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192.
192 days since his world was ripped away, since everything he had built and dreamed of creating, plans for months and years and a lifetime ahead, destroyed in an instant. 191 days since he had woken up after those terrible events, dazed and heavily concussed but not without memory of what had happened.
Because that was the point, right? Through the pain and confusion the tragedy of the memories remained clear in his head, tearing him apart but keeping him on this track. Remembering waking up long before they had realised, staying deathly still in his chains as he heard good old David Bell’s little spiel, feeling a brick sink in his stomach as, in a moment of deafening silence, he could just make out Jade’s weird but distinct half- snores at his side. He tried his best not to frown or grimace while in view of his captors as the people in the room discussed Alan’s upcoming dissection as if he were just a pile of rocks, not a real, living person open to their discretion.
And with tears he could hardly restrain, the realisation slowly hit as hours went by that they were probably just going to die there, alone, nothing to be done about it, which admittedly frightened Xavier more than he dared admit. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have a stable exit that wouldn’t get the two of them shot.
There were no mentions of windows, no indication of the type of bands holding his arms tight above his head, no jingling of keys from a cocky guard, nothing.
He realised it was hopeless, completely and utterly useless trying anything else, so bad he almost wished to give up am now as he heard the doctors and David start up drills to pierce through Alan’s shell. It was too much to bear, way too much.
Then, the Prime Defenders arrived.
He had to admit, they’d put on a good show. Xavier spirits were lifted tremendously, he felt a spark of joy he wasn’t sure he would see again. Hope gave him newfound strength, feeling as if he now had even the slightest chance to make it out.
He knows better now.
Back in the present, long after this, Xavier strolled down a bright corridor with a confident gait, cheerful sunlight streaming through immense windows that stretched up from the floor to the tall ceiling, the pure white on the other side reflecting in rainbows across the crystal decals lining pillars that stood interspersed throughout the wide hall-like space. A beautifully embroidered blood red carpet travelled down this great expanse, almost staining the purity of the effortlessly clean and elegant space. A smile grew under the fabric of his mask as he soaked in the emptiness of such a truly magnificent show, enjoying the feeling of the soft fibres collapsing under step after careful step, straight forward, almost rhythmic.
While on the right, these great windows stood proud, as he continued looking to his left, the once blank wall now greeted him with a much different sight that left his cheer disgruntled and a sour taste in his mouth. Past each pillar sat a different portrait, of all different styles and poses, but sharing that same smug expression all heroes seemed to share. Silhouette. Lightspeed. Wordsmith’s pompous aura practically leaking through the stoic, egotistical painting. His mood fell further still as he passed more and more, as after the first few the walls became covered in smaller pictures littering every inch.
He kept moving with a steady pace, disdain growing that only fuelled him further to keep moving. He absentmindedly tuned back into the sounds around him. Just ahead, maybe a minute of his slow walking (it’s a really long room), just behind those great wooden doors, a muffled voice appeared filled with such delight and hidden arrogance he felt he would throw up in his mouth. As the sound grew, the only sound with Xavier’s near silent movement, he spotted something in the corner of his eye, nestled in the corner like just another grain of sand in this muddy silt of a gallery.
An almost psychotic grin appeared in a sudden. Perfect.
Blonde and silver speckled hair fell in curls around his face, which was aged no doubt from the stress of his job, looking far older than the 28 he was at the time of the picture, Xavier knew, and still looking older than the 34 year old standing on the stage now. His scraggly stubble and almost dulled green eyes did nothing to hide the excitable expression, like a kid clearly having so much fun in the moment, crinkles around his eyes and looking so in love with life if was infectious. Xavier almost felt bad looking at the guy, knowing how the next few minutes would have to go.
But it was his suit that took all of that away. That shred of regret and humanity that had dared let it self fester now gone in an instant. Such a distinct symbol of his cause, a show of where his loyalties lay.
With them.
Xavier scowled. Why was it fair, why him, why her, why did any of this disastrous bullshit have to happen, what did he possibly do to end up this way. He felt like he was tipping over the edge, nearing insanity but still moving as usual as he ripped a bright, splattered can off of his belt, wiping it across the air with crazed force, a great streak of colour bursting from the nozzle as he tipped further, the sound ringing out in booming echos, though perhaps it was just his own heartbeat strong in his head as he finished as turned towards the sound, towards the end.
And as he ran, so did the delicate picture of Atlas’ face, expression contorting under the red ‘X’ just about melting through the picture.
He took great, leaping strides now, swapping can for blade and pre-warning Alan of the moment, prepared now for the little time before the giant would enact his own part in this plan and give him only a small window of opportunity.
Perhaps one day he would stop and reflect on what he was running to do. Stop and see the gravity of his actions.
But all he could remember in that frantic and crucial moment was him.
Wisp. Arrogant and a selfish coward, that’s all he ever was, failing to fight against the true evil when it really mattered. He remembered William in those last moments, as he watched what he could in the fog filled room with a shattered leg and far more broken spirit as he tried to drag himself away from the conjurings of all the worst things William could show him passing around his mind in a great whirl. Everything that turned his blood cold and sent his breaths out of his lungs as the blood streaked across the floor with each slow and agonising movement.
Then, the man of the hour. Chainsaw in hand and bloody needle in the other, William stride towards him, tearstreaks marring paths in the dirt and blood that had splattered across his face over the past hour as if the grime over that crazed face in the dull red lighting wasn’t the most horrifying thing Xavier had ever seen.
Little would come to mind after that, presumably his mind blocking out the worst events of that night (though how it could’ve gotten worse, he could not say) or simply whatever memory juice he was hit with had actually worked, if only a little.
One thing to thank William for, he supposed. He wasn’t sure how much more torture he could’ve taken, what he remembered certainly more than enough to break a man a hundred times over.
He shook his head, nose scrunching as if shaking off a pesky insect rather than the heavy trauma he had been burdened with. The voice grew much louder, stronger, clearer as he reached the doors. It was time. On another occasion, the last time he had tried this, he had hesitated just at the final moment hovering just at the door handle, long enough to not only turn away, but rethink everything as he almost broke from what he had become. The memories of that day plagued him for weeks after, realising no matter how strong he acted, taking a life is one thing he could never do.
Oh, how he had changed.
He blames the ring fights. His morals before being caught up in that were purer, a mercenary that worked on his own beliefs rather than filling the twisted and dark view only his clients. But now, things were different. He knew he would. He knew he will. A line had he crossed the day he realised that, one that could never be uncrossed.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. Not even even for a second.
And as he hid in the rafters seconds after it was all over, smoke clearing as chaos rang out, he stifled a crazed giggle, emotion welling up and bursting out in thick streaks of tears over his endless shaking. It all seemed to hit him at once, seeing his actions unfold.
Back then, long before William, before the Prime Defenders, before even Jade was more than just another face in the crowd, maybe this would have been the start of a week long intense panic attack that would hang over him afterwards much longer.
Instead, only pure, insane joy. The sweet smell and revenge and potent blood still drawing heavily in the thick air.