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Charles leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully examining the device and documentation supplied by the puppeteers. Everything was... Very mysterious and dubious. These technologies literally reeked of paranormal phenomena, alien technologies and God knows what else. Here you can even think about magic or the colossal technical and technological superiority of the schemers. Xavier himself, in his youth, developed Cerebro and the Proving Ground. Later, he brought his ideas to life with the help of his bosom friend, Eric, whom the whole world later nicknamed Magneto. If Cerebro was and remains the pinnacle of technological and mutant progress, ahead of its time thanks to the partnership of two of the strongest mutants, then the Proving Ground is a purely mechanical creation. Advanced, adaptive, widely programmable, but it is just a set of obstacles, goals, tools. Unwittingly, Charles had to understand both technical documentation and technology in order to bring all his ideas to life. However, having the gift of telepathy, learning the basics of the profession from competent specialists and adopting their experience will not be difficult. Acquiring and mastering a new profession will take Charles at most six months, but then he must carefully monitor changes in himself and get rid of unnecessary habits, views, techniques that Xavier will unwittingly borrow from the donor of professional skills, having looked at many well-developed documents and those that were created "for show".
What lay before him had no analogues in the world. Some genius might come up with the technology of volumetric holograms or even holograms, but it will definitely not be in the next two years. And this "creation" clearly belonged to the latter category. Charles had not seen such mendacious and carelessly compiled documentation for a long time. Taking a sad breath, he muttered barely audibly:
- Well, we'll have to figure out the technology ourselves or wait for a mutant who can repeat it.
Fortunately, the installation and use instructions, as well as minor repairs, were written and compiled in more than detail. Minor and not so minor repairs could be made on site and the technology of holograms, solid holograms and solid light could be quickly integrated into the Test Site. Also, assemblies of the best test sites and situations were separately attached. Did they decide to make his university a place for free training of alien special forces? Or did they simply take the most suitable programs from the available ones? The hand of one of the galactic empires is beginning to be traced and seen too clearly. Unfortunately, there are not one or two of them in this Universe, but many more...
Charles nodded thoughtfully and put the flash drives with the programs and scenarios in the safe. His simulations would be much less perfect. He would also have to give up a number of solid holograms: children and teenagers could unwittingly spill secrets. The holograms themselves could still be justified, but more technological devices could not. He had already looked at the main "standard" situations - they had a pronounced alien character. Later, this could raise more questions than necessary. For now, he would have to sketch out a few simple scenarios that would rely on the existing capabilities of the testing ground. Maybe, when the situation with the alien became a little clearer, all these technologies would find a use in the future.
Having driven away from the table, Charles thoughtfully looked out the window. Soon it would be the second day that the unknown person had been in a coma. Although his condition was more reminiscent of a deep sleep. After the Thunderstorm's blow, the alien was heavily charred and burned, but even so, numerous abrasions, contusions, bruises, cuts and lacerations were not fatal. Passively scanning the surrounding world, Charles noticed a flaring flame of reason looming in the medical bay.
"Ororo, our guest has woken up, it's time to visit him."
***
Oh... As always, consciousness returned to me with a jerk. Wincing from the pain in my whole body, I tried to recall the recent events. I remember the preparation. The acceleration of my Archon form* and the acceleration of consciousness - too. Maximum preparation for the fight... So. I don't hear ANYONE ... I think I was going to kill Aeharin and shook out all my reserves for him, which now affects me in a bad way. May this Avatar burn forever in the cycle of reincarnation!
Judging by the withdrawal symptoms and how well and competently I was bandaged, I still won. I don't feel the shackles on my limbs. Opening my eyes, I looked around the room: a completely traditional medical ward. Tiles made of a vaguely familiar material, devices, overhead lighting with lamps, a screen hanging opposite. After the fight, I found myself in a technogenic world?
Exactly! That *** ** *** threw me out of the world with his last breath, but I still saw how the final blow put an end to our duel. Uh... What did I even weave together when I struck? I put everything on the line... All my gifts, abilities, enhancements and opportunities to get him, and it seems that I succeeded. But... What have I become capable of now? I clenched and unclenched my fist to test and listened to my feelings. I will have to test my current capabilities, but right now the feelings are extremely bad. I need to fix the situation and return to the peak of my strength.
I haven't felt so bad and helpless for a long time. Perhaps, since the previous journey through the worlds... Each time it was an epic adventure, and each time I started the path practically naked. With a reduced gift, without contracts. Even the techniques of the spirit had to be adapted to the new world. Are there Elemental Spirits, Primordial Beasts, Gods here? Even the energy of the world itself can be different and interfere with the usual meditation. I am helpless as a baby. The only assets left are hand-to-hand combat and melee weapons, which, given my experience, is a lot, but against the previous background - it will be weak. A typical situation and basic actions: restore aura vision, scan the world, find a place for the ritual, restore your capabilities, and then deal with everything that comes across here.
My soul-searching was interrupted by strangers who entered through the opened door. In a wheelchair sat an elderly man, looking forty or forty-five years old, completely bald, dressed in a smart light-brown suit. His wheelchair, holding the handles, was pushed by a young black woman of about thirty or thirty-five, dressed in a denim suit.
- Hello! My name is Charles Xavier. This is my assistant, Ororo Munroe. How are you feeling? Do you speak English?
— I don't understand you. Do you speak Xinar? Nekral? Maeron? Suvere? Aramaic? Quenya?
With each language he named, the man frowned more and more. Magic alphabets, like schools, can differ greatly, but Nekral! The single language of the kingdom of the dead!!! Either he is not a magician, or I really did end up in a technogenic civilization, which the environment had been subtly hinting at before. But the languages of the magical races! Apparently, he did not know them either. The dialects and dialects of people could have global differences even within a single city or region, but the magical races had common, single languages, common to all representatives of this species. If there were elves in this world, they would speak the same language as the elves in mine. And if this person in front of me is not a complete ignoramus, then people are the dominant species on this planet. If he is even human. Slightly tilting my head, I began to carefully examine my visitors. Although it was more likely that I was the one who paid a visit to their planet.
The man raised his hand to his temples, concentrating, and immediately invisible hammers and drills began pounding into my head. A telepath. A telepath, but not a mage? A mutant. My mind protection is not absolute, especially since I have lost most of my powers. Pulling myself together, I looked defiantly into the mutant's eyes: either he stops attacking, or I will attack. The mutant can try to push through my block by force. Mages have more tools for finding workarounds, although both mutation and mental magic are built on the discipline of the mind.
The atmosphere immediately grew heavier, the stranger, letting go of the handles of the chair, straightened up, preparing to defend herself. A momentary strain on my mental block, and the stranger leaned back in the chair and raised his hand, calming his partner. A silent exchange of glances, and the woman came up to me, taking a plastic rectangle out of her pocket. She pointed it demonstratively at the wall and, pressing a button, launched the image on the screen. The monitor showed:
" English. Lesson one. "