I've never lived in a full-on boarding school before. The army doesn't count, and I did my university studies remotely. It's lively here, though a bit noisy. Over breakfast, I got to know Pyro and Iceman—both decent guys and easy to chat with. That said, you've got to tread carefully with Iceman. Whatever you do, don't mention anything remotely related to fashion, or he transforms into a mental death machine. Hairstyles, brands, manicures, fashion shows... The first time, I didn't catch why Pyro's eyes widened in sheer terror when I casually mentioned my hair moisturizer. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.
Sure, I like to keep myself presentable—everyone here does, otherwise you'll get branded as a slob. But I draw the line well before makeup or nail polish. I'm oldschool like that. Still, I keep my hair and nails neat, and I'm picky about cologne. The goal is to look sharp without going overboard, unlike some of the glitter brigade.
The exams here? Nothing special. Same old stuff you'd see in a regular school, just adjusted for the student body's quirks. I studied, answered the questions, got top marks, and bounced. I've always been into history, and the history of this world? Wild. Gender dynamics play a massive role. Take the Native tribes, for instance—they used to trade their men around like breeding bulls. A guy could make his way from the north end of the continent to the south during his lifetime, hopping from one village to the next. The phrase riding bareback takes on a whole new meaning. Reading a volume of World History here is like a stand-up comedy set, but it makes you thank your lucky stars you weren't born back then.
Time flew by. I spent my days hanging out with the same gaggle of girls from my first day, now joined by the hot-and-cold duo of Pyro and Iceman. After lunch, Jubilee finally cornered me with her questions. I gave them a summarized version of my life story, polished up a bit, of course.
Later, while strolling near the main entrance with Pyro and Iceman, I spotted a succubus-like girl surrounded by a cluster of others. Curious, I asked who she was. "Kristiana Wagner," they told me. And wow—talk about stunning, in a totally unique way. Now that she wasn't sitting at a table but moving around, she was breathtaking... and that tail. Oh boy. Focus. No need to drool and create a puddle here. This was the ultimate xenophile moment.
I asked the guys if she was seeing anyone. They assured me she was completely single and told me to go for it if I had a thing for blue-skinned, religious types. Pyro smirked and asked how I planned to make my move. Without hesitation, I replied, "I'll just ask if her mom's looking for a son-in-law."
Cue a choking fit from a passing girl, who very nearly coughed up a lung. Oh, wait—it wasn't just anyone. It was Mystique, stopping by to say goodbye. Turns out she overheard everything. Well, whoops. Serves her right for keeping it a secret that she's Kristiana's mom.
After exchanging farewells with Mystique, who gave me a cryptic parting glance, I headed straight for Kristiana. Thankfully, she'd just split off from the group.
Kristiana turned out to be sweet and shy, with a noticeable German accent. I flexed my own knowledge of German, which made her brighten up. The conversation flowed much easier after that. She seemed delighted to speak without the struggle of translating, and we spent the entire time until my next exam chatting on a bench in the park. All the while, curious glances kept coming our way. Even Jubilee noticed, looking like a tank battalion hellbent on charging our position. Fortunately, Raisa and Windy intercepted her and whisked her off somewhere.
I listened to Kristiana's story about growing up as an orphan—how hard it was, how people feared her demon-like appearance. She told me how much she loved this school, where she'd found friends and no longer felt hated. She talked about how hard it was to learn English and how she thanked her Goddess every day for finally finding peace. What struck me the most? There wasn't a hint of bitterness in her voice. She didn't blame anyone for her hardships. She saw her life as a test of faith sent by her Goddess.
She had a kind, pure soul. I've always considered myself a decent guy, but compared to her? I'm miles behind. I pitied her, but I didn't let it show. She was strong in her beliefs, someone who deserved respect, support, even admiration. Pity? She didn't need that.
After talking to her, I felt this uplifting energy for the rest of the day. If someone like her exists, then maybe humanity isn't doomed after all. So far, the mutant world seems overwhelmingly positive to me. The mutual help, the support, the way they look out for each other—it's almost cult-like. If I didn't occasionally see squabbles and disagreements, I'd think Professor X was mind-controlling everyone with her psychic powers. But no, these people are independent thinkers who understand that unity is essential for survival.
That night, Anna-Marie (Rogue) dragged me out of my room to meet Dr. Hank McCoy, aka Beast. What a nickname for a scientist, but hey, her life, her rules. On the way there, I caught her giving me these thoughtful glances. Yeah, I get it. The guy-to-girl ratio here isn't great, and for Rogue, it's even worse. I'm no oblivious anime protagonist. She's 17, maybe 18, prime age for romance. Thankfully, she hasn't hit the "must find the one at all costs" stage yet.
I'm polite with her, joking around to lighten the mood, but I'm not flirting outright. Rogue's got potential to master her powers, and I'd rather she decides for herself if I'm boyfriend material or just another random guy passing through. Kristiana, though? She draws me in with her uniqueness and overwhelmingly positive attitude. Rogue, for all her mysterious charm, is still figuring out how to interact with me. We're both navigating this.
When we got to Beast, I found out some sneaky individual (cough Mystique cough) had told her about Toad's "anal probe" joke. McCoy greeted me with a long colonoscopy device and a speculative look at my backside. My face must have turned white as a sheet because she couldn't keep a straight face and burst out laughing, apologizing for scaring me. What a welcome.
The next two hours were mind-numbing as hell. I had to lie inside some contraption that looked like an MRI machine while answering an endless barrage of questions from a woman who kept hammering away at a keyboard and fiddling with the buttons on her high-tech torture device. When they finally booted me out of the lab, all I got to my very reasonable questions was the same cryptic response: "It's too early to say anything; maybe in a few days..." Come on, I'm curious! The rest of the evening was spent buried in textbooks before I peacefully passed out.
Four days passed in a blur at Mutant High, filled with classes and exams. For training, I hit the gym regularly and sparred with Raisa and Logan. Logan used the same teaching method as Sabretooth—let me throw punches and kicks for a bit before casually flattening me with a couple of hits. Then he'd break down what went wrong and make me drill techniques until they stuck. Raisa, on the other hand, was a solid martial artist but had to hold back when training with most people. With me, though, it was the opposite—my ability dulled her superpowered strikes down to just "strong," and with a little charge from Cyclops' laser eyes, I could take her hits without much trouble.
By the way, I discovered that if I stayed in Cyclops' beam for more than 40 seconds, things started to get uncomfortable. When I told McCoy, she banned longer exposure, explaining it was too unpredictable: "What if your "container" gets overfilled?" Would the absorption just stop, leaving me with a nasty hole in my gut? Or would the energy scatter? Or worse, would I explode? Not exactly a comforting thought.
I also tried to figure out if repeated charges were expanding my "tank," but after four tries, there was no noticeable difference. Guess I won't be turning into an indestructible powerhouse anytime soon.
Beast's experiments confirmed that my ability really does absorb energy—surprise, right? It pulls in anything deemed harmful or excessive: overly bright light, radiation, electricity, heat, mutant powers...basically anything non-physical gets sucked up. Kinetics were trickier—Beast's explanation flew right over my bread-for-brains head, but the gist was that physical objects lose kinetic energy when they hit me. Funny enough, the effect also works on sound. Impacts and falls are cushioned too, though to a lesser degree, apparently tied to my body mass. That part I kinda got.
The downside? My ability uses the stored energy to counteract physical forces, which means no freebies there. On the bright side, Rogue can't drain me dry—our powers are similar in that hers pulls indiscriminately, while mine only takes what's "offered." According to McCoy, in theory, I might be able to drain energy directly, like Rogue, but only in an energy-based sense—no memories or mutant powers included.
Oh, and my "battery" powers my body too, so freezing to death isn't in the cards as long as I have juice.
Another fun side effect: I can hold my breath longer—six minutes and fifteen seconds, to be exact. Beast also suggested I might be able to release stored energy someday. Who knows how that'll work—maybe I'll end up like a human rocket. She also theorized that my "Comfort Zone" might expand with practice, depending on my container size. Her recommendation? Intense charge-discharge cycles.
Of course, I'm still vulnerable to poisons, ropes, glue traps, and all kinds of physical restraints. Flame throwers? Meh. Suffocation? Dead in minutes. So yeah, no volcano swimming for me.
The potential's there, but there's no clear roadmap to becoming an unstoppable force. Some mutants develop powers with training, others get enlightenment through some metaphorical cultivation of their mutant core, while a few only evolve on the brink of death during extreme stress. Plus, mutant abilities are often tied to psychology, which I understand at a "pop psychology for dummies" level.
Honestly, I should just hoof it to Kamar-Taj and kiss the Ancient One's shiny bald head. At least they have manuals over there. But how would their "borrowed interdimensional energy" interact with my ability? Worst case, I'd get a free battery. Still, worth a shot.
And there's always Iron Fist... though my knowledge about them comes from fanfic. Apparently, Daredevil's in the loop. I should track her down. Hell's Kitchen, here I come, with a Colt in the basket instead of cookies. I'll call it Valera, in honor of the legendary shooter from my homeland. When bandits attack, I'll pull it out and say, "Valera, your time has come." Stylish, no?
Life was busy. I poured myself into training, trying to wrangle some control over my powers, but the damn thing acted like we'd never met. Frustrating as hell, but whatever. I even tried meditating once—fell asleep instead. The rest of the team took selfies with me, sitting there like a dozing prairie dog.
I also went all-in on courting Kristi. Gave her flowers—got morally annihilated by Jean Grey because the roses came from her favorite flower bed. Spent hours apologizing and offered to help with her garden. Cue three hours of hauling fertilizer and tilling soil under the giggling supervision of two other girls. But hey, Kristi noticed me. She even gifted me a box of heart-shaped chocolates she made herself. Tasted amazing—I stuffed my face with them one evening.
I had that warm, fluttery feeling in my chest and mutant butterflies in my stomach. I did tell Kristi I already had a fiancee—showed her pictures of Penny and talked about her passions and goals. Didn't even feel awkward about it. Polygamy's normal here—most men have three to four wives minimum. Jubilee told me about one guy with sixteen official wives, though most are sailors and constantly at sea. Different strokes, I guess.
Families vary—some women get along; others can't stand each other and leave. It's just... life here.
Kristi didn't just take the news about my fiancee in stride—she was happy about it. Credit where it's due: her religious side played a role. Big families are pleasing to her goddess, apparently. Not that I mind; her faith is earnest but non-invasive—no zealous crusades to spread the good word near and far. I'm a believer myself (kinda hard not to be when you've been dumped straight into Marvel after dying in your own world), but I'm all about freedom. Believe? Cool. Don't believe? Also cool. Just don't mess with others. So yeah, things are looking good between us... at least, I hope so.
As for Rogue? Total mystery. She's always hovering nearby but never makes a move. I've tried breaking the ice a couple of times—we had some laughs, chatted—but even after that, she'd just sit there like a sulking owl, watching from a distance.
On the other hand, Raisa and I hit it off over our shared Russian and mutual training sessions. She's in a sweet, sappy romance with Windy, and honestly, they're kind of perfect together.
Then there's Jubilee—everywhere, all at once. I'm not kidding. Her mutation must be cloning or some ninja-level shadow clone jutsu. Anytime something even remotely interesting happens, bam, she's there—talking, joking, asking questions, being generally exhausting. Did she get bitten by a radioactive Flash from DC or something?
Meanwhile, I still missed home. That longing fueled my training—I needed to turn my powers into real strength, not just a body-wide bulletproof vest. The sooner I became capable of handling myself without relying on the adult mutants wiping my nose, the better. Note to self: get a gas mask to deal with toxins. It's not a weapon, so no one's throwing me in jail for carrying one. I'll call myself "The Marvelous Krieger" and serve up justice under the battle cry: "Oorah, motherfucker! Take this, you bitch!"
On the fifth evening of my stay, all the adult mutants suddenly bolted, leaving just Dr. McCoy and a team of older students to hold down the fort. The girls had mentioned that this happened occasionally, but never with everyone. Whatever. They left, so I wrapped up my studies, had a cozy little chat with Kristi, and hit the sack.