look at the others in the room. There was a raven-haired girl seeming to melt into the background a bit which struck Logan a bit odd since her dress attire practically screamed for attention. Then there was a rather short looking boy with black hair standing near the doorway. He just looked plain confused at everything that was going on. He wasn't particularly able to get a read on these two quite yet, but he could only assume that they too were in the right place. Xavier had a knack for being right about these things.

The door then opened up once more, letting in yet another youth. This one, Logan was able to get a read off of almost immediately, and a very soft, subtle growl came from his throat.

The Clown

"Not on your life bub, now get in here and pay attention." Logan growled.

Sam drove his car to the bar, "The Prisoner". The name apparently picked by Charles's friend, Erik, whom Sam had yet to get to know. He seemed like a rather reasonable fella, though. He parked the run down ride, seeing that there was already people inside the bar. He chuckled. "Guess I was late to the party, huh." He'd walk towards the doors, checking his face in the mirror, making sure his hair looked alright, and that his clothes looked nice and proper.

He headed inside, to find quite a few people inside. He didn't know anyone of them by name, but some of them he recognized. He greeted everyone, as he smiled. “Soo.. You come here often?” he said, just as if to try and lighten the mood.

”I do, in fact.” A voice came from the stairs in the basement, as the short-haired man in his mid 20's walked up, a smile on his face. He was averagely built, the most notable feature about him was the cane he carried, and the limp in his walk. His name was Charles Xavier, the man that had brought them all here. Behind him, a taller, a bit buffer man followed. “And I'm more or less forced to.” Erik Lesnerr said, scoffing.

“Hello there. I'm Charles Xavier. This is Erik, and I'm sure you all have already met Logan. I'm terribly sorry that I cannot lead this first meeting, but there's certain things that are more pressing. You'll be left in the care of Erik, to brief you on why I've asked each and everyone of you.. Extraordinary people to this place.” Charles explained, his voice was soft and soothing, but a hint of worry in it.

“Logan, I need to speak in private to you about.. something”

Charles nodded for Logan to follow him up the stairs, where the 'office' was.

Erik took a step forward when the other two headed out of the bar-area, looking at each and everyone of them. His eyes were piercing, much harsher than those of Charles. “ Unlike Charles, I can only guess why you all are here. You're here because you think something's.. Off about you. You can't explain why, but you feel like you're different, like you don't belong. Most of your life, you've probably thought you're alone. That there's no one else out there quite like you. You've spent most of your life playing with the thought of there being others like you, but been let down time and time again.” Erik began, he had a slight European accent.

“Well. You're all here today, because you're not alone - “ Erik said, as he snapped his fingers, and the blinders all covered the windows and the door. He took two steps, and flicked the light switch. “- I'm just like you, like all of you.” Erik said, as four coins started to float up into the air, from the bar where they had laid. “ You know what people call you? 'strange', ' weirdo', ' freak', 'monster'
and the like. Do you know what you are? You're something so much more. You're a mutant, and you've been gifted abilities, for better or for worse. They're your gifts, or they're your curse. That's why we called you here. To offer you our help.”

Erik let out a sigh of relief, as he cleared his throat, and looked back up at the mutants younger than himself. the coins he had floating in the air all smoothly fell back to the bar where they had been originally.

He would speak again, his words piercing through the room.

”So will you let us help?”

Just what was going on now? Snark was on all sorts of level of confused and quite frankly, he didn’t think there would ever be people who were around looking ever so confident about their lives. This didn’t feel right, but his mind had told him to go this way so just what was the growing problem? Slowly moving forward, the door slowly shifted back and clicked close again, Snark’s eyes immediately turning around before his eyes immediately looked back once more. He was met with only questions, his mind buzzing in a rather terrible way, “…What…? I’m-...the hell is going on?”

He was being screwed around by something, he was sure of it. This randomly appearing in places couldn’t had been a coincidence, neither could his mind forcing his way into his feet and leading him places he didn’t truly want to go. There was just so much confusion, just where was he going and who were these people? Did it have something to do with that strange man that talked to him not too long after he found his way to New York? He didn’t explain much, he only spoke about his concerns and that he’ll soon find his way. This didn’t feel like his way at all, it felt as if someone else had dragged him here and he was just in for the ride.

He shouldn’t back out right now, there were too many people and if he stepped outside he’d probably not know where he was at all after all this confusion. Frowning a little, he cautiously moved towards the gathering group. If he was going to be here, then he might as well blend right in for now and see what was actually happening. Just because he was a little filthier than the rest didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to try and become part of the group; besides, he was somewhat interested in what was happening.

If this was anything to do with what that man talked about then there was probably going to be a few problems in regards to what he was signing up for. The man before the group was definitely intimidating; he carried a sort of force about him where if he hit you, you were dead. Frowning a little, his darkened eyes slowly glanced over the rest of the group and the clothes they wore before slowly looking towards their pockets out of interest just incase they had some spare money they didn’t need.

Failing to truly understand what was going on, Snark turned back towards the strange burly man who was fairly insistent on not letting them have any casual chatter before giving them time to understand what was going on. He only needed to speak a few words before immediately speaking a name, his hands seemingly sheathing some nasty looking metal claws. Snark was a little more than surprised, it was pretty terrifying seeing such things pop out of someone and what was worse was he didn’t know who the hell Charles Xavier was. Feeling completely put off and worried for his life, he slowly moved backwards, looking between the other people cautiously before making a sudden turn towards the door.

Before he could take one step further, however, the sound of the man talking meant he was still paying attention and was probably ready to tear apart whoever went for the door. His heart was fair beating; just who were these people? Rubbing his chest nervously, he did try to suck it up and slowly look back, frowning a little as he pulled his cap forward as yet more people began to show up. These men were almost dressed like police officers with their fancy suits and high-end clothing, a very intimidating air coming from them; however, one of them was someone he remembered. Just before he could call him out, the man wandered off with the intent on taking the nasty looking burly man with him much to the relief of Snark.

With the other man taking charge, Snark could only stare at him with a concerned stare, his eyes looking at him up and down cautiously to try and capture his true intentions. He was immediately calling them names as several coins floated in the air, Snark’s eyes analysing the others in the room cautiously as if trying to believe that he was just imagining it. Sadly, he wasn’t imagining any of it; it all really was happening. Feeling a little frightened, he looked around cautiously, looking ready to leave before gasping a little when he spoke once more.

‘Help’? Was this what that man spoke of before? Scratching his arm a little, he looked around, trying to see if anybody else was as uneasy as he currently was, “…This help, what else do we get?” he spoke, still completely unsure to whether he belonged here but still felt the need to speak as if he was part of the crowd before he got into trouble, “Food? Shelter? You know, the…basic needs?”