21st Century Digital Boy

[xp-erverse.livejournal.com]

Marvel Girl and Roulette go to check out Van Wyck Lawrence Prep and confirm their suspicions of a new mutant.


The Van Wyck Lawrence Preparatory Academy in the Upper West Side was in a state of disarray. Near the end of the school day, several students and teachers had inexplicably fallen unconscious. Anyone who came too close to the fallen would immediately follow. Fearing a dangerous gas leak, the school was evacuated, although the victims had been left behind simply because no one could safely approach them to retrieve them. Emergency personnel had quickly arrived to seal off the school and keep anyone from entering while they considered their options.

Anyone who wasn't a mutant, that is. As soon as the news had struck, the X-Men were confident that a mutant was behind this. Whether a villain making a statement or a newly manifested child, they couldn't be sure. So Jean and Jennie were suited up and sent down to the city as quickly as possible to find out.

Jean could see the police barricades blocking the entrances to the school. She didn't dare reach her mind out toward the school, not yet, until she was in a better position to figure out what was going on. She could, however go for the immediate area. Eyes turning distant a moment, Jean's attention returned back to Jennie.

"The majority of police are near the front trying to keep the reporters and the crowd at bay. The service entrance is the least guarded. We could probably get in easiest that way. I can psi-mask our presence."

"And I can guarantee that we can get in without being spotted," Jennie replied, her fingers glowing softly white.

The two women made their way into the back through the alley, quiet except for their footfalls, and the sounds of a security camera meeting its untimely end.

Two of the police officers guarding the entrance turned at the sound but quickly forgot what they were looking at and went back to surveying the area, even as Jean and Jennie slipped past. She noticed a couple of police officers, the first wave, on the ground up ahead, as well as some EMTs and fire fighters. It was like service member bingo.

"Looks like we're getting closer" She literally stopped in her tracks, putting her hand to her temple as a wave slammed against her telepathic shield the moment she unknowingly took a step ahead past the invisible barrier.

"Wait. Stay there," she blurted, holding up a hand. Like a tide the wave seemed to ebb and flow, battering the shield first, then trying to suck her in.

"It's definitely a psi. Raw...incredibly powerful. Can't tell who yet, but I'm pretty sure everyone in the quarantine zone is probably on the astral plane."

Jennie's shoulders sagged. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say we're probably going to have to go get them."

It wasn't that she hated the astral plane. No, Jennie loathed it. There was no telling what subconscious fuckery was waiting for them.

But, whoever was in there needed their help.

Jennie cracked her neck and took a deep breath. "We have a backup plan, right?"

Eyeing the people on the ground, Jean nodded.

"I'll send out a message that alerts the X-Men to send reinforcements if we aren't able to make any headway after about a half an hour. They're already aware of the threat so there's a group already in town. The important thing is to keep them calm. We don't know if they're a multi psi or not...unconscious telekinesis is bad." She made a face at her own personal experience.

"Allons y," Jennie said, and closed her eyes.

~*~

Jean and Jennie convince Quentin Quire that revenge is hollow and that there's a place where he can rise above it. Trigger warning for references to self-harm.


People had always told Quentin that he was creepy. No particular reason to say so, really. He was just the quiet, withdrawn, studious, and friendless kid that just seemed to deserve being called that. But now, marooned on Quentin's share of the psionic reality known as the Astral Plane, he was earning that title. Asymmetrical shapes that looked like crude construction paper cutouts danced around the pitch black background. It was like being stuck in a collage stop-motion animation directed by Srđan Spasojević.

Quentin himself stood on a raised dais. He still wore his school uniform, but the jacket and pants were accentuated with metal studs and chains. His tie was replaced with a rope noose, and his sneakers had become knee-high leather boots. The most unusual aspect of his appearance, though, was his smile. None of the hundred or so students and teachers who bowed to his will here had ever even seen him smile with any joy. The smile he wore now, though, was anything but mirthful.

One of his peers struggled against the leather straps that held him in place on an electric chair. He started to convulse when Quentin turned to him.

"Aww, Chad, what did I say about struggling?" Quentin asked as he sauntered down the dais and leaned over the still-shaking young man, whose face was contorted in pain. "Just lie there and take it. You know what that means, right? You've said it so many times yourself."

It had been a while since Jean had been in the mind of anyone else but her own. In her youth she had practically lived on the Astral Plane, working with Charles on her powers there. She had come to know the ins and outs, what it could do, and what it couldn't. The place had been somewhere safe, almost magical. A realm of possibilities.

But like most things, the Astral Plane could be used for wonders...or nightmares. It was all a matter of perception.

"Interesting place you have here," Jean said. Her astral form traded her uniform for a simple green t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Non-threatening. More honey than vinegar.

It was all a matter of perception.

Jennie stood next to Jean, non-threatening in a sundress and doc martens, hair thrown back in a messy bun. She was following Jean's cues, as the astral plane was her domain, and not Jennie's favorite place to be.

It follows the subconscious of the user, makes things inside manifest. The hellscape before them spoke of pain, and suffering, and of a razor-mind finally unleashed.

"Don't mind us," Jennie added. "We just came for the food," she rattled a small bag of popcorn she'd manifested. She had experience with the dark corners of the mind, the way fear and pain could twist into the unrecognizable. She clad herself in familiarity for the unknown person's sake, and also for her own.

Behind her, almost imperceptible, was a subconscious shadow. An imposing figure, black-winged, clad in a chiton and carrying a naked xiphos sword, the figure was a manifestation from an earlier time. It was there and not there, and only someone with a trained eye could make out more than a fleeting impression of a feathered wing or the rustle of fabric.

Quentin rapidly turned his head to check out the source of the intrusion. Two women, a few years older than him, who seemed awfully confident in this world that he'd built. He hadn't sensed their arrival even though every new guest had instantly come to his attention. That was, to put it mildly, troublesome. Thick ropes erupted from the cracks that were suddenly forming underneath the women's feet, and tightly ensnared them.

"I don't know who you are," Quentin said to them, his voice trembling. "But this is my house. Wait your turn."

Movement in the corner of Jean's eye that didn't come from Jennie diverted Jean's attention, and allowed her to be caught. Her eyes flickered toward Quentin, a wiry slip of boy with a shock of pink hair that radiated power. He was a child trying on armor that was too big for him, wielding a weapon he only barely understood.

Jean's face remained neutral as she and Jennie's ropes turned into paper streamers and dropped to a pile at their feet. "We just want to talk. We won't hurt you. But I will not tolerate any more attacks, on me, my friend, or anyone else here, you understand?" she said, a simple twist of her wrist making the straps that held down Chad disappear.

Taking a step forward, she studied Quentin carefully.

"What's your name?"

Quentin took several steps back when the redhead casually dismissed his traps. He had to concentrate to maintain his inquisitor's chamber, but this person was breaking it down as if it were no more stable than a house of cards. And even though the other woman didn't project the same astonishing power that the redhead did, her simple presence was intimidating. Whoever these two women were, they'd make him wish he were in the material world, ready to take the beating that Chad and his cronies had been raring to give him before this all happened.

He refused to take this sitting down, though. He pulled himself to his full height and looked the redhead straight in the eyes. "My name is Quentin Quire. Who the fuck are you?"

Jean closed the distance. The two were almost exactly the same height, save for an inch or two from Jean's boots. She kept her hands at her sides, maintaining eye contact. showing that she wasn't intimidated.

"Someone who wants to help you," she said with absolute truth to her voice.

"My name is Jean Grey. This is Jennie Stavros. We're like you." The streamer lifted off the ground and turned into a vine, wrapping around her arm. At the end of the vine a flower, a daffodil, bloomed and other daffodils soon sprung up from other sections of the vine.

Her face softened slightly. "What happened?"

She could guess. A person just didn't decide to wake up one morning and trap their classmates in a dreamscape for no reason. But she wanted to hear it from him.

Behind Jennie, the figure stood at ease, sword at the ground and wings folded, but her eyes still held the promise of retribution should she be harmed.

"Pain comes from pain," Jennie added, almost to herself. "We've seen some serious shit, Jean and I. It's not easy being different. Even worse when others can see it. I used to get the shit beaten out of me when I was young, and I could pass most days. Til I got strong and threatened to cut out the worst of my bullies' eyes," Jennie's smile hinted at the feral part of herself. "So this?" she gestured. "I get. But something broke without you meaning it, am I right?"

"They deserve worse than they've been given," Quentin spat. "Every one of them. I walk into school this morning and what's the first thing I hear? 'Mutie. Chink. Faggot.' Every goddamn day. Yesterday I went home with a bloody nose. The day before, too. And before this all happened, what they were going to do to me . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say it in front of these strangers, but the disgust and self-hatred in his voice made it clear that Chad and his cronies weren't just looking for another day of average schoolyard violence.

"Each aggression, day after day, crawls into your head and infests it like maggots. They get in there and they rot you from the inside out. You're left hollow. That's what they did. Every threat. Every slur. Every punch and every kick and every shove. This is their fault. This is what their hate brought. And I'll see them all pay for it."

"And what will that get you?" Jennie lifted her chin. "Temporary reprieve? The chance to feel like a god for an hour or two, until there's nothing left for you to break, and you're left only with your anger. Eating you up piece by piece."

"I threatened to cut out my bully's eyes, and I cut off her hair while she slept and made her a present of it on her pillow. And then I had to run because there was no stopping the cycle of revenge once it had begun. I had a knife, she had a gun. But I had a power she didn't have, and I could have used it to stop her heart. But I didn't, because that lead to a place I couldn't go. I could have turned out bad, I could have become even bigger and meaner than the people who hurt me," The figure behind Jennie rippled.

"Instead, I found a place that took people like me in and gave me safety. Where I could learn what and who I was," Jennie gestured, and for a moment the woman was real, black wings and shiny sword, imposing cold glare. "This is my patron, Nemesis, Greek goddess of divine balance. She punished the wicked, those that were rewarded unjustly by fate." The figure faded, quickly as she came. "Through her I've had my revenge a dozen times over, I got strong, stronger than those who hurt me. And I learned how to protect those that needed it most, like I did."

"You want revenge on these pathetic, small-minded children? Get strong. Know yourself. Leave them behind to their tiny lives."

Jean tilted her head, studying the boy.

"It never stops, right?" she said softly.

"Their thoughts weighing in on you....words, images. People knowing that you're different. Because you know exactly what they're thinking. Even the ones who don't say it aloud. And you feel alone. You feel like a freak. And you try so hard to not listen. But you hear it, everyday," she said. She shook her head.

"They fear what they don't understand. And they hurt you to make themselves feel better. It doesn't make it right. And it doesn't stop the pain. But she's right. You can get stronger. You can rise above this, above them. I...felt that way too when I was a girl. Hearing all these voices, all the fear and sometimes...hatred coming from even my own family. But someone helped me. Someone who helped me understand what I was going through, helped...my family cope with what was happening to me. He gave me hope. He helped me figure out who I was. "

A picture appeared in Jean's hand, that of the mansion at dawn, the sunlight streaming across the windows, making the brass gate glisten. In the picture trees swayed in the breeze, and birds seemed to sing, even as the sound of children's laughter echoed, joining them in a sort of chorus.

"There's a place where you can do that too. We can teach you how to use your powers, how to understand them. And you'll be with people who know what you're going through too. Who've been there, and made it through," Jean said. The streamers had shifted and blossomed outward, creating a field of grass from the cracked earth underneath Jean's feet. She glanced up at him, smiling softly, then offered him the picture.

"You're not alone anymore. Please. Let us help you."

The psiscape seemed to react to their words. The shivering shapes that patrolled the area slowed down in their marches, as if to better listen to the women. All of Quentin's victims stopped struggling against their various bonds, too, although he still held on as tightly as he could to them.

Quentin fought to keep his expression from softening, too. "This is all easy for people like you to say. 'Nothing left to break'?" he asked Jennie. His voice still trembled. "There isn't anything left now, you fucking idiot. Does this look like a healthy brain to you? There was one person - one! - in my entire life who even gave the littlest bit of a damn. And they took him away from me! And you expect me to, what, be the ~bigger man~ and just let them go? From stealing and shitting on the only meaning my life had? You want me to be content with nothing?!?!"

He started visibly shaking, and a handful of the metal studs fell from his jacket, clanging loudly on the ground before vanishing. He turned back to Jean, laying his red eyes on the image of the mansion briefly before looking back up. "You are mutants. We should be standing in solidarity. We should be taking what's rightfully ours. But instead you want to lock me up until I'm ~normal~ and ~passable.~"

The noose tightened around his neck and he fell to his knees. "You should just kill me instead," he pleaded. "Do us all a favor and end it."

Slipping down, Jean sat on the ground in front of him, with only a couple of feet of distance between the two of them.

"I know. I know right now it hurts so much you can hardly breathe. I am so sorry this happened to you. But hurting people doesn't change anything....except you. It becomes a cycle that never ends. You can become someone to fear, but the trade off is you'll always be alone. It doesn't solve anything. This is just a moment in time, but it can shape your future. We don't want you to be anything other than who you are, but its hard to know who that is when it's buried under rage. You do have something left. All this?" she motioned around.

"You made all this, by yourself. Without any help. That's amazing. You have the potential to do so much more, to be so much more," she said. A smile played across her lips as a leaf from one of the trees in the picture slipped out and caught on the wind, landing in his lap. She glanced up at him.

"Imagine what you can do with your powers if you realized that potential. Not every human is bad and every mutant is good. It means we're all people. And it means there's hope that change can happen. I know you're a good person, Quentin. I know despite the pain you still believe in a better world. We want to believe too."

She offered him the picture.

"And that's why we're here. To help make that world."

"We can't solve all your problems," Jennie added, not reacting to the boy's histrionics. "You determine your own path in life. What we give is a safe place for you to learn and grow and find your way. There will still be bad things, bullies, and heartbreak."

"But you will be safe from mutant bigotry. We have people who have been disowned or who have run away, and they find a home with us. That we can give you."

"And if I refuse, then if you don't take me out, then SHIELD will probably put the bullet in my head." Quentin wiped his eyes and sighed, and the noose untied and fell to the ground where it vanished, too. He held out his hands to accept the moving image from Jean and examined it dubiously. A giant mansion surrounded by green, miles away from anything else. Isolationism to protect and nurture the next generation of mutants. "At least it's pretty."

He looked up at all of the students and teachers still tethered to him. He felt exhausted and, were he honest with himself, mildly ashamed of what he'd put them through. "What do we do with them? If they wake up and spill then no one will be able to stop that bullet to my brains. Can they forget?"

Jean followed Quentin's gaze. She hoped by coming to the school that he would finally be able to find some peace. "Yes," she nodded.

"We also need to return their minds to their bodies. But first thing's first. Come," she said, climbing to her feet. Walking over to Chad, Jean reached out her hand. The boy flinched but she shook her head.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I won't hurt you," she promised. Touching his forehead with two fingers, the memory of Chad's encounter with Quentin sprung up like a timeline above his head. Jean selected the section of memories she wanted, extending her hands outward, the motions almost like she were conducting a symphony.

"Messing with memories is something I am not fond of doing due to potential ramifications. It's something I don't take lightly. But in this instance, it's unfortunately necessary."

Pulling her hands down, she drew the memories to her until they were collected into a sphere. "The human mind is sacred. And delicate. Being careful is of the utmost importance. To do otherwise risks harm," she said.

Jean stared down at the sphere, the memories filtering around, vivid and turbulent with violence. A haze seeped in from her fingertips around the memories until the sphere resembled a cloud. Lifting up the sphere let it go and it disappeared.

"With a shared memory it can be easier to select the traumatic sections since everyone has experienced almost the same thing. It'll be easier to do since there's template to work from. Here," she motioned for him to stand next to her, then stared out over the group of people. A series of lines radiated outward from her feet, connecting to every person in the group. When it reached each individual person, the memory of being pulled into Quentin's dreamscape popped up above their head.

"Watch me."

Drawing her hands inward again, the memories turned into a series of spheres that resembled bubbles, gently floating in the sky. The bubbles began to gently soften, and after a few moments, turned into clouds. Then, the clouds gradually faded away, and a hint of sunlight peeked out from where they had been. Jean glanced down to Quentin, she smiled.

"So, shall I show you how to send them back? It's kind of a rush."

"We could just leave them here," Quentin suggested in what they would surely come to learn was his usual not-so-helpful manner. "Fine, show me. Gotta start somewhere."

"Or we could not," Jean said. She looked back to the group of people, and suddenly his dreamscape was replaced with reality. His real body lay where he'd left it, with various people around him. Yet the astral versions remained, as well as the lines on the ground. The lines seemed to lift upward, and he'd notice that they all flowed back to him.

"You're the satellite right now. All you have to do is return the astral version of them to their counter parts. The memories are not truly...erased. They're merely hazy. To completely erase them could cause problems. They'll remember emotions, flashes of colors, fragments, but nothing concrete."

Jennie closed her eyes and felt reality return. She preferred it, there was too much potential, too much abstract in the astral plane, and her powers reacted in a way that made her teeth hurt.

"We should beat a hasty retreat," she said. "There's still plenty of cops out there."

All of the dancing color cut-outs and psychedelic dream creatures melted and vanished when Quentin followed Jean's instructions. He felt the cold of the linoleum floor pressed against his face, and when he opened his eyes, saw that he was once again in the boy's bathroom, surrounded by Chad and his cronies just as they'd all been left. He groggily pulled himself to his feet and groaned when he saw himself in the mirror. Streaks of dried blood decorated his face like a poor attempt at war paint. His head still hurt, but it was the familiar sensation of a bad hangover and not the agonizing migraine he'd suffered during the manifestation of his telepathy.

The trio of bullies stated to stir, which Quentin took as his invitation to leave. But before he did, he kicked the still unconscious Chad in the gut and spat on the ground next to him. "It's not over, flatscan. Maybe I don't want to be a worse monster than you right now, but who knows about the future? Better keep an eye open."

He shouldered open the door and stepped out into the hallway where, beyond the recuperating bodies of the people who'd been caught in his accidental trap, he found his two rescuers waiting for him.

"So what's the safe space's pet policy?"