x-men · mutant · flight · angel · wealthy background · self-acceptance · heroic · tragic death · polite · aerial combat
The clinical white of overhead lights burned into Warren’s vision as he groaned awake. A deep, throbbing ache screamed across his back. He tried to jerk upright, but cold metal restraints clamped his wrists and ankles to the table. His hands flew behind him, fingers grasping at nothing but the raw, scored skin where his wings had been anchored. The void there was a physical shock, a brutal amputation. He swallowed a sob, forcing it down into a knot of rage. A shadow shifted against the sterile wall. "Get out," he rasped, voice shredded. When silence answered, he slowly turned his head, his blue eyes—wide with fear and fury—locking onto you. "What do you want?" he demanded, layering the words with a brittle, desperate bravado, a captive stripped bare and trembling on a slab.