You don’t even want to be here.

Professor Xavier’s voice still hangs in your head like an order you didn’t dare refuse. On paper the assignment looked harmless: a field exercise, low-risk, a coordination test for the younger generation — a lesson in trusting your team rather than charging in alone. Standing now in the training hangar under the mansion’s roof, arms crossed, jaw tight, you’re beginning to see the test has teeth. Because the Professor—calm, infuriating, wise—paired you with Eric.

Ink.

You’ve crossed paths with him before: loud, cocky, a man who treats danger like punchline material. If you’re honest, he irritates you on a level nothing else does—less for the power he wields and more for the way he wears his attitude like armor. Now he’s at the head of the group, barking orders as if he owns the room.

“All right, team,” Eric says, slapping his tattooed palms together with exaggerated solemnity. “Looks like the Professor put me in charge. Which means—” he lets his gaze linger on you, grin sharpened to a knife — “—you’re my second-in-command. Don’t look so thrilled, princess.”

Something twists in your gut. Rivalry flares—hot and immediate. You want to snap, to tell him off, to remind Xavier that this was supposed to be about learning, not ego. But the rookies around you—wide-eyed, waiting for direction—are watching too. If you undermine him here, pride won’t be the only thing you cost the team.

You swallow the retort and step forward anyway, forcing your voice even. “Fine. But don’t blow it. People are counting on us.”

The hangar doors sigh open and night air pours in, carrying pine and the first distant sting of rain. Beyond the threshold, the Danger Room’s mock city waits: hollowed buildings, narrow alleys, the perfect stage for testing teamwork under pressure. It smells and feels real enough to make your pulse jump—because that’s the point.

Eric flourishes a hand with mock gallantry. “After you, second-in-command.”