"You must try to use your other senses," Charles Xavier urged his fourteen year-old protégé as the sparring robot whapped him again, this time in the stomach. Scott Summers doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him.
"I'm . . . trying. . . ," he gasped, slowly erecting himself. His face and shirt were damp with sweat, and his brown hair hung raggedly onto his forehead. He'd taken quite a punishing from the humanoid sparring droid.
Squaring his feet, Scott launched a powerful roundhouse kick at the gleaming black machine. It raised an arm to block his kick though and responded with a two-punch combo. Scott hopped back just in time to avoid the counterattack.
"Very good so far," Charles congratulated. Scott was doing at least as well in the practice fight as any other boy his age would, and Scott had one severe handicap. . .
He couldn't see.
Scott had been born a mutant, but unlike other mutants he could not control his powers due to an unfortunate accident early in his childhood. In his case, that was a real problem. Scott's mutant gift was a deadly and undoubtedly destructive eyebeam of raw, solar energy that emanated from his eyes twenty four hours a day. The only way he could keep from destroying everything in sight was to keep his eyes shut, because for some reason his eyelids were able to keep the beams in check.
So that was what how Charles Xavier had found his first recruit, huddled in a street corner with a makeshift blindfold around his eyes. It hadn't taken long to figure out why that was absolutely necessary.
Scott still wore a tight blindfold though, and he never took it off. It was the only surefire way to keep his beams in check until the Professor could come up with some sort of device that could withstand and control them.
Now was no exception. Even though Scott could not see, he still did extensive physical training. At the moment, he was dueling with one of Xavier's first additions to the large, gym-like room he'd nicknamed the Danger Room. The sparring robot exercise was intended to help Scott learn to fend for himself and maneuver easily despite his inability to see. And it was working. In the four months since joining, Scott had developed his other senses, especially hearing, to remarkably acute levels. He'd learned to decipher the tiniest sounds into useful information, and he could now get around the large Westchester mansion with ease, as well as hold his own against a robot he couldn't see.
Scott listened closely., letting his breathing fall into a soft, rhythmic pattern. He heard the telltale whir of the sparring droid's micro-motors and ducked. The droid's fist sailed right through the air where Scott's head had been. Reacting instinctively, Scott's left leg shot into a flawless sweep kick that knocked the robot off of its feet. A small tune played, indicating that Scott had scored, a feat achievable only when one managed to land a direct hit on the robot. The session had been programmed to end when Scott attained three points, leaving him with only two more to go.
The robot jerkily righted itself and assumed a fighting stance. After a brief hesitation, it jumped into the air for a flying kick. However, Scott could tell the instant his mechanical opponent left the ground and guessing its move, crossed his arms in a block that diverted the force of the kick. Scott didn't even wait until the robot had landed to launch an attack, delivering a swift right cross and then pivoting on his right foot, spinning around and using the momentum to add power to his kick. The blow sent the droid sprawling to the floor and gave Scott his third point, ending the game.
"You've cut one minute off your completion time," said Xavier, "that is extremely good progress."
Scott merely nodded as he felt around on the floor for his gym towel, finding it after a few seconds and wiping his face.
"I think a break is well deserved right about now," Xavier continued. Dinner is in an hour anyway."
"Thank you," said a heavily breathing Scott. For a moment, Xavier wondered if perhaps he'd pushed the boy too hard. Scott looked at him though and almost as if he could read his mind said, "I'll be fine, Professor."
Xavier's mouth tilted into a semi-smile. "Of course.
****
For the first time in months, the psionically enhanced supercomputer known as Cerebro registered an active mutant signature in the area. The alarm that Cerebro used to indicate this had awakened Xavier from his restful slumber in the middle of the night. He knew the importance of the alarm though, and was soon in the main room that housed Cerebro, sitting in the chair with the amplification helmet firmly secured to his head.
Cerebro had tracked the mutant to a house near the outskirts of Bayville. The user was apparently young, their mutant powers having surfaced for the first time. Xavier hoped for his, or her, sake that their power wasn't as destructive as Scott's. Tapping a few more keys, Xavier began to access more information about the young mutant. The data rolled across the screen.
Name: Jean Alicia Grey.
Age: 14.
Height: 5'5" . . .apparently, she was the daughter of a trial lawyer and a prolific writer. Accessing her school records, Xavier learned that she was a grade A student who was involved in many extracurricular activities. He sighed, she appeared to have a normal and well-adjusted life, and it was almost a pity that she turned out to be a mutant. That news would change her world forever.
Xavier detected Scott's mental presence an instant before he padded into the room, scratching at his head. "Professor," he muttered, "is something wrong? It sounded like a fire alarm went off or something."
"Nothing's wrong," Xavier told the boy, not yet turning to face him. "What you heard was Cerebro."
'I've never heard Cerebro do that."
"I know. Cerebro only raises an alarm when it detects a mutant in the area, or rather, a mutant using their powers."
Scott's brows went up. "You mean Cerebro just located another mutant?"
"Precisely." Xavier turned around to face his student and said, " Her name is Jean Grey, she's about your age actually."
"Are you going to try to enroll her?"
"Of course. And as soon as possible. I'll probably be making a couple of phone calls tomorrow morning, maybe even pay the Grey family a visit. Right now though, I think it'd be best if you went back to sleep."
Never one to backtalk, Scott simply nodded and walked out the door.
***
"Jean Grey awoke violently at midnight to find herself suspended in midair, a good five feet above her bed. She gasped, willing herself to stay afloat as her mind tried to get a grasp on the current situation. She'd been asleep nice and sound, dreaming about how she was going to spend the rest of the summer, and then she'd felt a weird sensation in her head, and now she was defying gravity.
She looked down, and immediately lost her concentration as the shock hit her full force. She fell straight down, slamming into her bed, bouncing off, and colliding head first to the ground with loud thud. Pain exploded in her left eye.
It took her parents a full five seconds to come pounding up the stairs and into her room.
"Jean! Jean, what happened?" burst her mother as she flung the door open. When she saw Jean sprawled out on the floor, her hands flew to her mouth. Her daughter looked unnaturally pale, and her red hair was drenched in sweat.
"I'm OK," Jean mumbled weakly. She shakily rose to her feet, her head throbbing fiercely.
"What happened?" her father demanded.
"I-I don't know." Jean's father stepped forward and helped her onto her feet letting her sit on the bed.
"We heard a loud thud," Mrs. Grey told her, "it sounded serious."
Jean looked at her parents. Concern was etched all over their faces. "Mom, dad, I think I was levitating. Floating in the air. "
"Oh dear God," her mother said to her father, "the poor girl must have hit her head even harder than we thought."
"What?! No, I'm serous mom. I woke up and I was floating in midair. I don't know how or why but I swear I was."
Her father turned to her mother. "You're right honey. I think Jean may have a concussion or something. She's obviously delirious."
"Do you think we should take her to the hospital?"
"No!" Jean interrupted. I'm not delirious and I'm not making this up. It really happened and it was so scary. I was up there like I was flying or something and then I just dropped. That's what you heard. I hit the ground pretty hard falling from that height." Jean's voice was getting louder and in turn, her head was throbbing worse. No matter, she knew what had happened and she knew it was real, and it irked her that her parents didn't believe her.
"Honey," her mom said gently, "what you're saying isn't possible. People can't levitate, it's as simple as that. What I think is that you were dreaming perhaps."
"Or," her father cut in, "maybe you were sleepwalking. You got out of bed, started to walk, and simply slipped hard and hurt your head." He squinted at her left eye, which was starting to swell shut. "Boy, you've got a shiner there," he said with a low whistle. "I tell you what, lets go get you an icepack to go on that eye, and then get you a good night's sleep. Hopefully, you'll snap out of it."
Jean was ready with another protest that she wasn't imagining things, but refrained. She was tired, and her left eye was starting to feel weird. She would worry about it tomorrow.
"Um, Okay," she said.
***
The next morning was a Saturday. Jean awoke, half scared that she would be hanging in the air five feet up. Thankfully she was safely grounded on top of her bed, although her eye hurt like crazy. A cursory glance at her bedside mirror confirmed her fears. Her left eye was a lovely shade of purple, and it was horribly swollen.
Halfheartedly, she trudged out of bed, hardly even bothering to make it. The soccer ball shaped clock above her door read 10:50. She'd woken up four hours later than usual.
Jean could hear the soft buzz of talking downstairs, and figured her parents must be talking with each other about last night. Now that she thought about it, she could se why her parents would be skeptical. Were she in their shoes, she probably would have done the same.
She trotted down the stairs at an easygoing pace, wondering if her parents would believe her any more today than they had yesterday. She was still convinced that she hadn't been dreaming, and though she could sympathize with her parents' disbelief of her, she knew that that had been real.
Her eyes widened at the sight that awaited her in the dining room downstairs. Both of her parents were there, but so were two strangers whom she had never before seen in her life. They hadn't noticed her on the stairs yet, so she took the opportunity to look a little closer.
One of the strangers was completely bald. He looked to be in his mid forties or so, and he was seated in wheelchair. The other person, unlike his counterpart, did not say anything. He had dark brown hair and looked to be about Jean's age or so. He seemed content to simply listen attentively to the grown folks conversation. The striking thing about him was that he had something wrapped tightly around his eyes. At first glance, it could be mistaken for a head band, but upon further inspection was obviously a blindfold. it appeared to be so snug that Jean sincerely doubted he could see at all. She stepped down another step.
That was when Scott heard her. No one else in the room possessed hearing sharp enough to discern the sound, but Scott could hear it ever so slightly. His head was a blur as it tilted up in the exact direction of the sound, and were it not for the blindfold he would have been looking directly at Jean.
The bald man and her parents followed suit, straining to see what had caught Scott's attention.
"Jean," her mother was the first to say, "I didn't know you were there. Come on down."
Jean trodded down the rest of the stairs, her bunny slippers flip flopping with every step. "Mom," she began.
"I'll explain," the bald man said, politely cutting her off. He turned the chair using its built in joystick so that he was facing her. When they made eye contact, Jean got the sudden feeling that there was more to this man than met the eye. "My name is Charles Xavier," he continued, "and I am the Professor at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters."
Odd name for a school Jean thought.
"Not really," Xavier replied as if she'd voiced the thought aloud. "The school is for those young people who have special talents or gifts. Its quite simple really"
Jean was still curious about how Xavier had known what she was thinking but chalked it up to intuition. "So what does that have to do with my family?" she asked.
Xavier smiled. "You, Ms. Grey, are one of those gifted people I was referring to. I believe you possess extraordinary talents, and I've actually come to inquire about the possibility of you enrolling at the institute."
Jean frowned. She sensed there was something he was getting at, but she had no idea what. "What makes you think I'm 'gifted?'" she asked warily.
Charles Xavier exchanged a quick look with her parents and then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
"Hon," her dad said, "We think you're a. . .a mutant."
Jean blinked, too confused to say anything except 'Wha-?"
"It's not such a bad thing," the brown haired boy commented dryly, "as long as you're not packin' a bazooka behind each eyeball anyway." It was the first thing he'd said for the entire conversation.
"Forgive me," said Xavier. "I forgot to introduce you to. He's a student at the Institute.
"Oh," said Jean. She turned to Scott. "Hi . . .Scott. Nice to meet you"
"Likewise," he said simply. "Anyway, there's this thing called a mutant gene in some people's DNA. It carries unique and powerful traits and every once in a while manifests in carriers of the gene. Carriers like you and I and the Professor. In other words, mutants.."
"But what is this 'unique and powerful trait'?" Jean asked. You keep talking about gifts and abilities-what kinds of gifts and abilities?"
Jean's parents looked at Scott. "Show her what you showed us earlier," said the mother.
Scott shrugged and pulled out a quarter. Balancing it on his index finger, he flipped it up into the air. His other hand was a blur, it shot up to his blindfold and lifted it ever so slightly, opening his eyes a tad bit.
The energy that he unleashed erupted like water from a pressurized hose. Scott's aim was perfect. The beam of solar energy impaled the quarter in midspin. When it landed back in Scott's hand, it had a smoking hole in the middle. The trick had taken a month to perfect, and required flawless timing and speed. Practice had given him both, and as a result he could perform the trick, even though he couldn't actually see the quarter.
Jean was dumbfounded. "Wha-what was that?" she asked hoarsely.
"His gift," Xavier answered. His eyes produce a strange concentration of solar energy that is destructive to the core. The problem is, he can't turn it off. The only way to keep from destroying everything in sight is to keep his eyes completely shut. The insides of his eyelids have the ability to neutralize his energy beam." He paused. "That's why Scott wears this blindfold. It never comes off."
Jean suddenly understood Scott's offhand comment about having a bazooka behind each eyeball. That was about the only thing she understood though. The rest was just too hard to comprehend. That there were people out there with 'gifts', or rather, strange powers judging by the display Scott had put on, was difficult to imagine. She thought about the incident last night. Could that have been a by product of this 'gift' that these two claimed she had. She looked at both of them, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all that had happened in the past twelve hours.
"Apparently," she said finally, "we have a lot to talk about."
A/N thanks for reading. Tell me what you think and any suggestion are welcome. Trust me though, once I get to the heart of the story it'll get better. Pleasant day.