Calamity

An Incomplete Requiem

"Rye." Lauren whispered, grabbing his wrist in a feeble attempt to pull the suffering boy away from her confused brother. The boy in question achingly pulled himself off Andy, tears threatening to fall down his pale cheeks once again as he turned and wrapped his arms around Lauren.

He felt a jacket get draped around his shoulders softly, warmth managing to crawl its way into his cold bones. Not even then did he dislodge his hold on the girl, whom seemed just as upset as him, hands tracing a soothing path down his back. Silence reigned over the group, excluding the wretched sobs that Ryden let forth.

"Ryden." His weeping moderately calmed down, and he turned to face Reed when the man softly requested his attention. "What happened here?"

Ryden opened his eyes, dutifully purging himself of all emotion. His eyes locked onto Reed's and he pointed at himself, zipping the jacket up as an excuse to avoid looking at the other mutants, wrapping the warm, oversized article tighter around himself.

"You mean you did this?" He nodded at the simple question asked of him, looking up as if he had not a single trouble. Reed simply shook his head, evidently deciding this was not the time to begin delving into this issue—God knew they had a river of those—and motioned for everyone to follow him. "Come on, guys. More Sentinel Services agents are probably on their way."

Ryden followed blindly, eyes roaming over Andy's scrawny frame as he passed him; he knew he was simply rubbing salt in wounds both old and new, and that he was administrating himself injections of the worst kind of torture—but...he just couldn't help it. A smile that could only be described as bittersweet, like a plea for forgiveness. for resentment and, for salvation; it was all manifested in the small twist of the corners of his lips and a single tear falling down his cheek.

Their steps were rushed as they made their way to Headquarters, the mildly familiar building packed and buzzing with the powerful energy of fear and panic. It could almost be tasted in the air, like death's sweet perfume, or the gentler essence of fate.

"Go upstairs and get dressed then meet us down here." Ryden nodded mechanically at the simple orders, travelling upstairs calmly. His attitude contrasted with that of the other kids upstairs, considering they'd completely sunk into what could only be defined as "panic mode". It'd almost be funny, if the situation wasn't so tragically dire. He looked away and approached his empty cot—he made quick work of looking under it and yanking the backpack he'd left there - what felt like years ago - opening it and finding his favorite hoodie and jeans. He made a poor imitation of laughter for himself as he pulled the clothing on, soft fabric - a soothing presence on his previously cold skin - as his bare toes wiggled up at him.

Each step down the stairs was unsurprisingly agonizing; he knew that once he saw Andy again - the dorky, chaotic, angry and strange boy - would be the only thing he'd be able to think about. It was rather sad, really, but then again, Ryden had always seemed fond of the prospect of divine, self-applied punishment. Except he wasn't.

He paused on the steps, just watching everyone begin to form a line, as if he was taking in a scene before it took him and destroyed him. "Our escape route," Caitlin whispered in a sort of self-explanatory wisdom, striding past him...

Gunshots rang out without warning, eliciting shouts and murmurs to flow through the collapsing dream known as the Underground; the line in front of him began to pass rocks from one person to the other, very clearly attempting to clear the way. As he stared at the line, swallowing loudly, he had to admit, it wasn't a bad idea; however, as his nerves got the best of him, he began to doubt it. He felt guilt permeate his mind, grimacing like he'd been forced to suck on a lemon, but nevertheless, he decided to give into his selfish desires and, turned around, jogging up the stairs to watch Andy in action.