Author's Chapter Notes:
Warning: This chapter contains dark themes so if you're offended by this please do not read. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the chapter. There'll be more up soon!
Closing the door of his office Charles smiled softly, the room was insulated against telepathy and would allow him the privacy he’d need to go through some of the memories he’d buried beneath his iron control.

Shifting uneasily in his chair, Charles breathed slowly, sinking into his mind in the hopes of watching without reliving the memories. The growing pain in his body told him he was foolish in that hope. Remaining stationary he let his mind sink into the tangled mess that was Rogue’s transfer.


Images of a children playing, a small white house on a quiet street were quickly over ridden by maniacal laughter. By the harsh clanging of bars slamming into place that echoed in the hallways. Voices muted by distance became distinguishable and suddenly Charles was sitting in a tiny, bare cell. Glancing around he swallowed hard at the rising bile in his throat. Blood covered the floor, the walls had bloody handprints. Small prints defensive ones littered everything in the room. Beneath his feet he could see the dried and disgusting evidence of sex. Semen was caked onto the floor, mixed with blood, with urine.

The stench was unbearable. Much like a roadside outhouse in the middle of the hottest part of the day. The disgusting odor swelled around him even as he heard the distinct sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

Pure terror filled him, breaking like a wave against the shore. Curling into a small ball he rocked back and forth, a softly spoken prayer on his lips, his body already gearing for the pain, for the agony of what was to come.

“Hey pretty one,” the sickening voice had him whipping around to see a tall, broad shouldered guard standing there with a nightstick in one hand, and a long thin blade in the other.

“Play time.” The soft tone belied the fear, the agony within Charles’ body as he waited, watched as several more shadows filled the doorway after the first guard. It was going to be another of those nights.

Shuddering in revulsion he watched the man approach, watched the lust and the hatred fill his eyes. Moving slowly away from him he backed himself into a corner, unable or unwilling to cry out. The firm pressure of the knife against his throat had him choking even as he felt the burn of something being shoved into his body.

The laughter from the others only added to the degradation and he choked on his tears as he felt the ruthless penetration of a foreign object. The hard, cold object slid free of him and he slid to the floor. Huddled in a ball, he watched as another of the guards slowly began to strip, a slow, evil grin crossing his face. Closing his eyes Charles lay there. There was no escape and running only made it worse.

Rough hands pulled him from the wall, pushing him down onto his stomach. Hands reached from out of the swirling mass of bodies to pull him onto his knees, his face forced into the cold concrete.

The ache between his legs intensified as a hard, warm penis slid into him. Each thrust of male hips forced him into the concrete, scratching his face, hands brutally grabbed at his skin, at his breasts. Someone pulled his head up off the floor by the hair at the very back. It was the only place it had been allowed and he knew it was because it was a handle for the men. Fingers digging into his jaw forced his mouth open and a moment later he was gagging on the hard penis being shoved roughly past his lips.


The scene changed slowly, the agony staying with him even as he realized the voices hadn’t faded, and they were still as strong as ever even if he couldn’t understand what was being said.

Searing pain washed over him as he watched the skin on his body being sliced into, cut open and spread out while boiling metal was poured into it. The images were a tad murkier because he was underwater, the lights from around the room reflecting within the water. Distant laughter and crude jokes that were barely legible filled his ears even as the mind blowing pain tore through his body.

The images of men, all in uniform surrounded him. His wrists were shackled to the wall, his body twisting, tugging futilely to get away. Screams that were achingly familiar filled his head past the drugs, past the blessed blankness even as he felt the hot wash of urine as it rained down upon him. Eyes unfocused stared back at him as he watched several guards mounting Jubilee, her face covered in blood, her mouth gagged, her hair shorn off. Each thrust, each slap barely penetrating the fog surrounding them even as he saw Kitty hanging from the wall, her legs covered in blood, her breasts twisted between what appeared to be handcuffs…



Jerking back from the memory Charles sat gasping in his chair. His body covered in sweat, his heart pounding, he could still feel the vestige of terror, of agony that wracked his body. Experiencing the events through their minds was horrific, but to experience it first hand, as the victim was more than he could bear.

Struggling to regain control he was barely aware of the tears streaking down his face, or the way his body curled into itself in protest of the agony. Hands used to holding the arms of his chair cupped his groin as he forced the memories back.


Long after the light had faded from the room Charles sat there in horrified silence. What could he possibly learn from the memories of being raped? There were no military secrets, no weakness to be exploited. No he would have to find the meaning behind that cursory message and do it without delving into the memories of three young women who had been brutalized.


“Professor?” Storm’s soft voice had him glancing up sharply to stare at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you alright?” Storm stepped into the office and closed the door.

Charles shook his head, not trusting his voice. He was far from okay, far from ready to have to confront the fear, the loathing that allowing himself to focus on the memories had wrought.

“Did you find anything?”

“Only my own fear,” Charles whispered shakily and stared at ‘Ro. “We have to stop them. We can’t let them continue building upon the hatred and fear the military gave them. If we don’t, we’re going to lose this one.”

“Are you sure?”

Charles nodded slowly, “Very. There is so much pain, so much anger within them and its all directed outwards. What we have is Wolverine…times five.”

Ororo stared at him, “Are you sure they’ve all been…”

“Wolverine is a killing machine Ororo, the army unwittingly made three more when they kept the girls alive. From what I understand the man that fights with them has some training as well… We’re not dealing with regular mutants. We’re dealing with…”

“Monsters?”

Charles nodded slowly, “I’m not prepared to give up on them yet. I believe we can reach them, that we can help them but to do that means we have to catch them.”

“If Logan’s trained them to disappear it will not be easy.”

Charles shook his head and glanced out the window, “Nothing in this world is easy. I must ask that you speak of this to no one. The other team members might not be so forgiving of them if they were to know.”

“Did you find any weakness to exploit?”

“No,” Charles rolled to the window, “There is no way to exploit them. The girls fight as one, they are joined in something so dark we can’t understand it. Logan and the other man fight for the girls.”

“And Scott?”

“He’s a wild card,” Charles replied. “One I’m not sure about.”

Nodding Ororo turned away, “I’ll keep it to myself. I give you my word.”

“Thank you.”

Long after the door had closed Charles sat staring out into the darkness his body wracked with the pain of the memories, his mind still struggling to control the images, and his resolve deepening. They had to win this war – for the girls’ sake if not their own.
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