The afternoon sun still hung in the sky as Charles and Erik strode back into the CIA base. Their search for new mutants had yielded modest results: Alex Summers, a young man whose powers—though raw and unpredictable—held remarkable promise.
After introducing Alex to the growing roster of recruits, Charles found his gaze drifting, seeking a familiar face. Raven stood at the far side of the room, her steady presence a comfort amidst the whirlwind of new challenges. He approached her with quiet steps, his expression a mixture of hope and concern."Any news on Sarah?" he asked softly.
Raven's features softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability slipping through. "She's fully healed. Just like she said—like nothing ever happened."
Charles exhaled, relief washing over his tired features. "That is good news."
Raven hesitated, her calm giving way to something more guarded. "It's not that simple," she admitted, her voice dropping. "She's… different now. Withdrawn. She spends hours honing her abilities as if it's the only thing that matters. It's not just being focused, Charles—it's an obsession."
Charles frowned, the weight of her words settling over him. "She's been through so much already. The last thing I want is for her to feel isolated."
"She already does," Raven said quietly. There was a flicker of empathy in her tone, surprising even herself. For all of Sarah's sharp edges and guarded demeanor, Raven couldn't ignore the loneliness that seemed to shadow her every move. "She could use someone to talk to."
Charles regarded her thoughtfully, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. His inability to read Sarah's mind left him grasping at fragments of understanding. Finally, he nodded. "You've always had a gift for reaching people, Raven. See if you can help her feel less… alone."
Raven tilted her head in acknowledgment before slipping out of the room. Her silhouette disappeared through the door, leaving Charles and Erik alone in the dim light. The silence was brief, broken by Erik's measured voice.
"This is a mistake, Charles."
Charles turned to face him, brow furrowed. "What mistake, Erik?"
Erik leaned against the edge of a desk, his arms crossed. His tone was calm, but the sharp edge beneath it was unmistakable. "Trying to 'fix' her. This fixation she has—it's not something to stifle. It's a driving force, and it may be the very thing that ensures her survival."
Charles' jaw tightened. His response was immediate. "Strength without balance is a dangerous path, Erik. I've seen it before."
"And balance without strength," Erik countered, his steel-gray eyes unyielding, "leaves you vulnerable. We don't know what fuels her drive—you can't dismiss it as destructive without understanding its purpose."
Charles held his gaze, his voice steady but firm. "Which is why we need to reach her. Left unchecked, this relentless focus on power could consume her. Isolation and ambition are a volatile mix—you, of all people, should understand that."
Erik's expression flickered for a moment, a crack in his composure before he steadied himself.
"She's not me, Charles," Erik said finally, though his voice wavered ever so slightly. "And we don't have the luxury of coddling anyone. The fight ahead demands strength. If she finds hers through focus and isolation, then so be it."
Charles shook his head, his tone softening. "This isn't merely about the fight. It's about what comes after. Strength without connection, without understanding, leaves scars. And Sarah already carries enough of those."
The conversation teetered on the edge of escalation, but neither man pressed further. Erik turned toward the window, his expression unreadable as he watched the deepening night.
"We'll see," Erik murmured, almost to himself. "Time will tell what kind of strength she finds."
Charles lingered, his mind already running a mile a minute with the weight of their mission. Shaw was still the big threat hanging over them, and Sarah's struggles felt like a storm he wasn't ready to face just yet. But the worry kept gnawing at him, an invisible hand pressing down hard on his thoughts.
"First Shaw," he thought, straightening up. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can help her before it's too late."
...
Sarah (POV)
A metallic clink echoed through the room as I set a twisted chunk of steel down on the table, brow furrowed in concentration. My fingers flexed, sparks of electricity and magnetism flickering briefly before I leaned back in my chair with a frustrated sigh. It felt like I was getting nowhere.
The creak of the door pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up sharply, expecting another interruption, but found Raven standing in the doorway. Her striking blue features softened with a hint of curiosity.
"Burning the midnight oil, Sarah?" Her voice was low, almost teasing. "Everything alright?"
I flinched, caught off guard, and then quickly masked it with a hesitant smile. "Yeah. Just… thinking. Nothing to worry about."
Over the past few days, I hadn't expected much from Raven. She was enigmatic, sharp-edged, and fiercely independent—none of which screamed "comforting friend." Yet, somehow, something had formed between us. Unspoken but undeniable. Her presence was a welcome distraction from the weight of my own thoughts. For someone like me, loneliness was a constant companion, gnawing at the edges of everything. Raven, strangely, didn't make it feel so oppressive.
Raven stepped further into the room, her eyes scanning the scattered metal and the faint hum of energy in the air. "You sure you're fine? Because you don't exactly look 'fine' to me," she said, her tone now genuine, like she could tell I was hiding something.
I smirked faintly, shaking my head. "Really, I'm good. But thanks for checking in." My tone was light, but I knew she wasn't fooled. Raven had a way of seeing through walls people built around themselves, even when they thought they were impenetrable.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me with that penetrating gaze. "You're sure?" she pressed again, her voice softening, a gentleness I hadn't expected. "Because, you know, I'm not just here for the 'I'm fine' routine. I'm actually starting to think I might give a damn."
I froze at that, surprise flickering through me. "Well, that's a first," I muttered, leaning back in my chair. "Someone actually giving a damn."
Raven tilted her head slightly, her lips pulling into a subtle smirk. "Guess I'm full of surprises." She hesitated, then stepped closer, her gaze softening. "But seriously, Sarah… I'm not saying you have to open up or anything, but don't keep pushing people away. You're not alone here."
I let her words hang in the air. Normally, I'd shut down any attempt at getting close. But something in the way she said it made me hesitate. "I'm not pushing anyone away," I said, though my voice lacked the usual sharpness. "I'm just… figuring things out."
"Figuring things out?" Raven's eyes narrowed slightly, her tone no longer teasing. She studied me closely. "What does that even mean? Is that your excuse to keep hiding in here? You don't have to do this alone, Sarah. Not everything's a mental game of survival."
I bit my lip, avoiding her gaze for a moment. The words hit harder than I expected. "I don't need anyone's help," I said sharply, the words slipping out more forcefully than I intended. "I'm fine on my own." Give me a break, I'm planning and training. Besides, I'm not planning on staying in this universe forever, I thought to myself.
Raven gave a dry laugh, her expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Really? You've been fine alone your whole life?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "Because it looks to me as if you're running away from something. You don't have to do that here. We're not all just… lone wolves, you know."
Her words landed harder than I expected. I met her gaze, swallowing the brief flicker of doubt. "That's a little under the belt, don't you think? I have friends, you know, from another place," I muttered, folding my arms. Actually, maybe I only have a handful. Cú Chulainn, Rin, Jennifer, Deadpool... can I even call that guy a friend? Besides friends around me kinda end up dead. "Look, Shaw's out there. That's who we need to focus on. I'd rather be prepared for that."
Raven's eyes softened, and she stepped further into the room, now standing only a few feet away. "That may be the case," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "but you're not alone here. You have a team." Her gaze locked onto mine, not letting up. "Only think about it, alright?"
I hesitated, the weight of her words settling between us. Normally, I would've dismissed it, but something about Raven's expression made me pause. "I'll think about it," I said, the words heavier than I meant.
Raven lingered for a moment, watching me as if she was still trying to decipher some hidden part of me. Then, her expression shifted to something more playful, her smirk returning. "Well, as much as I enjoy this little therapy session," she said, "Charles's project just got bigger. He's recruited more mutants. They're all meeting tonight. Thought you might want to join. You know, socialize with your people."
I raised an eyebrow, the idea of mingling not exactly appealing. But new mutants? New powers? That was something I could get behind. A bright, perhaps too eager, smile spread across my face. "Sure," I replied quickly. "That sounds… fun." Not for the reasons you think though.
Raven smirked, clearly seeing through my sudden shift in demeanor. "Uh-huh. Let's go before you overthink it."I stood, brushing off my hands, my mind already running through the possibilities. New mutants meant new abilities. And new abilities meant potential resources—DNA, blood, maybe even a chance to dissect their powers. Socializing wasn't my first choice, but this meeting was bound to be... productive.
---
Dealing with mutants in the early 1960s was, believe it or not, like playing hide-and-seek with a blindfolded toddler: easier, but still somehow chaotic. Publicly, mutants were as real as UFOs and honest politicians. The CIA didn't even have "mutant" in its glossary of things to freak out about—at least, not until Charles rolled in with his "Hi, I'm here to make your lives more complicated" proposal.
This blissful ignorance meant mutants spent a lot of time as the local weirdos, living in the shadows, juggling the emotional baggage of "Why me?" Most were isolated, weighed down by the kind of shame that came with sprouting extra limbs or sneezing laser beams. So it wasn't exactly a shocker that these outcasts found kindred spirits when they finally stumbled upon other mutants. Misery loves company, and hey, so do superpowers. What was once an isolating burden became a shared sob story, bonding them faster than a three-legged race at summer camp.
The guest room hummed with an energy that screamed group therapy—if group therapy involved powers and a surprising amount of laughter. As I followed Raven inside, I braced myself for the stereotypical mutant welcome committee: moody stares, someone flipping a coin menacingly, the usual. Instead, I was met with... laughter? People actually having a good time? It was as if I'd walked into a mutant comedy club during open mic night.
A blond guy, lounging on a sofa as if it were a throne, decided to kick things off. "Well, look who's new! Although… aren't you a little young for the freak of the week meetup?" His tone was equal parts teasing and curious, his gaze sweeping over me as if I were the first item on a mutant menu.
Raven smirked, her amusement lighting up the room. "Actually, Alex," she said with a raised brow, "Sarah's been here longer than most of you. Try not to let the baby face fool you."
Not exactly thrilled to be put on the spot, I forced a half-smile. "Hi, I'm Sarah Vasilissa. Feel free to insert your witty nickname here."
The room responded with an enthusiastic chorus of "Hi, Sarah!"—like a mutant AA meeting, but with fewer snacks and more powers.
I scanned the group, taking in the array of faces. It was as if it were a Benetton ad, a rainbow of ethnicities and experiences. In a decade where a black-and-white TV was still edgy, this sight was oddly refreshing. Mutants, after all, didn't have time for racism. They were already public enemy number one, lumped into the universal "other" category before they even hit puberty. Black, white, blue, green—it didn't matter. People only saw "freak."
But here, in this room, it was different. For now, anyway. Optimism hung in the air, thin and fragile, a soap bubble that hadn't popped yet. They were still new to this, still hopeful that being together might mean something. The crushing realities of the outside world hadn't hit them in full force—not yet. Give it time, though. Pessimism always found a way to RSVP.
Still, I couldn't help but feel the warmth. For all the sass and sarcasm I carried as armor, I wasn't entirely immune to the hope in the room. Not that I'd admit it, of course. Instead, I shrugged off the feeling, leaning back against the doorframe with an easy smirk.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Raven, standing casually beside me, lobbed what could only be described as a conversational grenade.
"Since we're basically a team now, wouldn't codenames be fun?" she mused, her tone breezy enough to suggest she wasn't proposing something that might spiral into a debate—or a small existential crisis.
I blinked, arching an eyebrow. "A team?" I echoed slowly, my voice dripping with razor-edged skepticism—the kind I usually reserved for bad diner coffee or Erik's lofty speeches. "What, like secret agents?" My sidelong glance invited an explanation, though I had a pretty good idea where this was heading.
Raven winced, realizing she'd fumbled the setup. "Oh. Right." She gestured vaguely as if the details would suddenly materialize in the air. "Charles and Erik are putting together a mutant squad. We're… um, affiliated with the CIA now. Everyone here is on the team."
I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, my expression deadpan. "CIA agents?" I repeated as if testing the words out for comedic value. My inner monologue, naturally, wasn't as charitable. More like the X-Force but with fewer leather fetish suits. And if I recall, isn't Shaw supposed to barge in here with his merry band of mutant terrorists soon? What exactly am I going to do about that?
Raven mistook my silence for resistance. "Yeah, sort of," she hedged, shifting uncomfortably. She was trying to ease me into it, probably on Charles' orders. He wasn't sure about me, not entirely. Something about my "fragile mental and physical state" after being experimented on by humans. At least, that's what my shadow duplicates had overheard. A solid cover story, if I do say so myself. Charles' inability to read my mind was clearly making him cautious. Smart man. Annoying, but smart.
Before Raven could backpedal further, a smooth, commanding voice filled the room. "Exactly. She belongs with us."
The speaker Armando, a statuesque man with flawless posture and a quiet authority, strode into view. His smile was disarming, his words deliberate. He gestured toward me as if presenting a new recruit for a mission briefing. "She's one of us."
The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement, and just like that, the floodgates opened.
"She's got that mysterious vibe," Sean chimed in, leaning against a chair with an easy grin.
"Definitely screams 'agent,'" Alex added, earning himself a withering glance from me.
Raven sighed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. You're an agent now."
The room erupted in cheers and light applause, clearly thrilled with the sudden, unofficial promotion. If my grin seemed wider than usual, no one questioned it. Sure, the camaraderie was nice, but my amusement stemmed from something else entirely. "Agent" status meant front-row seats to the chaos about to unfold—and an excellent opportunity to rewrite this script as I saw fit.
Seeing the energy building, Raven leaned into the madness. "Alright," she said with a conspiratorial smirk, "since codenames are apparently mandatory now, I'm calling dibs on Mystique."
Recognition sparked in my eyes. So this is where it begins, I thought, filing away the moment.
"Oh, come on!" A young man sitting diagonally across from us protested, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "I wanted Mystique!"
"Sorry," Raven quipped, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "Codename's claimed."
And then, in a move that could only be described as a mic drop without the mic, her skin shimmered. A cascade of electric-blue scales rippled across her body, her features shifting effortlessly until she became a perfect mirror of the man who had spoken.
The room went dead silent, jaws dropping as everyone processed what they'd just seen. A ripple of impressed murmurs spread, punctuated by a whistle of admiration.
"Okay, yeah," Alex finally said, breaking the silence. "That's a damn good codename."
Raven, still wearing her borrowed face, gave him a cheeky wink before returning to her natural form. The message was clear: Mystique isn't just a name—I own it.