The elderly gentleman working the desk looked bored and quite disinterested in the whole affair. He had white hair, speckled with gray. His mustache had a piece of his breakfast in it, and his sweater bore a very large patch of coffee stain on the front. He glanced up from a white binder with several entries in black ink.

"Right," he said. "Tell me again why you want to be admitted into the asylum?"

Keith sighed. He didn't have time for this. What if the other person in his head woke up while he was here? He needed to just get in and get them to lock him up. He wasn't safe anymore. There was something in his head; someone, rather, and, until he assured himself that the person was under control, he wanted to be away from people and off the streets.

"Multiple Personality Disorder," he said. That was technically true. In his case it was more like Multiple Person Disorder, but he wasn't going to try explaining that.

"Sorry, kid. No can do. Where are your parents?"

"I'm eighteen," Keith lied. "Listen, I can pay cash. I just want to get off the street until I get a handle on this."

"You don't get a handle on MPD. I think we should call your parents... What's your name?"

Keith slapped a roll of bills he'd taken from his bank account down on the counter. "John Smith. How long will this get me?"

"That's not your name, son." The man's eyes softened, but Keith could see a greedy glint in them when he saw the money. "There's a hotel down the street," he began.

"I don't want a hotel!" Keith yelled, slamming his palms on the counter top angrily. His vision flashed back and he stumbled backwards. "Just lock me up. Please. I don't want to do anything stupid."

The man slid the money into his desk. "Welcome to Bayville Asylum, Mister Smith."


Professor Xavier drummed his fingers together in intense concentration. The new mutant he had sensed before was there and gone, flickering like a candle put next to an open window. It made no sense to him, and that was a rare occasion indeed. His first thought remained. It could be a trap. Magneto or Mystique; they could be toying with him, knowing that, eventually, he would send someone out to find out what it was. Still, on the slightest chance that it was really a mutant, a new, scared mutant who was feeling alone... So alone. He knew the feeling. He knew the fear. If it was a trap, the Professor wasn't certain that he would be able to avoid it.

The screen flickered again, the mutant was back. He seemed to be in one spot now. Before he'd been moving all over the place, running most likely. Was he trapped? The profile slowly began to build, typing information into itself at a somewhat steady pace.

Name... The computer gave a lengthy pause at this before continuing. Unknown.

Height... 5'9", Weight... 142 pounds, Gender... Male, Age... The Professor perked up. Had Cerebro figured out the mutant's age? He braced himself for the "Unknown" that he expected to follow, but, instead, he got an answer that surprised him. 19 hours, 17 minutes, 21 seconds. Was the boy an infant? An image of the boy slowly began piecing itself together.

His thoughts were interrupted by Logan striding into the room with a steaming cup of coffee. The Professor glanced over his shoulder at him and Logan gave an apologetic smirk.

"Sorry, forgot to knock."

The Professor sighed and returned his gaze to the Cerebro screen. "It's not important now, Logan. Still, I'd appreciate it if you'd make more of an effort."

Logan mumbled a reply that sounded like agreement. He glanced up at the screen as well. "That the one that got you worried, Charles?"

He drew his eyebrows together. "They all have me worried."

"You and me both," said Logan. He paused and set his coffee on the ground beside him. "I know that kid."

"You do?" Surprises seemed to abound on this particular day.

Logan nodded, staring intently at the face the computer had managed to construct. The boy looked young, not as young as the computer said he was, but young. "He robbed a thrift store this morning. He looked like that when he came out, but then... It sounds crazy, Charles, but you gotta believe me on this. He changed. Looked like that one minute, runs into an alley and the next thing I know he's a blonde kid, taller, a bit broader, with skin red as a lobster."

"Are we looking for a shape shifter?" he asked, half to Logan and half to himself.

Logan grunted. "If we are it's a stupid one. Still got caught. I bailed him out of the mess, lucky for him. Kept insisting he didn't do it. I gave him some cash on the way out and told him it better not happen again." He paused. "Do you want me to go find him?"

Again. The question he didn't know how to answer. He pondered it for a minute or two, an uneasy silence growing between the two. Finally, the Professor sighed and shook his head. "No."


Hyde threw himself against the door again, yelling as he put as much force as he could behind it. He bounced off the padded wall, landing unceremoniously on his backside. He had might as well face it, his small frame wasn't made for ramming into doors and busting them off the hinges. Perhaps there was another way out, but all he saw was the door and a barred window at least ten feet above him.

He slammed his fist onto the floor furiously. If Thirty-Seven was going to do something as stupid as imprisoning himself, he might at least be consulted. After all, Hyde had to share the body. It was only fair. However, Thirty-Seven didn't seem especially concerned by the fact that he'd imprisoned Hyde in a padded cell without any express reason.

He rose to his feet and stalked back and forth, sulking at the hopeless mess he'd been placed in. A knock on the cell door jerked him away from his thoughts and his head snapped to the side to stare at the door.

"Move to the back of your cell, Mister Smith," came a voice from the hall outside.

"Why," Hyde asked, "Do you insist on calling me 'Mister Smith'?"

"Do you have a different name you'd prefer, Mister Smith?"

Hyde merely growled. "That's not my name."

"Then what is?"

He paused, then walked to the back of his cell. The door swung open and a security officer walked in.

"I don't have one," Hyde muttered.

The guard cast him a glance as he pulled out a pair of metal restraints, handcuffs, he believed. "Don't have what?"

"A name."

The guard shook his head slowly and fastened the cuffs around Hyde's wrists. "You really are crazy."