X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 20

Chapter 20…

Crashing. Metal against stone—glass against metal. As Erik entered the island base, the morning's sunlight brightened Cerebro's dark room. He stood silently by the door, absorbing the scene before him. The marble floor that had been empty just a couple days before was now cloaked with debris. Broken wires. Cracked circuit boards. Shattered tubes. Dented metal.

To the left, Charles sat beside Cerebro's mainframe. As Erik closed the door behind him, his old friend met him with a glare.

"Charles?" the name spilled from Erik's mouth.

Eyes flared with rage, the other man didn't hesitate. Snatching up a half-busted circuit board from the floor, he whipped his arm back—

The green piece of plastic went flying. Spinning in the air like a Frisbee, it soared directly towards Erik's head. He barely had time to duck before the thing whisked by his helmet and smacked into the wall behind him.

Charles turned his attention back to the mainframe, his fingers burrowing into its insides like a starving man ripping apart a loaf of bread. That's when the reality finally sunk in. Erik rushed to the other man. Leeching his hands underneath Charles' armpits, he dragged him away from the machine.

Immediately, Charles fought back. Screaming protests, he thrashed his arms, grabbing at anything he could find. His left hand ripped Erik's shirt pocket as Erik forced him towards Cerebro's platform. Pushing his friend into its metal support beams, Erik latched onto Charles' arms.

"What have you done?" Erik shouted, shaking the other man as if he was a disobedient child.

Charles gripped Erik's collar. And then both men were screaming at each other. Their voices resonated off of Cerebro's spherical room, practically quaking its walls.

Erik's face felt hot enough to blister. His voice cracked as if his throat was caving in on itself. Beyond the rage, however, Erik felt a cold sweat starting to consume his body. Did Charles even realize what he'd done?

But the screaming continued, and after another minute, Erik had enough. With one final shove, he released Charles. Clumsily, the other man dropped to his hands and elbows on the floor, but that didn't dull his glare. Erik stood, perspiration streaming down his face.

He observed the chaos before him. The metal panels that had covered Cerebro's internal processors had been pried off. Inside the machine, torn wires, cracked circuit boards and transformers laid in piles. Glass, plastic, and metal littered the floor like there had been an explosion.

The machine was destroyed.

Stepping to Cerebro's console, Erik clutched both his hands on the controls. The only pieces that survived at all were the ones Charles simply couldn't reach. He had torn everything else to shreds.

"It's gone, Erik," Charles said from behind him. "It's gone."

Around them, Erik felt his powers react. Above, a deep hum shuttered across the wall panels. On the floor, the metal debris quivered as if in fear. The fence vibrated, some of the wires breaking apart like someone snapping stray threads from their clothing.

Erik leaned over, getting a hold of himself. He peered at the floor—at the mess at his feet—and took in some long, deep breaths.

That's when he noticed it. In the midst of broken tubes and wires, a touch of crimson glinted off the distant lights of the living area. Around the base, the metal calmed; the humming quieted.

Erik turned back to Charles. As he rested against the platform, his friend's glare had cooled and now only exhaustion lingered. There were rings under his eyes. His hair hadn't been washed in days and his face donned something between a thick five o'clock shadow and the start of a beard.

On his bottom lip, there was swelling.

Erik moved away from the machine. He knelt down to Charles, cupping his right hand to his friend's jaw and inspecting the injury. "What hap—?"

"I cut my lip," the other man said as he jerked his head away.

"Does it need stitches?"

"And what difference would that make? Are you intending to pull out a needle and take care of it yourself?"

Erik just stared at him.

With a roll of his eyes, Charles replied, "No. I don't believe so."

Then, as if disgusted, Charles averted his gaze. Slowly, Erik's eyes left his friend and tracked the floor. Next to him, Charles' legs were cloaked in dirt and stains from the marble and the machine. A smell whiffed off him that reminded Erik of a rusted old car.

Charles sat in a pile of the machine's wreckage, from snapped wires to shards of glass.

Erik raised a hand. Across the floor, the metal heard his call; as he swayed his arm, the pieces were swept to the outskirts of the room, ushering most of the plastic and glass with it.

Then, Erik grabbed a hold of Charles' legs. He draped an arm across his friend's back and lifted the other man from the wreckage. Charles didn't protest. With his friend in his arms, Erik parted the fence and marched up the stairs to the living area.

Gently, Erik placed Charles back onto his bed. The other man dropped his head on the pillow, his eyes glazed over. Sitting on the mattress' edge, Erik stared at his old friend. Or what was left of him. The man before him hardly resembled the Charles Xavier he had known.

After a minute, Erik said, "Tell me this, Charles, did you actually have a plan when you started tearing that machine to pieces? Or were you simply having a tantrum?"

Charles seemed to ponder that for a moment. Then, he replied, "Perhaps…both."

Erik placed a hand on his helmet. The consequences of that morning—when the other mutants found out…

"What do you think will happen now?" Erik asked. "Do you think this will be the end of it?"

Charles angled his gaze to the ceiling and something shifted on his face. Erik recognized it immediately; only Charles could pull it off with such conviction. Hope.

"It seems to me," Charles said, "that you have a decision to make, Erik. You and your brotherhood can either spend the next several weeks reconstructing what you lost, or you can accept it and return me home."

Erik frowned. "You really think that's going to happen?"

"Well…if nothing more, no one will be operating Cerebro for quite some time." Charles cocked an eyebrow at him. "Will they?"

As Erik threw a glance over his shoulder at what was left of the machine; his stomach tightened. No, no one would be using Cerebro, that was certain. But now, Erik was going to have to explain that to the others. And he had a grave suspicion their reactions wouldn't be as kind as his.

End of Chapter