"Please, come in, come in! There's plenty of room in this tent, I promise. Everyone can witness the spectacle of the amazing Mastermind!"
Throngs of circus guests filtered into the expansive, white tent. A mother admonished her child as the carefree kid almost knocked over one of the support poles. A group of twenty-somethings pulled out their smartphones, preparing to steal clips of the show with irreverent conspicuity.
A lone man watched everything from the back wall. The weight of his past hung on him like an oversized coat, betraying his age. Some attendees noticed him, noticed his odd choice in headwear, and failed to hide their confusion or disgust. He allowed a gentle smirk to break his otherwise stoic countenance. As the tent reached capacity, he looked to the stage.
"Thank you, thank you! I am the amazing Mastermind, and I am so grateful to have you all here! Let's get right into it; do I have a volunteer?"
While half the kids averted their eyes in discomfort, the other half raised their hands in earnest. A couple young adults also raised their hands, drawing glares from parents.
"Yes, let's go with you," Mastermind decided with an outstretched hand. A blonde boy ran to the stage and clambered up. "What's your name?"
"Shouldn't you know?!" a heckler called.
Unfazed, Mastermind explained, "I like to get to know my volunteers. Their comfort up on stage not only makes my job easier but makes the experience more memorable." He paused as the crowd applauded. "Now, what is your name?"
"Cole!" the boy answered, not realizing how much the microphone amplified his shout.
Mastermind twisted a finger in his own ear with comedic exaggeration. "I love that you're excited, Cole, but the microphone will shout for you, okay?"
"Okay!" Cole replied, only slightly less loudly.
"Now, I want you to think of a number. Any number. Really picture it, okay?" He gestured to the open air above the crowd. "Picture it up there, above the crowd, okay?"
"Okay!"
After a beat, Mastermind asked, "Do you have it?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, don't forget it. I'm going to think for a moment and try to guess it." Mastermind made several wild gestures, physically displaying his deep concentration. The crowd guffawed. "Alright, I have it! Is it... 38?"
"Yes!" Cole shouted. "How did you do that?!"
Mastermind took a bow to mild applause. "Now, let's kick it up a notch. I want you to imagine another number, Cole. It can't be 38; it has to be a different one. Remember, picture it in the space above the crowd."
Cole squinted for a moment then confirmed, "Ready!"
"Wonderful! Now, don't tell me it. Just keep it in mind." Mastermind pulled out a small notepad and a thin marker. "In fact, I want you to write it down. This is a blank notepad, folks," Mastermind demonstrated to the crowd with a flourish of the sheets. "So, Cole, please write down your number. Don't tell me; don't show me."
Cole took the pad and marker, got off his stool, and used the stool as a table. Mastermind made a show of looking away from Cole and up at the ceiling in the opposite direction. "Okay," Cole eventually said. "Do you want me to close it?"
"Yes!" Mastermind confirmed. "Yes, please." He turned around, took back the closed pad and marker, and looked away from his own chest as he put them back in his shirt pocket. "Alright, I need another volunteer!" He paused as the same reactions unfolded. "Let's go with you!" he once again gestured with an outstretched hand. A curly-haired college student hustled to the stage. "Your name, please?"
"Melika," they responded.
"Wonderful! Melika, I'd like you to guess Cole's number!"
"Me?!" they gasped.
"Yes, you! Don't worry; I'll help you." He continued with a gesture, "I want you to stare up at that same space above the crowd. Now, open your mind. Don't try to focus; I'll do the focusing. Just look up there, and open your mind."
Melika stared where Mastermind indicated and took a deep breath.
"Do you see Cole's number?"
"Oh, my goodness! I do!"
"Wonderful! You can go ahead and say it."
"22!"
Cole was shocked. "That's right!"
Mastermind spoke over the emphatic cheers as he handed Melika the notepad. "Just in case! Melika, please check the notepad!"
Melika flipped the cover over to the first page then turned it around to show the crowd. There, obviously written in the unsteady hand of a young boy, was the number 22. The crowd erupted all over again. Mastermind shook hands with Cole and Melika, thanked them for their help, and sent them back to the crowd.
***
Scott. Scott. Wake up, Scott.
How... How...
Scott, you need to fight. Just a little more. Wake up, Scott.
Scott's subconscious finally resurfaced. How... How do you know my name?
The mystery voice insisted. I will answer every question you have in due time, but right now, you need to get up. You need to rise, Scott. The fight is not over. You must make one more push, and then you can rest.
Okay, Scott agreed. Gotta get up. Gotta get up. Gotta—
Scott finally awoke. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he'd dreamt the whole thing, but the pain soon flooded back and confirmed the reality of his situation. A primal scream escaped his body, prolonged and only interrupted to refuel on breath.
Scott, the mystery voice interjected. I know it hurts, but focus. You need to stand.
Scott swallowed the scream and forced himself to his knees. "Why? Why do I need to get up?" he bemoaned aloud.
The mystery voice chuckled, which was a bizarre thing for Scott to perceive purely mentally. Well, for one, it continued, do you wish to return to the facility?
Scott got to his feet immediately. "No," he avowed. "Never again."
Good. I don't wish that for you either. I'm going to guide you out of here now.
"I can—"
I know you can make your own way around. We don't have time for you to do it alone, though. And you don't have to answer me out loud – I'm in your mind.
"Oh! I mean," Oh, Scott answered. That makes sense. He paused. So... escape?
Indeed, provided you have your bearings.
Scott exhaled forcefully. As ready as I'll ever be.
Good. Let's begin.
***
As the most recent round of applause died down, Mastermind cleared his throat and began his closing speech. "You see, that's the power of the collective consciousness! When we realize we're not so different, you and I, we can feel what the other feels, think what the other thinks. Let's experiment for a moment; indulge me. Follow Melika's lead. They showed you how to do it. Look up at the ceiling, take a deep breath, and see each other's thoughts."
A giant cake, tiered like a wedding cake but decorated like a birthday cake, appeared and hovered in the air. Several tiny fireworks started going off, appearing out of thin air. Some taller audience members ducked their heads instinctively.
"You see joy! Everyone feels each other's joy! Now," Mastermind prefaced with a sharp change in tone, "feel each other's fear!"
The fireworks stopped. The cake morphed into a giant, rotund, ranine devil with the exaggerated mouth of a cartoon pitbull. It exhaled a deluge of flames, igniting the tent from the top down. The crowd screamed and scrambled to evacuate as the support poles toppled and the fabric evaporated.
Mastermind laughed maniacally. "Tell your friends!" he called to the fleeing mob. His residual laughter ended abruptly when he noticed an anomaly: the man on the back wall. "Wait, why aren't you running?"
"That's quite some power you've got there," the man replied plainly.
"I don't know what you mean. I have to buy a new tent and new stage every night. The circus hates me. I can't believe you're this calm under fire, literally."
"You're either terrible at lying or excellent at sarcasm," the man quipped as he approached the stage. Indeed, the tent stood as it did at the beginning of the show, the stage untouched. "Both are qualities that would serve me well."
"I don't serve anyone," Mastermind rebutted, "and how did you see through my illusion?"
"I wasn't sure I would. I had my suspicions, though, that your powers were psychic in nature. This helmet of mine is specifically designed to protect me from psychic intrusion."
"I see."
"Do you, though? I've done my research, Jason—"
"How do you—"
"—and I know that your powers are psionic, and if they are psionic, you must be a—"
"Don't say it," Mastermind interrupted again.
"Being a mutant is nothing to be ashamed of, Jason. It is something to be proud of. Evolution favored you."
After an incredulous pause to let his mind catch up, Mastermind asked, "Who are you?"
The man smiled. "My name is Erik. I've come to recruit you, Jason. I'm forming a brotherhood of mutants. I want to equip my brethren with the will and the means to right the wrongs we face at the hands of humanity."
Mastermind shook his head and turned away. "I'm not interested in fighting your crusade for you, old man." He began unplugging and coiling wires. "I don't know how you found me, or learned my name, or figured out what I am, but you need to forget it all."
Erik kept up with Mastermind's strides. "It is not just my crusade, Jason. It's our crusade."
Mastermind ignored him and continued cleaning up.
Erik sighed. "Plus, it'll be worth your while."
"How so?" Mastermind threw over his shoulder.
"I would not start a crusade without the funding to do so," Erik explained slyly.
"Oh?" Mastermind reacted, taking the bait.
"I cannot offer you a hard number, but I can guarantee you more stability than employment with the circus can."
Mastermind set a coil of wires down on the stage and smirked ponderously. "Well," he finally answered, "why didn't you say so?"
***
Sirens emanated from the forest, amplified and redirected ad nauseam by the trees into aimless, blaring ambience. Scott stood just outside the forest, his trust in the disembodied voice confirmed by a flawlessly navigated escape.
What's next? Scott asked, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
"You're safe now. Catch your breath," the voice answered kindly.
It took Scott a moment to realize the voice had answered out loud instead of in his mind. He stood and turned to face the voice's origin. "Who are you?" he blurted, still panting a little.
"My name is Charles Xavier," the voice greeted Scott. "You may call me Charles. Who are you, young man?"
"My name is— wait, you already know my name."
"Indeed, but I gleaned that knowledge from an unauthorized intrusion into your mind. You deserve the formality of introducing yourself," Charles explained.
"Oh. Thanks, I think. My name is Scott."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Scott." Charles extended his hand for a handshake then realized his faux pas. "I'm offering you a handshake," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Oh! Thanks," Scott said, accepting the gesture. After dropping Charles's hand, he added, "And thanks for the road map. Why did you help me escape, though?"
Charles fell silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "When the powers of the man you encountered first manifested, I sensed them. It was an immense surge of power. I came here in the hopes of helping him, particularly before he caused more harm or was captured by the authorities. I failed on that front, but when I got here and scanned the forest, I found you instead. Your mind was dormant but not gone, and I took a chance. Once I learned you do not use your sight, I tapped into the minds of the wildlife around you to gain their visual perspectives and guide you here."
Scott pondered. "Interesting. That really only answers how you helped me, though, not why."
"Indeed. I apologize." Charles took another pause. "I am a mutant. I'm sure our telepathic communications at least presented that possibility to you. I have led a rather blessed life, but I know that most of my fellow mutants cannot say the same. When I encountered your mind, it was so young yet so anguished. I probed your mind – perhaps more than I should have, and for that, I apologize. When I learned of the facility you just escaped, though, I knew I couldn't let you return there, and I knew I couldn't let the authorities apprehend you and let you fall subject to that broken system. So, I suppose, in my mind, I had no other option."
Scott stepped forward to hug Charles, stumbled over some unanticipated obstruction, and fell into a sitting man. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't realize—"
Charles smiled. "Please don't apologize, Scott. You had no reason to assume I was in a wheelchair, and I'm not hurt. Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Scott stammered, still aback. "How did... How did you get here in a wheelchair? All terrain tires?"
Charles laughed in earnest, a pleasant tone to Scott's ears. "In all my years, I never considered that option! I suppose I am inclined to belabor the obvious! Ha! No, though. The reality, by comparison, is much more convoluted. This particular device was specifically designed for me, and it can retract its wheels to become a hoverchair instead."
"That's awesome," Scott mused in understated excitement.
After a polite pause, Charles shifted topics. "Scott, I'd like for you to come live with me. For some time, I have been entertaining the notion of seeking out gifted youngsters such as yourself and training them, helping them master their powers and guiding them as a force for good. Mutantkind has unjustly lived under the shadow of inherent danger that non-mutants ascribe to us for too long, and I believe the answer is to dispel the shadow with light. I believe a team of mutants acting as a force for good will guide all humans to better acceptance of one another."
Scott was inscrutably silent.
Charles continued, "What do you say, Scott? Will you join me? Will you help me be a force for good?"
Scott tested the waters and searched his mind for Charles. Are you in here? There was no answer, only his own thoughts. A foreign feeling washed over Scott. Hope.
"Yes," Scott answered. "I'm tired of running."