Mio didn't just want me gone; she wanted me erased.
But I wouldn't let her. I fought, clawing and screaming as I threw everything I had against the weight of her presence. The air pressure around us screamed, a chaotic storm of force that threatened to grind my bones to dust. Pushing myself past my limit, I let loose, a desperate bid to survive a god who decided my existence was a threat to her design.
She didn't even flinch.
"You do not belong here," her voice echoed, calm, flat, and absolute.
With a single gesture, she tore the space right out from beneath my feet.
The ground vanished, replaced by a roaring, violent spatial tear. I tried to anchor myself, trying to grab onto any physical boundary of reality, but the pull was relentless. It dragged me in, screaming, as the portal collapsed in on itself.
Mio booted me.
Then came the fall. It wasn't a clean drop; it was a spin cycle. The shear forces tore at me, ripping across my shoulder, chest, and legs. Every joint screamed as the pressure gradients tried to pull me apart, throwing me headfirst into the silent void between dimensions.
My vision fuzzed. The roaring sound of the tear faded into a heavy, suffocating silence, and my mind shut down.
***
Ouch.
Okay, "ouch" was a massive, hilarious understatement. Every single inch of my body felt like it had been run through a blender, seasoned with salt, and then tossed onto a hot grill. The wounds on my shoulder, my chest, and my leg were competing for my attention in a burning, wretched chorus.
Note to self: Next time a literal god tries to evict you from reality, maybe just take the hint instead of fighting the spatial tear.
I shivered, pulling my arms closer to my chest. It was freezing, and the air carried a heavy, unfamiliar stench—thick, greasy soot, coal smoke, and the heavy, sweet scent of unrefined, leaded exhaust. It tasted dirty. Real.
I could feel a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion pulling at the edges of my mind. My Energy was completely bottomed out from fighting the collapse of that rift, and my Energy Circuits were throwing absolute tantrums—just glitchy, sparkless, and completely offline. If my body had to stitch itself back together the old-fashioned, human way, this was going to take forever.
Ugh, fine. Safe place to meditate, recharge, and... wait.
I tried to nudge my mind toward my Territory. Nothing. Just a cold, locked door.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. My pocket space is on vacation. No luxury bed? No snacks? Just... pavement? Rude.
I staggered forward, leaning a hand heavily against a damp brick wall. The rough, soot-covered masonry scraped against my palm. My legs were trembling so hard they felt like overcooked spaghetti. I looked up, squinting through the gloom at the narrow, trash-strewn alleyway. The sky above was a dirty, bruised purple.
Where even am I?
My head spun, the world tilting violently to the left. Staying upright was rapidly becoming a losing battle. My vision started fuzzing out, turning the brick walls into a blurry, watery mess.
Nope. Absolutely not. I am not passing out in a pile of garbage, I thought, right before my knees buckled.
I slid down the wall, my back dragging against the rough brick until my butt hit the cold ground. "Well... this is awkward," I muttered to a nearby trash can. At least the trash can didn't judge.
Through the haze of my fading consciousness, footfalls echoed down the alley. Two shadows stretched across the wet pavement. Great. Just what every girl wants when she's bleeding out—uninvited guests. One of them stopped, his silhouette freezing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to summon a tiny spark of telekinesis, just enough to give them a warning shove. Instead, my brain gave a pathetic little hiccup. I couldn't even twitch a finger.
I caught fragments of their voices. Quiet, refined, British... and talking about "mutants"?
Wait a minute.
"Charles Xavier... and Erik?" I mumbled, the names tasting weird and dusty on my tongue. My brain, slow and sluggish, tried to connect the dots, but the sheer absurdity of it made me want to laugh. Or throw up. Possibly both.
Then, a low, smooth voice cut through the fog.
"Charles, I like this young woman."
Oh, terrific. The scary one thinks I'm charming.
Before I could offer a sarcastic retort, the alley blurred out, and I dropped.
A low, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... was the first thing that brought me back, accompanied by the faint, distant clatter of manual typewriters echoing from somewhere down a corridor.
I slowly cracked my eyes open, instantly wincing at the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. White ceiling tiles. Plain cinderblock walls painted a dull, government-issue cream. The air was thick with the sharp, nose-stinging smell of cheap antiseptic and floor wax. Beneath me, the mattress was stiff and squeaky, covered in scratchy, stiff cotton sheets that felt like fine sandpaper.
"Please tell me this isn't a hospital," I groaned, my voice sounding like I'd been eating handfuls of sand. I tried to shift, but a sharp, burning ache in my shoulder made me hiss. "Yep. Hospital. Or a very depressing government clinic. Excellent. My favorite vacation destination."
"Ah, you're awake!"
I turned my head toward the door, blinking through the fuzziness. Standing there was a girl who looked like she'd been copy-pasted straight out of a vintage Sears catalog. Asymmetrical blonde bob, bright blue eyes, and looking incredibly relieved. She was wearing a simple, high-collared dress that practically screamed early sixties.
She practically bounced on her heels. "Oh, thank God. We were really worried about you."
I offered her a weak, slightly crooked grin, leaning back into the scratchy pillows. "Well, I aim to please. Though I usually look a bit more put-together than this." I gestured vaguely to my drab, stamped government gown. "I'm Sarah. Sarah Vasilissa. And who might my lovely savior be?"
The blonde smiled, clearly charmed. "I'm Raven. Raven Darkhölme. And I didn't actually do the heavy lifting. Charles and Erik did."
Raven. As in Mystique.
My mind did a quick, highly amused double-take. Well, well, well. Look who it is.
"Charles and Erik, huh?" I let my voice trail off, playing coy. "Sounds like a high-end law firm. Should I expect a bill?"
Raven let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Not exactly. Just wait here a second, okay? I'll go grab Charles. He's been dying to talk to you."
She slipped out of the room, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
Once the door clicked shut, I let my playful expression drop for a fraction of a second, staring at the sterile ceiling.
X-Men: First Class.
I had landed headfirst into a comic book movie. 1962. The peak of the Cold War, mutant training montages, and a giant, ticking clock leading straight to the Cuban Missile Crisis. Since I was in a secure, high-clearance CIA research facility, it meant we were in the early recruitment phase.
I let out a soft, dry chuckle. I didn't care about playing the hero. I wasn't here to save the world out of some noble, burning desire to be a saint. But let's be entirely practical: I was currently powerless, stuck in a strange dimension, and running on empty. This CIA facility—and eventually Xavier's estate—was a secure, private, heavily guarded sanctuary. It was, hands down, the absolute best place for me to lay low, eat government-funded food, and let my Energy Circuits slowly mend themselves.
Besides, if Charles and Erik ended up blowing each other up and starting a nuclear war, it was going to seriously disrupt my recovery. And I hated being disrupted.
The sound of heavy, confident footsteps echoing down the linoleum hallway broke my train of thought.
Speak of the devils.
The door swung open, and in walked the dynamic duo. Charles was in a sharp, tailored suit, looking like an overly enthusiastic young academic. Right on his heels was Erik, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he was actively scanning the room for threats.
"Ah, excellent, you're awake," Charles said, his face lighting up with a warm, practiced smile as he stepped up to the bedside. "I'm Charles Xavier, and this—"
"Erik Lehnsherr," Erik cut in, not waiting for the formal introduction. He didn't take his hands out of his pockets, his gaze cutting straight through me. "And you were nearly a corpse when we dragged you out of that alley."
I tilted my head, letting a slow, lazy smirk play on my lips as I gave Erik an appreciative, entirely unabashed scan. "Well, aren't you a charmer? And here I thought you two were a high-end law firm. Thanks for not leaving me with the trash."
"We thought you were one of us," Erik said flatly.
"A mutant," Charles clarified quickly, shooting Erik a subtle, exasperated look before turning back to me with that earnest intensity. "A mutant in severe distress, I should add. The doctors here at the facility were quite baffled by your wounds. They—"
"They look like they're from a blade." Erik stepped right over Charles's sentence, leaning his shoulder against the painted cinderblock wall. "Slashed to ribbons, but you're sitting up cracking jokes. Who did it?"
"Oh, you know how it is," I said lightly, waving my good hand dismissively. "You have one little disagreement with a very dramatic woman, and suddenly everyone's bringing blades to a fistfight. The other girl looked worse, trust me."
Charles smiled, but then I felt it. A soft, oily glide against the back of my mind—like a physical finger tracing the inside of my skull. It was soft, polite, and completely unauthorized.
Oh, absolutely not.
My eyes snapped directly to Charles. He was leaning forward slightly, his fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch from his temple.
I didn't hesitate. I locked my focus onto the heavy wooden chair Charles was sitting in. I reached deep down, dragging up a tiny, desperately scraped-together spark of Energy. It felt like dragging raw sandpaper through my veins, my Energy Circuits screaming in protest.
With a sharp, silent flick of my mind, I lifted the chair—and Charles—two feet straight off the floor.
Charles froze, his eyes widening. He glanced down at his dangling feet, then back up at me, his mouth slightly agape.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Professor," I said, keeping my voice perfectly smooth and playful, hiding the sudden, agonizing throb behind my temples. "My mind is strictly private property. No trespassing allowed without a permit."
Erik's eyes flared with sudden interest, a slow, highly entertained smirk spreading across his face. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "I like her more and more, Charles."
"I mean no harm, Sarah! Truly," Charles said quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture while floating mid-air. "I was only trying to... well, understand. It was an instinctive reaction. I apologize."
I held him there for three silent seconds, masking the trembling in my hands under the blanket, before letting the connection go. The chair dropped back to the floor with a loud, deliberate thud.
A wave of nausea hit me instantly. My vision flickered black at the edges, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I swallowed hard, forcing my breathing to stay slow and steady, keeping my face blank.
"Apology accepted," I said, my voice barely shaking as I adjusted my gown with mock-elegance. "But next time, just buy me a drink first."
Erik let out a genuine, low chuckle. He stepped forward, watching me like a puzzle he wanted to solve. "You know... there was magnetism in that lift."
I tilted my head, blinking innocently while silently praying I wouldn't throw up. "Was there? I usually just call it heavy lifting."
"Are you aware that your telekinesis incorporates magnetic manipulation?" Erik pressed, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intense register. "I felt the metallic frame of the chair shift under your pull."
Ooh, suspicious, aren't we?
"Well, aren't you a clever detective," I murmured, leaning back into my scratchy pillows with a soft sigh, letting my expression turn weary and a little vulnerable. It was remarkably easy to act tired when my brain felt like it was melting. If they wanted answers, I'd give them a nice, neat little package they could wrap their heads around.
"Look," I said, keeping my voice low, as if sharing a deep secret. "I'm human. Or... I was. I got caught up in some government lab—the kind of place that doesn't put its name on the directory. They experimented on me, injected me with things I didn't understand. Telekinesis, magnetism, a few other tricks. I broke out, and I've been running ever since. That's how I ended up in that alley."
A half-truth. Simple, tragic, and perfectly aligned with the era.
"Fascinating..." Charles started, his voice tinged with automatic, academic curiosity. "Shadows, telekinesis, magnetism. To have such a versatile mutation forced—"
"It is highly unusual," Erik interrupted, his eyes still drilled into mine. He wasn't buying the sob story as easily as his partner. "And highly dangerous. For whoever held you."
I glanced toward the corner of the room, where a tiny shadow tendril was twitching lazily against the wall, a residual spark of my low Energy. I gave it a mental shush, and it settled back into the floorboards.
"Tell me," Charles said, leaning in, trying to reclaim the flow of the conversation with his warm, fatherly tone. "How long have you known?"
"Known what?" I smirked, throwing him a cheeky wink despite the drumbeat in my skull. "That I'm a delight to be around?"
Erik actually let out a quiet snort at that, while Charles just looked at me with patient, long-suffering amusement.
"That you are a mutant," Charles clarified.
"Oh, that." I rolled my eyes playfully. "I hate labels, Charles. I'm just a girl with a very expensive set of parlor tricks. But feel free to believe whatever makes you sleep better at night."
Erik didn't look entirely convinced by my story, but he didn't push it. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze searching mine. "And the alleyway? You didn't look like you were just running. You looked like you had been thrown through a wall."
"Disagreement with the landlord," I sighed dramatically. "A very loud, very purple portal, a botched exit, and boom—hospital gown. Truly a fashion disaster."
Charles's eyes lit up, his academic curiosity completely overtaking his manners. "A portal? You're saying you've traveled—"
"I'm saying I have a terrible travel agent," I corrected smoothly, cutting him off with a sweet, shut-up-and-stop-asking smile.
Before Charles could grill me about quantum mechanics, a soft knock rattled the door. Raven slipped back inside, carrying a plate piled high with sandwiches.
"Thought you might be starving," she said, placing the tray on my bedside table. "You look like you've been through a war."
"Only a small one," I said, my eyes lighting up at the food. "Raven, you are officially my favorite person in this building. Don't tell the boys."
Raven grinned, shooting a playful look at Charles and Erik. "Your secret is safe with me."
Charles cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket as he slid back into recruiter mode. "Sarah, we are currently—"
"We are building a team," Erik broke in, his voice cutting through Charles's pitch. "Unique, gifted individuals. We are going to face a very real threat."
I took a bite of a sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before leaning back against the headboard. I crossed my arms, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. "Let me guess. Sebastian Shaw?"
Charles blinked, his polite academic veneer completely cracking. Erik stiffened instantly, his entire body going rigid as his eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits.
"How do you know that name?" Erik's voice was suddenly very quiet and very heavy.
I swallowed my food, entirely unbothered by the sudden spike in tension. I gave him a slow, mysterious smile. "I read a lot, Erik. And I make it a habit to know who the loudest monsters in the room are."
Erik stared at me, his mind clearly racing, before he glanced over at Charles. "She's dangerous," he muttered, though there was a distinct spark of begrudging respect in his tone.
"I'm practical," I corrected, pointing a half-eaten sandwich at him. "And if you two think you're going to take down Shaw and his little circus without me, you're either completely delusional or you have a death wish. And quite frankly, I like this dimension. I'd prefer if you didn't let him blow it up."
Charles sighed, rubbing his temples like a man who was rapidly getting a headache, but a small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips. "Then I suppose we can count on your assistance? For now, please, just rest. We will discuss the details of our... arrangement tomorrow."
"Deal," I smiled, waving them off. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
The two of them turned and walked out, Erik throwing one last, long, assessing look over his shoulder before the door swung shut.
Raven didn't leave. She remained leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching me with an amused, knowing smirk. "You're a handful, aren't you?"
I took another bite of my sandwich, offering her a sweet, entirely unrepentant grin. "Oh, you have no idea. Stick around, Raven. It's about to get very interesting."
"I think I will," she laughed, turning to head down the hall. "Get some sleep, Sarah."
As the door finally clicked shut, leaving me alone in the quiet room, I let out a long, shuddering breath. The playful smirk vanished instantly. I slumped back into the stiff mattress, clutching my head as a vicious headache tore through my temples. A thin line of sweat broke out on my forehead.
God, that hurt. Floating Charles for even those few seconds had nearly torn my remaining, fragile Energy Circuits to shreds. I was completely empty.
But as the throbbing in my skull slowly began to subside, leaving only the distant, steady hum of the CIA facility's ventilation, a genuine, mischievous smile returned to my face.
Charles was a naive idealist, and Erik was a walking gunpowder keg waiting for a match. They were going to be a handful to manage. But as I looked out the narrow, barred window at the quiet night sky, I felt a familiar, thrilling spark of anticipation.
Let's see if we can't rewrite this script a little.