X-Treme Tragedy

[razor]

XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS

Quentin Quire wanted out of this school. Furthermore, he didn't NEED TO BE in this school. The teachers here just didn't know it yet. Not that the teachers were great or anything, hell very few of them had their teaching license. Not that it mattered, mutants will always be a systematically oppressed race.
That wasn't going to stop him from being powerful enough for the human scum to leave him the hell alone.


All he had to do was prove to them that he was pretty much better than all of them, and there was nothing they could do to teach him. Thus, he was crouched down outside of the Cerebro room. Mr. Clean himself was sitting in the chair (not that he could get up anyways) and looking for mutants in distress. If Quentin could mask his presence while also intercepting the messages, he could send subliminal messages to Xavier to graduate him now.


He had to sift through many odd and offshooting thoughts. Random dirty thoughts about Captain Marvel that were creepily accurate to her body type, an entire grocery list, a wall of pineapples, theft of a diamond, Scott Summers' melodramatic shower thoughts. Just when he was about to give up and start with the subliminal messages, he heard a faint screech of pain. At first he let it shuffle to the back of his mind, but that changed as the screaming persisted. He honed in on this sound, knowing that he was the only one that could hear it right now.


The sound was coming from New Jersey, giving down to the street in which the boy was being held. The boy was strapped to a table with multiple drills going into his back. These drills were attached to something that he couldn't see from this angle. The boy was struggling to stay conscious during the ordeal, as he caught a glimpse of some white-haired man in a purple robe before passing out.


"Shit! f**k f**k f**k!"


Quentin would immediately bolt back to his room and slam the door behind him. His hands pressed up against the sides of his head and ruffle his hair.


"It's fine Quentin, just forget it, forget that it was there. You didn't hear it, you didn't hear it at all." He'd repeat to himself as he began sweating and holding back tears.


It wouldn't leave his head. The image flashed over and over in his head. Was this what Xavier watched every single day? What kind of sick freak does he have to be to see things like this? What an awful and miserable way of living. That thing was a curse to everyone it touched and, apparently, whoever was in proximity of it.


"Okay Quire, we've got to get you in touch with someone who could help..." He'd sigh, trying to calm himself down. He knew someone perfect for this job.


He would reach out to his former roommate, Malik Withrow, but he was better known as Razor. He was currently working with Magneto, but he had already established that he would not be betraying Xavier's school in the process. He felt that he was being pessimistic, but also being idealist and just overall wrong, but who was he to try and stop someone from being happy? The guy wanted to be a criminal, let him be one.
It seems that Razor had gotten better at his psychic defense, as Quire was unable to reach him.


Telepathy was different to everyone. For Quentin, it was like the desktop of a computer. There were certain permissions you had with varying people. Some people would be completely okay with you opening the childhood memories folder while others have multiple walls around it, barring you access.
Most mutants could resist one form of telepathy or another, and control where it is. It took skill or to be another telepath to protect the entire computer.
Right now, Razor had a block on receiving messages right now to not disclose his location... SO Quentin just needed to Trojan Horse the guy's brain. He disguised the thought as him thinking about that one time with Ziggy on the forbidden rock.


While Razor resisted and tried to avoid the thought, his deepest desires drew him towards it. That was when he was bombarded with the imagery, so much so he fell out of his chair.


Wakey wakey, turncoat.


Quentin, what the hell?!


So, I might have just messed up.


Yeah, you just knocked me out of my chair, what the hell was that?


I picked it up off Cerebro, we gotta go save them. Or else I've got to tell them I was snooping.


Dammit, Quentin. You knew I wouldn't be able to let you turn this over to them either... Screw you. Where are we headed?


New Jersey. Meet me at the Subway close to here.


Got it. You owe me for this one...


The connection ended and Quire would sigh.


"Yeah..."

[razor]

XNEW YORK CITY SUBWAY

Malik wasn't one to let people into his mind recently. Even though he had relayed the idea that he didn't plan on betraying the X-Men, he'd still get the stray telepathic thought reach into his mind. It frustrated him, because it made him a liability to Magneto and his brotherhood. They weren't going to be able to grow if he was always giving away their location. It didn't help when someone disguised as Quentin tried to reach his mind...
Of course that was proven false when it actually was Quire, and he didn't want to turn him in to Professor X. Instead, it was about something very serious and the reason why he was here with Magneto in the first place... Helping mutants and freeing them from their human bonds.


So, he was here is, teleporting from an unknown place with tech beyond his knowledge to the streets of New York City... He had to say, it felt like the most bittersweet thing to be a part of... He wouldn't have wanted to leave so bad if Wilson Fisk wasn't literally red-lining mutants. He couldn't stand for that, and he couldn't just kill Fisk. While he technically didn't have any moral objections to it, he wasn't going to stand there and take that lying down. He'd stay somewhere with Magneto and fight the good fight...


He found himself standing face to face with his old roommate and friend, Quentin Quire. Quire had looked better... What he saw was legit. Trap or not, he saw something. That much was obvious. The bags under his eyes, the paler than normal skin, and the fact that it looked like he already thrown up at least twice.


"You look like shit."


"Well, I might've missed you, but not anymore."


"Cool. I didn't."


The two grinned at each other before hopping the oppressive turnstile to get into the subway train. It was something to note that they were not the only ones to have done it. It was very odd that it happened, but that's just how New York was. God New Yorkers were wonderful.


They sat down in the subway and caught up as much as possible without seeming vulnerable. Malik asked about Chaka, Quentin told him that she was annoying and came to cry in their room every day. Quentin would ask how Magneto and Mister Sinister were, Malik would tell him that they were both full of themselves and annoying to listen to when they argued. It was typical life things. One worked for two sociopaths and the other worked for one. Pretty simple, to be fair.


It was a nice way of catching up, which took them the entire way to New Jersey, neither one of them skipping a beat. It was almost as if they hadn't been apart for years on end. It was good though... The two of them would save the child in question and bring him back.
Where they would send the boy was still to be determined.