Chapter One: You Meet Him
You went to the meeting for mutants in your native Boston because you were sick of living in denial. Life was easier for you because you had a mutation that could be hidden. You could read the minds of others and sometimes manipulate their thoughts. You were a telepath.
Throughout your life you had never let anyone know the truth about you. You were close with your family; they were warm and loving. However, they were good conservative people who feared and hated mutants because they were told to by the TV media which only ever reported on criminal mutants. You had tried to talk to them a few times, reason with them, but you never seemed to gain any ground and so you had resisted admitting to them what you were.
Your parents remained oblivious to your mutation, but recently you learned your only sibling, your sister, was not so easily fooled. She had come to visit and mentioned politely this new treatment they had to “Cure” mutants. When you had expressed your earnest heartfelt opinion that mutants did not need a cure and that the drug’s very concept was offensive, she had reeled on you and begged you to take it, citing your parents as the reason.
You had tried to talk to her, to explain your feelings on the Cure and mutants, but she had not changed her mind. She was afraid Mom and Dad would be deeply hurt if, in the future, they discovered you were a mutant. She wanted you to prevent that by taking the Cure. You had felt torn between protecting your beloved parents and your own beliefs and convictions. In the end, you could not turn your back on your ideals and your relationship with your sister had suffered irreparably because of it.
You’d only taken mild interest in mutant-human affairs before that fateful meeting. After all, your life was exceedingly normal since your mutation was hidden. You’d grown up, gone to school, dated, and lived a typical human life until then. Your sister’s ignorance had prompted you to feel compelled to do something for mutant rights. You suddenly felt guilt for standing by the sidelines as mutants who were more obviously different were persecuted.
So the meeting, a very hastily devised underground affair had whetted your interest. You’d found out about it from a complete stranger on the subway. He had been a huge man, probably weighing 300lbs. The subway car was crowded and there was no place to sit down. He had taken up at least two seats with his wide girth, but as you watched he shrunk down to a thin wiry man, opening up a free seat next to him.
You sat down without hesitation and offered him a kind smile. He had slipped a piece of paper into your hand. You opened and read it. It advertised the meeting and gave the time, date, and location, stressing it was “No Humans Allowed”.
You had looked at him questioningly. How had he known you were a mutant?
“Only a fellow mutant would have sat down next to me.” He had said.
So now here you were in an old abandoned church in a section of Boston you would never have imagined yourself visiting. You were dressed in non descript black jeans and an old sweatshirt so as not to attract attention to yourself, but you still looked completely out of place among the more urban gothic dressed mutants. They looked like a tough crowd. You listened curiously to their thoughts and got an impression of impatience for the meeting to start and welling anger for this new “Cure’.
Despite the physical differences that seemed to distance you from the crowd you felt an illicit kinship with them. For the first time in your life you were surrounded by your own kind; by others who understood your plight. You felt relief to finally be doing something to improve the situation for mutants. A part of you realized you could not feel whole unless you stopped denying what you were and supported the community you belonged to.
The speaker, a dingy black-haired man stands at the podium and tries to quiet the crowd enough to be heard. His speech is disorganized and reactionary but you listen anyway, happy to be in a place of sympathizers.
“Nobody’s talking about extermination.”
You look up when he is interrupted to see a well-dressed older man with white hair walk up to the stage.
“No one ever talks about it. They just do it. And you go on with your lives ignoring the signs all around you.”
Yes! This is exactly what you think. Finally someone is saying just what you have been waiting to hear.
“And then one day when the air is still and the night has fallen, they come for you. Only then do you realize that while you’re talking about organizing in committees the extermination had already begun. Make no mistake my brothers. They will draw first blood.”
The man’s face is familiar, perhaps from the evening news or FBI’s most wanted. He is strangely attractive despite his age. He has a slightly English accented gorgeous, deep, baritone voice that wraps itself around each listener with ease. His natural charisma is overwhelming and you watch him with rapt attention.
“They will force their Cure upon us. The only question is will you join my Brotherhood and fight or wait for the inevitable genocide? Who would you stand with the humans or Us?”
When his speech is over you can’t help but let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He hit every button you wanted to hear. At times you wondered if he was speaking directly to you. You were looking for someway to contribute, for a group to join and the Brotherhood made a lot of sense to you.
With a flip of his cape, he left the stage. You don’t even know his name, but you get the feeling that you would follow him to the ends of the Earth, if it required that, to further his cause, your cause. He had such a commanding, dominant presence you’re scared to approach him. But several other mutants are doing so, and you choke down your fear and wait in the line to speak with him.
A few of the tougher riffraff taunt and pester him, flummoxed to have an older WASP-y gentleman upbraid them. You felt slightly ashamed at your generation’s lack of respect for their elders, but you stomached your disgust and listened to his forceful replies. He had a younger male teen mutant with a penchant for fire who acted as his major domo.
“If you’re so proud of being a mutant where’s your mark?” asked a girl with tattoos strategically displayed wherever her clothes did not cover. If there was some tattoo requirement for being a mutant you had obviously missed the trend. Just more evidence that growing up in suburbia causes kids to lead sheltered lives and develop narrow viewpoints. Along with your newfound mutant solidarity is the urge to proclaim loudly and without shame your identity as a mutant.
Maybe I’ll get a tattoo, you think.
The debonair white-haired man, however, was not to be easily intimidated.
Do not make me bring this up. It is an old wound. I would prefer that time remained in the past. You heard the man think. His thoughts were easy to read as there were a significant amount of weighty emotions attached to them. You read his mind as he raised his sleeve to reveal six numbers: 214782. He is remembering a concentration camp and the horrible circumstances under which he received the tattoo.
“I have been marked once my dear and let me assure you no needle shall ever touch my skin again.” He said.
“You know who you are talking to?” Flame boy antagonized the rough-looking Asian mutant in front of him.
This is Magneto, only the most powerful mutant in the world. The boy with the flames thought.
“Do you?” The mutant replied and released porcupine like quills all over his face. You moved a little farther away from him, lest you be involuntarily acupunctured by all his quills.
My flames would burn your wimpy spikes so fast you wouldn’t know what hit your porcupine ass. The flame boy’s thoughts come through so loud, clear, and funny you have trouble suppressing a giggle.
“And what can you do?” The white-haired man, whom you now know as Magneto said. The tattooed girl whizzes past you and back to her original spot so fast a breeze rustles through your hair.
I wonder if one this young knows the negative connotation of being a ‘fast’ woman. Albeit she could be very useful despite her dismal fashion sense. Magneto’s thought evaluating the tattooed girl who stood in front of you.
“Hmm, so you have talents.” Magneto said, his smile pulling up in a wickedly cute smirk. You can’t help but enjoy getting both the spoken and the only thought parts of a conversation.
“That and more.” The girl preened in front of him. “I know you control metal and I know there’s 87 mutants in here and none of them above a class three other than you two. And…”
The girl moved to the side to reveal you. You find yourself standing in front of the handsome white-haired man Magneto. If the flame throwing mutant is to be believed, Magneto is the most powerful mutant in the world. He is also a charismatic leader you have growing respect for. You feel nervous.
What have we got here... His eyes rove over you, sizing you up and trying to guess your mutation.
“She’s a telepath, I think. Class Four.” The tattooed girl described you and you marvel that all the necessary information about you can be contained in three short words: telepath class four. What for that matter is class four anyway? You didn’t even know mutants had classes. Was that like belt color ranks in Karate?
Like Charles. Magneto thought. I wonder how much practice she has had. She doesn’t look too old and she certainly hasn’t been running with this gang before. She’s too good-looking and too well-dressed. Doubtful she’s ever used her powers in combat.
“Is that true?” He asks you. His eyes are a startling grey blue color that shine even in the dimly lit church. You shiver slightly with nerves to have them looking intently at you.
“Well, I can read minds. I’m not sure what a class four mutant is.” You answer him.
A class four is a very powerful mutant whose abilities can be used in a wide variety of situations. I am a class four. He does not answer you by speaking, instead he thinks this.
I don’t think I’m as powerful as you. I just listen to what people think. Sometimes I can plant a thought in their head. Nothing too big. But that’s it. You tell him by using your mind to speak to him. It is surreal feeling. You’ve only done it once or twice before.
“Very good, my dear.” He extends his hand to you, as if to shake. His hand is old, the skin well weathered but the fingers long and strong. “My name is Magneto. How would you like to join the Brotherhood of Mutants?”
I will make it worth your while. He thinks, intending for you to read his mind.
“I would.” You answer him and shake his hand.
I just want to help my fellow mutants. You think to him.
“Come then.” He says to you but quickly lifts his gaze to include all the mutants waiting to talk to him. “All of you. If you wish to join Us, the Brotherhood of Mutants, and take a stand against the orchestrated genocide, report to 4250 Tremont St in the next few days. We have a safe house there.”
You memorize the address for future reference.
“Let us leave Pyro.” You learn the name of the flame boy mutant. Magneto and Pyro turn to leave.
She will be a great asset. You read his unguarded thoughts. Magneto catches himself thinking about you in the third person in your presence. Sorry, I did not mean to offend, but a woman of your talents will be quite useful.
Another swiff of his cape and Magneto is gone.
You did not think anything back to him. You’re a bit floored to tell the truth. Up until now you’ve never been anything special, save your mutant powers you hid so rigorously. Now you’re a ‘great asset’ to a cause near and dear to your heart. Suddenly your joining a mutant supremacy organization and leaving your humdrum life behind.
You race home to make arrangements and pack your bags.
Notes: So what do you think? Did this work? Does it make any sense? Should I continue? Is the telepathic speech easy to understand? Does Erik come off as hot? You just met him, but I wanted to portray how awe-inspiring he is.
I made the meeting in Boston, sort of arbitrarily since the church in the movie could be in any city.
4250 Tremont St - Another fictitious place I picked out without any real reason. I haven’t been to Boston since I was about five, so I have no idea where that is or if that number even exists.
You just met Magneto, but now you will slowly get to know him better as you will begin working for the Brotherhood. How much better? Well you’ll have to wait for the next chapter to find out. Go to Chapter 2