3PM, Washington Street, Apartment (Livingston Residence)

Jon felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him as he sealed the envelope and placed it in the mailbox for Dougal. The world around him felt both overwhelming and soothing as he navigated the familiar stairs to the second floor corridor. He could barely muster the energy to flick off the light before he fell face-first into the comforting embrace of his bed, pulling the sheets around him like a protective cocoon.

But soon, sleep wasn’t peaceful.

It began as a whisper, the sound of emotions swirling around him like a tempest. In dreams, he found himself drenched in feelings that were not his own—the chaos in his mind overridden by the cacophony of voices and emotions from everyone in their block. Each sensation crashed against him like waves in a stormy sea: joy, anger, despair, longing—each sharper and more vivid than the last. He gasped for air, but it only filled him with more weight.

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no escape. His own mind was a prison, each thought spiraling deeper into a vortex of conflicting emotions. Every creak of the house, every whisper of the wind outside felt amplified, a cacophony that clawed at his sanity. He could feel Harold's quiet anxiety, a deep-set worry that clawed at the edges of his thoughts, but it was so much more than that. There were neighbors too—families celebrating milestones, couples engaged in silent disagreements—and even the remnants of sorrow from those who had lost their way, weighed down by grief.

“Help me,” he tried to scream, but the words never left the desperate void of his mind.

In the living room, Harold Frederick Livingston, professor and devoted father, was still buried in the pages of “How to Raise Your Different Child.” The dense prose was meant to guide him through the challenges of parenting a mutant son, but it felt painfully inadequate at that moment. Instead, his attention flickered towards Jon’s room as an eerie sound reached his ears—a muffled cry that sent a jolt of fear coursing through his veins.

He dropped the book and rushed towards the sound. The moment he stepped into Jon’s room, panic surged within him. His son lay tangled in the sheets, a mass of limbs as he hyperventilated, sweat beading on his forehead. Harold’s heart sank. Jon’s face was twisted in torment, every strained breath living proof that his son was trapped within a torrent of emotions far too vast for him to comprehend alone.

“Oh god,” Harold whispered, brushing a trembling hand through his thinning hair. “Please, no... I can’t let this happen.” Desperation ignited in him; he remembered Jon mentioning a school — Xavier’s Sister School — meant to assist kids like him, but the memory felt like a dim beacon in a thick fog. “There has to be a number here somewhere!”

While Harold frantically searched for a phone, Jon’s struggle deepened. It felt as though his heart was being squeezed in a vice, each emotion overwhelming and unsustainable. The elation of a child’s birthday party flooded in, and he could almost taste the sugary cake mingling with the bittersweet undercurrents of a spouse’s quiet disappointment at the edges of their joy. It was too much; he couldn’t hold onto any of it.

Through the haze, Jon sensed his father, a beacon of calm amid the chaos, but even that was complicated. Harold’s worry intertwined with his love, creating a soothing undertone, but it was too late—too late for Jon to reach out, to ground himself and find some semblance of control. The emotions engulfed him, and he barely managed a thought, his essence tethered to the storm swirling within.

Help!, he thought again, but this time it felt like a distant echo, lost amidst the whirlwind. The shadows of his subconscious tightened their grip, shielding him from the overwhelming tide outside, but the safety felt like betrayal. All it did was trap him deeper in this roiling sea of feelings.

As Harold rifled through drawers, scattering papers and pens, Jon was locked in a battle, fighting for clarity within chaos, with the profound realization that he was not just alone in his struggle; every thread of emotion connected him to others, yet all it did was amplify his isolation. 

Yeah. That was a cute baby pic. And that one, and that one. Those were alllll good baby pics. So photogenic. Of course when one was that little, all one could really do was be cute. And be a lump.

He was just taking a break from grading math tests at the mansion, where he worked as a teacher. Just checking peoples work and ticking off correct answers. When someone called the mansion, and someone answered, quickly forwarding the call to him.

They had a guy in charge of manning the phones, and sending them right where they needed to be routed to. Today, that was to him.

Shin answered. ”Hello, Mr Shinbo here. Can I help you?”

—

Once he had information, he would see what to do next. Did someone need help? An X man mission? New student pickup. What all did they need?

3:10 Pm, Livingston Residence

Harold finally located the number he'd been desperately seeking, his heart racing as he hoped it wasn't too late. He dialed with trembling hands, each ring amplifying his anxiety, echoing like a countdown in his mind.

”Hello, Mr Shinbo here. Can I help you?”

The calm, steady voice that answered brought an unexpected wave of reassurance. At least there was someone on the other end, someone who might understand. Suddenly, something stirred within Harold—a fragile flicker of hope. Now, he had a chance.

“Yeah, my son… well, he's a Mutant,” Harold stammered, emotions tumbling over one another like a roaring river. “I don't know what's happening… He isn’t waking up. He’s hyperventilating, like he’s in pain. Please, you have to help! I don’t know what to do!”

Each word felt like a desperate plea, laden with a father’s fears and the weight of uncertainty. He could hear the faint, steady inhalations of Jon in the background—his son's breaths rapid and shallow, a stark contrast to the calmness Harold sought in this stranger's voice. He was battling a storm of emotions, the kind he had rarely experienced in his 40 years of life, and all he wanted was to reach through the phone, to connect with someone who might have the answers he so desperately needed.

Mr. Shinbo, a name that meant little to Harold but promised so much, was an unknown quantity, yet his very presence felt like a lifeline. Harold's mind raced with questions about what this man could do, what he knew about Mutants, especially with Jon being one. He hoped fervently this wasn’t merely a conversation with a stranger, but the beginning of salvation for his son.

The silence that hung after his words felt heavier than the words themselves; Harold was left to hold on to that flicker of hope even as dread clawed at his chest.

On the other end of the line, a man spoke. His voice sounded nervous, with the stammering. And the rapid talk.

Someone had a mutant kid, their son. He was asleep, and wouldn’t wake. Sounded like they were sick, breathing hard. They needed help.

His mind started rolling. Was this mutation related? Was this health-related? He was not a doctor. This kid might need immediate medical care. But then, if they got him to the hospital and it was mutation, rather than medical, it could cause more problems. Be worse than if they had done nothing.

”Okay. Step 1. Take a deep calming breath. You’re doing great.” Shin began, adopting a relaxed tone. Trying for positive reinforcement. The person sounded like nerves were shot and they needed a lifeline, a life preserver when they were drowning. He could certainly try.

”Second. If you think this is medical in nature, you should probably call for an ambulance. If you give me the address, I can be there as soon as possible, and I can bring the mansion healer.” Doc Prof would be annoyed with him if this were just plain old mutations, but— better him than a mundane doctor and misusing medical care.

”Why don’t you talk me through this while I text our healer and get him ready for the trip. We can figure out if this is mutation or medical. What is their power? Do you know?”

He fired off a quick text on his cell to the healer. The man shot back a grumpy reply at the speed of light. Followed by “be there shortly.”

He was coming to Shin’s office.

"Okay. Step 1. Take a deep, calming breath. You’re doing great."

Harold followed the instruction, inhaling deeply. He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, reminiscent of when he was a child learning to find his calm amidst chaos.

"Second. If you believe this is medical in nature, you should probably call for an ambulance. If you provide the address, I can be there as soon as possible, and I can bring the mansion healer."

Harold weighed the options in his mind. As he stood in the dimly lit room, he glanced at Jon, who lay unconscious on the couch, his face a mixture of distress and serenity. After a few tense moments, it became clear to him that this was no ordinary situation. It simply couldn't be attributed to anything but a Mutation-related episode. There were none of the signs of a seizure; Jon’s breathing was steady, yet the turmoil within him was palpable.

"Thanks. I’m pretty sure it’s his Mutation — Jon’s powers are acting up. He’s an Empath, a reader of emotions, but he’s never lost control like this before. I only learned about his abilities when he finally confided in me; his control was so impressive, so complete. But if he’s somehow lost that control, that means... it’s bad."

As Harold spoke, he felt the gravity of his words settle heavily in the air. Jon had always been a gentle soul, able to navigate the emotional landscapes of those around him with ease. Now, it seemed, he was drowning in them, overwhelmed by a flood of feelings that had spiraled beyond his ability to manage. Harold’s heart raced at the thought of what that loss could mean for his son.

The thought of Jon in such a vulnerable state filled Harold with a tightening dread. Could he have seen the signs? Should he have noticed earlier? Questions flooded his mind, but there was no time for self-recrimination. He had to act. 

>>> "Thanks. I’m pretty sure it’s his Mutation — Jon’s powers are acting up. He’s an Empath, a reader of emotions, but he’s never lost control like this before. I only learned about his abilities when he finally confided in me; his control was so impressive, so complete. But if he’s somehow lost that control, that means... it’s bad."

And there it was, the mutation. Three little words, a reader of emotions. Empath.

Shin knew empaths. He was married to one, he had spent many days, working with her to find ways they could do the things they wanted to do, see the sights, listen to the concerts, go to the baseball and basketball games and plays. Working on focus, control, et cetera. Filtering out everyone else’s emotions, so Kealey could feel her own. It was a constant. A process.

The kid had lost control. Which Kealey struggled, sometimes— think, Shin, think.

to the over dramatically inclined, his voice was probably a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. A chime dancing in the wind. Peace, amid darkness. Or just, you know, really confident and calming. ”You’re in good hands. My wife is an empath, so I have some amount of experience with this.”

Which was true.., err, somewhat. He had met her when she had largely had her shit together. She might struggle, but the worst had been in her past. This new person—- new things?

”Isolation,” He said. ”Might help. Away from people. A large area, countryside, park. Or else try sensory deprivation - but- maybe my wife could actually help, actually?” Man, the confidence sure went in the opposite direction. ”You stay there. Be there soonest. Gotta make some calls. Keep them healthy and safe. Maybe put them in a warm bath up to their ears. And give me your address.” he waited the requisite beat for an address. Then he hung up.

Oof.

Shin called Kealey and filled her in on this nonsense, told her he would be there soonest, then turned.

Doc Prof was in the doorway.

“I’m ready to go. Where are we headed?” The old man smiled. He had a bag slung over a shoulder and everything.

”Actually, change of plans.” Shin clapped his hands together. His voice was strained, Jerry, thin, an attempt to keep up the good humors the man was in. He smiiiled. You’re staying here! We don’t think he needs medical attention, after all. We think it’s mutation-related! I’m gonna go get my wife.”

Doc Prof swore. Loudly.

Shin was quiet for a whole minute. ”I didn’t even know you knew those words, man. If you really want, I can make a 2-sidecar flying motorcycle and you can come along…”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Shin nodded.

He went and got Kealey. Then he landed at the address the person on the phone. Took 30-45 minutes, all told. Not bad for flying under his own power.

He knocked on the door. Kealey by his side. Doc Prof, too. He had been kidding when he said he was good. Better safe than sorry. He had tagged along. Otherwise, Shins flight speed may have gotten them there in 30.

Jon's Mind

Help. Somebody... please help me...

Jon found himself enveloped in a suffocating darkness, an inky void that wrapped around him like a shroud. It felt alive, swirling like a whirlpool, and he couldn't escape its grasp. Beyond the blackness, his senses were overwhelmed—voices of laughter, screams, and frantic conversations swirled around him, a cacophony of emotions that weren't his own, yet somehow twisted through his mind like strands of silk.

Somebody... I can’t breathe... God, I can’t breathe!

Panic surged within him. He wasn't just drowning in airless space; he was drowning in the tempest of feelings and thoughts pushed upon him by the powers he never wanted. Why had this happened to him? He hadn’t asked to be born a mutant, to bear this 'gift' that often felt more like a curse. It was supposed to be a blessing—the rare chance to understand and connect with others on a deep level—but right now, it felt like a storm that was tearing him apart.

Please... there’s something... Dad, he feels safer now. He's getting better, calmer. Help is on the way. Thank everything, maybe I’m not dying after all. Maybe there’s a chance…

Hope flickered within him amidst the chaos, a fragile spark against overwhelming odds. All he had to do was hold on, just for a few more moments. He had trained himself ffor this, hadn’t he? He could take control of this power, if only for a heartbeat. Suppress it, control it. 

I can do this... I think…

He focused inward, grasping desperately for the threads of his own identity in the swirling mass. Clarity was within reach; he just needed to drown out the noise. If he could find that center, find himself once more, he could reclaim his mind, his power. The storm was raging, but Jon was determined to weather it.

The call from Shin had come as a bit of a surprise, especially when it turned out to be a call about Mansion business as opposed to simply checking in on Michael or discussing plans they’d made.

The call was about a child, but not theirs, and it appeared to be a situation in which Kealey was particularly well suited to help.

The scenario brought up bad memories, memories that the blond had not thought about for years. Memories of a time when simply existing had been overwhelming at best and completely unbearable at its worst. It had taken her years to get a handle on things to a point where she could actually function in a public setting. It had been years more before Kealey had been truly capable of drowning out the emotions of others and their influence and be sure that the things she was feeling and acting on were her own.

Shin had helped so much with the second part. Having someone whose emotions she knew almost as well as her own had given Kealey a tether, something to latch on to when things got overwhelming. A baseline to always reference when her own emotions felt out of control.

Michael was having a good day and good days were becoming more and more common as the infant grew into a baby…he was also sleeping far more consistently which made everyone far happier.

Regardless, helping Shin meant finding a sitter for Michael and luckily Lee had been available and willing to help…a Godsend considering the fact that at least one of Michael’s parents recognized the fact that Mansion business was no place for a baby.

Things had moved quickly then and Kealey couldn’t help but get a little lost in memories as she and Shin made their way to the designated address. Kealey could feel all of the emotions of everyone in the building, but there was a definite feedback loop that had formed in the unit that they were now approaching. Focusing on it brought everything into even more stark recollection.

Clicking her tongue slightly, she shook her head, curls bouncing around her face as she did so, ”The poor thing…” she said to Shin as they approached the door.

That said, Kealey reached out towards that feedback loop with her powers, attempting to calm the maelstrom raging in the child’s mind by ramping down each of the raging emotions.

OOC - I don’t know how their powers will interact. Generally if a person indicates that they are feeling something, Kealey is able to either amp it up or ramp it down to nothing. She must be able to touch someone in order to introduce things they’re not already feeling.

OOC, nobody answered the door in the last post. I’ll just do a weeee bit of god moding to let us in?

The father let them into the house.

Shin immediately made introductions. The doctor with white hair was doc Prof, a healer, he was Shin, and this was his wife, Kealey.

He could tell from her look of concentration, she was already testing the waters (as it were). The tides of emotion? Or at least, he figured she would be. He knew his wife.

He asked if they could come in, and of course, they were promptly invited into the house. Shin asked to be shown the kid. They were taken to see them.

He gestured for Doc Prof to check out if any healing needed done (the old man asked for permission). Then he placed a hand on the kid’s forehead. It emitted a light white glow. After a few seconds, brow crinkled, the doc said “He isn’t ill. Not hurt.” He looked to Kealey, and nodded. This was her territory. He stepped away and gave the woman the floor.

During all of this, Shin spoke in a calming tone to the father. He explained what was happening and what they would do next. Doc Prof came over after he was done, a calming presence.