Prologue

The smell of the sewer was making John want to vomit. His father didn’t even seem to notice the smell as he drug John through it. At least, as far as John knew this man was his father. Before today he had never even met him in the ten years he had been alive. But after the money his mother stole from her latest boyfriend turned out to belong to a powerful drug runner they were both running for their lives. His thugs had nearly caught the both of them twice, when she had given this man a call. Now she was dead. The men had shot her as they fled. This man hadn’t even gone back for her as she lay there bleeding. Biology or not, he was no father to John.

His father pulled him at an even faster pace as John started to hear shouts from back the way they came. His fears became real as shots rang out in the darkness. Spouts of fire lit the black around them as bullets ricocheted off metal. John was tossed around a corner as the man assembled a large scary looking weapon out of the pieces of metal that adorned him like battle armor under his trench coat. The weapon made an unholy noise as it erupted death onto their pursuers. More shots assaulted John’s ears till he thought they would gush bright blood down his hands. Soon his unwanted patriarch grasped his wrist once more to pull him down the brackish abyss again, till the black world erupted into blinding light. Thunder soon followed accompanied by the rumble of rock, dirt, and fire twisted metal. The sewer tunnel collapsed around them. The stranger freed himself with an anger fueled surge of strength born of years of survival situations. But John was not so lucky. The cave-in pinned John’s right arm and all the tugging he could muster would not free it. The man began to dig around John’s arm with frantic urgency. But soon sounds from the other side of the debris told the man that the chasers were getting through faster.

The self serving side of his psyche screamed to leave the boy and live another day. But pride would not let him leave his progeny as easily as he did the woman who birthed him. He made a survivalist decision in a mere second, with one determined tug the man pulled the boy free from his terran manacle. Unfortunately the rubble proved stronger than the youth’s shoulder joint. The pain was so quick and intense, the boy passed out before he could utter a scream.

“Can you do anything?” the voice stirred John from the fuzzy blackness that enveloped him.

“The subject is very young.” Followed a weasley voice as John began to feel the burning of his missing arm even through the powerful painkillers he had been given.

“Can you do anything? Answer me Pierce.” Loss of blood soon had him falling back into the murk of unconsciousness. Before he slipped back under he heard his rescuer/tormentor add. “I won’t have a son that’s not whole.”

Part one

Six years later John stepped from the black car onto the steps of a building that reminded him of both a public library and a juvenile hall. Except this place was ten times bigger, and he had seen his share of the latter. John didn’t see why they were bothering now, in a little less than two years he wouldn’t be in their care anymore. He could feel the eyes from the windows, judging like always. He just stood there clutching at his right arm, feeling the pain throbbing from it as his body temperature rose with his uncomfortableness. Clasped in the offending arm was the ancient suitcase the state gave him to transport his belongings on his first ‘relocation’. A case he still had nearly twenty moves later. And it still took him a couple of days to get its rusted latches open sometimes.

The doors at the top of the stairs opened to release one of the most beautiful women John had ever seen. Platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and a perfect face, she wore one of those modernized business suits that was tight enough to show the body was just as perfect as the face. As she walked down the steps with the kind of grace that dancers had, John thought, maybe this won’t be such a bad stay after all.

Alice Potts was a seasoned veteran in the field of child services. She had shuffled thousands of juveniles through the New York State Department of Child Welfare. To her this seemed too much like giving up. Now this woman she had to deal with irritated her to no end. Last time Alice met with her she dressed like a stripper. Now her tailored business attire was a step up, but it was so tight, she just looked like a boardroom floozy.

“Ms. Potts,” Emma Frost began, “so good to see you again.” Emma smiled as she read the thoughts this pencil pusher was flinging out. She was half tempted to discreetly undo the top buttons of her blouse just to get her goat. Emma reconsidered based on the thoughts she read of Ms. Potts’ young charge, especially his thoughts regarding private tutoring sessions.

“Thank you for your help in this situation once again, Ms. Frost.” Alice said as sweetly as her personal distain would allow her. “As you know, Young John’s unique qualities make his care difficult through normal state programs. We simply are not equipped to handle cases like his.”

“Well, how fortunate for him that we are.” Emma bit back, forcefully but still dripping with nicety.

The honey dipped venom that passed for conversation between the two women continued as they led John to an office just passed the front entrance. John waited out in the hall as the ladies filed the right papers to lift John from the burden of the state and drop him in this weird place. While he waited John noticed many kids wandering about the school, if that’s what you’d call this place. It looked more like the manor of some old geezer right out of a bad Hollywood movie. The halls had old wooden sideboard tables with those big vase things, note pads, and even bowls of fruit on some. The kids John saw walked by carrying books or lounged on old couches and chairs in groups talking to each other. All manner of ages and nationalities, boys and girls were visible. Some wore the kind of preppy school outfits you’d expect, but others wore clothes out of teen fashion magazines or others jeans and t-shirts. Other kids as young as ten to ones who looked like they should be attending some college crowded the halls.

Suddenly like magic, the kids dispersed, entering different doors in the halls or slipping around the corners of other halls. It was like when the bell rang at a regular school but John heard no bell, or buzzer, or gong. It was to John, this totally Stepford scene.

That’s when John noticed the older man in the wheelchair. He was on the balcony of what must have been the next floor, talking to two other men. One was a clean cut guy in a neat and clean black jacket, but he wore these weird red tinted sunglasses. Weirder yet was the other guy, he looked like someone had just plucked him out of some redneck biker bar in the northwest and dropped him here. Brown bomber jacket and sideburns that made Elvis look like a fuzz growing amateur. Whoever they were, they were having one heated discussion.

The debate suddenly ended and the fuzzy guy turned, an unlit cigar in his teeth, and jogged down the staircase and out the door. Then with a curt nod the G.Q guy also disappeared out of sight of John, away from the banister. Then the weirdest thing yet, the old bald guy in the wheelchair turned his head toward John and nodded to him, like he’d been aware of him the whole time. Then he promptly whirled around in his chair and disappeared from sight as well.

It was well into the afternoon when Alice and Emma reappeared. John had watched the odd dance of the students in and out of rooms three times now. The other kids were now congregating outside, blowing off steam from classes John surmised. The two women faced each other and after a tense handshake Alice departed.

“Now mister Carter,” she said to John without actually turning to face him, ”let us show you your new home.” And she started down one of the halls without waiting to make sure he was even following.

Emma walked John down the hall pointing out directions for the library, the kitchen and dining room, and the rec and common rooms. She pointed them out so quick and off-handedly that John wasn’t sure he would remember it all, but he was pretty sure she didn’t care if he did. They ascended an old wooden staircase at the end of the hall and turned down the hallway above and were off in Ms. Frost’s quick pace once again. Then John’s attention was snared by another vision of beauty. Despite her blonde, butch hairstyle, tattoos and multiple facial piercings she was beautiful. Like someone had picked up a Victoria’s secret model and hurled her violently through a body art shop. She noticed John’s stares and curtly sneered at him and gave him the finger.

“Put it out of your mind Mr Carter, Miss Mitchel has no interest in you.” If she hadn’t spoken, John would have walked right into the back of her. Her callous jab at his ego snapped him out of his reverie. “These will be your quarters John.” As she pointed into the nearby room, she then for the first time since he arrived actually looked at him. “And there will be no private tutoring sessions with me.” She said, her gaze boring deep into his eyes, turned and left with John feeling both confused and embarrassed.

“Yes she reads minds” came the voice inside the room. John stepped inside. It wasn’t luxurious but John had stayed in smaller places. The room had three beds, two of which were occupied. A younger boy sprawled out on the last, with a blonde crew cut and adorned in ripped denim jeans and jacket; he wrestled with a video game controller and merely grunted at John’s arrival.

“That would be Eric.” Came the voice again, from the first bed, he was a small dusky kid in a t-shirt and shorts  with deep brown hair. He hopped up and enthusiastically shook John's hand. “I’m Robby.”

“John.” He returned, plopping his old suitcase on the remaining bed. He attempted the old rusted latches but swore softly when they refused to budge.

“Here, let me help.” offered Robby.

“So, what’s the deal with this place? Is it one that specializes in discipline, or is it one of those progressive learning places?” John began, but soon noticed Robby’s finger fuzz like a bad photograph as he touched the first rusted latch. It soon came back into focus and the latch was sparkling like new. Robby then moved to the other latch and did the same thing. Afterward he stood up and opened his hand. A cloud of fine red dust drifted away from his hand. 

“We’re all mutants, like you.” Robby said with a smile. ”Welcome to mutant high.” He sat back down on his bed and tucked his knees under his chin. “I do what they’ve called anatomical separation. Each cell in my body can detach from the rest and move about on its own. I’ve looked at them under the microscope in the science lab. They’ve got like all these little legs they move around on and can even manipulate little things like molecules. That’s what I did for your case, I kinda took the rust particles off one at a time.”

John opened his mouth as if to speak but Robby cut him off “Everyone here is a mutant. Eric is an inertia manipulator. He takes objects and shoots them away from himself at like, five times the speed of sound or something.” Robby suddenly bristled with a huge smile. “What do you do?”

John was unsure what to think, but with this kid staring at him like he was a present on Christmas morning he, reluctantly, opened up. “I absorb energy, like a big capacitor and I can release it later.”

“Cool!” responded the wide eyed Robby.

“So, everyone here is a mutant?” asked John.

“Yep, even the adults! Remember, I told you Frost reads minds. I wasn’t kidding.” this elicited a chuckle from the boy.

John settled on the center bed, stretched out, and let go a long sigh. This was going to be a strange stop on this journey of his. John sometimes felt he would be moving around for the rest of his life. It was as if that night his mom died he had been cut loose in the world. Like a little inflatable raft tied to shore, and that man had cut the rope on him. Every time he came to rest on some shore they shoved him back into the surf. He lay there for a while hoping maybe he would sink into the mattress and disappear. Robby was still staring at him. John felt he was going to bore holes in his head with his eyes. Finally John could take no more.

“Is there anything to do in this place?” asked John, turning to the annoying kid.

“Is there ever!” He replied with a huge grin on his face. “Come right this way!”

Emma brooded out the window of Charles Xavier’s office. Her new charge could be seen following one of her accomplished trouble makers across the rear lawn past the pool. Her mind soon echoed with the telepathic push of Charles Xavier, trying to get her attention back to matters at hand.

“I believe you have an issue or two with the registration of our newest student Emma?” Charles spoke aloud.

Solemn and smug in her tone Emma turned from her window thoughts to face Charles and Hank McCoy, “Simply that he is not worth our trouble Charles. From what I have garnered from his mind already he is hostile, arrogant, and more than a little bit of a pervert.”

“You would accuse the Pope himself of that latter flaw, Emma” lightly chuckled at the blue furred form of Dr. Hank McCoy. “It is natural for any young male to have such thoughts when confronted by beauty such as yours. As for arrogance and hostility, those are what we are present to temper.”

“And what of the prosthetic, Hank?” interceded Charles, steepling his fingers with his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair.

“It is most definitely a product of Donald Pierce’s cybernetics technology. Where a young mutant such as he received such a surgery, now that is certainly of great importance to us.” Hank sat down in one of the office’s antique leather chairs and braced himself for the retort he didn’t need either of his companion’s telepathic powers to know was coming.

“It is surely plain enough to see the boy is a spy” snapped Frost. “We should kick him to the curb and be done with him.”

“While I am sure Pierce would not be beneath using children for spies, I do not believe it is the case here, Emma. The boy's mind reveals no knowledge of Pierce or his work. I am sure you have read him, same as I have.” Charles paused for a breath, turning his chair to face the window that Emma herself was thoughtfully gazing out of seconds ago before continuing. “And you of all people have no footing labeling people as enemies as a former member of our foes, the Hellfire Club.” Charles spun in the chair and rolled to the window previously occupied by Emma. He watched the two boys as they headed for the basketball courts. “Second chances are the hallmark of this school.” He turned once more to Emma. “Rogue, Remy, Magnus at one time, even you were once an enemy and now a member of the family. We give every person the chance to belong, Emma.”

John and Robby reached the courts where a fierce game was already underway.

“I'm not a big B-ball player.” John said hesitantly.

“More like M-ball.” Robby corrected, and John then noticed a very loose adherence to not only the rules of basketball but the laws of physics as well.

The purple haired girl currently in possession of the ball was making a beeline straight at the goal. However every attempt to snatch the ball by the opposing team resulted in their hands merely passing through it, and the girl as well. When she made it close to the goal she tossed it up, only to have the ball bounce off a shimmering, nearly invisible wall above a girl holding her hands above her head. A green skinned boy, in one fluid motion, jumped at the backboard, pushed off of it, grabbed the ball in mid flight and touched the ground already in a run dribbling for the opposing goal.

“Mutant ball,” smiled Robby. “powers are allowed, but only on the ball, never the other players.”

The green kid was nearly to the goal when a bolt of lightning arced across the court causing him to shutter and fall to the ground.

“Foul, Pierre!” Screamed a girl, who was impeccably dressed in a yellow sundress with long blonde hair.

“It was an accident,” yelled a tall dark skinned boy through a thick French accent. “I was aiming for the ball, I swear.” His smile, even as he pleaded, dripped with smarm.

The blond picked up the ball and threw it back to the opposite side of the court to be caught by… herself? Or at least a girl who looked exactly like her, as he saw the first girl who spoke still there kneeling down to check on the green boy. John realized three identical girls, even dressed the same, were on the court acting as referees.

“Regardless you could have badly hurt Friedrick,” the second one snapped back at him, “five minute penalty.” And she tossed the ball back in play as Pierre walked angrily to the bleachers and sat down.

“Charlotte,” offered Robby, “or Hive, as she is known for her ability to be in more than one place at a time. And Pierre, aka Tension, is the A-hole that shocked Friedrich. Not an accident. Pierre likes to throw his weight around. He gets away with a lot because he kisses Frost’s ass.”

“Friedrick does not have a cool code name?”asked John, trepidatiously hesitant as to what moniker he might be saddled with.

“Code names are earned. Reserved for teacher's pets and those who excel in training.” Robie said slumping against his arms as he leaned against the fence. “And I am a long way from getting one.”

John gave a half smile as he glanced over at the smaller boy. Robby seemed younger than him, but it could just be because he wasn't as tall and toned as John. His tone was earned on the streets. Always on the run. Always being shuffled around and more than once having to protect himself, and others, against less good willing fosters. One asshat even specifically asked for mutant kids just to beat them into better citizens. That didn't last long before John was forced to put him on his ass. Robby reminded him of some of the younger fosters he had to step up for, “I bet you already have yours picked out, don't you.”

John watched as the boy perked up, taking his bait completely, “Oh yeah. The best ones combine the basics of your powers with cool stylization of your personality!” His huge smile faded and the mope returned, “but I'm never going to get it so it doesn't matter.”

John recognized someone who has had the fight beaten out of them. Emotionally Robby was already lying there with the foot of people like Ms. Frost and Pierre on his back, “say,” he began, “bunch of jock activities, even with powers, is not my thing either. What do you do for fun?”

The smile quickly returned. “How about the world's greatest video game?”

John wasn't sure where they were exactly now, they had taken two different stairwells to get here. The halls were lit with white LEDs in the ceiling. It and the walls and floor were made of metal. The doors looked like pressure doors on a starship from one of those sci fi movies. Plates on them identified the doors with designations like, Lab 3, Sick Bay, Strategy Room.

“Darn it!” Robby said, reaching one with a touchscreen next to it. “It's in use.” he then bolted for another hallway further down, “come on!”

When John caught up to him he was standing at a bay window overlooking a huge two story room. Inside it was a city street at night. Tall buildings stretched up past where the roof should be and surely would be sticking up through the school. And inside six people fought a robot so tall its head was level with the window. He recognized the people from the news, the uniforms, the powers, “these are the X-Men.” John exclaimed.

“Welcome to the danger room.” Robby beamed, “where the students and faculty train. Most of the teachers here are X-Men. And the students train, hoping to one day be on the team as well.” The faculty made short work of the towering robot. John could just stare, awestruck.

They had watched for twenty minutes as the room reset and the people went up against the robot one more time. But eventually the session outlasted the coming of dinner, and both boys made their way to the commissary. The room held most of the school, and the food was better than most he had ever had. He wondered if there was a mutant in the kitchen that had cooking powers. Free time followed for the last two hours before bed. Many students spent this time in their dorms, others made use of the game room, the TV room or just hung out in the library. Robby was already asleep by the time lights out was called. John lay there on his bed, his shoulder throbbing as the warm flesh raged against the cooler metal and plastic. The sounds of Eric's video games drifted in his ears and their flashes of light and color danced across the ceiling. He got up and walked to the small closet that held a sink, toilet and small shower. John filled a glass with water and dug into his pocket for the small plastic zipper bag. He dug two pills out to pop them in his mouth and chase them with the water. He held the bag in his fingers, only two pills remained and he contemplated what he would need to do soon.

It was two days later and John had gone through testing, both academic and physical, and was in the third of his new classes. Boarding school was a new experience. The foster system was uncomfortable housing coupled with the soul crushing addition of public school. This was definitely something different for John. Rather than sussing out one or two parents, he had to feel out over a dozen adults who had taken guardianship of his future. The line between fellow students and fellow fostered blurred. John always had sympathy for the kids with him in the foster system, and contempt for the silver spoon fed entitled kids. Now that division was jumbled. He met kids who should have been trust fund a-holes that were here because they were abandoned just for being born different. And kids who came from nothing who were sent here by genuinely loving parents simply because the school was their best shot at a life in a world that will always hate them. For the first time the sea of misfortune John had been on his whole life, wouldn't let him get his footing.

The teacher stood up at an old-fashioned blackboard, but a box on the ceiling projected the lesson from her laptop. She looked barely older than him, long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and silver wire framed glasses. She called herself Miss Pryde, and she was apparently head of the mathematics department. John always understood math. People could be opaque, fake or downright liars, but two plus two always made four. The classes here were simplified, this was simply called Advanced Math. Miss Pryde taught concepts that bounced between Algebra, calculus and trig. His History class last period was just history, covering the whole world at a time. Not glorifying one nation in particular. But what was more shocking was the teacher. The hairy biker guy from his first day was the professor. And he talked about alot of the lessons like someone who had been there, he pulled no punches.

“Miss Pryde?” Said  a small girl right in behind John who looked to be fifteen, “I don't feel so…” and immediately coughed up a stream of bright yellow liquid that proceeded to melt her desk.

John practically fell out of his desk trying to jump away from the spill. This prompted a laugh from the class, but Miss Pryde seemed unphased as she snatched up a silicone bag from her desk and strode over to the girl to place the bag in front of her mouth, “ok, Kimmy. Let's go see Dr. McCoy. Everyone, practice the formula on the board.” She added as she and the girl simply dropped through the floor of the classroom.

John turned to the purple haired girl in the next aisle across from the dissolving desk, “is she ok.”

The bored looking girl didn't even bother looking up from her phone, “that's Kimmy's thing.”

“She can digest anything.” Continued Robby, “she tries too hard to impress people who keep asking her to swallow stuff just to get a laugh out of her. Then she makes herself sick because just because she can digest it doesn't mean it's good for her.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Don't know why she cares,” the purple girl droned.

“Some people want people to like them, Tiffany.” Robby countered.

Pierre took this opportunity to kick the still solid part of the desk at John, “look out newbie, it's coming for you.” This garnered a laugh from several others, others John could surmise made up his personal stooges. He didn't doubt these were the people who kept talking Kimmy into swallowing weird things.

“I bet you wouldn't have found it as funny if she had nearly hurled all over you.” John bit back, standing up to face the upperclassman.

Pierre stood to match, his short temper causing electricity already arcing between his fingers, “watch the tone new boy. You should find out who you're dealing with before mouthing off.”

To John’s surprise, the girl Ms. Frost had called Miss Mitchel stood up across the room, “if you didn't feed her shit just for a laugh, she wouldn't get sick all the time. You are lucky she hasn't ratted you out yet to Hank.”

“I grow tired of your mouth Constance,” Pierre had now refocused his attention on the statuesque girl. He could tell by their tones there was a lot of history here. He sauntered up to the girl and ran a finger along her chin, “if you would just clean yourself up and look like a proper girl, you and I could have a lot of fun with that mouth.”

John never saw her move, but suddenly Pierre was across the room, blood spraying from his teeth. She moved in between blinks and knocked him fifteen feet across the classroom.

An enraged Pierre was quickly on his feet, energy crackling between his hands, “you uppity bitch!” and flung the arc straight at Constance's head.

John took two steps up the aisle and the lightning crashed against his chest. A wide eyed Pierre watched as the electricity flowed into John's body and his eyes glowed white. John raised his prosthetic and a panel popped up on the back of the hand, “bad move asshole.” The front of the pop out blaster glowed.

“Mister Carter!” John collapsed to the floor as he felt his head was about to split open. Frost stood in the doorway, a look between irate rage and intense concentration on her pristine face. “You dare brandish a weapon against a fellow student in my school!”

John stood. He didn't want to. Nor did he consciously intend to. But his body moved on his own, category ten migraine still inpaleing his brain, and walked out of the classroom behind Frost.

The blue furry bespectacled gorilla was off putting to say the least, until John got to talk to him. “I must say I'm surprised this got past me in my initial inspection.” Hank McCoy said to him in his ivy league educated voice.

“It's hard to spot, it isn't connected to the power supply of the arm. It only charges up when I have absorbed something. Anytime else it's useless.” John consoled the beastial scientist. Hank continued to work on the arm as the two sat at the table, “is she ok?” John asked quietly.

“Whom, Mr Carter?” Hank retorted, not looking up.

“Kimmy,” he answered.

“Miss Feltner will be fine, John.” He told him, “I can easily filter out the toxins from her system.”

Hank worked in silence for a few minutes before John spoke again. “What did they feed her this time?”

“Batteries. Double A alkaline batteries.” Hank stopped working and now looked at John over his spectacles, “is that why you were going to shoot Mr St. Savage, John? Because you believe he is endangering Kimberly?”

John shrugged, “maybe, that and he was about to shoot Constance.”

“Constance is tougher than you think.” Hank replied, going back to work on the arm. “Do you feel a need to protect people, John?”

John was uncomfortable, most adults he had ever talked to seemed to think they already knew the answers to the questions they asked. The questions were to allow them to answer things for him, or catch him in a lie. But this blue fur ball seemed to genuinely want to know. “I'm not sure. Maybe. I mean, somebody has to, right? Especially if no one else will.”

Hank stopped again. He looked right at John, right into his eyes. Like he wasn't just some punk kid, but another person, an equal. “That is a very noble thing, John. Don't lose that. The world needs more people like that.” Hank set the tools down and removed his glasses, “there, the weapon will not engage while inside the bubble of the institute’s wifi. I did not want to disarm it completely, as Ms Frost wanted. Outside these hallowed walls one needs to defend oneself. But I pray you learn the decorum not to wield a weapon against your fellow students. Not all conflicts need be met with violence. Some enemies are vanquished with compassion and understanding.”

John gripped his wrist and flexed his artificial hand. Then proceeded to rub his shoulder without thinking.

“The prosthetic causes you pain, I gather?” Hank asked, again without the condescension he was all too used to. John nodded and Hank continued, “the cybernetics technology of Donald Pierce is impressive, but it is meant for use on adults. Your body is still growing, changing. And its inorganic composition is unable to change with it. Tell me, how do you deal with the pain?”

John shrugged, again causing the shoulder to radiate with pain, “I deal.”

“If you need help…” Hank paused, leaving John unsure if he knew the truth, or was waiting for John to expound on the explanation, “dealing, I ask you to come to me. I can make adjustments, maybe give you something for the pain. Nothing too severe, mind you. I am not a pharmacy.” He gave John a warm smile, “now, I understand you have detention for your actions, I suggest you get back to your classes until then.”

John had not been gone more than ten minutes before Emma showed up in Hank's lab. “Is he disarmed?” She asked bluntly.

“He will be threatening no one else in the foreseeable future.” Hank quipped.

“He should be expelled.” She replied.

“He has heart Emma.” Hank said seriously, “I believe he has the makings of a hero.”

“That is doubtful, Hank.” she said, unconvinced.

Hank looked at the coldly beautiful blonde and pondered for a few moments, “I think I will take care of detention this afternoon, headmistress. If that is ok with you.”

She looked at the hairy scientist suspiciously, then shrugged her shapely shoulders, “if you wish to spend time with those reprobates Hank, be my guest.”

John kept his head down the rest of the afternoon. After classes he was to report to the library. Enroute, he met up with Constance. She had detention as well it seemed, for the bloody mouth she gave to Pierre.

“I didn't need your help.” She grumbled at him as they walked.

“I did not help because you needed it,” he replied trying to imitate some of the wizened tone he had heard from Hank, “I gave it to show I was willing to help.”

Constance rolled her eyes, but then quickly smiled, “the look on his face when his bug zappers failed against you was pretty funny though.”

They entered the library and found it already occupied by Robby, Eric and Tiffany. Robby waved to John enthusiastically as he entered.

“Your fan club is here,” Constance jabbed at him.

“He's a good kid, really.” John replied.

“What did you do?” John asked as he sat down.

“I might have left an eye in a wastebasket…” the boy began, “in one of the girls dorms…”

“Ok, I have to know who's?” Laughed Constance, “good kid my ass. Little pervert…”

John held up his hand to Constance, “enough, puberty is a bitch. Let's leave it at that. What about them?” He asked, turning to Robby.

“Tiffany got her phone taken in Ms Monroe's class,” he began, “and smashed her desk when she got mad.” Tiffany gave him a sarcastic look, the kind that looked like an invisible hand grabbed her face and made a fist.

“I thought stuff passed through her. How does she smash a desk?” Asked a confused John.

“Density manipulation.” The purple haired girl said bluntly, “I can reduce my density to phase through matter, or increase it to be indestructible.” She stared at the ceiling, twisting her hair in her fingers, “when it increases I get stronger.”

“And I'm guessing Eric is here for skipping classes.” John surmised.

Eric faced the back of his hand to John and raised the first two fingers.

“Indeed John,” Hank entered the library and set down a briefcase. He pulled a stack of paperwork out and set it on the table in front of Eric, “Mr Lundquist has work to catch up on today and when we meet tomorrow.” Losing a Saturday received a groan from the entire group.

“Your actions in life carry weight.” Continued Hank, undeterred. “It is easy to focus on these events when they bring us misery, but we need to focus on what we did well. Because then we can grow.” He stood before the end of the table, hands clasped behind his back and gave a look over the gathered students, “can anyone tell me what a hero is?”

“Someone who is idolized by others,” Constance said, looking over at John. It was a subtle jab at Robby’s apparent affection for him.

“No, Constance. An idol and a hero are very different.” Hank corrected. He looked at Tiffany, “Miss Brown?”

“A sucker that does things for other people.” She proposed, still playing with her hair in the absence of her phone.

“No, in many ways in fact, no.” Hank replied, now looking right at John, “John, what do you think?”

John sighed and closed his eyes, he knew where this was going. Dr McCoy wanted the classical definition, “a person who puts the good of others above themselves.”

“Excellent John.” Hank touched his watch and an image formed in the middle of the table. A rotating picture showing a changing image of many classical heroes, but also some pictures of firefighters, soldiers, even a boy helping an old lady cross the street, “A hero is someone who gives of himself, often putting his own life at great risk, for the greater good of others. It is not only what we strive to achieve here, but what truly makes us, well, for lack of a better word, human. When we live heroically we make the world we live in a better place. We train you to use your mutant gifts, so you can be safe and make sure others around you are safe. Some of those who graduate may choose to become X-Men. I assure you this is never mandatory, however we X-Men live a life in service to humanity, because a selfless heroic life is the path to human and mutant coexisting in peace. That is Charles Xavier’s dream. But even if you do not become an X-Man I implore you to consider what a heroic life means. Selflessness, honor and compassion, these are the holy trinity of heroism. And if everyone lived with these pillars upholding their life, then everyone's life improves.”

“Tell that to Pierre,” John’s snide comment shattered the calm and mystical air that had taken over the room while Hank spoke.

Hank sighed, “there will alway be those who act in selfish and cruel ways. They are not going anywhere. But may I ask, where did meeting Mr St. Savage on his terms get you, John, Constance?” The two looked away as he drove home the point. “There will always be selfish individuals who know how to game the system. Pierre got a slap on the wrist, you are here. Who worked that situation to their advantage? By reacting just as he wanted, he sacrificed little and you lost far more. Maybe next time you should remember that.”

The rest of the afternoon was mostly discussions on heroes. Topics such as who were their favorites, what was their impact on the world, and who did that make them want to be? In the end, the hours passed quickly. Even Eric spoke and was engaged. John didn’t mind Doc, for someone who seemed to know so much he never seemed to act like he knew everything. He often asked what they thought when a question was brought up. He seemed more interested in guiding their thoughts than shoving what he knew down their throats. It was the most enjoyable detention he had ever served.

John laid in bed, his shoulder throbbing. He had his last pill the night before, splitting them up to make them last longer but now they were gone. John eased out of bed and slid his suitcase from underneath. From the lining he extradited the ancient phone and powered it on. He blasted out a text and in four minutes got a response. His contact could meet him at a party tomorrow night. Now he just had to figure out how to get there.

John felt like death warmed over. Not even really warmed, just the chill taken off. The pain in his shoulder kept him up most of the night. He needed to get to that party tonight.

Hank met everyone outside the library. “Good morning students. We will not be meeting in the library today.”

“So we are free to go?” Asked Constance, hopefully.

“Unfortunately, you are not so lucky.” Laughed Hank.

He led them down into the underside of the school where Robby had shown John the Danger Room. From there they boarded a tram that took them down a tunnel that led to a cavern that could have held the mansion itself. It smelled of hot metal and jet fuel and inside was a helicopter and two of the biggest blackest jets John had ever seen.

“I have some diagnostics on Blackbird one and two. So you, my children, will be serving your Saturday detention cleaning every surface of the two planes.”

“Please say you're joking Dr McCoy.” Whined Robby. “That could take all weekend.”

“Not if you work together. Teamwork, cooperation and a little ingenuity can make more than a difference. And as added incentive, when the planes are clean, inside and out, you are done. Detention will be over.”

Hank spent the first half hour going over the hows and whats to use on the wheres, then got started on his own work. The kids started in on various points haphazardly. 

John worked his way over to Robby. The kid seemed.to know everything about this place. “Hey,” he began casually, “can't you do the thing you did with my suitcase?”

Robby shook his head as he mopped the underside of the plane, “it's too big. The more of me I dissipate, the harder it is to keep track of all of me.” He stopped to lean on the mop, “I'm scared not all of me will come back.”

John was immediately regretful of suggesting it, so much he forgot to work the conversation into getting off school grounds. But it did bring the thought of powers to mind. He looked at each of his fellow detention mates and considered their abilities. “Hey, everybody huddle up.”

The group reluctantly gathered, “I have some ideas, unless everyone wants to be here all day.” The consensus was a unanimous no. John turned to Tiffany, “can you do the thing Miss Pryde did with the floor?”

“Air walking?” She said, “yeah, why?”

He turned to Constance, “you are fast, right?”

In the end, Constance was running along the roof of the jet pushing the mop ahead of her while Tiffany continued to phase up and down through the plane to reload her and Eric's buckets. Eric was tossing the buckets up and quickly touching the falling water to project it along the bottom of the ship. Robby and John were inside. John held a trash bag while Robby ran a fuzzed hand along every surface, dropping the dirt and detritus into John's bag. Every minute or so grabbing hand holds as Eric's sonic booms rocked the ship. In two hours they were starting on the second Blackbird.

Settled into a solid work rhythm, John decided to retry his earlier goal, “Are we allowed to leave the school?”

“Oh sure, you just need a permission slip and an outline of where you are going.” Robby replied, without even breaking his stride.

“And,” John continued, “how likely is a party a reasonable outline?”

Now Robby stopped and looked at John with the look of someone who already knew where he was going was unacceptable, “do you really see Frost as a person who approves of parties?”

John of course, recognised the look, and stepped into part two, “so if someone knew how to get out without that needed permission, and would enjoy a good party, he could join the person who knew where that party was, right?”

Robby looked at him blankly, maybe he disapproved of sneaking out, or maybe the boy was just so taken aback by being invited his brain shut down. Then he smiled that, Oh do I have good info, his face always took on, “I might, but it would depend on where the party is?”

“Manhattan,” John replied.

Hank was proud, John could tell he expected them to find creative ways to use their powers to speed up the job. They were done in time for the last hour of lunch and the group rode the tram back to the school.

That night after lights out, John hopped out of bed to find Eric sitting on his bunk, already dressed. “Where do you think you are going”

“Silence has a price my friend.” Eric smiled.

“Fine,” he relented. Adding a body increases the risk of getting caught. 

Robby led them once more below the school. Next to the door leading to the tram and the hanger was another. And behind it was yet another tram. Waiting at the tram, butts firmly leaning against it was Constance and Tiffany. Both girls dressed to the nines. Tiffany in full-on Gothic Lolita while Constance wore little more than a black body con.

“Who invited you two?” John asked.

“Who do you think told me?” Snarked Eric as he stepped past and into the vehicle.

“I told Constance.” Robby, wincing at the scolding look John gave him. It was a look that would remove the fuzz from a kiwi. “How often do you get to see that,” he defended, indicating the tall pixie cut blond, “all dolled up. Not that you aren't exceptional yourself,” he said, directing his hormonal attention at Tiffany.

“Ew.” She said bluntly, before boarding the tram.

Robby followed her as John looked over Constance, “ok, you do look pretty.”

The tattooed girl shrugged. Her face indicated oddly enough, both disdain for the compliment and somehow appreciation for it, “I can get whatever clothes I want. Mom is a European fashion model.” she added dismissively as she stepped in and John followed. “Besides, we are a team are we not?”

“We did work well together.” John replied as the doors closed.

The speed was impressive. The tram to the hanger didn't go far so it did not have to go fast, this one moved hundreds of miles an hour, it seemed. “Where does this go?” John directed at Robby.

“The Morlock tunnels.” Robby smiled. “Mutants whose powers are too dangerous or appearance is too extreme to blend into society live in these abandoned tunnels built as bomb shelters in the sixties for Manhattan. But we will not be going into their territories. They built the tram because the X-Men have a truce with the Morlocks and aid each other. But we still shouldn't enter their territory. We'll exit through the hatch where the tram stops and make our way to the party from there.”

Robby was a fountain of information, like a human X-Men Wikipedia. He looked across at Constance. She was beautiful, perfect even, even if John would never admit it to her. But she seemed determined to mar every inch of herself. It made sense her mother was a model. “Wait, is your mother Gabriella Mitchel?” Her eye roll told him he was correct. “You are the daughter of Gabriella Mitchel and Roman Nekoboh? She disappeared from public view when she was twelve. Damn, you should be living the high life.”

Her return glare was so cold John nearly checked himself for frostbite, “let me tell you something ghetto boy,” she closed her eyes and sighed and her verbal onslaught softened, “never wish to be perfect. It's a worse punishment than you can ever imagine. Besides beauty, I am faster, stronger, smarter, tougher… Hank said my mutation was that I am just above the human limit in every way. I stand out in everything I do. And people notice. An adult magazine offered my father's agent the cover for me when I was nine. Nine! And one of his financers tried to molest me at a party when I was eleven. I decided then the last thing I wanted was that life. I didn't want attention. I tried scaring my face but I healed too fast. Tattoos last a few months and piercings as long as the hole isn't open for more than a day.”

“I'm so sorry, Constance. You shouldn't have to ruin yourself outside for people to see inside.” Replied John, trying to be comforting.

“Thanks,” she replied with a half smile, just as the tram began to slow.

The ladder in the station led to a back alley behind a dance studio. John got his bearings quickly, “we are less than a dozen blocks away. This will be easy.”

The party was at an old theater, the muffled music exploded into the alley when the door was opened. They entered behind the screen the DJ had set up in front of. Whoever they were, they were talented. Their feed was linked to the projector and the screen was lit up with rapidly shifting images. The floor in front and much of the aisles were filled with dancers. Constance and Tiffany stayed to dance while the boys squeezed around the revelers and climbed to the steps to the lobby. Here the party goers were gathered into groups talking or squeezed into dark spaces to have more personal hookups. Two people were selling drinks from behind an old concession counter. Off from the entrance, which was boarded up making it impossible to see the party happening inside from the street, was an old arcade section.

“Now we're talking.” Said Eric as he shot off toward distractions more digital.

John was set to meet his contact by the restrooms, but Robby was attached to his hip as always. John looked about quickly and spotted a girl stumbling along, drunk or high, possibly both. She was cute, and covered in sporadic colors like a truckload of paint driven through a jet engine. The colors of her clothes and her hair fought for dominance in an ongoing war of attrition. The girl wobbled backward then suddenly toppled forward into a space made up of old fake potted plants.

“Hey, I think that girl needs help.” He nudged Robby, pointing out Tie Dye Girl.

“Um, I… I don't know.” Stammered Robby.

“You like to look at pretty girls, there is a very cute one in distress, and you won't talk to her?” John pushed, he had to get him occupied if he was going to do his business. “How are you  ever going to know if one likes you if you don't talk to them? Besides, if you make a fool of yourself I doubt she will remember.”

Robby stood up straight, thrust out his jaw and nodded, before running toward the prone girl. As soon as he set off running John slipped off to the restrooms. So intent on ditching the younger boy and reaching his score, John failed to notice the trio of unsavory guys who had been following the young girl.

Robby reached the girl as she still struggled to get to her feet. He took her hand and pulled her to verticality, but still the floor seemed to persist in dragging her back down.

“Are you ok?” He asked, she was slightly taller than him, but then again she seemed to be wearing outrageously high heeled shoes.

“I'm reeeeally gooood!” She slurred out before degenerating into a fit of giggles. Her eyes were so dilated Robby could not even tell what color they were.

“I'm Robby,” He introduced himself, unsure even if she understood him in her condition.

But she smiled a wide happy grin and continued to giggle, managing to laugh out the word, “Mia.” just before engaging in an involuntary purging of some of the contents of her stomach all over Robby’s front. “S… sorry.” She stammered before her eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the ground once more.

“Well, she's ready.” Said one of the guys who stepped up behind Robby. They were dressed in near matching hipster chic, and each sported a hairstyle that only shared a commonality in that each seemed to be trying to be as different as possible from the other two.

“I guess the party has begun.” Said the next. “Get lost kid.” He added, pushing Robby aside.

Robby looked about only to find John nowhere to be found. Still, this beautiful girl, who just recently threw up on him, was in danger, “leave her alone!”

“I said get lost kid.” Said the third as he shoved Robby away, and turned back to watch his buddy starting to remove Mia's chaotic attire.

Robby was alone. He could run. He didn't really know her. But the voice of Hank bubbled to the top of his head, ‘what is a hero?’ Robby took a deep breath and ran at the three assailants, bringing his foot up between the legs of the one crouched down, stripping Mia.

Constance and Tiffany bounced and wiggled to the beat. Constance remembered the parties in Europe, all the models dancing, blitzed out of their minds while the little ten year old girl tried to imitate them. Tiffany on the other hand learned most of her moves from K-Pop videos. But while they may not have matched, they both were having more fun than either had had in months.

“Hey, babe.”said one guy suddenly too close to her face before she realized, “you sure look extreme, chica.” There were three others with him, all wearing the same gang colors.

“Too extreme for you.” She said, as she stopped dancing to meet his gaze with her usual intensity and pushed him back to increase the gap. “So why don't you boys run along and let us dance?”

“Hey Carlos, she seems like she could give us all a good run.” Said the one behind Tiffany, “so what to do with her little girlfriend.”

“Easy,” said the third, “while we have fun with her friend she can hold my…” The statement was never finished as Tiffany's fist caught him in his diaphragm.

The banger slid across the dance floor, not stopping for at least fifteen feet.

“You bitches!” Screamed Carlos as he grabbed for Constance, who was watching the other boy slide to a stop.

She never looked his way, she simply grabbed his arm, and with a simple twist of her wrist broke one of the bones in his forearm. She released the broken appendage and struck him in the chest with the side of her hand so quickly he never had the chance to scream.

As their leader landed across the dance floor, another of them dove at Tiffany. His chin cracked on the pavement as he passed right through the girl.

“Mierda, es un fantasma.” he cried as he lay there holding his bleeding chin.

Someone in the crowd, witnessing the man pass through the girl screamed, just as the sonic boom shook the whole building.

“Crap” Constance muttered.

One of the assailants drove his fist across Robby’s face. The boy landed on the floor, his cheek a hot throbbing mass of pain. As the guy strode up to him and grabbed his collar, Robby placed his hand on the front of his shirt, pulling the mess from the material and shoved the hand in the man's face. Mia's up-chuck splattered across the guy's face. He howled in disgust, which really only succeeded in getting some in his mouth. Robby suddenly received a boot to the head from another one. He spilled out into the lobby from behind the potted fort.

Eric saw his roommate land on the tack carpet of the lobby out of the corner of his eye. Then he watched as two tragically trendy guys followed and began to beat on him mercilessly. He ran from the arcade as fast as he could, Robby hung limply in their grip by the time Eric arrived. The lanky blonde boy placed his hands on one of them and the lobby exploded with a shockwave that shattered every piece of glass in the building. The hipster flew away from Eric, sundering through the plywood that barricaded the old entrance door. Medics would later say he had broken seventy three bones as he punched through the wood at the speed he was traveling.

The building shook as the garbage pile of a man handed John the baggie of pills, “Shit.” He grumbled, recognizing the boom of Eric's powers. He ran from the bathroom to see Bedlam unfolding. The crowd ran in every direction, searching for any exit besides the hole up front where the lights from the NYPD squad car flooded into the theater. Eric held Robby, brused, bloody and broken.

“Robby!” John cried, annoying as the little freak was, John was genuinely starting to like him.

“Where the hell were you?” Eric screamed.

“Taking a piss!” John yelled back. “I thought it was cool. I left him talking to a girl…” John looked over at the rainbow girl laying behind the pots. “Shit.”

John ran over to her to find her half undressed and quickly moved to cover her.

“Hurry up!” Said Eric as the flashlights of the cops could be seen making their way into the hole.

John threw Mia over his shoulder, “where are the girls?”

“I don't know, probably still in the dance room!” Eric griped back. Both made a dash for the theater room carrying their respective loads.

The theater room had cleared out, except for the DJ frantically tossing equipment into a van in the alley, and Constance. Arms crossed standing next to Tiffany, tapping her boot angrily.

“What did you guys do?” She demanded. John pointed at Eric with a ‘don't look at me’ face. Then she noticed Robby. “What happened to him?” she looked over Robby quickly before she noticed the raver girl over John's shoulder, “and who is she?”

“Robby’s new girlfriend, maybe?” John replied sarcastically, “can we just leave?”

They made it out of the alley and a block away just as the scream of backup sirens could be heard.

“What do we do? They're both in bad shape.” John asked as they trudged down the street in early morning Manhattan. Every minute it got more dangerous to be where they were.

“How do I know?” screamed Constance, “this whole thing was your idea.”

Everyone froze in place as the black SUV screeched to a stop in front of them, lights blinding them, as the caped silhouette of Emma Frost in her X-Men uniform stepped in front of the headlights. Her voice boomed in their heads like Eric's blast earlier, “get in the vehicle, NOW!”