One moment, he's having a good enough time, with the woman he loves by his side.
The next moment, he's alone, tied to a chair, in the dark.
There's no light where he is, all he can see is what is in front of him; the fact that he's still in his suit from the event before, that he's sitting down. His ankles are tied to the chair, and his arms are tied tight behind him.
He remains calm, because this isn't the first time that he's found himself in this situation. Maxwell Diederich, well he'd be a bit freaked out. Magneto, Max Eisenhardt? Well he's been in this a few times before. As a child being tortured for not doing what the Nazis wanted him to do, for defying them. As a young man, being captured because being a mutant wasn't something people understood. As an adult, being feared, and those holding him hostage not realizing that, well, most chairs were wood or metal. Wood needed nails to be held together. Metal, well that was just his play thing.
The lights came on in the room, and Max looked around, raising an eyebrow. He was essentially in a brick room. No light other than the single lightbulb that hung above his head. There was no metal encasing around the lightbulb. Smart, he thought. Because if someone knew who he was and knew his powers, they'd do anything they could to make sure he had no way of getting out. At least, not with his powers.
Still, he wasn't sure what his captor knew, if anything. So he called out for help, but got no answer. After a long time, he managed to start to move out of the chair.
The chair was made of wood, so getting the pieces to separate from themselves wasn't hard when he could pull the metal nails out. Soon, the chair was destroyed in a mess of a wood pile at his feet. He decided sitting on the ground would be easier as he tried his best to cut through the rope with the nails lying around, and while the nails were good, they weren't great. When it got to a certain point, Max started to try to tear the rope away with his teeth.
His survival instincts were kicking in. He ripped through the rope the best he could, managing to get the rope off his hands, and he immediately went to the rope around his ankles. The metal nails worked fast into the rope, while his hands worked on untying everything that he could, and when he was finally free, the nails fell unceremoniously to the ground.
It wasn't until he was free that he started to notice that he was in a bit of pain. Maybe he had been beaten up, or maybe he had done something else, maybe he was hit or he ran into something. He had no idea how he had gotten here, and he had no idea how to get out. There was nothing here, no windows. Only a door made out of plastic, (which was odd, but not something he hadn't seen before considering all the prisons people had erected to keep him trapped for all those years), and a mirror hanging on the wall with a note next to it.
Max walked over to the mirror, and examined it, before looking into the mirror itself. The framing was plastic, and not a trace of metal was in it. In fact, there was no metal anywhere within the room, not that he could sense. Which, meant there was none. He had nothing on his person other than the suit he wore, the shoes on his feet, and the tie around his neck. He had no phone, no wallet, no keys.
He wondered if anyone knew he was gone. He wondered how long he had been gone. Was this another world where time moved slowly? Or was he still in Boston somehow, just in some sort of...brick warehouse? A brick warehouse, with a plastic door, with a random mirror and a note. He was used to strange things, but even he thought this was peculiar.
Finally deciding to look into the mirror, he saw a large bruise under his left eye, closer to his cheek. There was another one on his arm, and another one on his chest. His shirt was ripped open, his suit was bloody. The bruises were more like wounds that had not closed yet, and he recognized what that pain was now. Someone had cut him open. Had caused him to bleed, had decided to mess him up a little bit.
He finally ripped the note off the wall, realizing it was an envelope. In the envelope were three photographs - x-rays. One for each of the places he had a cut. Each photo had a section of a metal key.
There was a note that read "Can you sacrifice yourself to make it whole again?"
He dropped the photos on the ground and ran for the door, immediately searching it. There had to be some sort of mechanism he could manipulate somehow. There had to be something he could do. But every inch that he looked at, there was nothing. It was solid industrial strength plastic. Not a trace of metal. Nothing he could alter. The only thing was there seemed to be a keyhole. The hole itself was plastic, and had plastic mechanisms in it, but from the photos he saw, the keys in him were metal.
Would they still work, if he pulled them out?
There was a moment of thinking. He started to pace the room, wishing there was something else he could do, other than to tear apart himself to find the solution.
He went through as many possible solutions as he could think of. He tried bashing the door down, he tried using wood to break it, he tried using the small nails to try to mess with the lock on the door but the nails ended up getting sucked through the hole to the room on the other side. After two hours of exhausting options, there was nothing left but the mirror, the x-ray photos that were scattered on the ground, and the metal key parts that had been surgically placed under his skin.
Why someone thought it would be good for him to cut under his skin to get a key, he didn't know. Why was this how his captor wanted to test him? What did it mean by Can you sacrifice yourself to make it whole again? What was he making whole?
He had already sacrificed himself. Way too many times. He had sacrificed his family to give them a better life, and they were better off, as much as it had killed him to do so. He had sacrificed his own happiness and love to give mutants and those like him a better chance. He had sacrificed his life, when he tried his best to stop the incursions from happening, but ended up dying with the rest of the world, only to be reborn. Only to be reborn in Boston, out of all places, with two lives, still missing pieces of himself.
He wasn't completely whole, and he knew that. Maybe that was what the message meant. He hadn't been whole since really awakening here, to find that he lived two lives. To find that Max Diederich had gone through almost the same level of hardships that Max Eisenhardt went through, only to not be rewarded for his hardships. He had been beaten down over and over, and forced to protect only himself and his own interests. The want of a family he couldn't have, the desire to have an heir to carry on his legacy and be proud to have him as a father. The connections were all too real. They were all too painful.
But that's what it was like, being him. Living his life. He had to cut himself up into pieces and spread himself thin and sometimes that wasn't even enough. It didn't ever feel like it was good enough - for his family, for his job, sometime even his personal life. He had to cut himself open, give himself fully, to get very little back.
The idea of giving up was strong, for both versions of Max. But Magneto, he knew. He knew that giving up was what people wanted him to do. They wanted him to just disappear, pretend as though he never existed. They wanted to try their best to manipulate him to their side, because he could be better as a trained dog than as an enemy to face. They wanted to hurt those close to him because they didn't think that he would react.
They were wrong. Hurt those close to him, and the punishment was nothing less than death. Take his family away, and you would be hunted down until your last breath gave out. Tear his love away, and he would avenge it until his own dying day.
Hours had passed since he was first placed in the room, since he first woke up. Only now was he understanding.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the mirror, and picked up the photos off the ground. Each x-ray depicted where a piece of the key was. He'd have to use it as a blueprint.
He'd have to cut himself open to survive, just like he always had done, and just like how he always would do. He thought of the small connection he made with his kids last month. He thought of his friends. He thought of his wife.
With the photos in one hand, he made a fist and punched into the mirror with the other, the mirror shattering into pieces. One large piece remained stuck in the mirror, so he would have to use this as his guide. He stuck the photos underneath the large shard, managing to get the photos stuck so they would stay up, and he bend down to get a long sharp slice of glass.
He looked at the first photo, and looked at the cut under his eye. He raised the sharp glass to the cut and slid it open, screaming in agony as he did so. He was not someone who had a healing ability. He was made of flesh and blood, like the rest of them, but he was better than him. Even though he was bleeding from the cut down his cheek, he was better than them.
It was a mantra he repeated as he held his breath and using his magnetokinesis, pulled the first piece of the key out from under his skin. Holding his breath didn't help, as he screamed out in pain the entire time, and when the key fell to the floor with a clink, he tried to breathe.
He was going to lose a lot of blood this way. He only hoped that whatever was on the other side of the door was the way out. If not...
...well he could die here, in this room, and chances were that no one would be able to locate him.
At that grim thought, he used his free hand to brace himself on the wall, as he lifted the glass to his chest, and sliced open the wound. Blood poured out as the key came out as he willed it, and that piece fell to the ground.
One more piece to go, but the loss of blood caused Max to fall to the floor as well.
Covered in his own blood, all over his hands, and his hands cut from the glass itself, he was a mess. A mess that certainly wasn't going to get out of this alive.
He closed his eyes. He saw her, reaching out for him, calling to him. Telling him that she needed him, and he needed to come back to her. Then she faded away, faded as he slowly opened his eyes and grabbed the piece of glass and sliced the wound on his arm open. The last piece of the key came out, and Max passed out from the overwhelming pain.
When he came to, he was weak, but he was still mostly alive. Or so, he thought. The three key pieces were scattered across the floor and Max pulled them all towards him, as he fit the pieces all together and moved to stand up. He slid across the wall, his blood staining the brick, as he managed to get to the door, and using his powers, moved the key into the lock, and with his cut up hand, he turned the key.
The door gave way and opened, and Max slid through, only to find another room. But this time, the room was all metal. There was no other door. There was no way out.
Max did the only thing he could think of: he lost control. He tore the metal room to pieces, screaming the entire time, deciding that if he was going out, it was going to be in his own damn terms. There was no way out of this prison. He was stuck. But because he was stuck, didn't mean he had to accept it.
As all the metal tore from the wall and sharp edges pointed towards him, he willed them to fly towards him and then everything went black.
He felt the floor below him, feeling the pain of being dropped onto the floor, and realized he wasn't in the room he was stuck in before. He looked up and what he could see, it was his living room in Boston. The furniture was finally back in it's place. The carpet was freshly cleaned, but now, he was bleeding all over it. Correction, he was bleeding out onto the carpet in his living room.
He reached for the phone, and managed to dial a number before he blacked out. He managed to get out a "Help", before everything went black.