CATACLYSM || X-Men

1| everyday people

Auschwitz, Poland, 1944

Under the dark cover of night, the men, women, and children slept lightly, waking at the slightest of sound. In the corridor of the separate offices of the generals and officials of the camp, Rose had the safety of no sleeping figures, only the patrols of the night guard. Nevertheless, she kept her steps light, ears and eyes alert for all movements. She made it down to the end, easily opening the door to the office with the key she'd stolen a few hours ago, and locked herself in.

    The files were worse than she expected. Intercepting communications had not been enough to prepare her for Schmidt's 'research', something she could only describe as torture. He was determined, she had to admit, but had no compassion.

    Compiling a file on the man's research, she placed it into her bag, before another one caught her eye. The name stood out, and she couldn't help but reach in, pulling the folder out to read it. The images were enough.

    Pulling out her packet of matches, she lit one, touching it to the corner of the file. As it caught on fire, she waved the match to extinguish it, before she waved her now free hand to speed up the flames until the pages ceased to exist, and the fire caught on to the rest of the papers on the desk.

    She turned to the wall she knew hid the research lab, and pressed down on the button which revealed it. At the sight of a boy in the corner, her eyebrows furrowed. He really kept him there? She came to the conclusion that Schmidt was worse than any other she'd met.

    The boy looked up, seeing her standing there, looking nothing like the soldiers. The lack of a guard uniform made him search for a badge on the plain clothes. He saw the star on her shirt, pink, rather than yellow, which put him at ease, at least a little. She waved her hand, making him nod and move to the far corner, out of her way. She glanced around the room, ignoring the fire that was starting to rage behind her, before she reached for one of the metal rods by the fireplace. Feeling its weight, she twirled it around her hand, before she threw it straight at the glass.

    Embedding itself into the transparent wall, she then pulled off her gloves, and put her hands onto the metal on her end. The boy watched as the blue veins on her hands hands glowed, and the colours spread around the metal until the sparks reached the hole in the glass. The cracks continued to grow, until the whole wall collapsed, making a loud noise that definitely woke up the camp.

    "Are you Erik?" she asked in German, hoping it would do, while climbing over the shards of glass.

    "Yes. Erik."

    "I'm Rose. We're getting out of here," she nodded, looking around the room. At the sight of particularly long knife she would border on calling a machete, she reached out to take it from the wall. "What the hell," she mumbled, but nevertheless dropped it on the floor, pulling her gloves back on. "Do you have siblings?" she asked him as she gave him some shoes and a coat.

    "A younger sister."

    "How old?"

    "Eight," he replied, pulling the extra layers on. His eyes scanned her face, wanting to know if his family was alive, though he knew the chances were slim. As she refused to meet his eyes, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "He killed my mother."

    "I know," she nodded, finally looking at him, standing up and taking the machete with her as a weapon. "I'm sorry. But I'm going to get you out of here, and I promise you, you will never be at his mercy, ever again."

    The boy stared up at her, a sense of relief overcoming him. He was finally leaving this place. Everything that had been done to him— The light from the ceiling, reflecting off the bright white walls shone down on the woman who had come to his help, almost like a halo behind her head. Perhaps this was what his mother meant, about him being protected.