Chapter 6

In the high-tech command room, now the new look of his mindscape, Charles stood with a haunted expression, as if he had just escaped a torturous ordeal.

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His face reflected the horror of what he'd endured—an experiment like no other. He had been forced to experience the raw emotions, thoughts, and memories of countless people, amplified to their highest intensity.

He painstakingly sealed away the memory of the experiment, locking it deep within his mind. The feeling of his consciousness being torn apart was something he never wanted to relive.

As the memory faded into the recesses of his mind, his expression eased, but a lingering tension remained.

"Damn Sinister," Charles muttered, punching the wall with a sharp thud. "This must be because I unlocked my mutant power too early."

He clenched his fists. "He's been running all kinds of twisted experiments on me," he said with a deep scowl.

But despite his hatred, Charles couldn't deny the truth: "Even if I hate it, the experiments… they've boosted my telepathy."

Now, he could not only read minds but also absorb emotions, memories, and knowledge, storing them in his mental vault.

Returning to the real world, he decided to test his new ability.

'Let's see how this works,' he thought, heading into the family room. His parents were there, his mother and father engaged in conversation. He made a mental link with them, carefully absorbing only what was useful—their knowledge, their experiences, their skills.

Just as he finished, Lafitte, his grandmother, appeared behind him. "What are you doing, spying on your parents?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Charles glanced at her and replied casually, "Grandma."

His nonchalant response left Lafitte with a vein pulsing on her forehead. "This kid…" she muttered under her breath.

Unbothered, Charles moved on, wandering to the workers' quarters. He absorbed information from the maids, the chef, and even the guards stationed around the estate. Once finished, his body gave in to exhaustion, and he returned to his room to sleep.

The next morning, Charles and his mother, Sharon, headed back into the city. Charles was determined to seize new opportunities, his mind constantly working to absorb more.

But after about an hour, his abilities left him mentally drained, and he fell asleep in the car. Sharon, noticing her son, let out a small sigh. "Ay, this kid. He was the one who wanted to go out, and now look at him, fast asleep," she said, shaking her head in amusement.

Smiling softly, she carried him in her arms, just as she always did. "Lafitte, let's head back."

Lafitte nodded, and they made their way back to the Xavier Estate. When they arrived, Charles woke up as if nothing had happened, casually strolling inside.

"I need more training," he muttered to himself. "My mind's still too weak." He scratched his head, unaware that a few strands of his hair had begun to fall.

Charles hurried to his room and sank onto his bed. Closing his eyes, he delved into his mindscape once more.

"Let's explore what I've absorbed," he murmured.

Settling into his command center, he began sifting through the vast knowledge now at his fingertips.

"The knowledge of mutants—this must be from my father," he noted, his curiosity piqued.

He examined the information, noting the classifications of mutants from weakest to strongest: Epsilon, Delta, Gamma, Beta, and Alpha.

"I'm amazed at how much he knew about mutants," Charles mused. "What can you say about a man who experimented on his own child? This is definitely something to explore further when I have the right setup."

His gaze shifted to other insights he had acquired.

"Oh, I've also absorbed knowledge from a doctor—her expertise is impressive, even after all these years," he said, intrigued.

He continued scanning through the wealth of skills and experiences he had gained: boxing, gambling, manipulation, business acumen, extortion techniques, clockwork, dollwork, puppetry, card skills, investigation, firearms training, judo, singing, dancing, and even sexual skills.

A flush crept to his cheeks at the last entry.

"Really? Come on," Charles chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Still, most of these skills could be useful. I just don't understand how a police officer would have extortion and manipulation skills," he wondered aloud.

"But let's test it first," Charles thought as he exited his mindscape and prepared to evaluate his boxing skills.

He took a moment to center himself, then entered a fighting stance. With determination, he launched a straight punch—but something felt off.

"This feels weird," he muttered, realizing he hadn't executed the movement correctly.

Undeterred, he continued throwing punches, adjusting his form until he started to feel the rhythm of the technique.

"I need to test all the moves," he decided, focusing on refining his skills.

With newfound confidence, he moved like a professional boxer, meticulously practicing each technique in his mind. He visualized every jab, hook, and uppercut, ensuring he maintained proper form with each motion.

As he continued, he could feel the flow of energy and power building within him, transforming each strike into a confident expression of his training.

Alamogordo Nuclear Facility,

Mr. Sinister, clad in his signature attire, stood hunched over a sleek, metallic console, his sharp features illuminated by the eerie glow of holographic displays.

Before him, the framework of his latest device lay scattered across the table—a blend of advanced technology and intricate mutant biology.

"Ah, Charles Xavier," he muttered to himself, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Such untapped potential, a veritable goldmine waiting to be extracted." He picked up a delicate tool, examining the blueprints he had painstakingly designed. "With the right push, I could break through the thresholds of his psionic abilities. Imagine harnessing that power—a weapon of unparalleled magnitude."

He leaned closer, adjusting the settings on the console. "All the data I've collected—his genetic profile, his mental capabilities. I can feel it, the sweet thrill of possibility. His abilities are not merely tools of telepathy or telekinesis; they are a conduit to the very fabric of reality itself. If I can amplify them through this device…" His voice trailed off, lost in the tantalizing vision of what could be.

Sinister's fingers danced over the holographic interface, his mind racing. "The device will serve as both a catalyst and a control mechanism. It must synchronize with his neural pathways, tapping into his subconscious. Every fear, every hope—channel them, and he could reach heights unimaginable. It's the perfect weapon, a psionic artillery."

He paused, taking a breath as he allowed the implications to settle in. "But breaking that threshold requires finesse. Too much stimulation, and I risk breaking him—an unstable weapon is worthless. Too little, and I may never unlock the true potential hidden within. No, I must tread carefully."

Sinister moved to another screen, reviewing simulations of psionic energy fluctuations. "I will need to enhance the feedback loop, ensuring a stable connection. It must be seamless, allowing him to operate at peak efficiency without overwhelming his young mind. The very essence of his power will be at my fingertips."