Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them.

Notes: This idea has been stuck in my head the second X-Men: The Last Stand, started. Odd, considering it is set during X2, but that's my brain for ya.

Warnings: Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy.

Prologue

Mutants. Since the discovery of their existence, they have been regarded with fear, suspicion, and often hatred. Across the planet, the debate rages: Are mutants the next link in the evolutionary chain, or simply a new species of humanity, fighting for their share of the world?

They live among us, each possessing special superhuman abilities – sometimes a blessing, and sometimes a curse.

And, unfortunately, for both humans and mutants alike, there are just some people who cannot keep their hands off the unexplained.

0o0

He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the outside. He wasn't even completely sure that there had ever been a time. Occasionally, fleeting images of sunshine, and grass, and people would flash through his mind. But they were so vague and brief that he could not be sure if they were real, or put there by the bastards who were keeping him.

His name was St. John Allderdyce, and that was the only thing he was certain of. He had heard them mutter it, once or twice, in the beginning. It held a sense of familiarity to him – a strong sense, something that was quite rare here. He snatched it up and ran with it, never letting them know he had it. They would take it away from him for sure.

Bastards.

He lived in a tank. He hated it – being surrounded by water every second of every day. There were so many wires attached to his skin that he couldn't ever begin to count them. An over-sized mask was hooked onto his face, and he had enough sense to realize that it was the only thing keeping him alive down here to try and take it off.

He hadn't opened his eyes in quite sometime – years, most likely. He couldn't stand seeing all of the faces in front of him; couldn't stand the looks in their eyes. They looked at him as though he were a thing, an experiment. As though he had no soul. As though he were not a living, breathing person . . .

"Good morning, Pyro."

His entire body froze at the malicious voice that echoed throughout his small confine. He knew the source. William Stryker, the only scientist who had been . . . kind enough to introduce himself. John hated him worst of all. Only pain resulted from his visits.

"William," he croaked into his mask, knowing how much it irritated the man to have John call him that. However, instead of the usual harsh rebuke, all that came was a chuckle, which made John even more anxious.

Suddenly, without even the slightest warning, the water surrounding him began to disappear. His body, which had always been suspended, was now moving rapidly toward the bottom of the tank. Naturally, he panicked, thrashing about madly in what was left of the water. His eyes finally snapped open, only to see his feet hit the floor. Not being used to standing on his own feet, his knees gave out, and his body joined his feet on the floor.

It all happened so fast. The top of the tank was flying open, hundreds of people were surrounding him. The oxygen mask was ripped off of his face, suction cups and needles were yanked from his skin. Someone, he didn't know or care who, had the decency to throw a blanket over his unclothed, shaking form. There were voices – overpowering voices – all around him, clouding his mind, stopping him from thinking. He couldn't distinguish one word from another, but it didn't matter. For the next second, everything was silent, and suddenly, just one person was before him.

"Good morning, Pyro," Stryker repeated, a grotesque smile on his lips. John attempted to sneer in response, but was unable to form anything more than a slight cough.

The bearded man slowly reached out a hand and cupped John's face, jerking his chin up to force him to look him in the eyes. John didn't have the strength to look away. Unexpectedly, he felt something large and sharp slide into his arm – a needle. He jerked at the intrusion, only to have the grip on his face tighten.

"Shush, Pyro, shush," Stryker attempted to sooth, a malevolent gleam in his black eyes. "We're simply finishing you. Wouldn't want to be an imperfection, now, would we?"

For a moment, all was silent. Stryker slowly released his face, standing and stepping back. John risked a glance at them all, confused by what he was seeing. They were waiting for something. Waiting for something that he was supposed to do. Something that had to do with whatever the hell they had put in him. He didn't know what.

And then he felt it.

Something hot racing through his veins, enveloping his bones, warming his cold skin. Like a fire released in his body. John had felt this before, in other tests, but only briefly. It energized him, gave him strength. He felt better . . . much better. Alive.

He stood up.

" . . . amazing. An instant reaction to the injection . . ."

" . . . already standing . . ."

"I can't wait to see how he performs in field tests."

Tests. More tests. They had seen him vulnerable, and now they could see him strong, and he was still an experiment?

"Come, Pyro." William Stryker's voice instantly drew his attention to the other man. The heat that had been steadily slowing was now racing again, faster than before. It was combined with rage – the likes of which he had never felt.

Who were they to think that they could control him?

"Come, Pyro," Stryker called again, firmer this time. The heat was growing; he could feel it encasing his hands. It was searching for a release, and it had found one.

"Pyro, come!"

John's deep blue eyes suddenly began to glow a fierce red. Slowly, he turned to face his captor, a smug smirk forming on his lips as Stryker took a few steps back. He sent a wink the man's way, and just like that, both of his hands were surrounded in flames.

He spun around, sending the fire sailing toward the wall he had been forced to stare at his entire life. Bam! Demolished. He turned again, and a small flick of his hand had the computers that had controlled him exploding.

The scientists were screaming now – yelling – searching for a way out. John grinned at them, morbidly amused by their futile attempts to escape. He sent fire in their direction, too. They had taken away his life. Now he would take away theirs.

The screaming slowly began to die down. John didn't know if he had gotten Stryker – and found that, oddly enough, he didn't care. The bastard could run all he wanted to. John would kill him in the end.

He stopped throwing his flames, taking a moment to revel in the scent of flame and smoke. Then he began to concentrate. He pulled his fire toward him, allowing it to swallow his arms completely. His eyes were now entirely red, with no sign of pupil or iris.

Soon he would feel the freedom of the air. Soon he would taste the luxuries of life that had been stolen from and denied to him.

He lowered his head, turning to look at those who had survived his assault. The idiots. Should have died when they had the chance. It would have been far less painful.

"My name is John Allderdyce, you sad bastards," he called to them, smirk growing as their eyes went wide in fear. He flung his arms upward, and with a strangled, jubilant cry, sent the fire racing toward the ceiling.

"And I am not an imperfection."

And the Alakali base exploded.

To Be Continued . . .

And thus ends the prologue of my first ever X-Men fic. Not as painful as I thought it would be. What says you? Click review and leave me your thoughts, and I might just be inspired enough to write a first chapter.

Now, hoever, I mess get in the shower. I plan to see X3, for the third time, in just three hours, since I just now found out about the scene after the credits. Pisses me off that I missed it TWICE, so I'm goin' again.

Hasta la vista,

Me

Oh, by the way. I stole the first two opening paragraphs from the book. The last sentence is mine. -wink- We're all good, now.