Xavier sits at the head of the polished metal table, her bald head gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Her fingers are steepled beneath her chin, eyes focused on something none of us can see. The room feels charged, like the air before a lightning strike.
The room fills quickly as we take our places around the table. Jubilee slides into the chair next to mine, careful not to make eye contact. Gene on my other side. Rogue and Gambit enter together, their shoulders touching in a way that seems both casual and deliberate. Nightcrawler teleports directly to her seat in a puff of smoke.
Scotty takes the seat directly to Xavier's right. I'm still getting used to the hierarchy here, but that position seems significant.
Morgan is the last to arrive, storming through the doors like they've personally offended her. Her tank top is still stained with blood from our earlier experiment, and she doesn't bother sitting down, instead leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
"X-Women," Xavier says, her voice cutting through the tension, "I've just received an urgent message from Emma Frost."
Gene stiffens beside me, his perfect posture becoming somehow even more rigid. His green eyes narrow slightly at the mention of Frost's name.
"Before I play this for you all," Xavier continues, "I should warn you that the situation appears dire."
She taps a sleek panel embedded in the table, and a holographic display flickers to life above the center of the table. Static crackles for a moment before resolving into audio.
"Charlene!" A woman's voice cuts through bursts of static, cultured and British but fraying at the edges with panic. In the background, I can hear what sounds unmistakably like gunfire and screaming. "This is Emma Frost. The Massachusetts Academy is under attack!"
More gunfire erupts in the background, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"It's Tiana Shaw and that mind-bending bitch Mastermind!" Emma continues, her voice rising with barely controlled fury. "They've brought a small army to reclaim the Hellfire Club. I threw that megalomaniac out on her pompous ass six months ago, and now she's decided to take exception!"
Someone in the recording shouts something unintelligible, and Emma's voice drops to a hiss.
"Shaw's after the students, Charlene. She just wants to hurt me. And I'm out of options here, the students aren't strong enough."
The sound of an explosion rocks the recording, making the audio clip momentarily.
"We're barricaded in the east wing, but we won't last much longer. My telepathy is being blocked somehow, and…" Another explosion, closer this time. "Fuck! We have thirty students here, most under eighteen. I need the X-Women. I need your help."
The recording cuts out abruptly, leaving only static.
Xavier taps the panel again, silencing the hissing white noise. The war room falls into a heavy silence as everyone processes what we've just heard.
"When did this come in?" Scotty asks, already shifting into tactical mode.
"Three minutes ago," Xavier replies. "I've been trying to establish telepathic contact, but something, or someone, is blocking me."
Gambit shuffles her cards absently, the soft whisper of paper against paper unnervingly loud in the quiet room. "This could be a trap, non? The Hellfire Club ain't exactly been friendly to us in the past."
Gene leans forward, his auburn hair catching the light as he rests his elbows on the table. His perfect face contorts with indecision.
"I think it might be a trap, but..." He stares at his hands for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. Finally, he sighs and looks up at Xavier. "Maybe it isn't. Emma is incredibly arrogant. I'm not sure she'd ever stoop to something this desperate just to trap us. And if there's even a chance those students are at risk..." He shakes his head. "We need to help them."
Xavier nods once, her blue eyes sharp with resolve. "Agreed. Suit up and get to the Blackbird. Wheels up in five minutes."
Everyone moves at once, chairs scraping against the floor as the team breaks formation. I follow the rush of bodies into the adjacent locker room, only to realize I'm still in my X-Women uniform from training with Morgan.
Morgan stalks past me, already battle-ready in her blood-stained tank top. "First real mission, kid," she growls, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. "Try not to die."
"Thanks for the pep talk," I reply, earning a wolfish grin in return.
Scotty emerges from her locker in full tactical gear," she instructs, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Your powers are valuable, but you're still green."
"You got it, boss," I say, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in my stomach. This is actually happening. I'm about to go on a real mission with the X-Women.
Scotty reaches back into her locker, pulling out something else. It's a sleek helmet, mostly navy blue with yellow accents that match my uniform. The design is streamlined but sturdy, with reinforced padding visible inside.
"Oh, and we had this made specially for you," she says, holding it out. "Given your power set, we figured you should have extra protection. It won't stop telepathy, but it's completely bulletproof."
I take it from her, turning it over in my hands. The material feels lightweight yet incredibly solid.
"Wow, thank you," I say, genuinely touched by the gesture. It's still so strange having people actually look out for me. I slip it over my head, adjusting it until it fits snugly, then fasten the strap under my chin.
Scotty nods approvingly, reaching out to make a small adjustment to the fit. "Just make sure to keep your brain safe. Morgan mentioned that even if your brain can heal, you'd probably lose a lot of memories if it gets seriously injured."
I hadn't considered that particular nightmare scenario. The thought of healing physically but losing who I am sends a chill down my spine.
"Good point," I mutter, tapping my knuckles against the helmet. "Memory loss would definitely put a damper on the whole superhero thing."
From the corner of my eye, I notice Gene watching our interaction. His face is twisted into something ugly, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, nostrils slightly flared. If looks could kill, I'd be a smoking crater on the floor. Whatever's eating him, it's clearly getting worse by the second as Scotty continues fussing with my helmet straps.
"All set," Scotty says, apparently oblivious to Gene's death glare. "Let's move out."
The team files toward the hangar, a well-oiled machine with everyone knowing exactly where to go. I fall into step beside Jubilee.
"First mission jitters?"
"Yeah," I admit with a nervous laugh, "but mostly excited."
Jubilee bumps her shoulder against mine as we walk. "You'll be fine. Just stay close to Scotty and try not to get shot."
"Solid advice," I reply, adjusting my new helmet. The weight of it feels reassuring, like someone's hand on my shoulder telling me I matter enough to protect.
We follow the rest of the team through a series of reinforced doors that lead to the hangar bay. When the final door slides open, I stop dead in my tracks, my mouth falling open involuntarily.
The Blackbird sits in the center of the massive underground chamber like some predatory bird of prey, sleek and menacing. Its matte black surface seems to absorb the light around it, the aerodynamic curves sweeping back into razor-sharp edges that look like they could cut through the sky itself.
"Holy shit," I breathe, my eyes tracing every inch of the aircraft. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Jubilee grins at my reaction. "Wait till you see what it can do."