Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > I'm Not Like Everybody Else
The rain had started again by the time John made it back to the edge of town. He didn’t bother with an umbrella. The water slid down his jacket, soaking his hair, but he didn’t feel it. He walked with that same calm, unhurried stride he always had, the one that looked like confidence from a distance but was really something colder; control.
Every movement measured. Every thought trimmed down to a single point. He didn’t even realize how tight he was gripping the lighter until he saw the faint imprint of its edge in his palm.
For a while, he just stood there, on the shoulder of the road, cars roaring past, red taillights blurring through the rain. Somewhere behind him was the mall, with its soft music and its bright windows and its ghosts.
Bobby.
Rogue.
He hadn’t expected to see them. Not today. Maybe not ever again.
For a few seconds, just a few, the sight of them had cracked something open in him. The way Rogue said his name. The look in Bobby’s eyes. It was all too familiar, too close to a life that didn’t fit anymore.
He flicked the lighter open.
Click.
The tiny flame jumped to life, trembling in the rain. He watched it. A little piece of chaos that answered only to him. Something pure in a world full of noise and hypocrisy.
He could still hear Bobby’s voice; "He's using you."
He smiled faintly. Bobby never understood. None of them did.
Using him? Maybe. But wasn’t everyone being used by someone? Xavier used his students like chess pieces. Magneto just didn’t bother pretending it was anything else.
Pyro had chosen his side. He closed his fist over the flame, snuffing it out. Smoke curled up between his fingers. When he looked up, headlights swept across the wet pavement. A black sedan slowed beside him, engine rumbling low.
The window rolled down, and the familiar voice that came from inside was smooth and sharp all at once.
“John.” He didn’t flinch.
“You said no surveillance," John said, a little frustrated that he had been followed on what was supposed to be his own personal time.
Magneto smiled thinly from the driver’s seat.
“Yet, here I am. Old habits, I suppose.”
Mystique was in the passenger seat, sunglasses on despite the dark. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. John exhaled through his nose, watching the mist drift in front of him.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust the world,” Magneto replied. “After what I’ve seen of it, you shouldn’t either. Get in.”
For a second, John hesitated, that same flicker of rebellion that had once made Xavier call him difficult but then he opened the door and slid in. The car smelled like rain and leather and something faintly metallic.
As they drove, Magneto spoke without looking away from the road.
“I assume your afternoon went…uneventfully.”
John exhaled.
“Depends on what you mean by that.”
“I mean,” Magneto continued, his voice smooth, “did you resist the urge to prove your point?”
John’s thumb ran over the lighter’s lid.
Click. Click.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Barely.”
Mystique smirked.
“That’s progress.”
John ignored her. His gaze drifted to the window, the reflection of the flame in his lighter flickering over his eyes.
“I saw them today,” he said quietly. That made Magneto glance at him.
“Who?”
"Bobby and Rogue."
A silence settled in the car, something that John expected. Magneto eventually nodded.
“How are our young idealists?”
“Still drinking the Kool-Aid,” John answered. “Still pretending the world’s gonna wake up one morning and decide to love us.”
“And you?” Magneto asked.
John met his eyes in the mirror. “I stopped pretending.”
Magneto smiled faintly; proud, but careful not to show too much of it.
“Good. The first step toward strength is honesty.”
John turned his gaze back to the road ahead. Lightning flashed far off, slicing the sky open for a heartbeat before the darkness closed again. The thunder came after, slow, deep, like the earth itself was answering.
“Do you ever think about who you were before all this?” John asked suddenly.
"No," Magneto’s face hardened slightly. "The man I was then was a victim. The man I am now ensures that will never happen again.” John nodded, but his reflection in the glass didn’t look convinced.
For a moment, he saw a kid with a smart mouth and a Zippo he used to show off at school. A kid who laughed too loud, who stayed up late watching bad horror movies with Bobby, who once told Rogue that fire wasn’t destruction, it was change.
He shook his head and the image was gone. When the car stopped at the edge of an old industrial park, their current “base”, Magneto spoke again, almost gently.
“You did well today. Restraint is power, Pyro. Remember that.” He got out, the rain easing to a drizzle. The streetlights above buzzed weakly, one of them flickering. He stared up at it, thumb rubbing the lighter again. Magneto’s voice echoed behind him. “The day will come when restraint will no longer be necessary. When we act without apology. Until then… patience.”
John didn’t answer. He just flicked the lighter open, held the flame close, and whispered something only the fire could hear. Then, for the first time since leaving the mall, he smiled, a small, dangerous thing.
Because part of him believed Rogue was right, and part of him wanted to prove her wrong. But the biggest part, the one that called itself Pyro didn’t care which it was, as long as the world burned bright enough to make everyone finally see him.
The door to the old steel mill shut behind John with a hollow echo that lingered long after his footsteps faded down the corridor. For a few seconds, Magneto didn’t move. He stood near the entrance, eyes on the place where Pyro had disappeared into the shadows, his reflection pale in the rain-slick glass. Mystique’s voice broke the silence.
“He’s slipping.”
Magneto turned slightly, one brow lifting.
“Is he?” She leaned against a rusted column. “He’s restless. You saw it. The way his hand wouldn’t leave that lighter. The boy’s a spark looking for something to burn. And if we’re not careful, it’ll be us.”
Magneto waved his hand, not dismissive, but knowing.
“He’s young. Passion often masquerades as instability. It’s what makes him valuable.”
“Valuable,” she repeated, the word edged. “That’s what Xavier used to say about his students. Until they broke.”
He glanced at her, sharp as a blade.
“You think I intend to break him?”
“I think,” she said, stepping closer, “you already have.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain had started again, soft, steady, tapping against the high, cracked windows of the mill. Magneto turned away, his tone measured.
“He needs purpose, Mystique. Not pity. The world has rejected him, as it did us. I’m giving him a place where his power means something.”
She gave a short laugh, but there was no amusement in it.
“You’re giving him a cause to die for.”
“Better than one to hide behind,” Magneto said evenly. Mystique’s gaze hardened, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she walked past him, her heels echoing faintly. “He saw his old friends today. Rogue and Iceman.”
“I know,” Magneto replied.
“You think he’s ready for that kind of temptation?”
“He resisted.”
“For now,” she said. “But you saw his eyes when he said her name.”
Magneto’s silence was answer enough. Mystique stopped near the doorway, watching the rain bead and roll down the glass. “He wants to believe in you. That’s dangerous, Erik. You’ve always been better when your followers feared you, not when they believed.”
He looked past her, to where the faint orange glow of a single flame flickered deep inside the mill. John’s flame. A tiny, dancing pulse of light amid the rust and ruin.
“He doesn’t believe in me,” Magneto said at last.
“He believes in fire.” Mystique tilted her head. “And fire doesn’t stay loyal.”
“No," Magneto shook his head, "but it can be guided, for a time.”
The two of them stood there, listening to the rain, the silence between them heavy with everything they both knew but wouldn’t say. Finally, Mystique asked,
“What happens when he realizes you’re only using him?”
He met her gaze without flinching.
“Then he’ll have become exactly what I need him to be.”
She shook her head slowly.
“And what’s that?”
Magneto turned toward the faint glow of the lighter, that fragile, defiant spark in the dark. “Unstoppable.”
Deep in the mill, John sat alone on a crate, the lighter flame reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t thinking of Magneto, or Mystique, or even Xavier’s school. He was thinking of Rogue’s voice, the way she’d said his name like it still meant something. He flicked the lighter shut.
The flame vanished, leaving only the hiss of rain outside. For a heartbeat, he saw his reflection in the chrome, not Pyro, not the weapon Magneto wanted, but the boy he’d been. The one who’d laughed too loud. The one who’d wanted to belong. Then he snapped the lid open again.
Click. The fire bloomed back to life.
“Unstoppable,” he whispered, echoing words he hadn’t heard but somehow felt.
Even as the flame steadied, there was doubt behind his eyes, a crack in the surface, small but real. Because part of him still believed Rogue was right.
That part, quiet, buried deep was the one thing he couldn’t control. Because part of her believed he was right.
Every movement measured. Every thought trimmed down to a single point. He didn’t even realize how tight he was gripping the lighter until he saw the faint imprint of its edge in his palm.
For a while, he just stood there, on the shoulder of the road, cars roaring past, red taillights blurring through the rain. Somewhere behind him was the mall, with its soft music and its bright windows and its ghosts.
Bobby.
Rogue.
He hadn’t expected to see them. Not today. Maybe not ever again.
For a few seconds, just a few, the sight of them had cracked something open in him. The way Rogue said his name. The look in Bobby’s eyes. It was all too familiar, too close to a life that didn’t fit anymore.
He flicked the lighter open.
Click.
The tiny flame jumped to life, trembling in the rain. He watched it. A little piece of chaos that answered only to him. Something pure in a world full of noise and hypocrisy.
He could still hear Bobby’s voice; "He's using you."
He smiled faintly. Bobby never understood. None of them did.
Using him? Maybe. But wasn’t everyone being used by someone? Xavier used his students like chess pieces. Magneto just didn’t bother pretending it was anything else.
Pyro had chosen his side. He closed his fist over the flame, snuffing it out. Smoke curled up between his fingers. When he looked up, headlights swept across the wet pavement. A black sedan slowed beside him, engine rumbling low.
The window rolled down, and the familiar voice that came from inside was smooth and sharp all at once.
“John.” He didn’t flinch.
“You said no surveillance," John said, a little frustrated that he had been followed on what was supposed to be his own personal time.
Magneto smiled thinly from the driver’s seat.
“Yet, here I am. Old habits, I suppose.”
Mystique was in the passenger seat, sunglasses on despite the dark. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. John exhaled through his nose, watching the mist drift in front of him.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust the world,” Magneto replied. “After what I’ve seen of it, you shouldn’t either. Get in.”
For a second, John hesitated, that same flicker of rebellion that had once made Xavier call him difficult but then he opened the door and slid in. The car smelled like rain and leather and something faintly metallic.
As they drove, Magneto spoke without looking away from the road.
“I assume your afternoon went…uneventfully.”
John exhaled.
“Depends on what you mean by that.”
“I mean,” Magneto continued, his voice smooth, “did you resist the urge to prove your point?”
John’s thumb ran over the lighter’s lid.
Click. Click.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Barely.”
Mystique smirked.
“That’s progress.”
John ignored her. His gaze drifted to the window, the reflection of the flame in his lighter flickering over his eyes.
“I saw them today,” he said quietly. That made Magneto glance at him.
“Who?”
"Bobby and Rogue."
A silence settled in the car, something that John expected. Magneto eventually nodded.
“How are our young idealists?”
“Still drinking the Kool-Aid,” John answered. “Still pretending the world’s gonna wake up one morning and decide to love us.”
“And you?” Magneto asked.
John met his eyes in the mirror. “I stopped pretending.”
Magneto smiled faintly; proud, but careful not to show too much of it.
“Good. The first step toward strength is honesty.”
John turned his gaze back to the road ahead. Lightning flashed far off, slicing the sky open for a heartbeat before the darkness closed again. The thunder came after, slow, deep, like the earth itself was answering.
“Do you ever think about who you were before all this?” John asked suddenly.
"No," Magneto’s face hardened slightly. "The man I was then was a victim. The man I am now ensures that will never happen again.” John nodded, but his reflection in the glass didn’t look convinced.
For a moment, he saw a kid with a smart mouth and a Zippo he used to show off at school. A kid who laughed too loud, who stayed up late watching bad horror movies with Bobby, who once told Rogue that fire wasn’t destruction, it was change.
He shook his head and the image was gone. When the car stopped at the edge of an old industrial park, their current “base”, Magneto spoke again, almost gently.
“You did well today. Restraint is power, Pyro. Remember that.” He got out, the rain easing to a drizzle. The streetlights above buzzed weakly, one of them flickering. He stared up at it, thumb rubbing the lighter again. Magneto’s voice echoed behind him. “The day will come when restraint will no longer be necessary. When we act without apology. Until then… patience.”
John didn’t answer. He just flicked the lighter open, held the flame close, and whispered something only the fire could hear. Then, for the first time since leaving the mall, he smiled, a small, dangerous thing.
Because part of him believed Rogue was right, and part of him wanted to prove her wrong. But the biggest part, the one that called itself Pyro didn’t care which it was, as long as the world burned bright enough to make everyone finally see him.
The door to the old steel mill shut behind John with a hollow echo that lingered long after his footsteps faded down the corridor. For a few seconds, Magneto didn’t move. He stood near the entrance, eyes on the place where Pyro had disappeared into the shadows, his reflection pale in the rain-slick glass. Mystique’s voice broke the silence.
“He’s slipping.”
Magneto turned slightly, one brow lifting.
“Is he?” She leaned against a rusted column. “He’s restless. You saw it. The way his hand wouldn’t leave that lighter. The boy’s a spark looking for something to burn. And if we’re not careful, it’ll be us.”
Magneto waved his hand, not dismissive, but knowing.
“He’s young. Passion often masquerades as instability. It’s what makes him valuable.”
“Valuable,” she repeated, the word edged. “That’s what Xavier used to say about his students. Until they broke.”
He glanced at her, sharp as a blade.
“You think I intend to break him?”
“I think,” she said, stepping closer, “you already have.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain had started again, soft, steady, tapping against the high, cracked windows of the mill. Magneto turned away, his tone measured.
“He needs purpose, Mystique. Not pity. The world has rejected him, as it did us. I’m giving him a place where his power means something.”
She gave a short laugh, but there was no amusement in it.
“You’re giving him a cause to die for.”
“Better than one to hide behind,” Magneto said evenly. Mystique’s gaze hardened, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she walked past him, her heels echoing faintly. “He saw his old friends today. Rogue and Iceman.”
“I know,” Magneto replied.
“You think he’s ready for that kind of temptation?”
“He resisted.”
“For now,” she said. “But you saw his eyes when he said her name.”
Magneto’s silence was answer enough. Mystique stopped near the doorway, watching the rain bead and roll down the glass. “He wants to believe in you. That’s dangerous, Erik. You’ve always been better when your followers feared you, not when they believed.”
He looked past her, to where the faint orange glow of a single flame flickered deep inside the mill. John’s flame. A tiny, dancing pulse of light amid the rust and ruin.
“He doesn’t believe in me,” Magneto said at last.
“He believes in fire.” Mystique tilted her head. “And fire doesn’t stay loyal.”
“No," Magneto shook his head, "but it can be guided, for a time.”
The two of them stood there, listening to the rain, the silence between them heavy with everything they both knew but wouldn’t say. Finally, Mystique asked,
“What happens when he realizes you’re only using him?”
He met her gaze without flinching.
“Then he’ll have become exactly what I need him to be.”
She shook her head slowly.
“And what’s that?”
Magneto turned toward the faint glow of the lighter, that fragile, defiant spark in the dark. “Unstoppable.”
Deep in the mill, John sat alone on a crate, the lighter flame reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t thinking of Magneto, or Mystique, or even Xavier’s school. He was thinking of Rogue’s voice, the way she’d said his name like it still meant something. He flicked the lighter shut.
The flame vanished, leaving only the hiss of rain outside. For a heartbeat, he saw his reflection in the chrome, not Pyro, not the weapon Magneto wanted, but the boy he’d been. The one who’d laughed too loud. The one who’d wanted to belong. Then he snapped the lid open again.
Click. The fire bloomed back to life.
“Unstoppable,” he whispered, echoing words he hadn’t heard but somehow felt.
Even as the flame steadied, there was doubt behind his eyes, a crack in the surface, small but real. Because part of him still believed Rogue was right.
That part, quiet, buried deep was the one thing he couldn’t control. Because part of her believed he was right.
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