Jacob Michaels, also know as Blasts, was in a small town of what appeared to be farms and farm like houses. It was deserted...or, so it seemed. As deserted as the little village seemed, Blast knew he had to be wary. He knew he wasn't really in a village. It was only an illusion. He was in the X-men's danger room, a simulator built to help the X-men prepare for real missions. In here, where practically any situation that a man could think of could easily be created with a touch of buttons, the X-men or anyone in this mansion could practice their fighting and tactical skills with either solid illusions or danger room robots.
Blasts considered this mansion was his home. He had considered it his home for Almost four years, now. He first came here when he was nine years old after the...accident. Xavier's mansion was a haven dedicated to the proper education and care of mutants. Mutants from all over the world came to New York simply to be a part of it. Most of the people that came here eventually became a part of a crime fighting team dedicated to creating a world where mutants were accepted in this current world of Homo sapiens. A world where Homo Superior were not hated or feared, but were interacted with like fellow humans interacted with each other. Blasts considered him obliged to be part of bringing that dream to reality.

Blasts took a step on the dusty, straw covered road. He tried to keep his steps stealthy and silent as he continued to make his way through the town by way of the main road. The simulated wind whistled past his ears eerily, and the artificial sun was blocked out by a barrage of dark clouds. The originally gray sky darkened somewhat because of this fact, and that added to the depressing mood of a deserted town. Blasts' objective was simply to defeat all the enemy robots in the area. They were programmed, not to hunt, but to await his arrival. They would then use any means nessaccary to defeat him in battle.
Blasts opened the door to a particularly large village house, and crept silently inside. There was no light in the house. He smelled the musky smell of a barn as he stood there in what seemed to be a basement.

Blasts took in his surroundings as quickly as possible, just as he had been trained to do. There was a dirt streaked window to his left over a table with farm house tools such as saws and hatchets. Light came hesitantly through the window, partially illuminating the dark basement. To his right were more tools of every day farm life, but they were not scattered across the table as the others were. They were hung up all over the expanse of the wall. They wouldn't help him in his mission. He looked in front of him, and saw through the dark a staircase heading upwards. He walked towards it, all the time listening for the sound of robots. The first stair creaked loudly as he gently placed his foot on it. Blasts cringed, ready to greet the enemy. He sighed with relief as no sounds came from above him. He took the second stair with no sound. The third was the same, and so was the fourth. He made it all the way to the fifteenth step. There was only one step ahead of him. He could see the floor he was heading to now. It seemed to be a normal living room. It had a fire place, three windows on the wall. The gray light coming through them made couches, coffee tables, and a TV stand visible. It was a normal living room for a normal family. There were no robots to be seen. He took the last step confidently...it creaked...loud. Blasts gave a start. He looked up quickly to see a green couch lifting off the ground.
The robots.
Blasts instincts took over, and he took a fluid role to one side a coffee table missing his head by inches. He took a quick glance at the wall behind him as the coffee table splintered on it. He stood to see the couch that was being picked up before, sailing through the air towards him. He only had a second to act before the solid illusion slammed into him. He had set the danger room settings to its lowest level because there was no one here to save him if the whole simulation decided to kill him for real. However, if the couch hit him, no matter how low the level, it would sting a little. Not only that, but he would lose points.

Blasts straightened as the couch flew towards him. With a mere thought and concentration, a blaze of bright blue light shot out of his eyes at an extreme speed. The second it made contact with the sofa, it practically exploded before him. Splinters of wood and material flew past him, as he stood as straight and tall as he could make himself. The remainder of the sofa fell to the floor. A gigantic hole was in it. Blasts looked up from the sofa. Three robots stood slightly taller than him. Their eyes were ablaze as they targeted him. They began to move in. He was cornered. His only exit, he realized was down the staircase where he had come. Unless he jumped, he would not be able to escape the robots. It didn't matter. He had only requested the computer for three robots, anyway. If he could defeat these three, he would be finished. He just needed to defeat these three...

Blasts took a fighting stance as they closed in around him. They were well programmed in strategic tactics. They knew as well as he did that he had no escape. He had been trained as a brown belt in karate before he had come to the mansion, and had kept up his practice in hand to hand combat. He relaxed his hands at his sides and dropped into a crouch, facing his opponents all at once. He never focused on one opponent at a time. That way, he could tell what each was doing at once. The one right in front of him, the one that had thrown the sofa at him, easily gestured with his hand, lifting it towards Blasts and opening his palm. Blasts knew what it was planning. He made a slight move, forcing his upper body to its left smoothly, and the flash of a stun bolt shot passed his right ear. He allowed himself to take a small pleasure in that victory, but his smile died down as he realized that the robot on his left was coming in with a right handed hook. He made a left center block with his left hand swiftly, stopping the robot's hand in its tracks. He followed this with a crouch and a spin on the floor, sweeping his right leg at the robots, clicking its legs together and dropping it. By crouching, he had saved himself from another stun blast from the robot on his right, who had thrown the coffee table at him. He sensed an attack coming from the center robot, now on his left. He aimed a high kick for its mechanical face. His foot made solid contact, and the robot crashed to the floor, sparks spouting out from it. One down. The robot that he had first felled was now composing itself and standing again.

He spun and delivered a wheel kick with his right leg, hitting the dazed robot in the face. It was knocked on its back once again, but Blasts knew that it wasn't permanently down. Immediately after his striking wheel kick, he leaped into the air and performed a devastating ax kick. He brought his right leg high into the air and brought it back down with incredible speed. His heel struck the downed robot in the chest and sparks flew from it as well. His feet touched the ground, and he fluidly rolled backwards as a kick aimed for his chest by the last standing robot sailed over his head harmlessly. His back roll finished, Blasts quickly turned around to face the robot still crouching low. He freed his leg from under him, and shattered the robots left leg with a deft kick. As the robot fell before him, he stood with the speed of a striking serpent and hammered three incredibly fast karate punches into its chest, and one into its face on its way down. The robot finally hit the ground with a clatter...then all was quiet. The sound of blood pumping in Blasts' ears stopped. He tried to steady his breathing.
Blasts surveyed the damage that he had made. Three broken robots lay around him in a circle. He smiled to himself, and turned to walk back down the staircase.

He touched down at the landing, and turned towards the door from where he came. He wanted to exit the building in glory before canceling the program. Perhaps that was his downfall.

Blasts put out a hand to grasp the doorknob. When his fingers touched it, he heard a clank behind him. He whirled around to see the last robot teetering on its remaining leg. One of its hands clutched the rail of the staircase to help it balance, and the other was fixed in a position ready to fire a stun bolt at him.
There was no time to think. Blasts threw himself to his left with all his might. He felt the minor heat of the bolt pass the right side of his face as he did so. Blasts winced in pain as he hit the edge of a metal table with his ribs. The table toppled over and hit the ground with a crash, scattering the tools all over the floor. Jacob felt two more stun shots burst past him. They had barely missed. He dove behind the fallen, metal table for cover.

Stun bolts zinged around him left and right. He felt the heat from them despite their low setting. Blasts heard the steady pounding of the hot bolts against the sheet metal table.
Pingf.
Pingf.
Pingf.
There was an abrupt pause...then a click and a whir. Blasts cocked his head, listening. He couldn't risk a peek above the table to see what had caused the stop, for fear of getting hit with a surprise bolt. He didn't have to wait long. The sound came back presently.
Pingf.
Pingf.
He braced his back to the table and breathed. How was he going to get out of this one?
Pingf.
Pingf...
Pingf. Pingf.
Pingf. Pingf. Pingf.
Blasts frowned. Faster? One of the bolts hit the curtain of the window behind him on his right. He cringed as the heat scorched his right arm...scorched his right arm? PingfPingfPingfPingf. A burst of rapid fire. What? He hadn't programmed the computer to allow rapid fire. He glanced to his right at the curtain. A hole simmered in the thin fabric. The realization hit him in a flash.

Malfunction.

The malfunction was allowing the robot to use all its skills and capacities to take him out. He wouldn't just lose points anymore. He would get physically injured. The bolts could burn him now.
PingfPingfPingfPingfPingfPingf. His back was getting hot. He leaned forward to avoid getting burned. He had to think fast now. No more time...rush. He would have to rush it. His only hope now was to take it by surprise. He breathed once. Breathed again another short burst of air. He could feel his adrenaline beginning to pump through him, filling him with renewed strength.

Now! With a yell of determination, he sprang over the fallen table, just clearing it. His boots hit the floor, and he paused for one milli-second to attempt to read the robot's reaction. If the robot was at all surprised, it didn't even hint showing it. It simply adjusted the position of its hand from aiming at the table, to where Jacob now stood - Blasts crouched just as two more, now lethal bolts simmered over his head. He pressed the advantage of the miss and hurled himself forward.
Blasts slammed into the robot with all his weight, and with a grunt from him they both went down. To his delight, Blasts had landed on top of the robot, rather than under it. That would help things a little. However, the robot had already recovered from the shock. It forced Jacob onto his back with one arm, and pinned him there with the other. Then it lifted its free hand, palm outward to fire, aimed straight at his face and - Blasts used all his strength to bat away the deadly hand with his own, griping its wrist with his hand to hold it in a safe position away. Blasts then focused triple fold on the robots face hovering above him...and released all his energy. Through his eyes. A tidal wave of blue energy and force erupted from his eyes. He felt his energy escaping out from him in extreme proportions at a time as the blue cascade continued to rush out. In times like these, when he got all riled up and released all he had, it was very hard to stop it. This time, Blasts was barely able to stay conscious from lack of energy. He literally had to close his eyes just to stop his power from devouring anything more with its sheer power.

Blasts opened his eyes. To his enragement, the robot was still on top of him. Blasts gave a cry of frustration and pushed it. The persistent piece of machinery simply slumped to the floor without a struggle. Blasts frowned in confusion, and looked at the robot more closely. It was missing a head.

Blasts sighed with relief, and slumped down to sit on the floor. His energy was mostly gone, and he barely had enough to sit up. His eyes were hazy. He could barely see through the glaze of them. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. Blasts lifted a hand to wipe sweat off his fore-head and neck. He noticed with some discomfort that it was considerably hotter in the dark little basement. He opened his eyes again. Or not so dark. Through the watery haze that he had to see through he noticed that the once dark, dank basement had turned to a bright dry basement filled with orange colored light. The light was especially bright on the far side of the room, where he had been previously hiding behind the table. He shook his head to clear some of the cobwebs, and his vision cleared a little. The first thing he noticed when he looked back up was that there was a gigantic, 16 wheeler truck-sized hole in the roof. The second thing he noticed was where the source of the light and heat was coming from. Across from him on the other side of the room was a blazing fire.
Fire.
No
"NO!"

Jacob Michaels was back. He was back in his bedroom. He was 9 years old. And he was sleeping. The old feeling of restful, peaceful unconsciousness was securely settled over him once again as it always had.
Then he opened his eyes slowly. He didn't quite know why. His eyes were suddenly watery and they stung as if they were hit by smoke. He coughed into his hand, and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that his feet touched the hard wood floor of his room. Jacob stood shakily to his feet, and tried to squint through the tears in his eyes to see what was going on.
It was really hot in his room, he realized. He trudged over to his window and pulled up the shades. It was still dark outside. The New York street below was filled with cars and all the typical lights seen at a time like this one at the city of New York. He was seven stories above the street, but even from this height he could hear the beeps and honks of cars and the sound of the crowd. He opened his mouth to yawn-and choked on smoke. The boy went into a coughing fit, and somehow his head was clearer. He could think easier now, since the sleepiness was wearing off in him. His eyes weren't as blurry. Then he realized what he had seen.
Jacob quickly turned back to the window and looked out again. The crowd. Now he could see the people forming a small mob-like formation around his apartment building. They were holding up their fists and shouting, looking up at his particular window. He squinted further, and saw that they were also holding up signs and...He realized they had baseball bats, makeshift clubs and flaming torches of the sort. He couldn't read what the signs said from this height, but he knew what the messages were. He didn't need to read the signs. The yelling mob said it all.
Anti-mutant sentiment.
Fear was steadily rising inside him. He could already feel his adrenaline causing his muscles to go stiff. Of course, there were other reasons that the crowd could be here. Perhaps they were here to chase off another mutant in...his..building. He swallowed, and tried to tell himself that. He tried, for an instant, to make himself believe it. But in his heart he knew it not to be true. They were indeed here for him. He had always feared that this would happen to him and his family. Ever since he learned he was a mutant. Now, it was finally happening.
His family.
He had almost missed the sound of his mother's voice calling behind him, outside his closed bedroom door.
"Jacob! Jacob, where are you!"
"Mom!" He screamed at his door so that she could hear. "Mom, I'm here!"
"Jacob!" She yelled relief obviously in her voice. "Jacob, don't-"
"Mom, I'm coming out!" He told her, making his way unsteadily across his room to his door.
"No! Don't-no!" She was warning him, but it was too late. He had already reached the door. He grabbed the metal doorknob-and a hot searing pain shot through his hand. It stayed there for a split second, and then reflex took over, and his hand jerked back. He cried out in pain.
"Jacob, don't come out! It's on fire! The house is on fire!" He heard his mother again.
The smoke. Then, it seemed that all his senses snapped to attention. He could now hear the crackling noise of the fire burning fiercely outside his room and behind his door. "Where's Dad?" He called.
"I'm here, son!" A deep voice answered him. In the voice, Jacob heard a mixture of relief and anxiety.
"Dad! I'm ok, Dad!" He shouted in an attempt to comfort him. "How do I get out?" The last of his words were covered by the sound of banging and the roaring of fire. Jacob stopped to listen. The shouting was louder. More banging. He realized that they must be outside his front door, trying to get in. He swallowed again, took a deep breath, then shouted again, "Mom, Dad, you need to get out! They'll get you!"
He sprang back farther away from his door as flames lashed out from the under side, nearly scorching his feet.
"We can't leave without you, Jacob!" He heard his mom's voice. He winced as the banging and shouting grew more intense. "Mom, you have to! They'll get you! Dad..." He sought for his father's support, but found none of it.
"No, son. We're not going." He answered him.
Before Jacob could protest further, a blaring noise outside his window attracted his attention. Sirens. He rushed over. Seven stories below him, on the street, he could see army jeeps driving toward the crowd. They skidded unprofessionally to a halt where the crowd was, and the doors burst open giving way to soldiers filing out. Relief momentarily flooded through Jacob at the sight of the soldiers. But that relief drained away as quickly as it had come as he watched, one of the soldiers, who seemed to be of some importance, walk toward one of the protestors and talked with him. There was no way Jacob could've heard what they were talking about, but he saw the protestor nod vigorously at the soldier, look up, and point to his window with the baseball bat he was holding. The soldier merely nodded back at the man and began walking toward the building, signaling his men to follow. A roaring sound, like rushing wind turned his head around. He looked at his door, and saw it intact just a moment before it burst into flames. The door still stood, but the hot flames flickering all across it would make it virtually inaccessible.
"Mom! Dad!" He called, and idea suddenly occurring to him as he looked frantically back and forth from the window to the door. When he heard an acknowledgment coming from outside his room, he said, "Stand back from the walls of your room! I'm going to blast out of here! Is your room on fire?"
"No!"
"Ok!" "Here we go," he murmured.
It would've been too risky to blast through the wall straight into the hallway directly outside of his room, but if he could get to his mother and father's room, which was adjacent to his; he would have access to their fire-escape.
Jacob breathed once, looked at his wall, concentrated, and released his optic blast.