Please Charles, No!

Last night I witnessed a genocidal apocalypse. Note to self: consider the option of taking this as a bad sign for POL 3162, Political Violence: The Comparative Study of Mass Killing. There were two sets of bleachers, each on opposing sides of the room. The room was surprisingly small for the considerable number of bleachers and bodies and significant amount of free floor that it housed. We were all dressed in dark grey-blue uniforms, which we had been wearing at the institute we had recently escaped from. Various members of the X-Men and several people whose identities I cannot recall filled the bleachers on both sides of the room. I cannot remember what he said, but in a telepathic communication Charles Xavier made a fatal error. The impostor using Xavier's mind failed to recognize that his assumptions about me were incorrect, and I was able to inform a few members of my team (actually just the people seated on my side of the room, which also happened to be Xavier's). Somehow, despite my warning and the team's disloyalty to Xavier, he managed to slaughter all but myself and three or four girls of roughly the same age. We awoke in the next room to see the after-effects of a nuclear holocaust through the windows. As we tried to rebuild some modicum of comfort I could not help but think of the blue-faced bodies stirring in the next room.