Hank Fucking Pym.
Hank Fucking Pym.
It certainly gave Talia power over you.
So, basically @BatShitCray is useless.
vengeance or punishment as the consequence of anger.
This is why doing dishes isn’t one of my chores.
There is no way to escape the past, to change it. The only option left is to accept it and move on. That, however, is much easier said than done.
For Max Eisenhardt, there is no forgetting, no forgiving, no escaping, and certainly no moving on. The past is always there, every time he closes his eyes; it`s I`m his dreams, his thoughts, his hopes, his -fears-.
The dreams of the past he wishes so fervently to forget plague him almost nightly: tiny movie-memories that force him to relive the horror. Tonight is no different.
Max looks around the office, large, cold drops falling from his eyes. He does not bother to wipe them away: more will only come to take their place. He`s been crying almost constantly since Shaw untied him, not sobbing and whimpering uncontrolably, merely leaking the large cold tears from his eyes like a leaky sink.
Shaw smirks at him from behind the desk, a smirk like an icele stabbing Max`s heart. A record is playing, but Max can`t hear it over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Shaw unwraps a chocolate bar, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth before placing the bar back onto the wrapper and setting it upon the desk.
“Eat the chocolate.” He says, and Max isn`t sure if that is a command or an offer. “It`s good. Want some?” Shaw attempts a warm smile, but it does not reach his eyes and instead just serves to further unnerve Max.
“You killed my mother.”
Shaw`s pitiful attempt at a smile vanishes instantly from his face to be replaced by a deep frown. Placing a hand over the chocolate, he slides it towards himself across the desk: offer withdrawn, the gesture says. Licking his fingers, he speaks again. “Genes are the keys that unlock the door to a new age, Max. A new future for mankind. Evolution. You know what I`m talking about?” The record continues to play, but Max can only focus on Shaw`s words. “It`s a simple thing I ask of you. A little coin is nothing compared to what I know you can do, is it?” Shaw looks up at him with an expectant gaze.
Max looks down at the coin Shaw sets upon the desk, eyes wide and still streaming. He`s unsure if he can do anything. His power has rarely ever manifested itself at will. His eyebrows furrow as he concentrated, face contorted in thought. He tries, even makes gestures, but nothing.
“I tries. I can`t… I don`t… It`s impossible.”
Shaw twiddled his fingers impatiently as Max speaks. When Max finishes, Shaw sits back in his chair, placing a hand over his mouth briefly before removing it to speak. “It seems I will have to employ other methods to produce results.” He runs at his temple and makes “taking” noises, shaking his head slightly, seemingly disappointed. “I`m sorry Max.” Taking a bell from the edge of the desk, Shaw rings it once, twice, three times, then sits back again and waits. Max can`t help but shuffle his weight from foot to foot nervously.
A guard enters the room, roughly gripping the arm of a child about Max`s age. Max instantly recognizes her.
“Magda!” Max rushes over to her, allowed to cling to her for a moment before the guard rips the children away from each other violently.
“Here`s what we`re going to do.” Shaw says, malicious smile returning. “I`m going to count to three.” He pulls a gun from a drawer in the desk. “And you`re going to move the coin.” Shaw levels the gun, pointing it at Max`s abdomen, sliding the coin across the desk towards Max with his free hand. “You don`t move the coin, I pull the trigger.” Shaw moves the gun slightly, now pointing it atagda. Max looks over to her, eyes wide with fear to match her horrified expression. “Understand?”
Max nods furiously, concentrating on the coin, willing it to move.
He extends his arms, gesturing for the coin to come towards him.
His fingers wiggle frantically, mind desperately racing, searching for his power.
Max`s eyes widen in horror as the gunshot rings out, the bullet casing rattling on the desk afterwards. Magda falls to the floor, lifeless. The rage boils inside him as he watched the body slump to the floor. Turning his attention back towards Shaw, the metal bell collapses into itself.
“Yes, wonderful!” Shaw exclaims at the sight. “Take her.” He says, gesturing to Magda`s body. “Dump her on the streets.” The guard obeys and leaves with the body.
Max roars with rage at the horror he has just been forced to witness. The filing cabinet in the corner of the room is his next target, crumbling into itself, spilling papers and whatever objects were once set on top, crushing it`s contents. Shaw`s face is bright with excitement as joy as he continually shifts his gaze from the cabinet to Max and then back again.
All of the metal objects begin to fly around the room, distort themselves in a whirlwind of chaos that is Max`s tangible anger. Meanwhile, Shaw is finally smiling a true smile.
And suddenly, silence, complete and utter stillness and calm. Max hands his head, sobbing in earnest now, energy spent with no more left to erect the ivory walls around his heart.
Shaw walks over to him, wrapping an arm around Max like a father would a son. “Outstanding, Max. So we unlock your gift with anger. Anger and pain.” Shaw smiles again, but Max cannot see it, and presses the coin into Max`s palm. “You and me, we`re going to have a lot of fun together.”
The same dream plagues him again. Tears and cold sweat stain his cheeks and sheets as he cries out with the vividness of the nightmare. Except it’s not a dream: it was real. It happened.
His hand grips the sheets, fisting them tightly as he contorts in the death throes of the nightmare, in the torment and destruction.
He can’t breathe. There’s something over his face, hindering his breathing and preventing him from seeing although his eyes are wide open. Panic constricts his lungs, tightens his chest. He struggles to move his arms, but they’re bound to the sides of his body, pressing against him painfully. The panic threatens to take control, but he shuts his eyes tightly, although it makes no difference, and thinks of his mother’s last words.
“Everything is good.” He mutters to himself, the tears beginning to leak from his eyes, running down his cheeks but absorbed by whatever is hugging his face. He tries to move again, but it’s useless.
A voice calls out suddenly, causing him to cease his wiggling and stiffen. The same voice from before, the same voice that found him in the closet and filled him with more fear and hatred than he ever thought one heart could possibly contain.
“Hello Number 214782. Or should I say Max Eisenhardt.” He can almost hear the smirk in the man’s voice. The bag, he realizes now that’s what it is, is ripped violently from his head. He inhales sharply, gasping for breath, taking greedy gulps of air. Eyes blink back tears to glare at the man, at this Shaw, and Max’s mouth hangs open slightly, as if he is about to speak although he can think of no words. Max’s mind struggles to comprehend the words, the numbers.
It is almost as if Shaw can read his mind, although he knows that’s impossible. “Number 214782. I bet you’re wondering what that means.” A malicious smirk plays on the edge of Shaw’s lips. “It’s your stock number. See, we know your little secret Max, the secret you’ve tried so hard to keep from everyone. You’re a mutant.”
Max swallows hard. It’s the first time he’s heard the word directed towards him, and it scares him almost as much as Shaw. He’s different, he’s always known that, but to hear someone else voice his own fears and insecurities makes them real, and that’s the last thing he wants. He has always lived in a dream, in his sleepy little home with his darling mother and father. Reality may make him come alive, and he fears life. He longs for the dream, for the home, but looking at Shaw, he knows that is something he’ll never get back again.
“We run a very simple operation here.” Shaw continues, snapping Max out of his thoughts. “There’s a high demand for mutants, for various reasons of course. Some people keep them around as novelties, pets if you will, while others choose to run experiments, and still others keep them for other reasons. We don’t ask, and we don’t judge, we just trade. You would be awaiting a similar fate, but I’ve taken a special interest in you. I find your power… fascinating.” The smirk is painted fully across Shaw’s face now and it causes chills to run down Max’s back. Shaw walks over to him now, untying the ropes that bind him. Max watches him in silence, forcing himself to remain calm although he has no idea what lies ahead.
Shaw feeds him another malicious smirk and it’s all Max can do not to yelp.
As Max lies in bed that night, he tosses and turns restlessly, the past stuck on his mind like a tumor. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and that, he feels, definitely applies to him. He had goodness in his heart once, now replaced with hatred, fear, and rage. His father had been a proud German military man; his mother, petite, beautiful, and Jewish. They were loving parents, from what he could remember, and he might have had a happy childhood if it hadn’t been for… He swallows the lump in his throat, hoping to have the memory disappear, but it forms just as clear and cold as the sweat upon his brow.
He’s seven years old again. At least, he thinks he’s seven. He can’t really remember, but he remembers the smell: the scent of a dozen or so freshly polished shoes. He’s hiding in the closet, eyes shut tight against the darkness to keep the tears, and hopefully the dear, at bay.
He hears voices outside, and scuffling, but it’s not enough to make out what’s happening. He’s tempted to crack open the door and peek, but his mother’s words echo in his ears. “Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay safe. Everything is good.” His nails dig into the flesh of his arms as he forces himself to repeat the phrases: Everything is good. Everything is good. Everything is good.
A gunshot rings out suddenly, followed almost immediately but another one. Both cause him to jump and jerk his eyes open, a small surprised gasp escaping his lips. He attempts to push himself further into the corner of the closet, but he can go no further: he’s pressed so tightly against the wall the sensation boarders on pain.
Something begins to seep underneath the closet door, flowing towards him like molasses. The smell of the polished shoes is replaced but the fragrance of iron. The liquid reaches him, his clothes and shoes beginning to absorb it. Horrible realization floods over him, painted clearly upon his face: this is blood. He attempts to get away from it, but there is no where to go. Standing, he bumps his head against the wall, letting out a soft yelp. He clamps his hands over his mouth, stock still as he listens for noises from the outside.
The door flies open, bathing him in both artificial and natural light. His eyes are glass plates, pupils reflective as a mirror. A hand reaches into the closest, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him out roughly. Staring up at a man with cold, hard, black eyes, Max can’t help but whimper. A vicious and malicious smile plays at the corner of the man’s mouth.
“I’ve found you.” He smirks. “You’re it.” The man hoist Max up, tucking him under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Someone else speaks, but Max can’t see who it is from his position.
“The car is waiting outside Mr. Shaw.”
Max can only see the ground, and as Shaw takes him from the closet, he sees the bodies.
His mother and father lay on the ground, lifeless bodies spilling blood and brains across the floor. He wiggles a bit, flinging his hands up to his eyes and biting his lips to hold back a sob. Shaw notices his squirming, and gives him a hard knock on the back of his head.
The last thing he sees before he blacks out is his mother’s face, a bullet home between her eyes and tears staining her cheeks. Her words “everything is good” flash across his mind before the world goes dark.
Pocahontas was painting with the colors of the wind way before these people.
That’s right, I’m the representation of the X-Men.