My jaw drops as the mansion materializes before us like something out of an architectural fever dream. After a blur of flights and car rides that left my sense of direction completely scrambled, we're finally here—wherever "here" actually is.
"Holy shit, that place is massive," I blurt out, eyes tracking up the sprawling stone facade that seems to stretch into forever.
Scotty's mouth quirks into what might be the closest thing to a genuine smile I've seen from her. "Welcome home, Jack," she says, and something about the word 'home' makes my chest tighten in a way I don't want to examine too closely.
As we crunch up the gravel driveway, the huge oak doors swing open, revealing two figures standing in dramatic silhouette like they've been practicing the pose. The first is a bald woman in a sleek wheelchair, radiating the kind of authority that makes you automatically straighten your posture. Beside her stands a tall man with flowing auburn hair that catches the sunlight like it's been specifically designed for shampoo commercials.
"Welcome to our school, Jack," the bald woman says, her voice warm but carrying an undercurrent of steel as she wheels forward. "I am Professor Charlene Xavier, and this is my associate, Gene Grey."
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. Xavier. X-Men. No fucking way.
Memories flash through my brain at warp speed, me and my friend Gabe marathoning superhero movies when we were twelve, him rattling off comic book trivia like it was his religion. The wheelchair. The telepathy. The school for gifted youngsters.
"You're the X-Men."
Professor Xavier's laugh is musical and controlled, like everything about her seems to be. "Well, X-Women, technically. And that's supposed to be a secret." Her eyes twinkle with amusement, but there's something calculating behind them that makes me wonder exactly how much she already knows about me.
Gene steps forward, moving with a grace that makes it look like his feet barely touch the ground. He positions himself in front of me, his emerald eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes me want to take a step back. Instead, I force myself to stand my ground as he places a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"I've read your file, Jack," he says, his voice soft and melodic. "You've been through more than anyone should have to endure. But I want you to know, you're finally safe here."
I blink rapidly, trying to process his words. Something about his touch feels weirdly invasive, like his fingers are sending tendrils directly into my brain.
"You're radiating a lot of confusion," he continues, his head tilting slightly. "But it's understandable given your circumstances."
My thoughts spiral wildly. Did my father actually kill me with that last punch? Did I die and wake up in some parallel universe where I'm suddenly a mutant and women jog around topless like it's the most normal thing in the world? None of this makes any sense.
Gene's lips curl into a small smile. "Well, why wouldn't women run with their tops off? They're not men after all."
Both Professor Xavier and Scotty raise their eyebrows in perfect synchronization.
"Don't just read the poor boy's mind immediately, Gene," Charlene admonishes, her tone sharp but controlled. "You're better than that."
"Sorry," Gene replies, though his eyes remain fixed on me with an unsettling intensity. There's no real remorse in his voice, just suspicion thinly veiled behind a polite facade.
I let out a heavy sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "So you heard it all, huh?"
He nods once. "I did."
"It's fine," Gene says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No one here is going to judge you for whatever you're experiencing."
I run my hand through my hair, feeling completely untethered from reality. "I'm just... really confused right now."
"I imagine you would be," Gene replies, his expression softening slightly.
Professor Xavier wheels herself closer, her presence somehow both comforting and intimidating at the same time. "Whatever it is, Jack, it's okay. We're here to help you navigate through it."
"I just died and woke up in this world." My voice cracks embarrassingly. "One minute my dad's fist was coming at my face, and the next I'm sitting in my living room in the middle of an interview with Scotty like nothing happened."
Charlene's brow furrows, the only indication that my words have unsettled her perfect composure. She raises two fingers to her temple in a gesture that seems oddly familiar.
And then I feel it, a presence sliding into my mind like cold water seeping through cracks in concrete. It's not painful, but it's deeply unsettling, like someone's rifling through my mental filing cabinets without permission. I can practically feel her wading through my memories, examining the world I remember versus the one I've woken up in.
After what feels like an eternity but is probably only seconds, she lowers her hand. Her expression remains neutral, not angry or annoyed, just thoughtful.
"I see," she says simply, studying me with those piercing blue eyes that seem to look straight through to my soul.
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us before she turns to Scotty. "Ms. Summers, would you please show Jack to his room? He needs some time to process."
Then she shifts her attention to Gene, her voice taking on a more official tone. "Mr. Grey, I need you to oversee this afternoon's advanced telekinesis session."
Gene looks like he wants to protest, his facial features arranging themselves into a carefully constructed pout, but he merely nods. "Of course, Professor." He gives me one last lingering look before gliding back into the mansion.
"Jack," Xavier says once Gene has disappeared, "I'll be with you shortly to discuss this in more detail."
"Okay."
She must sense my anxiety because her expression softens. "Don't be afraid, Jack. We only want to help you."
Scotty leads me deeper into the mansion, her stride purposeful as we navigate through hallways that seem to stretch into infinity.
"Here we are," Scotty announces, stopping at a polished wooden door with "14" engraved in elegant script. She pushes it open with a casual flick of her wrist.
I step inside and freeze. The room is massive, easily twice the size of my old bedroom back home. A king-sized bed dominates one wall, flanked by nightstands that look like they cost more than everything I've ever owned combined. There's a desk by the window overlooking what appears to be some kind of training field, a walk-in closet, and even a private bathroom.
"Wow," I breathe, turning in a slow circle. "This is all for me?"
"Of course," Scotty says, leaning against the doorframe. "All men have private rooms here."
"Why?"
She shrugs one shoulder, her expression turning slightly guarded. "Male mutants are rare. We keep you separate for safety reasons, we wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
"What?" Something about her tone makes the hair on my arms stand up.
Scotty just stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable behind those red glasses. "I'm sure Professor Xavier will explain everything," she finally says, her voice carefully neutral.
I glance around the empty room again, reality suddenly crashing down on me. "I don't have any clothes. Or, well, anything."
"You'll be taken care of," Summers says, her voice softening. "Don't worry about that. We'll have everything you need delivered by this evening."
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate, but I've got nothing else.
Her smile is surprisingly warm, transforming her stern features into something almost gentle. "If you need anything at all, I'm one floor up."
I nod, trying to digest the bizarre kindness after years of nothing but cruelty. "Of course."
With a final nod, Scotty leaves, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch feels strangely final, like the period at the end of my old life.
I cross to the bed and flop down on my back, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The mattress is so soft it practically swallows me whole, nothing like the lumpy disaster I slept on back home. Everything smells clean, like lavender and fresh linen.
I must've dozed off because the next thing I know, there's a soft knock at the door that jolts me awake. For a split second, I'm disoriented, expecting to see my Mom's fist coming at me.
"Come in," I call out, sitting up and running a hand through my hair.
Professor Xavier rolls in, her wheelchair humming quietly against the polished floor. She closes the door carefully behind her, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Sorry about the wait, Jack," she says, positioning her wheelchair across from me. "Life as the head of this institute is quite demanding."
"I believe it," I reply, noting the slight fatigue around her eyes. Running a school full of superpowered teenagers can't exactly be a cakewalk.
She folds her hands in her lap, her posture impeccable even seated. "Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? I've thoroughly examined your mind."
My stomach tightens. I'm not sure I want to hear whatever comes next.
"There is no other Jack Crackwell," she continues, her voice gentle but firm. "I'm not certain what force transported you here, but I can confirm there isn't even a trace left of the person who previously occupied this body."
My blood turns to ice. "Wait… Are you saying I…" My throat closes up as the horrifying implication hits me. "Did I kill someone by coming here?"
"No, Jack." She reaches out, almost touching my hand before thinking better of it. "This isn't your fault. I'm simply informing you so it doesn't become an issue later. Whatever happened was beyond your control."
"Okay."
"This body is your life now," Xavier says, her blue eyes fixed on mine. "And judging by your memories, you deserve happiness after everything you've endured."
"Okay," I repeat.
"There are, however, some stark contrasts between our worlds that you should be aware of," she continues.
I look up, curious despite my churning emotions. "Like what?"
"Well," Xavier says, choosing her words carefully, "in the world you come from, gender roles appear to be reversed from what they are here. In our society, women typically exhibit traits your world associates with masculinity, while men tend to present characteristics your reality would consider feminine."
"What?" I blink, trying to understand.
"To be frank," Xavier says, her tone clinical and professional, "in our world, women are typically the more sexually aggressive gender, while men are expected to be more modest, delicate, and refined in their presentation and behavior."
"Oh." A lightbulb goes off in my head. "That's why that woman was jogging topless. It's just... normal here?"
"Precisely," Xavier nods. "In this world, it's men who shouldn't be topless in public."
"Woah." My mind reels, trying to reconcile the massive shift in perspective.
Xavier nods, her expression patient. "And also, let's not forget the most important part. You are a mutant, Jack."
"Oh yeah..." With all the gender-flipped universe stuff, I almost forgot the whole reason I'm here. "Right."
"You have a healing factor," she continues, "similar to Wolverine's."
My eyes widen. "That's awesome!" I've seen enough superhero movies to know having Wolverine's powers is basically winning the mutant lottery.
Xavier tilts her head slightly. "Would you like to test it? Try cutting yourself?"
"Sure." The words come out before I even think about it.
She stares at me, expectant silence filling the room.
"I don't have a..." I gesture vaguely, realizing I have nothing sharp on me.
Without a word, Xavier reaches into her jacket pocket and produces a small thumb tack, holding it out to me between her thumb and forefinger.
I take it without hesitation and press it into the pad of my thumb. There's a brief sting as I push it in, then pull it out. A crimson droplet wells up, bright against my skin. We both watch, transfixed, as the blood starts to bead...and then, after a few seconds, the tiny wound simply closes. The blood remains, but the puncture is completely gone.
"That's so cool," I breathe, wiping away the blood to reveal perfectly intact skin underneath.
"It's not as fast as Wolverine's," Xavier notes clinically. "She can heal gunshot wounds in seconds. Your ability seems more moderate."
"Still awesome though." I can't help grinning. In a world where my parents used me as a punching bag, having the ability to heal feels like cosmic justice.
Xavier's expression grows more serious. "You also have the ability to...swap wounds with other people."
My excitement falters. "What does that mean?"
Her fingers drum lightly against the arm of her wheelchair. "We'll learn more about it together as time goes on."
I nod, still trying to wrap my head around everything. First, I'm transported to a parallel universe. Then I find out I'm a superhero with healing powers.
"I'm happy to see you smile," Xavier says, her voice gentler than before. "It suits you."
"It's hard not to be happy right now." I shrug, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "No more Mom and Dad."
Xavier studies me thoughtfully, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. "I must say, I find it rather curious that in your world, the "X-Men" are merely fictional characters in movies and comic books."
"Yeah," I laugh, scratching the back of my neck. "My friend Gabe was obsessed with them. He'd absolutely lose his mind if he could see this place."
She nods, a bemused expression crossing her face. "The multiverse is truly fascinating. To think there are worlds where our struggles, our very lives, are merely entertainment."
"It's weird for me too," I admit. "Like meeting celebrities who don't know they're famous."
Xavier's wheelchair hums softly as she turns toward the door. "I should let you rest. It's been quite the day for you."
"Yeah," I mutter, still trying to process everything.
"I'll have dinner sent up to your room this evening," she says, pausing at the doorway.
"Thanks," I reply, suddenly aware of how exhausted I actually am. "For everything."
As the door closes behind her, I collapse back onto the bed, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. My old life feels like a bad dream I've finally woken up from. No more fists. No more fear. Just getting to live.
"Oh fuck… People hate mutants in this world don't they…"