Chapter Text
It was a normal Sunday 3:09 PM in Omaha, Nebraska. People were out congregating, the sun was shining and the cool summer breeze was blowing.
However, people were congregating for a much different reason.
Shouts of “Kill the mutie!” and “Mutie scum!” could be heard booming from the crowd, flooding down the streets of suburban Omaha. Some had pitchforks raised, others torches, with a bold few even carrying rifles and shotguns, fully locked and loaded. A sight completely uncommon on such a day, it raised the question on what must’ve caused such an occurrence.
17 year old Scott Summers hid in a plain, inconspicuous dumpster that the crowd simply ignored, leading to the mob passing through his hiding place. Scott raised his head, slightly opening the dumpster lid so he could observe the now empty street, slightly moving his hands to look left and right before quickly retreating them to their previous position, covering his eyes. He couldn’t leave them open like that, not after what happened back at the orphanage.
Scott scampered down the back alley on the right of the dumpster, hoping to find some shelter he could hide out in, eyes still covered. Suddenly, he felt himself brush against some metal and cloth. Scott felt an immense surge of fear, knowing very well he could be staring down the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun belonging to a member of the mob who deviated. Scott mentally and physically braced for the impact of the inevitable lead bullet that would force itself down his skull. Maybe it was God’s way of saving him, since he otherwise couldn’t be saved.
Instead, Scott felt a gentle hand pushing away his own, putting a pair of red tinted glasses on his eyes and a smooth and soft sensation in his head, making him feel relaxed and comforted for the first time since his curse emerged.
“Scott Summers, do not be afraid. You are in the presence of a friend.”
Scott looked up at the man. He was well dressed in an expensive looking suit, green in color, similar to the people who would sometimes visit the orphanage and promise large sums of money that would either never come or be spent on literally anything else but the orphans.
“Thank you.”
Scott managed to get out before being shushed by the stranger, who Scott could sense on his own intuition that he was to be trusted, who was a friend.
“No need for that, Scott. I’m only here to extend an offer to you. I know you believe that you are unlucky to have received such an unfortunate gift. I want you to change that way of thinking, to accept the curse as a gift. Do you know that the statistics state that for every seven hundred births, one is guaranteed to possess gifts like we do? And that the United Nations believes that this number will rise to a hundred by 2035? Do you know how rare it is for any one of us to be born, Scott? For the precise sperm cell that will reach your mother’s egg, out of millions of others, the chance is near zero?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Scott, I am an educator. I teach young men and women like you. I find people like you around the world, and I teach them how to control their gifts and use them for good. I see the value in my students, because I believe they are the future. I mainly work here in the United States, but my work also is worldwide. That is because my goal of mutant and human cooperation must be achieved through the common understanding between both groups that we must achieve this in order for society to progress and prosper. That is my dream, Scott. You can help me achieve it, or I can assist you in remaining hidden if you wish to live as a human.”
The man had a distinctly English accent, suggesting to Scott that this man was indeed a teacher given the eloquence of his words.
“There he is!”
Suddenly the mob began to appear from the street that Scott had entered the alleyway from, and in increasing numbers. Some began to lunge at Scott and the man, like a horde of crazed animals hellbent on the destruction of an enemy or prey.
Suddenly they stopped.
‘Enough. Return home to your families and your homes, and carry on with your daily routines. You will forget this boy is a mutant, and you will forget my face and my appearance here.’
The crowd froze hearing this resolute order from the man. They all looked glassy eyed,
“Sir?”
“Yes, Scott?”
“I want to come with you.”
“Very well.”
The professor released his hold on the crowd, causing all of them to confusedly stagger and leave the alleyway.
“This way Scott.”
The man led Scott outside of town, where a small private jet was located. Scott helped push the man up a ramp that had been deployed, almost as if the jet had sensed their presence and prepared to accommodate them.
Once inside, Scott saw that the Jet was laid out like the ones he had seen on TV and on the internet. There was a small bar, however most of the alcohol had been replaced with other drinks such as soft drinks and various juices. On the opposite side, there were a few seats, with a small table in between, where a red headed girl who looked slightly older than Scott was wearing earphones and typing into a laptop laid out whilst sipping a cup of beverage. At the end of a jet there were two doors, which Scott assumed was probably a toilet and a storage room for food or clothing.
Suddenly Scott heard thumping and a door open as a blue furred, feline looking man walked out of the cockpit.
“Charles, you’re back. And I see with the kid.”
The man stumbled over to Scott, back straightened. Scott guessed that he was at least 6’6 and looked quite big and muscular. He outstretched a hand, which Scott took and shook, feeling the man’s grip and strength.
“I’m Henry Mccoy, but most call me Henry. Nice to meet you.”
Scott then felt a light tap on his shoulder, and promptly turned around to see the beautiful girl smiling at him, causing him to gulp and slightly blush.
The girl was around 5’9, slightly shorter than Scott, who was around 5’11. She had wavy and flowing red hair that reached her shoulders, a heart shaped face and beautiful green eyes that Scott could spend forever staring at. Scott realized she looked a bit older than him, and guessed she might be a few months to a year older.
“I’m Jean, Jean Grey. Are you that new student the professor told us about?”
Scott immediately straightened up and decided to play it smooth.
“Yes, and I assume you’re another student?”
The girl giggled, bringing a hand to cover her mouth as she did so.
“You’re funny, I hope we can be friends.”
‘Yes, yes I do.’
Scott thought to himself as he took a seat while Jean helped the professor strap into a seat and took the seat across to Scott, closing her laptop.
For once in a long time, Scott could feel some hope and anticipation as the plane took off to a new future, unknown to him but welcome.