Deerfield, Illinois. 2:33 AM.
The storm was powerful. Thunderclaps echoed for thousands of miles, and rain hit the windows like pellets of ice.
Inside the corner house, in a second-story bedroom painted a soft lavender, a girl was dreaming. In the dream, there was no rain. There was no gravity. She was soaring.
She was weightless, a kite cut from its string, drifting high above a sparkling city grid. The wind wasn't cold; it was exhilarating, rushing through her brown curls and cooling her skin. She laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy that bubbled up from her chest. She spun in the air, arms outspread, watching the cars below move like sluggish beetles of light.
It was freedom. It was the feeling of leaving everything heavy behind—algebra tests, the awkward stares from boys, the pressure to be perfect. Up here, she was just air and light.
Then, the wind changed.
It stopped supporting her. The bird-like freedom vanished, replaced by the sickening lurch of a stomach drop on a roller coaster. The city lights below didn't look beautiful anymore; they looked hard. Unforgiving. Concrete and steel rushing up to meet her at terminal velocity.
Her laughter died in her throat, strangled by a scream she couldn't let out.
She flailed, clawing at the empty air, but there was nothing to grab. She plummeted. Faster. Faster. The ground was right there. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact, bracing for the end.
She hit.
But there was no crunch. No pain.
There was a sensation like plunging into ice-cold water, a shivering tingle that started in her toes and violently vibrated through every molecule of her body. It felt like walking through a spiderweb, but the web was inside her skin.
She gasped, her eyes snapping open.
Darkness.
She wasn't in her bed. She wasn't in the sky.
She was lying on something hard, cold, and gritty. The smell hit her instantly—damp concrete, dust, and the metallic tang of old copper pipes.
A flash of lightning illuminated a small, rectangular window high up near the ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The shadows stretched over boxes labeled "X-MAS DECORATIONS" and stacks of old magazines.
The basement. She was in the basement.
Terror, irrational and primal, spiked in her chest. She scrambled backward, her hands scraping against the rough concrete floor. She was wearing her oversized pajamas, shivering uncontrollably.
"Mom? Dad?"
Her voice came out as a squeak, swallowed by the booming thunder overhead.
How? How did she get here? She remembered falling asleep in her room. On the second floor. The basement was two stories down. Did she sleepwalk? She had never sleepwalked in her life. And even if she had, the basement door was locked at night to keep the draft out.
"MOM!"
She screamed it this time, panic overtaking her. She pulled her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. The tingling sensation—that ghostly shiver—was still humming in her bones, making her feel nauseous.
Above her, she heard heavy footsteps thudding on the floorboards. Muffled shouting. The sound of a door being thrown open. Light flooded the basement stairs.
"Kitty? Honey?"
Her father's voice. Panic-stricken.
"I'm down here!" she sobbed, the tears coming hot and fast now. "Daddy, I'm down here!"
Lance Pryde came clattering down the wooden stairs, gripping the handrail so hard his knuckles were white. Her mother, Carmen, was right behind him, clutching her robe tight. When they saw her curled up in the corner on the cold floor, her mother let out a cry that was half-relief, half-anguish.
"Oh, baby! Oh my god!"
Her mother rushed forward, falling to her knees on the concrete and scooping the girl into her arms. She smelled like lavender detergent and safety, but tonight, it wasn't enough to stop the shaking.
"I don't know what happened!" Kitty cried into her mother's shoulder. "I was dreaming... I was falling... and then I woke up here! It was so cold, Mom. It felt like... like ghosts were touching me."
Her father knelt beside them, his hand trembling as he brushed the hair out of her face. "It's okay, Kit-Kat. You're okay. You must have been sleepwalking. That's all. Just a bad dream and a little sleepwalking."
"I locked the door, Lance," her mother whispered, her eyes wide with confusion. "I checked it before bed. I always check it."
"Maybe the latch didn't catch," Lance said, though he didn't sound convinced. He looked around the dark basement, checking for intruders, for anything that made sense. "Let's just... let's get you upstairs. Out of the cold."
He stood up, reaching down to help them. Then, he froze.
He was looking up. Directly above where Kitty had been lying.
The basement ceiling was unfinished—exposed wooden beams and pipes. But right there, lodged between two joists, was something that didn't belong.
It was a patch of pink fabric. And white fluff.
"Lance?" Carmen asked, following his gaze. "What is it?"
Lance clicked on the harsh overhead bulb, flooding the room with yellow light. Kitty followed her father's stare. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Hanging from the ceiling—not hanging from it, but passing through the solid wood of the floorboards above—was her comforter. And half of her pillow.
They weren't draped over the beams. They were fused with them. The wood bisected the pillow. The pink fabric of the comforter rippled out of the solid timber like it had grown there.
"That's..." Lance stepped back, his face draining of color. "That's her bed. That's her bedding."
"No," Kitty whispered, shaking her head. She pushed herself deeper into her mother's arms. "No, that's not possible. That's not real."
"It's coming through the floor," Lance said, his voice hollow. "From her room. Two stories up."
He looked down at his daughter. The look in his eyes wasn't anger. It was fear. Pure, unadulterated confusion and fear.
"Kitty," he breathed. "How did you get down here?"
"I fell!" she screamed, hysteria taking over. She looked at her hands, turning them over. They looked normal, but they felt... fuzzy. Vibrating. "I fell through! I fell through the floor! Oh god, what's happening to me? Mom! What's wrong with me?!"
"Shh, shh, baby, I've got you," Carmen said, pulling her tighter, though Kitty could feel her mother's heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "We're going to figure it out. It's... maybe the storm. Maybe lightning struck the house. It's going to be okay."
Lance looked down at his trembling daughter. A wave of guilt hit him—how could he be afraid of his own baby girl? He dropped to his knees and hugged her tightly, making sure she could feel her dad's love and warmth, trying to chase away the impossible reality hanging from the ceiling.
But as Kitty stared up at her pillow, merged inextricably with the solid wood of the basement ceiling, she knew.
Nothing was ever going to be okay again.
Westchester, New York. The X-Mansion.
Deep beneath the manicured grounds of the estate, in a spherical chamber cooled to near-freezing temperatures, a machine was humming.
It was a sound felt more than heard—a psychic resonance that echoed in the mind of the man wearing the massive, silver helmet.
Professor Charles Xavier sat in the center of the void, his mind expanded across the globe. To him, the world wasn't a map of borders and oceans. It was a sea of lights. Billions of white sparks representing humanity, and among them, scattered like rare diamonds, the red sparks of the mutant population.
Suddenly, a new light flared.
It didn't just flicker on; it erupted. A surge of psionic energy, panicked and uncontrolled, pulsing from the American Midwest.
Xavier's eyes darted behind his closed lids. The Cerebro interface projected a holographic map into his mind. He zoomed in. North America. Illinois. Deerfield.
The signal was strong. Distressed. And young.
[SUBJECT IDENTIFIED]
[NAME: KATHERINE "KITTY" PRYDE]
[AGE: 16]
[LOCATION: 1407 GRAYMALKIN LANE, DEERFIELD, IL]
[MUTATION CLASSIFICATION: MOLECULAR PHASE-SHIFTING]
[STATUS: ACTIVE / UNSTABLE]
Xavier sighed, the weight of the girl's terror washing over him through the psychic link. He felt the cold of the basement. He felt the crushing fear of her own body betraying her. But he also felt the arms of her parents wrapping around her. She was terrified, but she was safe for the moment.
He reached out to the console in front of him, tapping a sequence of keys.
"Logan."
He projected his voice telepathically, bypassing the need for intercoms. It was a direct line to the mind he had just recently learned to navigate without hitting walls of rage.
Two floors above, in a room that looked slightly messy as a certain someone couldn't be bothered packing that night, a lump under the covers groaned.
Can't a guy get five minutes?
The thought came back to Xavier, grumpy and edged with sleep. Logan had barely been in bed for three hours. The integration of the [Van Helsing Template] and the stress of the day had left his body needing a hard reset.
"I apologize, my friend," Xavier's voice was calm but laced with urgency. "But Cerebro has detected a new signature. A young girl in Illinois. Her manifestation was... violent. She is terrified."
There was a pause. Then, the sound of rustling sheets.
Is she in danger? Logan's mental voice sharpened. The grumpiness vanished, replaced instantly by the alertness of the Wolf.
"She is with her parents, but the situation is volatile," Xavier explained. "A mutant phasing through matter uncontrollably is a danger to herself. If she panics again, she could slip into the earth and suffocate. However, waking a terrified family at 3:00 AM with a jet engine might cause more harm than good."
"So we wait?" Logan grunted.
"We prep," Xavier ordered. "Wake Jean. I believe she can convince the girl's parents of our cause better than we can. We leave at first light. We need to be there before she tries to leave the house."
"On it, Chuck."
The connection severed.
Logan sat up in bed, rubbing his face. A blue holographic window flickered into existence in his vision, invisible to anyone else.
[QUEST ALERT: KITTY CAT OUT OF THE BOX]
[OBJECTIVE: SUCCESSFULLY RECRUIT KATHERINE PRYDE TO THE INSTITUTE]
[OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: SECURE PARENTAL CONSENT WITHOUT TELEPATHIC MANIPULATION]
Logan smirked. Kitty Pryde, he thought. Shadowcat. Second major recruit in the X-Men Evolution timeline.
He checked his mental barriers. [Mental Resistance: 49%]. He spoke aloud, keeping his voice low so Charles wouldn't pick up the surface thoughts. "Dammit. Still too low. If Charles digs too deep, he's going to find out I know way more about the future than I should."
Deerfield, Illinois. The Next Morning.
The storm had passed, leaving behind a grey, heavy sky that pressed down on the suburbs like a wet wool blanket. The air was thick with humidity, making everything feel sticky and claustrophobic.
Inside the Pryde household, the silence was deafening.
Kitty stood in the hallway by the back door. She was dressed in her baggiest cargo pants and a layered long-sleeve tee that hid as much of her skin as possible. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap.
She took a step toward the door.
Creaaaak.
The floorboard groaned. She froze, biting her lip.
"Kitty?"
Her mother's voice came from the kitchen. It was brittle, strained. Like she hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. Which she hadn't.
Kitty squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah, Mom?"
Carmen Pryde walked into the hallway. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes, holding a mug of coffee that had gone cold hours ago. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked at her daughter—really looked at her—as if checking to see if she was solid.
"I thought we agreed," Carmen said gently, her voice trembling slightly. "You were going to stay home today. Call in sick."
Kitty spun around, teenage frustration bubbling up to mask the terror. "Mom, I, like, can't stay home! If I stay here, I'm just going to... think about it. And if I think about it, I'm going to freak out again."
She gestured wildly with her hands. "It's, like, totally suffocating in here! Dad's been staring at the ceiling for three hours with a crowbar. It's weirding me out!"
"Your father is just trying to fix the..." Carmen trailed off, glancing up nervously as if the ceiling might attack them. "He's just trying to understand, honey."
"Well, I don't want to understand!" Kitty snapped, her voice cracking. "I just want to go to the mall. Or school. Or literally anywhere that isn't this house."
She grabbed the doorknob. "I promise, I won't... do the thing. I feel normal right now. Solid. Look." She knocked on the wooden doorframe. Knock, knock. "See? Solid. Totally normal girl."
"Kitty, please," Carmen pleaded, stepping forward. "We don't know what triggers it. What if it happens at school? What if you fall through a bleacher? What if someone sees?"
"So I'm supposed to just hide in the basement for the rest of my life?" Kitty shot back, tears stinging her eyes again. "Like some kind of freak?"
From the living room, her father's voice rang out, sharp and anxious. "Carmen? Is she down there? Where is she?"
Kitty flinched. The sound of her dad's voice—usually so comforting—now sounded filled with worry.
"Mom, please," Kitty whispered, dropping the attitude. Her voice went small and desperate. "Please let me go. Just for today. I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like my skin is crawling. I just need air."
Carmen looked at her daughter. She saw the fear behind the defiance. She saw a little girl who had woken up in a nightmare and just wanted to pretend, for one hour, that the world hadn't ended.
Carmen glanced back toward the living room where Lance was pacing. Then she looked back at Kitty. She sighed, a sound of defeat.
"Okay, baby," Carmen whispered. "Keep your phone on. If you feel... funny... if you feel anything... you call us. Immediately."
"I will," Kitty nodded vigorously. "I promise."
"Go," Carmen said, turning her back to shield Kitty from Lance's view. "Before your father comes in."
Kitty didn't wait. She yanked the door open and slipped out into the humid, grey morning.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She stood on the back porch, taking a deep gulp of the wet air. She was out. She was free. But as she walked down the driveway, hugging her arms to her chest, she couldn't shake the feeling that the ground beneath her feet felt... thin. Like paper. Like at any moment, the world could just open up and swallow her whole.
She pulled her hood up and started walking fast, trying to outrun the changes happening in her own body.
The Arrival
The Blackbird cut through the clouds like a bullet just fired. Inside the cockpit, the hum of the engines was a low, vibrating purr—a sound of pure, unadulterated engineering perfection that cost more than the GDP of a small country.
I was sitting in the back, sprawled across the leather jump seat, cleaning my fingernails with the tip of a claw.
Up front, Charles was piloting, his hands moving deftly over the holographic controls. Beside him sat Jean Grey. She was looking out the window at the endless carpet of clouds, chewing on her thumbnail. She looked annoyed.
"Professor," Jean said, breaking the silence. "Not that I don't love a road trip in the Blackbird, but why am I here? Scott is the field leader. Storm is... well, Storm. I have a Mid-Term in Molecular Biology."
Charles didn't look up from the console. "Scott is excellent at strategy, Jean. But he is rigid. And Storm, for all her grace, can be intimidating. She is a goddess; you are a peer."
He turned his chair slightly to look at her. "This is a sixteen-year-old girl. She is confused. She is terrified of her own body. You remember what that felt like, don't you?"
Jean's hand dropped from her mouth. Her expression softened, a shadow of an old memory passing behind her green eyes. "Yeah. I remember. I thought I was going crazy. I thought the voices were demons."
"Exactly," Charles said gently. "You are the model of what we offer. Normalcy. Control. A future. If she sees you—a young woman, educated, in control—she will see hope. If she sees Logan..."
"She sees a guy who looks like he ate a chainsaw," I piped up from the back, not bothering to open my eyes.
Jean snorted, a small smile returning to her face. "I was going to say 'rough around the edges,' but sure."
"I hope you are right," Jean sighed, leaning back. "By the way, Cerebro flagged another signature in the area. A boy. Lance Alvers?"
My ears perked up. Avalanche. The Brotherhood's resident earthquake machine. In the Evolution cartoon, he was a delinquent with a bad attitude and a crush on Kitty. In the comics, he was a thug.
"One crisis at a time, Jean," Charles said, his tone dismissive but tight. "Mr. Alvers is... complicated. He is currently in the foster system, and his manifestation is more aggressive. But Miss Pryde is the immediate concern."
I tuned them out, focusing inward. The System interface flickered to life in my mind's eye.
[HOST: LOGAN]
[CURRENT QUEST: KITTY CAT OUT OF THE BOX]
[REWARD: +10 INT, +5 CHA, UNLOCK: 'Mutation Level 2']
I looked at the optional objective again: No telepathic manipulation. That was going to be the kicker. Charles had a bad habit of "nudging" people when things got tough. He called it diplomacy; I called it cheating.
"Approaching Deerfield," Charles announced. "Engaging vertical thrusters. Cloaking field active."
The jet slowed, the g-force pushing me gently into the seat. Below us, the clouds parted to reveal the sprawling, manicured grid of Illinois suburbia.
We set down in a wooded park about three blocks from the address. The Blackbird touched the grass without a sound, the landing gear compressing silently. As soon as we disembarked, the jet shimmered and vanished, blending perfectly into the autumn foliage.
"Nice parking job, Chuck," I muttered, zipping up my jacket. "Hope you fed the meter."
We walked through the quiet neighborhood. It was the kind of place where people mowed their lawns diagonally and judging your neighbor's recycling habits was a competitive sport.
I felt out of place. My boots felt too heavy on the pavement. I could smell everything around me, my senses peaking at an all-time high; this place smelled of fabric softener and repression.
We stopped in front of a two-story colonial house. 1407 Graymalkin Lane.
"This is it," Charles said. He adjusted his tie, smoothing out his suit jacket. He looked every inch the distinguished academic.
Jean smoothed her skirt, putting on her 'friendly recruiter' face. I just hung back, leaning against a neatly trimmed oak tree near the sidewalk, crossing my arms.
Charles rolled up the driveway and knocked on the front door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
We waited. I could hear heartbeats inside. Two of them. Rapid. Stressed.
The door swung open.
A man and a woman stood there. Lance and Carmen Pryde. They looked wrecked. The father had dark circles under his eyes, and the mother looked like she'd been crying for hours.
When they saw us, their faces fell. They were expecting Kitty to have come back, regretting her choice to leave.
"Oh," Lance Pryde said, his voice flat. "I thought... Who are you?"
"Good morning," Charles said, his voice projecting that calm, soothing resonance he was famous for. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier. This is my associate, Jean Grey."
He gestured to me, lurking by the tree. "And Mr. Logan."
Lance Pryde narrowed his eyes. He stepped halfway out onto the porch, blocking his wife. "We're not interested in whatever you're selling. We're dealing with a family emergency right now."
"We know," Charles said.
That stopped Lance in his tracks. "Excuse me?"
Jean stepped forward, flashing a warm, disarming smile. "Mr. Pryde, Mrs. Pryde, we aren't salespeople. We run a private school in New York for... gifted young people. We believe we can help Kitty."
The mother, Carmen, gasped. "How do you know her name? How do you know about..." She trailed off, glancing nervously at the neighbors' houses.
"May we come in?" Jean asked gently. "We can answer all your questions. We understand what you're going through, and we have the resources to help her."
Lance Pryde's face hardened. The fear in his scent spiked, turning into aggression. "You're from the government, aren't you? Or some kind of agency? Did the school call you? Is that why she left?"
"We are private citizens," Charles assured him. "Mr. Pryde, please. We are aware of the incident that occurred last night. The phasing through the ceiling. The panic. We know because we have ways of detecting such unique transitions."
I slapped my hand over my face. Oh, Charles.
The silence on the porch was deafening. I watched Lance Pryde's face go from suspicious to horrified to absolutely furious in the span of three seconds.
"You..." Lance stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the Professor. "You were watching us? Last night? In our home?"
"No, no, not visually," Charles tried to backtrack, realizing his mistake. "I sensed the energy signature—"
"Get off my property," Lance hissed.
"Mr. Pryde, please understand—"
"I SAID GET OFF MY PROPERTY!" Lance roared. He grabbed the door handle. "You stalkers! You freaks! Stay away from my daughter! If I see you near this house again, I'm calling the police!"
Slam.
The door was shut with enough force to rattle the windows. The deadbolt slid home with a definitive thunk.
Charles sat there in his wheelchair, staring at the wood grain of the door, looking genuinely perplexed.
Jean let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Well. That went well."
"I... I may have miscalculated their level of paranoia," Charles admitted, turning his chair around. "I attempted to establish credibility by demonstrating knowledge of the situation."
"Yeah," I grunted, pushing off the tree and walking up the driveway. "You told a terrified father that you watch his kid sleeping from New York. Real smooth, Chuck. You basically just told him you're a high-tech peeping tom."
"It was a tactical error," Charles conceded, looking tired. "Plan B, then. Jean, you will attempt to make contact with Kitty at school. Perhaps away from the parents, she will be more receptive."
"Great," Jean muttered. "I'll speak to a girl whom I've never met before about her powers, which she doesn't want. That won't be awkward at all."
They started to head back down the driveway.
I didn't move.
I stood there, staring at the closed door. I could hear them inside. The mother was sobbing again. The father was pacing, his heart rate through the roof, muttering about buying a gun.
They were terrified. Not of us. Of the unknown. They were drowning, and Charles had just thrown them an anvil instead of a life preserver.
"Logan?" Jean called out, pausing on the sidewalk. "We're leaving."
I sighed. A long, heavy exhale that rattled in my chest.
"Go warm up the jet," I said.
"Logan, leave it," Charles ordered, his voice stern. "Further confrontation will only agitate them. We must respect their boundaries."
"Respecting boundaries is what got these guys terrified in the first place," I muttered.
I walked up the porch steps. Heavy. Deliberate.
"Logan!" Jean hissed. "What are you doing?"
I ignored her. I walked right up to the door and raised my fist.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
I didn't knock politely. I hammered on the door like a cop serving a warrant.
"GO AWAY!" Lance screamed from inside. "I'm calling 911 right now!"
"Call 'em!" I shouted back through the wood. My voice wasn't the Professor's smooth baritone. It was gravel and grit. It sounded like a chainsaw idling.
"Logan, stop this," Charles commanded, rolling back toward the porch. "This is not the way."
I ignored him. I leaned my forehead against the door.
"I know you're scared, Lance!" I yelled. I dropped the formalities. "I know you're in there hugging your wife and wondering what the hell you did wrong to deserve this!"
Silence from inside. But I could hear the pacing stop.
"I'm not here for you!" I continued, my voice rough but lowering in volume, intense enough to carry through the wood. "I don't care about you. You're a grown man. You can handle your business."
"Get lost!" Lance shouted, but his voice wavered.
"I'm here for her!" I shouted back. "Because right now, your little girl is walking around her school feeling like her own skin is trying to kill her! She's thinking she's a freak. She's thinking God made a mistake!"
I heard a gasp from the other side of the door. The mother.
"Logan..." Jean whispered behind me, stunned.
I kept going. I didn't use the telepathy. I used the truth.
"She's alone, Lance," I said, leaning closer to the door. "You can hug her, you can tell her you love her, but you can't understand her. You can't fix this with a toolbox. And every time you look at her with that fear in your eyes—and I know you're doing it—it breaks her heart a little bit more."
I took a breath.
"You think hiding her is protecting her? It's not. It's burying her. And sooner or later, she's gonna stop phasing through ceilings and start phasing away from you completely. She's gonna run. And out there? In the real world? There are things a lot worse than me waiting for a confused kid."
I stepped back from the door.
"We ain't the boogeymen, Lance. We're the ones who teach her how to stop the nightmares. We will help her, or at least die trying."
I stood there, chest heaving slightly. The silence stretched out. The wind rustled the dead leaves on the lawn.
"Logan," Charles said softly. "Come. It won't work. We should—"
Click.
The deadbolt slid back.
Charles stopped mid-sentence. Jean's eyes went wide.
The door opened slowly.
Lance Pryde stood there. He looked older than he had five minutes ago. His arm was wrapped around his wife, Carmen, who was burying her face in his shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs.
Lance wasn't angry anymore. The rage had drained out of him, leaving only the raw, exposed nerve of a father who was watching his world crumble.
He looked at Charles, then at Jean. Finally, his eyes landed on me.
He looked me dead in the eye. It was a look of total defeat, but also of desperate hope. It was the look of a man who would walk through fire for his child but didn't know which way the fire was burning.
"Can you..." Lance's voice cracked. He had to clear his throat. "Can you really help her?"
I didn't smile. I didn't offer a platitude. I just gave him a single, solemn nod.
"I give you my word," I said. "She won't be alone. And she won't be afraid."
Lance stared at me for a long second, searching my face for a lie. He didn't find one. He let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging. He stepped back, pulling the door wide open.
"Come in," he whispered.
I stepped across the threshold.
Behind me, on the sidewalk, the most powerful telepath on Earth and a woman who could move mountains with her mind stood with their mouths hanging slightly open.
I paused in the hallway and looked back at them.
"You coming?" I grunted. "Or you gonna wait for an invite?"
As I walked into the living room, a notification chimed softly in my mind.
[OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: SECURE PARENTAL CONSENT WITHOUT TELEPATHIC MANIPULATION]
[REWARD: +5 CHA, +10 INT, ]
[Bonus Reward: Mental Resistance + 20%]
MENTAL RESISTANCE : 69%
[RELATIONSHIP STATUS: LANCE PRYDE (RESPECT)]
I smirked internally looks like I got more time to sort out the telepathy problem. Sometimes, you don't need mind control. Sometimes, you just need to be a dad.