It did not take long before they moved beyond the quieter halls of the mansion and arrived at a reinforced steel door, its surface marked with a bold X enclosed within a circle—a symbol that carried both identity and secrecy in equal measure. The corridor leading to it felt different from the rest of the school, seeming quieter, heavier, as though even sound itself understood the importance of what lay beyond.
As Professor Xavier approached, the door responded without the need for touch, sliding open with a smooth mechanical hiss that revealed the chamber within. Once they had all stepped through, it sealed shut behind them with a firm, final sound that seemed to cut them off entirely from the outside world.
The room beyond felt like stepping into another domain altogether—something far removed from the warm, academic atmosphere of the mansion above. It was vast, dimly lit, and undeniably futuristic. The walls curved seamlessly, embedded with faintly glowing panels and circuitry that pulsed with a quiet, steady rhythm, like the heartbeat of some massive unseen machine.
A narrow, metallic pathway stretched ahead of them, suspended slightly above the lower level, guiding them toward the center of the chamber where a singular chair awaited. It stood like a throne of function rather than authority, surrounded by an intricate web of machinery.
Resting above it was a steel helmet with a smooth and polished surface, having thick cables extending outward—snaking into the depths of the room.
The group slowed as they entered, their attention naturally drawn toward the device. Even Logan, who rarely gave much thought to technology, narrowed his eyes slightly, his instincts picking up on the sheer weight of what stood before them.
Hank's gaze, on the other hand, lit with intellectual intrigue, it wasn't his first time seeing this but he couldn't help the sense of fascination that enveloped him. Scott remained composed, though his stance straightened just a touch more, the subtle adjustment betraying his understanding of the gravity behind Xavier bringing them here.
"We have to understand what we can about this child," Xavier said as he guided himself forward, his voice echoing softly within the chamber. "Especially one who so easily crosses the threshold of what we define as an Omega-level mutant. It might provide a clue as regards the abnormalities that's been occurring."
Reaching the center, he positioned himself with familiarity and settled into the chair. The movement was smooth, almost ritualistic, as though he had done this countless times before—because he had. His hand lifted toward the helmet, fingers brushing lightly against the cool metal before grasping it fully. For a brief moment, he held it there, suspended just above his head, the cables shifting slightly with the motion like dormant serpents being stirred.
Then, without hesitation, he lowered it into place.
The effect was immediate.
Cerebro—the culmination of advanced technology and psychic amplification—came alive, and with it, so did Xavier's mind. If one were to describe it in simple terms, it was a fusion of a supercomputer and a psychic satellite, capable of scanning minds across vast distances while enhancing the user's telepathic reach to extraordinary levels. But even that description failed to capture the true experience of it.
Because what followed was not simply perception.
It was an immersion.
A flood of thoughts crashed into Xavier's consciousness all at once—loud, chaotic, overwhelming in their sheer volume. Countless voices, emotions, fragments of awareness surged forward, threatening to drown even a mind as disciplined as his. For a brief instant, the intensity pressed against him, stretching his consciousness to its limits.
But Xavier did not falter, he focused.
And as he did, the darkness of the chamber seemed to transform as he opened a visual link so the others could share in the images he encountered.
The space around them shifted—not physically, but perceptually—as Cerebro translated the intangible into something observable. Pinpricks of light began to emerge in the void, scattered endlessly in every direction like stars across a boundless sky. Each one represented a mind—distinct, alive, connected yet separate within the vast tapestry of existence.
Then the stars gave way to motion.
Streams of red began to weave through the space, flowing like currents through an unseen ocean. They twisted and intertwined, forming vast, drifting clouds that pulsed with energy. It was the closest visual representation one could give to the collective consciousness—a living network of thought, emotion, and awareness stretching across humanity.
As Xavier's mind moved within it, every thought, every ounce of intent narrowed down to a singular focus.
Billy.
The moment that mental image solidified, the vast expanse reacted. The red currents surged, and the perspective shifted violently, as though the system itself had locked onto a target. The streams blurred past in rapid succession, the sense of motion accelerating until—
It stopped as the clouds parted.
And there he was.
Billy's image formed before them, initially distant and indistinct, but rapidly sharpening as Xavier honed in further. The figure grew clearer, larger, until it filled their perception entirely. He was lying on his bed, relaxed, seemingly unaware of the attention fixed upon him, a comic book spread open in his hands. The room around him was quiet, and filled with all sorts of things that are sure to quell the boredom of a teenage boy.
Video ames, comic, action figures, this was the team's effort at always keeping him entertained and not seeking it elsewhere where. Hopefully it should keep him from poking his nose in their private business.
Ironically, the comics scattered around him were the very X-Men issues Bruce had lent him after their return to the tower.
A faint flicker of amusement passed through Xavier's mind as stray surface thoughts from Billy drifted upward, unguarded as ever. But the Professor did not open the auditory channel so only he could hear whatever thoughts he heard, keeping away from the others.
'—Cyclops' headgear… or are they glasses? Either way, they looked way cooler in person. Especially with that red tint—kinda badass—'
Even here, in the midst of something so extraordinary, Billy remained… Billy.
And that, perhaps more than anything else, made this entire situation all the more fascinating. A kid who wielded such an incomprehensible power, yet not does he only appear as—but also has his head preoccupied with the thoughts of the average teenage boy.
Billy lay sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head while the other lazily held open the comic book resting against his chest. The room around him was quiet, carrying that soft, lived-in stillness that came after an overwhelming day finally slowed to a crawl.
A few other issues were scattered across the sheets and floor, some half-open, others stacked unevenly as if he had been flipping through them restlessly before settling on the one in his hands.
The late light filtering in through the window painted the room in a muted glow, casting soft shadows that stretched along the walls, but Billy barely noticed any of it. His eyes were on the page, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
'Can't believe I met a captain of one of the coolest team of heroes—another team of heroes—and with awesome powers…'
The thought drifted through his mind with a mix of disbelief and lingering excitement, immediately followed by a quieter, more self-conscious realization.
'…and I looked all nervous and suspicious on our first meet. And you know what they say about first impressions.' His lips twitched faintly at that, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze unfocused slightly, the comic page blurring as his thoughts pulled him back into the memory.
'I was more nervous when his arm reached for the side of his visor,' he admitted to himself, the image replaying with vivid clarity in his head. That small, deliberate motion—two fingers brushing the edge of the red-tinted lens—had been enough to spike his nerves instantly.
'That's literally the same motion he made in the comics before blasting people with eye lasers.' Billy's brows knit faintly as he stared harder at the panel in front of him, though he wasn't really seeing it anymore.
'Such cool powers…how come I don't shoot lasers from my eyes?'
There was a brief pause in his thoughts, a flicker of genuine consideration slipping in.
'…Or can I?' His eyes widened just a fraction at that, his body tensing slightly before he stilled again, the idea hanging there for a second longer than it probably should have.
Then—
'Wait.'
His expression shifted, curiosity giving way to suspicion as the earlier moment replayed from a different angle.
'Was that guy actually about to fire at me if things went sideways?' The thought came direct this time, edged with mild offense.
'What kind of adult blasts a kid with a laser—' he paused, his mouth flattening slightly as he corrected himself mid-thought, '—okay, almost an adult—but still. A frigging laser?'
His gaze dropped back to the comic, though his focus remained distant, his mind spiraling just enough to keep him entertained.
'Did the captain of the X-Men team drop his morals while perfecting that hero hairdo?'
A faint huff of amusement escaped him, barely audible, as he shifted slightly against the mattress. Despite everything, there was no real bitterness behind the thought—just the chaotic, unfiltered commentary of someone trying to process a day that had completely upended any sense of normalcy.
At the school, he had done his best to keep all of that locked down. Every thought, every reaction carefully reeled in so he didn't come off as some overexcited—especially after he had been reading comics about them just hours earlier. He had played it cool—at least, as cool as he could manage under the circumstances. But he knew himself well enough to recognize the difference.
If this had been him a few years ago?
Yeah… he would have completely lost it and probably gone full fanboy.
Just like he did the first time he stood face-to-face with the Justice League, barely holding himself together as he introduced himself while internally screaming.
Now, though… he had restraint.
Growth.
Or at least, that's what he told himself.
Billy shifted slightly on the bed, the faint creak of the mattress breaking the quiet as he exhaled through his nose, his gaze still loosely fixed on the open comic resting against his chest. The words on the page blurred together, long forgotten as his mind continued to replay the chaos of the day in vivid, looping fragments.
'That was… one hell of a day,' he thought, his lips pressing into a thin line as the memory of the courtyard resurfaced. 'Almost had my guts punched clean out of me by that douchebag. If only Storm hadn't stepped in when she did, I was going to teach him an embarrassing lesson that should have humbled him for quite a while.'
His expression tightened faintly, one brow twitching as he recalled the sheer force behind that guy's attacks—the weight, the speed, the kind of raw physical power that didn't just threaten to hurt, but to break. His grip on the comic shifted slightly.
'I was this close to teaching him a lesson he wouldn't forget. Probably humble him to the point it destroys his self-esteem.'
There was a pause in his thoughts, the bravado lingering for just a second too long before reality crept back in, grounding it.
'…Okay, maybe not completely destroy him,' he admitted inwardly, his lips twitching faintly. 'But definitely embarrass him. At least '
His gaze drifted toward the ceiling now, the comic lowering just enough to rest fully against his chest.
'Still… kinda wild,' he continued, his thoughts slowing into something more reflective. 'You'd think a place like that—a school for gifted kids—would be some kind of paradise. Safe, and with no nonsense like that.'
His eyes narrowed slightly as the earlier confrontation replayed again.
'Guess bullies are everywhere,' he concluded quietly. 'Just like Storm said.'
The thought settled, but it didn't linger long before it gave way to something else—one more grounded in self-awareness.
'Thanks to the excruciatingly bitter workouts and training with Steve, Natasha and Clint, I could stand my own for a while.' A faint, almost tired smirk touched his lips.
'Though all I did was dodge, clearly it was all I could do—not like there was anything I could do against such sturdy and dense power he demonstrated.'
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the comic as he exhaled again.
'That guy was hella scary. So that's an example of a mutants.' It reminded him of meta-humans from back home, but he refused to birth that thought as he refused to think about his home world.
'Still… I'm glad Storm stepped in,' he admitted, his expression softening just slightly. 'I got to see her in action, she really does control the weather…'
The thought lingered longer than it should have, his gaze unfocused again as something dangerously close to admiration began creeping in.
'And yeah… the teachers—no, the X-Men—another team of superheroes over here.' A faint grin pulled at his lips. 'They're just as cool as they are in the comics.'
Then, almost immediately, his attention circled back to one in particular.
'Especially Storm.'
The grin shifted—subtle, but undeniably different now. 'She might've… kinda… almost stolen my heart.' His eyes widened slightly at his own thought, his grip on the comic tightening just a fraction.
'Okay—hold up,' he mentally backtracked, a hint of panic slipping in as he stared up at the ceiling.
'I've gotta be careful.' A quiet breath left him as he dragged a hand down his face. 'Because if I'm not careful, I might actually fall for her.'
There was a pause.
Then—
'…And honestly? I don't even care if she's older.'
His lips twitched again, unable to fully suppress the thought now that it had surfaced.
'She uses lightning too. That's already a win.' The grin returned, a little more shameless this time.
'If things somehow worked out… we'd literally be a power couple.' He stared at the ceiling for a long second after that, the silence stretching just enough for the absurdity of his own thoughts to fully sink in.
'…Damn.'
His hand slid down to cover part of his face. 'I didn't think much of it back with Diana, but I might have a thing for older women who exercise power.' A quiet, defeated exhale followed.
"And Phoenix…" he muttered under his breath this time, voice barely audible as his thoughts spilled closer to reality.
His gaze drifted slightly, recalling Jean now—the way her presence carried a different kind of intensity.
'She's a whole different level of beautiful.' His mind painted the image again. 'That red hair… it fits her name perfectly.' He swallowed lightly.
'Storm too.'
And just like that, the mental spiral deepened.
'The way Storm's eyes lit up… the way her hair almost looked like it carried lightning itself…' His expression went blank for a moment, completely lost in the imagery.
'She looked like a literal goddess.' The comparison didn't even feel exaggerated.
'Exactly like the comics said.' A slow breath left him, his thoughts drifting into dangerous territory now, completely unchecked.
'Honestly… I wouldn't even mind melting under both of them.'
Silence.
Then—
His eyes snapped open wider.
'…Okay, what?'
He blinked rapidly, his face tightening in immediate secondhand embarrassment.
'Sheesh! That was kind cringed.''
The comic slipped slightly in his grasp as he shifted again, now fully aware of how far off-track his thoughts had gone.
'Maybe I should've just let myself get knocked out,' he muttered inwardly, his tone half-joking, half-mortified. 'Wake up in the med bay, get taken care of by one of them…'
Another pause.
Then immediate regret.
'Nope. Nope—nope—nope.' He dragged both hands over his face now, groaning softly into his palms.
'I'm actually losing it.' The embarrassment settled in properly this time, creeping up his neck as he exhaled sharply.
'These are the kind of thoughts that get you exposed at an awkward timing,' he warned himself, lowering his hands slowly as he stared blankly at the ceiling again.
'One slip, and I'm blurting something quite embarrassing while mid convo with either of them.'
A shudder ran through him at the mere idea.
'Yeah… no thanks.'
The room fell quiet again, the comic still resting untouched against his chest as Billy lay there, caught between exhaustion, disbelief… and the lingering chaos of his own thoughts.
Billy shifted again on the bed, rolling slightly onto his side as the comic slid halfway off his chest, now barely held in place by his fingers.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of activity within the building continued, but here, in this moment, it felt like he had been carved out of it—left alone with nothing but his thoughts and the lingering weight of everything that had happened.
'As much as I'd hate to start going to school again…' The thought came with a heavy, almost instinctive resistance, his nose scrunching faintly as if reacting to something unpleasant.
'Especially after I just got freed from that whole system back home.' A quiet exhale followed, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of the comic.
'Honestly, that might've been the only upside to your world meet a crappy end.' There was a brief pause after that, the weight of the statement settling in—not regretful, but not entirely comfortable either.
That last sentence also piqued the Professor's interest, wanting to know what the boy met by such.
Still, Billy didn't linger on it. His mind, as always, moved quickly.
'But…'
His expression shifted slightly, the resistance softening into something more reluctant… and then something else entirely.
'I guess I wouldn't mind going to school here…'
His lips twitched faintly.
'If it means I get to see Storm every day…. Not that that's a major factor or anything,' he added quickly in his own head, the denial coming a little too fast to be convincing. 'Definitely not influencing my decision-making in any significant way.'
'At all.'
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, staring at the ceiling again, fully aware of how unconvincing that sounded—even to himself.
'I mean… okay, yeah, it's a factor,' he admitted, his lips pressing into a thin line before easing again. 'But it's not the only one.'
His gaze drifted slightly as his thoughts shifted to something a bit more grounded.
'It would actually be pretty cool,' he continued, more thoughtfully now. 'Meeting yet again, another superhero group…' That part, at least, didn't need justification.
'That's not something people just casually get to do.'
A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, the excitement slipping through despite his earlier reluctance.
The grin faded slightly as another memory surfaced—Bruce's voice during their trip back. He said it could be arranged.
Billy's eyes narrowed just a bit as he replayed it.
'If I wanted to enroll, I could start as early as Monday.' That part sat heavier.
His fingers stilled against the comic.
'That's… soon.'
The weight of the decision pressed in a little more now, grounding him again.
'And yeah, the place is cool,' he admitted reluctantly. 'But "cool" and "school" being in the same sentence still feels wrong.' A soft huff left him, equal parts amusement and disbelief.
'Like, those two words shouldn't even exist together.'
He shifted again, rolling slightly onto his back as he stared up at the ceiling, his expression settling into something more contemplative.
'Still… I should probably think it through properly.'
For once, there was no immediate joke to follow that thought. Just a quiet acknowledgment that this wasn't something he could brush off completely. But, as always, his mind didn't stay serious for long.
'…Actually,'
His brows knit faintly as a completely different thought took center stage.
'Cyclops.'
His eyes drifted to the side, unfocused again as curiosity kicked in.
'Does he call himself that because of the visor?' He tapped the comic lightly against his chest again, thinking it through.
'I mean, the whole laser-eyes thing fits the name…
…Or does he actually have one eye under there?'
His expression twisted slightly, caught somewhere between curiosity and mild concern.
'Like, just one eye sitting right in the middle?'
He stared at the ceiling for a long second, genuinely considering it.
'That would be… kinda wild.'
He paused, then he exhaled, shaking his head faintly against the pillow. 'Yeah. That's a mystery for another day.'
The thought drifted away just as quickly as it came, replaced once more by a quieter realization.
His gaze softened slightly, the tension in his body easing as he settled more comfortably into the bed.
'Still…' A faint smile formed, subtle but genuine.
'I ended up in a pretty crazy world.' There was no fear in the thought, but there was hesitation as he refused to have his thoughts flicker to his home world. He missed them so much that he felt thinking about them too frequently could make him go all Emo.
'So I might as well enjoy it.' The comic finally slipped fully from his hand, landing softly against his chest as Billy closed his eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion of the day settle in—along with the strange, undeniable excitement of whatever came next.
- - -
Deep within the lower levels of the mansion, far removed from the warmth and familiarity of the school above, the chamber housing Cerebro pulsed with a quiet, mechanical life of its own.
The faint but steady hum of advanced machinery rhythmically filled the air, while dim lighting cast long, shifting shadows across the curved walls. At the center of it all, Professor Xavier remained seated with the metallic helmet fitted securely over his head, its cables feeding into unseen systems as his mind extended far beyond the confines of the room.
Within that vast psychic landscape, he had just skimmed the surface of Billy's consciousness—carefully, and deliberately—gathering what he could without overstepping the ethical boundaries he had spent a lifetime upholding. Like the average human, the boys thoughts had been open and unguarded.
Yet Charles could sense a subtle resistance, just beneath thought level. A quiet anomaly lurking just beyond reach, so now—he pressed closer.
Gently, he pressed on but with careful intent as the link which shared his visuals with the rest was suddenly cut off.
When he encountered it again, the sensation was unmistakable. A presence acting as a threshold—neither hostile nor defensive in the traditional sense, but immovable all the same. It didn't seem hostile. It simply was, positioned like a silent gatekeeper at the edge of Billy's deeper psyche.
He wondered if that was the avatar or being the boy had transformed into or summoned earlier. The possibility that Billy has some kind of contract with a being that lends him power at his request, did not escape the Professor.
He also wanted to know what the boy meant when he made reference to a world which most likely wasn't their own.
Curiosity guided him further as Charles carefully attempted to establish a foothold beneath the surface, easing past the outermost layer of thought, seeking not to invade, but to understand. His consciousness dipped just slightly deeper—
—and the world around him changed.
The endless streams of collective thought vanished, replaced instantly by visuals that were far more surreal.
Billy stood at a distance.
The boy's figure was small against the vastness surrounding him, positioned at the center of what appeared to be an endless ocean. Its surface was impossibly still, stretching out in every direction, reflecting the sky above with perfect clarity. Stars shimmered both overhead and beneath his feet, creating the illusion that he was suspended between two infinite heavens—caught in a space where up and down had lost all meaning.
This place was quiet. Too quiet.
The silence felt like it pressed inward rather than outward.
For a brief moment, Charles simply observed, trying to interpret what he was seeing—what it meant. Psychic landscapes often manifested in symbolic forms, shaped by the subconscious. But this… this felt different. It wasn't like that of a normal child's, which often was represented by the image of their happy place. Or where they felt the most safe.
Before he could observe it further, something shifted within the mental scape. His attention was pulled, clearly not by motion.
There was something else there.
Not in front of Billy.
Behind him.
Around him.
Within him.
It did not possess a defined shape, nor a clear boundary. It existed more as an absence of form—a shadow without edges, woven seamlessly into the space around Billy.
Once again he looked to see if the boy had an alteration to his DNA. He scanned but it defiled the structure Charles was accustomed to, just like his mental waves. Same as the previous results, there was no trace of an X-gene, no identifiable mutation pattern, no evolutionary marker that could ground it in anything remotely familiar.
Instead—
The boy seem to possess some abnormalities in the structure of his DNA, like a mirrored version of the norms. Guess that could count as an evolutionary pattern in his DNA.
But as he tried to pry some more, he experienced a complete three-sixty as the world seemed flip over. But Billy's figure remained on the spot, the serenity of the ocean had turned into a sea of cracking lightning.
The professor felt like standing at the edge of a storm. Rather, it felt like standing inside one.
Once again, the strange awareness observed him as a sense of unease welled up within him.
It felt strange for the observer to feel observed by another. There was a pressure to it, immense and suffocating in its scale, yet restrained with an almost unnatural patience. It did not surge wildly or lash out uncontrollably.
Yet the pressure caused a significant strain to his psyche, causing him to feel a bit nauseous as bloos trailed down his nose.
The power he felt was coiled inward and contained, as though waiting—not dormant, but aware.
As he struggled to recollect himself, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance even with the sea of lightning crackling.
The sound resonated through perception itself. A silent echo of power, vast and immeasurable, reverberating through the space.
And then—
For the briefest moment—
Charles's breath stilled as he felt it lock-in on him.
There was no immediate reaction or attack. No violent rejection of his presence. Seeming as though he had been warned, and has over stayed his intrusion.
That alone was enough for him to understand that whatever he had touched upon…
…it was not something meant to be pryed into.
Suddenly, he then noticed his own consciousness was being drawn down towards the sea of lightning with a gravitational pull which grew stronger by the second. There was no telling what would happen to the Professor's psyche if he were to be plunged into that sea.