Nathan woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, groaning as he rubbed his temples. His stomach growled in protest, urging him to move. He got out of bed, stepping over piles of dirty clothes and empty instant noodle cups scattered across the floor. The apartment looked like a disaster zone — though the kitchen wasn't too bad, if you ignored the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.
Spotting a box of cereal on the counter, Nathan grabbed it, opened the fridge, and found some milk that hadn't expired yet. A few minutes later, he was sitting on the couch, bowl in hand, chewing absently while his mind spun faster than his spoon.
He was certain now — this was the Marvel universe. The name Colonel William Junior Strucker wasn't exactly subtle, and Trask Industries had sealed the deal. Which meant he was royally screwed.
Nathan had seen enough Marvel movies to know what was coming. In just a few years, Dr. Bolivar Trask would create and perfect the Sentinels using Mystique's DNA, triggering the mass hunt and extermination of mutants — and he was apparently one of them.
Luckily, he also knew the story: Logan would travel from the future to stop Mystique from assassinating Trask, preventing the Sentinel Program from being greenlit. In the movies, it worked. But now? Now his very existence here might've thrown everything off balance.
For all he knew, Logan might fail this time… or never even arrive. The Sentinels could still be approved, and the nightmare could play out differently. He couldn't just sit back and hope the story stayed the same.
That meant he had to act. He had to make sure things didn't spiral out of control.
Which brought him to his own mutant powers. So far, he'd confirmed two — regeneration, which had already saved his life more than once, and a strange ability to manipulate rocks. It hadn't looked impressive at first, but maybe… just maybe, it could be trained.
With that in mind, Nathan walked out into the backyard. The morning air was crisp, the grass wet beneath his bare feet. He scanned the ground until he spotted a solid gray rock about the size of a soccer ball.
"Alright, let's see," he muttered, rubbing his hands together like some bargain-bin wizard.
He crouched, extended his hand toward the rock, and focused.
"Move."
Nothing.
He frowned, stepped a little closer.
"Move… please?"
Still nothing. Not even a twitch.
Nathan squinted harder, veins in his temple tightening as if sheer willpower could make the thing levitate.
"Come on, just....float or something!"
The rock remained a rock. Completely unbothered.
Nathan sighed, plopped down cross-legged in front of it, and rubbed his face.
"Okay. Let's try this another way."
He closed his eyes and began to hum, forcing a calm he didn't feel.
"Inner peace. Inner peace. Focus on breathing. Inhale… exhale…"
He took a deep breath, pressing his palms together like a cartoon monk.
"Feel the rock. Be one with the rock. The rock is your friend. The rock is you, and you are the rock."
He cracked one eye open to make sure no one was watching, then faced his palm toward the rock, took a dramatic breath, and shouted—
"Ha!"
He thrust his hand forward.
Silence. The rock hadn't moved an inch.
Nathan opened one eye, then the other, his shoulders slumping.
"Oh, come on!" he groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?!"
The only answer was a distant bird chirping,probably laughing at him.
Nathan sighed again, flopping back onto the grass.
"There must be something I'm missing," Nathan muttered, frowning at the stubborn gray rock. He closed his eyes, thinking back to that desperate moment during his escapethe rush of energy, the pulse that had surged through his veins, the strange connection that tethered him to the earth.
"When I used it before… it was like something flowed through me," he said under his breath. "Like… I wasn't pushing the rock. I was linked to it."
He stood, brushed the dirt off his hands, and faced his palm toward the rock.
"Alright. Let's do this properly this time."
He focused, breathing slow and deep. The world seemed to grow quieter—the chirping of birds faded, the wind stilled. Then it happened: that same warm, tingling sensation rising from his chest, spreading through his arm, and out through his fingertips.
The rock twitched.
Nathan's eyes widened. He felt his pulse spike with excitement, but forced himself to stay calm.
"Steady… steady…"
He clenched his fist, channeling that feelingand the rock trembled harder, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. Then, with a sharp crack, it exploded into fragments, scattering across the grass.
Nathan froze. Then his face split into a wild grin.
"Oh, YEAH, baby! That's what I'm talking about! That's what I'm freaking talking about!"
He pumped his fists in the air, bouncing on his heels.
"Whooo!,yes!"
He spun back toward the shattered remains, still grinning ear to ear.
"Alright, let's try this again."
Nathan stretched out his hand, palm open. The warm sensation returned—smoother this time, familiar. One by one, the broken pieces began to rise, trembling in midair before floating toward him in a slow orbit.
Nathan's grin softened into awe. "Holy crap…"
He turned his gaze to a nearby tree a few meters away and pointed toward it.
"Okay… rock bullets, let's see what you've got."
The fragments zipped forward through the air only to sputter out after a few meters and plop back to the ground like pebbles.
Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck,but the disappointment barely lasted a second before his smirk returned.
"Guess I got a little too excited there. But hey…" He chuckled. "Progress is progress."
He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. He could still feel it—the faint hum under his skin, the echo of that connection.
For the first time since waking up in this world, Nathan didn't just think he was a mutant. He felt it.
And it felt damn good.
A Week Later.
Nathan stood in the backyard, sweat glistening down his neck as rocks spun around him in tight orbits. With a flick of his hand, they shot forward like bullets, smashing into a tree in the distance. He exhaled slowly, muscles tense, then straightened. Training for the day was done.
Over the last week, he had pushed himself to the limit—testing both his body and his strange new ability. He'd discovered he was stronger than the average person, though he wasn't sure by how much yet. As for his earth-manipulating power.what he'd decided to call geokinesis—he could lift up to two hundred kilograms of rock, though anything over a hundred required hand gestures to stabilize.
It wasn't just rocks either. He could manipulate the ground itself,soil, sand, dirt,anything connected to the earth. He'd have preferred to stay hidden and keep training, but supplies were running low, and time was against him. He had to move.
Inside the house, he tossed his sweat-drenched shirt onto a chair. The table nearby was cluttered with road maps, a few snacks, a rifle and boxes of ammunition,because, as he liked to say, he wasn't about to get caught lacking ,and a half-filled duffel bag. He'd been planning this for days, mapping out routes that avoided highways and checkpoints.
The journey to New York would take about four days,if everything went right.
Nathan shoved the ammo into the duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, and grabbed a small pouch of pebbles. He'd decided to carry them everywhere now; they were light, deadly, and perfect for quick defense. Finally, he picked up the rifle and stepped outside.
The dark-green SUV sat under a tree, dust coating its sides. He checked the fuel gauge,half a tank. Enough to get him across a few states if he rationed carefully. Otherwise… he'd "borrow" another car along the way.
As he climbed into the driver's seat, his reflection caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He barely recognized himself anymore. He'd taken a life,and didn't even regret it in the slightest.
His generation, back in his old world, had been pretty messed up anyway. The internet, violent media, glorified killing ,it had all numbed them to things that should've mattered.
"From an ordinary guy to a fugitive mutant," he muttered with a dry laugh. "Who would've thought? Not sure if I'm lucky or screwed… but Marvel really doesn't pull its punches."
He turned the key. The engine growled to life.
End of Chapter.