A/N: My thanks to Diana the Burninator, who helped find me a plentiful amount of Mini-Sentinels. You'll get your mention here (as well as the rest of you who enrolled). And don't worry, I won't give you enormous ears... but that doesn't mean I won't do something just as weird.

*****

Chapter Four: How Many Jamies Does It Take To Confuse a Fanwriter?

*****

Erin and Adrian, along with the rest of the fanwriting flock, were amassed upon the basketball court overtop the X-Jet's landing/take off deck. Michelle had soon come to realize that there was no way all those bodies could fit in the docking bay and had the assemblage moved topside, with a little help from Magneto.

(Erik Lehnsherr's magnetic gift had proven useful in lifting the entire ramp, sans the jet, and catapulting the students into a heap on the concrete and/or the lawn. Those who had managed to survive and stay in the bay were met with a very direct "All right then, stay down there. But just pray you don't have *too* much iron in your blood." They immediately found their way to the court.)

From what Erin could tell, the crowd consisted of three main Factions:

Faction #1: The die-hard comic book fans, who were just dying to meet the characters and check the layout of the place (There was something about a room of danger, but Erin paid it no mind). Adrian, being a member of this group, called herself a "comic bookie."

Faction #2: The movieversers, whose only real exposure to the X-Universe was the two movies, made up another group. Their ignorance, as it was, to other canons only helped to fuel their imagination in creating original characters. Erin belonged to this clique of writers.

Faction #3: The fangirls, who took up more than half of the populace on the court. This group tended to breed from all canons, all walks of life.

"We've been waiting nearly a half an hour," mumbled Sethoz, playing with some nearby rocks (which was her power, you see, to control sand and stone). "I wanna see Pyro." Camilia concurred.

"Kurt looks even cuter in person... um... elf," Settiai told anybody who was listening.

"If I see Bobby, he's mine," Marina proclaimed.

Upon hearing this, Adrian snickered. "Oh, man... Fangirls. I suppose there's a horde for every major genre. If there's anything these girls want more than to see their lust objects, it's to get a hold of their lust objects."

"Do you think they could?"

"If this OFU is like any of the others, no. There's a better chance of Stryker giving up his anti-mutant crusade and bursting into a rendition of 'What a Feeling.'"

"But he's dead."

"Exactly."

Good morning, XFI students.

The voice, unmistakably Professor Xavier's, came out of nowhere. Many of the students searched for the owner of the disembodied voice but to no avail. A convenient thing, telepathy is. He could project to the entire student body, staff and an unfortunate stranger who happened by the school on their morning jog without having to leave the comforts of his study.

I trust you all had a pleasant flight.

Echo, who had unfortunately discovered her newfound allergy to the combined stench of sulfur and brimstone (which was slightly ironic as she lusted after Nightcrawler) and suffered the whole duration of the flight, groaned and sneezed for the billionth time.

I'm sure you're all just anxious to begin the school year, so if you'll direct your attention to the water fountain, you'll soon be on your way.

The gathering of students focused on the water fountain, hoping it would be one of the X-Men or, at the very least, one of the cuter members of the Brotherhood. To everyone's surprise, it was neither. Standing on the angelic-centerpiece fountain was a boy. A plain, average-looking, run-of-the-mill teenage boy. Not a soul there recognized him, not even the comic bookies.

Noticing he had the collective attention, he cleared his throat. "Hi!" He looked down at the clipboard he held in his right hand. "Let's see... A-through-F, follow me; G-through-M, follow me; N-through-S, follow me; and T-through-Z, follow me." He looked up at the masses. "Any questions?"

By Erin's count, about seventy-nine hands went into the air. The boy on the fountain (who was either schizophrenic or an idiot, probably both) picked out one of them.

"WHAT?!" a voice cried out.

"There's only one of you!" another yelled.

"You should have just said 'A-through-Z, follow me'!"

The boy looked nervously around the fountain as if looking for something or someone. He sighed heavily. "Good-for-nothing copies. They always disappear just when you need them the most."

Adrian let out a barely audible "Ooh." She, unlike Erin, had figured out who the boy was.

So did some of the Evolutioners (a cartoon-based offshoot of Faction #1).

"IT'S JAMIE!"

Jamie Madrox, a demure farm boy who was not quite used to having his name shrieked in such a manner, lost his balance on the edge of the stone fountain and stumbled backwards into the water with a wet THUD, sending his clipboard flying comically into the air. When Jamie regained composure, he was not alone. Where there was once one Jamie there was now four... sorry, five. The airborne clipboard crashed into original Jamie's skull.

All the members of Faction #2 joined in a mixed "Who the hell is he?!/How did he do that?!"

All the members of Faction #1 and the Evolutioners cried "MULTIPLE (MAN)!"

All the clones of Jamie plugged their ears from the shouting.

Original Jamie fetched his drenched clipboard from the fountain and turned to face the crowd once more. "Ahem... As I was saying..."

"You weren't in the movies!" a girl in the crowd interrupted. Erin could hear Adrian sigh in what was either annoyance or frustration. Probably both. Erin reflected the shouting girl's sentiments but judging by the look in Adrian's eyes, she didn't want to die just yet.

Jamie went deathly silent. "Care to repeat that?" His copies were looking rather bloodthirsty. One of them was even cracking his knuckles.

"I said that you weren't in the movies!"

Five sets of glares met the girl in the audience. "I thought that's what you said. Apparently, you didn't notice the name 'Madrox, James' on Stryker's computer or read the Chris Claremont novelization-- a fine piece of literature, might I add." The girl had nothing to respond with but a perplexed look. "Or you don't know who I am, that's fine too. Won't hold that against you... yet." Grinning, he returned to the clipboard in his hand. His clones mirrored his sly smirk.

"As I was saying..."

*****

Well, that had certainly been a peculiar educational experience.

Turns out that Jamie kid not only clones himself upon physical impact but can also designate a specific emotion (to its extreme) to each of said copies. Group "A-through-F" had gotten assigned to "Sexually Frustrated Jamie," who had proceeded to lead the girl population of his assigned group into his dorm room before getting caught by Logan (who threatened to solve his sexual "problem" in disturbingly creative ways. He quickly faded, as all his clones do, and was replaced with another less perverse clone).

Erin and the rest of the first quarter of the alphabet sat, bored out of their minds, in what appeared to be an elaborate hallway outside one of the many studies this place seemed to have. Adrian had been called into the nearest door quite a while ago and Erin hadn't seen her since.

"What do you suppose goes on in there?" Erin asked whomever in the room was actually listening.

"Probably a torture chamber of some kind," ventured Echo. "A Danger Room for fanfic writers."

Danger Room? Torture chamber? Whatever kind of room that was it didn't sound very user-friendly. Erin made a mental note to proceed with caution if she ever happened to stumble upon it.

The wood-paneled door slowly, almost conspicuously, opened. From her angle, all Erin could see was a wall and a strangely placed machine of some kind. An unfamiliar voice rang out.

"Erin Dawson." The voice didn't sound at all sinister but from what she'd learned in the past hour about OFUs and Danger Rooms, she'd become suspicious of anything that looked or sounded friendly.

Erin stood up from her chair to answer the summons. As she made her way to the open door, Echo held up crossed fingers for good luck. Good luck for who, Erin didn't know, but she figured it was still good luck.

The door squeaked shut behind Erin as she stepped into the ominous room.