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Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men
Charles Xavier has created an Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety and secrecy. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro
After a harrowing ordeal involving Warren's kidnapping and Pietro's defection, things have started to return to normal at Xavier's Institute. While running a team Danger Room drill, the four remaining students finally, for the first time, managed to complete the challenge successfully. As a reward, Xavier took his students on a trip to the beach. However, a relaxing day took a turn when a young boy began crying out, causing a panic - and growing wings.
FIRST CLASS
12
An Invitation
"A mutant?"
The boy's father looked wide-eyed at Professor Xavier. He was twisting the boy's discarded shirt in his hands so hard that it would twist no further. From his face, he probably didn't even realize he was doing it.
"That's right," Xavier replied, his tone measured and soothing. "If you'll please have a seat, I can explain to you what this means - and what we may do about it."
They were in Professor Xavier's hotel room. All things considered, the trip from the beach to the hotel had been swift, but it had been such an ordeal that the students felt they'd run a gruelling marathon.
It was Jean who'd realized it first: They couldn't just leave the boy there to grow wings on the beach in front of God and everybody - not if they could do anything about it. Most people didn't know about mutants, but there were rumors, stories, urban legends. A beach full of people all seeing these wings sprout may be enough to tip the scales of public perception.
Even more important, the boy seemed to be terrified and in pain. The thought of abandoning him had rankled her, and she'd guessed that Professor Xavier might be able to assist with whatever was happening. He was, after all, a self-styled expert on mutants and mutation. Assuming that was what this was, she mobilized her friends and the boy's father to help hoist him up.
Moving him had proven difficult. The kid was writhing and screaming. Beachgoers, the ones who hadn't fled, were gathered round in a gossiping, rubbernecking circle. The five of them inadvertently jostled one another as they tried to maintain a hold on the thrashing boy, while the sand shifted unevenly beneath their feet.
They'd somehow managed to push past the crowd, away from the beach. They had to cross a road to get to the hotel. It was a two laned street lined with hotels, motels, and beach homes, set off any main thoroughfare. Luckily, this made traffic sparse and slow moving, so they crossed easily.
The receptionist at the front desk had been alarmed at their entry. The kid was still shrieking and writhing. Several hotel employees had risen and begun to approach.
"It's okay!" Jean shouted, her mind racing for an explanation. "He's fine! He's - uh - he's just having an allergic reaction!"
The hotel staff had bought it, relaxing and coming no closer. Jean and the others finally made it to Xavier's room and found him waiting for them. The distress of the boy had apparently been so palpable that he'd been alerted psychically while they were still on the beach.
The boy's father was desperate and afraid, asking a torrent of questions. The Professor simply asked that he be patient. He placed his hands on the boy's head, closed his eyes, and fell silent.
After a time, the boy started to relax and lie still. He had now grown full wings, spread limply to either side of his back. They looked exactly like Warren's.
Jean looked at Warren. He was staring grimly at the boy, as were Scott and Hank. She wondered if his wings had erupted in so dramatic and painful a way. They'd never discussed the manifestation of their abilities with one another. Jean wondered now if this was why.
Once the boy seemed to be sleeping calmly, Professor Xavier had finally turned to his father - Ronald, he introduced himself - and decreed that the boy was likely a mutant. He explained that this meant his son had some sort of ability that would set him apart from the average human. He explained that mutants were a small but very real segment of the world population, and that he and his students were all mutants as well.
"Warren, if you please?" the Professor said, beckoning Warren closer. "Perhaps you can show Ronald that his son will be alright."
Jean must have been having a slow day, because she didn't pick up on the Professor's meaning. Warren, however, apparently understood what was being asked. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it to reveal his own wings strapped tight to his sides by his harness.
Ronald seemed not to know how to react. He simply stared, as Warren released his wings and stretched them to their full span. They stretched wide, touching opposite walls of the hotel room. Jean couldn't discern Ron's face; was it wonder? Confusion? Horror?
"This - this is a lot to take in," Ronald said at last, exhaling heavily.
"I understand," Xavier replied. "It is usually hard for us, when our abilities first manifest. That hardship often entangles our families and friends, for better or worse."
"What can I do? How can I help him?"
"You can help him in the way that all parents help their children - by loving him anyway. Let him know that you are there for him, that you support him in this struggle and that you share it with him."
Jean thought of her own parents, back home in Annandale-on-Hudson. They had been reluctant to let her go, but had wanted the best for her. She smiled.
She cast a quick glance at the boys. Warren's back was to her, but Scott and Hank both looked down, their faces tense.
Of course, she thought. Scott's an orphan. Talking about parental love and involvement was likely a sore spot for him. Though Jean wasn't sure why Hank had the same dark look on his face. She didn't really know anything about his life before the Institute.
"There is also something else that can be of help to the boy," the Professor continued. "These children with me are all mutants, as I've said, but they are also my students. I have an Institute in upstate New York for gifted youngsters. For people like your son."
Ronald still looked like he was hearing only every third word. "Calvin, he's - he's never been an A student."
Professor Xavier smiled. "That's not the type of gifted I mean. Your son is gifted - in other ways. And at the Institute, I can help him learn how to control his gifts, to use them for good."
Ronald stared in silence at Charles, his mouth working silently, turning his thoughts over and over, trying to determine what he should do.
"A new student?"
It was a few days later. Charles and his students had returned to the Institute. Ronald had phoned several times, struggling with the fact that mutants existed and his son was one of them. Struggling with the thought of sending his son away to a boarding school. Struggling with the weight of fatherhood.
Charles was certain he would ultimately send Calvin to them, and soon. He understood that Ronald may need a few days to come round to the idea of an empty house. But the man had struck him as deeply devoted to Calvin's safest, happiest outcome. And Charles had spoken much of the Institute, to convince him that it would give Calvin what he needed.
Hoping to preempt any further accusations of secrecy, Charles had decided to phone Agent Fred Duncan to inform him of this likely new ward. Duncan's tone said that he wasn't thrilled, and Charles thought ruefully to himself that he might as well have said nothing.
"And where, pray tell, did you dig this one up?" Duncan asked. His exasperation was so palpable it could have been a physical presence in Charles's office.
"We encountered him, quite by accident," Charles replied, unable to stop himself from sounding curt.
"You understand why I'm not thrilled with this news, right? Your students were just attacked by a mysterious, antagonistic group of hostile mutants. The Worthington kid was kidnapped, another kid was injured, the school was damaged by another of your kids during a dance full of non-mutant children. Your students barely made it back to you. In fact, one of them didn't even come back! It could have been a lot worse than it was - especially if we're right about who it is that's behind all this."
"I recognize all that."
"I'm concerned that you don't. So it doesn't thrill me to hear that you're bringing another young person into a potentially dangerous environment."
"I am doing everything in my power to protect my students," Charles responded in a huff.
"Charles, I respect what you're trying to do with this Institute. I believe in the idea of protecting these kids, teaching them how to handle themselves and their crazy abilities. But you can't honestly ask me to agree that your students are safe there, the way things are now."
Charles was so mortified, so outraged, that he couldn't muster a response.
Duncan sighed. "Harsh. Too harsh, I know. I'm sorry Charles, I am. But you're oh-for-one." Again, Charles was silent, so Duncan continued. "Not you. Not you, Charles. Us. This is on me, too. I've taken responsibility, here. We're working together on this. We're both to blame."
Though still reeling from the heavy truth Duncan had just laid at his feet, Charles smiled faintly at Duncan's subsequent assumption of responsibility. "Alright, Duncan. But you can't seriously ask me to turn this boy away."
"You can't seriously be suggesting that you're going to house every stray mutant teenager out there. I'm pretty sure even your considerable resources aren't up to that magnitude."
Charles rested his head in his hand, suddenly weary. "Duncan, I understand that it's not feasible or even possible to help every mutant child. There are too many, and there will be continually more. Some will need my help, some my protection, some neither. I can't say I'll always know the difference. I can't say I'll always find the ones who need me. But I want to do my best. And this boy, right now, needs help."
It was Duncan's turn to mull things over in silence. Finally: "We still don't know about The Brotherhood. It's irresponsible to bring another kid into this environment before we've solved that problem."
"It could be irresponsible to leave a mutant child with potentially dangerous abilities out in society without help or resources."
Duncan sighed, long and deep. "You're not going to back down on this, are you?"
"I don't intend to, no."
"I'm not happy about this."
"I'm not doing it for you."
This earned a sudden cough of a laugh from Duncan. "Alright, alright. Touché. But keep in mind that my part in all of this is to make sure that your Institute stays a secret. No civilians. None of my coworkers here at the FBI, or any other part of the government. Mutants are a silly legend, nothing more, and that's the way it's gonna be."
"I agree that's for the best."
"So try to keep the wings out of the papers, would you?"
Charles winced. There had been some grainy, blurred, out of focus photos taken of Calvin growing wings on the beach. They'd made the local paper and the local nightly news. Luckily, the story had been laughed at by pretty much anyone who wasn't there in person. It was an elaborate hoax, a silly edited photograph. People who were there had seen things. Maybe it was some sort of prank show or flash mob pulling a stunt. The local story never went any further. It faded before twenty-four hours had passed.
So Charles was quite unnerved to find that Duncan already knew about it. He'd hoped this little episode would fade to obscurity without Duncan's involvement. In fact, aside from him learning about it somehow, it had indeed vanished without his help.
Or had it?
Charles didn't have time to ponder the sudden thought that Duncan was directly responsible for generating and stoking the rational explanations that put this whole thing to bed, because Duncan was speaking again.
"So what's this kid's deal? He's got wings, too, like the Worthington boy?"
"Well, I haven't had a chance to properly examine and test him, but he did grow wings, yes. Among other things."
"What other things?"
"He also grew larger. Not by much, but it was noticeable."
Duncan said nothing, though the message was clear: go on.
"His hands and feet," Charles continued. "They grew larger. Abnormally large. And he seemed to put on some muscle mass right before our eyes."
"That sounds like another one of your kids."
"Yes, it does. I sent my students away, across town, while I continued to work with the boy and his father. The boy was unconscious at the time, but I was able to probe his mind to a limited extent. A few minutes after my students departed, Calvin's wings shriveled and vanished back into his back. His muscles atrophied to their previous size. His hands and feet shrunk to what they were before."
"Okay. So he manifested some sort of physical mutations, but then they went away because, what, he was unconscious?"
"No," Charles shook his head. "Again, I haven't had the chance to truly test my theory, I've only made some preliminary observations. But I think Calvin's mutant ability does little, perhaps nothing, in isolation. He doesn't truly have a unique ability of his own. He mimics."
Next Time: New kid on the block
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