"Yup…" Alex stared at his reflection, his expression blank, his mind still trying to grasp the weight of it all.
"I'm cooked." The words left his mouth flatly, void of real emotion.
He was seventeen. He had spent his entire life resembling his mother, blonde hair, blue eyes, the same sharp facial structure that had always made people say he took after her.
But now?
The boy staring back at him was his father's son. Brown hair and brown eyes.
There were also some subtle differences, but ones that made all the difference. His skin was paler than it should have been, but not in the way that came from a lack of sun, it was sickly, like he hadn't been taking care of himself. His frame was thinner, more wiry than he remembered, as though this version of him had neglected to eat properly for years.
Perhaps it was just due to the condition of his body, but he also felt a nagging feeling in his heart. The same feeling he had felt when his father had taken his life. It was heavy; it was uncomfortable. But the best he could do was ignore it for now. He had bigger problems than simply feeling sadness verging on numbness.
Alex glanced around the room.
No signs of life. No discarded clothes from someone else, no second toothbrush by the sink, no casual mess that hinted at a shared space.
He was alone.
Maybe that was just how this version of him lived, left to rot in a mansion, a ghost haunting an empty house long before his body gave out.
'This is my tomb.' He thought, almost naturally accepting the thought before realizing it wasn't coming from him. Well, it was, but, he really didn't want to deal with the implications right now. At least the headache he had felt when he had first arrived in this world was mostly gone.
Where was he? A yes, the tomb. Though he had to give some credit to himself, there were worse ways to die.
He exhaled, his breath fogging the mirror for the briefest second before fading away.
'At least my face didn't change…'
That would have been too much. If he had woken up looking like a completely different person, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it. Some minor cosmetic differences? Manageable. He could dye his hair and wear contacts if he felt that desperate to become his old self.
So, it could be worse.
A deep breath in. A sigh out.
There was no point stalling anymore.
Alex turned away from the mirror, the movement sluggish, reluctant. Some part of him still clung to the hope that he was dreaming, that at any second he would wake up in his world, in his body, and laugh about this whole thing over coffee and a headache.
But the proof was there, standing in front of him, staring right back at him with the same calculating expression he'd seen on his father so many times before.
There were a thousand rational explanations for this.
Sudden onset madness, like his father.
A hallucination.
Maybe he was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, his body mangled beyond repair after his father's machine tore him apart.
But he knew better.
He had experienced himself.
He had felt the pull of infinity, seen glimpses of who he could have been, who he never would be, and now, now he was here.
"I am thou, and thou art I…"
The words slipped out, a quiet mutter as he dragged a hand down his face.
He would never compare to his father in terms of sheer intellect, but he was still his son. And now that the shock was starting to fade, he could make sense of his situation.
This was another universe.
That wild, fleeting thought he'd had right before he should have died, it had saved him. He had merged with another version of himself, his existence overriding, or maybe assimilating, this body's former owner.
No, not overriding.
The memories were there, just at the edge of his mind, like words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be recalled. If he gave himself time, they would come to him. Judging by the nagging feeling on his chest, so were the emotions.
And before he landed here, before this version of him had taken root, he had been flashing through worlds, trying to force himself into them, only to be rejected.
This version of himself had lost.
Or had he?
For all Alex knew, he was the one who had lost. Maybe this version of himself had been stronger, and instead of taking over, the multiversal traveler had been the one who got absorbed.
It was impossible to tell.
But in the end, did it even matter?
"I am me." He whispered, voice barely audible, trying to convince himself. But the words felt hollow. His chest tightened, a wave of nausea rising as reality settled deeper into his bones. "I am me… right?"
It didn't matter if he was the intruder or the victor. He was still Alexander Sterling Montclair. All of them. One of them. Himself. Or at least, that's what he was telling himself to stop himself from having a panic attack.
Maybe this was what had driven his father insane, too many possibilities, too much awareness, the weight of infinite selves crushing in on him all at once.
Alex could only wonder what the other versions of his father were like to have broken his mind so thoroughly.
"Hm…" A quiet hum left his lips. He had realized something that had snapped him out of his inner ramblings.
It was strange. Thinking was easier.
His thoughts were sharper, clearer. He could feel the gears of his mind turning at a speed they hadn't before. He wasn't sure how, but he could process things better, could analyze faster.
Maybe this version of himself had inherited better brain genetics?
Or maybe he was still in shock and this was just a side effect. After all, he had just traveled the multiverse.
Alex exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his now-brown hair before turning on his heels and marching straight to his desk. There was no point in standing around questioning his existence, not when there were far bigger concerns. He could have a meltdown later.
If this was a new world, then he needed to know exactly what kind of world he had landed in.
For all he knew, he could've woken up in a timeline where the Cold War never ended or where sentient toasters had taken over.
"..."
Alex's hands froze over the keyboard, his eyes locking onto the home screen.
He sighed. Deeply.
"Yeah… that explains it."
Every single no-life game imaginable was installed on this thing. Strategy games, MMOs, roguelikes, gacha trash, the sheer dedication to wasting time was almost impressive.
Apparently, this version of him had gone full no-life mode. He was a bum.
Great. Just great.
He could only wonder how much time this body had sunk into them. And for what? What were the odds that in this universe, Alex Montclair, the supposed son of a technological genius, had wasted his time grinding levels instead of using his brain?
Maybe that's why he was so pale.
Ignoring the distractions, he opened up a browser and started digging through the biggest news stories of the past few years. If this world was different, then the headlines would tell him how much.
And oh boy, did they.
His eyes scanned the screen, flicking through articles that made his stomach drop further with each word.
"Stark Industries… The Baxter Building… Oscorp…"
And then, just to make everything worse, he glanced at the site logo.
The Daily Bugle.
"Hell naw."
His back hit the chair as he stared at the screen, mind racing.
This was Marvel.
He was in Marvel.
What the hell was he supposed to do in Marvel?
For all he knew, he could wake up tomorrow and have some random alien invasion tear through the city.
He swallowed, glancing around his room like some interdimensional police force was about to break through his window for simply existing here. Actually, for all he knew, there was definitely an interdimensional police.
He waited for a few seconds, but nothing…. He was probably safe. They were probably busy with some Isekai protagonist who lewded lolis.
'Wait, aren't there already aliens living among humans? The Skull? No, the Skrall? Skrulls? Or is that not happening in this universe?'
Hell, how was he supposed to check?
It wasn't like there was a handy "Are Skrulls Among Us?" search bar on Google. And looking it up might actually put him on a list.
What if S.H.I.E.L.D. had some insane surveillance algorithm that flagged keywords? What if Nick Fury had already read his search history before he even finished typing?
What if he woke up tomorrow in a S.H.I.E.L.D. black site because someone decided he was "too informed" for an average civilian?
God. Damn. It.
He did not sign up for this.
The worst part? He should have known better. He should have spent every waking moment in his previous life memorizing Marvel lore, just in case something like this happened.
But nooo.
He had wasted his years reading about boring things like engineering, AI development, and real-world geopolitics instead of studying every single Marvel comic like a religious text.
'Thanks dad, you are a real one, taught me all I would need… sorry, I didn't mean that.'
Shaking his head, he focused back on the issue at hand.
Now? Now he was screwed.
And then, just to twist the knife deeper.
"Of course… Mutants are a freaking thing in this world…"
He skimmed through a few more headlines, each one making him more and more paranoid.
Mutants were real here, but their presence wasn't well-documented. The headlines barely mentioned them. The only reason he managed to discover that the people he was reading about were in fact, mutants, was because he already knew of them. That was either really good… or really, really bad. Either there weren't many mutants, or their existence was being buried.
Alex rubbed his temples, his paranoia getting the better of him.
"Maybe there's a mutant with the power to make people forget things? Maybe they erased all the major mutant-related incidents from history…"
That didn't sound impossible.
"Wait. Can't Xavier do that?"
He exhaled, leaning back into his chair as the horrifying thought settled in.
"He could totally mind-wipe everyone… not that he would but…"
But what if he did? What if he had already done it countless times? What if, somewhere in this world, mutants had already revealed themselves, and no one remembered? Attributing every Magneto terror attack to a random natural accident.
His head fell into his hands.
Marvel. Fucking Marvel.
The heaviness in his chest began to press him down once again. But before it could fully envelop him, he took a deep breath before slapping his face a few times, trying to regain focus.
"Alright. It could be worse. I'm alive, which means I can still improve. Even if this world is a mess, maybe I can buy myself an island. Get away from all the bullshit the heroes and villains pull on the daily…"
It was a solid plan. Or it would have been.
But then, like a glass shattering inside his skull, memories that weren't his, but also were, came flooding in.
Ah. So much for that dream.
He was broke.
Not homeless, no, technically, he lived in what could be considered a small mansion. But compared to what he had in his original world? Compared to the limitless potential and generational wealth he should have had?
Yeah. This version of him was basically poor. Or maybe his standards were all out of whack.
"Yeah…" He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the fragmented memories slotted into place.
Instead of changing the world, this version of Sebastian Montclair had spent a few years working under Stark Industries, specializing in weapons development. His contributions had been substantial, sure, enough to earn a few million dollars in compensation, but before he could make any real breakthroughs, he had been killed.
An accident.
A stupid, preventable accident.
Some idiot in his department hadn't followed proper safety procedures, leading to an explosion that wiped out the entire building. Everyone inside, gone.
And just like that, Alex had been left alone.
No close relatives. No one to take him in.
The only reason he hadn't been tossed into the foster system was because his father, as paranoid as he was brilliant, had prepared for the worst years in advance. A legal safety net had been put in place, ensuring Alex had a guardian and a steady financial cushion until he grew old enough to manage himself.
But what had he done with it?
He had fired his caretaker, a lovely woman who had tried her best to help him heal.
Technically, he shouldn't have been able to until he turned eighteen. But this version of him? He had figured out how to game the system.
A few strategic calls to lawyers, a little bureaucratic manipulation by giving a few "donations", and suddenly—
Boom.
He was left to rot in his oversized house, completely alone, just like he had wanted.
And apparently, he had taken his isolation seriously.
This version of Alex had graduated early, not because of ambition, but simply to avoid people altogether. No more school. No social obligations. Nothing.
Just him, his computer, and a downward spiral of terrible life choices.
And then…
The money.
Oh, God. The money.
He should have been so rich right now.
Tony Stark had given him so much money as compensation for the accident. He had gone out of his way to pay the families of every single person who died generously, even if they were just a simple janitor.
Tony had even tried to reach out to him to help him now that he was alone, offering his hand in help should he ever need it. Perhaps he saw a little bit of himself on Alex. Both being wealthy orphans with genius fathers and all that jazz.
But his old self had rejected the offer for help, donating practically all he had gotten to random charities chosen from a roulette.
And then he simply began to throw away the rest of his money.
He hadn't saved it. Hadn't invested it.
Just by glancing across his room, he could see what must have been worth a fortune. And that wasn't even accounting for the rest of the crap he had around the house. There was a pile of unopened collector's editions littered on the floor. But that was nothing compared to the countless amount of garbage his old self had bought.
If he became interested in sculpting, he would turn a room into an entire room dedicated to it. Spending tens of thousands, if not more, on hobbies he would do for a few days before moving on to the next.
There was an entire recording studio in his house, and he didn't even know how to play an instrument. He had given up after a week.
Jesus Christ, how much had he wasted?
Part of him already knew the answer. Part of him didn't want to know.
It wasn't hard to guess where it was all leading.
The guilt. The numbness. The slow, creeping acceptance that once the money ran out… well, let's just say he wasn't planning on sticking around much longer.
The faster he spent the money, the faster he could end his subscription to life.
Alex let out a long, shaky exhale.
"..."
For a brief moment, he could feel it, the old emotions clawing at the edges of his mind, trying to drag him down into the same hopeless abyss this version of him had been drowning in for years.
But that wasn't him. Not anymore.
Or, he hoped it wasn't.
Alex ran a hand through his hair and let out another sigh.
How many times had he sighed today?
Didn't matter. Not anymore.
He had shit to do.
Sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn't an option. Not when he was living in a world where gods, aliens, demons, and superhumans were very real threats.
Not when his future depended on how fast he could adapt.
It was time to prepare.
— –Charles Xavier– —
Rolling steadily through the immaculately polished halls of his mansion, Charles Xavier made his way toward Cerebro, the most powerful tool in his lifelong mission to help mutants.
A daily ritual. A necessary one.
Some would live their entire lives with a dormant X-gene, never knowing the potential locked inside them. That was how it had always been.
But now? Something was changing.
The rate of mutation was accelerating. More and more, he was finding individuals whose gifts awakened far too easily. The pattern was undeniable.
Puberty. Trauma. Extreme stress.
The human body, pushed to its limit, triggering something primordial buried deep within their DNA. And in that moment, the most terrifying, most vulnerable moment of their lives, he would be there.
Every day, without fail, he spent at least an hour combing through the vast network of minds, searching for those who had awakened, for the lost, the frightened, the desperate.
Because mutation was unpredictable.
It came in all shapes and forms, some more dangerous than others. Some mutations barely altered one's life at all, enhanced reflexes, heightened intellect, a simple resistance to disease. Others? Others could crumble entire cities with a wave of their hand.
Perhaps, today, a young girl would wake to find that her touch drained the life force of anyone she held dear. With a simple kiss she would put a boy in a coma for months, causing her to fear her own body.
Perhaps a boy, sitting in a classroom, would sneeze and reduce the building to ash.
He had seen it all. Disaster, fear, confusion.
It left a mess, one that had to be cleaned up before the world could take notice.
Because the world had proven itself unready.
For all his dreams of unity, Charles knew the cold reality of their existence. The fear, the prejudice, the sheer violence waiting for those who were different. And while he refused to give up hope, he also understood his limitations.
He understood that bringing too much attention to them could be catastrophic. It was something his old friend Erik hadn't yet accepted, at least for now.
Someday, Xavier believed, the tides would turn. Humanity and Mutants could stand together, but that was a battle for another time.
Right now, his task was simpler, to reach out to those mutants who needed him.
He would find them.
He would offer them sanctuary, a place to learn, to grow. And when they were ready, they would have a choice.
To leave and live among humanity. Or to stand with him and forge a new future.
Reaching the secured chamber, Xavier pressed a button, sealing the doors behind him as he approached the sleek, domed machine at the room's center.
Cerebro. A device that amplified his abilities to a degree even he could hardly fathom. It strengthened his reach, allowing him to detect mutant minds across the entire planet.
With careful precision, he lifted the helmet, settling it onto his head.
Then, he closed his eyes.
And listened.
For nearly an hour and a half, Xavier let his mind drift across the world, brushing against the countless unique signatures that marked the presence of mutants. Some were subtle, barely registering against the sea of human thoughts. Others were more distinct, flashes of potential, of power, of evolution unfolding in real time.
He committed each one to memory, making mental notes of where they were and how their mutations were developing. Some he would reach out to, others would need time before intervention became necessary.
And just as he was preparing to withdraw for the day, he felt it.
Like a roaring inferno against the vast darkness, a presence so bright it nearly blinded his psychic senses.
An Omega Class mutant.
Newly awakened. But even in its infancy, the sheer magnitude of its power burned as fiercely as the sun.
Xavier's breath caught in his throat for a moment.
According to the classification system he had developed, mutants were divided into six levels, each denoting their power and the stability of their abilities.
Epsilon Class. The lowest tier, encompassing those whose mutations were riddled with debilitating flaws. Some lacked any combat viability, while others had abilities so unstable that their own powers could kill them.
Delta Class. The most common type of mutant. Their abilities were functional but limited, with little real risk of catastrophic consequences. Useful, but they lacked the strength to match those of a higher class.
Gamma Class. A step above Delta, often boasting greater strength, but at a price. Many suffered physical mutations, making them stand out in a world that rejected their kind. Others had uncontrollable drawbacks, making their powers as much a curse as they were a gift.
Beta Class. On the same level as Alpha, but with minor imperfections. The difference between Beta Mutants and Alpha Mutants is that the Beta Mutants have flaws, albeit very small flaws.
Alpha Class. The pinnacle of controlled, highly evolved mutations. No significant drawbacks, no inherent weaknesses. One of the rarest of the stable classifications. Xavier himself was considered an Alpha, a telepath with few, if any, limitations.
Finally, there was Omega. The rarest, most dangerous classification. Mutants with power without foreseeable limits.
He had spent his entire life seeking out these individuals to guide them. Power of that magnitude came with an equally vast burden, and not everyone could bear the weight of it alone.
Ideally, he would be able to do as he had with Jean and contain their powers until they were ready to wield such a responsibility.
He had to find them before their own power destroyed them. Before they could be led astray.
Before the world could hurt them.
Without a moment of hesitation, he put all of his attention on finding them. The same power that gave them unlimited potential also turned them into a psychic beacon. A beacon his consciousness was racing toward.
But before he could reach it, it turned to darkness.
The brilliant, burning sun that had flared so intensely vanished as though something had snuffed it out.
Xavier's eyes snapped open, his hands tightening against the arms of his wheelchair.
"They are near New York…" The words were quiet, muttered only to himself as he sat there, motionless.
For nearly half an hour, he waited, his psychic presence hovering over the location, prepared to act at the slightest flicker of power.
But the presence never returned.
"Their mutation was unable to awaken…"
This… wasn't the first time something like this had happened. But never before on this scale.
Normally, when an X-gene stirred, it was like an inevitable awakening. A change, an event, something that acted as the final trigger to bring forth the mutation. Stress, fear, trauma, whatever it was, it would push them past the point of no return.
Yet this one had come so close, closer than any other before being forced back into dormancy.
It was like an egg that had cracked but hadn't yet shattered. The tiny chick still attempting to leave their shell.
The process had started. And once started, it could not be undone.
They would awaken. It was only a matter of time.
Reaching up, Xavier removed Cerebro, exhaling as he set the helmet back onto its pedestal.
He would have to remain vigilant over the coming weeks. That meant adjusting his schedule and rearranging responsibilities. It would be difficult.
But such was the way of things.
— –Alex Montclair– —
Using a hand to shield his eyes from the relentless sun, Alex trudged through the streets of New York, somewhat regretting his decision to step outside.
"It's too bright…" The words left his mouth as little more than a grumble, spoken only to himself, but that didn't make them any less true.
His body was not built for this, not anymore. His pale skin was struggling against the "deadly laser" in the sky, already felt like it was burning. His muscles, weak from years of neglect, protested every step he took.
But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. The more pathetic he looked, the more sympathy he could draw from people.
People liked underdogs. They rooted for them. They offered them help, guidance, connections, resources.
However, there was a fine line between looking pitiful and looking like a lost cause. Too much, and people would simply give up on him. He at least needed to spark a bit of hope. And well, if he was being honest, he wasn't sure about guilt-tripping people to get his way. The thought alone left a bad taste in his mouth.
Before heading out, he had scavenged through the absolute mess that was his home.
Piles of random junk, some of it useful, some of it just pure garbage. Old projects, impulsive purchases, half-finished builds. Some of it could be recycled into new inventions, while the rest would have to be dealt with later.
His diet? Even worse.
His metabolism had to be some kind of miracle, because with how much garbage food he had been eating, he should have been twice his weight, not a damn skeleton.
Though… after a bit of self-reflection, the answer became obvious. He hadn't been eating much at all.
Yeah. That tracked.
That was going to change.
He had already placed a massive order of actual, decent food, enough to start fixing the nutritional disaster that was his body. It would take time, but it was better to start now before his body just straight-up gave out on him.
Thankfully, his house had a gym. Not that past him ever used it. That was going to change, too. He wasn't looking to become a bodybuilder, but he needed to not feel like his legs were about to give out after thirty minutes of walking.
Did he mention that he had to take breaks while sorting through his house?
Yeah. He couldn't even handle thirty minutes of walking in his own home without his legs burning.
That was pathetic.
'I gotta at least be able to run a few miles.'
Because, seriously, what if some random villain of the week decided to start some shit nearby? Was he really about to die because his lazy ass couldn't even run a mile?
Nah. Absolutely not.
He had to be able to run. If nothing else, he had to run faster than the next guy.
Wait. That was for bears, wasn't it? Whatever. It probably applied to Doctor Bong and his bestie Big Wheel, too.
Shaking his head, Alex snapped out of it.
Enough mind-wandering, he needed to be at least somewhat alert while walking outside in the hellhole that was this world. And besides, he had arrived.
Stark Tower.
Towering. Monolithic. A symbol of wealth, power, and sheer ego. It was the heart of Tony Stark's empire, the very thing that separated a billionaire genius from a regular genius.
Alex exhaled slowly, his hand reaching into his pocket, fingers brushing against a small handwritten note and a business card.
"It's not too late to cash in that helping hand… right?" He asked himself.
In the worst-case scenario, he could recreate some of the inventions from his original world and introduce them here. That should give him enough funds to actually begin working on what he needed to.
He still remembered how to build some of them. And for the gaps in his memory? Well, experimentation would fill in the rest.
This was it. The first step.
There was still a lot missing if he wanted to set himself up for the future, such as the massive gaps in his resume. But he could always ask Stark Industries for help. At least, that was his current goal.
His first project in this world.
Project 1: Legacy Admission.
Beta Reader: @Basilisk, @Kiyan Tribe
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