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“Hold still now,” Manh said, her hand pressed against the back of Quentin’s neck.
“Fascist.”
“Uhuh, insult the person sticking a needle in your neck. Brilliant. You really are a genius, aren’t you?” Manh snorted, jabbing the huge-ass needle under his skin.
“Ow. Fuck you. Ow.”
“Oh don’t be a baby,” Manh chuckled, sliding the needle out and setting it on the counter. “All right Mister Quire, you are officially chipped.”
“Woof,” Quentin sneered.
“Well, the GPS tracker is pretty similar to a pet-chip, yes, but the three joules shock you’ll get if you try to leave campus is a little fancier,” Manh said, shaking her head and patting him on the shoulder. “It’ll also send out a general alert to every faculty and staff member. So basically, don’t wander off. It’ll be annoying for us and painful for you.”
“Fascist,” Quentin hissed, glaring at her.
“That’s right, sunshine. You’re the victim,” Manh rolled her eyes. “Y’know, next time you decide to attack the United Nations and declare yourself an anti-human terrorist on international television, I think you might be looking at a little bit steeper consequences than house-arrest. I’m just saying.”
“Whatever.”
Manh sighed and gave Quentin a solid pat on the shoulder that was almost a shove. “Off you go then, ‘Kid Omega’. You can have your run of the school and the lawn. If you want to lose those privileges, then by all means, keep mouthing off to teachers.”
“Fascist,” Quentin spat one more time as he left the room. Was Manh even certified to stick needles in people? He should sue.
He poked at the back of his neck with his fingers. He couldn’t even feel a bump. How tiny was the tracking chip? It didn’t matter though, Quentin Quire was not about to sneak out. When he left, he’d make sure everybody knew it. And why would he leave now, when the person he wanted to reconnect with the most was right here in this very school?
Quentin started walking down the hall, eyes aimed straight ahead as he listened and skimmed the thoughts around him but didn’t reach out. There was a telepath on the staff, an actually-pretty-cool-looking punky redhead, and from the brief contact Quentin had had with the woman, he got the impression that she was pretty good. So he kept his powers neutral, no pushing or prodding, and just let his normal perception radius serve as a dragnet. If he kept wandering around the halls long enough, eventually he’d pass someone who knew where he wanted to go.
Seven and a half minutes later he got a hit off of a couple of girls who were discussing the way the school buildings had erected themselves. The dark-haired one was a fan-girl for the technical genius responsible, and she’d visited his brand new top-of-the-line lab twice already in the day and a half since automated construction had finished. Quentin gently plucked the map out of her head and changed course.
Into an elevator and down three floors. Nearly the entire basement was lab space but the office where one Doctor Henry McCoy was likely to be found lay at the west end of it. As Quentin approached, he could hear voices chatting away, one familiar, one not- and very weird-sounding.
“The smells are very interesting. This is a fairly rural area, isn’t it? I smell lots animals nearby. All different kinds. I would love to see them and understand what smell belongs to what kind of animal,” the weird-voice babbled.
“Oh, I expect you’ll see some deer and rabbits soon enough. And there’s quite a few burrowers that you’re likely to see evidence of but not necessarily the animal itself. And birds, of course. Would you like a book of native fauna so you’ll be able to put a name to the animals you see?” McCoy asked, sounding friendly and relaxed- talking to a teacher’s-pet.
“I have already studied Earth fauna quite extensively, but your books and records neglect to mention their smells! It’s very frustrating!”
“Ah, yes. Humans do not have a very strong olfactory sense. Vision is the primary sense for most primates. Your classmates can see a slightly broader color-spectrum than you, but their sense of smell is very limited. We don’t even really have words to accurately describe most smells,” McCoy explained to a scrunchy little skeleton-lizard-bug-creature that was perched on his desk chair, watching him solder something at a workbench.
“What are the colors like? The ones that I can not see?” scrunchy-lizard asked. Quentin frowned, watching the critter bounce excitedly in McCoy’s chair; it was an annoyingly perky little whatever-it-was.
“It’s called blue and it’s a short wave-length, although there are many different names for specific shades and variations- most of them referencing to flora or minerals- and, let’s see, how to describe it...” McCoy paused in his soldering and tapped a claw to his chin. “It’s considered a ‘cold’ color. When we look at it, it gives the impression of something being cool or cold, the same way reds look ‘hot’ to us. Hydrogen is blue, so water and the upper atmosphere are blue. I suppose I’d describe the color as cold and wet. And just for your frame of reference, I happen to be blue.”
“Ah! I see!” scrunchy-lizard exclaimed. “But you certainly don’t seem cold, Doctor McCoy!”
“You’d be surprised,” Quentin sneered.
McCoy winced as the soldering iron slipped and he burned his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide, as he stuck the soldering iron into a holder and turned around. Scrunchy-lizard swiveled the office-chair he was standing on around to look at Quentin. “Oh! Hello, classmate! I am an anomalous broodling whom Doctor McCoy kindly invited to attend this institution! May I ask your name?”
“Q-Quentin,” McCoy stammered, not really answering scrunchy-lizard but more so in a startled-babbling sort of way. “... How are you, my boy?” he asked, trying out a nervous smile.
“Well for starters, I am not your boy,” Quentin snarled, glaring venomously at the scientist.
Scrunchy-lizard glanced back and forth between them, its face was too weird for the expression to be readable, and it didn’t really seem to have much of an expressive range (what with the carapace and all) but its thoughts were nervous and confused. McCoy frowned, scratching at his arm and looking very guilty. “Now, Quentin, I understand that you must be rather upset--”
“‘Rather upset’?” Quentin gasped, incredulous. “‘Rather upset’?!” he repeated, perhaps for emphasis or perhaps to see if it would make sense the second time around. “You left me in a jar on a shelf!” Quentin shouted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, so tight his fingernails were biting into his palms. “You forgot about me. You cleaned out your desk. You turned off the light. You closed the door. And you left me. In a jar. On a shelf.” He was trembling now and so pissed off he could barely focus his glare.
“... Quentin--”
“Y’know, the first week- fine, whatever. I sat tight and waited. Figured you were on some X-mission. The second week? I started to wonder. The third week? I got to thinking maybe you weren’t coming back. The fourth week? I started poking holes in my jar. The fifth week? I poked my mind out and looked around, and guess what? The world hadn’t ended, everybody was fine, I’d just been forgotten in a jar, on a shelf, alone in a dark office and nobody knew I was there!”
“Quentin, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize you were even aware of- no, I’m not going to make excuses. It was utterly inexcusable. I am so sorry,” McCoy bowed his head, radiating shame and sorrow and pity.
Quentin seethed. This was the part where he was supposed to accept McCoy’s weak-ass apology? Bullshit. Two seconds later McCoy dropped to his knees, grabbing at his head and letting out a scream that sounded somewhere between a bear and a lion roar.
Scrunchy-lizard gave a horrified little shriek and jumped straight over the desk, running right past Quentin and out into the lab shouting like an idiot. “Help! Oh help! Somebody help!”
Quentin let him go. It didn’t matter; the telepath teacher would probably catch a whiff of what he was doing and be charging down here to rein Quentin in any minute anyway. Fortunately, a minute was more than he needed.
You son of a bitch, Quentin hissed directly into McCoy’s mind. After they caught me out of my play-pen, do you know what they did? They put me in a newer, better jar. One I couldn’t poke holes in or see out of. Then they put me back on a shelf and left me to rot. I don’t even know how long I was in there. I don’t know if it was weeks or months before a power surge put a crack in the jar and I busted out.
“I’m- I’m sorry, Quentin...” McCoy gasped, collapsing on the floor and curling in on himself as Quentin kept pushing at his pain-receptors. “... I’m sorry... I should never have left you in that position...”
I went into the jar voluntarily! Quentin screamed into McCoy’s mind. I could have killed you all, but I went into the jar instead because you said you’d protect me! You said you’d keep me safe until I was fixed! Quentin knelt down and grabbed a handful of McCoy’s fur, pulling his head up off the floor. Do I look fixed to you?!
“Quentin, I’m sorry,” McCoy whispered, shaking violently, his eyes half closed and glazed with pain. “I’m so sorry...”
“Quire, stop!”
Quentin felt teke wrapping around him and pulling him back six feet as a psychic wall went up around McCoy’s brain, blocking Quentin’s assault. He considered spitting, but with his luck it would probably be teked right back into his face, so he just gritted his teeth and glared down at McCoy who was struggling to look up.
“What is wrong with you?!” punky-redhead-teacher demanded, releasing the teke and grabbing Quentin by the shoulders, glaring at him. “Are you completely insane?! No- why am I even asking that? You clearly are. What is--”
“R-Rachel,” McCoy whimpered, stiffly sitting himself up. “I ap-preciate the rescue, b-but you should know th-this was not an unprovoked attack.”
Punky glanced at McCoy, frowning before turning her eyes to Quentin again, who glared back at her defiantly. “He left me in a jar,” Quentin hissed, and then sent her a data-burst of being alone in the dark inside the second jar- of not knowing how much time was passing- of wondering whether everyone had forgotten he was even there.
Punky gasped and staggered, losing her grip on Quentin and the psychic wall protecting McCoy slipped. Quentin considered making another attack on McCoy’s pain receptors but decided against it as Punky grabbed his shoulder again, her eyes wide with horror as her mind reached back, pouring a tumult of questions at Quentin. He opened up his memories of the last six months, because why not?
As her mental fingers skimmed over his mind, a wave of something- a memory?- came at him hard and Quentin swayed on his feet slightly, blinking. Had she hit him? No, but something... “I know you...” Quentin whispered, feeling dazed and unsteady all of a sudden. She hadn’t hit him, why was he so fucked up all of a sudden? “I remember you... When... did I meet you?”
“We never met before I came to the school,” Punky said, frowning at him.
“No it was... a long time ago?” Quentin mumbled, pressing a hand to his head, reeling with vertigo. “It was hot... and bright... brighter than the sun...” he trailed off, vaguely aware that he sounded like an idiot. He frowned, rubbing his face and trying to focus.
He noticed that Punky’s eyes had gotten very wide, and when he poked, he found that she’s put a very strong psychic wall around herself. Apparently sharing-time was over. “Mister Quire, I understand that what happened to you was unfair and I am sorry for that, but if you attack a teacher again, you will be punished,” Punky said in a firm, authoritative voice.
Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Implying that I’m not being shipped off to super-villain prison right now?”
Punky turned to look at McCoy. “Henry, it looks as though you’ve had an accident down here. Was anyone at fault?”
“Yes,” McCoy nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “I was.”
“I see. Then I do hope you’ll be more careful, Henry,” Punky said.
“I shall certainly endeavor to be,” McCoy agreed.
“If you’re all right here, I’m going to see Mister Quire back to the dormitories. He seems to be lost,” Punky put an arm around Quentin’s shoulders and started dragging him away from the office.
Scrunchy-lizard was cowering next to the elevator as they approached. “It’s all right, broodling,” Punky said breezily. “Simple miscommunication. Nothing to worry about.” Scrunchy-lizard looked seriously unconvinced and stared at Quentin as he scrambled out of the way and then scampered off in the direction of McCoy’s office.
“... Where did I meet you before?” Quentin asked quietly as Punky pressed the elevator button.
“It wasn’t a real place. That must be why your memory of it is indistinct. Our minds touched briefly on Utopia,” Punky replied.
“... Oh,” Quentin murmured, frowning. That sounded unlikely, but he couldn’t tell if Punky was lying and he still couldn’t pin down the memory. It felt like it had to have been before Utopia though. The memory felt old. It felt like the oldest memory he had.
000
Rachel pushed open the door to the headmaster’s office without knocking and marched in, planting her feet and crossing her arms as Logan and Sam gave her startled looks from either side of Logan’s desk. “... Something wrong, Rach?” Logan asked slowly.
“Did you know that Quentin Quire was being held in a sensory deprivation chamber on Utopia?” Rachel demanded, giving him a hard look.
Logan blinked, startled, baffled, he had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”
“You didn’t. Well, that’s good at least. Now I just need to find out who it is I ought to be utterly losing all respect for,” Rachel blew an irritated sigh through her teeth and stormed out of the office.
Logan came chasing down the hall after her. “Rach! Rachel! What are you talking about?”
Rachel paused and looked back at him, biting her lip for a moment and telling herself that as mad as she was, Logan wasn’t the person to be mad at. She still needed to find out who she should be mad at about this. “Quire was isolated, completely, in a containment field made by somebody on Utopia after Henry left. If I’m interpreting the timeline correctly, I believe Quire spent approximately nine weeks conscious, aware of himself and having absolutely no human contact of any kind.” She watched Logan’s mouth drop open slightly, his face going slack with dawning horror. “We are beyond lucky that boy has any lucidity left at all,” Rachel hissed. “I am going to find out who is responsible for this. It wasn’t just unforgivably cruel it was unbelievably stupid. That boy is a few years away from being one of the most powerful mutants on the planet and his sanity is hanging by a thread.”
“Jesus...” Logan breathed, rubbing his hands over his face. “No wonder he’s been such a little shit...” he ran a hand through his hair and stared blankly into space for a few beats. “You really think he’s gonna be that strong, huh?”
If Quentin Quire was getting pre-memory flashes of the White Hot Room? Cyclops had put his money on the wrong horse with Hope. “He’s already that strong,” Rachel said, looking away even though she knew Logan didn’t need to see her eyes to smell the fear on her. “He matched Xavier for telepathic brute strength when he was fourteen. All that’s waiting now is control.”
“Right...” Logan sighed, scratching his head. “So how do we play this? What do we do now?”
“Try to mitigate the damage,” Rachel shrugged. “We can’t afford to ignore this. We can’t ignore him. He’s been in the X-Men’s care since he was eleven years old. Everything that’s happened to him and everything he’s done is on us. That child has been destroyed and it is entirely our fault.”
“... You weren’t even here, Rach. You had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m an X-Man. I share responsibility for everything the X-Men do.”
“... Yeah. I get it... I guess... I’ll call a staff-meeting or something...” Logan said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “... Shit. Why is it always the crazy strong ones who slip through the cracks?”
“It isn’t,” Rachel shook her head. “They’re just the ones who make us regret it the most.”
