When a strange girl winds up on the Institute's doorstep, what was perceived as a desperate mistake might've just been fate in disguise. Now a member of the X-Men, the girl, known only by her alias, Zak, knows she's in for the ride of her life. Facing magnetic foes, battling against impossible odds… She's convinced she can handle it. With a lifetime on the streets behind her... she's learned to trust no one. But when her dark past comes back to haunt her and secrets get out of control, Zak comes to realise that at some point, she'll need someone to count on...

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING… except the plot, main character, a few other characters (as of yet, unmentioned), and stuff you never heard of.

If you notice that some comicbook facts are wrong, please cut me some slack, I have a terrible memory. Plus, my storey really only includes the basic facts of the X-Men and their backgrounds. I might add some extra facts into their pasts and alter some of the events that took place in the comics. Also, some of their ages may be different than they truly are. I.E.: Nightcrawler is, like, 18 or 19. Just my own little way of personalising the fic. I may or may not post ages later just to give you an idea.

Zak: 16

Nightcrawler: 19

Cyclops: 20

Piotr: 21

Jamie: 14

Jean: 19

Most Others: 18-22

Let the storey BEGIN! *lazily throws arm in the air mock-dramatically*

Chapter One: Fate Goes BOOM

NEW YORK. TODAY

Tuesday, 8:14 am - Up-State New York

I wandered along the streets of the more seedy part of Westchester. I had to admit, trekking in my black combat boots, I couldn't exactly be called 'light on my feet', which earned me the attention of at least every questionable-looking fellow I passed. A few times I'd had to... 'persuade' a few of them to back off, but my methods were understandable; some creeps just don't know what it means to respect personal space.

Fending off most of the wind with the collar of my jacket pulled up, it was also of reasonable understanding that my hands would be crammed in its pockets to avoid the brisk chill. Right?

Just what I'd tried to tell the merchant.

"I know it was you! We have security camera that says you do the crime of thievery!" The shopkeeper shouted eagerly in my face. His foreign accent was strong and thick in his choice of sentence structure.

I sighed in exasperation, "Look, mister," I removed my hands from my pockets and waved them around, "I didn't take anything I hadn't paid for. And you can give up the whole 'proof' rap. I happen to know for a fact that all those cameras are good for is decoration."

Now, that wasn't exactly true. I'd had a hunch that the video recorders were bogus, but it was a special hunch. One of my few good talents that make me what I am - a mutant. And a good one at that, might I admit modestly. One of my powers includes a certain level of plausible perception - I could, to an extent, sense the state of any event, object, or situation that floated along on the lil' sailboat of life. A curse or a blessing. Depends on how you live.

The Indian man was now fuming, a slight hint of embarrassment playing about his craggy features. He jutted out a hand to grab my arm, wrenching me along with him as he stormed off back to his small corner shop. Believe me, it took a LOT of my own will power to keep from breaking the guy's neck. But, hey, that's just me. A nasty-looking place, really - his shop. Although quite a few lovely birds found it charming enough as their designated 'rest stop', if you catch my drift.

Anyway, I tolerated the shopkeeper's yanking until he set me down (rather roughly) on an old desk chair with its paint peeling and distinct, stale-smoke odour. He picked up an equally old landline and dialled in the one specific three-digit number that I had learned to avoid the use of at any cost.

Before I could react, however, a second man - this one without the foreignness - stalked into the shop through the smudged doubledoors calling out, "Hey, Masseud, you havin' some kinda prob'em over here?" the New York accent asked suggestively. All greasy blonde hair and large teeth stained grey with nicotine, the guy was a regular 'Yorker. Even down to his stained button-up shirt, cargoes, and Nikes.

"This girl, she will not admit to being a thief," Masseud responded with a sputter of disgust.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, DUH. I didn't take anything."

"Then you's won't mind if we just take a look-see in yer pack?" Actually, I did. But the New Yorker dug through my brown backpack anyway, only to be disappointed when all he found was a thicker jacket, four bottles of water, a bag of unperishables with a drawstring, a water-proof case containing a few of my valuables, and various articles of my extra clothing. He pulled the food bag out and began emptying its contents onto the register desk.

"Everything in there is on my receipt--" I froze up abruptly. Little red flags going up all around my subconscience, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. All tell-tale signs that my 'perception' was clueing me in to something fishy. I eyed the New Yorker keenly...

He's packing... and he's gonna flash it soon.

Now there's an incident anyone would want to avoid. Everyone hates guns. Especially when it's intended for you. And what I did next, well, honestly, wouldn't you've done the same?

I looked down at my hands and concentrated. Immediately, an invisible layer around them began to glow the same colour as my eyes - a weird, bright aqua-blue. I thrust them outward and turned my concentration to the two men who'd just noticed my actions. After an instant, aqua-blue neon flashes sizzled around them simultaneously.

The lightbulbs hanging above popped, the cash register's automatic calculator exploded, and about a dozen watches on display cracked under pressure, along with the ones the men were wearing, and quite a few other random metal objects lying around the front of the shop.

Both men shouted - Masseud doubled over and covered his head as if he were about to be crushed by something, the New Yorker jumped back and cried out in surprise as the gun tucked in the back of his waistband heated up, popped, and fell to pieces.

This is what happened whenever I tested my strange powers - random things (all of which seem to involve metal of some form) around my intended target began wigging out. And while I didn't know exactly what this power of mine was - or what it even did besides dazzle my opponent with pretty lights, I had figured out a certain plan of action that applied to the situation each time I used them.

Concentrate immensely... or get fried from the feedback and black out.

And right now, that was becoming increasingly difficult, considering at least three cop cars had just pulled up outside the shop. I, and my super-duper premonition-thingy making me sense they were about to send in two rookies, dropped my concentration and quickly loaded my things back into my backpack. I unconsciously sensed that there was a back door and that it was already unlocked, and headed for it.

I was outside in the back alley before the police even made it to the store's entrance, weaving and swerving around spilled-over garbage bags and Dumpsters that must've reached their capacity weeks ago. I exited the alley and began my walk down the street, only to quicken my pace when I heard more cop cars coming my way, sirens blaring.

Jeez, Zak. What've ya done this time... I thought to myself, exasperated.

I chose a road that appeared to've been abandoned for the time being, and started running down it. The sirens were getting louder, and the road less and less inhabited. The space between buildings lengthened, and pretty soon all I could see was land, land, and more open land - wonderful. After a few minutes of nonstop running, my lungs felt like they were about to burst. But I could still hear the cop cars en route to my (wrongful) arrest (or at least I guess that's what they were after) - this sped my pace, despite my muscles aching in opposition.

Finally, I could see a house in the distance... or, rather, a mansion. The thing was huge! With wrought-iron gates and schmancy statues and fountains everywhere.

I was at the gates in minutes, jumping into a climb to hop it. I made it to the top, jumped over, and hit the ground running. Which seemed to be a wise choice, considering a couple hundred (or so it seemed) machines that looked like they were stolen right outta the Men in Black prop department, rose out of the ground and began firing small freaking cannon balls at me!

What the hell is this place?? I barely had time to think as one of the cannon balls whizzed mere inches from my face.

I ducked and rolled and dove and penguin-slid, all within seconds to dodge the rapid-fire guns. I was only five yards from the door of the mansion when the ground began tumbling over itself like a bunch of dominos rolling over in place. How was that even possible? I quickly focussed on my hands - powering them up - reached out over the tumbling cement path, and concentrated. A few sparks of aqua-blue appeared every now and then, but other than that, about half of the rolling slabs of stone began to glow the same colour palely, then exploded! As did a number of the guns that were still aiming for me.

I then leapt along the path of destroyed cement and barrelled up the mansion's deck steps, crashing through the front door and slamming it shut behind me as if I were being chased by a maniac.

All was silent besides my rough breathing, especially once I turned around to find two kids my age paused in mid-step like they were just passing through when I flew in, staring at me strangely.

I straightened up, "Uhh..."

Just then, six different people came bursting into the room. In front of the group was a young man - maybe in his early twenties, with a red visor; a blue --yeah, BLUE-- younger man with glowing yellow eyes and a long tail; a young woman with brown hair that looked relatively normal; another girl that had dark hair with a white strip, dark clothing and high gloves; a large young man that looked like he came straight from a body builder's convention; and a short, burly man with, get this, CLAWS!!

The man with the claws stepped closer to me, his next words released with a snarl, "Just who do you think you are, bub?"

I returned the frown, not for a second even considering backing down -- cuz that's just the kinda smart person I am. Instead, I stepped closer as well, "That ain't any of your business. I was just passing through."

"Passing visitors don't usually test our front security, much less destroy it," The guy with the visor spat. "Every one of our alarms went off, telling us our weapon traps were compromised."

I smirked, "Look, I don't know what kinda place you're runnin' here, and frankly, I d'wanna. But if your 'security' can be bypassed by a kid, you should be thanking me for letting you know it."

"Listen, kid," Claw-Man growled, "no human can possibly get past all that. So you must be a mutant, right?"

"Hmm. I'll admit to that when any of you do. I'm just looking for a place to hide out."

The small, brown-haired girl smiled, "Well, you've found it.. If you're a mutant, that is." She continued upon seeing my confusion, "This is a school/safe-haven for mutants of all kinds."

"There's more than one kind?"

"..."

I shrugged, "Convenient then, that I should by chance run into this place."

"Well yer welcome ta stay," Claw-Man grumbled. "The name's Logan." he offered his hand, claws and all. Yeah, right. When I didn't take it, they retracted an instant later, making me raise an eyebrow. I got over myself and shook his hand, then looked at the rest of the group.

"I'm Scott, or Cyclops," Visor-Guy said.

"And I'm Kitty Pryde," Normal-Girl smiled, shaking my hand kindly.

The blue guy with the tail was next, disappearing with a puff of smelly yellow smoke, only to reappear at the front of the group with the same effects. He spoke with a strong German accent, "My name is Kurt Vagner. Nightcrawler, if you vant. Zis is Rogue." He put a two-fingered hand on Glove-Girl's shoulder. She nodded at me. Courteous.

"And I am Piotr Rasputin," said the mega-huge guy with a quiet, Russian accent and a shy smile. Aww... I almost wanted to pet him.

"Wow," I blinked instead. "Forgive me if I don't remember any of that. So, you all have powers?"

Kurt nodded, "Yes. Ve can all do amazing t'ings. You can, too, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged. "I don't really know what it is though... But it sure got rid of yer guns pretty nicely." I laughed. No one else did. Tough crowd.

Kitty piped up, "So, what's your name? How old are you? I saw on the video feed that you made all the weapons and the driveway explode. Is that your power?"

I smiled at how the girl spoke a mile a minute.

Sheesh, note to self: be more grateful -- more often -- that you're not the giddy-girlie type.

I was about to speak when another voice from the hallway made itself heard.

"Now, now, Kitty, let's not bombard the child. Rather, let us see what we can arrange for her stay." A bald man in a wheelchair emerged from the hall behind all the other mutants. They parted a path for him and Rogue and Piotr left to attend to other matters after offering their good-byes.

"Welcome, child. My name is Professor Charles Xavier."

Logan bumped his way to the front of the group and stood beside the Professor. "And it'd be nice ta know your name, missy, and who you are, 'fore we go all 'open arms' on ya."

While I admired Claw-Man's apparent 'don't givva crap' attitude, I hesitated. The truth is, I don't exactly know my real name. In fact, half of my life beginning from who-knows-when to who-knows-where didn't even exist in my memory. I didn't know where I came from or who I really was.. or am, for that matter - just that a few years ago, I'd restarted my life and had gone on living. No sense dwelling in the forgotten past when you've got yourself a queasy, eventful future as an all-around hated mutant to go gaga over. Lovely.

But I wasn't about to tell them - total strangers - that. Rather, I played out my own little mystery.

"You don't need to know my real name. But a lot of my friends call me Zak." I responded vaguely. "Don't ask me why; they never said." Not entirely true. I didn't have any friends that didn't want to attack me, much less name me. I'd called myself that because it was a name I remembered from back in the day. Someone I used to know, maybe. The only thing I remembered from then. Everything else was blank.

"No name, huh? You got somethin' ta hide, Zak? And just what storey d'you got ta go with it?" Logan crossed his arms, eyeing me like I was the one with six twelve-inch claws sticking outta the backs of my hands.

"Logan, leave her be," the Professor spoke up. Thank God. I liked him already. "What her history is, it's her business. It affects nothing of her welcome."

"I appreciate that, sir, but I was only stopping by. A bit of a... mishap outside convinced me of it."

"Ah, our security, I might guess?"

I smiled, "Yeah, 'bout that... By the way, I never used my powers getting past your giant guns. Y'might wanna think about tightening up their game," I referred to Logan (and he knew it). I suspected he was the one to programme them, considering the scorn on his face each and every time I spoke of my escape.

"Well, you're most certainly welcome to stay if you should change your mind."

"Just like that? You guys take in anyone?"

"Well, of course we prefer to be informed if there is anything we should know about you. You aren't a fugitive or anything related, correct?" the Professor laughed.

I returned the smile genuinely. I rather liked these people. Perhaps I could extend my impromptu 'visit' for a while. "I can honestly say that I am not."

*coughcough(maybe a previous record)cough*

I continued, "I try to avoid wrongdoing - especially with the mutant police on their rampage. I'll admit to being a vandal occasionally, but that just goes with the mutant territory; trying to figure out what the heck my powers are. Maybe it'd be best if I did stay for a bit, just to keep under the radar. I assume - this being a 'mutant school' - that this place is kept well secure?"

"You assume correctly. My Institute for mutants, like ourselves, is not openly known to be that to the public - making it virtually a safe-haven."

"I don't wanna be a burden or anything..."

The Professor waved his hand in dismissal, "Nonsense. To accept any fellow mutant who needs us is precisely the reason I created this school."

"And are we to assume that yer folks will be on the level with you crashin' here, kid?" Logan inquired rudely.

"As a matter of fact," I replied bitterly, "I don't even know who the heck they are. Never knew 'em, so I'm pretty sure they couldn't givva crap 'bout what I do with myself."

Logan looked away awkwardly, muttering something that sounded vaguely like an apology.

And just like that, I was a new student of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. Talk about present hospitality. I had a feeling I was going to like it here for a while, before I had to head back out into the real world. That pleasant little place where you were arrested if you had a second head - jeez, can you say pissy? - crossed your eyes, or just breathed near someone wrong.

Yup. My big ol', wonderful life.