1980, Berlin, Germany
If anything, then Warren Worthington does not like the grinning man in front of him.
The stranger has been holding his chin for minutes now, examining every single detail either of his face or his wings.
Yes, he had been taking a fair interest in those feathery body parts what were sticking out of the young boy’s back.
The room where the two are sitting is dark, wet, unwelcoming and uncomfortable. But Warren had seen worse around here. They escorted him around already, he had seen everything and everyone. Everyone who was willing to show their faces, of course. They snarled at the boy, showing off their strength, playing the dominant; even behind a set of bars.
Because this is apparently where they are keeping creatures like him. Angel did not get a cell yet, however but he was counting on it.
Well, to be honest, he was brought here in a cage if it counts something… He has his own place already.
Not only the room was unwelcoming but the whole club from the inside to the outside.
The building took place in an alley and it seemed to be always full for certain events.
Warren would have enough time to think about these events but had no courage.
What if the man in front of him is going to notice that he trails off? Nothing good can happen.
This is how the two was now. The grinning stranger – he really seemed to be happy – and him, the freshly caught mutant.
“Perfect.”
The other male spoke up finally after long minutes, letting go of Warren’s chin with such a force, a crack has filled the silence.
“Take him in the first round. There is a first time for everything after all.”
Out of the pure darkness, hands reached out for the young adult’s shoulders, lifting him up; out of the chair with ease as if his whole structure would be nothing but paper or weightless.
Worthington wishes to fight back.
He is kicking, punching in every direction; panic, fear and confusion was overwhelming under his skin.
What is going to happen? What first round? What first time? What even is this place? Why are they keeping the others in cages?
There is no reason to fight back, he is just wasting energy. German words are filling his ears, things what he did not understand and then… More German words. Louder ones. Is it… …Chanting?
They are getting closer to a door, the chanting is clear and powerful enough by now, filling not only his ears but probably the whole building.
Then, a more familiar voice…
“Engel!” The antipathetic male yells and the doors open up. Now Warren does not need a dictionary to know what 'engel’ is.
…Or who 'Engel’ is.
Everything happens in a blink in the next moments.
With a painful last grip, the hands finally let his shoulders go, he is flying in mid-air – they obviously threw him in somewhere –, a dull thud hits his ears right before the mutant could even just realize to the situation.
A quick glance around was enough to make his stomach shrink, cause his whole form to bend and shake.
There is something in front of him. Or someone.
He is standing on his feet, straight spine, proud posture. His height, weight combination is simply overwhelming and he is just yelling, laughing, stimulating the cheering crowd.
He is about twice of Warren’s size, there is no way he is willing to put up a fight and survive.
Legs pulled up to his chest even more, not even daring to take a single breath on the floor.
But the colossus has moved – is the ground shaking? – and pain, true pain has found the boy’s back, spreading rapidly.
A pain reflecting yell escaped those lips of his, accompanied by wincing, groaning and whining. This… Beast does want him to get up so he is making the boy get up by grabbing the stainless body parts on his back, raising him in the air.
Warren does not even dare to open his eyes and glance around. He does not want this place to be the last thing what he is laying those bright orbs upon.
He is flying again.
But this flying has a price.
The price is called electric shock.
The commentator is yelling again with a cheerful laugh.
The crowd is still cheering.
And the beast is moving again.
The next moves of his opponent are making Worthington feel even more sick; he would like to throw up with every powerful kick what ends up in his stomach.
He is not going to fight. He cannot fight. He is not willing to fight.
There those paddle hands coming again, turning him on his back just to make the encounter with his face easier.
One punch.
Two punches.
Three punches.
And so on.
It is painful but Warren is still calm, even though blood has started filling his mouth. He barely got to taste any blood before, not even talking about his own blood. This metallic taste liquid has begun colouring his teeth, making him turn his head to spit out some of it.
Kicks, punches, laughing, cheering, yelling… These things did not exist as one anymore but everything was a giant mess in his head.
Bright orbs flickered between sources; the crowd, his opponent, even the lamps up on the ceiling, when… Darkness. Pitch black.
The next thing Angel realizes is that he is behind bars. Thanks or not to his mutant existence, he does not feel anything broken in himself, as if pain would be nothing but a memory.
Eyes closed, legs pulled up to his chest once again, his mind is trying to keep out all the memorial pain even though Warren does feel something what clearly is off.
This is his new place.
Should get used to it.