Today marks the near end of my incarceration.
To the hopeless fools who find this book, I hope you can enjoy the few scarce moments of life you have left, because I will not let you live much longer if you've discovered my journal.
You may think these are mere baseless threats from a “colt” as many of you are so willing to label me, but you couldn’t be more wrong. I am not a “colt” or a “stallion”, in fact I am not even a mere human. I am a monster, an alien from another dimension, a mutant. I am Magneto: The Master of Metal and Magnets, and I will rip the iron from your veins if you read even word of my journal.
Now, promises to end the miserable existence of others aside, this journal is the one piece of contraband I’ve been able to get my hands on as of today, and I feel like writing something meaningful. I don’t really know why, since I don’t wish for anyone aside from myself to know who I am. However, I suppose an argument could be made that I don’t know who I am. I doubt any younger version of myself could look up at me and call me human or sympathize with the things I’ve done. So, perhaps this journal is a way to say goodbye to the man I once was, a way to bury the sniveling coward who wanted to live in ignorance instead of grasping his destiny.
Sometimes, I wonder if I could have done things differently. Perhaps I could have embraced these humanoid aliens that wanted to call me a friend, or maybe I could have found a different path instead of becoming an arguable villain like my fictional counterpart. And then, I remember everything that happened to me in this equine world of super heroes. The taunts, the threats, their screams. I’ll admit, even if it is sadistic, I do take some pleasure in hearing ponies scream. I’m sure I’ll feel amazing when I hear the guards in here scream when I break through their metal cages and metal walls. Leaving the master of magnets in a metal prison, what a foolish choice for mares who act as if they’re superior.
I could escape at this very moment, place my journal down, bend the bars of my prison cell, rip off this ridiculous collar, and crush the guards with their own helmets. It would be so easy, and I’ve been incredibly tempted to lash out at their mocking taunts. But I can’t, lest they realize the folly of their choice. If they were to learn about my powers and understand them, then it would be impossible for me to escape again if I was captured by the Harmony League. So, I wait until the day that I may find my chance and escape this miserable prison. And then, I will make this world right. I will topple the systems in place for a better world, one that I can be truly proud of.
But, before I speak about the future, I must say goodbye to my past. As I’ve made it clear countless times to these annoying guards, I am not a stallion, I am a human named Xavier. It’s a shame none of the ponies or other creatures here can appreciate the irony of my name and my alias as Magneto. Perhaps if I ever return to my world I can reveal it in a dramatic fashion and see their reaction. I’m sure they’d laugh along with me at it. I need to knock that thought out of my head. I can't return to Earth and that's final. I need to accept that.
Anyway, moving on from the disappointment of being the only one who can appreciate my own brand of humor, I am Xavier, or perhaps “was” is a better term. Regardless, I was an average man attending comic con dressed up as the mutant terrorist and revolutionary, Magneto. My costume was nothing too fantastic, a simple Halloween store costume that had all of the essentials.
I didn’t have many plans aside from browsing, taking pictures, and perhaps getting an autograph or two while I was there. I simply wanted to enjoy myself and experience something that I hadn’t done since I was a child.
The troubles that plague my life now all began with a man in a trench coat and purple scarf. Perhaps he was a cosplayer, or maybe he was an idiot who thought he looked “quirky” or some inane nonsense in that silly getup. He tried to push several items on me, each one a fairly cheap bargain and all well made. The only issue was that I merely wasn’t interested in what he was selling. I didn’t need any props for costumes that I didn’t own, and while some may call me paranoid, I didn’t feel like his prices were right. Quality crafted blades and props were being sold for too low of a price, while the few action figures and other bobbles were far too high, ranging into the hundreds for a six-inch figure of Perfect Cell. I am a firm believer in, “If it’s too good to be true, then it isn’t,” and his seemingly random and insensible prices made me weary of his items. Also, his overall personality and insistency that I buy something from him turned me off. Why would I ever want to buy something from a pestering psychopath like him?
Saying goodbye and refusing his staggering offers, I walked away and enjoyed the rest of the day. While I was sitting down enjoying some, rather pricey, food at one of the tables inside, I had placed my helmet down after wearing it for hours on end. One quick break to the bathroom later, and it was suddenly gone. I was absolutely infuriated by someone stealing my property, even if it was just a cheap part of my costume.
The couple sitting at a table near mine, lovely people, told me who had taken my helmet and I instantly made my way over to the familiar stand. There, sitting in the dead center of every random prop and item that was strung across his stand my helmet. I knew it was mine, there wasn’t a Magneto helmet at that stand in the first place. That con artist had stolen my helmet and tried to sell it off to someone. In retrospect, I should have gone to security and brought them along with me, but I was upset by this blatant theft that I stormed right up to him and screamed to my heart’s content. I don’t really recall what I said to him, though most of it consisted of calling him a thief and insinuating that he lived in his mother’s basement.
Ripping the helmet off of the table, I planted it on my head with a final threat to call security on him. And then, I felt my mind slip away from my body as I fell to the floor.