General POV
The heavy, steel-reinforced door of the holding ward clicked shut behind them, sealing Sarah inside.
Outside, the corridor was a sterile stretch of pale green cinderblocks, exposed overhead pipes, and the relentless, low-frequency hum of industrial ventilation. A pair of armed military police officers stood at attention at the end of the hall, their eyes tracking the two men with quiet, professional suspicion. Two CIA agents carrying thick, manila folders brushed past them, murmuring in hushed tones about clearance levels. It was a stark reminder of exactly whose roof they were under.
Erik spoke first, his boots clicking sharply on the polished linoleum, not even waiting for Charles to catch up. "Charles, do you actually believe—"
"Her story?" Charles interrupted, rubbing the bridge of his nose as they stepped into a quieter alcove near the secure elevators. "About the experiments? Highly plausible, Erik. The part about her being completely human, though... well, that's clearly a stretch. Or deep... whatever she's hiding."
"And you still want to bring her into this?" Erik pressed, his voice sharp but kept low to avoid the ears of a passing secretary. "Against Shaw? Charles, she's—"
"She's suffered, Erik," Charles said, stopping. He looked back down the long corridor toward the closed ward door. "If even half of what I saw in her surface thoughts is true... it's harrowing. But her mind..." He shook his head, looking genuinely frustrated. "It's completely impenetrable. Not resistant, mind you. Just... blocked. Like trying to listen to a symphony when someone has ripped the strings right off the violin. It's unsettling. I couldn't get a single clear reading."
Erik's jaw tightened, a dry smile touching his lips as he leaned his shoulder against a concrete support pillar. "So the great Professor Xavier is finally stumped. Look, she's remarkable, Charles. Clearly. But a young woman with that kind of power, completely unchecked? She's a walking target. If the wrong people catch wind of what she can do—"
"Which is exactly why we keep her here!" Charles snapped, though he quickly lowered his voice as a technician in a white lab coat hurried past them. "To protect her. Guide her. She deserves a chance to just... breathe, Erik. Without looking over her shoulder."
"And when Shaw comes?" Erik countered, cutting him off cleanly, his gaze shifting to the armed guards at the end of the hall. "You think she's just going to sit in the corner? You saw what she did. Her control over metal is weak now, sure, but one day—"
"She's barely managing her abilities!" Charles argued, waving a dismissive hand. "She's still recovering. She is not a soldier, Erik. I won't have you looking at her like she's some weapon to be pointed at Shaw."
"I'm not," Erik said, his tone leveling out as he watched a military officer log their names on a clipboard across the hall. "But look at what we're doing here, Charles. We're building... whatever this is. Our ideologies are already scraping against each other. A girl like Sarah—someone who doesn't carry our baggage, who sees things clearly because she has to? She might be the only one who keeps us from tearing each other apart."
Charles stared at him. He opened his mouth to reply, but Erik shook his head and turned to look out the narrow, wire-reinforced security window at the rainy tarmac outside.
"The world isn't going to wait for her to be ready, Charles," Erik murmured. "And honestly? Neither is Shaw."
Erik walked away, his heavy steps fading down the hall. Charles remained there, sighing heavily under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. A moment later, Raven stepped out from the side hall, a folded blanket clutched to her chest. She slowed down, noticing his exhausted expression.
"Still trying to read her?" she asked.
Charles gave a tired laugh. "I've been wrong before, Raven. I just... I don't want to make a mistake here."
"You think she's lying to us?"
"I think she's hiding a great deal," Charles corrected.
"So is Erik," Raven pointed out with a quick shrug.
"Yes, well," Charles admitted, a small smile returning to his face. "The difference is Erik sees secrets as threats. I just see someone who is incredibly frightened."
"She doesn't act like it," Raven said, looking toward the door.
"No," Charles agreed. "She acts like someone who's spent a very long time learning how to hide it." He patted her shoulder. "Go on. Let her know she's safe."
***
Sarah (POV)
The door clicked open, and Raven stepped back inside carrying the folded blanket. She set it neatly on the chair by the corner, then turned her attention to me.
"What's on your mind, Sarah?"
I sat cross-legged on the bed, staring out the window. "Just trying to figure out my next grand move," I murmured, letting my voice trail off.
I shifted my weight on the mattress, grimacing as the cheap, plastic-coated hospital springs gave a loud, metallic screech beneath me. Honestly, the bedding in this place is an absolute war crime. And the past few days? A total crash course in How Not to Trust a Single Soul. I mean, who are they kidding?
I rested my chin in my hand, staring dull-eyed at the sterile, cream-colored wall. This isn't some cozy mansion filled with starry-eyed mutants. The air in here practically reeks of government supervision. It's a CIA-run cage painted to look like a safe haven, packed with agents who genuinely believe they can corral a bunch of mutants to play their little Cold War games.
And then we have Charles Xavier. Ever the bright-eyed optimist, isn't he? He practically dragged me into this circus with those big promises of safety and finding my true potential. But let's be real—he's not the one calling the shots, even if he likes to think he is. And Erik Lehnsherr? Oh, boy. He might be playing nice on Charles's side for the moment, but the sheer friction between those two is loud enough to give me a headache. Two stubborn men, two wildly conflicting ideologies, and one massive, unavoidable collision waiting to happen.
Their shared target, of course, is Sebastian Shaw—and just hearing that name puts my internal radar on high alert. I've managed to piece together plenty from the gossip drifting down the halls, and yeah, it's exactly as bad as I feared. Shaw isn't just some brute with a bad attitude; he's... wait, what was his actual deal again? Was he a Nazi collaborator? Or was he just a doctor who ran the camps? Klaus Schmidt, right? No, wait, Sebastian Shaw is his mutant name... whatever, he's a massive prick. Mutant supremacist, masterclass in terror, wants to rule the radioactive ashes. You know the drill.
Actually, is he trying to start the Cuban Missile Crisis? Yeah, pretty sure that's the plot of this movie. Or was that a different historical event?
"Ugh, whatever, close enough," I muttered aloud, rubbing my temples as a mild headache started to form. Note to self: next time you get dropped into a movie universe, actually pay attention to the Wikipedia plot summaries instead of just watching the trailer.
Nah, not important; doesn't matter. Point is, the guy has zero mercy, zero humanity, just pure, calculating malice. He thrives on absolute chaos, and if Charles and Erik don't manage to put a leash on him, Shaw's plans are going to make the actual Cold War look like a minor schoolyard disagreement.
And where do I fit into this lovely little drama? Oh, I'm just the pretty little stray they found on the street. Charles has fully convinced himself that I'm one of them—a mutant. I'm definitely not. Maybe a tiny part of me actually wants to stick around and see how this plays out. Or maybe I just don't have a better place to crash right now.
"Are you always this quiet?" Raven asked.
She tilted her head while waiting for my answer. "You've been staring at that wall for almost ten minutes."
"I have?"
"You didn't blink much either."
I looked over at the blank wall. "Huh."
Raven smiled. "I almost asked one of the nurses if you were sleeping with your eyes open."
"I was thinking."
"I noticed."
She rested one elbow on her knee. "You think a lot."
The question caught me beautifully off guard. Raven—the girl who would eventually become the legendary Mystique—was sitting right next to me on the bed, looking all relaxed but keeping those sharp eyes of hers locked on me. Honestly, this younger version of her is so much warmer than I ever expected. She doesn't have a single drop of that ruthless, icy shapeshifter energy from the movies yet. She's still just a girl trying to find her footing, caught in the crossfire of Charles's dream and Erik's hard-edged pragmatism. It's almost sweet.
I looked down and slowly started unwrapping the bandages on my arms. I took my sweet time, letting the suspense build. Underneath the gauze, my skin was absolutely perfect—completely healed, without a single scar to show for the mess it had been just days ago.
"Ta-da," I said, holding my arm out toward her. "Fully healed."
Thanks, Kotori. Your regen is amazing, though I am much weaker in this universe. Not going to complain.
Her eyes went wide. She leaned in close, her fingers lightly brushing against the flawless skin. "How?"
"Oh, you know," I replied. "Powers went haywire, my regeneration decided to kick into overdrive to compensate, and voilà! I'm as good as new."
Raven's brow furrowed, a flicker of worry crossing her face. "You'd better keep those bandages on. If the CIA sees this, they'll lose their minds. Last thing we need is them poking around more than they already are."
I let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, absolutely. Heavens forbid we give the suits a scare. Besides, we wouldn't want to steal the spotlight from whatever other shocking things they're bound to see this week, right?"
She laughed, the tension between us evaporating.
Raven leaned back against the headboard. "You know, Charles already likes you."
"That was quick."
"He likes almost everyone."
"And Erik?"
She let out a quiet laugh. "He doesn't."
"Ouch."
"He respects people. That's different."
"I'll take that."
"You made him laugh."
"I noticed."
"I've known him for years," Raven shrugged. "It doesn't happen very often."
We ended up chatting about the most random things—gossiping about her brother, swapping thoughts on Charles and Erik's intense dynamic, and even sharing a laugh about how playing chess seems to be a mandatory requirement to hang out in this house.
But as the laughter died down, I looked at her properly. She was sitting there in her flawless, blonde-haired, blue-eyed human form, looking like a classic, wholesome mid-century beauty.
"You know," I said, leaning forward and resting my chin on my hands, letting a lazy, teasing smile slip onto my face. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around this whole setup. We're stuck in some sterile, screechy-mattressed government basement; there's talk of some scary guy named Shaw... and yet, I'm looking at a gorgeous girl like you. What's a beauty like you doing in a place like this?"
Raven blinked, a sudden, self-conscious flush creeping up her neck. She looked down at her lap, her fingers instantly tracing the hem of her sleeve. "Oh. I... I'm just helping Charles. I've been with him since we were kids. And I'm not... I mean, thank you, but I'm just..."
"You mean, not with one of the boys?" I teased, giving her a sly, knowing nudge. "Because it sure looked that way. Or is it that you think you're not a beauty?"
She hesitated, her eyes dropping to the floor.
I gave her a warm, easy smile. "Well, if you don't like how you look, they do say beauty is on the inside, right?" I let out a soft laugh, tossing my head back. "I didn't get the memo, though. I am all hot stuff on the outside, trust me. You really don't wanna look at my inside—it's a chaotic, dusty warehouse of bad decisions."
Raven let out a sudden, genuine laugh, her shoulders instantly dropping some of that heavy tension. She looked me up and down, a playful, skeptical glint in her eyes. "You? You look, what, eighteen? How many bad decisions could you have possibly made?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised," I snickered, giving her a wink. "Let's see... trying to date twelve girls simultaneously and getting their mama bear (Mio) angry, for starters."
Raven stared at me for a beat, completely caught off guard, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Okay, yeah, that sounds like a complete disaster. Who was the mama bear?"
"A very sour pussy named Mio," I sighed dramatically. "Trust me, you don't want to cross her. She has zero sense of humor."
"I'll make sure to keep that in mind," Raven laughed, her posture completely relaxed now.
"But seriously," I continued, my tone softening just a bit as I leaned in closer. "You're gorgeous, Raven. On the outside, too. Don't let the stuffy suits or the boys make you feel like you have to shrink yourself down or apologize for how you look. Own it."
Her eyes softened, looking at me with a warmth that felt incredibly real. It wasn't the wary, calculating look she gave the CIA or even the slightly stifled look she had around Charles. For a second, she just looked like a normal teenager who had finally found a friend who actually spoke her language.
"Thanks, Sarah," she murmured, her voice quiet but incredibly sincere. "That... actually means a lot. Especially coming from you."
"Anytime, babe," I said with a smile. "Now, tell me—is Hank as much of a dork as he looks, or is there hope?"
***
General POV (Pan Mode)
Raven finally slipped out of the room, the heavy wooden door closing behind her with a soft, final click.
The hallway outside was busier now. A couple of CIA field analysts carrying stacks of files hustled past, talking rapidly in low voices about Soviet fleet movements. Down the hall, the rhythmic clack of a typewriter spilled from an open office door. Raven took a breath, letting her human, blonde composure settle back over her like a heavy coat.
She hadn't gone far down the intersecting corridor before Erik appeared. He was leaning back against a concrete support pillar near a water fountain, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he'd been waiting just for her.
"How is she?" Erik asked, catching her off guard.
Raven jumped slightly, then rolled her eyes as she adjusted the blanket in her arms. "Better. A lot better, actually."
He studied Raven's face under the harsh fluorescent lights, his eyes narrowing slightly at her unusually bright demeanor. "You like her."
"I do," she said simply.
"Already?" Erik chuckled, a trace of genuine amusement in his low voice. "You've known her for all of ten minutes, Raven."
"She's... different," Raven said with a shrug, heading past him toward the common room stairs. "She doesn't treat me like a science project."
"That isn't an answer."
"It is to me," Raven muttered, cutting him off with a small, defiant look over her shoulder as she walked.
Erik watched her walk away, his expression softening just a fraction before the cold, calculating mask of a survivor settled back over his features. "Be careful, Raven."
She stopped near the security double doors and turned, folding her arms. "Of her?"
"No," he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet warning that was swallowed by the ambient hum of the facility. "Of getting attached."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned the corner and disappeared into the shadows of the basement stairwell.
***
General POV: The Common Room
Raven found Charles seated at a desk, reviewing a stack of declassified CIA mission reports.
"Charles?" she asked, walking up to him.
He looked up, a small, encouraging smile on his face. "Did she settle in?"
Raven hesitated, then let out a confused, disbelieving laugh. "She's... strange. She's really sweet, but she's also completely wild. She was just telling me about how she used to date twelve girls at once... a-t-t-h-e-s-a-m-e-t-i-m-e!... and had to deal with some mama bear who apparently held a grudge."
Charles paused, his pen hovering over the paper. He looked up at Raven, his brow furrowed with a mixture of amusement and genuine curiosity. "Twelve girls?"
"I'm telling you, she's got the wildest imagination I've ever heard," Raven said, shaking her head. "I don't know what kind of trauma she went through in that facility, but it's like she's living in some kind of weird fantasy world."
Charles looked back toward the hallway leading to the holding ward, his expression darkening into a thoughtful, guarded mask. "A fantasy world," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Or perhaps a coping mechanism for something much deeper than we realized."
"Whatever it is," Raven added, "it's exhausting just listening to her."
Charles nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the closed door. "Yes. I imagine it would be. Thank you, Raven."
As she walked away, Charles turned back to his papers, but he didn't pick up his pen. His fingers tapped a rhythmic, nervous beat on the edge of the desk. Twelve girls... and a mama bear... he thought, the mystery of Sarah's mental landscape suddenly felt a lot more complicated than a simple case of trauma.