Want to get rid of these ads?

This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Marvel Universe, which is trademarked by Marvel Comics. The mention of mutants, X-Men, Brotherhood of Evil, Inhumans, or Avengers, and any of the other Marvel Universe groups of superheroes or supervillains, and any supporting characters, are all characters and character concepts created and owned by Marvel Comics, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Marvel Universe. This story concept is of my and my friend’s invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the Marvel Universe story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of any official story line. I am grateful to Marvel Comics for their tales of misguided scientists, demigod-like juveniles seeking approval and their place in the world, and for morally gray-scaled anti-heroes and villains, for without their comics and feature length live-action films, this story would not exist.

“Charles Francis Xavier, you come inside now, before you catch your death!”
Young Charles remained silent, sitting with his legs crossed in the backyard. He had no time for obeying his mother; he needed to learn what he was capable of. Before him were a pet gerbil, parakeet, and puppy. He brought them outside to escape the prying eyes of his parents. He had no intention of harming the animals, but he required privacy and something small to test his mind upon.
Within the last ten minutes he had proved to himself that the minds of a parakeet and gerbil were simple enough for him to mold to his command without stress. It was almost impulsive, how easily he could make the two small pets do what he willed. They were unintelligent creatures, working mostly off natural instinct. Honestly though, the parakeet had shown a bit more promise than young Charles had anticipated. Nonetheless, there was no challenge in controlling them. There was also no purpose that young Charles could imagine which would call for the control of such insignificant creatures. Although, knowing that he could force their basic motor functions with his will alone, had provided a trifling thrill.
The puppy was another matter entirely.
A canine could be trained by man to retrieve, hunt, attack, play, sit, stay, rollover, and so much more. There was evidence that they could learn and retain; they remember. Canines could even recognize their name given by their master. For some odd reason, which young Charles did not yet comprehend, the word master felt warm, welcoming, and alluring. He liked it. It made him grin.
“Did you not hear me?” his mother called again. Her voice was sweet and soft, but quite annoying at the moment. Sharon Xavier had blonde, wavy hair that rested upon her shoulders. Her eyes were icy blue and shone with a sincere kindness, and she was fairly beautiful. The kind of beauty that an absent-minded gentleman would sourly regret not noticing as he walked pass her. Furthermore, she was a woman of her era: quiet, demure, and respectful of her husband’s wishes and position as head of the household. She was somebody pleasant to be around. Right now though, young Charles felt her badgering was annoying and utterly distracting.
“I said come inside this instant!” Sharon demanded.
Young Charles turned his head and reached out with his mind. He wanted her to leave him be. Their gazes met and Charles attempted to force his will upon her. With his mind he commanded her to return to whatever she had been doing, allowing him to remain outside as long as he liked. The gaze was intense, and his brow furrowed.
Sharon began to tap her foot, a sure sign that young Charles had failed. He got to his feet and moseyed back inside, the pets following him in a straight line. Sharon smirked as her four year old boy led his animals pass her and back upstairs to his room.
Sharon Xavier had won that round.

Blinkingly, young Charles woke into a world of white. The walls, floor, medical bed sheets, and even the garments of the blurred people moving about: all white. He tried to move but his body was sluggish. He heard his father’s voice, it was calm and passive, weak. Young Charles felt a bit of disdain for the man that was his father.
“Stop your worrying Brian.” That voice was rough, deep, and bone-chilling. It demanded respect and resounded in authority. “The tests are not of any harm to your boy. Tell your wife that, so that we may continue in peace.” Ah yes, that had been the voice of Dr. Nathan Milbury.
Now young Charles knew what was happening. The tests again, he thought. They had been going on for two years now, since that first day he mistakenly allowed his father to know that he was different. In a moment of conceited flare young Charles had displayed a slight portion of his powers. He remembered tenderly how his father had watched amazed as he levitated his milk bottle. It was a simple enough task for him to achieve, but his father saw something greater. The awe and fear in his father’s eyes had made young Charles feel warm and relaxed. It was an odd sensation. Since then, every few weeks young Charles would be sedated and brought to the lab where his father worked. All sorts of devices and probes would be attached and they would see what the greatest mind was capable of.
Now, like all those other weeks, he was a test subject. And young Charles resented it. He attempted to crash the minds of the lab-coats, but the chemicals forced into his system was too potent. He would have to endure as always. How had they always found a way to surprise him, to sedate him? He wanted to frown in disgust and rage, but not even that could his muscles achieve.
As the lab-coats poked and recorded their data, occasionally gawking, young Charles tried to force his mind to be prepared next time the tests would commence. He would show them how much of a lab-rat he was not. He will lash out and make their brains feel like they were boiling. He will climb into their minds and force them to do horrible things to one another. He will never be experimented on again.
“Don’t worry Chuck,” Brian said, leaning over his son. “We’re almost done.”
Hearing the name Chuck was infuriating, and young Charles remembered how he had promised himself that his first words would have demanded that he not be called that. But his first words wound up being something far less enforcing. Hunger had wound up forcing words that represented instinct: he was hungry and wanted the ham from the dinner table, so young Charles had pointed his little chubby finger and called out his desire. More words had followed, but none with the presence of authority that he had desired. Not all were calculated either, some were random, and that filled young Charles with disappointment. How he wanted to speak now, as the lab-coats treated him as some sort of plaything.
Brian leaned in, kissing his son’s forehead. Young Charles shuttered with disgust; Brian’s face sickened him, and he hoped that when he was older he would look nothing like the man he shared DNA with. DNA, an odd word. But that’s what they were all interested in. For some reason the lab-coats believed that genetics hid the answer to young Charles’ amazing mental abilities. Milbury had formed the hypothesis, and the others fell in-step. They clung to every word Milbury spat. It was disgusting, yet, young Charles found that he wanted such blind obedience when he made demands.
“What are you doing now?” Sharon asked, her voice trembling with angst.
“For pity sake Brian,” Milbury grunted. “I beg of you to demand that your wife be void of my lab!”
Obedient as a slave to their master, Brian Xavier rushed Sharon out the room, his words falsely assuring that all was well. Milbury hovered over the child that was strapped down and chemically dazed, while Brian attended to the overbearing wife. The expression worn on Milbury’s face greatly troubled young Charles. The man’s eyes burned with lust for knowledge, his grin seemed perverse and sinister. Most disturbing, young Charles could not even scratch the surface of the man’s obscure mind. He could have blamed the sedation, but even drowsy he known better.
“You want to peel back my psyche, don’t you little one?”
How Milbury could know, young Charles could not understand. Were the tests that successful?
“I will find out what I need from you boy,” Milbury spat. “It is only a matter of time before you confirm my wildest theories.”
Young Charles gazed at the man that led the horrid experiments. He will pay, he promised himself. All the lab-coats will suffer. His eyes closed as his infantile body finally gave into the chemicals. In the distance he heard the cawing, squeaking, and other sounds of the lab animals from the next room. He did not sleep and dream, but rather, he began planning.

“…and so we commit Brian Xavier to the earth!” The words hung in the air as the pastor said them. Young Charles stared down at the gravestone, lost in disbelief. It was not how he had planned. There was not to be any explosions, and no one was to die, not especially his own father. Maybe it would have been fine if Milbury had not made it out of the labs, but he was nowhere to be found in all the chaos. In fact, he had been absent for nearly two months.
It was true that young Charles did not care for his father very much, but he had not desired his demise; death was absolute, and it would not benefit his ultimate agenda to leave bodies in his wake. How could one be commanded if they were dead?
Young Charles had only meant to display his strength of mind. All those years of experiments, he thought. I only wanted some payback. He had reached out to the lab animals and broke away their fears of consequence from instinctual action. He had pushed on them hard, and they had unleashed their primal fury upon the labs in a mighty way. They stampeded and trashed machines, shredded documents and data records, and even attacked the lab-coats. There were injuries, just as young Charles had planned. None of them had been lethal. So why the explosions?
Could he have been too zealous? Did he not have as much control as he had vainly thought? Could some of the larger animals really damage some vital piece of equipment to such a degree that a malfunction led to a meltdown of some sort? No! It was preposterous to think that such insignificant animals could have been the cause of such destruction. Staring at the gravestone with his father’s named engraved upon it argued otherwise.
Young Charles looked up toward his mother, who had disgustingly found comfort in the arms of Dr. Marko. The man who called himself friend to Brian Xavier held out a handkerchief to the tear sodden face of Sharon. His deceptive face expressed kindness and concern, but young Charles knew better. If only dad had been able to escape the blast…the way Dr. Marko did!
“I know how you must feel, Sharon,” Marko said as he placed his arm around Sharon’s shoulders. “And I share your grief! But, as his friend, I shall look after you,” Marko looked down at young Charles, who stared back with the most manic of determined expressions. “And after the boy, too!”
“Thank you, Kurt! You…you are very kind,” Sharon responded between sobs.
The months that followed were revolting as young Charles helplessly watched his weak-minded mother fall for a man who wanted her inherited fortune. They married quickly, despite efforts to invade his mother’s mind and lead her toward disagreeing to the suggested union. The experiments must have worked, young Charles thought. Marko has found a means for him and my mother to elude my push. After the hastened prenuptials Marko eventually uprooted his new family, returning them to the impeccable Xavier estate on the East Coast. This may have been the only saving grace since it effectively ended the experiments.
I need to find out how he eludes me, young Charles thought. He stared across the breakfast table at the brute that now fancied them self as his new father. I will find out why I can’t control you, and when I do, I will make you pay.

For more than a year Sharon and her son endured the drunken brutality of Dr. Kurt Marko and his bull-headed son Cain. For more than a year the boy with the powers of a god plotted and maneuvered pieces into place. After his mother died of alcoholism there was only Kurt Marko and Cain standing in his way. Charles debated that Cain, who was also abused by Marko, would ally himself to his agenda, if only they were free from the grip of the drunk.
On more than one occasion Charles had controlled the bully, pushing him to do what was needed to stay on target. It had been easy, even when he forced Cain to attack him. Charles was sure that Marko would come in the attempt to disperse the conflict. A bloodied lip and black eye were all it cost.
Marko burst into his office to see Cain atop Charles pounding away. He yanked the crazed boy away, finding a smiling Charles Xavier. It was too late for Marko when he understood what was happening.
A monstrous explosion shook the entire estate, and from the flames Marko dragged his son and stepson. Cain was unconscious but Charles was perfectly fine, having protected himself with his abilities. Marko laughed as his body slumped to the ground.
“You little bastard.”
Charles grinned. “I finally figured that you were getting help Kurt.”
“Ha! Took ya’ long enough.” Marko grabbed his stomach, blood pooling beneath him as he laid on fresh white snow.
“What did Milbury want with me?”
“Go ask him Chuck. I’m sure he’d love to see how you’ve grown.”
Charles shot a beam of mental energy into the wound and Marko cursed, twitching from the pain. “Tell me where to find him Kurt,” Charles demanded. “Tell me why he wanted my family so bad.”
“You get nothing you little monster,” Marko coughed through spluttering blood. He reached out and grabbed Charles, yanking him down to his side. “I know your secrets, always have.”
Charles yanked his arm away. He saw no movement of lips, yet the anger pulsed in his thoughts. Somehow Marko spoke to his mind directly. “How?”
“You’re not alone; there are others like you.” Marko chortled. “You’re not special Chuck!”
“Stop calling me that!”
Charles forced more mental energy into the wound, and tears began pouring from Marko’s eyes. Just then, Cain began to rouse himself from unconsciousness. As he stood he called out to his father, but Marko did not answer. His breathing had shallowed and his words came in interrupted spatters, his last words were not to his only son, but rather, directed solely toward his stepson.
“Charles…your father’s death…was an accident!” Charles had waited so long to hear that truth verified, but he was unable to bask in the news, as Marko continued, “But…I might have saved him…if I tired…but I didn’t…forgive me…”
“Forgive you? Ha!” Charles made sure that the mental response sounded like thunder, allowing the words to feel like thousands of daggers in the mind of the dying Marko. “You were a coward and let my father die,” Charles continued the mental assault. “You get nothing but pain.”
To Charles’ surprise Marko responded mentally with a boisterous laugh. Thrown aback Charles fell to the man’s side. “Beware of…Cain!” Marko was able to force pass his lips. “When he finds out…about your power…uhhhh!” Marko died making am empty threat.
As his body finally yielded to death’s embrace, Charles could still hear the cackle within his psyche. “Power?” he uttered. Which power exactly? And how much had Marko truly known? How had he invaded Charles’ mind to speak to him? What was the purpose of the experiments? Charles had too many questions, and it would seem the answers died with Marko. Unless, yes, Charles would need to find Dr. Nathan Milbury and the others that Marko spoke of.
Cain plopped down next to Marko’s limp body, “father?”
Charles stood and said with a firm tone lacking empathy, “he’s gone!”

Submitted: September 01, 2022

© Copyright 2022 CENTAURI ADAMS. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Facebook Comments

More Fan Fiction Miscellaneous

Boosted Content from Other Authors

Short Story / Thrillers

Book / Thrillers

Poem / Romance

Poem / Religion and Spirituality

Other Content by CENTAURI ADAMS

Short Story / Science Fiction

Miscellaneous / Memoir