At one point I think I was sane. Before I got my powers. Before I met Sabretooth. Before I came here.

I never know what’s going to happen here. “Oh, what an exciting life you must lead!” people say. No. It’s scary.

“Max.”

I looked up in time to see that doctor--Essex, I think--coming at me. I hate him. And I’m scared of him. Of what he can do, of what he does. He--he--I--n--nevermind.

“Max, I want you to look at this. I want you to concentrate on just what he looks like. And Max,” he took my chin in his deathly cold hands, tilting it up until I was looking at him, “you had better do this well.” A sick feeling settled in my stomach, taking up residence. Again. Oh lord, I don’t want to be hurt.

He handed me a photo of a man, a large, black man with an M tattooed on his face. I think I’ve seen him on TV before.

“Minitooth.”

My head snapped up.

“I want to talk to you, Minitooth. Now.” I frowned, confused. I was standing right--everything went black.

***

Sinister watched closely as the boy’s head bowed. The very air around them seemed to change, growing quite confident, utterly still and totally insane.

Then he looked up.

Sandy blond hair that a moment ago had been neatly combed now fell in blue eyes that were mildly feral and altogether terrifying.

Sinister smiled. “Minitooth, look at the picture.”

Minitooth looked at the doctor for a moment, debating on whether or not he should comply. That was the great thing about a split personality. You could make your other take any punishment people might dish out. Of course, first you had to know about your other . . . but that was no problem at all. Not for him, at least. Not with, what he supposed was, the side effect his powers created. But enough of that. He focused on the picture.

Sinister waited silently, watching muscles grow larger, hair get longer and more wild, the boy get taller. He was certain it wasn’t just a matter of bearing. He thought the child might be a shapeshifter. After numerous tests he was certain Mystique was the young man’s mother.

Minitooth finally looked down at the photo, eyeing it. “You want me to change into this guy?” he asked quietly, his form already shifting until he looked like the man in the picture.

Sinister’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly concealed it.

Minitooth grinned anyway, hearing the doctor’s heartbeat accelerate.

“Can you all do that?” Sinister asked after a moment.

“Nah. I’m the only one who’s figured it out.” The voice was deeper now, a perfect replica of the timelost X-Man Bishop. That meant that the physical likeness went deeper than the form--even his very vocal cords were the same.

Minitooth turned, walking away from the doctor. “Go away,” he said quietly, tossing the photo over his shoulder as he morphed back to normal, “I’m tired of you.”

Sinister’s eyes narrowed as his arm shot forward, grabbing the child around the neck and whipping him around. “Minitooth!”

The boy just smiled lazily, then blinked and retreated into his mind again.

***

I felt my head snap forward and back, hands gripping my shoulders and shaking me painfully.

“Stop! Please, I’m sorry!” I heard. It was my own voice, but I hadn’t meant to actually say that. Then again, maybe it would work.

“Minitooh,” Essex was snarling in my face, “I know you can hear me. So help me I can’t get to you--yet--but I can damage this body!”

I shuddered. No. Oh, lord, no. We were drawing a crowd. Scalphunter and Arclight were standing back, laughing quietly as my head cracked back and forth. Vertigo was shaking her head sadly, and Sabretooth was leaning against the door, smoking.

Essex let go with one hand, bring it back over his other shoulder and forward again sharply, backhanding me. I twisted and fell, landing hard on the concrete. Please go away. Please let that be all. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

A booted foot landed sharply in my stomach and I rolled with it, seeing Scalphunter above me. Essex was gone, thank God. I scrambled to my feet before Scalp could get me again and bolted. I ran as fast as I could, my bare feet holding tight to the stone floor and keeping me from sliding. Behind me I could hear laughter, and, terrifyingly enough, footsteps.

At one point, when I was younger, I had wanted to be a track star. My mom had fed my dreams happily, taking me to the school field where the older kids practiced. I sat and watched for a week before one of the boy offered to let me try. After that I was there often, the coach and runners calling me Squirt and allowing me to run too. Eventually I hurt my knee, blowing it out one day when I tripped. It wasn’t good after that for a very long time--until one day when I woke up and it was better again. I guess my powers had kicked in. But I never did really get back into track--I had other things to worry about, and we moved away shortly thereafter. But I still knew how to get all the speed you could out of what you had, and I used that knowledge as best I could, tearing down the halls with Scalphunter on my heels. I twisted around a corner, throwing my weight into it as hard as I could and kept running down the hall. A second later I heard Scalp as he barreled around the corner, his booted feet sliding across the surface. I careened around another corner, then another, and finally into a room. I turned and slammed the door, locking it, before racing into the adjoining room and repeating the process. It wouldn’t stop him, but it might slow him down and if he was tired or bored then he might leave. Please let this work. It has before. But it’s also failed before.

There was pounding at the outside door, then a blast as he shot it down. Silence.

“Maxboy,” he said, standing at the door. “Open up for uncle Scalpy.” He chuckled at his own joke, then rapped at the door. “Open up and it won’t be as bad for you.”

“Scalp,” came a female voice--Vertigo? “Leave him be. It’s no fun taking apart things that small.” Silence. Then laughter.

“Sure, Vert. Why not.” He left. He left. Vertigo risked her life for me.

I slumped against the back wall, sliding to the floor. I don’t know how long it was before I started thinking sanely again. A long time. I put my head in my hands, trying--again, futilely--to remember how I’d gotten here. I still can’t remember. I never can remember what happens during the blackouts. I’ve been having them for a long time now.

But that doesn’t help me now. Now I have to figure out what’s wrong with me. I thought I knew where the information might be. I stood up and walked to the door, sliding back the bolt and pushing it open. Quietly I walked out, listening for where the others were and staying clear of them. I’ve gotten better at hiding in the weeks that I’ve been here. The weeks after I knew I wasn’t going to get any help from outside. I wish it weren’t necessary. If wishes were horses . . . .

Here I was. The lab. I hated this place. I opened the door and crept slowly inside, heading quickly to the far end and the filing cabinets as soon as I saw the lab was empty. The cabinet was unlocked--Essex doesn’t have to worry about intruders, so he never locks it--and so I started rifling through. Adam X, Arclight, Binary + Ms. Marvel + Rogue (out of curiosity, I stopped to see if it was really cross referenced with those other names. It was.), Bishop, Creed; Graydon, Creed; Max. I took a deep breath and pulled it out.

After looking through chart after chart full of symbols and code I finally found a page of hand written notes. This I could understand.

Subject: Creed, Max
Our dear little Max has a physique and structure similar to
his father, Victor, when he was younger. Slightly smaller and
leaner, perhaps, but it matters not. It’s not his body I have grown
to enjoy, it’s his powers and diseased young mind.

When he was young I recognized the frailty in him, and set about
to harden him mentally, and make him secure. Instead he split, and
now there are facets of him I’m not even aware of, I’m sure.
See computer file 56321 for further notes on his DID.

I turned to the massive computer crowding against the wall and groaned. Well, only one thing to do. I put away the written notes and started searching through the computer files.

“Max suffers from an extreme case of DID, more commonly known as a
split personality. His own personality is simply Max, the one that’s been
there all his life. The one I am most interested in, however, is, I
believe, the stronger personality dubbed only “Minitooth.” This
personality has control over which may reign, constantly learns
new ways in which to use his powers and with time, I believe,
will dominate fully. It is blood thirsty, willing to kill at the slightest
provocation, conscienceless and quite eager to hurt, scare, maim
and kill anything and everything. He is scared of nothing, due to the
fact that he is really quite insane. I look forward to unleashing it
upon the world.”

“Did you find what you wanted?” came a voice from behind me.

Oh my God. Essex. I just nodded, too scared to do anything else.

“Anything else you’d like to know?”

I turned slowly and looked at Essex, then dropped my gaze. I should have said no. I knew that. Instead I heard my voice--”It . . . it’s going to kill people?”

The doctor knew I was talking about the other personality, and he smiled. “He already has.”

I felt my heart fall into my stomach. “My . . . my mother?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “She’s alive. Quite insane, but alive.” The small smile widened. “You drove her insane.”

My mom. The only parent I ever had. “Liar.”

“No.”

I felt wet on my face. Tears. “I--I won’t let him kill or hurt anyone else.” I looked up, sudden courage entering my body. “I won’t.”

The smile was gone, and Essex was just staring at me strangely. “You can’t stop it.”

“Fuck you.” I turned and walked out of the lab. The doctor didn’t follow me. In fact, even the other Marauders left me alone as I walked past. My courage faltered anyway, and I broke into a run as soon as I was out the door.

I drove my mother insane.

My vision blurred as tears started running harder, and I sped up. The door was ahead, the one I wasn’t supposed to know about that led into the woods. I burst through the door, bruising my shoulder. It healed.

How could I have done that? I made my mother, the only person in the world who wasn’t afraid of me no matter what I did, go crazy.

Into the woods, over the fallen tree, splash across the stream. Was that stream red? No, it was the light. It’s not a real forest. There’s only desert around my house.

My house. No. I don’t want this to be my house. I don’t want this to be my family. It can’t. I’m nothing like them! Nothing!

But yet I drove my mother insane.

Dodge the tree, jump over the rock. Leap and roll under the fallen tree, come to my feet, keep running.

Run away. Run run runrunrunrunrunrunrun. Run faster and farther and maybe--just maybe--I can forget what Essex said and what I’ve done, lose the haunting feeling that he may be right. Forget that I live with murderers. Ignore the screams I hear from the people in the cells.

But how many of those people did I bring here?

My vision was almost gone, all I could see was shadows. Like death. My foot caught on a stump and I fell, catching myself with my hands.

How many of those people did I bring here? Any of them? All of them? How many people have I killed? My grandparents. My mother might as well be dead. How many more?

I laid there, breathing hard. I couldn’t stop the other personality. Do you go to Hell if you didn’t know you were killing someone? I don’t want to go to Hell. Dear God, please don’t send me to Hell. I didn’t know, I swear. I didn’t mean to. I’ll try and make it right. I will. I’ll free all those people in the cells, and I’ll find some way to make . . . that other thing in me go away. I swear it, God. I wouldn’t lie to you. I can’t lie to you. You can read my mind and stuff, right?

I coughed up dirt that I hadn’t realized I’d swallowed.

If that other thing is part of me, then how do I make it go away?

Slowly I stood, carefully dusting off my jeans and shirt. My hands were shaking. Essex was going to kill me if I released all those people. But I had to.

I walked slowly back to the headquarters, opened the door and walked in. I was terrified. I could hear screams, like wails of the dead. The hallways stretched on forever, a giant tomb for the living. I walked to the cells, saw Vertigo on guard duty. Carefully I walked past her, and she didn’t challenge me.

“Max,” she said softly, “don’t.”

I turned, hiding my surprise. “’Don’t’ what?”

She just looked at me. She knew exactly what I was up to.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to hold back tears of terror. “How many of these people did I bring here?”

Vertigo frowned, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know.”

I smiled, or rather, tried to. I don’t think I pulled it off very well. “That many or that few?” I was afraid of the answer, but I had to ask the question. I had to know just how evil I--no, that other thing--had been.

“Don’t ask me, Max,” she said softly, sadly.

It was more answer then I needed. I turned and with trembling fingers started to break open the cell. “Don’t Vert,” I said as I felt her shifting her weight, coming forward.

She hesitated, for which I was glad. Three of the cells opened. Six people ran out. Vertigo lifted her arms, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed she looked sad. Then the world twisted around me, and I fell to the floor.

***

The next minutes passed in a flurry of activity. The Marauders and Essex all showed up, grabbing me and the people and hauling me down to the very lowest level. Essex had a collar on me within seconds, and I was too scared to fight back. I felt sick. Scalphunter was laughing when he put an oxygen mask on my face, and Arclight strung my arms up above my head. By that time I was struggling, fear adding strength to my limbs.

“You, son,” Essex crooned, “may stay here and think of the error of your ways.” They all left, closing the door behind them and leaving me in blackness that was deathly still. I felt deaf without my super hearing at first, but then the roar of water drowned out any other sound, and I no longer felt there was only silence around me.

I had a very long time to think. My panic rate stayed high as the water cascaded over my body, and then over my head. I almost forgot to breathe, but necessity forced me to take a deep breath and I remembered the oxygen mask I wore. The water was oppressive, crushing down on my bones and flooding every inch of me.

I was there for a very, very long time.

***

Essex didn’t take the collar off when he finally let me out. Instead he bound my wrists where I’d broken the skin by thrashing, and then put my arm in a cast where I’d broken it in panic. I was too afraid to say anything to him, so I didn’t. When he was done tending to my wounds he let me loose, then took my chin in his deathly cold hands and forced me to look up at him.

“No more heroics,” he said softly, then left, locking me in the lab.

At least I wasn’t chained to a table.

I don’t know how long I sat there, my brain in shock, before I finally started to look around and think again. It’s easier to deal with bad things if you just don’t think about it. I used to withdraw into myself, pray for a blackout. But now they only came when things were good. And now I knew that it was because of someone else inside me.

My chest jerked, my breathing ragged. I had to stop the someone else. He’s going to kill again, and again, and again.

But how do you stop someone inside of you?

I looked around, trying not to see the corpses that lined the walls, or the pieces of human on a table nearby. I ignored the blood on the floor. My eyes came to rest on a gurney nearby, and after staring at it without seeing it for a time, I finally realized what I was looking at.

Slowly I got off the table and made my way over to the blanketed body. All I could see was hair and an arm falling off the platform. An arm that looked like mine, and hair that was just my color. I swallowed and moved the blanket down, and saw before me a clone that was almost complete. A clone of myself.

I brought my hand up, putting my mouth against my knuckles to resist the urge to throw up. “Computer,” I said, and my voice was weak, “why is this clone . . . here, instead of alive?”

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.

“Clone designate Creed; Max is unfinished.”

“Why?” I choked.

“DNA matrix only 89% of what it should be to match Creed; Max.”

I took a deep breath. Even if I got rid of the other in me, Essex would clone me. He needed only a little more time, and a little more tissue. Then anything could happen to me, and it wouldn’t matter. He’d have thousands of me.

I backed up to the table and sat back down on it. There was only one thing left to do, then. Because I wouldn’t let him use me to kill.

***

As soon as Essex let me out I went straight to my room. Once there I grabbed a chair and threw it as hard as I could against my mirror, shattering it. Tiny pieces fell, glittering, to the floor amongst larger pieces and shards of wood from the chair. I walked to a piece, horribly sharp, and picked it up. I don’t want to die. My vision blurred with tears even as I brought the “blade” to my wrist. I’m sorry, Mom. But I can’t let him use me to kill.

There was little pain. Blood flowed freely onto the floor, spattering the glass.

“I’m sorry, Max. That won’t work,” came the oily voice from behind me.

I turned and looked at him, then brought the glass to my neck, just above the collar. Bastard. I have my healing factor suppressed. I have no reason to live. I have nothing to keep me from dying. Let’s see you successfully clone a corpse.

***

I opened my eyes, hoping to see a bright white tunnel, but expecting to see demons and fire. What I saw was more terrifying than the latter, and I prayed this wasn’t my Hell.

“That wasn’t nice, Max.” Essex turned away, tightening the band that held one of my arms down. I tested my other limbs, my panic building, and found that they were all bound to the table.

“You have no idea how hard it is to keep someone alive long enough for the anti-mutant device to be taken off and their healing factor to kick in. It takes a certain amount of skill that most people don’t have.” He turned and looked down at me. “But I do. So you live.”

“I didn’t die.” My voice was no more than a croak.

Essex smiled. “No. You didn’t. You’re very much alive and will stay that way as long as I want it.”

“I won’t kill for you.” I was almost sobbing, and my voice was shrill. Panic.

“Max, you seem to not understand something. You will do whatever I want. You see, you may not be dead, but you’re still in Hell.” He smiled. “And I’m the devil.”

--End--

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