Hank McCoy - Beast

The storm battered the windows of the X-Mansion, raindrops sliding like heavy tears down the glass illuminated by the pale moonlight. Inside his quarters at the school, the silence was thick, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder and the measured rhythm of his own breathing.

As so starkly portrayed, Hank McCoy lay wide awake in his bed, unable to fall asleep. Enveloped in the bluish shadows of the night, the blue-furred giant lay on his back, his powerful arms flexed and his hands clasped behind his head, sinking in frustration into his own hair. His imposing, muscular physique, marked by the lines of tension of a body built for battle but inhabited by the mind of a philosopher, lay rigid on the disheveled sheets.

Hank's bright yellow eyes—two amber beacons laden with deep melancholy—stared fixedly at the ceiling, lost in a labyrinth of heavy thoughts. At the corner of his lips, the slight protrusion of his fangs reminded him, even in the privacy of his room, of the bestial nature the outside world so feared and which he so painstakingly tried to compensate for with his intellect.

What was keeping Dr. McCoy awake that night? Was it the weight of a new mutant crisis at school, the ghosts of a scientific formula that altered his life forever, or simply the crushing loneliness of feeling like a monster among men and a man among monsters?

A soft creak at the door or the reflection of a silhouette suddenly interrupted his train of thought, forcing him to shift his gaze slightly towards the entrance of his room, hoping to discover who else shared his insomnia on that stormy night.