I ran, as fast as my four legs could go-maybe even faster. I had no clue where I was going, only away. Keeping to the road, I ran until my legs gave out, the momentum tripping me and sending me rolling into the ditch with painful thuds. Once I came to a stop, heaving in breaths while a painful throb went up my front paw. I Changed and sat cross legged with no idea where I was. In D.C. still, definitely, but there were no houses, only road. My left wrist was still throbbing and I felt like crying, so I did, I cried and cried. Crying because I'd never have friends again, crying because I'd always be on the run, and crying because I was a freak of nature. Eventually, the tears stopped coming altogether, and I sat on the edge of the road, hiccups racking my weakened body. A few cars passed now and again, most of them paying no attention to me as they sped past, others slowed down a little, but didn't stop. This went on for a good hour, and I was freezing in the night air. I didn't know when the sun had left the sky, probably while I was sobbing my heart out. But after another hour or so, a car drove by, and it stopped. Just kill me already! I shouted in my head. We won't hurt you, child. Replied another voice in my head, a deep, British voice, soothing in a way. "What do you want?" I asked out loud, staring at the little car. A man stepped out of the passenger side, with big glasses, brown hair, and the weirdest outfit-striped red, brown, and yellow shirt, orange jacket, and jeans with work boots to top it of. He didn't look like the owner of the voice in my head. He opened the back door and pulled out a wheelchair, wordlessly rolling it to the other side of the vehicle until he was out of sight, and I could only hear grunts of effort between my hiccups. I stared as a man was wheeled around to the other side of the car, a man with long brown hair. "Come here." He says gently, holding out a hand. "Why? If you're from some sort of science group and are gonna take me for DNA and shit, you can forget about it." I say, swallowing the blood that came into my mouth from a my cut lip. "Hank, talk to her, I haven't had coffee yet." The British man in the wheelchair says, already out of patience. The tall man with the glasses-Hank-nods and moves towards me, slowly. A sound comes from my throat, something between a growl and a whimper. "It's okay," says Hank quietly, squatting down a little ways away from me. "You're gonna hurt me." I whisper, shying away from the tall man, all dignity and sarcasm and everything me is drained, leaving a scared little girl in its stead. "No, no. We're just like you, I promise. Charles, my friend here, owns a school for gifted people like us, all sorts of mutants. People with telekinetic powers, telepathic powers, mutants who change like us, people who can do all sorts of things." Hank says, showing the slightest hint if enthusiasm. I stare at him suspiciously for a while, until the tall man gives in and stands up, walking back to the car. "And I thought I was stubborn." Charles, the man in the wheelchair, muttered. "I'm just not fond of kidnapping." I tell him, unable to stop the corner of my mouth from twitching up. Charles turns to you. "You've got a sense of humour, how old are you?" He asks, intrigued, wheeling forward. "Like I'll tell you." I snicker. Charles smirks "You're fifteen." He says, leaning forward in his chair. "Wha- h-how'd you know." I stammer. "I can read minds, Samantha." Charles's smirk turns into a genuine smile. "I control people through their brains, like you can hypnotize people. I've never met a mutant with more than one power, what's it like?" He asks. "I either eat sodium or people, and I can't bring myself to commit the later, so I steal blocks of pure sodium from colleges. When I get scared, my wolf form takes over, but can control it when I'm not scared." I say, actually feeling relieved as the words spill from me.
Realization strikes me, looking up at Charles with a glare, "Are you messing with my head?" I ask, my voice ice with the sudden feeling of betrayal. "No, I'm not." Charles says, something in his eyes making me believe him. "I knew your boyfriend, Peter. He's a nice kid, but he needs to slow down sometimes." Charles continues, almost muttering to himself. "You're more of a stalker than I thought." I tease, corner of my mouth twitching up into a grin of my own. "You got her to talk." Hank observes. You never heard him come back. "Yeah, you remember Peter Maximoff, don't you Hank?" Charles asks, turning in his wheelchair. "Yes, he helped get Erik out of the Pentagon. Astonishing kid too." Hank remarks, "I thought you sad he was a pain in the ass?"
"He's not." I cut in defensively, starting to get a nauseous feeling of some sort of homesickness, a longing to be back at Peter's house, watching a movie, and safe. "I'll come with you to your 'institute'. If you let me see Peter again by next week." I say, getting to my feet with stiffness flooding my body. "Deal?" I ask, holding out a hand to shake. Charles shakes it. "Deal. Get in." His voice it stern, but his eyes tell me he's teasing.
