Thirty-One

                                    

                                          
The group of mutants that assembled in the hallway was small yet crowded in the narrow space, everyone pressed close as more mutants were released from their prison cells and Demon and Phoenix scouted ahead to find a way out. Trace had her arm pressed against Glint's and her back against Hop's chest. His hand clutched hers and his breath came quick and uneven. He was pale, his eyes standing stark on his near-white skin. 

                          
"Hop, you okay?" She asked, tilting her head so she could look into his eyes. Someone elbowed her in the stomach as they passed. 

                          
"Oh, you know, I'm...fine. Just having an allergic reaction to the world." He shook his head, his hand tightening on hers. She squeezed it reassuringly. Hop breathed in slowly, a shallow breath, like the ones Trace took when she was having a panic attack. 

                          
"Breathe in." She said, squeezing his hand again. He complied.
                          
Trace counted to three.

                          
"Now breathe out." He did. Trace felt his chest relax a little.
                          
"Thanks." He whispered in her ear. She saw Glint grin at her from the corner of her eye and Trace rolled her eyes at her.
                          
Hop watched Demon and Phoenix walk down the hallway, the mutants moving out of the way. Glint leaned over. "Ooh." She giggled.
                          
"Shut it." Trace hissed but couldn't fight the blush that settled on her cheeks or the smile that played on her lips.
                          
"Is this everyone?" Demon asked, dropping to his knees in front of Lion so he was eye level. Lion nodded. "Alright, thank you." 

                          
Demo stood up and turned to address the crowd, his eyes coming to rest on Trace. He looked tired, she realised, shadows darkening his eyelids as if someone had smeared on charcoal and bloodshot lines standing out against his dark skin. Had he been questioned? Or stoically on a silent rebellion, like M had been? Or...maybe...tortured...no, they wouldn't...
                          
Yes they would.
                          
"This is it. Our chance to prove to the world that the Government is corrupt and manipulative. This city has suffered for years ever since they rose to power, shunning anyone who opposes them. Anyone who's different. They think mutants are evil and should be exterminated. We are not pests." Demon stared Trace dead in the eye, as if trying to bore holes into her. "We are the people of this city- it's time we take it back!"
Cheers rose from the group, raised fists pumping the air. Trace noticed M stood rigid, his eyes glassy. She was about to ask him if he was alright when a red dot appeared on Phoenix's forehead.
                          
"Everyone freeze." Someone said, their voice low and dangerous, cutting into Trace's thoughts like darts of ice.
                          
A woman walked to the front, her face obscured by a visor that slid across her eyes and nose. "How nice to see you again Mason. I hope you weren't planning on-"
                          
They never found out what she was going to say because a bullet shattered the visor and slammed into her skull. The woman's violet eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped to the floor without so much as a breath.
                          
All eyes turned to M, who was glaring at her. "I'm not Mason. I'm M." 

                          
He leveled the gun and fired again, this time scoring a direct shot at the soldier just before chaos broke loose.
                          
***
                          
He didn't feel the bullet enter his ribcage or feel it puncture his lung. All he felt was a twinge in his side and then it was over. 

                          
Huh, I thought dying took longer, he thought, before realising he'd said it aloud. 

                          
"You're not dead; well, not yet, anyway." A voice said and M felt his breath hitch.
                          
"Mum? Aren't you..." He didn't know the right word for it.
                          
"Dead?" She laughed. "Yes, honey, I am. Soon you will be, too- but not quite yet."
So that means..."Where am I?"
                          
"A place your friend Trace visits often. I like to call it limbo- the place where the world of the living and the world of the dead meet, even if it's just for a brief moment."
                          
M frowned at his mother, who smiled comfortingly, looking exactly as she had the day the world had collapsed. "So, I am dying."

                          
Her smile softened. "I'm afraid so."
                          
"Well then. That's that done." 

                          
What was he saying? Did he really think his life was over? Did he really have a choice? What now? Did he believe in heaven? He hadn't really thought about it until now. Maybe he should ask his mother.
                          
"I know that look. It's the look of someone who doesn't know what to expect."
                          
He looked at her. "Did someone say that to you when you...you know..."
                          
She laughed, the same laugh that had haunted him for years. "Yes. Your father. M, it's time. Come on, honey, let's go."
                          
She held out her hand for him, no longer calloused from paint or work around the farm. A perfect hand. He glanced down at his and noticed that all the cuts were fading, all the tiny scars softening and disappearing. His mind slid back to the healing pill but this was more natural...more real.
                          
He turned his gaze back to his mother. She smiled at him again. "Can I talk to her first? One last time?"

                          
His mother paused for a moment, before nodding, understanding clearing her eyes. "Of course."
                          
M said what he wanted, which only lasted a few minutes, before he sighed and took his mother's hand, fading into the darkness.
                          
And he was happy.
                          
He was home.
                          
***
                          
Trace reached the sunlight outside first, her eyes scrunching up as the light blasted down on her. She wasn't so much as in the city yet but the tiny courtyard she found herself in was still further than she had been for a while. It was warmer out here and only then did she realise how cool it was in the facility. 

                          
Speaking of which... Trace turned around, her heart hammering in her chest. A few mutants sprinted out behind her, one of which was shooting blindly with a gun. She caught the tell-tale pink hair of Tempest but she didn't recognize any one else. They filed out painfully slowly, like time had decided to slow down.
                          
Maybe it had.
                          
Who knew what her mutation could do. 

                          
Hop teleported next to her, his arms wrapping around her as he picked her off the ground. She laughed as he spun her around. "We totally kicked their butts!" he grinned, placing her down just as Glint ran over.
                          
"Trace!" She yelled, hugging her fiercely.
                          
She laughed. "Hey, Glint. Or do you want me too call you little sis?"
                          
Glint smiled, her green eyes lighting up. "I'm not that much younger than you. A year, at most."
                          
How does she remember her age? Trace only knew she was about sixteen from her appearance. She didn't know her birthday. She was about to ask when she realised something.
                          
"Where's M, guys?"
                          
Hop and Glint looked at each other. Glint bit her lower lip as Hop rubbed his arm. 

                          
"Where's M?"
                          
"Trace," Hop said quietly, placing his hand on hers. "M...didn't make it. I'm so sorry."

                          
Trace didn't reply- those seven words had destroyed the barrier in her mind. Everything came tumbling down on her so, so quickly, a jumbled heap of emotions, of people and places and dates and moments and memories.
                          
So many memories.
                          
The tears came next, cool tears of salty water that slid down her cheeks, to her throat and jaw and mouth. They turned her tongue to dust as she cried. Her legs gave out and someone's arms came around her- Hop, she thought, purely because his hair was glittering in the sunlight. Dark spots bloomed in her vision and she closed her eyes to stop the burning but nothing seemed to work.
                          
M hadn't made it.