Chapter 19

Charles breathed steadily, still processing the audacity of the ambush.

"Hydra… that was fast," he mused. "Almost got me for their Super Soldier Serum project."

Looting the bodies, Charles found a few guns and knives. He chuckled as he pocketed them.

"Not bad, I'll hang onto these," he muttered, sliding them into his inner coat pocket. He then dragged the bodies to a nearby cluster of trees and tossed them there.

'I could just kill them right now,' he thought, contemplating a telepathic mind blast. But he stopped.

'Why kill them when I can make them my servants?' A wicked grin crept onto his face as he focused, warping the minds of the five men. With a few adjustments, they were now his loyal subjects, their psyches completely rewritten.

'That was almost too easy,' Charles reflected. 'No wonder the original Charles struggled with control. This power is addictive.'

Satisfied with his new pawns, Charles made his way back to campus, only to encounter a man who had just arrived.

"Charles Xavier, correct?" the man asked.

"Yes," Charles replied calmly, though he had already rifled through the man's mind, absorbing his knowledge, experience, and skills in an instant.

They continued their conversation at a nearby coffee shop. After a few pleasantries, the man slid an NDA across the table.

"Please sign this," he said.

Charles read it quickly. Nothing shocking—standard procedure. He signed, and the man tucked the document into his briefcase before extending a hand.

"Pleasure working with you, Professor. I hear you'll be getting your doctorate soon."

"You too," Charles replied, shaking his hand firmly.

"Later today, some people will come to escort you to the base. You'll be living there until the research is complete," the man explained.

"Sounds good," Charles said casually.

The man finished his coffee, placed some bills on the table, and walked out. As he left, Charles tapped into his thoughts once more.

'So, I'm either working on a revolutionary metal, some serum, or… a nuclear warhead.' He smirked inwardly, piecing together the fragments of the man's knowledge.

When the waiter approached, Charles ordered a creamy coffee, feeling like he deserved something sweet after the day's events.

"That was something," he muttered to himself, the weight of the coming project hanging in the back of his mind.

Meanwhile, at a secret facility, a lone scientist pored over his research. Scattered across his desk were complex formulas, metal combinations, and blueprints for advanced tank armor.

Dr. Myron, bald on top with furrowed brows, looked visibly frustrated. His calculations weren't adding up.

"What am I missing?" he muttered, scratching the back of his head in exasperation.

A sudden knock on the wall caused him to turn. A man stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

"How's the progress on the new metal?" the man asked.

Dr. Myron sighed. "No progress. But I have to ask—where did you get this metal? It's unlike anything I've seen."

The man smiled slightly. "That's classified." His tone shifted as he added, "We'll be bringing in more researchers and engineers to assist you."

"Good," Myron replied, then asked, "When will they arrive?"

"Tomorrow," the man said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The following day,

The scent of damp earth hung in the air as Charles stepped out of the military jeep. In front of him loomed a massive steel door, flanked by armed guards scanning the horizon for any threats.

He was quickly escorted inside, where other researchers and engineers gathered in a sterile room. Moments later, Dr. Myron Maclain entered, flanked by a stern-looking general.

Charles couldn't suppress his smile. He knew exactly what was about to happen, and he was thrilled to be part of it.

"Welcome to Project Adamantium," Dr. Myron began, his voice steady and authoritative. "Our mission is simple but monumental: to develop a material strong enough to change the course of this war. What we achieve here could determine the fate of the world."

As Dr. Myron spoke, two soldiers handed out files to the group. The general, eyes cold and unwavering, added a sharp warning. "These documents are classified. If this information leaks, we will hunt you down. This is not a warning—it's a promise."

The weight of the general's words settled uneasily over the room. Some of the scientists and engineers exchanged uneasy glances.

Charles received his file, but he barely glanced at it. He already had the information he needed—absorbed through the knowledge and experiences of everyone in his range. This project was just the beginning.

"Now that you've been briefed, it's time to get to work," Dr. Myron said, his gaze sweeping across the room. "We'll be dividing you into specialized teams, each tasked with a different aspect of the project."

The tension in the room was palpable as he continued. "We have three primary objectives. First, we need to refine the structure of this metal—figure out what gives it its unparalleled durability. Second, we'll test its application under real-world conditions, from armor plating to advanced weaponry. Lastly, we must ensure the material can be mass-produced efficiently without compromising its unique properties."

The general stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. "You will be assigned based on your expertise. We expect progress—and quickly."

As names were called, teams were formed. Overseers were appointed for each group, but when it came to Charles, there was no typical supervisor.

Instead, the head of research himself, Dr. Myron, was assigned to oversee his group. Charles was placed on the Metallurgical Research Team, thanks to his extensive knowledge and keen understanding of the material.

The other teams included the Field Testing Team, responsible for trialing the metal in combat simulations, and the Production & Efficiency Team, which would tackle the logistics of mass production.

Despite his credentials, Charles felt the eyes of his teammates on him—skeptical, uneasy. He could sense their doubt. After all, to them, he was just a child.

They feared he might slow them down or, worse, ruin their one shot at a breakthrough. What they didn't know was that Charles wasn't here for glory or patriotism—he was here to absorb knowledge, to unlock secrets they couldn't begin to fathom.

If they knew that, they'd be furious.

As the Metallurgical Research Team was guided to their lab, Charles kept a low profile, trailing behind the others. His mind, however, was racing.

'I have to stay vigilant. Someone in this group works for Hydra,' he thought, 'They're trying to steal everything useful.'

Even though the facility was cut off from the outside world—isolated under tight security—Charles knew Hydra was clever. They would find a way to make their move, and he couldn't afford to slip up. The team wouldn't be allowed to leave until the project was complete, one of the many strict conditions for working here.

'Still, I have to keep my guard up,' he reminded himself. 'This isn't just about finishing the project. It's about surviving it.'