X-MEN
The First Class 6/10
Chapter Six: Beneath the Surface
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters
Westchester County, New York — One Week Later
The leaves had shifted from gold to brown with startling speed. September's chill bit at the grounds of the Xavier Institute, leaving the vast lawns quiet — as if the chaos in Washington had never touched them.
Inside, however, there was nothing quiet about the mansion.
Jean ducked as a beam of red energy sliced past her cheek. The air crackled. She rolled across the floor and looked up — at a floating platform lined with turrets, robotic arms, and drones, all moving with mechanical precision. Hard-light projectors shimmered around them, painting a dense forest of illusions over steel and circuitry.
"I thought this was just a gym," Jean muttered.
"Welcome to the Danger Room," Scott said calmly, firing another optic blast. It blew a Toad-shaped target into a puff of glowing pixels.
Bobby slid by on a trail of ice, grinning. "Best gym ever, right?"
He didn't get far — a drone clipped him mid-spin and sent him tumbling.
Jean pulled herself to her feet, brushing dust off the yellow-and-blue uniform that matched the others'. It was snug but practical, marked with an "X" across the chest, a cloth mask pulled high enough to frame her emerald eyes while letting strands of red hair spill free.
She tugged at the mask. "Okay, but these outfits? They're like pajamas crossed with a ski mask."
Hank landed with a heavy thud from above, adjusting his gloves. "That's exactly what Bobby called them. You're in good company."
The simulation flickered off. The illusions dissolved, leaving bare steel and scorch marks.
Jean perked up, brushing hair from her face. The simulation had ended, but the question lingered. "Who built this, anyway? It looks like something out of a military bunker, not a school basement."
Up in the booth, Xavier's calm voice drifted through the comms. "Partly my design. Mostly Hank's engineering. Moira helped refine the systems when she was last here."
He paused, fingers resting lightly on the console. "And I'll take full responsibility for the costumes. They were a last-minute addition to the repertoire."
Bobby groaned theatrically. "See? Even he admits it."
Scott only shook his head, adjusting his visor. "Function over fashion, people."
"Tell that to Vogue," Warren muttered. The team pulled off their gloves and masks, trading sweat for laughter.
"And Jean does have a point," Xavier added, the faintest note of amusement in his voice. "Identity matters. Perhaps it's time we speak to someone with… sartorial expertise. A seamstress, maybe."
"Finally!" Warren groaned, throwing himself across a bench like a model. "You have no idea how close I was to flying patrol in these disaster tights. People would've thought the X stood for X-tremely unfashionable."
Jean couldn't help but laugh — for the first time since she'd arrived, she felt less like a visitor and more like part of the team.
Xavier's voice came back in the intercom "Jean, please meet me after you've taken a break, I want to discuss some important matters with you." Jean pondered on what that meant but right now she needed a bit of water.
Jean drank from a water bottle, seated with the others in the break alcove beside the locker room. She looked around at the team — tired, focused, but comfortable with one another.
She broke the silence. "So… how did you all end up here? I mean — at this 'school.' Was it like mine? Powers showing up, things going haywire?"
Hank leaned back, draping a towel around his neck and stretching his arms. "You first, Bobby."
Bobby grinned. "Alright. So… ice. Kind of a giveaway, right?" He leaned forward. "First time it happened, I froze a whole swimming pool during gym class. Then the coach's whistle. Then half of his car. My parents freaked. Cops came. But before they could lock me up, this bald guy in a wheelchair showed up at our doorstep. Told my mom I was special. And now I'm here, with other freaks who get it."
Warren picked up next. "I was different from birth. My parents thought I was a miracle. Then I hit puberty and wings started growing. Their miracle turned into a curse. Dad tried to hide me in a boarding school. That's where I almost fell off a roof — turns out I could fly. Charles found me before the tabloids did."
Scott shifted uncomfortably. "My powers didn't show up until three years ago. I was thirteen. I was in a car accident. Got thrown out of the window. When I woke up, my eyes—"
He tapped his visor.
"—wouldn't stop. Destroyed everything in my line of sight. My house. The street. They had to blindfold me for weeks. Xavier helped me build the first pair of ruby-quartz lenses. He… gave me a reason to keep going."
Jean met his gaze. There was quiet pain behind his calm exterior. She nodded, understanding.
Hank smiled faintly. "I was always a mutant. Big feet, enhanced reflexes. I was top of my class at eleven. You should see the pictures — I looked like a hairless ape. But it wasn't until I hacked into a government satellite array that I realized I was more than a prodigy. Xavier reached out. Said I could be brilliant without having to hide it."
Jean sat back, absorbing it all. "We're all a little broken in our own way then, huh?"
"Or we're just built differently," Scott replied. "That doesn't make us broken."
Jean let the words hang in the air. Each story had weight — pain stitched with survival, the thread of Xavier weaving them all together.
She exhaled slowly. "Guess I'm not the only one who feels… out of place sometimes."
Bobby raised his water bottle. "To out of place."
Warren clinked his against it. "To freaks with style."
"Speak for yourself," Hank muttered, adjusting his towel with mock dignity.
Even Scott allowed a small smile. "To being more than what broke us."
The bottles tapped together.
Jean smiled, but her gaze lingered on them a moment longer. Each of them had been saved by Charles Xavier. Each of them given a home.
And even though she had a home, a small thought of her parents nagged at her even as she raised her bottle with theirs, it wasn't a happy one.
---
Later that day, Jean followed the professor through a series of half-lit halls beneath the mansion. The place was a labyrinth — endless corridors and sealed doors, the kind of place you could get lost in if you weren't careful.
They stepped into a vast spherical chamber, its walls pulsing with faint blue light. Machinery hung from above like suspended organs. At the center stood a metallic pedestal, upon which rested a helmet-like device. The frame wasn't complete; wires splayed outward like veins across the floor.
"This is Cerebro. Mark II," Xavier said.
Jean approached carefully, fingertips brushing the helmet. "It's… beautiful."
"It will allow me to amplify my mind — to find mutants across the globe. For now, it's limited. But with the data Fred Duncan sent us from the FBI, we finally have a foundation for the next steps."
Jean turned to him. "You said something earlier — about important matters to discuss?"
"I want you to go on a special mission Jean," Xavier replied, folding his hands. His voice softened with thought. "not yet, but soon. There are people out there hiding what they are. Afraid, the way you once were. They need someone who understands them."
Jean nodded slowly. "You mean… people like me."
He smiled. "Exactly. But first, I want you to get accustomed to Cerebro. I know it looks intimidating, but I assure you, it's safe. I've been using it to find you and the others. And when the time comes… you will use it too."
Xavier lowered the helmet onto his head.
At once, the chamber shimmered. Dozens of translucent images appeared around them — men, women, children, their outlines flickering like ghosts. They drifted across the room, pulsing faintly… and then, one by one, they vanished.
Jean looked back at Xavier. His face was pale, his breath shallow.
"Cerebro still needs fine-tuning," he admitted, removing the helmet. "As of now, I can locate only a handful of minds in a small radius. But with time, with resources, the next iteration will allow me to reach across the entire world."
He smiled faintly, though exhaustion lined his features. "That's all for today, Jean. Thank you for keeping me company. You may go to your room now."
Jean went on her way. Cerebro's door closed behind her as the professor undoubtedly began another long search. It would take hours. In the meantime, she decided to explore.
The hallways of the Institute were quiet. Too quiet. Many of the rooms were still half-finished — bedrooms awaiting students, libraries with empty shelves, classrooms that smelled of fresh paint. The school was young, still being born brick by brick.
She wandered until a faint flicker of light caught her eye. An open door. A lighter sparking inside.
Scott stood at a desk, the glow illuminating his sharp features. In his hands was a framed photo — two boys in a sunny field. One wore a baseball cap, messy blonde hair peeking out. The other had brown hair and the same angular face as Scott, only younger. His eyes — hidden now behind ruby glass — had been warm, human.
Scott clicked the lighter open and shut, the flame rising and vanishing. Military engravings glinted along its casing.
Jean stepped inside quietly. "Hey."
Scott didn't flinch. "Hey."
"Your brother?" she asked, nodding toward the picture.
"Yeah. Alex. I haven't seen him since… before Xavier found me. I don't even know what happened to him."
Jean moved closer. "Do you miss home?"
"Every day," Scott admitted. "But I can't go back. Not like this."
He tapped the side of his visor.
Jean's voice softened. "You're not alone, Scott. None of us are."
He didn't answer — but he smiled faintly, just for a moment.
Then the mansion erupted with sound.
A blaring siren cut through the corridors. Red lights strobed overhead, washing the stone walls in crimson.
Jean and Scott bolted from the room. In minutes, the team gathered in the control chamber — Scott, Hank, Warren, Bobby, and Jean, all standing at attention as Xavier focused on the massive monitor before him.
"What is it?" Warren asked, wings flexing. "Magneto again?"
"No," Xavier said, eyes narrowing.
The satellite feed displayed violent currents along the Eastern Seaboard. Ships tossed helplessly in the waves, struck by torpedoes from unseen attackers. Naval units scrambled. Panic spread across the comms.
Then the feed shifted. Out of the deep, a fleet rose. Sleek vessels broke the surface — curved, organic, like weapons grown from coral and steel.
And at their head stood a figure.
Bronze-skinned. Black-haired. Sharp, pointed ears. His eyes burned with imperious confidence. Hovering above the waves with arms crossed, flanked by armored warriors wielding tridents.
Namor. The Sub-Mariner.
Xavier's voice dropped, heavy with weight.
"A new threat. Not just mutant…" His expression hardened. "…but the oldest known."
Jean's breath caught as she stared at the screen.
The fight at the Capitol had been a signal. A warning. But this — this was no warning.
This was a storm.
To Be Continued...