Life these days wasn't as bleak or gloomy as it had been before. A week ago, I had been saved by The Wraith—a man whose name I didn't know, whose face I had never seen, but whose actions had given me a second chance at life. When he told me to go to the Xavier Mansion, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know if it was real or just another cruel joke the world was playing on me. But I had nothing left to lose, so I followed his advice. I packed what little I had and made my way to Westchester.
The moment I stepped onto the grounds of the Xavier Mansion, I knew this place was different. It wasn't just a school; it was a sanctuary. Professor Charles Xavier himself greeted me at the door, his presence calm and reassuring. He didn't ask questions about my past or how I had found my way here. He simply welcomed me with open arms and a warm smile, as if he had been expecting me all along.
"You're safe here, Michelle," he had said, his voice gentle but firm. "This is a place where you can heal, grow, and discover who you truly are."
And he was right. The Xavier Mansion wasn't like any school I had ever seen. It was alive with energy, filled with kids—mutants like me—who laughed, played, and trained without fear. For the first time in years, I felt like I belonged somewhere. The Professor had given me a new ID, a job as a janitor, and the opportunity to continue my education. He even offered to help me understand and control my powers. Life here was… good. Peaceful. But even so, I could feel the shadows of my past lingering, the trauma still fresh in my mind.
Today, I had another therapy session with Professor Xavier. These sessions were becoming a regular part of my routine, and while they were uncomfortable at times, they were also healing. The Professor had a way of making you feel seen and understood without prying or judging. Today, we talked about the world outside the mansion—the world that had rejected and feared us.
"The world isn't ready to accept us, Michelle," the Professor said, his voice calm and measured. "Mutants are beyond their understanding of what's 'normal.' When faced with something they can't comprehend, humans often turn to fear and denial… It's a basic instinct, a way to preserve their sense of safety and sanity. But that doesn't mean we're the problem. It just means we have to be patient….and be more understanding than they were, because unlike them, we know what and who we are…"
I nodded, absorbing his words. "Do you think they'll ever accept us, Professor? Or are we always going to be seen as monsters?"
He smiled, his eyes kind but firm. "With time and patience, Michelle, coexistence is possible... But it needs to start with us. We must show the world that we're no different from them—that we're just people, trying to live our lives. Change doesn't happen overnight, but it begins with small steps. It begins with the people around us."
His words resonated with me, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of doubt. The world outside these walls was still cruel and unforgiving. I had seen it firsthand. But here, in this place, I was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope.
As I left the Professor's office and walked down the hallway toward my room, my thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of my phone. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. This phone was new, given to me by the school. No one had the number except the staff and a few students. Who could be calling me?
I pulled the phone out of my pocket, my hands trembling slightly as I answered. "Hello? Who is this?"
The voice on the other end was deep, growling, and unmistakable. "Michelle Amanda."
My breath caught in my throat. "Wraith?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Yes," he replied, his tone neutral but commanding. "I believe you're currently at Xavier's School, correct?"
"Yes, I am," I said, my mind racing. Why was he calling me? Was he in trouble? Did he need help? "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, I thought he might hang up. But then he spoke again, his voice steady and direct. "Two kids. They're in the same situation you were in. Are you willing to help, Michelle?"
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. Two kids. Just like me. My mind flashed back to the bar, to the fear and helplessness I had felt. If The Wraith hadn't shown up that night, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have this chance at a new life.
"Yes," I said without hesitation, my voice firm despite the lump in my throat. "I'll help. What do you need me to do?"
Michelle didn't hesitate. As soon as The Wraith's call ended, she grabbed her coat and bolted for the garage. The text with the location had arrived immediately, and she knew time was of the essence. The Wraith wasn't the kind of man who made unnecessary calls. If he was reaching out to her, it meant he needed her help—and she wasn't about to let him down. Not after what he had done for her.
The garage was quiet, save for the low hum of tools and the occasional clink of metal. Michelle scanned the rows of vehicles, her eyes landing on a sleek black Mustang. It wasn't hers, but she didn't have time to be picky. She was about to climb into the driver's seat when a gruff voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Hold on a minute, lass. Where do you think you're going at this time?"
Michelle froze, turning to see Logan—Wolverine—leaning against his motorcycle, a wrench in one hand and a suspicious look on his face. His sharp eyes narrowed as he took in her panicked expression and the coat slung hastily over her shoulders.
"Umm, I need to go out for a little bit, Logan," Michelle said, her voice trembling slightly. She tried to sound casual, but the urgency in her tone betrayed her.
Logan straightened, setting the wrench down on a nearby workbench. He knew Michelle well enough by now. She was the school's new janitor, a quiet, kind woman who had clearly been through hell before arriving at the mansion. The Professor had welcomed her with open arms, and Logan had respected that. But now, seeing her like this—rushed, almost panicked—he knew something was up.
"Please, Logan," Michelle begged, her desperation evident. "I need to go out now. It's important."
Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could smell the fear on her, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Whatever was going on, it wasn't just a casual errand. "Alright," he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. "But whatever the reason for this 'outing,' I'm coming with you… Don't refuse."
Michelle hesitated, but she knew arguing with Logan was pointless. "Okay," she relented. "But we need to hurry."
Logan grabbed his lumberjack shirt and tossed it on, then climbed into the driver's seat of the Mustang. "And I'm driving," he grumbled, shooting her a pointed look. "Of all the cars you could've picked, you had to go for my Mustang."
"Sorry," Michelle said, a small chuckle escaping her lips despite the tension. Logan was rough around the edges, but there was a kindness beneath his gruff exterior that she had come to appreciate.
The drive was silent, the only sound the rumble of the Mustang's engine as they sped through the night. Logan didn't ask questions, and Michelle didn't offer explanations. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a mutual respect for each other's boundaries. But as they approached the outskirts of New Rochelle, Logan's senses began to prickle. Something was off.
They pulled up to an abandoned house, the headlights illuminating a sleek BMW parked out front. Michelle was about to step out of the car when Logan stopped her with a sharp growl.
"Hold on a minute, lady," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't get any closer. It's dangerous."
Michelle froze, her heart pounding as she watched Logan step out of the car, his posture tense and ready. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, his animalistic instincts kicking into overdrive. The scent of blood and death hung heavy in the air, thick enough to make even Michelle's human senses tingle with unease.
Logan's muscles tightened, his adamantium claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. His eyes scanned the area, his every movement predatory and deliberate. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice a low growl.
Before Michelle could respond, the driver's door of the BMW opened with a soft click. Both of them turned to see a figure step out—a man clads in full combat armor, a mix of modern technology and ancient mysticism. His helmet was featureless, its surface gleaming ominously in the moonlight. The air around him seemed to crackle with an aura of fear and hatred.
"I thought you'd be alone, Michelle Amanda," The Wraith said, his voice deep and growling, yet oddly calm.
Michelle stepped forward; her hands raised in a placating gesture. "I didn't have a ride, so I had to borrow one," she explained, her tone light despite the tension. "And it came with him."
The Wraith nodded, his helmet tilting slightly as he regarded Logan. For a moment, the two men stood in silence, their presence filling the space with an almost tangible tension. Then, Logan spoke, his voice a low, warning growl.
"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here, pal," Logan said, his claws still extended. "Who the hell are you, and what do you want with her?"