The past always haunted Erik. All the events, small and large, stacked upon each other to make a man who he is. Erik's past was full of darkness and fear and all the impotence of a child unable to stop the horrors of the world. While Erik could acknowledge (if only to himself) that he could never overcome his past, he knew he could use it to propel him into the future. Since that day in Cuba, Erik thought more of the future than of the past. Even his unconscious mind abandoned focus on the unchangeable past to the more malleable future.

It was a different world in Erik's sleeping mind. It was the world he longed for, a world where mutants were not only safe, but on the rise. A world where he, Magneto, was looked to as the leader of mutant-kind. In his dream, there was a homeland for them in the island nation of Genosha. There, the rights of mutants were valued above all others. In his dreams a full world sprung to life with a detailed history to support it. A past full of conspiracy against mutant-kind, uncovered and stopped by Erik himself.

Sure, it was grandiose and, yes, it put Erik in a position of power, but more importantly, it lifted him and all those like him from under the ruthless boot of baseline humans. In his imagination, they had a home free from the scrutiny, the fear, and the violence of humans. Genosha was a safe and prosperous nation on-par with any other first-world country. Its influence was growing and, much to Erik's pleasure, its population as well. To him, it made up for the unchanging past. To him, Erik was finally able to save his people from the horrors of the world.

It's a room. Just a plain, run of the mill room straight from the 1960s. It's far from luxurious, but it's functional. The only thing remarkable about it isn't the room itself, but the few of the Swiss Alps just outside. Perhaps the map tacked up to the wall, the photos and pins and strings connecting people and places might be memorable to another, but Erik pays them no mind. The image is all but ingrained in his memory, so the faces are sharp and clear, not a random blur.

Erik himself is seated before the window, leaning over the little table there. It isn't papers he's pouring over. Not maps or photos or forged identification papers or travel manifests. No, the table is cleared away of the seeming clutter of papers pinned to the wall and strewn across the desk of the suite. On it, instead, is a chess board onto which Erik is carefully setting pieces. They're rather plain pieces, the sort one might find in a mass produces chess set from a department store. Despite that, Erik inspects each one before setting it in its place.

He doesn't look up, even knowing he's not alone. No-one should be there, but someone inevitably will be. It's odd, he thought, even in his dreams he plots and plans and never truly rests. Chess, after all, is a game of strategy. Strategy, patience, and well-laid traps. Those were the sorts of things with which Erik was intimately familiar. He never once glanced up form the board, merely leant back in his seat and lifted his brows curiously. "Do you play?"

[ The room that you could step into is one of many in the CIA installment that he has been spending time in. It is surrounded by several pieces of equipment. Charles is standing in the center, looking around and examining Cerebro. He moves his fingers over the headpiece, feeling it carefully.

His tone is peaceful and friendly, and he turns to look over his shoulder at whoever approaches. He walks towards the entrance and offers a smile and a nod, looking back at the work. ]

Quite an amazing piece work, isn't it?

The clouds hang long and heavy in the sky, a deep gun-metal grey that shrouded everything below in ominous shadows. Rain poured steadily, making a mire of the ground. There was nothing but grey and murky brown as far as the eye could see: dull, lifeless brick buildings, rusted fence reaching skyward topped with aged razor wire, not a soul in sight. Moving along the sole path that presents itself, a peculiar smell barely masked by the rain became detectable. The putrid scent of spoiled meat and other foods left out to rot. It all made sense one the path turned.

( This paragraph is cut for some potentially gross imagery. )

The change from the drab, grey world is almost blinding. Inside everything is bright and crisp white and the scent of cleaning agents give it a sterile smell, much like a hospital... or a morgue. In fact, that's exactly what this room looks like with it's cold examination table and the myriad of sharp, glinting tools resting on trays and dangling from walls. There's even a suspicious drain on the floor to wash away unsightly fluids. The silence is broken by the crackling din of a cheery tune playing from some unseen record player. It almost seems out of place after everything outside and the quiet menace that fills the room.

A window above gave a brief glimpse of shadowy figures in the unseen observation theatre. They're the only sign of life save for the man sitting, back turned, on the exam table. Like the bodies outside, Erik's dressed in the rags he recalls so clearly from his childhood. Erik's accustomed to this dream, though. He's spent years with the exaggerated memories and fears of childhood creeping around his jagged, broken mind and mingling with his subconscious. But, it's so familiar, he immediately noticed an intruding presence. Without looking over his shoulder, he simply said, "You should not be here."

Ignore this!!