Excerpt from "We're All Human: Why Mutants Aren't our Enemy" by Prof. Charles Xavier:
Mutants are all quite unique in their own right, like you and me. If you meet one mutant, then you meet one mutant. No human is the same at all, really. Which leads me to ask a question of you, the reader; Why do we assume otherwise? Why do we think that because one breaks into a house, or robs a bank, that any others you see are likely to commit the same act, as if humans without the mutated X-Gene aren't just as capable of wrongdoing as a mutant?
Is it impossible for us to open our minds, and see that genetics do not define who we are? Some may think they are a defining attribute, but I - And hopefully, you - Believe otherwise. I truly, and honestly believe, that with enough time and education on this subject, we can all change to accept and love one another as our own, rather than feeling vitriol toward our fellow man over the pettiest reasons.
It was a cold afternoon in New York, and the last day of September. As the breeze swept the air, and the leaves blew on the ground, a teenage boy made his way down the sidewalk. His hair was a light brown, and was visibly messy and greasy, likely due to the fact he hadn't any access to a shower in months. His dark coat was slightly torn on the shoulder, which his black T-Shirt underneath helped to hide - Unless you looked close up, of course.
His name was Scott Summers, and he wore vibrant, red sunglasses at all times, for reasons he didn't typically disclose - Though it was a very interesting and peculiar reason, one which will become apparent, soon, as his upcoming journey progresses.
Scott walked by a duo of police officers, presumably on-break, as the two of them were both sipping coffee together by a bus stop. Then, as he overheard their conversation, the word "Mutie" slipped out of one of their mouths. He then stopped, and began to listen to their conversation while leaning against a wall, as to not appear too suspicious.
"So, yeah… turns out Sam's a mutant." sighed one of the officers.
"Poor girl. Bunch o' kids comin' out to their parents about that sorta thing these days, in general. Real shame, what nature's doin' to this new gen."
"Definitely," said his fellow officer. "And the supportive ones… okay, Nickson, imagine your kid having some kinda disease and you think it's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to 'em. How fucked is that?"
"I can' even. You ask me, you shouldn' be allowed to be a parent if you're gonna be happy about that."
"They should make 'em take parenting tests."
"Nah, they'd be lyin' about their legit answer. Don't really know what we should do. But uh, anyway… what'd you say to her? Sammie, I mean." said the heavy accented officer, as he looked over, directly at his partner.
"I talked about taking her to therapy. Getting her fixed, y'know. It's the best thing I can really do for her. Didn't stop her from crying, though." he shook his head. "I don't really know what to do about her now. Is she… 'she even my kid anymore, Nickson?"
Scott looked over his shoulder, staring back at the officers. He was tempted to say something, but knew it would be better for him not to. As he stepped forward, the officers behind him continued.
"Well, Smith–" Officer Nickson stopped mid-sentence, looking over at Scott. "Y'know, I don' think that kid's moved an inch in a minute now." he said, before he then pointed at Scott.
"Yeah, I think you're right." said the other officer, named Smith. "Think he might be a crook?"
"Probs. Looks grungy enough." said Officer Nickson. "An' the glasses… no one lookin' like that could own a pair that fancy. Yell for 'im."
Richards nodded, as he exclaimed: "Hey, you!"
Summers didn't seem to hear him.
"Hold on, I've got it." said Nickson. "Hey, KID!" he yelled, louder than Smith, which caught Scott's attention this time. He turned sharply to look back at them, as Nickson fast walked toward him.
"You starin' at us or some'n?" asked Officer Nickson, fast walking toward Scott. "Got some'n to say?"
"Uh, no. I was just…"
"Just what?" he was cut off. "Where'd you get the glasses, huh kid?"
"My… my dad gave them to me." said Scott, looking down away from the officer.
"Yeah, sure. Dirty, grungy kid like you… probs livin' on these streets, and you wan' me to believe your daddy just… gave a fancy pair o' glasses to ya? Look, you ain't even lookin' at me no more! Now listen, buddy, and tell me: Where'd ya get the sunglasses?"
"Why do you care?" asked Scott.
"What was that?" aggressively responded the officer. The other one walked over with his arms crossed.
"What's going on here, Nickson?"
"Y'see here, Richards, this kiddo's sayin' his daddy gave 'im those fancy glasses. Lemme guess, you were starin' because you were afraid of gettin' caught?"
"Look, I didn't steal the glasses." Scott said, beginning to lose his patience. "Now back off."
"Or what?" frowned the officer. "Huh? Now gimme those glasses."
"No, I can't–"
The officers both reached forward to grab them off of Scott. "C'mon, hobo. Gimme the glasses and make it fuckin' easy!"
Scott pulled away right as the officer grabbed onto his sunglasses, resulting in them coming off of his face. A blinding, red beam escaped his eyes and shot onto Officer Nickson, sending him flying onto the ground. Scott quickly shut his eyes tight.
Smith looked back at Nickson, who was out cold on the ground with a massive tear in his shirt, and a large, red bruise on his chest. Smith yelled: "Holy shit! IT'S ONE OF THEM!"
Scott reached for his glasses while closing his eyes with his hands up against his face. It took a moment, but he finally managed to grab them, and quickly put them back on, breathing a sigh of relief, before opening his eyes to see the officer calling for backup, and turned to run down the nearby alley.
"Get back here, mutie freak!" screamed Officer Smith, as Scott looked behind him to see two officers chasing him. He sharply turned the corner and vaulted over the hood of a sports car parked on the side of the road. Hearing sirens blaring, he turned around to see red and blue lights flashing around a corner.
Summers continued running until he went down an alleyway, and saw a closed roof ladder by a dumpster. Turning again to see a police car stop right at the alley's entrance, he blasted the door to the ladder open and hopped up onto the dumpster, before he began speeding his way up the ladder, as police pointed guns at him from below.
He barely made it to the top before he heard a loud bang, and a bullet soared through the air, as citizens were heard imminently screaming nearby. Scott quickly stood, and ran across the roof, as he looked across at another rooftop, and heard an officer yelling from below: "HE WENT UP THERE! GET HIM!"
In a rash movement, he charged to the edge of the roof, and leaped as far as he could to the next. He took the opportunity to calm down from the adrenaline rush, as he sat down by the edge of the roof. This was proven to be a mistake, as an officer quickly made it to the top of the ladder and pointed a gun at him. Scott swiftly rolled off of the roof, not even thinking about whatever met him below, as a shot fired, and Scott wasn't even sure if the bullet had hit him or not at first, though he did notice the unfortunate way his leg had landed on the dumpster, which shot a jolt of pain through his body.
He looked around him, and noticed he was in a steep, green container, with a rough texture underneath his back. "A dumpster…" he sighed. "Well, with what's happened today… that checks out."
Scott slowly climbed out of the dumpster, hopping down onto the concrete beneath him and sneaking slowly through the alley, hoping that the police had lost him by now - Even if he knew better. Well, there was one good thing to note: His leg wasn't broken, or else he wouldn't be walking on it. He saw a group of officers run by, and without even bothering to see how many, quickly covered himself behind a wall, leaning out to see them running through the blinding bright streets, while he was obscured in the dark shadow cast by the other wall barely across from him.
He went back into the sidewalk and tried to blend into the crowd, as he weakly headed down a set of stairs with his weakened leg, and into a subway station. His relief was quickly ended by the sight of a policeman standing at the bottom of the stairs. Scott clutched his hand against the railway, and took a deep breath, before carefully - And calmly as he could - Walking toward the line at the train as he heard it arrive, before it came into view, the white lights from within shining bright to the station outside, and even illuminating the dark tunnel ahead, ever so slightly.
"Hey, you!" said a voice from behind, as he felt a hand tightly grip his arm. He turned to see a police officer looking dead at him, with an utmost serious expression. "Yep. Knew it was you. Well, mutie, you're under arrest for attempted murder of an officer, and stealing. You have the right to remain–"
Scott quickly tried to force the officer's arm off of him, only to get backhanded. "Silent!" the officer demanded, as Summers groaned under his breath. Being accused of attempted murder was new to him, even if the rest of this situation was familiar by now. Before the officer could continue, Scott shoved the policeman onto the ground with his shoulder. Everyone surrounding Scott stared at him with either shock, anger, or horror, as he heard police dogs barking loudly from the stairs, echoing through the dense concrete station. "Give me a break already…" he said to himself quietly, as he ran onto the train as fast as he could, and then immediately attempted to blend into the crowd in the packed train. Given the scene he was just apart of, however, it was easier said than done. Everyone seemed to be staring at Scott, but he tried his best to ignore them, as the doors had closed and the train was now moving.
Summers took the moment to cool down. He managed to find a seat as the train moved through the dark tunnels. Midway through the ride, Scott was asked for his seat by a soon-to-be mother. He gladly obliged, even if it meant he had to stand - On his injured leg, no less - For the rest of the train ride.
Once the train stopped, Scott stepped out, looking around to make sure there were no policemen nearby. It looked all clear, for once. He climbed up the stairs to finally exit the station, crossing the road and heading into the tree-filled park across. The Summers boy walked into the park, and against his own will, collapsed by a tree, the shadow of the leaves covering essentially his whole body. He felt the grass touch his face, pricking against his skin, and felt his eyes beginning to close, no matter how hard he tried to force them open, before eventually, everything went black.
At the same time, a teenage girl sat back on a hospital bed, her unmoving arm laying down beside her with a large red mark around the elbow. She had big, bright, and wavy red hair all down to her back. Her eyes were an emerald green, and her pale face was covered in freckles. She wore a green sweater with
"...So, how did this happen?" asked the doctor, a slim man of average height, and with short spiky black hair, which was slicked back.
"My bedside lamp. It… fell over on me." said the girl hesitantly. The doctor could never know how the lamp actually struck her, as it would raise far too many questions. And…. if anyone else knew she was a mutant… she shuddered to think what could happen to her.
"Fell?"
"Yeah," the girl said, gesturing her hand outward. "I was being clumsy and I accidentally knocked it over when I went to get up."
"Well – Jean, was it?" the doctor asked as he examined her arm, to which the girl nodded. "The scans show that the bone is in tact, although I would recommend avoiding unnecessary movements with the arm for now. Would you be opposed to a cast for… perhaps a day or two?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Excellent. Well, you should be on your way soon."
"Thank you." Jean said politely.
"You're welcome." the doctor replied, as Jean looked over at her parents in the corner of the room, their thoughts beginning to fill her telepathic mind, despite how hard she tried to fight it. She knew what they thought of her, that they were somewhat afraid of her. What led to this E.R visit was Jean's uncontrolled power of telekinesis flinging objects all around her room, practically breaking everything, before her lamp smashed right into her arm. So she couldn't blame them, but it felt quite bitter. It took an hour to convince Jean to leave the house, as it did usually.
After leaving the hospital, Jean was in the car, her arm now in a cast, which was a tad uncomfortable. (Though she didn't voice her complaints about it.)
There was a long, silent pause, where the sound of the car racing across the concrete roads below was the only noise Jean's parents could hear, but for the girl, her thoughts were filled only with what those around her were thinking. The more public her location, the worse they got. She could barely even understand what was being spoken internally, as there were so many surrounding her as they drove down the highway. Her parents, the parents and children in the many other cars around her, even the thoughts of the dog a man was walking on the sidewalk.
Jean began to hyperventilate from the stress, her body clearly sweaty and shaky, and tears began falling down her eyes. The car suddenly began to shake, as Jean could barely hear her parents calling out to her, when the car then slammed right into the wall beside them. Jean looked to her parents, who were dazed from the accident. Jean thought she had killed them for a moment, but felt at least the slight relief that she hadn't. The car was pressed frontally against the highway wall, the hood nearly torn off it's hinges by the collision.
Jean breathed heavily, barely able to move her body, and began sobbing. She tried to beg for her mom, but she couldn't even speak more than a stutter; "M-M…"
She fell back in her seat, blinking repetitiously, as she felt the embrace of her mother come to rescue her. Jean wrapped her arms around her mom, closing her eyes.