The dust under the bed tickled his nose, but he didn't dare sneeze. From there he could only see his parents' feet moving back and forth in the living room, followed by that dry sound he already knew so well: blows and furniture being dragged.
He couldn't take it anymore. He crawled out of his hiding place and ran toward them.
"Enough! Let go of him!" the boy screamed, trying to pull his mother away.
The woman didn't even look at him with pity. She was completely out of control, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot.
With a single slap, she struck his cheek. For an adult it would have been a light hit. For a child, it was enough to knock him to the floor.
He held back his tears and when he tried to get up, his mother grabbed him by the arm and threw him into the yard.
"Stay outside, you damn nuisance!" she yelled before slamming the door in his face.
Through the window glass, the boy saw his father get up, wiping blood from his lip. He was furious.
"He's a kid, damn it! What's wrong with you?! How can you raise your hand against him?!" the father shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her.
"You're both garbage! You ruined my life! I don't want you here!" she spat, unleashing a chain of insults as she struggled.
The boy backed away a few steps into the yard, crying, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that it hurt.
Suddenly, the door swung open and his father stumbled out. Behind him, plates, cups and cutlery flew out, shattering against the concrete, shards scattering everywhere.
The father tried to go back inside to stop her, but suddenly threw himself to the ground.
A deafening blast pierced the wooden door. The bullet passed just above his head, leaving a splintered hole. The boy froze, ears ringing.
"You're insane! You almost killed me, woman!" the father roared.
He jumped to his feet and went back inside. She was trying to load another bullet into the chamber, but her hands were shaking and she didn't know what she was doing. He yanked the gun from her, and when she lunged to scratch him, he shoved her hard, knocking her to the kitchen floor.
Without looking back, the man ran into the yard. He saw his son trembling near the plants and lifted him up in one swift motion, pressing him to his shoulder.
"It's okay, son. It's over, it's done," he said, voice unsteady.
As they walked toward the exit, the mother's screams and insults kept spilling through the open door, growing more distant.
The father opened the truck door, sat the boy in the passenger seat, and fastened the belt with shaking hands. Then he rushed to the driver's side, got in, and sped off, the tires screeching on the pavement.
The boy couldn't stop sobbing, staring at his small hands still shaking.
His father, eyes fixed on the road but softer now, began humming.
Then, in a low, raspy voice, he started singing that song that always played on the radio when they went out to buy tools.
"Ven a mí, con tu dulce luz… alma de diamante…"(Come to me, with your sweet light… diamond soul)
Little by little, the rhythm of the song and the warmth of the heater wrapped around the boy, carrying him far from his mother's screams, until they were nothing but a bad dream.
========================================================
I woke up sprawled all over the bed, legs crossed and one arm hanging off the side.
I spent a few seconds staring at the ceiling, letting my body finish waking up. I sat up heavily and let out a long yawn while I searched for clean clothes. I dressed in the first thing I found, still half asleep, and walked to the kitchen.
First thing: the kettle. I filled it with tap water and set it on the burner. While the flame did its job, I grabbed my mate, added yerba, and gave it a few shakes to settle it.
I shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face to wake up, and brushed my teeth quickly.
When I came back to the kitchen, I opened a pack of Don Satur biscuits, those greasy pastry ones, and shoved one into my mouth.
I checked the kettle. Perfect. Steam was coming out, but it hadn't reached boiling. I poured the water into the thermos, added two spoonfuls of sugar into the mate, and poured the first careful stream. I tested the flavor in short sips, making sure it was right before continuing.
My nono always made the mate bitter, and even though I never complained, I never really liked it. What can I say? I like it sweet.
Once it was perfect, I grabbed the thermos, the rest of the biscuits, and headed to my room. I set everything down and opened the wardrobe. Moving the clothes aside, I pressed a sequence of hidden commands on the back wall.
An electric hum vibrated through the furniture and in an instant, a portal of light opened, distorting the inside of the wardrobe. I grabbed my mate, picked up my things, and stepped through without hesitation.
=============================================================
I went from the warmth of my room to the cold, metallic air of the base.
I walked among the shadows of my own projects.
To one side, the dismantled pieces of a Sentinel hung from hydraulic supports; exposed cables and armored plates waiting for system upgrades.
Further ahead, my worktables were piled with tools I had designed myself, some completed, others still half-assembled prototypes.
I approached the central console, the heart of it all.
A supercomputer that looked like it belonged to another century, with an architecture only someone with Grey Matter's intellect could conceive. I set the mate and biscuits on the polished metal surface and sat down.
"Good morning, Sir," SID's voice echoed clearly.
"Good morning, SID," I replied, sipping my mate.
What began as a simple automation script for managing the base systems ended up becoming my long-term project.
It's an Artificial Intelligence in progress; technically it doesn't possess "consciousness," but its neural architecture is organic, able to learn and evolve with every bit of processed information.
It's a perpetual learning system. But I'm not stupid. I know what happens when you let an intelligence grow without direction.
So before giving it external access, I engraved deep in its core a security protocol no one could bypass. I modified Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics and integrated them into its source code as unalterable mathematical constants.
Its laws are absolute, but with nuances I personally programmed, as Grey Matter would.
The Second Law, obedience, is reinforced. The Third Law, self-preservation, has an active defense clause.
If a human tries to harm or compromise SID, she is allowed to neutralize the threat. Not kill, but defend herself with necessary force.
I wasn't about to let my work become someone else's weapon because of passive programming.
And of course, I have the shutdown codes if anything goes wrong.
Her name? I really liked the Mass Effect trilogy.
"If I may observe, Sir, your nutritional intake is inadequate. Those biscuits do not meet your physical activity requirements as Legion. You should consider a more balanced diet."
"Yeah, I'll keep it in mind, SID, thanks," I replied disinterestedly, fingers stretching over the keyboard. "Give me the report. Anything important?"
"Of course." The screens lit up with maps and data flows. "No major terrorist activity. In my assessment, your daily patrols as Legion have kept them cautious. They're operating quietly, minimizing exposure. They've entered a silent planning phase."
I nodded. I can't be everywhere, but at least global presence makes them think twice.
"Natural disasters?"
"A 6.3 earthquake in Japan and heavy flooding in Indonesia due to monsoon rains. Unfortunately, casualties have been reported."
I frowned.
"And the Purifiers?"
"I located an active cell in New York." SID projected the location. "They disguise themselves as a Christian community helping mutants, especially those who can't control their powers or have deformities. They present as a refuge, but their attendance records show severe inconsistencies."
"Send me the location and keep monitoring them. I'll check things myself today." Then I remembered something more important. "SID, the village in Peru. How are the mutants doing?"
"Three minor altercations, Sir, mostly misunderstandings. Overall integration is positive. Mutants are helping rebuild. Those with enhanced strength have been particularly welcomed. The villagers value their help."
I leaned back with a small satisfied smile.
I can still smell the gunpowder and stale fear in that place.
Those so-called "supremacists" bragged about human purity while using people like tools.
They had the mutants caged, broken slowly.
And worse, they used the villagers.
They enslaved everyone, forced them to act as shields and cover under threat of death. From the outside it looked peaceful. Underneath, it was a loaded gun to every head.
When I freed those kids and asked the villagers to give them a home, I saw doubt. Fear versus humanity. For a second I thought they'd refuse.
But they accepted.
I go back twice a week. Maybe it's excessive, but I need to be sure.
If I want mutants accepted someday, it starts somewhere small.
You can't change the world in a single blow, but you can ignite a spark.
That village is perfect. My starting point.
If they coexist, work together, stop seeing each other as enemies or tools, they become living proof coexistence is possible.
If it works in a place that suffered that much, it can work anywhere. I won't let anything ruin that chance. That village proves my fight matters.
"You may continue," I told SID, the mate's steam warming my face.
"There is additional data about the New York cell, Sir." New files appeared. "Less than an hour ago, a young mutant entered their facility. Cessily Kincaid."
"Mercury," I interrupted, stopping mid-sip. Her silver-liquid figure flashed in my mind. "Xavier student. Do they know who she is?"
"Negative. They're unaware. However, she unknowingly provided information."
"What do you mean?"
"Fifteen minutes ago, Kincaid spoke to a guard. She mentioned her friends might come looking for her. She asked, quote: 'Please, if they come, don't hurt them. Just tell me so I can talk to them and convince them to leave. I don't want them getting into trouble because of me.'"
Silence. My fist tightened.
She thought she was protecting them.
"They think they're preparing mercy," I muttered. "They're preparing a trap."
"Correct. Entrances have been reinforced. They intend to capture additional subjects. I intercepted a note from their bio-genetic division."
I read it, anger boiling:
"Subject Kincaid secured. Her mercury composition is unprecedented. Once refined, her metallic mass could serve as a highly efficient neuro-toxic conductor. If we synthesize her genetic material with our tactical alloy, we'll obtain the ultimate ammunition for systematic eradication of her kind. Begin sample extraction immediately."
"SID, I've got work to do," I said, adjusting my jacket. "They're not touching that girl. They're not turning her pain into weapons."
"Understood, Sir. Orders?"
"Scan the area around the refuge. Locate Xavier students. If any are nearby, notify me. They'll walk into an ambush otherwise."
"Tracking initiated."
"Good. I'm heading there."
==============================================================
POV KITTY PRYDE
The smell of burnt grease from street stalls and Manhattan noise drilled into my skull.
We were sitting at a metal table, trying to look like normal teenagers, which with our group was a bad joke.
"I can't believe we're eating this," Bobby complained, pushing away a suspicious onion from his hot dog. "The mansion had lasagna today. Four-cheese lasagna. Not… whatever this mustard-boiled cardboard is."
"Shut up and eat," Pyro muttered, flicking a tiny flame beneath the table. "At least nobody's lecturing us on 'ethical use of gifts.' Plus New York tastes like danger. I like it."
"It tastes like soot," Illyana said coldly, eyes locked on a wrinkled paper map. "We lost Cessily six blocks ago because you stopped to drool over collectible lighters."
"They were limited editions!" Pyro snapped. "Besides, she's literally liquid metal. She slipped into alleyways. Perfect hiding place."
"You know what's worse?" Jubilee cut in, blowing a pink bubble. "My new jacket is going to smell like rancid fryer oil. All because Cess decided hide-and-seek in the dirtiest part of the city was a good idea."
"We lost her, Kitty," Kurt's voice echoed through my comm. "From up here visibility is trash. If she stuck to shadow routes, I'd cause a city panic dropping down."
"Stay in the air," I whispered, pretending to scratch my head. "We don't need 'blue demon sighted' headlines."
"Cess isn't thinking," Bobby said, softer now. "And I can't blame her. Imagine not feeling anything. No heat. No cold. If someone promises she can feel wind again… she'll follow them, trap or not."
"Well technically she doesn't have skin," Pyro smirked. "But yeah, desperation makes you stup— ow!"
"She's not stupid!" I snapped, stomping his foot. "She's lonely."
Illyana suddenly stiffened, posture straight, gaze sharp.
"Someone's watching us," she whispered.
"Oh please," Jubilee scoffed. "This is Manhattan. Everyone's watching."
"No," Illyana insisted. "That guy at the back. The one with the thermos. He's been evaluating us since we sat down."
I glanced. Just a young guy, shorter than average, quietly enjoying the afternoon, sipping from a strange metal straw.
"You're paranoid, 'Yana," Bobby sighed. "Look at him. Just a guy with a weird drink."
"My instincts don't fail," she muttered.
"Guys, stop," I said, standing. "We don't have time for paranoia. We move now."
But of course, everyone looked at him again.
At that exact moment, he looked up.
Scars. Subtle but real. One especially across his cheek. Instead of panicking, he smiled gently, nodding in a polite silent greeting.
I froze a moment.
Bobby snorted.
"Well then! Case closed, Illyana."
"Did you see that?" Jubilee laughed with Magik. "You thought he was a spy. Poor guy was just hyping himself up to greet Kitty."
"Shut up," I muttered, cheeks warm. "He was just being polite."
"Sure, polite," Pyro teased. "Dude's got odd taste, but not dangerous. Just wanted the boss's number."
Even Illyana relaxed slightly, though she glanced back once more.
We disappeared into the crowd, Bobby and Jubilee laughing.
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HOW ARE YOU ALL DOING? HOPE YOU'RE WELL. I ALMOST FORGOT THIS SECOND CHAPTER, I THOUGHT I HAD UPLOADED IT ALREADY AND WAS WORKING ON THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL INSTEAD LOL
ANYWAY, YOUNG Cessily, DESPERATE ABOUT HER SITUATION, HAS FALLEN INTO THE TRAP OF A GROUP THAT WANTS ANYTHING BUT TO HELP HER, SO OUR YOUNG MUTANTS HAVE GONE AFTER HER, CLOSELY FOLLOWED BY OUR PROTAGONIST WHO DOESN'T WANT THESE KIDS GETTING HURT.
WE'LL SEE HOW THIS CONTINUES NEXT CHAPTER.
TAKE CARE AND KISSES :)