|X-Men: Apocalypse|
The world had changed when she was six. A woman, who they began to call a mutant, saved the president. Vale Samson never knew that she was like that woman, someone with strange gifts.
Years passed and she felt something stra...
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19:38, August 24, 1983.
Jacob had not intended to blow up the Country Music Hall of Fame.
All he wanted to do when he arrived at the city was not to cause trouble. He truly never expected that a simple slip of his wrist would derail to destruction. Blaming the winged girl and the Australian became very, very tempting.
The chaos started when a dead woman knocked him over. Her gray hand following, clinging on his sleeve.
"AAHH!--" The woman's detached hand clamped over his mouth in a quick leap. It's putrid smell burned his nose hairs.
She lunged at the teen, her sunken eyes wide and darting all possible directions. Her face was a sickening shade of gray and her short hair was tangled. Dark circles rimmed her scarlet irises. She looked as if she crawled out of a casket.
"I'll let go when you stop screaming." she told him.
Jacob lurched backward in a frantic crab walk. It can talk. His thoughts shrieked. Zombies can talk.
The slender woman only maneuvered closer to him. She wasn't hunched or limping like in any horror film, she stepped as if she were on a catwalk.
"Clam down," she said, crouched to his level. "I don't eat brains, I'm not a zombie. But I am sorry that I ran into you." Her head fell into her attached hand. "I don't know how I got here."
Jacob ceased his thrashing.
"Will you not scream?" Her voice did not sound like a gargle either.
He nodded.
The dismembered hand let go and jumped to it's gray owner. With a gag worthy snap, she popped it right back in place. Wiggling her fingers as if it hadn't attacked him, the dead woman stood with a smile.
"What is your name?" She offered him help off the cool ground. He hesitantly accepted.
"J-Jacob." He shuddered.
"I was called Moonbeam," She said, a warm smile across her face (For someone you looked dead), "Could you tell me where we are?"
"Riverfront train station, Nashville." He responded. "You're not high...?"
A high pitched whistle announced the train had arrived to pick up riders.
She glanced over at the forming crowds. "I'm not on drugs, I can't explain it now," She grabbed his shoulder, pushing him into the train cart. Sprinting to a dark cornered seat, she dragged Jacob with her.
From musicians to late night workers, people trickled in little by little each stop. Moonbeam's head lowered, charcoal gray clumps fell over her face.
