"...And so I just thought I was cursed. Stuff kept breaking around me, and I had no idea why. Turns out, I'm a mutant—whatever that means." Jubilee gave a low, nervous chuckle, eyes flicking around the circle of chairs.
They were all seated in one of the same sterile, white rooms, each patient in their own chair, forming a ring. Jubilee wasn't the type to open up about her personal life, but here? She didn't really get a choice.
A few kids nodded quietly, listening. Others kept their eyes down.
"That was very good, Jubilee," Dr. Cecilia said, her tone warm, her smile soft. "Only through sharing your experiences can you begin to overcome the fear you carry about this disease."
"Yeah, sure..." Jubilee muttered with a wry smile.
Fear, huh? The truth was, she didn't really have some big trauma like the others. The worst memory she had was when her dad's study PC blew up—at that moment she wasn't scared of her powers, just of the endless lecture she would get from her parents after. And yeah, that part had gone exactly as she had feared.
But she had learned fast: here, everyone was expected to talk. To explain what they had felt, when their "symptoms" showed up.
This was the routine. Every day after lunch, there was Session One: Physicals. Dr. Cecilia called it "keeping the body healthy, so the mind and spirit can heal." In reality, it was just an hour of stretches, cardio, and light drills—basically P.E. class with a lab coat watching.
Compared to the gymnastics she used to do at school, Jubilee thought it was tame. Sometimes, she even forgot she was locked up—she could laugh, pull a prank or two, and Dr. Cecilia usually let the minor antics slide. Everyone loosened up a bit during physicals. Everyone except Rahne, who tired out quick, her pale face turning red as she pushed through each exercise.
Still, Jubilee found herself almost looking forward to those hours. At least then, for a little while, everything felt normal.
But the second session… Jubilee was pretty sure everyone hated that one.
After physicals, they would all be herded into a circle of chairs—nine kids, plus Dr. Cecilia sitting with her perfect posture and that calm, clinical smile. One or two of them would be picked each day to "share their story," while the rest listened.
The problem? Nobody here had a nice, funny "oops, I fried my dad's computer" kind of story like hers. No—Dr. Cecilia called them Mutant Outbreaks, and most of what Jubilee had heard was raw, painful, way too personal. Stuff you wouldn't even tell your best friend, let alone eight strangers trapped in the same whitewashed prison.
And if you didn't have anything to say? Dr. Cecilia wouldn't let it slide. She would start asking questions, guiding you step by step until she had you spilling it anyway—how it happened, how it made you feel, what it cost you.
Today had been Jubilee's turn for the first time. She managed to share, but instead of relief, she just felt… guilty. Guilty that compared to the others, her "outbreak" was nothing. A few fried electronics, some shouting parents—big deal. Nobody got hurt. She had been incredibly lucky.
That though couldn't be said about the others. Over the last week she had heard enough to know: some of them had lost friends, homes, even family because of their powers slipping loose.
Of course, Jubilee had her own scars. Her parents' car accident still haunted her every night. But that didn't count—Dr. Cecilia only wanted mutation stories. So she kept that piece of herself hidden.
On her first day, she had tried to ask Dinah why they even had to play along. Couldn't they just fake it? Throw in some gibberish and get it over with?
Dinah's response had been sharp, almost scolding: don't even try it. The moment Dr. Cecilia thought you were lying or refusing, she would punish you. No common room, no talking with anyone, no laughter—just eating that sludge alone in your cell.
Dinah had told her that she had been subjected to it for multiple days and multiple times before, and that was why she had warned Jubilee to just be honest during these sessions.
At first, Jubilee didn't really get what was so bad about eating alone. But as the days went by, and the loneliness and despair began to sink in, she realized how important these few hours were.
Meeting others her age who were going through the same struggles became her cherished time—something she looked forward to. It was her hope, her salvation. Being with them filled her with energy, a reminder that she wasn't the only one suffering, that she wasn't alone.
If she were ever denied this, even for a few days, Jubilee was sure she would go mad. So she did her best, sharing every detail she remembered without leaving anything out. Still, it wasn't much—her symptoms had only started appearing recently after all.
The others had much harsher stories. Dinah rarely spoke in these sessions, but Jubilee had learned that when Dinah's symptoms first manifested, she had accidentally burst several people's eardrums.
Tabitha, whom Jubilee always seemed to clash with, had similar symptoms to hers—except she had ended up blowing up half her father's face. Judging by how smug she looked when she told it, Jubilee was certain Tabby hadn't exactly been on good terms with her old man.
Rahne's situation was different. She believed the mutation was a curse from the devil, that it turned her into a monster, and that only through repeated prayers could her sins be cleansed. Jubilee thought it was all hogwash.
Then there was Roberto, who was apparently from some ridiculously wealthy Brazilian family. He always brushed off questions about his outburst, cockily changing the subject. But Jubilee had pieced together that he had killed someone—fried them alive—when his symptoms first appeared.
And in the same lane was Sam, who had told them in his Kentucky drawl how he had been working in a mine when his symptoms manifested. He said he didn't remember much, only that the entire mine had collapsed, killing everyone inside except for him.
Bobby too had his own story—he had frozen a bully at school solid in ice. None of the three had good memories of their first outbreaks, which was why they genuinely wanted to improve their conditions here.
Listening to their traumatic experiences made Jubilee feel horrible. The only one whose story felt somewhat normal—like hers—was Piotr's. His symptoms had shown up when he turned his body into steel to save his younger sister from being crushed by a tractor. Unlike the others, he didn't see his mutation as a disease at all. To him, it was more like a gift, a tool to protect people.
The last one was Katrin, who always curled up into a ball during these sessions. Jubilee could tell she hated being the center of attention. Having to sit in front of everyone where they could see her, clearly made her uncomfortable.
Dinah had told Jubilee how, at first, Rahne used to shout at Katrin, calling her a devil or devil spawn just because of her appearance. Over time, though, Rahne had stopped, especially after learning that Katrin herself was a devout Christian.
Katrin's mutation wasn't only her devil-like form, which had apparently once landed her a place in a circus, but also her ability to teleport to nearby places she had seen or been before.
Hearing that, Jubilee couldn't help but feel excited—it sounded like the perfect way out of here. But Katrin had shut her down quickly, saying she didn't even know where the facility was, so even if her symptoms weren't being suppressed, she couldn't teleport to anywhere safe. And besides, she could only teleport herself, which made escape even less realistic.
Plans like that—hypothetical escapes and wild "what if" scenarios—were the kinds of things Jubilee and the others often whispered about during lunch. But deep down, they all knew the truth: none of it was realistic. Not when the people in charge were always watching them, always listening.
"Alright, the session is over. Come and take your tablets," Dr. Cecilia said as she stood and carried a tray over from the table.
Jubilee watched as everyone lined up, each taking a tablet with a glass of water. Her hand instinctively rubbed at the collar locked around her neck. Dr. Cecilia always insisted the daily medicine was necessary to keep their mutant symptoms in check.
That word—symptoms—always rubbed Jubilee the wrong way. Powers sounded so much better. And if the collars really worked to suppress their powers, why did they even need the tablets?
Still, she didn't dare refuse. The memory of that paralyzing pain the collar could unleash—and the thought of being denied her one chance each day to be with the others—was enough to make her obedient. So she too swallowed the tablet without a fuss.
Once the guards were sure every last one of them had taken the dose, they separated the group, leading each patient away down different halls.
Jubilee's stomach sank. She dreaded what came next.
They took her to a sterile room marked Laboratory 3. It didn't look like any other laboratory—just four white walls, a projection screen, and a single chair bolted to the floor.
The guards shoved her down into it.
"Ugh, can't you not do it so rough?" Jubilee muttered as they clamped her wrists and ankles in place.
They ignored her, as always. One pressed a button on a remote, the lights dimmed, and the screen flickered to life.
The next thing Jubilee knew, she was back on her bed. Her head throbbed, her thoughts scrambled. She couldn't remember what she had just seen on the screen—only that same splitting headache that always came afterward, dragging her down into exhaustion.
It was routine now. Everyone went through it. Nobody ever remembered what was shown on the projection screen. The only theory floating around was that they were messing with their minds, like those brainwashing experiments in some creepy movie. And the guards never let her close her eyes to avoid it—they made sure she watched.
"…Where are the heroes when you need them…" Jubilee whispered, clutching at her collar as she shut her eyes against the pain.
-----
"Heh, when we're finally out of here I'll be spending a week—no, a month—in my private resort. And of course, you're all invited. Especially the ladies." Roberto puckered his lips and blew a kiss toward the girls.
Jubilee rolled her eyes. It was already the next day, and she was feeling a little better than yesterday. Right now, everyone was passing time by talking about what they would do once they got out.
Tabitha and Dinah had similar answers to her own: food and shopping sprees. No surprise there. Rahne, predictably, said she wanted to go straight to church. Bobby—strangely—just wanted to eat ice cream. Sam and Piotr both longed to see their families. And Roberto, as always, couldn't stop flaunting his family's wealth.
Has it really been a week already? Jubilee thought. Her eyes flicked to the corner where she spotted that pair of glowing yellow eyes watching silently.
Wanting to make her join the conversation she was just about to ask Katrin what she would do when the door opened and Dr. Cecilia walked in, her calm smile never leaving her face.
"Alright, everyone. Time for the sessions."
---
"Dinah, why don't you share your Mutant Outburst with us in detail today?" Dr. Cecilia asked gently, her smile unshaken.
Dinah leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, smirk tugging at her lips. "Ugh, not in the mood for one of your make-believe support group lectures today, Doc."
Jubilee winced. The irony wasn't lost on her—Dinah was the one who had warned her to never push back against Dr. Cecilia, but her anger always got the better of her.
"This is part of your daily routine, Dinah. Participation is necessary if you truly want to be cured of this… Mutant Disease." Dr. Cecilia's voice was smooth, patient.
Dinah's smirk widened, but her blue eyes glittered with venom. "Cure us? Please. You don't want to cure us. You just want obedient little pets you can put on a leash."
The room tensed. Dr. Cecilia's smile didn't falter. "You'll be eating in your room for the next two days."
Dinah flicked her hair back with a scoff. "Whatever. Saves me from having to look at your wrinkled mug."
Cecilia's smile finally thinned, her eyes narrowing. "Make that three days."
"Ughhh!" Dinah clenched her teeth in anger.
Jubilee's stomach twisted. As much as she hated to admit it, what Dinah had said felt true. Maybe they weren't here to be cured at all. Maybe Dr. Cecilia and the others just wanted them collared, broken, and obedient—tools they could use.
Her hand drifted up, clutching the cold metal of her collar.
The anger rose fast, hot in her chest. She hated this place. She hated the collar. She hated being locked up like some kind of animal in a cage.
Crack.
Her eyes flew wide. Even Dr. Cecilia, tray in hand, froze mid-step, alarm flickering across her calm mask.
Jubilee understood instantly. Her powers—at last—had worked somehow, frying through the collar.
Before anyone could move, Jubilee lunged across the circle straight at Katrin.
"What are you doing?!" the blue-furred girl gasped, startled.
"Come on—blast it open!" Jubilee grabbed at Katrin's collar, shutting her eyes tight, forcing every ounce of will into her hands.
"Sit down this instant!" Dr. Cecilia's voice cracked, her composure finally breaking.
Crack!
Sparks flared, colors dancing in Jubilee's palms, and Katrin's collar shattered.
But before the rush of victory could even settle, a crushing force slammed Jubilee into the floor. A translucent bubble pinned her, her cheek grinding against the cold tile. Around her, the others cried out—every single one of them trapped under a similar shimmering dome.
"What did you DO?!" Cecilia snapped, fury in her voice as she pressed the bubble tighter, the weight growing unbearable.
"Katrin!" Jubilee shouted through clenched teeth, sparks snapping at her palms as she strained against the bubble like field. "Teleport—get out of here!"
"Nein! I don't know where to go!" Katrin's voice cracked, her yellow eyes wide with panic.
"Anywhere!" Dinah shouted, struggling uselessly against the field. "Just go—before she crushes us all!"
"All of you, silence!" Cecilia barked, the bubble tightening, pressing the air from their lungs. "No one is leaving this room!"
Jubilee locked eyes with Katrin, desperate, pleading. "You can do it. Please. Get help."
Katrin's trembling eyes softened, then she screwed them shut.
BAMF!
Smoke burst out in a puff inside the bubble—Katrin was gone.
Jubilee let her head fall back against the ground, a shaky smile tugging at her lips. Whatever came next, at least one of them was free. At least someone had a chance...