Chapter 2

D–1,

In a boundless, empty expanse of white space, countless insignificant memories drift aimlessly, designed solely to serve as a distraction.

Somewhere within this void lies a hidden barrier—seemingly imperceptible—that leads to yet another vast stretch of whiteness.

This pattern repeats itself seven times, until it arrived at a grand, opulent library. A quarter of the once-majestic shelves, however, have vanished, replaced by sleek, futuristic walls.

Charles stands at the center of this room, his presence marked by quiet determination.

He's transforming the space into a sophisticated sci-fi command center, making it easier to sift through the labyrinth of memories he might need to access in the future. He's also mulling over the current state of his abilities, pondering just how far his telepathy has evolved.

"Right now, I can read thoughts and sense emotions—but that's about it," he murmurs, frustration lacing his words. He contemplates the potential locked within him. "Theoretically, I could absorb experiences and knowledge—every piece of information in the world. But I'm not there yet. There's still so much missing."

His gaze narrows as he considers the possibilities. "Could I establish a mental link? Probably, but not now. I don't want to risk my emotions bleeding into others. I still don't have enough control."

The relentless barrage of thoughts, though dulled, continues to prick at his mind. He can shut off the mind-reading, but the residual noise is a constant, aching pressure.

"And telekinesis," he mutters, almost as an afterthought. "I should have that power too, along with telepathy. But I can't practice it—not with Mr. Sinister watching my every move." He grits his teeth, resentment flaring. "Fuck you, If you wanted a body, you should've taken Sentry or someone else strong enough."

The inability to hone his mutant abilities, except for telepathy, which is less conspicuous, leaves him simmering with frustration. But he knows he can't afford to lose focus.

"For now, I just need to keep pushing my telepathy as far as I can," he tells himself, his voice resolute.

D–2,

The second day passes uneventfully as Charles and his mother await discharge from the hospital, the real work of experimentation still a few steps away.

During this time, Charles focuses on fortifying his mindscape—a complex structure where he stores and organizes his memories. He adds more vast, empty spaces, each linked to regions filled with trivial recollections.

These include snippets of conversations with doctors, his mother's reassuring words, the chatter of nurses, the murmurs of patients, the rhythm of footsteps, the hum of machines, the click of light switches, and the stray thoughts of countless strangers.

Despite their apparent insignificance, he carefully duplicates each of these details in his core mindscape.

Every fragment, no matter how mundane, holds value. He knows that even the most inconsequential moments can prove crucial, providing context or insight when he needs it most.

D–3,

Charles and Sharon were finally discharged from the hospital, and Brian came to take his wife and son home. He drove them back to their estate in New Mexico, where they would stay for a while as he was involved in research nearby.

While his father drove, Charles tried to peek into Brian's thoughts.

"The Black Womb project can finally begin," his father thought.

Charles was taken aback. 'I thought he'd been brainwashed or something. But no—he's a researcher first, before even being a father.'

Disappointment washed over him.

When they arrived at the Xavier Estate, Charles was nestled in his mother's arms. As they walked through the garden, Sharon's personal maid, Lafitte, greeted them.

"Welcome back, madam," she said.

"It's all right, Lafitte," Sharon replied, patting her shoulder. "This is my son, Charles. Isn't he adorable?"

"Yes, he's very cute, madam," Lafitte replied with a smile.

Charles, listening to the exchange, felt a flicker of confusion. 'Who is my mother talking to?' He wondered. 'Is she a mutant?' But he didn't dare probe her mind—he couldn't risk Lafitte being one of Mr. Sinister's sleeper agents.

The days went by, uneventful but tense. Charles remained wary of Lafitte. 'Could she be Mystique?' he thought, growing more paranoid. 'If in the future I become a threat, she'll take me out.' The thought unsettled him. He was weak, alone, and didn't have a team yet.

"Hey, cutie. What are you up to?" Lafitte cooed as she took his tiny hand in hers.

'Unhand me, woman,' he thought, a touch of humor even in his anxiety.

"You're just too cute," Lafitte said, her eyes twinkling.

'I wish I had the guts to look into your mind,' Charles thought, knowing his caution was the only thing keeping him safe for now.

Time passes. 12 o'clock.

Charles lay sleeping, alone in his cradle. The night was still and quiet when suddenly, a man appeared in his room, as if materializing out of thin air.

Pale-skinned, with a blood-red diamond embedded in his forehead, the intruder wore an imposing suit of armor adorned with a larger red gem on his chest. This was the stuff of Charles' nightmares made real: Mr. Sinister.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" Mr. Sinister murmured, a sinister smile curling his lips as he linked his mind to Charles'.

He entered Charles' mindscape and was immediately struck by what he found. The child's memories played before him like a vivid tapestry, revealing a remarkable display of telepathic prowess.

"A mere infant, and he's already done all of this?" Mr. Sinister marveled, his smirk widening. "Impressive... Perhaps he could be useful."

With that, he began to weave his own presence into the fabric of Charles' mind. "Yes, he shows promise..."

Suddenly, as he withdrew from Charles' consciousness, a cold blade pressed against his throat. He turned slowly to see a familiar face.

"Didn't Irene tell you not to harm the child?" Lafitte's voice was calm, but deadly serious.

"Ah, Mystique." Mr. Sinister's smile didn't falter. "I thought you were out of the country."

Lafitte's form shimmered and shifted, revealing the true face of a woman with red hair and blue skin. Mystique's eyes were hard as she returned to her usual form.

"Irene sent me to protect him," Mystique replied coolly.

"What's so special about this child that Irene would send you of all people?" Mr. Sinister's curiosity was piqued; he knew Irene's visions of the future were seldom wrong.

"That's none of your concern," Mystique said, her voice a warning.

Unbeknownst to them, Charles was wide awake, his tiny heart pounding as he listened to their exchange. Fear gripped him, but his mind was racing.

'I knew it… but how do I deal with this? He's left a piece of himself in my mind…' Charles thought, trying to figure out a way to trap Mr. Sinister's consciousness without alerting him.

"I'll withdraw, then." Mr. Sinister stepped back, his gaze lingering on Charles. "Mystique." With that, he vanished as swiftly as he had come.

Mystique sighed in relief, only to find Charles staring at her with wide, alert eyes.

"Don't cry, Charles~" she cooed, swiftly shifting back into Lafitte's form, trying to calm him.

But Charles let out a piercing cry, tears streaming down his face.

'Serves you right, old lady,' he thought with a strange satisfaction, his mind still buzzing with the danger that had just passed.