Sarah (POV)
The faint murmur of voices out in the hallway finally faded. I leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as the room went quiet again.
My mind kept drifting right back to Raven. She's still so soft. Still desperately looking for acceptance in a world that's itching to reject her. She doesn't have that thick skin yet—or the deep-seated bitterness—that's going to eventually push her right into Erik's waiting arms.
"Xavier's idealism versus reality," I murmured to myself, idly twisting a lock of my hair. "He's dreaming of a peaceful world, but reality doesn't play by his rules. And Raven? She's far too smart not to see through the fairy tale eventually. Frankly, Erik's methods might be harsh, but after everything he's survived, I can see why they'd make perfect sense to her. They'd make sense to most mutants."
I flopped sideways onto my hip, tossing a stray, linty pillow to the foot of the bed with a soft groan. The absolute boredom was starting to make my limbs feel like lead. I stared up at the light fixture, my eyes tracking a dead fly trapped inside the glass dome.
The battle lines are already being drawn. It's Xavier's dream of happy coexistence stacked against Erik's vision of mutant supremacy. Poor Raven is caught right in the middle of it, her whole future hanging by a thread. She's not just stuck in a war of ideals; she's the prize in a conflict that's going to define her entire life. And me? I'm not entirely sure where I fit into this unfolding drama—but one thing is absolutely for certain. I am not about to sit on the sidelines and watch it burn.
I rolled onto my back again, looking at the plain plaster ceiling. "Step one: Stop Erik from going full supervillain," I whispered to the empty room.
A knock landed against the door. It opened just enough for Charles to peek inside.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"You absolutely are."
"I suspected as much," Charles said with a chuckle, slipping into the room anyway. "I wanted to let you know the doctors are finally satisfied with your recovery. They won't be bothering you quite as often."
"Best news I've heard all day."
"And... well, if you need books, we have a rather extensive library downstairs."
I blinked. "A library?"
"I find most problems become slightly easier after enough reading," Charles said, offering a warm smile. "Good night, Sarah."
"Night, Charles."
He closed the door just as quietly as he'd opened it.
I waited until the click of the latch settled, then pulled the flat sheet up to my chin. "Step two: Save Raven from falling down the exact same rabbit hole."
The sheer scale of it is kind of hilarious, actually. Erik Lehnsherr—the future Magneto. The guy whose very name is going to mean destruction, rebellion, and a rift that could tear the world apart. Right now, he's dangerous, sure, but he's still a long way from the absolute menace he's destined to turn into. Honestly, looking at him, it's kind of wild how much he reminds me of the stuff back home. Like, that terrifying transition of his isn't just because he's inherently bad; it's literally just a trauma threshold. Humanity basically spent decades pushing him until he snapped.
If I think about how his timeline actually goes... wait, how did it even start? First, the gates of Auschwitz, where his mother was torn from his arms and his powers went completely haywire. And then Sebastian Shaw—that absolute psycho who realized Erik's power was fueled by his pain. He literally murdered his mother right in front of him just to see what would happen. Wait, did Shaw kill her in the camp? Or was it in that creepy office right after young Erik couldn't move the coin? Pretty sure it was the office. A German coin. Or was it a French one? Argh, who cares. He shot her; that's the point.
Huh. Now that I'm actually laying it out like that... it's kind of crazy how much Erik's whole deal looks like a Spirit hitting peak despair and going full Inverse. It's the exact same script.
Even after the war, seeing Shaw slide right through the fingers of justice... wait, did Shaw slide through, or was he just hiding? Whatever, doesn't matter. That thirst for bloody vengeance is what drives Erik's every breath. It's what's going to bring him to Charles, but they're destined to push each other away like the opposite poles of a magnet. What actually worries me most isn't just Erik's pain—it's Shaw's ideological ghost. Erik hates the man with every fiber of his being, yet he is on a direct collision course to inherit his enemy's exact worldview: mutant supremacy, where kindness is kept for our own, and the rest of the world gets the boot. It's basically the ultimate villain origin loop, and he's walking right into it.
Even decades down the line, when he crosses paths with Wolverine... wait, did he meet Logan in the seventies or the early two-thousands?
I let out another heavy sigh, dragging a hand down my face. The timeline in these movies is an absolute trainwreck. Did Erik spare Logan, or did Logan slice his metal belt? Ugh, seriously, if I knew I would end up here, I would have read some more wiki instead of just binging the highlight clips. Whatever. Power is the only currency Erik actually respects, and with my peculiar little toolkit, I think I already carry some decent weight in that department.
Maybe I can actually work with that. Erik is still a man with a soul, even if it's cracked in a hundred different places. If I can use my vague meta-knowledge of his trigger points to keep him from spiraling completely into the dark—if I can intercept Shaw's poison before it completely takes over—maybe, just maybe, I can rewrite his whole ending.
And Raven… she's another wild variable. She's just a raw nerve of resentment, completely sick of wearing a human mask just to make everyone else comfortable. I can see it in the way she shifts her skin, this quiet bitterness that's almost tangible. Saving her isn't just about keeping her away from Erik's shadow; it's about helping her actually love herself. Which, let's face it, sounds like an absolute joke of a task.
"No pressure at all, Sarah," I muttered, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. "Just rewriting mutant history while you're at it. Sure, why not?"
General POV (Pan Mode)
Directly downstairs, in the testing room Hank had set up, the silence was absolute.
Erik stood alone in front of a cold metal table. A handful of steel ball bearings rested on the surface in front of him. With a slow lift of his hand, they rose together until they hovered at eye level.
He closed his fist. The ball bearings compressed into a single lump of twisted steel.
Then he opened his hand again. The metal unfolded piece by piece until every ball bearing was perfectly round once more.
Charles stepped into the doorway, his shoes squeaking slightly on the industrial linoleum. "You've been practicing for hours, Erik. Seriously, take a break."
"I'm thinking," Erik replied, not looking up as the ball bearings clinked gently against each other in mid-air.
"About Shaw?"
"About Sarah, mostly."
Charles waited, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.
"If she's telling the truth," Erik said, his focus finally shifting as he let the metal drop with a dull clack onto the table, "then someone taught her how to survive. Cruelly."
"And if she isn't?"
"Then she taught herself," Erik said, looking up with a hard, flat stare. He shrugged slightly. "And I don't know which of those options actually worries me more."
Sarah (POV)
Upstairs, completely oblivious to their conversation down below, I took a deep breath and let my eyes drift shut.
For now, the focus shifted. I raised my right hand, letting my fingers trace lazy circles in the empty air, trying to find a physical grip on my abilities while stuck in this room.
Erik was half right; my telekinesis had gotten scrambled with my lightning manipulation. Over the last couple of days, I had been checking my lightning manipulation, and it turned out this universe treated powers a lot more scientifically. Since I was throwing around lightning, it naturally came with electromagnetism. I could actually feel the electric currents generating magnetic fields.
And with him around, wouldn't that mean I found myself an excellent teacher? I mean, the guy bends metal like it's warm taffy. He's not exactly a novice. If there's anyone on this planet who can teach me how to unlock the magnetic side of my toolkit with some actual grace and style... it's definitely him. Let's look at reality: if you want to learn the fine art of manipulation, Erik is the absolute gold standard.
Being surrounded by mutants is one thing—but being surrounded by them and realizing they're an absolute buffet of top-tier biological cheat codes? That is a huge opportunity. Because why, you ask? Well, because by injecting myself with the blood of others, I gain their abilities. I've never actually understood the mechanism behind it, but it didn't take long for me to start thinking about how to turn things to my advantage.
If I could get some of the blood from the X-Men, say, one of the more... special mutants? The ones with the weird, overpowered abilities. Maybe some spontaneous regeneration or, dare I think it, a few psychic specialists in the mix. One of those would make for a hell of a power upgrade. Stop daydreaming, Sara-chan. Why would it even work with mutants? On the other hand, that R.O.B. bitch didn't specify. "Just get yourself some blood, the more the better, and inject yourself with it. Oh, and don't blow up," was literally all she said before stranding me in Shido's universe.
Thinking about blood and such, that bitch Mio is really a sour pussy. I mean, what if I was just hugging all the spirits—hoarding them and keeping them all to myself? I mean, who wouldn't? Those girls are cute and lovely. Shido, I am looking right at you. I mean, let's be real, if they were a bunch of dudes, he wouldn't have been so eager to go, 'Oh, let's save the damsels...' please.
I exhaled a sharp, dramatic breath through my nose, my fingers drumming a rapid, impatient beat against my thigh. My muscles were starting to feel stiff from sitting in this stupid bed all day, and my brain was starting to run in circles.
"And Shido's plan was garbage anyway," I whispered to the empty room, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. "Stupid harem protagonist luck. And you, Rata-whatever... sealing them... the girls just wanted to have fun without destroying—"
I paused, my head tilting toward the heavy wooden door. Footsteps slowed in the corridor right outside, followed by a voice—female, sharp, and entirely out of place. Moira MacTaggert.
"...and what about the girl? Sarah?" her muffled voice drifted clearly through the gap under the door as she spoke to Charles. "We don't know anything about her. If she was in a military facility, the CIA is going to want a full file. We can't just keep her here as a house guest."
I let out a soft snort, leaning back against the pillow as the footsteps finally resumed and faded down the hall. Classic CIA, Moira. Always looking out for the agency's paperwork.
Tuning her out, I let my mind drift right back to where it had been. Look, the whole 'sealing' thing they wanted to do to the spirits... the girls just wanted to have fun without destroying things. Speaking of which, shouldn't Hanky the genius be around here somewhere? He also thought his future serum could be the solution, right? Funny how that turned out. I wonder why he ultimately gave up on that idea.
Stretching my arms towards the ceiling, I muttered, "Well, keeping one's power should be one's choice..."
I let my arms drop back down, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the bedside table. Though speaking of Hank, maybe I should actually have him take a look at my blood. I have some type of energy, I know that, but what I don't know is the specific type... nah, forget it. Let's just keep calling it 'Energy.' Explains it all, generic, but who gives a crap.
"Okay, Sarah," I whispered. "Focus. First, figure out how to master the electromagnetic side of your lightning before you get all Dr. Frankenstein on people. One step at a time."
I stretched my fingers out in front of me, letting them play in the air, searching for that subtle, electric hum again.
I am stuck here for the moment anyway. Might as well make the absolute best of it and take damn good care of myself.
I stared down at my right hand, focusing on the gap between my thumb and index finger. I took a deep breath, picturing a microscopic spark, a tiny friction of electrons rubbing together.
Snap.
A miniature arc of brilliant blue lightning crackled across my knuckles, smelling sharply of ozone. The sudden, violent hiss of static electricity made the hair on my arms stand straight up. The fluorescent bulb in the ceiling gave a pathetic little flicker in response, pulsing in sync with the current in my hand.
I grinned, my eyes widening as I watched the tiny plasma branch dance over my skin. Way less magical than before. It was hypnotic. I opened my hand, throwing my palm upward as if I were launching it into the air.
"Woahaha!" I whispered loudly, a massive grin breaking across my face. "I am Storm!"
I froze, my hand still awkwardly raised toward the ceiling. The blue sparks fizzled out into nothingness, leaving only the faint scent of burnt air behind.
I slowly let my arm drop, a hot wave of pure secondhand embarrassment washing over me. Okay, wow. No. Stop. That is way too chuuni. Absolutely not.
I buried my face in my hands, groaning softly into my palms. I cannot believe I just unironically said that aloud. If Charles could eavesdrop on my thoughts right now, he'd probably refer me to a psychiatric ward for terminal dorkiness.
I peeked through my fingers at the empty room, making sure no one had magically materialized to witness my shame. But seriously, though... how would that even work if I actually took the codename Storm? I'm in the sixties. Ororo Munroe is probably either a literal toddler or not even born yet. If I claim the name now, what the hell would her codename be when she joins the team decades later? Tempest? Weather Woman? Extreme Weather Warning?
I let out a soft snort, shaking my head as I dropped my hands back to the mattress. Yeah, no. Let's not steal from the literal goddess. She owns that brand. Besides, when it comes to the weather, my power is just small-scale lightning and wind manipulation. I can't exactly summon a category five hurricane just because I'm having a bad day.
I held my hand out again, watching the faint, residual static cling to my fingertips like tiny, glowing threads.
"Let's stick to the basics first," I muttered to the quiet room, a small, amused smile playing on my lips. "No chuuni monologues, no stealing future titles. Just a girl, some high-voltage physics, and a whole lot of history to rewrite."