Chapter 4

Dr. Milbury glanced up from his paperwork as the door to his lab creaked open. Charles entered, his small figure framed by the sterile light of the lab.

"I've been expecting you, Charles," Dr. Milbury said, his tone almost welcoming.

To anyone else, Dr. Milbury appeared to be a regular scientist, but to Charles, he was Mr. Sinister in all his menacing glory.

"Come here," Mr. Sinister said, flicking the syringe filled with a shimmering red liquid.

Charles walked over, his heart pounding as Mr. Sinister injected the substance into his arm. As soon as it entered his bloodstream, a surge of energy exploded within him. His eyes glowed an intense blue, and even his mouth emitted a faint light.

A telepathic shockwave blasted out from Charles, but Mr. Sinister remained unfazed, his expression cold and calculating.

"Interesting," Mr. Sinister murmured, watching Charles with clinical detachment. "His power… I need to run more tests."

With a swift, casual gesture, Mr. Sinister unleashed his own psychic wave, knocking Charles unconscious almost instantly.

"His abilities are still immature," Mr. Sinister mused, studying the unconscious boy. "At this stage, he's only an Alpha-Level mutant. But there's time..."

He paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Perhaps I need to enhance his brain. If that doesn't work, I'll focus on his body. Even if he never reaches Omega-Level, his telepathic potential is remarkable. He's valuable, regardless."

...

Charles awoke to the hum of the car engine. His father, Brian, was driving them back home, his face a mask of forced calm.

'My head hurts… that bastard really pushed my mutant abilities to their limit. But it worked out,' Charles thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 'Mr. Sinister's subconscious has gone dormant in my mind, trying to avoid erasure. Perfect.'

"Are you okay, son?" Brian asked, glancing at him with concern.

"I'm fine," Charles replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. He let his eyes roll back, feigning exhaustion. He knew his father was concerned, but that didn't erase the fact that he himself experiment on Charles since he was a baby.

Pretending to drift off, Charles focused inward, diving into his mindscape and heading straight to his fake memory archive.

He found Mr. Sinister's subconscious form standing frozen, unmoving.

Concentrating, Charles transformed the space around Mr. Sinister into a massive cube. Smaller cubes began to form, attaching themselves to Mr. Sinister's body, starting with his hands and feet, then spreading to encase his entire form. The cubes multiplied, layering over each other until the entire area was a vast, impenetrable black structure.

Charles hovered in the mental void, his hand extended, sweat beading on his brow. It wasn't enough just to trap Mr. Sinister. He needed to secure the prison.

Concentric rings of energy formed around the cube, each one acting like a magnetic field, reinforcing the structure and ensuring its stability.

(Image Here)

Finally, Charles wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. "At last, I can focus on developing my mutant abilities."

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed. His father must have carried him up. But the exhaustion and sweat were real—his body reflecting the immense mental strain he had just endured.

He exhaled deeply and lay back on the bed.

'I need to keep that consciousness dormant. Better get back to it,' Charles thought, diving back into his mindscape.

He added more reinforcing rings around the cube, locking Mr. Sinister's consciousness into permanent hibernation.

"While I'm at it, let's tidy up the fake memory archives," he muttered to himself. He began organizing the space, transforming them into a more coherent structure that resembled his home. If Mr. Sinister ever peeked in, he won't be suspicious of Charles.

Satisfied, Charles returned to reality and rang the bell by his bedside. Lafitte, the maid, entered a moment later.

"Could I get a steak?" Charles asked.

"Of course, young master," Lafitte replied, heading out to fulfill the request.

Left alone again, Charles exhaled sharply, taking deep breaths to steady himself. "That bastard pushed my abilities to their limit. I should be able to unlock telekinesis, considering how far he pushed me…"

He glanced at the bell on the bed, focusing his mind on lifting it. It didn't budge.

"Damn it, I need more time," he muttered, frustration creeping in. "Whatever, I'll stick to improving my telepathy for now."

He continued his mental exercises, gradually expanding his telepathic range. At this point, it only extended as far as a king-sized bed, but it was the safest way to train without accidentally harming someone.

He repeated the exercise over and over. By the time Lafitte returned with his steak, he was ravenous. Using his powers always left him hungrier than usual.

He devoured the steak like he hadn't eaten in days. Lafitte quietly left the room, and moments later, his mother entered, her presence warm and comforting.

"My sweet baby," Sharon cooed, sitting beside him on the bed.

"Hey, Ma," Charles greeted her with a tired smile.

"Did you have fun at the lab today?" she asked, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

"Yeah, I made a new friend," Charles said, his eyes lighting up.

"Oh? Who's that?" Sharon asked, curious.

"His name's Morty," Charles said, recounting the story of how he met Mortimer at the park. Sharon listened, her smile growing as she watched her son talk animatedly.

"What about Marko? Did you make friends with him?" she asked gently.

"Nope, he's too entitled and arrogant," Charles said, shaking his head.

"That's a shame. I thought he might be a good friend, like your father and Kurt were," Sharon said with a hint of nostalgia.

Charles took her hand, linking their minds together. His expression turned serious. "Promise me you won't marry Kurt, even if Dad dies."

Sharon blinked, taken aback. She felt the intensity of his grip, the weight behind his words. "I won't, sweetheart," she assured him, patting his hand gently.

"Promise me," Charles insisted, holding out his pinky.

"I promise," Sharon said, locking her pinky with his.

She smiled softly, picking up the table where Charles had finished his meal. "You're growing up so fast."

As she left the room, Charles lay back, exhaustion seeping into his bones.

'Pretending to be a normal kid is exhausting,' he thought. 'I have to keep Mom from making any stupid decisions. I'd never forgive myself if I could have prevented it.'

He closed his eyes, his mind already spinning with plans for the next day.