X-MEN
The First Class 2/10
Chapter Two: You Are Not Alone
The cold outside was biting, even thirty thousand feet in the air. But Jean Grey sat warm inside the Blackbird, her small frame bundled in a black-and-white wool coat, sleeves pulled over her hands as she pressed her forehead lightly against the chilled window.
She was fifteen — and felt every bit of it.
Her auburn hair, wavy and loose, fell just past her shoulders, catching the faint light from the jet's console. It framed a thoughtful, pale face — green eyes sharp with intelligence, but clouded with something deeper. Maybe uncertainty. Maybe anticipation. Maybe fear.
Below them, the eastern seaboard crawled past in a blur of lights and clouds. The world didn't know they were up here — a plane with no signal, no transponder, flying above it all like ghosts.
Jean breathed in slowly, watching the clouds drift by. She looked at the boys — no, the X-Men — all just a little older than her.
Scott, at the controls, face stone-still behind his red visor. Hank, tapping buttons beside him with mechanical precision. Warren leaned back in his seat with the ease of someone used to flying — in more ways than one — his wings tucked inside his suit. And Bobby, lounging like it was just another field trip.
They wore matching uniforms — yellow and navy-blue flight suits with reinforced seams, oversized gloves, boots with too many straps, and a big black "X" across the chest.
Their masks sat beside them, ready — meant to hide their identities, to protect their families.
They looked like vintage sci-fi pilots. Or kids headed to a comic convention.
Baggy and boxy.
They'll need a better seamstress if they want to look like anything but cosplayers, Jean thought.
She glanced down at her own clothes. She hadn't been issued a uniform yet. Her coat was long and buttoned to the neck, black sleeves ending in white cuffs, a scarf wrapped tight around her collar. Autumn had teeth, and Jean didn't like feeling cold — especially not when her powers sometimes slipped when her emotions did.
She closed her eyes.
And without meaning to…
She remembered.
---
She had always known she was strange.
From the moment she could form sentences, Jean had been different. The other kids at school didn't understand her — they said she stared too long, was too quiet, too intense. Animals sometimes avoided her. Machines occasionally shorted out around her.
She tried to ignore it. She tried to be normal.
Her parents — well-meaning, kind people — didn't know what to do with her. They thought she just needed time. Or therapy. Or less time reading books about stars and gravity.
But then it happened.
She was nine when her powers first truly surfaced. Her best friend, Annie, had been hit by a car in front of her house. She died soon after.
The grief shattered something inside Jean.
Something raw and ancient surged forward.
Furniture flew. Windows shattered. Lightbulbs burst in every room of the house. And then… silence.
No one believed her when she said she had heard Annie in her head in the moment of the accident. She had felt Annie's emotions as she passed — every single one.
After that, Jean became a stranger to everyone. She had good grades sure but now her parents watched her more closely. Her friends faded. And Jean began to hide — from others, from herself, from what she was becoming.
By thirteen, she had learned enough to know this couldn't continue. So she found an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and began to practice in secret. She realized that she could control this thing inside her. She could lift objects. Read stray thoughts. Push. Pull. Influence.
It was dangerous. It was exhausting. But it was hers.
And then one night, standing alone on a rusted metal beam high above the floor of that empty warehouse, she heard it.
"You are not alone."
The voice echoed gently — not in her ears, but in her mind. Like a thought that wasn't hers, wrapped in warmth and clarity.
Days later, a letter arrived.
An elegant envelope bearing the seal of the Charles Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. A full scholarship. Room and board. Advanced curriculum. Counseling.
Her parents didn't understand it — they had never applied for anything. But the letter said Jean had been recommended by an anonymous donor who recognized her "extraordinary potential."
That night, the voice returned.
"There is a place for you, Jean. A home. A beginning."
She had whispered, "Who are you?"
The answer was simple.
"Charles Xavier."
And now, here she was.
Not in a classroom. Not in a dormitory.
But hurtling through the sky toward the most powerful building in America.
---
Jean returned to reality. As she looked through the window, she realized—they had arrived. The White House looked gigantic, even from afar.
Professor Xavier sat calmly near the controls of the plane. He turned towards her and gave her a reassuring smile.
"We'll be landing one block northeast of the White House, near some trees to cover the Blackbird," Scott said through the comm.
Jean blinked and turned toward the front of the jet.
"Reports are coming in fast," Hank said. "At least five mutant signatures—maybe six. Strong ones. I wish the mutant detector were up to standard, but it's not there yet. This approximation will have to do. No civilian casualties so far, but the Secret Service is in full lockdown."
"I saw one of them throw a truck," Bobby added. "And not in the fun 'look what I can do' way. More like 'I hate democracy' kind of way."
"Eyes up," Warren said, peering out the cockpit. "We're here."
Jean leaned forward.
Below them—chaos.
A crowd of civilians had already been evacuated, leaving a ring of agents and barricades around the north lawn of the White House. And at the center of it all, mayhem. A swirling melee of fire, smoke, debris, and mutant energy.
And there, standing tall in front of the gates—Magneto. Imposing. Cloaked in crimson armor. His cape billowed behind him like a warning.
Around him stood the others. The Brotherhood.
The plane banked hard. Scott pulled them into a hover.
Xavier's voice came through their headsets—measured but firm.
"Students, this is no longer a training exercise. You must be careful. You must be smart. But above all—You must protect."
Jean tightened her scarf.
She didn't know what would happen next.
But for the first time in her life… She knew she didn't have to face it alone.
To Be Continued...