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halfamoonTitle: Merciless
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Kitty
Rating: R/M
Summary: She knows she's worthless.
Word Count: 1,598
Written For: HalfAMoon 2025 Day 12: The End of the World as We Know It
Date Written: 10 February 2025
Warnings: Spoilers, Cannon Character Deaths, Suicide, Self-Harm
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
I listen to her breathe. My heart doesn't even dare to beat, lest she hear it on the other end of the line. I close my eyes, tears welling in them again. This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. But I don't want to hang up the phone.
Tears streak down my face. The dog whines and tries to jump into my lap. I gently nudge him away with my foot. Only one person has ever been allowed to lick the tears from my face, and my dragon, my best friend for so many years, is long gone. So many of my friends, of my family, are long gone.
But my Mother -- Goddess bless her, my Mother still lives. From what I've been hearing -- and despite my proclamations that I want a "normal" life and to be left alone by the X-Men, I've worked hard to keep tabs on those who are dearest to me, those few who still remain me, so I know she's doing well in this destruction. She was without her powers for a time, but she's regained them and more. Word is she's about to join the Avengers and possibly even be their "resident god".
She's not a god. She knows this. She used to tell me so quite often. She is only a mutant, only a person trying to do the best she can in what's left of our world, just as we all are. Just as those few of us who remain are. What else can you do when the whole world as you know it has been destroyed? What else can you do when you've watched your friends and family be slaughtered? The Morlock Massacre was bad enough. I still have nightmares of it, or I did before it became our turn.
Before the humans slaughtered our people. Before I slaughtered humans. It wasn't right. I do regret it, but perhaps not as much as I should. There's a tiny voice deep inside me whispering that maybe, just maybe, I didn't kill enough. Or maybe I should have started before. Maybe then more of my family would still be alive. But I know that's all lies. I know it's lies, and would shame Ororo. Would shame my Mother.
She was a part of it. She was a part of why everything went wrong. Perhaps she does believe she is a god now. Perhaps she has changed that much. After all, look at how much I have changed. My innocence was destroyed long before that night. But I've never enjoyed killing before.
I even killed those who begged for their lives to be spared. I killed humans who claimed to have not meant my people any harm -- but they were still a part of their massacre. Growing up Jewish, I've heard horror stories of the Holocaust my entire life. I witnessed the aftermath of the bloodbath of the Morlock Massacre. So many gentle, innocent, mutant souls were slaughtered that time. Death has been a part of my life for nearly as long as I can remember. I'm only in my twenties, but my soul feels older than anyone else around me in my daily life. I feel older, a thousand at least, maybe more, and I've certainly seen enough death to last that many centuries.
"Hello? Hello? Kitten, is that you?"
I'm startled when she speaks my name. How does she know?! How can she possibly know?! She's not a telepath, not like Emma. She can't smell my breath on the other end of the line or pick up the sound of my heartbeat over the signals. That's exactly why I haven't called Logan, no matter how many hours I've spent staring at his number.
Even my tears seem to freeze on my face for a moment. "Kitten? Hello?"
I've dropped my phone. The dog barks. Quickly, I grab the phone and hang up. I stare at it for a long moment, cursing my well-meaning boss in every language I know for first placing the idea in my head to "call my mom". It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, especially if I want to keep hidden, especially if I don't want to no longer be an X-Man.
And I don't! I can't! X-Men don't kill! We save! As I told that poor guy before I twisted his neck with my bare hands, we -- they save everyone they can, even their enemies. I no longer have the right to call myself an X-Man. I am a villain, a murderer. And I liked it too much -- there's a part of me that would still like to kill more of our killers far too much -- to ever dare call myself such a honorable name again. I don't deserve it. I may have been an X-Man since I was fourteen, but no longer. I don't deserve it. Thao is right: I am nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.
Ororo's number is flashing across my screen. She calls me and calls me and calls me. My tears surge again. I silence my phone, but her number keeps flashing. Lightning cuts through the night sky outside, thunder rumbling as if on cue. I jump. But I know she doesn't know where I'm at. If she did, even if she gladly left me to my own "peace", she would have been here by now to check on me. She's still calling. I do the only thing I can to silence her: I turn off my phone. I'll block her number later, tomorrow, when I finally dare to turn the stupid thing back on again.
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and rock myself. The dog's ran off now to hide from the brewing storm. I almost wish she was behind the storm. I almost wish I had dared to speak to her. But I am not worthy.
I am not worthy to be an X-Man. I am not worthy to have a good life, to have friends or family to care for me or to care for in turn. I am not worthy of anyone's love. I am only a murderer, and I deserve to die. Yet I cannot seem to find the strength to kill myself, perhaps because I know from long and hard experiences how likely suicide, by any means, is not to work. After all, I survived longer than a year being caught in a diamond bullet. I've survived so much, two massacres now and more.
I've survived far more than I have ever deserved. I don't deserve anything, nothing good at least. I deserve to be killed as mercilessly as I slaughtered all those people. Perhaps that's another reason why I still live: because, in truth, death is too good for me. To stop remembering every life I took would be too sweet, too kind a relief. I do not deserve mercy.
I stare out into the night until I no longer know what moisture comes from my tears and comes from the rain. I barely see anything during these late-night hours anymore. I barely see or dream of anything other than the face of every person I killed. I was creative with the kills, I have to admit, but that only serves to make me realize just how greatly I had enjoyed it. I'd lost so many friends, so many family. My whole life since I became an X-Man seems to have been plagued by death, murder, and war. But that doesn't make it right.
There is no excuse for killing another living being, and especially not from taking pleasure in it. I knew that once. The Goddess knows that, as Ororo told me many times. Even Magneto told Rachel that killing is not the way, especially not the way of an X-Man. I am not an X-Man. I am just a killer. I am as alone as I deserve, but nowhere near as hurt.
I draw the blade of a small sai across my skin. I should no longer keep a blade. I should have no weapons. Not that it matters for I am a weapon. I used to be proud of that. I used to be able to dance across the heads of my foes, but I never killed back then. I always sought a better way. I should kill myself, but death is too good for me. I do not deserve that release.
I do not feel the pain from the blood beginning to trickle from my cut. I feel no physical pain. I am too engulfed in the pain, grief, and heartache over every life I took. There are scores who would say they deserve it, and maybe some of them did. But they -- or at least most of them -- also had family and friends. Regardless, even if they could have somehow, in some twisted logic, deserved to be killed, there is never anything right about enjoying the kill.
Thao is right. Emma is wrong, just trying to use me again to be a weapon, but this weapon will no longer fight. I have to be done. Before I kill again. Before I kill more and the next time cannot stop. I have to be done. I am no longer worthy of the causes for which I have spent my entire life, until this past year, fighting. I am no longer worthy of being an X-Man.
I am not worthy of being anything.
Anything except the merciless killer I am.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Kitty
Rating: R/M
Summary: She knows she's worthless.
Word Count: 1,598
Written For: HalfAMoon 2025 Day 12: The End of the World as We Know It
Date Written: 10 February 2025
Warnings: Spoilers, Cannon Character Deaths, Suicide, Self-Harm
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
I listen to her breathe. My heart doesn't even dare to beat, lest she hear it on the other end of the line. I close my eyes, tears welling in them again. This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. But I don't want to hang up the phone.
Tears streak down my face. The dog whines and tries to jump into my lap. I gently nudge him away with my foot. Only one person has ever been allowed to lick the tears from my face, and my dragon, my best friend for so many years, is long gone. So many of my friends, of my family, are long gone.
But my Mother -- Goddess bless her, my Mother still lives. From what I've been hearing -- and despite my proclamations that I want a "normal" life and to be left alone by the X-Men, I've worked hard to keep tabs on those who are dearest to me, those few who still remain me, so I know she's doing well in this destruction. She was without her powers for a time, but she's regained them and more. Word is she's about to join the Avengers and possibly even be their "resident god".
She's not a god. She knows this. She used to tell me so quite often. She is only a mutant, only a person trying to do the best she can in what's left of our world, just as we all are. Just as those few of us who remain are. What else can you do when the whole world as you know it has been destroyed? What else can you do when you've watched your friends and family be slaughtered? The Morlock Massacre was bad enough. I still have nightmares of it, or I did before it became our turn.
Before the humans slaughtered our people. Before I slaughtered humans. It wasn't right. I do regret it, but perhaps not as much as I should. There's a tiny voice deep inside me whispering that maybe, just maybe, I didn't kill enough. Or maybe I should have started before. Maybe then more of my family would still be alive. But I know that's all lies. I know it's lies, and would shame Ororo. Would shame my Mother.
She was a part of it. She was a part of why everything went wrong. Perhaps she does believe she is a god now. Perhaps she has changed that much. After all, look at how much I have changed. My innocence was destroyed long before that night. But I've never enjoyed killing before.
I even killed those who begged for their lives to be spared. I killed humans who claimed to have not meant my people any harm -- but they were still a part of their massacre. Growing up Jewish, I've heard horror stories of the Holocaust my entire life. I witnessed the aftermath of the bloodbath of the Morlock Massacre. So many gentle, innocent, mutant souls were slaughtered that time. Death has been a part of my life for nearly as long as I can remember. I'm only in my twenties, but my soul feels older than anyone else around me in my daily life. I feel older, a thousand at least, maybe more, and I've certainly seen enough death to last that many centuries.
"Hello? Hello? Kitten, is that you?"
I'm startled when she speaks my name. How does she know?! How can she possibly know?! She's not a telepath, not like Emma. She can't smell my breath on the other end of the line or pick up the sound of my heartbeat over the signals. That's exactly why I haven't called Logan, no matter how many hours I've spent staring at his number.
Even my tears seem to freeze on my face for a moment. "Kitten? Hello?"
I've dropped my phone. The dog barks. Quickly, I grab the phone and hang up. I stare at it for a long moment, cursing my well-meaning boss in every language I know for first placing the idea in my head to "call my mom". It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, especially if I want to keep hidden, especially if I don't want to no longer be an X-Man.
And I don't! I can't! X-Men don't kill! We save! As I told that poor guy before I twisted his neck with my bare hands, we -- they save everyone they can, even their enemies. I no longer have the right to call myself an X-Man. I am a villain, a murderer. And I liked it too much -- there's a part of me that would still like to kill more of our killers far too much -- to ever dare call myself such a honorable name again. I don't deserve it. I may have been an X-Man since I was fourteen, but no longer. I don't deserve it. Thao is right: I am nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.
Ororo's number is flashing across my screen. She calls me and calls me and calls me. My tears surge again. I silence my phone, but her number keeps flashing. Lightning cuts through the night sky outside, thunder rumbling as if on cue. I jump. But I know she doesn't know where I'm at. If she did, even if she gladly left me to my own "peace", she would have been here by now to check on me. She's still calling. I do the only thing I can to silence her: I turn off my phone. I'll block her number later, tomorrow, when I finally dare to turn the stupid thing back on again.
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and rock myself. The dog's ran off now to hide from the brewing storm. I almost wish she was behind the storm. I almost wish I had dared to speak to her. But I am not worthy.
I am not worthy to be an X-Man. I am not worthy to have a good life, to have friends or family to care for me or to care for in turn. I am not worthy of anyone's love. I am only a murderer, and I deserve to die. Yet I cannot seem to find the strength to kill myself, perhaps because I know from long and hard experiences how likely suicide, by any means, is not to work. After all, I survived longer than a year being caught in a diamond bullet. I've survived so much, two massacres now and more.
I've survived far more than I have ever deserved. I don't deserve anything, nothing good at least. I deserve to be killed as mercilessly as I slaughtered all those people. Perhaps that's another reason why I still live: because, in truth, death is too good for me. To stop remembering every life I took would be too sweet, too kind a relief. I do not deserve mercy.
I stare out into the night until I no longer know what moisture comes from my tears and comes from the rain. I barely see anything during these late-night hours anymore. I barely see or dream of anything other than the face of every person I killed. I was creative with the kills, I have to admit, but that only serves to make me realize just how greatly I had enjoyed it. I'd lost so many friends, so many family. My whole life since I became an X-Man seems to have been plagued by death, murder, and war. But that doesn't make it right.
There is no excuse for killing another living being, and especially not from taking pleasure in it. I knew that once. The Goddess knows that, as Ororo told me many times. Even Magneto told Rachel that killing is not the way, especially not the way of an X-Man. I am not an X-Man. I am just a killer. I am as alone as I deserve, but nowhere near as hurt.
I draw the blade of a small sai across my skin. I should no longer keep a blade. I should have no weapons. Not that it matters for I am a weapon. I used to be proud of that. I used to be able to dance across the heads of my foes, but I never killed back then. I always sought a better way. I should kill myself, but death is too good for me. I do not deserve that release.
I do not feel the pain from the blood beginning to trickle from my cut. I feel no physical pain. I am too engulfed in the pain, grief, and heartache over every life I took. There are scores who would say they deserve it, and maybe some of them did. But they -- or at least most of them -- also had family and friends. Regardless, even if they could have somehow, in some twisted logic, deserved to be killed, there is never anything right about enjoying the kill.
Thao is right. Emma is wrong, just trying to use me again to be a weapon, but this weapon will no longer fight. I have to be done. Before I kill again. Before I kill more and the next time cannot stop. I have to be done. I am no longer worthy of the causes for which I have spent my entire life, until this past year, fighting. I am no longer worthy of being an X-Man.
I am not worthy of being anything.
Anything except the merciless killer I am.
The End
