Clark let out a long breath as the shower's last droplets pattered against the tile, steam still curling around him like morning fog. The bathroom's small window painted strips of early dawn across the floor—he'd deliberately set his alarm early, determined to start this new chapter of his life on the right foot. No more late-night shifts, no more scraping by on odd jobs and favors. Just the new reality of being a student.
He grabbed one of the fresh towels the school had provided—thick, soft, and almost embarrassingly luxurious compared to the threadbare ones he'd left behind at his apartment—and dried himself off before securing it around his waist. The mirror had fogged over completely, turning the bathroom into a sort of liminal space. It felt appropriate, given how fluid his own identity had become lately.
"Phones," he muttered, running through his mental checklist while reaching for his toothbrush. "Definitely need phones." The thought of Harper being somewhere in the building without a way to reach him made something anxious twist in his stomach. She was safe here—probably safer than she'd ever been—but after everything they'd been through, the idea of not being able to check on her at a moment's notice felt wrong. "Wonder if they have some kind of mutant-proof cases," he mused around a mouthful of toothpaste, imagining Harper accidentally shorting out yet another electronic device.
He spat, rinsed, and was about to head back to his room when the clearing mirror caught his attention. The movement was almost cinematic—condensation sliding away to reveal a stranger wearing his face.
"What the..." Clark stepped closer, watching his reflection do the same with equal amounts of fascination and disbelief. The changes were dramatic enough that he wondered how he hadn't noticed them happening. His formerly lanky frame had transformed into something that wouldn't look out of place in a fitness magazine—lean muscle wrapped around his torso and arms like he'd spent years in a gym instead of days running for his life. An experimental flex confirmed it wasn't some trick of the light; definition rippled across his abdomen in a way that defied his lifetime of barely remembering to eat three meals a day.
"Huh." He turned slightly, studying his profile with a mix of amusement and wonder. "Guess Dr. MacTaggert wasn't kidding about the cellular reconstruction." The memory of her excitement over his test results took on new meaning. It wasn't just his insides that had been rewritten—his entire body had apparently decided to optimize itself without bothering to consult him about the upgrade.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest, equal parts genuine humor and slightly hysterical acceptance. "Being a mutant isn't so bad," he told his reflection, then immediately felt ridiculous for talking to himself. Still, he couldn't help but add, "Though a warning about the extreme makeover would have been nice." He flexed again, this time with an exaggerated bodybuilder pose that made him snort at his ridiculousness. "What's next? Shooting lasers from my eyes? Growing wings? At this point, I wouldn't even be surprised."
The sound of movement in the hallway reminded him that he wasn't the only early riser in Section One. Clark grabbed his clothes and headed for the door, pausing for one last glance in the mirror. The face looking back at him was still undeniably his—same dark hair, same eyes that couldn't quite decide if they wanted to be blue or brown—but everything else felt like someone had taken his basic template and decided to run a few unauthorized upgrades.
"Right," he muttered, more to himself than his reflection. "New body, new school, new life. No pressure or anything." He could practically hear Remy's voice in his head, saying something about how there were worse problems to have than accidentally getting superhero abs. The thought made him smile as he reached for the door handle. "At least Harper will think it's cool."
Clark had barely taken three steps from the bathroom when he found himself frozen mid-stride, every instinct suddenly on high alert. A girl was standing in the hallway—small, dark-haired, and regarding him with an intensity that made him acutely aware he was wearing nothing but a towel. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, but something in her posture reminded him of a coiled spring. Her eyes tracked his movements with predatory focus, and there was something unnervingly familiar about that measuring stare.
Before the moment could stretch into even more uncomfortable territory, rapid footsteps approached from around the corner. A girl with vibrant red hair appeared, slightly out of breath, her Scottish accent thick with embarrassment as she took in the scene.
"Oh god, Laura, you can't just—" She cut herself off, shooting Clark an apologetic look while carefully avoiding direct eye contact with his bare chest. "I am so sorry. She gets curious about new people and sometimes forgets about..." She made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass social norms in general. "Personal space?"
The pieces clicked into place—these must be the two roommates who'd been absent during yesterday's welcomes. Clark shifted his weight, trying to project casual confidence while holding his towel securely in place. "I'm Clark," he offered, aiming for friendly despite the awkwardness of the situation. "Nice to meet you both, though, uh; usually, I'm wearing more clothes for introductions."
"Rahne Sinclair," the redhead supplied, her cheeks nearly matching her hair color. She gestured to her companion, who hadn't moved or blinked. "And this is Laura Kinney. We're your... well, not directly your roommates, obviously, different rooms and all that, but..." She was rambling now, clearly thrown by the situation.
"Hi," Laura said suddenly, her voice carrying that same intense focus as her gaze. The similarity finally clicked—she reminded him exactly of Logan, from the compact frame to the way she seemed to be cataloging potential threats even in a casual setting.
"Hey," Clark managed, wondering if there was a polite way to ask if she was related to the man who'd helped get them here. Before he could figure out how to phrase it, Dani emerged from her room, took one look at the tableau, and pressed her lips together in what might have been an attempt to suppress a laugh.
"Right, well..." Clark cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely toward his room. "I should probably go put on actual clothes. Good to meet you both?" The statement somehow came out as a question.
"Yeah, sorry again," Rahne offered, finally managing to tug Laura a few steps back. "We'll just... go. Somewhere else. Now."
Clark made his escape as dignified as possible, giving Dani a quick nod as he passed. He could have sworn he heard her muffled laughter as he closed his bedroom door behind him, letting out a long breath. "Well, that was a way to start the morning," he muttered.
Remy's soft snores drew his attention to the other side of the room, where the Cajun was sprawled across his bed in a position that somehow managed to take up far more space than should have been physically possible.
Clark considered his options, then grabbed a pillow from his bed and launched it with perfect accuracy at Remy's head. "Rise and shine, card shark!"
The pillow connected with a satisfying thump, earning a string of creative curses. Remy emerged from his blanket cocoon like a disgruntled cat, his eyes glowing faintly in the morning light. "Dis better be good, mon ami," he growled, though there was no actual heat behind it.
"Trust me," Clark said, already pulling on his clothes, "you don't want to be late on day one. Pretty sure they don't accept 'met the scary mini-Logan in the hallway while half-naked' as an excuse for tardiness."
Remy sat up straighter, suddenly more alert. "Mini-Logan? What you mean by—"
"Get dressed," Clark cut him off, "and I'll tell you about the most awkward introduction of my life over breakfast."
****
Cigar smoke curled through the early morning air of Xavier's office, dancing with the steam from Ororo's tea before escaping through the open window. Logan stood guard by that window; his silhouette cut sharp against the dawn sky as he took another long drag. The scent of his Cuban cigar—a habit Xavier tolerated but never endorsed—mingled with the Earl Grey that Ororo and the Professor favored, creating an oddly fitting atmosphere for their meeting.
Moira MacTaggert sat perched on the edge of an antique leather chair, absently unwrapping a chocolate bar as she reviewed her notes. The wrapper crinkled with nervous energy, betraying the tension beneath her usual clinical demeanor.
"We've hit more dead ends than I'd like to admit," Ororo said finally, pausing her pacing to rest her hands on the back of an empty chair. "Clark essentially materialized out of thin air a few years ago—driver's license, social security number, basic documentation, but nothing before that." Her fingers drummed against the leather. "And Harper? She's a ghost. Officially, she doesn't exist at all."
Xavier's fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression thoughtful. "Did you have an opportunity to discuss this with Clark directly?"
"I approached the topic of Harper's background carefully," Ororo replied, a faint frown creasing her brow. "He was... protective. Says she remembers very little before the library incident. When I spoke with Harper herself—" She paused, choosing her words with deliberate care. "She became agitated when discussing her past. The only concrete detail she would share was something about not wanting to return to what she called 'the place.' She became quite distressed at the mere mention of it."
Moira broke off another piece of chocolate but didn't eat it, instead using it to gesture as she spoke. "That 'place' might track with my findings," she said with concern. "The genetic analysis I've been running on both of them... it's fascinating and terrifying in equal measure." She pulled up several holographic displays, filling the air with ghostly blue data. "Their mutations aren't just active—they're optimized. Perfectly calibrated. Harper's nervous system has developed specialized pathways for conducting electrical energy that shouldn't be possible without years of evolution or..."
"Or deliberate design," Xavier finished, his expression grave.
"Aye." Moira manipulated the displays, highlighting specific data points. "We see similar adaptations in most mutants—the body naturally evolving to accommodate new abilities. But this? This is different. The precision, the efficiency... it's like someone took the natural process and accelerated it. Refined it."
Xavier wheeled his chair closer to the display, his expression grave. "This may relate to a pattern I've been noticing in the Cerebro's readings." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Over the past eighteen months, we've detected several new mutant signatures that simply... vanished before we could make contact. At first, I attributed it to natural fluctuations or perhaps false positives in the system."
"But now you're thinking someone else is finding them first," Logan finished, crushing out his cigar with more force than necessary. "Someone with resources and reach."
"Indeed." Xavier's voice carried weight. "Someone who can not only locate new mutants as quickly as we can but has the infrastructure to collect them efficiently." He turned to face his assembled colleagues, his eyes sharp with concern. "The question becomes: how many more are out there? How many children like Harper have simply... disappeared?"
Ororo's hands tightened around her teacup, small sparks of electricity dancing in her white hair. "And what exactly are they disappearing for?"
Moira's chocolate bar lay forgotten on Xavier's desk as she manipulated the holographic display, bringing up more data points. "The precision of these cellular modifications... this isn't amateur work. Whoever's behind this has access to incredibly advanced biotechnology and a deep understanding of mutant genetics."
"They're creating weapons," Logan said bluntly, voicing what everyone was thinking. "Custom-built mutant weapons."
The morning sun continued its climb into the sky, painting Xavier's office in shades of gold and shadow. None of its occupants seemed to notice, too focused on the implications of what they'd discovered—and what they still needed to learn.
Ororo was the first to break the heavy silence. "So what do we do?"
"For now?" Xavier's voice carried both authority and compassion. "We protect the children we have. We learn what we can. And we prepare—" His eyes traveled to the window, where students were beginning to cross the morning lawn. "—because I suspect this is only the beginning."