Second slumber came with relative ease. Any dreaming that may have taken place was brief, or swiftly forgotten from fatigue. Last night’s distresses had drained Dayton considerably. He was fortunate to have raised his spirits back up thanks to the efforts of Jubilee’s bonding exercise thereafter.
Dayton and Jubilee had spent about four hours prior playing a cute game about little round creatures racing around on stars and surfboard-like vehicles. The two had cemented their camaraderie through a mutual love for this game, even if it was a console generation out of date. For Jubilee, it was the perfect blend of adorable and competitive. For Dayton, it carried a special sort of nostalgia he couldn’t yet explain. Once both had played their fill, they parted with drowsy smiles to their respective quarters.
Waking was a touch difficult, as the lack of windows felt like a peculiar oversight for a manor so well constructed in every other aspect. The dark of the room meant having an alarm was a must. Dayton’s was set for eight-thirty five, but habit wouldn’t allow him to rise from the mattress for another twenty-three minutes.
Dayton stretched, fists to his shoulders and elbows pointed out straight. The sounds of nitrogen expulsion from each joint traced the flow of exertion. First were the many sections of spinal column, then the scapula, clavicles, humerus-to-ulna, out into each tiny segment of hand and fingers. A cacophony of sorrowful cartilage.
This passing consideration was interrupted by the sound of curled digits upon the door. Dayton searched through the dark, processing where exactly he was at the moment. The relocation to the east coast hadn’t fully taken root, but the boy remembered after a few mental turnovers.
“Just a sec”, he shouted in response while throwing off the dark grey duvet, the rasp of waking still thick in his throat.
Outside the room, Xabi awaited his companion to get roused and ready for the day. He clasped his rounded hands together behind his back, gently toying with the meat between his right hand’s thumb and index finger. His hips rocked from side to side in time with whatever slow song was playing in his head. Taking two steps back from the door on a whim, the raven-haired boy began to stare down the sunlight-flooded hall towards nothing in particular— Until a familiar, though unexpected face rounded the corner.
Rogue was not fully awake herself. Her forest green pajama sleeves and legs exposed her neck and shoulders, but draped just an inch too long over her hands and feet. She yawned wide as she trudged towards Xabi. He waved to her once she finally looked his way. She stopped in her tracks for but a moment, seeing the unfamiliar face, then was calmed, and waved back wordlessly.
The Dixie goth stepped in front of the Spaniard, raising her fist towards the Texan’s door. Then she halted to think. To no surprise, Rogue’s awareness of the last few seconds faded the instant she had turned. She searched for the memory of what she was doing, and nodded to herself once she found it - as if no one else was present. Her knuckles clacked thrice against the wood. The knocks reverberated down the hall, met by silence on both ends of the door. Half a minute passed. Still no response.
“New guy sleeps like the dead, I guess”, the girl noted aloud. Xabi withheld comment.
Hoping not to resort to waking her roommate, Rogue motioned to knock once again. Her middle knuckle connected briefly with the door once, then swung at open air. The door opened.
Shadowed eyes stared back behind a curtain of sheep-like black curls. Some of this frizzy hair was contained within a thin, cotton beanie that stretched from the middle of his scalp to the top rim of his neck. Its color matched that of the baggy sweatpants tied tightly at his waist - an uncommon pewter grey. A vibrant purple t-shirt had been half-tucked in over his torso. It displayed a wheeled pattern of three comma-like symbols with two tails enclosed in a ring, all printed in a cheap white vinyl that was beginning to crack. His feet were bare - not because he had nothing to put them in, but because he felt too rushed to care.
“Mornin’”, the tan boy grumbled, eyes narrowed to better identify his heavily backlit peers.
Xabi gave his silent greeting. Rogue cut to the chase.
“Professor asked me t’ wake you fer breakfast. Y’ been t’ the kitchen already, right?”
Dayton wrinkled his brows as he stared back at her and blinked. Xabi used all his might to choke down laughter, facing the ground as he did. Rogue returned the stare, confused by the silence until she remembered the previous evening. Her embarrassment was shown by brilliant crimson cheeks and indignant tone.
“Oh– Right, um… Nevermind. Let’s just go....”
Dayton had no complaint. He lacked the energy or care to prod Rogue’s forgetfulness further, and so closed the door behind himself to follow the other two. As Rogue took the lead, Xabi aligned his pace with Dayton’s own, gaving his friend a gentle nudge of his elbow and whispering with a grin, “Don’t worry, tío; You’ll get used to it.”
Dayton rolled his eyes, smirking at the irony. Xabi snorted quietly, so as not to startle, or provoke, the angsty girl. Rogue was too caught up in her own fluster to notice.
It was then that one of the other doors opened to their left. The three slowed themselves to see who would be joining them, Dayton especially. And so came that familiar splash of cranial pressure.
Another teenage boy emerged from the dim light of a shared room. His honey brown hair was parted on one side, combed towards the other, and cut quite short on the sides and back. Eyes of chilling blue looked to each of their three faces, narrowing slightly as they rested upon Dayton. Pinkish flesh shifted towards a more blue hue, if only slightly. He clicked his tongue such that the sound was barely audible – but it was audible. The air in the hallway took on a discernible coolness.
“You the new kid?” asked the sour looking new face.
“... Are you Iceman?” Dayton returned, confused by the stinging tone. The other boy squinted sharper, clearly displeased by the returned addressal.
Despite a small delay from her own confusion, Rogue took notice of the tension forming. She stepped in between the two boys, facing the one with the colder disposition.
“Chill, Bobby”, she insisted. “It is way too early fer this. We're just goin'–”
Bobby glared past the girl for another moment as she spoke, then huffed out a small cloud of frosty air. Careful not to make contact, Bobby slipped past Rogue while still glaring at Dayton. Without allowing another word, he stomped ahead of the group down the hall. He made sure to leave a frigid trail in his wake.
"... T' get breakfast. Jesus....", Rogue finished, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“The hell was that about?” Dayton pondered rhetorically.
Xabi put a hand on his shivering shoulder, shaking his head at the pointlessness of the question. Rogue sighed, rubbing both of her temples with a single gloved hand.
“Don’ mind him. Bobby's been in a bit of a mood fer... A while, honestly. Lotsa' reasons why. He'll get over it, eventually... I hope.”
Dayton couldn't say he was fond of the vague malice pointed his way, but conceded to leave things be. It wasn’t as though there was an obvious solution. Just a chance encounter with seemingly blind hate.
The three resumed their pace. Rogue, perhaps feeling a pang of guilt for their peer’s rude introduction, began to quiz Dayton on his interests and feelings on mansion life thus far. Dayton’s answers came easily, making mention of the night of gaming and his mistaken bearings this morning. It would take some time, but he had no doubt that he would acclimate. Rogue was pleased by the positivity. Xabi seemed relieved as well.
The scent of butter and maple and warmth welcomed them as they neared their destination. The dining area was less lively than Dayton’s first dinner had been, but adult chatter still managed to fill the air. Ms. Munroe and Mr. McCoy were deep within a discussion of modern musicals while Scott, James, and Bobby consumed their pancakes and waffles in attentive silence. The blue-furred man waxed on about how much better they were in person. Ms. Munroe seemed generally uncomfortable with the idea, suggesting instead to have regular watch parties at the mansion.
“While I do believe you have some point, half the artistry resides in the live performance”, insisted Mr. McCoy.
“Maybe so”, Ms. Munroe retorted. “But I believe we would gain the most interest if it were more accessible. Theaters are expensive, the city is far, and the crowds are… Unpleasant.”
A slight shudder ran through the woman as she thought on that final consideration.
“I’m not big on crowds, personally”, Dayton chimed in, drawing the attention of those at the table. Xabi and Rogue waved meekly before all three took their seats. Dayton sat beside Ms. Munroe, who was flanked by Scott. Xabi took the seat beside Dayton, on his right. Rogue took the chair across from Dayton, placing herself between Mr. McCoy and James. The latter looked increasingly on-edge now, but not from her presence. A still scowling Bobby, sitting opposite Scott, didn’t look up from his half-full plate.
“Good morning, kids”, the adults said in near tandem.
“Morning, newbies! Morning, Rogue”, greeted Scott shortly after. The latter responded with an energized smile as she brushed some hair behind an ear and nodded back.
The joining trio returned the greetings, Xabi joining in out of decorum more than acknowledgement. Rogue nudged James with her elbow, quietly greeting him herself. James gave a weak smile and replied in a hush before anxiously glancing at Dayton again. Ms. Munroe took notice, pausing Mr. McCoy’s attempt to resume debate with a raised palm.
“Is something wrong, James?” She asked, a gentle gleam in her eyes.
James looked up at the white-haired woman, then around quickly at the various faces at the table. He made as little eye contact with the offender as possible compared to the rest, then shook his head from side to side while staring down at his nearly finished plate. As mental gears turned, Dayton put the pieces in place.
“That's... Probably my fault”, he confessed with a raised hand.
All eyes fell upon the new boy once more. Scott wore his concern well upon his face. Rogue and Mr. McCoy held a similar expectation, but stifled it. A memory slid into place of a prior conversation Ms. Munroe had been privy to, leaving her only slightly less aware than those involved. Bobby held a sideways leer.
With heavy guilt and encroaching shame, Dayton faced his victim. “I am so sorry about yesterday… You feeling any better?”
Despite the sincerity of these words, James’ defenses hardly lessened. The younger boy looked conflicted, opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again with a choked hum. Then, without warning, James pushed himself away from the table and ran. Dayton found this strange. James had seemed just fine the night before, once things had settled down. What was different now? Did the shock happen to settle in after resting? That made some sense, at least.
“James!” Mr. McCoy cried, reaching a hand out as if to stop the boy’s flight. The futility of the act forced a discontented sighed to follow.
“I’ve never seen him like that before”, Scott noted with sympathy. Ruby-quartz lenses aimed at Dayton. The senior’s voice gained touches of accusation. “What exactly did you do to him yesterday?”
The burning grip of regret dug into Dayton’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if his expression fit the emotions it contained. He hoped it didn’t matter.
“Last night”, Dayton began, eyes fixed to the void of his empty plate. “Some of us were hanging out at the fountain out front… Me, Spyke, Jubilee, James–”
He cut short, shooting Xabi an uncertain look. Xabi shrugged and shook his head. The others at the table looked at him for a moment, searching their thoughts, then blinking them away as they looked back at Dayton, who relented. No point complicating things.
“Anyways; We were talking about something, and it just… Sent me downhill, I guess?”
Ms. Munroe replaced regret’s hand with her own. Dayton flinched at the touch. The change in pressure from this gentle hold reminded him to relax the muscles he hadn’t noticed tense.
“Do you feel comfortable telling us what it was?” the woman asked, her Kenyan accent taking noticeable hold of her softened delivery.
Before the teen could answer, a voice from the room’s entrance interceded.
“We were talking about the Brotherhood.”
The sleepy speaker was Jubilee. She, clad in panther-patterned pajamas of her signature yellow and pink, trudged to the main refrigerator to begin her morning rummage. A fully dressed Spyke yawned from behind her, waving to those seated while approaching the cabinets behind Mr. McCoy and Bobby - the latter of whom was particularly watchful of the presence behind himself.
Following these two, Mr. Howlett was wheeling in a more casually attired Mr. Xavier. The former of whom appeared to have just come back from working in the garage, given a few stray grease stains on his exposed arms and jeans.
“I can attest to it”, the scruffy man added quite seriously. “Interrupted my evening stroll with all the shouting, too. The new kid’s power is somethin’ we need sorted, pronto.”
“His powers went off last night?” Scott focused. “What’d it do? Was it like at the—”
The spectacled young man caught himself in the midst of a trespass. Too caught up in curiosity. Where was once a protective imposition, Scott now showed apology towards the peer in question. “Er- Sorry... Dunno’ if that’s still a sore spot or not.”
“Nnh. You’re fine”, Dayton answered plainly.
“Just a moment; What did happen to poor James?” Mr. McCoy pressed.
Ms. Munroe provided what she knew. “The boy was ensnared by Dayton’s outburst. Quite literally, so I'm told.”
“So it would seem”, said Mr. Xavier. “Of more import: The effect also appears to have halted James’ use of his own powers, alongside the physical restraint. A truly fascinating gift; albeit, one that will require much more precaution than we'd previously believed.”
Something about this explanation stirred a reaction from Rogue. Dayton happened to notice her face shift from a still-waking concern, to what he could only call intense intrigue. She flashed a few glances his way. Placing a leather-bound fist to her lips, the girl’s mind galvanized in silence.
Scott gave a similarly positive facial gesture, though hints of maintained sympathy were sprinkled within. The young adult’s opinion was in conflict with itself. He hadn’t the time to sort it out now, much to the dismay of all those present.
Because Bobby made his disapproval known.
“So what? The new guy’s power only works when his tail's tucked and crying, and he's a danger to the rest of us? Not very useful in a fight - or at all, for that matter.”
“Bobby!” exclaimed Ms. Munroe. The look she gave the offending boy silenced him, but failed to deter him from retorting with a defeated sneer. Mr. Xavier met the boy's twining with his own.
“A lack of control is not something deserving of ridicule, Mr. Drake. Everyone starts with a limited understanding of their mutation. Many of those around you now, in fact, still struggle with passive manifestations."
Rogue and Scott glued their eyes to the offending teen, emphasizing their insult as he looked between them. Mr. McCoy took the opposite route and neglected meeting Bobby's gaze. Xabi looked distantly at the plate set before him.
"There are several merits to an ability that operates purely for protection, as well. Especially for those not seeking a fight.”
“Not like people can choose whether they get control or not”, Scott snipped. Xabi, Rogue, and Mr. McCoy all concurred.
Bobby began to frost over, pushing himself away from the table aggressively. Fed up with how thoroughly his jab had rebounded back, he stomped off while getting in one last word. He kept his head down, avoiding the judgemental looks of Mr. Xavier and Mr. Howlett as he passed them. “Not like I asked to be second fiddle to dead weight, either…”
The dramatics had dampened the mood considerably. Many still in the kitchen sighed in pity or frustration. Others shook their heads, aware that the issue would take time. Dayton shrunk inwards. The hand still on his shoulder had begun to slowly rub against his upper back, trying to provide reassurance. Dayton still registered this consoling as “odd”, but he understood the intent.
As the room grew ever more stifling, the spiky haired boy from yesterday rounded the corner into the kitchen. He removed a hand from his jean jacket in greeting, not planning to find the occupants in such poor spirits.
“Oh– Uh, something happen, Professor?” the heavily pierced young man inquired, looking from the wheelchair-bound man to those at the table.
Mr. Xavier cleared his throat, and counted his blessings for this redirection. “Nothing for you to worry about, Ray. Thank you for asking.”
Mr. Howlett took the opportunity to join the table as originally planned. He passed behind a recently seated Spyke, Rogue, and Beast. As he did, the man managed to skewer a small stack of the center-set pancakes with his internal arm blades, taking the spot formerly occupied by Bobby. While he dealt with switching out the old plate for a new one, Ray did the same where James once sat, then reached across the table to snag a waffle and blueberry muffin for himself. The tonal reset didn’t seem to phase him. Mr. Xavier also wheeled to the head of the table, and floated a plate and two pancakes over to himself as well. Jubilee finally sat herself down, taking up the opposite end of the table between Mr. Howlett and Scott.
Breakfast was in full swing once more. The hesitancy to resume normal behavior caved to buttery textures and fluffy tastes. Aimless chatter began to fill the air again. Scott asked Jubilee for gifting advice, while Rogue, Spyke, and Ray discussed recent music releases. Mr. McCoy conversed with Mr. Howlett on the state of the latter’s motorcycle. Ms. Munroe chimed in on Scott and Jubilee’s discussion after catching a comment about “intimates” - which amounted to advice on what types to avoid, to the eavesdropping Dayton’s surprise. Xabi took his time between eating, and informing Mr. Xavier of the group’s initial encounter in the dorm hall. Mr. Xavier looked like an ashamed father as he listened, but never stated an opinion beyond that.
After about ten minutes had passed, and Dayton had managed to shove two thirds of a triple stack down his gullet, Mr. Howlett called out, “Hey, Travers.”
The man’s voice was as harsh as ever. Something about it roused a flight instinct from the boy. He wondered if that feeling would ever disappear, but it was only his second day. Just give it time.
“Seems pretty clear that yer gonna’ need training to keep things like last night in check.”
As a sigh blew over the remains on his plate, Dayton nodded in full agreement.
“You up for that today, or d’ya need some more time to settle in? Your call.” Mr. Howlett shoveled a large slice of his own pancakes into his mouth as the two maintained their mutual distaste for eye contact.
“Um… I can probably start that today", the boy replied. "Was just gonna’ wander around, otherwise, so– Yeah, sounds good.”
Mr. Howlett nodded as he chewed, grunting acknowledgement as he did so.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Having a benchmark would be beneficial for your development”, Mr. McCoy agreed.
“So a test?” asked Dayton.
“Something like that, yes”, confirmed the furry man. Some of the other teens had begun listening in, by this point.
“Don’t worry”, Spyke assured. “It’ll just be to see how your powers activate ‘n stuff. You guys had to do the same deal, right Ray? Jubes?”
“Yehb”, chimed Jubilee with her mouth full of muffin, a thumb raised to support her muffled confirmation.
“Yeah, man”, Ray followed. “It’s nothing crazy. Or- Well, it shouldn’t be.”
This prompted most of those present to turn briefly in Mr. Howlett’s direction. Though he didn’t return the looks, he acknowledged them with a grunt while he cut another slice of his pancakes using the single blade protruding from his fist. Mr. Xavier found amusement in this unanimous conclusion, but spoke up to quell any doubts.
“Rest assured, young Travers, that you will be in good hands. I'll oversee this examination myself.”
The bald man then looked about the rest of the table before continuing.
“Anyone that wishes to may join me in the observation deck.”
Scott was the first to abstain. Apparently he had been called upon to drive some others to the movies soon, and he intended to be there early. He concluded by stating his desire to know how it went once he returned. The next was Mr. McCoy. Much as he wanted to, he made vague implications of having prior plans as well. Mr. Xavier’s face said that there was more to it, but no one pressed the man on it. Xabi, being the last, whispered something to the professor, who nodded silently. Seeing Dayton’s curiosity, Xabi turned to him and repeated his plans: he intended to spend some time in the greenhouse past the pool. The invitation to join him afterwards was put forward. Dayton intended to keep this in consideration.
Everyone finished their morning meals in short order, with Mr. McCoy staying behind to handle the dishes whilst the rest went their various ways. Mr. Xavier, wheeled along by Ms. Munroe, led the way towards where Dayton’s testing would take place. There was only one possible destination: the Danger Room.
Dayton had a hazy idea of what and where this training facility was. An elevator, which turned out to be located behind the main stairwell, would lead them down into one of the many basement levels. In these metal clad halls, a variety of other high tech rooms existed. Some were communications rooms, others were akin to armories. Many were maintenance rooms for the properties arsenal of security equipment, yet others were completely unknown to Dayton’s veil piercing memory. One room in particular held perhaps the greatest importance of any. It was on a floor somewhere beneath the one the group had departed the elevator from. The boy wondered if he would get the chance to lay eyes on it, himself.
This fantasy would not come true today, however. As the teens continued to leave into one of the chrome passages, Dayton was eventually stopped by Mr. Howlett. The teen was confused, seeing as the others were still proceeding along without even looking back. He searched through the imposed memories of the building again, a hand to his temple.
“Oh”, was all Dayton said, stepping back into position as his guide pressed another destination of the button panel. They were heading for the Danger Room, proper. The other course led to the observation deck.
A short moment passed once the last teen - Rogue, who had given Dayton a wave in parting - stepped out, and the doors closed once more. Dayton could feel his insides lifting again for that brief descent. They pressed against the reverse of his ribs in an all too noticeable manner. An anxious expectation started to bubble in his gut. He closed his eyes. The extra information was too much. Deep breaths. Tune out those cacophonous hums. Breathe.
“Y’alright, kid?”
For once, there was an audible compassion mixed into the Canadian’s bassy grit. Dayton opened his eyes just in time for the elevator to stop again.
“Nnh. A little nervous”, the Texan replied.
Mr. Howlett made a similar sound to let his charge know he had heard. His open hand slapped against Dayton’s back, rocking him forward with the surprise force.
“You’ll be fine. Anything goes wrong, I’ll be there t' bail you out.”
That fizzing feeling told Dayton that such might be half the problem.
Leaving the lift, they faced a short T-juncture. On their right, Dayton knew a secondary locker room sat behind the firmly shut X-marked door. The other door of homogeneous shape was their destination. Mr. Howlett wasted no time walking straight towards the latter. Following closely behind, Dayton guessed that suit fitting would come another day.
As the circular steel doors slid apart, a large coliseum awaited. It matched the rest of the basement in general appearance: Steel paneling as far as one looked. At present, the room was devoid of any other structure at ground level - though this would soon change. Four arching pillars ran up the walls to meet at a round structure jutting from the center of the ceiling. Within this windowed stalactite, vague shadows of people stood huddled to face them. Dayton could swear he saw them waving. He waved back.
“Over here, Tex”, Mr. Howlett shouted from a few yards away.
Dayton’s attention returned to the task at hand as he hurried to take his place beside the man. Following his instructor’s gaze, the two stared at one of the many large, square tiles along the floor. Before Dayton could ask what they were looking at, an electronic crackle drew his attention back towards the ceiling as Ms. Munroe’s voice filled the room.
“Give us just a moment, and we’ll begin”, she said while keyboard keys clacked faintly in the background. The room went silent again, save the faint reverb of the announcement's dissipation.
Dayton looked at Mr. Howlett. “So… What kinda’ test is this gonna’ be?”
Mr. Howlett lifted his shoulders, letting them drop with gravity a moment later.
“Might be a few things, bein’ honest”, he said with his head half turned. “Each test is tweaked to better suit yer situation. In your case; Expect to be on the receiving end of whatever they’ve got cooked up.”
The answer came immediately. The tile they had been eyeballing shivered as it began to ascend. The squared yard of assumed steel unveiled a large rectangular prism beneath. Its sides shone with a matching reflectivity to its hood, but its face was of matte gunmetal. Seven rows of holes alternated in threes and twos on the structure’s front. Dayton had decent guesses as to what their purpose might be.
The intercom crackled to life once more. Mr. Xavier’s voice could be heard this time.
“Thank you both for waiting, and welcome to the Danger Room. We’ll begin after a short demonstration of this instrument. If you wouldn’t mind, Logan?”
Mr. Howlett gave a stoic thumb of approval before shooing Dayton out of the monolith’s range. The man’s claws readied with their reverberative snikt. His stance widened. His body lowered. The voice from above returned.
“Excellent, thank you! Now; Before you, stands one of the many training devices contained within this room. This test is designed to test your defensive capabilities while under fire—”
Mr. Howlett shot Dayton a smug look. Dayton smiled and returned an exaggerated bow to his proctor’s foresight.
“To give you some sort of expectation, Logan will run through a brief course for your observation. Are you ready, Wolverine?”
Mr. Howlett let out a growl. The director seemed to understand.
The vertical ordnance let out a low clanking sound while a system of motors awoke somewhere deeper within the floor. Realizing that standing directly beside this demonstration held considerable risk, Dayton moved closer to the machine to get a more front-facing perspective - just in time for the first metal ball to come flying out of a lower port. It launched with a thoomp, shining brightly under the electronic light. Mr. Howlett wasted no time carving the sphere into fourths with a clean swipe of his razors. The pieces gained a bit of rotation from their separation, skewing outward and away from their aggressor before clattering to the ground far behind him. The entire act took less than a second. This was only the first shot.
The volley that followed was, to say the least, rapid. Dayton estimated something near three to four shots per second. Mr. Howlett ducked under, leapt over, kicked aside, and carved through each projectile with ease. Slash, slash, jump, kick, slash, duck, kick; His movements oozed with an expertise that made his grunts and snarls feel ever more bestial. The man flowed through this faux assault as impressively as the onlooking student expected. No– More so.
Two full minutes passed. As the last, eviscerated projectile joined the pile of its peers, a buzzer went off from somewhere in the ceiling. Despite his heavy panting, Mr. Howlett had only barely begun to sweat. His claws retracted as swiftly as they had deployed. He returned to standing as upright as usual, stretching his back with a loud pop. As Dayton walked back towards him, those above opened the mic once more. Hushed chatter - likely from the other teens - crowded the back end of the sound. They sounded restless.
“Well done, Logan”, Mr. Xavier applauded with a tinge of presupposition. This very quickly changed into reassurance as he spoke to the boy in waiting, likely to quell the obvious concerns.
“As I’m sure you can tell, Mr. Howlett is highly experienced in dealing with combat scenarios of all kinds. But don’t worry; The settings we used for him will not be the same for you. We’ll build up slowly until it becomes too much for you. Also, a less dense ammunition will be employed.”
Dayton looked to the rubble left behind by the wolverine. He held no assumption that he would do nearly as much damage as a man with knives in his hands could do. A few deep breaths came and went. Dayton swapped places with Mr. Howlett, who stood much more confidently to the tan boy’s side with arms crossed. The teen faced his opponent. It stared back in well-forged silence. Dayton gave a firm nod as he clenched his fists, and was met with–
Silence. Stark silence. Just a moment, at first, but the dead air lasted longer than anyone was prepared for. Dayton glanced around, then looked to his overseer. Mr. Howlett stared back in gruff confusion before the problem became clear to him. Without a word, he stared up at the observation deck. Dayton followed his gaze. The speakers kicked on again.
“Um- Apologies, young Travers”, said Mr. Xavier with audible chagrin. “I’m– Well— Used to being able to read when someone is ready. Force of habit. Just… Shout when you’d like to begin.”
Muffled laughter could be heard just before the speakers went dark once more. Dayton felt his face burning. He had an inkling that the humor wasn’t directed at him - at least, not fully - but sprinkles of self-doubt began to take root regardless. This was just like the other night. For whatever reason, he was tuned out of the professor’s signal.
It doesn’t matter. Dayton chanted this over and over in his mind. Because it was the truth. Because he wanted it to be the truth. He needed it to be. Right now, his priority was this test. This benchmark. Showing what he could do. Proving what he could do. He needed to focus. To force the burning from his cheeks to his whole body. Disperse the feeling. Let it radiate outward. Let it mellow. And as that emotion faded, the words pushed out from his core.
“GO FOR IT.”
The launcher pillar resumed its noise, along with a few extra clunks and thumps. Dayton did his best to steady his mind, taking up a new mantra: Just defend. Just defend. When the first ball flew from the lowest center hole, it felt as though instinct - or something very near to it - had taken control of the boy’s body. Dayton could feel it this time. This was very different. Something numbing coiled around him. Deep beneath the skin, but above it as well. It was in his muscles. In his bones. In his soul.
A staticky, slithering sensation enveloped him as his movements matched the memories flashing into his head. His left leg stepped back, his foot pointed so that his toes were forced to grasp at the cold beneath them. At the same time, his arms stretched across his torso with open palms. The right hand pressed against his opposite hip, while the left shielded half his face with fanned fingers. As he brought down his left heel, his hands clenched and arms traced one another. His shoulders turned towards the enemy. His body lowered, rooting himself while his back foot turned on its ball to face outwards. Forearm slid against forearm until fist had reached fist. Each snapped into the place the other had occupied just as the offending orb had drawn too close. It was deflected by the force of Dayton’s right arm, flying off course in the same direction. It was softer than the boy had imagined. Something like foam inside a skin of latex, like the dodgeballs his schools always used. It gave a negligible sting from the contact friction. And then, the next ball appeared.
Whatever was at the helm had reassessed the threat of the projectiles quickly, as he met the second with a straight punch from his left hand. Defense through offense. It flattened against his knuckles before dropping to the floor and rolling limply away. The third ball was met with equal force. The same fist swung around on the elbow, slamming downward upon the sphere with its side. The ball squashed similarly to its predecessor, hitting the ground a bit more squarely. Dayton wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but “succeeding” felt like the right term.
Two shots followed this in shorter succession. His weight shifted forwards. His view became sideways as his front leg straightened, his back leg lifting and retracting at the knee in tandem. Once in range, the dual shots were swatted towards Mr. Howlett with a swift kick that turned him on his heel. Dayton’s posture planted itself back down in a mirror of the first pose, launching another straight punch at the next ball. It hit. But it wasn’t so accurate.
This ball, rather than yielding to the impact, rolled up and off of the boy’s fist. There was no time to properly react. Not to duck, nor flex, nor lean away. He could only close his eyes as sealed sponge warped round Dayton’s face. The force was just enough to push his head back. Instinct went with the motion, tilting to recoil from the padded blow. The momentum had the ball bounce up and over the boy as he finally regained direct motor control. Though he couldn’t see it, the silvery lilac aura that had surrounded him as the start of his trial dissipated in a cloud of sparks.
Mr. Howlett, who had been watching with muted intensity, let a low rumble pass through his throat. Up above, there were mixed reactions to the boy’s first blood. Spyke, Rogue, and Mr. Xavier winced empathetically. Ray and Jubilee broke into hearty cackles, while Ms. Munroe only flinched her brow. It was, perhaps, for the better that the comms system remained closed.
When Dayton regained his footing, his placidity had evaporated. Mistakes were to be expected, but the high of doing better than he knew he could had planted deep roots. There was a tunneled determination on his face, but also flecks of other emotions: Shame, anger– Mostly anger, but that fed the shame. The locked orbit of the two twirled them faster and faster. Made them grow larger and larger. The longer they lingered, the more distracting they became.
But the test continued. Another pair of balls from two lowest corner ports fired in near parallel. The gap between was obvious, so Dayton turned to let them pass around him. He was too transfixed on the ball flying past his back, worrying if he had judged the distance properly. The third ball didn’t catch his attention until he could no longer do anything about it. It slapped against his side. The impact was mostly absorbed by his arm, but the force of it still pushed him a few inches back. And it stung. Less than the one that had clocked him moments ago, but pain was pain. And pain bred rage.
A sterner face. A few more dodges. Then another blunder; After mustering the confidence to strike at another projectile with his fist, he lacked his prior precision. The ball - against all odds - maintained enough spin to be punched backwards, then rebound right into Dayton’s gut regardless. Yet more embarrassment. Yet more irritation.
“Dayton”, Ms. Munroe called out from above. “Don’t feel like you have to keep going if it has become too much. We have enough to work with for now, and you’ve done well for your first go.”
Dayton wanted to answer. He wanted to say “sure, that’s fine” and take a breather. He wanted to hang his head for but a moment, then laugh with the others about his little failings. He opened his mouth to do so.
And then another headshot.
The boy staggered back a step once more. Why and how this ball had yet more force than the others, no one could have known. Dayton’s vision rocked for a brief second while his cerebellum frantically worked to keep his body upright. The other cranial offices were preoccupied trying to stop the meltdown. It looked worse than it was. To the extent that Mr. Howlett even took a step and began to reach forward, prepped to catch the boy if he fell. Those in the observation deck called it. Mr. Xavier had just begun typing to stop the program. His fingers couldn’t move fast enough.
It started with clenched teeth. A furious grimace. Dayton’s contorted visage was the only signal anyone could have gotten. He stomped forward with the leg that was bracing him as his center of gravity shifted ahead. His left hand went up, crossing his chest to form a vessel bursting fist beside his right ear. The space the mantras that had died off after his initial damage had occupied now held one word. One booming, all consuming command: “STOP!”
With all the air his lungs could take, Dayton belted out his malcontent. His left arm flung towards the direction of his inanimate assailant, fingers splaying out to point five-fold in accusation. That silvery-purple light returned, fading into brilliance from his elbow to each finger tip. The chains emerged from the brightest points. Five, ghostly strings of them stretched out, twisting and spiraling as they flew towards the pillar. They made the strangest sound: like the downward bowing of a metal ruler. A horrid noise. An upending noise. Something to the tune of an inhaled error, drawn out for as long as the distance traveled.
The brief flash of awe and excitement felt by those watching would be short lived at the point of contact. Only clairvoyance itself could have foreseen the threat these chains contained. The five tips, upon reaching the metal structure, did not simply wrap around it as they had with James. With those at the convention months ago. They burrowed intangibly inside it. Each chain wove itself in and out of the surface of the structure. They sewed their demands into the very fabric of the thing. And then that brief second was over, the chains connecting the boy to those within the structure sparked out of being, and the ensnared had no choice but to obey.
VMMM-KERRRNK.
The machine held a short resistance to the imposition, tilting backwards while exposing the tubes and pipes wrenching it to the ground. This didn’t last long. At the conclusion of its death rattle, the air was torn asunder much like those metallic veins beneath enchained the object. The force by which the poor rectangle was flung ignited the air in the direction of travel, while the speed induced a sonic boom that jostled the entire property.
The time between the separation from the ground and its collision with the far wall was so short that the resulting impact ignited another explosion of air. It was enough to tilt the dangling observation deck off angle, throwing those inside to the ground.
Dayton and Mr. Howlett, lacking the direct protection the others possessed, were instead blown to the opposing side of the room. The elder took the heaviest force, slamming against the furthest wall. His yelp of pain was snuffed by the volume of the cause of his distress. Dayton had gotten rather lucky. He was knocked flat against his back from the onset, conking his head just once against the floor before sliding into the entrance inset. The machine, meanwhile, buried itself into the wall like a hot knife driven through margarine. The mansion, distressed by this sudden influx of physical trauma, began to blare its sirens.
Thrust back into darkness, Dayton struggled to find his way back to consciousness. He had blacked out from the impact against the ground, and felt a burning pain across the whole of his body. The ringing of his ears was unbearable. He could feel a wetness trailing down from them and down his jawline onto his neck. He felt hands gripping his arms and shoulders.
Trying to open his eyes, everything was a blinding blur. He felt breath against the sides of his head. He turned towards each. There was a mess of white and brown to his left side, taller than him by a bit. All sense of balance had been lost, which he realized from the shortness of the dark green, black, and peachish glob on his right. These were people, he assumed. Taking him somewhere. Saving him, perhaps. He assumed so from the dragging feeling against the tops of his feet.
He’d figure it out later. The dark was calling him back again. A soothing abyss. Dayton accepted its outstretched arms, nestling his awareness snugly against its bosom. And he slept.
>⪢⫸⨷⫷⪡<
Hours had passed since the aftermath of the new student’s benchmark. The anxiety that had shot through the institute had been largely quelled, though some apprehension remained in those that were witness to its source. The faculty were especially distressed with the results. They were far beyond their initial perceptions.
Back inside the mangled Danger Room, the three proctors watch on as another staff member inspects the unusual damage. A man of darker complexion, though not as dark as Ms. Munroe, swaps quickly between various implements while memorizing their readings. He scratches in contemplation at the short, black hair beneath the advanced looking goggles he wears. His mustachioed lips flit inaudibly while he works. He’s too absorbed in his work to notice the conversation behind him.
“Any thoughts, Professor?” asks a still sore Mr. Howlett. Both he and Ms. Munroe, standing to either side of Mr. Xavier, look to the disabled man tepidly. The bald man shakes his head.
“The possibility of unforeseen power rests within every mutant, but… I regretfully did not consider this development.”
“It is good that we managed to see new manifestations of the boy’s abilities”, Ms. Munroe posited. “But what do we do with this? Not only is it outside the scope and nature of what he had shown before, it—”
The woman winced, thinking of how to articulate her thoughts. Mr. Xavier felt her conflict.
“Was there something else, Ororo? Something more to it?”
She thought back to those moments where the boy’s glow had taken shape. To the quaver it sent through her skin. It was something Ms. Munroe had felt before, but only once in another mutant. Words were no longer needed, as she shared these thoughts with Mr. Xavier. It was a troublesome thought. A dangerous thought.
“You think he may be like Wanda?”
“I do, Charles.”
The telepath sighed. That case was one of immense complexity; Mutant and yet other. He considered the chances that this might illuminate the unknown surrounding the two, but he couldn’t shake thinking of the consequences as well.
“Do we need to keep Tex under lock and key like Magnus’ little witch?” Mr. Howlett stressed. There was a reluctance to his tone that the other two empathized with.
“No”, Xavier dismissed. “I don’t think will come to that. We should, however—”
The sound of doors sliding open drew the three’s attention. Mr. McCoy bounded on three limbs towards the group, a manila file stuffed with papers held aloft by his other hand.
“I have the data report for you, Charles, and I must say: these findings are–”
“Unbelievable, I'll bet”, Mr. Howlett cut off with crossed arms. Mr. McCoy’s excitement held firm.
“Unequivocally so! Professor, give these a read.”
A furred hand presented the files to the sitting man, who took them dutifully and began to read both paper and mind. He flipped through several pages, glancing at the listed numbers while divulging their implications from the beast beside him. He stopped at the collection of data regarding the device now lodged in the wall. The shock was plain to see.
“What is it?” asked Ms. Munroe, growing more concerned by the face Xavier was making. Xavier turned to Mr. McCoy, instead.
“Hank; You’re sure this is correct?”
Mr. McCoy nodded, his half-moon glasses glinting in the white light.
“These sensors are the best there are. Forge there saw to it himself.” He pointed to the man at the base of the crater, who had now begun setting up a device to slice away at the melted border of the impact site.
“Don’t keep us outta' the loop”, demanded Mr. Howlett. “What’d the kid do?”
Mr. Xavier looked back to the ink on the page before letting a sigh escape his lungs. Rather than face his colleagues, he looked at the damaged equipment before them.
“It would seem Dayton’s outburst held far more magnitude than we thought. Whatever he did managed to launch this device at a speed of eighteen miles per second. It’s a wonder how the damage was so minimal.”
Though the number was impressive, neither Mr. Howlett nor Ms. Munroe were certain what that truly meant. It showed.
“What that means”, Mr. McCoy added to dispel any confusion. “Is that this was not merely flung at the wall; It was stopped. Cosmically. These readings list it as a directly inverse velocity to the Earth’s solar orbit.”
Horror flooded Munroe and Howlett’s expressions as the mystery was resolved for them.
“That lines up with what the kid shouted, too”, said Mr. Howlett, placing his hands against his waist and hanging his head.
Each of them took to silent consideration for a long while. The only sound reverberating off the walls was that of Mr. Aguilar’s machines at work, and the crackle of slag from metal slicing. It was Mr. Howlett who finally spoke up.
“Someone should keep an eye on him, then. Take him under their wing.”
“Agreed”, echoed both Mr. McCoy and Ms. Munroe.
Charles could feel each of their wills to volunteer for the task. Hank contained equal parts self-directed hesitancy and personal intrigue. Ororo, on the other hand, was torn between a desire to prevent the boy from falling victim to his own abilities, and a fear for the potential collateral upon others - herself included. Logan seemed the most firm of the three. He feared not for his own well being. His mind rolled through a myriad of scenarios in which the pupil might bring suffering upon himself - whether directly or indirectly so. The willingness to take the blow for the sake of others was assuring.
“Logan”, Charles eventually addressed. The three looked up from their inner simulations as their employer continued. “Are you up for the task?”