LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

The story is as old as time: a ball rolls into the street, a child dashes after it, and fate's cruel jaws snap shut with devastating swiftness.

Annie Richards, young and bursting with boundless energy, raced across the road, her eyes fixed on the ball that had escaped her grip. Her friend, Jean Grey, giggled from the curb, waiting for Annie to return so they could continue their game. But out of nowhere, as if conjured from smoke, a speeding car collided with Annie, snuffing out her breath, her laughter, and her life.

Isaiah wasn't Annie Richards.

Contrary to popular belief, thoughts weren't silent. They were a cacophony—restless, relentless, crashing and swirling in chaotic patterns. Even when there was no inner dialogue, there were bursts of static, whispered half-formed words, and fleeting memories. Isaiah wished for silence, real silence, not just a break from chatter but the profound, cleansing stillness that never seemed to come.

His thoughts weren't the problem. Though they blared in his head like rock guitars at full volume, they weren't his. He didn't seek them out; they intruded on him.

"Sir, vitals are rising. I think he's waking up."

Most of the thoughts he received were mundane, but a few contained useful fragments of information, solving puzzles he hadn't even known needed solving. It made him want to scream, to weep, to do anything to release the mounting pressure, but instead he simply opened his eyes, and slowly eased himself up.

But instead, he simply opened his eyes, slowly easing himself upright on the gurney. He looked around and noticed he was in a lab—a futuristic scene straight out of a sci-fi movie. Gadgets and instruments he couldn't hope to understand surrounded him, blinking with lights and emitting faint electronic hums. A series of monitors lined the walls, displaying various readouts: heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity. A translucent tube filled with a softly glowing green fluid snaked from a large machine in the corner. The room was spacious, with a high ceiling and a gleaming metal floor, reflecting the soft blue lights overhead.

Isaiah glanced down at his hands and saw that he was connected to sensors and an IV. Tubes and wires ran from his arms to a series of beeping machines that blinked rhythmically, their digital displays showing fluctuating numbers.

"You gave us quite the scare, Mr. Grey," a man with dark hair said, tapping a notepad in his hand. His angular face was framed by a well-trimmed beard, and his eyes were a striking shade of blue. His expression was calm but carried a hint of curiosity, and he stood with a relaxed posture that seemed at odds with the urgency of the setting. Isaiah stared at him, his mouth dry. He tried to find words, but the confusion was overwhelming.

"I..." he began, furrowing his brow. "Where am I?"

"The Xavier Institute For Higher Learning." The man readily replied, his smile assuring and voice steady. He seemed to pause for a moment as if searching for what to say before clearing his throat.

"You've been gone for quite a long while Mr. Grey." The redhead's brows furrowed at that. "But thankfully you're back."

"Gone?" Isaiah questioned, looking at the man in confusion. "I didn't go anywhere I..." He shook his head before instantly freezing, eyes widening and not once leaving the dark-haired doctor's.

Slowly almost apprehensively he reached for his hair, and within an instant, his eyes widened. As if tuned to his emotions, the bed vibrated in place, the windows instantly bursting open.

Treated to the terrifying sight, the dark-haired man backed away a bit, his eyes wide. "I cut my hair just yesterday. How is it this long?" He questioned, staring wide-eyed at his "host," who bit his lip. "Mr. Grey, you..." Again he paused, searching for what to say, but when he struggled, he turned towards the door, staring a bit impatiently as if waiting for someone to burst through it.

On cue, they did, four people all milling in with quick steps. The one at the very front, a red-haired, emerald-eyed woman, one Isaiah recognized immediately, stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide, and slowly welling up with tears.

"Jean?" Relief in his voice he called out to her and all at once the liquid sorrow streamed down the woman's face.

Isaiah frowned at the sight, gaze still not leaving his sister, who seemed to stumble a bit from the mere mention of her name. In a blur of red, she was across the room, her arms around him and closing tight. He merely froze in place, unsure of how to proceed, before he slowly pulled away, hands on her shoulders. "Jean, what's going on?"

"Isaiah, I thought I lost you, oh my gosh, I thought I lost you. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry for not visiting and being there for you, and..." She seemed to be choking on emotion, tears still pouring like endless streams from her eyes. "I'm just so glad that you're okay, and back, and—"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Isaiah questioned, staring at the girl in confusion. "What do you mean I'm back? Back from what? I just fell asleep at my desk and now I'm here, and..." He glared a bit at the redhead, causing her to step back. "Is this a prank?"

"What?"

"You'd think you'd grow out of your pranks, Jean. Seriously, how did you even move me to wherever this is? And the whole set up, must have cost a lost, you really went all out, didn't you?" He studied the room again before settling his narrowed glare on his sister, who under it's harshness frowned, looking mere moments away from breaking down.

"What?" She merely questioned, eyes staring intently at him, "What do you..." She cut herself off, shaking her head and turning to the bald wheel chair bound man she'd come with. Slowly, he made his way towards Isaiah, who, with furrowed brows, stared intently at him. "Who are these people? Your theatre group?"

"Theatre group?" An indignant voice exclaimed, one of the boys behind his sister, for some reason, decided to wear glasses indoors.

"Now, Mr. Grey, I understand that it can be quite confusing to—"

"Wake up who knows where after a little nap? Yeah, it is majorly confusing."

"Yes, we understand that, but we are here to help assuage any confusion you have. We'll exhaust every measure to help you if need arises."

Blankly staring at the man, Isaiah said nothing. "If you do not mind—" Seemingly thinking something over, the brunette with glasses raised his brow. "You keep saying you're waking from a nap. Is that what you believe has occurred?"

"It's what I know has occurred," Isaiah easily replied, eyes narrowing at the man slightly in defense. "I was doing some research for my dissertation when I just decided to take a brief nap, and now I'm waking up here..."

A heavy silence filled the room, causing Isaiah to look around in confusion. His eyes moved to his sister's, but she was glancing at the bald man.

"Dissertation?"

"Yes, I'm studying to be a Physicist. This semester we were mainly focusing on Atomic Spectra, and I had to write a dissertation on it..." Again, he turned to Jean. "I literally told you this when you wanted us to go out together. This little prank of yours is setting back so much time I could be using to finish my work."

Jean shook her head. "It's not a prank, 'saiah."

The man stared at her before chuckling dryly. "Right, and I'm supposed to believe that."

"Do you remember your accident, Mr. Grey?" Xavier cut in. "When you were hit by a car?"

"Accident?" Isaiah questioned, shaking his head. "If you're talking about that time I almost got hit by a car when I was ten, yeah, I remember. But I got out of that pretty unscathed. I mean, a bit of bruising here and there but I rolled out of the way just in time, it hurt but it's still better than the alternative, you know?" As he kept speaking, his sister's eyes did not move from him.

"Wait, how did you even know about that?" He turned to Jean.

"Seriously Jean? You're going around telling people about-"

"Isaiah, the car did hit you."

He looked at the girl before a laugh gradually made its way from his lips. It started out low but built up to a full guffaw. "You are so funny." He instantly cut it off, glaring at the girl who shook her head, eyes welling with tears. "'saiah, it hit you, you've been in a coma for 8 years."

"No." He denied, shaking his head.

"Yes."

The man stared at her long, hard, and silent. He turned to the doctor next to him. The brunette merely lowered his head, lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes sympathetic. He turned to the others in the room, and they all simply stared, none daring to say a word or breathe wrong.

Everything quickly began to rattle. Static flickered on the monitors, loud beeps filled the room, and panic quickly set in among its occupants as they turned to Isaiah. His eyes were a bright white, the sclera the only part visible, glowing and pulsing with unseen power.

"I got out of the way. I got out of the way, and we went home, and mom patched me up. She put SpongeBob bandages on my arm, then kissed the spot to make it all better." He held out his hand as if it were proof, his voice loud and echoed, like a stadium filled to the brim with people speaking all at once. "It was over and done with. Life moved on. We started high school, I skipped a few grades, and now I'm in college." He muttered. "I'm in college, Jean!"

"Isaiah," the redhead whispered, moving towards her brother.

"I'm in college!" His voice boomed, and the monitors burst into sparks and fractured glass. The room shook with earnestness. Hank took hold of a remote and pressed a button. From the IV, something rushed from its tube to Isaiah's arm. It stopped halfway through as unexpectedly the tube exploded outward, its contents quick to become hornets, which buzzed angrily and made their way towards the doctor. Jean held out her hands and pressed them tight. Within an instant, the insects were crushed into paste.

"Professor!" Hank cried out to the man as Jean ran forward, her hands forcefully taking her brother's into her grasp. "Isaiah, stop! Stop, please...'saiah!"

"I wrote a thesis on the practical applications of atomic spectra. I got an A. We went out for milkshakes to celebrate, and you gave me this necklace."

The man was not looking at her; rather through her, that cold unfeeling gaze having creeped it's way back into his eyes. Wrenching his hand from hers, he reached for his neck, and Jean watched as a golden pendant appeared around it before his fingers reached out and wrapped round it's form. "See." He tore it off his presented it to her. "See." He was practically pleading as she opened the locket to show a picture of them together, foam beards on their faces and laughter alight in their eyes, two half-finished chocolate milkshakes in front of them. She clutched the locket tight, her eyes welling with tears.

"It's not real."

Digging deep she pushed, brushing his brow without touch and sinking deep into his mind, she got a single look, just one...and burned, a scream falling from her lips as a powerful force flung her and everything, everyone else back.

Her eyes seared, it were as if she had been staring into a SUN.

The tale was as old as time : the clock strikes, the wraith shifts and fate's maw opens to consume, only after however long to spit out one poor unfortunate soul into a world not their own.

The tale was his : Isaiah Grey, born Isaiah Gallagher in another world in another time, now forced into a foreign plane.

He had tried to hold back, keep his feelings as bottled deep down as he could until finally he could retreat to a secluded space and mourn. Lament the life of Isaiah Brooks and all he had failed to accomplish and all he had left behind. But emotions were a powerful thing, they could not be held back for long.

Perhaps that is why he did it, formed this act, this deceitful flare of smoke and mirrors, so he could without a need to explain much release them.

Of course he could have simply gone the, I was ten and now I'm not route but...He wasn't really keen on pretending to be a child stuck in a teenager's body.

HERE LIES ISIAH GALLAGHER, DEAD YET RESTLESS.

Exhaustion seeping into his bones, he drifted, allowing the darkness to take him in.

Jean rose to her feet, a groan falling from her lips which had been split open by her sudden collision with a wall. She turned to her companions, before glancing at her mentor, the man being eased onto his wheelchair by Hank stared intently at her brother, his face pinched with concern and pity.