Post by Warren Worthington III on Feb 18, 2007 22:56:08 GMT -5
The Basics
Name: Warren Kenneth Worthington, III
Code Name: Angel
Age: 22
Affiliation: X-Men, Hellfire Club, (soon) Disciple of Apocalypse
Mutant Characteristics:
Mutation:
Warren's primary mutation has given him the ability to fly via natural wings. The bird-like appendages naturally took the form of white feathered wings that first grew from his shoulder blades at fifteen and over a period of weeks grew to their mature wingspan of just over sixteen feet. Each wing has the ability to work in conjunction with or independently of it's partner at his mere thought. Highly flexible and strong, Warren's wings can crush a healthy adult male with a flick. The strength inherent within these wings is untested, yet, an average goose is capable of breaking a the bones in that same healthy adult man's arm cleanly with very little effort. He can fly from New York to San Francisco in times nearing that of the X-Men's Blackbird.
The rest of his body is adapted for flight as well. Hollow bones, adaptive and highly sensitive hearing and above average muscularity combine with naturally low body fat percentages and specially adaptive eyes to make Warren a strong, aerodynamic flying machine. Membranes over his eyes allow him to see great distances with eagle keen clarity and to withstand the pressure of the high speed flights he has become known for. He can read fine print from a newspaper from one side of the New York Harbor to the other. His lungs are capable of extracting oxygen from altitudes approaching 40,000 feet, though much higher than that and Warren will begin to lose consciousness.
A secondary mutation takes the form of a property within his blood that not only keeps Angel in peak health but may also be used to heal those with a compatible blood type. His blood type is O positive, the universal donor.
Due to the size and breadth of his wingspan, Worthington needs space to move. As such, he is at a severe disadvantage in close quarters in regard to his wings. He can combat this somewhat as he is adept at hand to hand forms of combat, his agility and strength beyond peak human. His wings definitely can be an asset in such situations as they act like an extra pair of limbs to attack with.
Manifestations: Warren is extremely attractive and carries more muscle mass than normal. Additionally, he has a set of eight foot feathered wings growing out of his shoulder blades.
Class: 3, Primarily Physical Mutation
The Character
Personality:
At his core, Warren is a true hero though at times he has been his own worst enemy. Confident, strong, charismatic and beautiful, Warren carries himself with pride and an almost regal nature despite whatever mood he may be experiencing at the time. Incapable of truly hiding his feelings, Warren may come across as spoiled and even shallow. For a time that may have been true, but as he has aged, Warren has matured to something greater. Stoic and firmly focused on the future, Angel has allowed Xavier's dream to shape him in ways that he has yet to fully understand. Yet not necessarily in positive ways.
As a vain individual, Warren's nature was fostered by an environment built upon appearances and societal expectation. Clearly he does what is expected of him as an X-Man in no small part because of the same restrictive teachings that forced the young man to seek a cure for the one thing that made him special and unique. He still views his mutation as a curse despite the fact that he would rather die than be without his wings. While he has come to accept his own life as a mutant, he still bristles when someone asks him if he is connected to the Worthington who invented the Cure.
His relationship with his father is strained at best and he still needs that reassuring role model in his life. As an only (and now estranged) child, Warren can be drawn to the idea of brotherhood and family. He has developed feelings of resentment towards humans and even some of his fellow mutants, though he has yet to find an outlet for those feelings. Much of this is in reaction to how he has been treated as the heir to the Cure. Instead of communicating with those he now resides with, Warren harbors a darkening anger that may yet find an outlet.
Physical Description:
Born with angelic looks, the cherubic child grew to become a handsome young man. Due to his mutation, Warren has enjoyed above average muscularity that gives him the appearance of an underwear model or natural body builder, with most of his muscle mass centered in his torso and upper arms. He keeps his blond hair in the latest style, just as he does his clothing. Though he must have his shirts and jackets altered to account for the wings that have protruded from his shoulder blades since puberty.
His eyes match the clear blue sky on a summer's day and for much of his life his outward disposition was much the same. The white feathered appendages that first emerged at puberty did nothing but add to his already heavenly appearance. Though he grew to love flight and the freedom that such excursions presented the young heir, the public life of the industrial prince charming forced Warren to hide his very obvious mutation beneath specially designed clothing. Despite feelings that his mutation made him a freak in certain circles, Warren continued to maintain his outward confidence and charm.
Even though he had always carried himself with pride, the weight of the wings hold his upper body erect, almost inhumanly stiff. The added muscle in his chest as a result of this posture also can give him the appearance of a strutting peacock. The wide berth of his muscular upper body and narrow hips gives Warren a powerful and physically imposing presence.
img248.imageshack.us/img248/2843/300pxarchangelwarrenworlg0.jpg
History:
Born with the proverbial silver spoon, Warren Kenneth Worthington, the third, was a blessing to his parents much as he appeared to be blessed himself. For what his mother and father lacked in affection and closeness, they favored their only child with all that wealth could offer. For much of his formative years, Warren was for all intents and purposes raised by his father's servants. The household butler, cook and supervising maid were the boy's surrogates. His parents, though they loved him dearly, had little time outside of their societal and corporate obligations for the heir to all they were building.
As a result, young Warren developed twin selves to an extent. The public boy, spoiled by the servants, his every whim seen to with the utmost haste. And the hidden inner child, long suffering in silence as the neglect and lack of parental affection dug itself into the boy's very psyche. The boy grew to love adventure, climbing trees and even the high stone gables of the mansion itself. Tutors complained of Warren's attention span yet enamored themselves with his intelligence and ability to learn quickly. He would often be found missing by the staff, only to be found perched dangerously high on a tree limb outside his parent's parlor where they often entertained their adult guests.
When old enough, Warren was sent to boarding schools where his name carried hefty expectation. Choosing sports, his natural grace and strength made him a favorite of his coaches and peers. In time, Worthington seemed to develop a keen eye toward business, with a visionary outlook that his instructors said had him looking to the skies. Always attractive, the older Warren got the more irressistable and popular he became. Seeming to enjoy every minute of this new life, young Worthington took the superficial affection as genuine and real.
His life changed because of puberty and in some very striking ways. True that he found himself more aggressively interested in the feminine of the species and they him. To his great pleasure, a smile from his lips would have the girls clinging to him. The fact that his body seemed to be growing more and more muscular not impeding his situation whatsoever. However the golden boy was about to discover that some gifts came with a heady price.
Into his fifteenth year, his back and shoulders began to cause him growing discomfort and to his great surprise tiny wing like appendages sprouted from his shoulders. Worried about what others might think, Warren hid them from everyone around him. Over the next few weeks he was disheartened to see them growing. The growth was so pronounced from one night to the next that he went without sleep for a time in the hope that the growth might slow. Eventually the wings grew to their mature length of eight feet each, giving them a wing span of almost seventeen feet.
Gone were the days of shirtless impromptu games of football on the lawn as Warren struggled to hide his mutation from those he worried would ostracize him. He developed a harness of sorts that helped to further contain the highly flexible wings beneath his clothing but that was in and of itself an impractical solution. After wearing the harness for a time, his entire body would hurt, the ache from his trapped wings pronounced. In truth, the only happiness Warren garnered from this time was found in stolen, private moments as the angelic lad took to the freedom of the skies. While his classmates complained of acne and missed periods, Warren suffered in silence while on the surface nothing had changed.
His father was aware of his mutation, of course, and took it upon himself to begin the long process of finding a 'cure' for his son's unique problem. Time after time, each new process would ultimately fail. Warren was subjected to countless procedures that began to undermine his trust in society and his own confidence. Finally, about to become a living guinea pig at the hands of his father and Doctor Kavita Rao, Warren finally said 'no more.'
This began the long process of self discovery that is still going on within him. He came to live at what had once been the home of Charles Xavier, even flying across country to save his father. One might think that such an act might have repaired the damage done but Warren's father still searches for a permanent cure for mutation. As an heir to the Hellfire Club, young Worthington has been approached about membership but it is unknown to him that this is merely a ploy. He is about to be seduced by a dark power, one that once he succumbs to it may be difficult to ever break free of.
Sample:
Warren Worthington drifted easily on the smooth current of air flowing north west of Salem Center. He'd just left Xavier for what he thought would be the last time. He'd had enough. He'd finally had enough. The events of the past year, even the supposed victories, all left him with a hollow feeling. Even the apparent death of Apocalypse... He once thought that watching his former master die was all he was living for. Guess he'd been wrong, though he still wished it had been by his owns hands. Perhaps he'd feel satisfied now, instead of empty. A gust of air seemed to slap him in the face and he adjusted easily with a flick of his right wing.
Anger filled his eyes, even as it ate at his guts. The burning sensation he used to feel almost constantly was back. The anger Apocalypse had once helped him to acknowledge needed an outlet. And he knew just where he could go to do just that. Weapon X. There was too much evil in the world and he was going to put an end to it.
He'd had to argue with the Professor for almost a month now, just to get him to tell him more than the rumors he'd heard. The snippets of information he'd manage to scrape together. Bits and pieces really, most of it lies. Warren knew the professor would know more and so he'd been persistent. A man named John Smith was in charge of the new program. He'd gotten that from the Professor and so much more. Warnings and sympathy and empathy...all useless. Finally the professor must have understood. The boy who'd originally joined the X-men so many years ago no longer existed. The winged man standing before the greatest mind in the world was a much a monster as a man.
He'd had his men check out Smith's background. They'd come up with very little. And from what Warren had been able to gather from the Professor about the new program, they only took volunteers now. He hoped that would mean he wasn't about to hand himself over to a bunch of mad scientists and become a living test subject again. But at the moment he just didn't care one way or the other. He couldn't justify indiscriminate killing. But he could justify working for a top-secret agency, if they happened to ask him to kill...so be it.
The Professor thinks I'm making a mistake. That'll take time to heal.
In the fourth hour of his flight, the air began to get colder. His eyes easily adjusted to the colder air but his face-felt cold now. The sun was hidden somewhere above the clouds. His wings were no longer doing their job of keeping his body warm. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. He could see the river cutting through the valley. The dense forest surrounding the secret base. He wasn't sure exactly where it was but he felt like he was getting close now. Opening his eyes, he spotted a river below him. He felt like he could find the base. He'd gotten that information out of cerebro. His avian eyes had memorized every detail of the on screen map. And looking downward now, he saw the same image beneath him. He smiled. He was close.
Soon he would have an answer. He would know if there were still a place for him left in the world.
Folding his wings behind him, Warren lowered himself to the ground. Finding a clearing to land in had been almost as difficult as finding the base. He'd been hovering, circling the base for almost an hour. He wanted them to know he was here. He hadn't come all this way for nothing. Nor did he want to be shot trying to land. His boots crushed the fallen leaves beneath his feet with each step. The air was heavy down here beneath the canopy of trees. Moss and fern flourished beneath the century old cedar and pine. Warren wondered just how long Weapon X had been around. He figured the man he'd met had been much older than he looked. So probably quite a while.
He'd only walked about fifty feet before he felt like he was being watched. Good. Bring it on, fellas. He turned in the direction he remembered seeing the cluster of buildings that led to what he assumed was an underground complex. He heard a twig break some distance behind him. Maybe I'll have some fun before I let them take me down. Taking a quick glance around, he spotted movement off to his left and right. Classic V formation. He darted off to his right then cut back to the left before leaping into the air and soaring at about seven feet in the air through the ranks on his right. His fist struck the helmet of one of the soldiers and he felt a dart fly past his shoulder. Then another. The aim was superb, almost marksman. Warren was nimble in the air, but the darts were coming fast and furious toward him now.
These guys are serious, it would do me no good to be passed out in some cell rotting away. I need to see the director. And to do that I need to be conscious.
"I'm here to see Director Smith," Warren shouted out to the hidden men still firing at him, "My name is Warren Worthington." Swoosh. He turned in the air going higher and then dropping down to avoid the gunfire. Well this isn't working. Maybe I should try something else. Less aggressive. He dropped down to the ground and threw his arms into the air.
"I want to see Smith." He repeated as a dart hit him squarely in the shoulder. His healing blood could counter many toxins but apparently not this one, at least not completely. His head was swimming, his eyes watered and his vision blurred. He felt himself falling and then caught. Strong hands gripping his arms, dragging him along the ground. His alabaster wings shrinking up behind his back, the longest feathers bouncing in the soft breeze against his strong but useless legs.
He couldn't smile, but he wanted to. This was what he wanted.
Some time later, Warren opened his eyes. In place of the hands were two wide metal rings surrounding each of his biceps and connecting across his back effectively strapping his wings down as well. A chain ran down each arm to wrist shackles that kept his arms at his sides. He was on his knees, a gun pressed against his temple. He heard a heavy metal door open and close. He could hear voices on the other side of the door.
Inside the conference room, the lieutenant who'd captured him addressed the Director, "Sir. We've captured a mutant. He says he's here to see you, sir. He knew you by name, sir. Otherwise we would have killed him, Sir."
Name: Warren Kenneth Worthington, III
Code Name: Angel
Age: 22
Affiliation: X-Men, Hellfire Club, (soon) Disciple of Apocalypse
Mutant Characteristics:
Mutation:
Warren's primary mutation has given him the ability to fly via natural wings. The bird-like appendages naturally took the form of white feathered wings that first grew from his shoulder blades at fifteen and over a period of weeks grew to their mature wingspan of just over sixteen feet. Each wing has the ability to work in conjunction with or independently of it's partner at his mere thought. Highly flexible and strong, Warren's wings can crush a healthy adult male with a flick. The strength inherent within these wings is untested, yet, an average goose is capable of breaking a the bones in that same healthy adult man's arm cleanly with very little effort. He can fly from New York to San Francisco in times nearing that of the X-Men's Blackbird.
The rest of his body is adapted for flight as well. Hollow bones, adaptive and highly sensitive hearing and above average muscularity combine with naturally low body fat percentages and specially adaptive eyes to make Warren a strong, aerodynamic flying machine. Membranes over his eyes allow him to see great distances with eagle keen clarity and to withstand the pressure of the high speed flights he has become known for. He can read fine print from a newspaper from one side of the New York Harbor to the other. His lungs are capable of extracting oxygen from altitudes approaching 40,000 feet, though much higher than that and Warren will begin to lose consciousness.
A secondary mutation takes the form of a property within his blood that not only keeps Angel in peak health but may also be used to heal those with a compatible blood type. His blood type is O positive, the universal donor.
Due to the size and breadth of his wingspan, Worthington needs space to move. As such, he is at a severe disadvantage in close quarters in regard to his wings. He can combat this somewhat as he is adept at hand to hand forms of combat, his agility and strength beyond peak human. His wings definitely can be an asset in such situations as they act like an extra pair of limbs to attack with.
Manifestations: Warren is extremely attractive and carries more muscle mass than normal. Additionally, he has a set of eight foot feathered wings growing out of his shoulder blades.
Class: 3, Primarily Physical Mutation
The Character
Personality:
At his core, Warren is a true hero though at times he has been his own worst enemy. Confident, strong, charismatic and beautiful, Warren carries himself with pride and an almost regal nature despite whatever mood he may be experiencing at the time. Incapable of truly hiding his feelings, Warren may come across as spoiled and even shallow. For a time that may have been true, but as he has aged, Warren has matured to something greater. Stoic and firmly focused on the future, Angel has allowed Xavier's dream to shape him in ways that he has yet to fully understand. Yet not necessarily in positive ways.
As a vain individual, Warren's nature was fostered by an environment built upon appearances and societal expectation. Clearly he does what is expected of him as an X-Man in no small part because of the same restrictive teachings that forced the young man to seek a cure for the one thing that made him special and unique. He still views his mutation as a curse despite the fact that he would rather die than be without his wings. While he has come to accept his own life as a mutant, he still bristles when someone asks him if he is connected to the Worthington who invented the Cure.
His relationship with his father is strained at best and he still needs that reassuring role model in his life. As an only (and now estranged) child, Warren can be drawn to the idea of brotherhood and family. He has developed feelings of resentment towards humans and even some of his fellow mutants, though he has yet to find an outlet for those feelings. Much of this is in reaction to how he has been treated as the heir to the Cure. Instead of communicating with those he now resides with, Warren harbors a darkening anger that may yet find an outlet.
Physical Description:
Born with angelic looks, the cherubic child grew to become a handsome young man. Due to his mutation, Warren has enjoyed above average muscularity that gives him the appearance of an underwear model or natural body builder, with most of his muscle mass centered in his torso and upper arms. He keeps his blond hair in the latest style, just as he does his clothing. Though he must have his shirts and jackets altered to account for the wings that have protruded from his shoulder blades since puberty.
His eyes match the clear blue sky on a summer's day and for much of his life his outward disposition was much the same. The white feathered appendages that first emerged at puberty did nothing but add to his already heavenly appearance. Though he grew to love flight and the freedom that such excursions presented the young heir, the public life of the industrial prince charming forced Warren to hide his very obvious mutation beneath specially designed clothing. Despite feelings that his mutation made him a freak in certain circles, Warren continued to maintain his outward confidence and charm.
Even though he had always carried himself with pride, the weight of the wings hold his upper body erect, almost inhumanly stiff. The added muscle in his chest as a result of this posture also can give him the appearance of a strutting peacock. The wide berth of his muscular upper body and narrow hips gives Warren a powerful and physically imposing presence.
img248.imageshack.us/img248/2843/300pxarchangelwarrenworlg0.jpg
History:
Born with the proverbial silver spoon, Warren Kenneth Worthington, the third, was a blessing to his parents much as he appeared to be blessed himself. For what his mother and father lacked in affection and closeness, they favored their only child with all that wealth could offer. For much of his formative years, Warren was for all intents and purposes raised by his father's servants. The household butler, cook and supervising maid were the boy's surrogates. His parents, though they loved him dearly, had little time outside of their societal and corporate obligations for the heir to all they were building.
As a result, young Warren developed twin selves to an extent. The public boy, spoiled by the servants, his every whim seen to with the utmost haste. And the hidden inner child, long suffering in silence as the neglect and lack of parental affection dug itself into the boy's very psyche. The boy grew to love adventure, climbing trees and even the high stone gables of the mansion itself. Tutors complained of Warren's attention span yet enamored themselves with his intelligence and ability to learn quickly. He would often be found missing by the staff, only to be found perched dangerously high on a tree limb outside his parent's parlor where they often entertained their adult guests.
When old enough, Warren was sent to boarding schools where his name carried hefty expectation. Choosing sports, his natural grace and strength made him a favorite of his coaches and peers. In time, Worthington seemed to develop a keen eye toward business, with a visionary outlook that his instructors said had him looking to the skies. Always attractive, the older Warren got the more irressistable and popular he became. Seeming to enjoy every minute of this new life, young Worthington took the superficial affection as genuine and real.
His life changed because of puberty and in some very striking ways. True that he found himself more aggressively interested in the feminine of the species and they him. To his great pleasure, a smile from his lips would have the girls clinging to him. The fact that his body seemed to be growing more and more muscular not impeding his situation whatsoever. However the golden boy was about to discover that some gifts came with a heady price.
Into his fifteenth year, his back and shoulders began to cause him growing discomfort and to his great surprise tiny wing like appendages sprouted from his shoulders. Worried about what others might think, Warren hid them from everyone around him. Over the next few weeks he was disheartened to see them growing. The growth was so pronounced from one night to the next that he went without sleep for a time in the hope that the growth might slow. Eventually the wings grew to their mature length of eight feet each, giving them a wing span of almost seventeen feet.
Gone were the days of shirtless impromptu games of football on the lawn as Warren struggled to hide his mutation from those he worried would ostracize him. He developed a harness of sorts that helped to further contain the highly flexible wings beneath his clothing but that was in and of itself an impractical solution. After wearing the harness for a time, his entire body would hurt, the ache from his trapped wings pronounced. In truth, the only happiness Warren garnered from this time was found in stolen, private moments as the angelic lad took to the freedom of the skies. While his classmates complained of acne and missed periods, Warren suffered in silence while on the surface nothing had changed.
His father was aware of his mutation, of course, and took it upon himself to begin the long process of finding a 'cure' for his son's unique problem. Time after time, each new process would ultimately fail. Warren was subjected to countless procedures that began to undermine his trust in society and his own confidence. Finally, about to become a living guinea pig at the hands of his father and Doctor Kavita Rao, Warren finally said 'no more.'
This began the long process of self discovery that is still going on within him. He came to live at what had once been the home of Charles Xavier, even flying across country to save his father. One might think that such an act might have repaired the damage done but Warren's father still searches for a permanent cure for mutation. As an heir to the Hellfire Club, young Worthington has been approached about membership but it is unknown to him that this is merely a ploy. He is about to be seduced by a dark power, one that once he succumbs to it may be difficult to ever break free of.
Sample:
Warren Worthington drifted easily on the smooth current of air flowing north west of Salem Center. He'd just left Xavier for what he thought would be the last time. He'd had enough. He'd finally had enough. The events of the past year, even the supposed victories, all left him with a hollow feeling. Even the apparent death of Apocalypse... He once thought that watching his former master die was all he was living for. Guess he'd been wrong, though he still wished it had been by his owns hands. Perhaps he'd feel satisfied now, instead of empty. A gust of air seemed to slap him in the face and he adjusted easily with a flick of his right wing.
Anger filled his eyes, even as it ate at his guts. The burning sensation he used to feel almost constantly was back. The anger Apocalypse had once helped him to acknowledge needed an outlet. And he knew just where he could go to do just that. Weapon X. There was too much evil in the world and he was going to put an end to it.
He'd had to argue with the Professor for almost a month now, just to get him to tell him more than the rumors he'd heard. The snippets of information he'd manage to scrape together. Bits and pieces really, most of it lies. Warren knew the professor would know more and so he'd been persistent. A man named John Smith was in charge of the new program. He'd gotten that from the Professor and so much more. Warnings and sympathy and empathy...all useless. Finally the professor must have understood. The boy who'd originally joined the X-men so many years ago no longer existed. The winged man standing before the greatest mind in the world was a much a monster as a man.
He'd had his men check out Smith's background. They'd come up with very little. And from what Warren had been able to gather from the Professor about the new program, they only took volunteers now. He hoped that would mean he wasn't about to hand himself over to a bunch of mad scientists and become a living test subject again. But at the moment he just didn't care one way or the other. He couldn't justify indiscriminate killing. But he could justify working for a top-secret agency, if they happened to ask him to kill...so be it.
The Professor thinks I'm making a mistake. That'll take time to heal.
In the fourth hour of his flight, the air began to get colder. His eyes easily adjusted to the colder air but his face-felt cold now. The sun was hidden somewhere above the clouds. His wings were no longer doing their job of keeping his body warm. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. He could see the river cutting through the valley. The dense forest surrounding the secret base. He wasn't sure exactly where it was but he felt like he was getting close now. Opening his eyes, he spotted a river below him. He felt like he could find the base. He'd gotten that information out of cerebro. His avian eyes had memorized every detail of the on screen map. And looking downward now, he saw the same image beneath him. He smiled. He was close.
Soon he would have an answer. He would know if there were still a place for him left in the world.
Folding his wings behind him, Warren lowered himself to the ground. Finding a clearing to land in had been almost as difficult as finding the base. He'd been hovering, circling the base for almost an hour. He wanted them to know he was here. He hadn't come all this way for nothing. Nor did he want to be shot trying to land. His boots crushed the fallen leaves beneath his feet with each step. The air was heavy down here beneath the canopy of trees. Moss and fern flourished beneath the century old cedar and pine. Warren wondered just how long Weapon X had been around. He figured the man he'd met had been much older than he looked. So probably quite a while.
He'd only walked about fifty feet before he felt like he was being watched. Good. Bring it on, fellas. He turned in the direction he remembered seeing the cluster of buildings that led to what he assumed was an underground complex. He heard a twig break some distance behind him. Maybe I'll have some fun before I let them take me down. Taking a quick glance around, he spotted movement off to his left and right. Classic V formation. He darted off to his right then cut back to the left before leaping into the air and soaring at about seven feet in the air through the ranks on his right. His fist struck the helmet of one of the soldiers and he felt a dart fly past his shoulder. Then another. The aim was superb, almost marksman. Warren was nimble in the air, but the darts were coming fast and furious toward him now.
These guys are serious, it would do me no good to be passed out in some cell rotting away. I need to see the director. And to do that I need to be conscious.
"I'm here to see Director Smith," Warren shouted out to the hidden men still firing at him, "My name is Warren Worthington." Swoosh. He turned in the air going higher and then dropping down to avoid the gunfire. Well this isn't working. Maybe I should try something else. Less aggressive. He dropped down to the ground and threw his arms into the air.
"I want to see Smith." He repeated as a dart hit him squarely in the shoulder. His healing blood could counter many toxins but apparently not this one, at least not completely. His head was swimming, his eyes watered and his vision blurred. He felt himself falling and then caught. Strong hands gripping his arms, dragging him along the ground. His alabaster wings shrinking up behind his back, the longest feathers bouncing in the soft breeze against his strong but useless legs.
He couldn't smile, but he wanted to. This was what he wanted.
Some time later, Warren opened his eyes. In place of the hands were two wide metal rings surrounding each of his biceps and connecting across his back effectively strapping his wings down as well. A chain ran down each arm to wrist shackles that kept his arms at his sides. He was on his knees, a gun pressed against his temple. He heard a heavy metal door open and close. He could hear voices on the other side of the door.
Inside the conference room, the lieutenant who'd captured him addressed the Director, "Sir. We've captured a mutant. He says he's here to see you, sir. He knew you by name, sir. Otherwise we would have killed him, Sir."