Chapter 10
On the cluttered table in Charles' room, parts of unfinished tech lay scattered, a half-built mechanical helmet among them. Meanwhile, Charles remained on his bed, deep in sleep. His body was still recovering from the brutal experiment he had endured.
But in his mindscape, Charles was far from resting. He sat in a chair, one hand over his mouth, staring intently at a holographic projection of his own mind.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, watching the data swirl. "My body's completely drained, and my mind's on the edge. Two days of solid sleep might fix it, but push any harder and I'll break."
Despite the exhaustion, a thin smile crept onto his face. "Still, I survived. I lived through Sinister's twisted little game."
He swiped his hand through the air, shifting the hologram to display a set of implanted false memories.
"Delete, delete, delete," Charles said, erasing the mental commands Sinister had embedded during the experiment.
The hologram changed again, now showing a list of his abilities. He gazed at it thoughtfully.
"I'm lucky. By indirectly fooling my own mind, I tricked my body too. The mental blocks that I put to myself work like a miracle."
Those blocks had saved him from Sinister's detection, hiding the full extent of his telepathic potential. He knew he possessed abilities beyond what even Sinister could comprehend, but for now, they were locked away—safe.
He recalibrated his focus, his mind shifting to what was next: evolution.
---
[Telepathy]
- Mind Reading
- Imitative Mind Reading
- Visual Mind Reading
- Memory Reading
- Visual Memory Reading
- Mind Walking
- Empathy
- Telempathy
- Visual Telempathy
- Telepathic Communication
- Telepathic Broadcasting
- Telepathic Speak
- Mental Link
- Mind Blast
- Information Detection
- Information Transferal
- Download
- Experience Sharing
- Knowledge Absorption
- Knowledge Erasure
- Knowledge Replication
- Mindshifting
- Neuro-Psychic Manipulation
---
"All of this," he murmured, reviewing the powers at his disposal. "And I've barely scratched the surface. My control is still lacking."
He chuckled at the irony. "A telepath, and I haven't even done half of what normal telepaths can do."
Rising from his seat, he inhaled deeply, then mentally reached for the blocks he had placed in his mind since infancy. One by one, he removed them, releasing the full potential that had been hidden away for years.
Suddenly, his mind felt light—free. The weight lifted as if chains had been shattered, allowing his thoughts to flow unhindered.
"What a world," Charles whispered, marveling at the clarity. "Now, I can truly heal. And maybe... maybe I can push my body to recover faster using my mind."
But even with this newfound freedom, he knew the damage to his body and mutant gene would take time to repair. He sighed, resigning himself to the wait.
For now, he delved deeper into his thoughts, studying and plotting for the future, as his mind continued to restore itself.
The next day,
Lafitte entered Charles' room, surprised to find him still asleep. She instinctively checked his pulse.
"He's fine," she muttered, confused. "But he's been sleeping for so long."
She nudged him gently, trying to wake him, but there was no response. After several failed attempts, her concern deepened. Wanting to be sure, she called Sharon, and without hesitation, Sharon rushed to her son's side, panic rising as any mother would feel. Before arriving, Lafitte had already called the hospital.
"I've checked his pulse. He's alive, but he won't wake up," Lafitte said, her voice edged with worry.
"Did you call the hospital?" Sharon asked, her eyes glued to Charles, gently shaking him as if her touch alone could wake him.
"Yes, they're on their way."
"Please, be okay, Charles," Sharon whispered, her heart racing as she held her son's hand.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics immediately began their examination, though confusion quickly set in.
"This doesn't make any sense," the first paramedic said, glancing at his colleague.
"I agree," the second paramedic responded, equally puzzled.
"What does that mean?" Sharon asked, fear creeping into her voice.
"He's in a deep sleep, similar to hibernation," the first paramedic explained, his brow furrowed.
"He's in a prolonged sleep state. Ma'am, we recommend admitting him to the hospital for further tests," the second paramedic added.
"We highly suggest it," the first one nodded in agreement.
Sharon reluctantly agreed, and they rushed Charles to the hospital, where a series of tests—vital signs, EEG, blood work, metabolic activity, ECG, MRI—were performed.
The results, however, were far from ordinary.
The doctor stood next to Charles' bed, flipping through the clipboard. Sharon, still holding Charles' hand, looked up anxiously. Lafitte stood close behind her, bracing for answers.
"What did the tests show, doctor?" Sharon asked, desperation in her voice.
"He's perfectly healthy," the doctor said, looking bewildered. "Everything is normal."
"But... is there anything unusual?" Lafitte pressed, sensing there was more to it.
"That's the strange part," the doctor replied, flipping another page. "There's nothing wrong with him at all, and that's what's most concerning. His body is completely healthy, yet he remains in this state."
"Can you do anything to help him?" Sharon pleaded.
"We have to wait for him to wake up on his own. It's as if his mind has commanded his body to rest, entering a near-hibernation state. It's unprecedented. We've never seen anything like it," the doctor said, shaking his head.
"What does that even mean?" Lafitte asked.
"Simply put, his mind has somehow instructed his body to undergo a level of rest we've never documented before. This might be the first case of its kind—where a person's mind can consciously dictate such a prolonged state of sleep." The doctor's voice was filled with intrigue, though laced with uncertainty.
Time passed.
Brian returned home, confused when he didn't find Sharon anywhere in the house. He turned to the maid, concerned.
"Where's Sharon?" Brian asked, his brow furrowed.
"They're at the hospital," the maid replied.
"The hospital? Why?" Brian asked, the tension in his voice rising.
"I overheard... the young master has fallen into a coma," the maid said hesitantly.
Brian froze. The words echoed in his mind. His son—his son, who had just recently begun to accept him. Without wasting another second, Brian rushed out the door, heart pounding, and jumped into his car.
He sped towards the hospital, the urgency of the situation clouding his judgment. His mind raced faster than his car, thoughts of Charles consuming him entirely. But in his haste, he missed the sudden turn of another vehicle, which failed to signal.
The impact was violent—metal clashing with metal. Brian's car skidded out of control, tires screeching as it scraped along the asphalt. Time seemed to slow as the vehicle flipped, flying into the air before crashing down hard, sparks igniting from the friction against the ground.
And then, in an instant, the car exploded, a deafening boom splitting the air as flames erupted from the wreckage.