<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdxh9rK1H91rvqvo4o1_500.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Doctor Nemesis<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Nemesis' Room<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>6th of September 2017, Just before Noon<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Storm<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Thinking about the past.<br/><hr/><br/>James sat by his desk along the left wall of his room. The desk had belong to Charles' father, but had been difficult to use with a wheelchair, so instead of disgarding it, James had accepted it and now used it. He had spent the better part of a week treating it, fixing the semi broken back left leg, and had then redone the coating in the same style as it had been before. He smiled a bit as the memory surfaced before looking back at his current task. While a laptop sat on the table, James was sitting in front of a typewriter (https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ab/RoyalQuietDeluxeGoldTypewrite.jpg) the paper almost half way through. His fingers moved back to the keys and started typing away. By his side sat a stack of several pages with the same type as the one currently being set on the paper. It was for his personal journal. On the bookshelf behind him, on the top shelf, 9 volumes set with the title "<strong>Personal Journal of James Nicola Bradley, Mutant and Friend Vol.</strong>" followed by the roman numerals counting up to IX. The paper current being written on had writing on both sides by now and was yesterday. The melodic tapping of both fingers against keys and type against paper filled the room as James picked up speed. His writing style was old, and while he most often wrote in more time appropriate fashion, his personal journal was something special and its style remained the same as it had been when he'd started writing in 1914, 10 years old and without his mutation.<br/><br/>On the wall he faced hung 5 pictures, one, a black and white photograph of James, a young black woman and a child obscured by the cloth it was wrapped in. James looked young in the picture, younger than he did now, and on a plaque on the frame it said "<strong>'28 World Series final with Ayah and Franklin</strong>" James rarely looked at the picture any more, as the mere thought of it caused him to feel ill. The next showed a group children, all in prison camp uniforms and with the Star of David on their chests. They looked happy in the picture, and James was in the centre, getting hugged by a pair of twin girls, while a couple of America GIs waved at the children. The plaque on the frame of that one said "<strong>Liberating Dachau. 1945</strong>" The next, showed James up to his knees in mud, carrying a wounded soldier over his shoulder.  The next showed James, Erik and Charles all standing before the mansion, big smiles on their faces. The one after was off a black family in a park in England, with James sitting on a bench, reading to a pair of young children, as an elderly man looked at them, with a younger man standing by his side. The Plaque on the frame said "<strong>Myself, Franklin, Joseph and the twins. Kobe just out of frame. 2005"</strong>The last picture was new, and showed James and about a dozen or so kids in a village in Africa, all the kids giving the thumbs up. For this there was no plaque, James having not had time to hand engrave one yet. He smiled a bit to himself as he gazed briefly up at it before being interrupted in his writing by a knock on the door. He turned his head towards it and said "Door's open, feel free to come in"