The Aurawood Preserve visitor center buzzes with afternoon energy, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows onto a cluster of interactive kiosks. Orion Oak gestures toward the centerpiece attraction—a whimsical "What's Your Pokémon Type?" personality quiz booth with its spinning wheel and colorful banners.
"Perfect timing," Orion says, his voice carrying that familiar, knowing warmth. "Everyone's favorite way to start the day: finding out which elemental spirit matches their soul."
Kamala and Doreen are already at the booth, Eevee and Emolga chattering excitedly beside them. Kamala's phone shows a screenshot of her results—Water type, apparently. She's mid-laugh about it.
"No way! I'm officially a Water type?" Kamala exclaims, shaking her head. "I was sure I'd get Fire with all my explosive energy!"
Doreen scrolls through her own results, Emolga perched on her shoulder nibbling a berry.
"Electric/Normal dual type for me," Doreen says, grinning. "Guess that makes sense—I do love my gadgets and my squirrels."
Valeria adjusts her gauntlet display, reviewing her own data.
"Psychic/Steel, according to the algorithm," she notes, her analytical tone softening. "Fascinating correlation with cognitive processing patterns."
Franklin, meanwhile, stares at his results in disbelief.
"Fairy/Dragon? Really? That's... actually pretty cool," he says, Ralts giving an approving hum from his shoulder.
The X-Men approach as a group, Jean's telepathy already reaching out curiously.
"This looks delightful," Jean says, her voice carrying that gentle, empathetic curiosity. "A personality assessment through Pokémon archetypes?"
Nightcrawler's tail swishes with interest.
"In Germany, ve had similar traditions vit animal spirit guides," he muses. "Though zis seems much more... interactive."
Kitty nudges him playfully.
"C'mon, Kurt. Live a little. What's the worst that could happen?"
Rogue crosses her arms, that familiar cautious edge in her gaze.
"Hope it don't tell me I'm a Poison type," she drawls. "Already got enough toxicity in my life."
Iceman chuckles, his breath misting slightly in the cool air.
"Relax, Rogue. Though honestly, Ice type would be pretty fitting for me."
Colossus gives a hearty laugh.
"I imagine I would be Rock or Steel. Very fitting for my metallic form."
Jubilee bounces on her heels.
"Ooh, I hope I get something sparkly! Maybe Electric or Fire?"
Cyclops adjusts his visor, that tactical mind already analyzing.
"Could be useful intel. Understanding how others perceive their strengths and affinities."
Orion claps his hands together.
"Everyone ready to find their match? Trust me—the results are surprisingly accurate."
The booth's wheel begins to spin, ready to match heroes with their elemental counterparts.
Orion Oak led the X-Men toward the next attraction, arriving at another interactive quiz station.
The booth hums with soft blue light, the spinning wheel of types casting shifting colors across the gathered heroes. Orion guides the X-Men toward the interactive kiosk, his cane tapping a quiet rhythm against the pavement.
"This isn't science," Orion says, adjusting his grip on the tablet. "It's intuition. Questions about how you react, what you value, how you move through the world. The algorithm matches you to a primary and secondary type."
Cyclops folds his arms, that familiar skeptical edge in his stance.
"Sounds like fortune cookie psychology."
Rogue's lips press into a thin line, her gloved hands clasped behind her back.
"I don't exactly fit into neat little categories."
Jubilee bounces on her heels already.
"Ooh, come on! It'll be fun! What's the worst that happens? I get Bug type and we all laugh?"
Beast Boy is practically vibrating.
"Dude, I'm gonna get something awesome. Probably Fighting/Flying, or maybe Fire/Dragon—"
"Normal/Fairy," Franklin interrupts with a grin.
Beast Boy freezes.
"What? No way!"
Orion just smiles.
"Trust the process."
The wheel spins, its colors blurring together. Beast Boy punches answers with reckless enthusiasm—choosing chaos over order, fun over responsibility, always going big. Rockruff barks agreement at every third question, tail wagging like he's taking the test too.
The screen flashes. RESULT: Normal/Fairy blazes across the display in cheerful pink letters.
Beast Boy stares.
"Are you kidding me? I'm literally part of the most dangerous team in the world and I get—"
"Fairy," Kamala finishes, barely containing her laughter.
"That's not even a real type!" Beast Boy throws his hands up. "I should be Fighting/Flying! I punch bad guys! I fly! I'm literally a superhero!"
Orion claps a hand on his shoulder.
"Fairy types are about joy, transformation, and bringing out the best in others. Sounds familiar."
Beast Boy opens his mouth, closes it, then grins despite himself.
"Okay, fine. But I'm still claiming Fighting/Flying on my resume."
Doreen steps up next, her usual sunny demeanor undimmed by the morning's chaos. She answers each question with thoughtful consideration—preferring teamwork to solo work, finding wonder in small things, always choosing kindness even when it's inefficient.
"Grass/Normal," the screen announces, and Doreen beams like she's won the lottery.
"Perfect!" She turns to Tippy-Toe, who chitters excitedly. "See? I told you we'd match!"
The little squirrel does backflips, practically glowing with pride.
Next up is Valeria, who approaches with the intensity of someone about to solve a complex equation. She studies each question like it's a puzzle to be cracked, her analytical mind already dissecting the algorithm's logic.
"Attempting to game the system," Franklin observes.
"Not attempting. Succeeding." Valeria taps answers with mathematical precision—efficiency over emotion, logic over instinct, always choosing the optimal path even when it feels counterintuitive.
The screen blinks. RESULT: Normal/Bug glows mockingly back at her.
Valeria frowns, that rare expression of genuine confusion crossing her face.
"That's incorrect. I'm clearly Psychic/Steel. Look at my abilities—"
"Metang disagrees," Franklin points out, watching his sister's Pokémon nod approvingly at the screen.
Metang emits a low, satisfied hum, its red eye gleaming with something suspiciously like amusement.
Valeria's jaw tightens.
"This algorithm is fundamentally flawed. Bug types are—"
"Hey, Bug types are awesome!" Kamala interrupts. "They're adaptable, they evolve, they're basically the engineers of the Pokémon world."
"That's not the point," Valeria mutters, but she's already pulling up the quiz's methodology on her gauntlet, determined to find the error in its coding.
Cyclops steps forward after some gentle prodding from Jean, his military bearing making him approach the quiz like a mission briefing. He answers with characteristic discipline—choosing duty over desire, planning over spontaneity, always selecting the responsible option even when it's less exciting.
The screen processes his responses. RESULT: Normal/Psychic appears in calm, measured letters.
Jean's lips curve into the smallest smile.
"Oh, Scott. That's perfect."
Cyclops adjusts his visor, that rare hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
"It's... not tactical. Or combat-oriented."
"Or gentle," Jean adds softly. "You guide people with your mind as much as your leadership."
Professor X nods approvingly from where he stands observing.
"Perhaps the quiz understands you better than you think, my dear boy."
Rogue approaches with careful deliberation, each answer weighted with the knowledge of her own limitations. She chooses isolation over connection, caution over trust, always selecting the safe option that keeps others at arm's length.
"Dark/Normal," the screen declares, and Rogue's breath catches.
She stares at the result, at her gloved hands, at the way the afternoon light catches the metal of her gauntlets.
"Dark types understand pain," she says quietly. "They're survivors."
"Normal types are adaptable," Franklin offers gently. "They find ways to make peace with what they can't change."
Rogue looks at him, really looks at him, and for a moment her usual defenses slip.
"Yeah. Well. Guess that fits."
Jean steps up with that quiet grace that always commands attention. She answers each question with genuine empathy—choosing compassion over efficiency, connection over isolation, always selecting the option that considers how others feel.
"Psychic/Fairy," the screen announces, and Jean's smile is like sunrise breaking through storm clouds.
"Fairy types bring hope," she says, more to herself than anyone else. "Even in the darkest places."
"Psychic/Fairy," Franklin repeats, grinning. "That's you in a nutshell. Mind and heart both open."
Jean's eyes meet his, that knowing look passing between them.
"Thank you, Franklin."
Nightcrawler approaches with theatrical flair, his tail swishing with excitement. He answers with references to agility and spirit—choosing creativity over convention, joy over seriousness, always selecting the option that embraces life's absurd beauty.
"Psychic/Flying," the screen declares, and Nightcrawler throws his hands up in delight.
"Bamf! That's me! I am a creature of the air, of mystery, of—"
"Of dramatic entrances," Harley interrupts, and even Professor X chuckles.
Nightcrawler bows dramatically.
"And modesty, apparently."
Professor X shakes his head, that gentle wisdom in his eyes.
"I think I'll pass, Orion. Some things are better observed than experienced."
"Suit yourself," Orion says, but his gaze is thoughtful. "Though I think you'd surprise yourself."
"Perhaps," Professor X muses. "But there's value in watching how others discover themselves. This quiz—it reveals something essential, doesn't it? How we connect to the world, how we move through it, what drives us at our core."
He looks at each of them in turn.
"We spend so much time defining ourselves by our powers, our roles, our responsibilities. But sometimes a simple question—how would you react in this situation, what would you choose—can strip all that away and show us who we really are."
The group falls into easy conversation after that, joking about their assigned types and debating the quiz's accuracy. Beast Boy is still campaigning for a re-evaluation of his Normal/Fairy result, while Valeria has apparently identified seventeen flaws in the algorithm's logic.
"To be honest," Cyclops says, that rare relaxed edge to his voice, "I think it nailed me. Better than I expected."
"Dark/Normal suits you too," Jean tells Rogue gently. "Strength and adaptability, both."
Rogue's smile is small but genuine.
"Yeah. Yeah, it does."
Kamala pulls out her phone.
"We should all take group photos with our types! Like, you know, matching our Pokémon!"
"Or matching our spirits," Franklin adds, and Ralts hums in agreement.
The afternoon light shifts, casting long shadows across Central Park as heroes and Pokémon mingle freely. Somewhere in the distance, a Poliwag splashes happily in a fountain, and the sound carries across the festival grounds like laughter.
Orion watches them all, his heart full in a way that has nothing to do with the mission parameters or world transformation or any of the grand schemes that brought them here.
"This is what it's supposed to look like," he murmurs.
"Humans and Pokémon, just... being together?" Latias asks, appearing beside him.
"Being together." Orion nods. "Understanding each other. Finding the magic in ordinary moments."
Above them, the first stars begin to appear in the twilight sky, and somewhere in the city, a new trainer is probably opening their first Poké Ball with shaking hands and a heart full of hope.
***
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