The day Margaret Richardson waked through the doors of the Xavier Institute; she knew she had left the normal word behind.

            It was a larger, plusher building than she had expected, more of a mansion than an institute, with large, brightly lit rooms, and long, twisting corridors.      

            The woman who had shown her in, Miss Monroe, was a pleasant enough lady, with dark skin and pure white hair, and, as soon as her parents left, she had shown Margaret into the main common room of the institute, where most of the other residents were gathered.

            They looked more or less like any other group of teenagers; Margaret would never have guessed their differences at first glance. 

            'Lucky!' the nurse called sweetly and a gothic girl with short, black hair ambled towards them.

            'Lucky,' introduced Miss Monroe, 'this is Margaret; she'll be staying here for a while. Would you please show her around and introduce the other residents?'

            'Sure, Miss Monroe,' was the reply, as Lucky took Margaret's hand and led her further into the common room, whilst Miss Monroe left, going about her other duties.

            'So, you're new here, eh? Well, my name's Lucky, no, don't laugh, I know it's stupid, but there is it. So Margaret, what's your problem?'

            'Excuse me?' said Margaret, feeling a little overwhelmed. Lucky seemed to be a full on conversationalist, rushing straight in on a discussion, rather than easing in, as most people did. She certainly wasn't shy.

            'Your problem, you know, why you're here? Mine was my temper, couldn't keep it in check, and I had a few other mental problems which I'd rather not go into now, but hay, I'm getting better now, thanks to Doctor Xavier. That's why where all here, isn't it? So that Dr Xavier can make us better, cure whatever's messing up our minds. So, what's up with your head?'

            Margaret felt herself blush, insecurity taking over, clamping her stomach, 'I hear voices,' she whispered at last, 'that and depression, but I'm not dangerous or anything!'

            'Course not, love,' soothed Lucky, 'none of the people here are, and there's no need to be embarrassed about your problem. One of the most important things Dr Xavier says is that we've got to talk about our difficulties, share them. That way he can diagnose what's wrong, and provide a cure, or something like it, anyway.'

            'Uh huh,'

            Margaret's voice was still full of doubt and shyness; one hand twirled a lock of red hair.

            'Look, let me introduce you to some of the others,' said Lucky at last, hoping to draw the girl out of her shell a bit. She pointed to a tall boy with shoulder length, dark hair

            'That,' she began, 'is Craig; he's got similar problems to me, really short temper. Don't piss him off. And he,' she pointed to a grossly fat boy, 'is Billy, he's got some sort of eating problem, can't stop. The dirty boy over there, the one with the pale brown hair, that's Neal, he's got some sort of Hydrophobia, can't stand baths. Don't breath in too deeply when you're around him. The thin kid, the one with the blonde hair, he's Jacob, gets these strange sieges, some sort of hyperactive thing, can't stay still for too long.'

            'And what about those five, over there?' Margaret gestured to a group of five teenagers, sitting together in a corner of the room.

            'Those, well, those are the X kids.'

            'The X kids?'

            'Their term, not mine,' said Lucky hastily, 'see, they all came here because of their separate problems, but they've sort of made this, ah, group. They have this weird disorder, it's kind of complex. See, you know those interfic things, where there are these people and they each start to write part of a story until you've got this entire plot going, right?'

            'Er… yeah.'

            'Well, it's kinda like that. The boy with the blind-fold, Thomas, was the first, the one who started it. He made up this entire world, and then drew all the others into it, making them think they're someone else.'

            Margaret's face was a picture of puzzlement.

            'It's like this; they think that they're these people, these superheroes, each with their different abilities and stuff. They actually believe this, mind you, believe they're these superheroes, and that they're just being held here against their will or something.'

            'Wow, weird,' murmured Margaret.

            'Too right, and that's not all. They try to include us in it too. They have place for practically all of us in their little fantasy world. They call me Wanda, apparently in their little story I have powers over chance or something. They even use the Doctors in it, in their little fantasy Dr Xavier is this sort of leader, and Miss Monroe is this woman who can control the weather and stuff. It's really weird; you should stay away from them.'

            'I should?'

            'Yeah, see this mental problem is sort of contagious, Dr Xavier says it only affects a certain sort of mind but, if I were you, I wouldn't spend too much time with them. Dr Xavier still isn't sure how to cure them, they won't talk to him properly, see?'

            'Oh.'

            'Look, just make sure you don't get drawn in, they'll try to do that, tell you that you're this character in their little world. If you let them, they'll turn you into one of them, if not then you only become a background role, like me, or Jacob, or Craig. OK?'

            Margaret nodded, already feeling anxious about meeting the strange teenagers.

            'Come on,' said Lucky, eager to leave the scene, 'I'll show you around.'

Margaret allowed herself to be tugged along, as Lucky led her around the institution, pointing out the various rooms. It was all so weird, the strange kids back there had reminded Margaret how different things were, and the echoing halls of the Mansion made her feel alone. The entire situation was so unreal…

            It was funny, one day she was a perfectly normal teenager, a good achiever at school, with a loving, reasonably well off family, the next day she was hearing strange voices. Then, just like that, her parents whisked her away from normality into the Xavier Institute for Specially Minded. A sort of loony bin where you got a chance at counselling. At first she thought that was all it was, a sort of short holiday break, where she'd talk to some psychiatrist, and leave in a few weeks with all her problems sorted. But seeing those kids back there, seeing how messed up some of them were, it reminded her where she was, how bad she must be to get sent here!

            Maybe I really am a freak, she thought glumly.

            Suddenly, she thought she heard an echo of laugher in the shadowy halls, turning she saw a flash of white, a trailing skirt and a bare leg, running round the corner.

            'Who was that?' she asked.

            'What?' said Lucky.

            'I thought I saw a girl running round the corridor.'

            'Oh, maybe it's one of the Dr's new charges, he brought a load of kids in a few months ago. You'll probably see them here and there, I'll introduce you later. Now, on our left-'

            Margaret let Lucky's voice fade into the background, as she pondered the strange mysteries of this institute, and what the future held for her here.

            It was dinner time, and the residents of the Institute were gathered in the cafeteria, gobbling down the food, which was (amazingly) not too bad.

            Lucky and Margaret were among the last to arrive, and Lucky went on ahead to a table with Jacob, Craig, Billy and Neal, whilst Margaret pondered over her dinner choices.

            She was just about to find a table when a voice behind her said, 'you're the new girl, right? Care to sit with us?'

            She turned to see the blind-folded boy, holding a tray in one hand, and a walking stick in another. He gave her a friendly smile, she wondered how he knew she was new.

            'I heard you ask questions to the Cafeteria lady about the food,' he explained, as if guessing her questions, 'and we've all heard about a new girl coming, so I put two and two together. Anyway, you want to sit with us?'

            Margaret felt nerves clamp her stomach, suddenly she was no longer hungry. She turned towards where Lucky and the others were eating, Lucky nodded at her, as if encouraging her to join the blind boy. Well, she might as well get this over with.

            'OK,' she breathed at last, 'my name's Margaret Richardson, by the way.'

            Even with the blindfold on, she could see the boys eyes widen, 'Jean?' he gasped.

            'Excuse me?'

            'Uh, just come with me. God, Jean, I thought you'd escaped or something, guess he got you, too?'

            'What? I don't understand, I've never-'

            'Just sit with us, OK? You're memories will come back soon, it'll just take a bit of prompting.'

            Perhaps it was confusion, perhaps it was stupidity, or perhaps she was just curious, but Margaret allowed herself to be led by the blind boy, to a table where the other four other teenagers sat.

            Now she was closer, she could examine them properly. There was a petite girl, with a brown pony tail, a dark boy with strangely styled, blond hair, another, brooding girl, with two white streaks in her red-brown hair. And finally there was a slender, dark headed lad, who sat cramped up in his chair, and picked at his food morosely.

            'Hay, guys,' called the blind boy, 'it's Jean!' 

            The pony tailed girl leaped up and hugged her like an old friend, 'Jean,' she gasped, 'I'm so glad you're here!'

            'What's the last thing you can remember?' asked the dark boy eagerly.

            'I… I don't know, my name's Margaret, I don't know about any Jean.'

            'Of course not,' soothed the pony tailed girl, 'you're, like, still a bit brainwashed or something, but don't worry, it'll all come back to you.'

            'Yeah,' agreed the blind boy, 'here, let me remind you. I'm Scott, Scott Summers? Right? That's Kitty Pryde, that's Kurt Wagner, and those are Evan and Rogue. Remembering now?'

            'Erm…' in truth the names were new to Margaret, though there was something, perhaps…

            She mentally shook herself, no, she wasn't going to fall into this trap, she was Margaret Richardson, and she had never met these people in her life before, she had to keep reminding herself that if she wanted to get out of this loony bin before she was seventy.

            'What did they get you in for?' asked the striped girl who had been introduced as Rogue, she had a southern accent, 'no, let me guess… paranoia? Hearing voices?'

            Margaret gasped, 'how did you-'

            'Our problems, as Xavier likes to put it, seem to be linked to our powers or personalities,' explained Scott, 'I apparently suffer from delusions, Kurt's the same, but is also terminally shy and has multiple personalities. Rouge's got this phobia of touching people, and so on. As you're a telepath it's only logical they should claim that you're hearing voices.'

            'Powers? Telepathy? I don't understand.'

            'Let's recap, we're the X-men, we were born with these abilities, powers. Remember?'

            Margaret gave him a cynical look, but found herself oddly intrigued, 'well,' she said, 'if we have these powers, why can't we use them.'

            'We do,' whispered Scott anxiously, 'but it doesn't work, or it kind of works, or something. It's hard to explain.'

            'It's like use them, but no one notices,' said the dark haired boy, Kurt, speaking for the first time. Margaret noticed he had a German accent.

            'Like, once I was teleporting,' he continued, 'and I could have sworn I did it, I went from the counselling room, to the Common room, then suddenly it was like I was teleported back, and I was in front of Prof-Doctor Xavier again. And he said I hadn't left the spot, but I "know" I teleported, I –know- it!'

            There was deep despair in the boy's voice, and Margaret resisted the urge to reach over and comfort him, he looked so dejected.

           -Definitely delusional- thought part of Margaret, and she would have been tempted to laugh at Kurt's claims of teleportation, had it not been for the pity welling in the heart.

            'That's why I ware this blind fold,' continued Scott, 'to keep my optic blasts in check, and it's why Rouge wears her gloves, so she won't touch anyone by mistake. I'm not sure how this works, but I don't want to take the chance of hurting anyone, powers or no.'

            'Uh, right,' said Margaret nervously, once again feeling a little unsure. 'Any way', she continued, 'I'll just, er, go back and sit with Lucky for a bit, I promised I would, for, ah, showing me round the place and stuff. Um… see you later!'

            'Jean,' cried Scott, grabbing hold of her sleeve, 'don't go, please! We need you're help, with your telepathic abilities perhaps we can find out what's going on!'

            'I… well…I don't want to, I've got people over there and I, er, I…'

            'Look,' said Scott, letting go of her sleeve and calming down, 'if you want at the moment, that's fine. Just come back to us later, OK? You know we're telling the truth, talk to us when you feel ready.'

             'Alright,' agreed Margaret, nodding, but silently vowing to stay away from the weirdoes for as long as possible.

As she turned and left, she could not help but hear the one of the others, the one known as Evan, speak.

            'Do you think she'll come back Scott?'

            'Yes,' was Scott's reply, 'she will, she has to.'

            'Well,' said Lucky when Margaret returned, 'what do you think?'

            'They seem like OK people,' she replied carefully, 'but they're, ah…'

            'Weird?'

            'Yeah,' said Margaret, relieved. Calling people crazy in a nuthouse seemed a bit… redundant.

            'But they seem nice, though,' continued Margaret, 'I quite liked Scott.'

            Lucky raised a slender eyebrow, 'you mean Thomas, that's his real name, Scott's just the persona he created.'

            Margaret fiddled nervously with her food, 'sorry,' she said, 'but I think they only introduced themselves by their personas, I don't know their real names.'

            'Alright then,' shrugged Lucy, 'I'll introduce you. The one who calls herself Kitty is actually Jenny, the one who calls himself Evan is actually Adam. The girl with the stripe who calls herself Rouge, her real name's Suzy, and the one who claims he's Kurt, his real name's Benjamin.'

            'Oh, is he from Germany, he seemed to have a German accent.'

            Lucky snorted, 'yeah, that's what we all thought. But it's only his persona that's German. Benjee spent a couple of years there, picked up a bit of the lingo, and used it to create his persona. God, there's one really mixed up kid.'

            'Huh?'

            'Let me put it this way, you think it's weird for a guy to pretend that he's got laser blasts coming out of his eyes? Wait 'till you learn more about Benjamin's persona. Course, it's his mother I feel sorry for. See that nurse over there?'

            Lucky pointed to a slender, red haired woman in nurses uniform helping to dole out food.

            'That's Benjamin's mother, Mrs Darkholme. She transferred her a few days after Benjamin came, but for some reason she was cast in a bad guy role. They all think she's this uber bitch, an evil shape-shifter. Benjamin, or should I say Kurt, still believes she's his mother, but thinks that she abandoned him when he was a baby, now he hates her. Sick, huh?'

            Margaret shivered, and picked at her food. She could barely imagine such a situation, but did not tell Lucky that, although she was repulsed by their strangeness, and frightened by their strange fantasy, she could not deny a strange, almost morbid, fascination. She knew, however, that if she followed it up, she would be playing with fire.