5 Arc 1 - Ch 5: Classes

Date: June 4, 2010.

Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY.

The following morning dawned bright and early for Tyson. He was up with the sunrise, heading down the long, carpeted corridor of the dormitory. Like any other dorm, there were communal bathrooms strategically located at the ends of the hall. The early morning silence was soothing, the sleepiness of the school a comfort as he pushed open the bathroom door.

He stepped into the empty shower room, shed his borrowed nightwear, and stepped into one of the tiled cubicles. The hot water cascading down his muscular frame was a welcome, invigorating sensation. A mischievous thought flitted through his mind. He could enjoy this alone time, and give in to some self-pleasure. But he refrained, casting the idea aside. His eyes roved over his body. He was decently sized even when soft, but there was a potential problem. Jean. He didn't know if she was awake yet and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel awkward or uncomfortable around him. Living here was going to be... difficult, to say the least. He couldn't touch any girls because of his absorbing ability, and self-gratification was now a mental landmine thanks to his telepathic friend, headmaster, and who knows how many others. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he lathered up with soap. Life was certainly throwing him curveballs. He rinsed off, letting the hot water wash away his musings. 

With a resigned sigh, Tyson sat down at a desk in his first-period class, Physics, which was led by none other than Professor Xavier himself. For all his acquired superpowers, enhanced learning was not on his list. And trying to understand a physics class in June was proving to be an impossible task.

Complicating matters was an entirely different kind of distraction. Magik sat next to him, then seated only a few desks away, was a girl he hadn't yet been introduced to, but he was sure he'd seen before. Try as he might, Tyson couldn't remember why she looked familiar, and he couldn't help but sneak occasional glances her way as his focus was inevitably pulled from the physics lecture to the young woman nearby. Whenever Professor Xavier spoke, the class would usually hang onto his every word. Yet, Tyson's concentration wavered.

Illyana's voice dripped with a malicious sweetness and broke his already sporadic attention. "Physics isn't your forte, is it, Tyson? Or is it just my presence that has you so... lost?"

There was a silent urging in the back of his mind, compelling him to snap back. Instead, he chose his words carefully keeping his aggressiveness at bay but leveraging a fragment of its intensity. "Maybe if you didn't radiate such a distracting aura, I'd find it easier."

Her eyes gleamed with amusement. She gloated in her heavy Russian accent, "It's not every day someone recognizes true power when they see it. You should be grateful. At least one of us here has an aura worth noting."

Throughout the class, she seemed to enjoy finding subtle ways to prod at his restraint. Magik's every move in the classroom seemed designed to interrupt his focus. 

She let a pen slip deliberately from her fingertips, her electric blue eyes, framed with dark, mischievous lashes, met Tyson's for the briefest second. She pulled a stray lock of hair from her face, guiding it to join the cascading waves past her shoulders. The corners of her plush lips lifted ever-so-slightly, hinting at her intentions. With a graceful, deliberate slowness, she leaned forward from her seat. Her black fitted top clung snugly to her toned frame, its low neckline now hinting at the soft curve of her chest as she descended. As she bent, the length of her lithe legs, hugged by dark jeans, became more pronounced, drawing the eye upwards, past the curve of her waist, and inevitably to the deliberate display at her neckline. In that stretched-out moment, she seemed to inhabit a world of her own, and Tyson was drawn into it. She was making a statement, not with words, but with the seductive pull of her presence. And Tyson, as much as he tried to resist, found himself ensnared. If she couldn't rile him with words, she'd use other means to capture his attention. It was a subtle declaration of her power, even in her posture, even in a mere retrieval of a pen. He could sense the beast within him, urging a certain type of response. But Tyson restrained himself.

Just as the period was on the cusp of ending, the classroom door creaked open. Logan, clad in worn jeans and a simple white t-shirt, walked in. His eyes flickered around the room, and a hint of paranoid tension ran through his posture, giving him the appearance of a tiger on edge.

Professor Xavier was unphased by the interruption and merely turned his attention to the burly man. "Good morning, Logan," he greeted warmly. Then, he added for the class, "I would like your definitions of the weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk by Wednesday."

Tyson watched this interaction, his eyes shifting between the professor and Logan. Sensing Logan's tension, Tyson raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. His deep voice cut through the silence. "Chill, Logan. It's all good. It's just a school," he said, trying to defuse the palpable tension in the room.

Magik stood up, giving him one last challenging look before striding out of the classroom. Meanwhile, the girl who bore an uncanny familiarity, rose from her seat, packing her books into her bag. "Bye, Professor," she said.

"Goodbye, Kitty," Professor Xavier replied warmly. The name clicked in Tyson's mind, filling in the missing piece. Kitty. That was it. Kitty Pryde, also known as Shadowcat.

Logan's gaze finally landed on Tyson, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Kid, is that you?" he asked, his gruff voice filled with bewilderment.

Tyson chuckled, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, you missed a bit while you were taking a nap," he responded, his tone light yet respectful. And so, he began recounting the rest of the encounter with Sabertooth. His voice painted a vivid picture of the harrowing battle. As Tyson spun his tale, the door opened once more, admitting three new figures. The first was Ororo Munroe, whose blue eyes beautifully contrasted with dark chocolate skin. Her silver-white hair fell in a cascade of curls around her shoulders. Following her was Scott Summers. Close on Scott's heels was the redhead student Tyson had met yesterday, Jean Grey. Tyson couldn't help but feel a slight jolt in his chest at the sight of her red hair and warm emerald eyes. He could almost hear her voice in his head, telling him to remain himself.

As he continued to tell his story, the room now filled, each of their faces displaying varying degrees of shock, concern, and curiosity. Upon the completion of Tyson's recount, Professor Xavier replied, "You'll be safe here from Magneto."

Logan's brows furrowed, "What's a Magneto?" The question hovered in the air, echoing the perplexity in Logan's voice.

With a patient sigh, Professor Xavier leaned back in his chair, the wheels humming against the smooth floor. "A very powerful mutant who believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I've been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you was an associate of his, called Sabertooth," he explained, his tone carrying a note of grave concern.

"Sabertooth?" Logan repeated, his tone incredulous, his attention now fully directed to the conversation. Then, with a glance at Ororo, he grumbled, "Storm." His gaze then swiveled back to the Professor, a challenge flickering in his eyes. "And what do they call you? Wheels?" he scoffed, his words dripping with disbelief and annoyance. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Tyson's jaw tightened at the tasteless jab, a knot of disapproval forming in his gut. He knew Logan was disoriented and likely grappling with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, making light of the Professor's disability was a step too far. 

Just as Logan was making a move to leave, Scott Summers planted himself in the doorway. The two men locked eyes, an unsaid tension passing between them. 

"Cyclops, right?" Logan said, his voice laced with a hint of mocking. "You wanna get out of my way?"

Watching the scene unfold, Tyson felt a sudden understanding. Logan's aggressiveness was a reflection of the violence Tyson himself had demonstrated just a day ago. It was clear that Tyson's personality change had been far more than just physical. Before anyone else could respond, Professor Xavier's voice cut through the rising tension. His tone was filled with a certain sadness. "Logan, it's been almost 15 years, hasn't it?" Xavier's gaze was steady, his eyes unwavering. "Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are."

"Shut up," Logan snapped, a growl threading through his words. 

Unfazed by the hostility, Xavier's voice remained as calm as ever, the storm around him failing to break his tranquil exterior. "Give me a chance," he offered softly, his gaze still unbroken. "I may be able to help you find some answers."

Tyson, who had silently been observing from a corner, interrupted, breaking the tension. "Your name is James Howlett," he interjected. "Logan is just a nickname."

The weight of that simple statement brought a heavy silence to the room. Both Professor Xavier and Wolverine turned towards Tyson, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

Logan's sharp eyes now reflected a sudden vulnerability. "How could you know that?" he growled, fists clenched, clearly agitated.

Tyson responded while tapping his temple with his pointer finger. "Sabertooth knew you. He remembered James Howlett. And now, his memories are mine."

Professor Xavier's brow furrowed in concentration, attempting to glean the depth of Tyson's insight. Logan, on the other hand, looked like a wounded animal, defensive yet curious. "Explain," he demanded tersely.

Tyson's eyes took on a faraway look, "Sabertooth had two brothers. The first he killed when they were only boys and his powers manifested," He paused momentarily, drawing in a deep breath as if steeling himself for what was to come. "He had a tradition, a cruel one, with his remaining brother. Every year on his birthday, he'd seek him out, no matter where he was, and beat him. It was a display of dominance, a showing of his greater strength." Tyson continued, his voice tinged with Sabertooth's simmering rage, "But one year when he sought his brother, he couldn't find him. Turned out, he'd been killed." he said, locking eyes with Logan, "It was you. You killed him."

A growl rumbled deep in Logan's chest, "I don't remember," he muttered defensively, looking away.

Tyson's gaze remained fixed on a point in the distance, lost in the sea of memories. "He was angry. More so that he enjoyed the game than any sentimental attachment to his brother. He needed a new target for his annual ritual, a way to channel the rage that consumed him. And who better than the one who took his brother from him?"

Logan's face was ashen, but his eyes bore into Tyson, desperate to understand, to piece together fragments of a life lost to him. "Keep going," he urged.

"He tracked you," Tyson continued, detached, "finding you amongst the Blackfoot people. You had found solace there, and love, in the form of a woman named Kayla Silverfox." The room seemed to grow colder at the mention of her name, the way Tyson spoke revealed that the end of this story would be tragic.

Logan's asked in a trembling voice, "What happened to her?"

Tyson swallowed hard, emotion seeping into his otherwise detached narration. "Sabertooth took her from you, just as you had taken his brother. And then, to seal his vengeance, he made a new tradition. Every year, on his birthday, he'd find you and beat you, just as he'd done with his brother."

Logan sank into a chair, head bowed, grappling with the weight of the memories he didn't have. The air grew thick with a mix of sympathy, anger, and a need for closure. Professor X placed a gentle hand on Logan's shoulder, offering silent support. The revelations left a heavy cloud in the room. For Logan, it was a journey into a past riddled with pain and betrayal. For Tyson, it was a heavy burden, bearing the memories and emotions of another.

Every gaze fixed on Tyson as he stood, eyes distant, drawing on memories from a lifetime not his own. The hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "You might not believe it, but there were times when both of you were on the same side."

Logan's brow furrowed in skepticism, and he scoffed. "You're right kid. That is hard to believe."

Tyson chuckled lightly, nodding. "I can see why you'd think that. But war changes things. Wars to be more precise. The Civil War, World Wars 1, and 2. Nations were crumbling, people were dying."

Logan rolled his eyes, "So, what? Sabertooth and I decided to play soldier?"

Tyson's eyes twinkled, "Not just any soldiers. You fought alongside Captain America."

A brief silence settled in the room. Even Logan seemed taken aback. Professor X adjusted his position, his interest piqued. "That's a part of history not many are privy to. Go on, Tyson."

Lost in the mists of the past, Tyson's gaze turned inward. "You two were a force to be reckoned with. Sabertooth, with his brute strength and sheer ferocity. You, Logan, with your agility, tactics, and claws. Both of you were able to heal from any wound. And then, there was Captain America, the super-soldier, the embodiment of hope and freedom wielding an unbreakable shield. The three of you were unstoppable." Tyson continued, voice softening. "It was a different time. War has a way of making strange bedfellows. Enemies became allies. The world needed heroes, and for a brief moment in time, despite all the odds, you two were just that."

Logan's face paled, his hands visibly shaking. "What else?" he whispered.

There was a thickness in the air, an intensity that hung around. Logan looked as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Professor X exuded a patient calm, awaiting Tyson's next words. The young man began, his voice carrying the weight of memories that weren't truly his. "The war changed many things, Logan. But some habits... they die hard."

Logan's fingers tightened into fists. "Get to the point."

Tyson's gaze was far-off, almost as if he was watching scenes unfold from another time. "Sabertooth... he kept up with his yearly traditions. No matter where you went, no matter who you became close with, he always found a way to track you down."

Logan's eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased by the trip down memory lane. 

"You spent time in Madripoor," Tyson continued, "and then Japan. There was peace, a semblance of normalcy, and... love. He knew you found happiness again. That you were starting a family." Tyson, undeterred by the growing tension, went on, "Sabertooth found out she was pregnant. He intended to... end it. But fate intervened, and the woman, Itsu was taken from you before he could act." 

Tyson hesitated, a flash of recognition crossed his face as he whispered. "It was… the Winter Soldier?" Tyson mumbled to himself at the unexpected revelation. "What the fuck? That can't be right." But as he considered what he knew of the Winter Soldier's past, he had to admit it was possible.

Empathy was evident in Tyson's tone when he next spoke. "But the past didn't end there. There was... the Weapon X program."

Logan flinched, visibly disturbed. "I remember flashes of that."

Professor X intervened, "Logan, it's important to understand—"

Tyson interrupted, "They took you in, played with your mind, your memories. They grafted the unbreakable adamantium to your skeleton, turning you into... what you are now. Sabertooth was there, envious of the weapon they turned you into. Afterward, he lost track of you until he encountered us while following Magneto's orders."

Logan sighed, his anger replaced with weariness. "What's done is done. Anything else?"

"That's most of it," Tyson replied, his voice returning to its detached tone. "Memories tinged with hatred, jealousy, and a thirst for power. Sabertooth's perspective of your past is tainted, and distorted. But it's a window, nonetheless."

The silence that followed was thick, a mix of pain, revelation, and reluctant acceptance. Professor X finally spoke in a gentle tone, "These memories, as painful as they might be, are a part of who you are, Logan. It's essential to face them, learn from them."

Logan nodded and met Tyson's eyes. "Thank you. I learned more about myself in the past 15 minutes than I have in the last 15 years. I know it can't be easy for you to trudge through a century of experiences. You might have his memories, kid, but you aren't him."

Vulnerability was etched across Tyson's face. His voice wavered slightly, "More than a century. I'm older than you are, I lived a lifetime before we even met for the first time." Tyson shook his head trying to divest himself from Sabertooth's memories. He took a few calming breaths before speaking again, "I know, intellectually, that I'm not Sabertooth. But when I tap into his memories I feel the raw emotions and experiences... It's hard. It's hard not to think that was me, that those were my choices."

Professor Xavier nodded thoughtfully, fingers steepled. "The mind is a complex entity, Tyson. It's not merely about memories but the emotions and experiences attached to them. It can be challenging to separate oneself from such potent recollections."

Tyson exhaled slowly, "I need help, Professor. I feel like two people fighting for control in one body. I'm thankful to Logan for helping me when I arrived, but at the same time I want to fight him to continue a feud that is, but isn't mine."

The professor nodded in understanding. "You are in the right place, Tyson. The school is equipped to help mutants hone their abilities. I think, along with the class for power control, you would benefit from the telepathy classes we offer."

Tyson looked surprised as he echoed Xavier's words. "Telepathy classes? But I'm not a telepath."

"No, you aren't," Professor X agreed. "But the techniques we teach can help in organizing and compartmentalizing memories. It can give you a structure, a means to separate what is truly yours from what you've absorbed."

From the corner of the room, Jean stepped forward. Her green eyes met Tyson's, and she offered him a reassuring smile. "Tyson, I'd be more than willing to assist. With both my telepathic abilities and my training, we can work through this."

Tyson's eyes flicked between the Professor and Jean, gratitude evident. "Thank you, both of you. I just... I just want to be able to look in the mirror and recognize who I'm looking at."

"You will," Jean promised, her voice soft yet firm. "It will take time and effort, but you'll find your way."

Logan finally broke from his reverie, he asked, "So, what is this place?" 

All eyes turned to Professor Xavier. "Anonymity," he began, his voice echoing through the room, "is a mutant's first defense against the world's hostility. To the outside world, this is merely a school for gifted youngsters." He paused, letting his gaze linger on Scott and Ororo. "Cyclops and Storm were some of my first students. I protected them and helped them understand, and control their powers. And in time, they learned to impart this knowledge to others." His wheelchair moved slightly, turning to take in the room, "Most of our students are runaways. Frightened, alone. Some carry gifts so profound, so extreme, that they've become a danger to themselves and those around them."

Then, his gaze landed on Tyson, causing a sudden jolt in the younger mutant. The professor's eyes held a certain warmth, a depth of understanding that felt like a soothing balm on a fresh wound. "Take your friend, Tyson, for example. A boy burdened with extraordinary power, incapable of physical human contact. Likely for the rest of his life. Yet, here he is among peers of his age, learning, and growing. Not shunned or feared, but accepted." Professor Xavier's monologue reverberated through the room, casting a spell of understanding and empathy, not just about the school, but about their very existence as mutants.

As the professor's words hung heavily in the room, Tyson's throat grew dry. The weight of the words pressed down on him. 

The rest of his life. 

It echoed in his mind like a death sentence. But Tyson wasn't going to let this decree rule him. Under his breath, barely audible, he mimicked the professor's words with a determination that shone in his eyes, "The rest of my life?" He took a deep breath, "Not if I can help it."

At his silent declaration, Jean's emerald eyes softened. His thoughts, as clear as day, washed over her, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. His mental voice was full of defiance, and it resonated with her. It was a sentiment she knew all too well. Burdened with her potent power, she knew the struggles of living with a gift that often felt like a curse. Jean stood from her seat. A small, yet significant, smile graced her lips as she turned to Tyson, "Come on, let's go," she urged him gently. "The professor wants to continue speaking with Logan, and we have physical education next."

Tyson glanced at Jean, then down at himself, taking in the changes to his body. He looked back at her, his eyebrows arched up questioningly as he met Jean's gaze again. His voice, gruff with skepticism, questioned, "Really? What's gym class going to do for me?" 

A rosy hue bloomed across Jean's cheeks at his incredulity, and her smile grew even more. The warmth in her eyes was unmistakable as she explained, "PE is as much about learning to control your powers as it is to use them."

A spark ignited in Tyson's eyes at her words. All traces of skepticism were replaced by a determined gleam. "Alright then, let's get on it!" he agreed with contagious enthusiasm. Turning back to Professor X, "Respectfully, professor." He pointed a finger, his voice ringing out with determination as he did his best to channel an anime protagonist while boldly stating, "I'm going to prove you wrong, old man!" 

In a calmer tone, Tyson then addressed Logan, "If you decide to leave. Don't go without saying goodbye." With those parting words, Tyson spun on his heels and strode out of the room, Jean trailing behind.