Wrong Turn
-BAMF!-
“Well… this isn’t Bayville anymore.”
Yellow eyes blinked, soaking in the sights around him. He wasn’t sure where was, nothing about the world around him was familiar. His fuzzy blue tail swayed behind him as he swept his eyes across the city line.
How had he gotten here? No, there would be time to worry about that later. It was time to leave. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the Institute.
-BAMF!-
He landed on a branch of a dead tree. “This isn’t home either,” he muttered to himself. Before him was a tall building. It could only be best described as a haunted castle. Buildings of all shapes and sizes clustered together with towers reaching for the sky. The atmosphere was tense and gloomy. He peered closer, reading the sign that hung on the wall next to the gates.
“Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane.” A shudder ran down his back. Without another moment of hesitation, he vanished from the site.
-BAMF!-
This time he landed on top of another tall building. A glance down revealed a large ‘W’ engraved into the building. “Where am I?” he asked. “Why am I here?”
“That’s something I would like to know too.”
He looked to the side to find a young boy, younger than him, perched on the edge. He was wearing a bright red uniform with his black and yellow cape fluttering behind him in the breeze. A thin black mask was firmly set on his face, white lens hiding his eyes. Even so, he knew from the way the mask stretched and pulled that boy was glaring at him. He was instantly put on guard.
“What does it matter?” he asked.
The kid stood and stretched. “It only matters if you’re friend or foe.” His voice sounded friendly but he knew all too well. That underlying tone of mistrust hidden behind veiled friendliness.
“Neither, I suppose.” He tilted his head and watched as the boy moved. The tiniest glint of metal revealed that the boy was armed and he wouldn’t put it past that the colorful child knew exactly how to use whatever weapon he was holding. “I won’t attack you if you don’t attack me, but that doesn’t make me your friend.”
“That’s a good answer,” the boy replied. “Who are you?”
“I should ask you that, nein?”
This time a curious look appeared on the boy’s face. “You’re not from around here are you?” the boy asked.
He fell silent, unsure if that was something he wanted to disclose just yet. Nevertheless, the boy continued, “Nein, that’s German for no. Your accent is thick enough that English isn’t your first language. I’m not one to boast, but if you don’t know who I am and you’re running around this city then clearly you’re new to the scene. First time in America?”
Well there was comfort in the fact that he was at least still in America. There was still no clear answer as to why he couldn’t get home. Distance, especially to a place he held dear in his heart, had never been a problem before.
“Nein,” he answered. “Just… lost.”
“That’s an odd way to put it,” the boy remarked. “So are you gonna tell me who you are?”
That dangerous tone of voice was back again. He sighed and resigned himself. Perhaps if he can get the boy to trust him, he could provide an answer as to why he was stuck here. At least the boy hadn’t gone running after seeing his appearance. It meant at least he was somewhat sympathetic (or at the very least use to) mutants.
“Nightcrawler,” he introduced.
The boy grinned. “Robin.”
“Well… this isn’t Bayville anymore.”
Yellow eyes blinked, soaking in the sights around him. He wasn’t sure where was, nothing about the world around him was familiar. His fuzzy blue tail swayed behind him as he swept his eyes across the city line.
How had he gotten here? No, there would be time to worry about that later. It was time to leave. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the Institute.
-BAMF!-
He landed on a branch of a dead tree. “This isn’t home either,” he muttered to himself. Before him was a tall building. It could only be best described as a haunted castle. Buildings of all shapes and sizes clustered together with towers reaching for the sky. The atmosphere was tense and gloomy. He peered closer, reading the sign that hung on the wall next to the gates.
“Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane.” A shudder ran down his back. Without another moment of hesitation, he vanished from the site.
-BAMF!-
This time he landed on top of another tall building. A glance down revealed a large ‘W’ engraved into the building. “Where am I?” he asked. “Why am I here?”
“That’s something I would like to know too.”
He looked to the side to find a young boy, younger than him, perched on the edge. He was wearing a bright red uniform with his black and yellow cape fluttering behind him in the breeze. A thin black mask was firmly set on his face, white lens hiding his eyes. Even so, he knew from the way the mask stretched and pulled that boy was glaring at him. He was instantly put on guard.
“What does it matter?” he asked.
The kid stood and stretched. “It only matters if you’re friend or foe.” His voice sounded friendly but he knew all too well. That underlying tone of mistrust hidden behind veiled friendliness.
“Neither, I suppose.” He tilted his head and watched as the boy moved. The tiniest glint of metal revealed that the boy was armed and he wouldn’t put it past that the colorful child knew exactly how to use whatever weapon he was holding. “I won’t attack you if you don’t attack me, but that doesn’t make me your friend.”
“That’s a good answer,” the boy replied. “Who are you?”
“I should ask you that, nein?”
This time a curious look appeared on the boy’s face. “You’re not from around here are you?” the boy asked.
He fell silent, unsure if that was something he wanted to disclose just yet. Nevertheless, the boy continued, “Nein, that’s German for no. Your accent is thick enough that English isn’t your first language. I’m not one to boast, but if you don’t know who I am and you’re running around this city then clearly you’re new to the scene. First time in America?”
Well there was comfort in the fact that he was at least still in America. There was still no clear answer as to why he couldn’t get home. Distance, especially to a place he held dear in his heart, had never been a problem before.
“Nein,” he answered. “Just… lost.”
“That’s an odd way to put it,” the boy remarked. “So are you gonna tell me who you are?”
That dangerous tone of voice was back again. He sighed and resigned himself. Perhaps if he can get the boy to trust him, he could provide an answer as to why he was stuck here. At least the boy hadn’t gone running after seeing his appearance. It meant at least he was somewhat sympathetic (or at the very least use to) mutants.
“Nightcrawler,” he introduced.
The boy grinned. “Robin.”