There are things in life that even the most vivid imagination can't prepare you for. The Cerebro room was one of them.
It wasn't just a chamber; it was a cathedral of thought, wrapped in sleek metallic curves and lit by a quiet, almost reverent glow. The technology humming beneath the floor felt alive, as if it was listening, watching, waiting. I had seen versions of Cerebro in comics, in movies, in simulations — but standing inside it, right here in the heart of Xavier's Institute, was a whole different level of surreal. It was overwhelming, beautiful, and terrifying all at once.
Professor Charles Xavier rolled toward the control pedestal in his hoverchair, his face calm but focused. In his hands, he held the iconic Cerebro helmet — a strange fusion of polished metal and psychic potential. When he placed it gently over his bald head, everything shifted.
The walls dissolved into shimmering light. The room itself faded from view, replaced by a boundless void filled with flickering orbs — representations of minds across the globe. Millions of them. No — billions. Every single consciousness on the planet, rendered in pulses of psychic energy. I felt the air change, charged with something invisible but powerful. Thought. Emotion. Life.
And then, like a dam breaking, it hit me.
Voices.
Thoughts.
Laughter. Screaming. Worry. Hope. Guilt. Love.
I could hear it all, or maybe feel it. It wasn't just sound; it was awareness, streaming through the air like radio waves, penetrating every fiber of my being. I stumbled slightly, dizzy with the weight of it. How the hell could Charles manage this every day? This wasn't just information — it was the raw, unfiltered mindscape of the world.
Yet, there he sat, face tight in concentration but steady, seasoned. This was more than power. This was discipline, wisdom, and restraint woven together over decades. He was holding the entire human race in his mind, and not cracking under the pressure. No wonder he and Magneto were such a complicated pair — even with their ideological wars, Erik respected Charles because deep down, he knew the magnitude of what the man carried.
Now I understood why the Professor brought me here. He wasn't just showing me Cerebro — he was showing me the point of all this. The reason behind the X-Men. The big picture. We weren't just playing hero with cool powers. This was about protecting humanity from itself, while still believing in it, even when it didn't deserve it.
But then — everything shifted.
Charles stiffened in his chair. His eyes went wide. His breath caught like he'd been plunged into ice water. Then came the tremor — a visible ripple of panic shooting through his entire body. I rushed forward just as the helmet slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
"Professor!" I caught him before he could tip out of the chair, but he jerked away like I was something grotesque. His face contorted in horror, sweat beading on his brow. He looked at me as if I'd turned into a nightmare.
"No… stay away!" he gasped, trembling. "You… you're not supposed to exist! You're an abomination!"
That word hit harder than a punch. His voice cracked with genuine fear — not caution or concern — real, soul-deep terror. He tried to backpedal in his chair, but it rolled out from under him and he collapsed to the floor.
I knelt beside him, trying to help him up, but he slapped my hand away. "Get away from me!" he screamed.
The Cerebro door hissed open, and the rest of the team stormed in. Ororo, Scott, Jean, and Logan surrounded us in seconds.
"What happened?!" Ororo demanded, hurrying to Charles's side.
"He just… he freaked out," I stammered, still shaken.
"I'll try to reach him," Jean said, already closing her eyes. Her psychic aura flared softly as she linked minds with Charles. A moment passed in tense silence.
Then Jean's eyes opened wide. "His thoughts are… fragmented. Scrambled. Like his memory was hit by a sledgehammer. The only thing he recognizes right now is—" she turned and stared at me. "You."
"What?" I blinked. "That doesn't make sense. I didn't do anything!"
They didn't say anything, but the way they looked at me — all silent suspicion and sideways glances — said enough. I suddenly felt like a threat instead of a teammate.
"Logan, take the Professor to Hank," Scott said. Logan scooped up Charles with surprising gentleness.
I tried to step forward. "Let me come too. I want to help—"
"No." Scott's tone was final. "Go back to your room. We'll handle this."
And just like that, they were gone.
I was left standing alone in the echoing chamber, the silence more deafening than any explosion.
When I got back to my room, I lost it. I slammed the door and kicked over the nearest chair. Books flew. A lamp shattered. I didn't even care. I was angry — no, furious. Not just because I was being treated like a suspect, but because I genuinely didn't know what had happened. That helplessness burned more than the accusations.
Then came a soft knock.
"Go away!" I shouted, not caring who it was.
"It's Jubi. Can I come in?"
That voice cooled me instantly. I sighed, swiping at my face and brushing glass off the floor before opening the door.
"Sorry," I muttered.
She smiled gently. "No big. I've seen worse."
She sat beside me on the bed, kicking her feet softly. "Ororo sent me. Thought you could use a friend."
I smiled faintly. That was a clever move. Of all the people here, Jubilee was probably the one I felt closest to.
"How's the Professor?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Stable… but Hank says it's like his mind just shut down. He's in some kind of psychic coma. They don't know when — or if — he'll wake up."
That hit hard. Xavier wasn't just a leader — he was the center of this entire operation. Without him… what were we?
"What happened in there, Cole?" Jubilee finally asked. Not accusatory, just confused. "Why would he react like that?"
I looked at her. "I wish I knew. Everything was going fine. He was showing me the minds of people — then suddenly, something happened. It was like he saw something. Or someone. And then it all went to hell."
She studied me quietly for a moment. Then she nodded. "You're telling the truth."
I blinked. "How can you be so sure?"
"I've known liars. Real ones. My parents, foster homes, fake friends. I learned how to read people real quick. Your face — your voice — they're not lying.
Her honesty caught me off guard. For the first time since this mess started, I felt something other than anger. I felt seen.
"Thanks," I whispered.
She bumped her shoulder against mine. "Don't let them get in your head. We'll figure this out. Maybe whatever the Professor saw has nothing to do with you… or maybe it's just part of a bigger puzzle."
A puzzle.
Yeah… and I had a feeling I was smack in the middle of it.
But one thing was certain: nothing was ever going to be the same again.