Marvel: Pay to Win Gambling 22

Chapter 22: The Newest Member

—Ororo Munroe ‘Storm’—

She sat leaned against the bedrest, staring blankly out the window. She was daydreaming—a rare thing for her. Maybe the first time in over a decade.

Not just calm, but quiet. Uncaring. Empty in a way that almost felt peaceful.

Strange, considering she should’ve been anything but.

She had nearly died. Torn apart by machines that didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. They’d ignored her powers completely. Crushed her. Broken her spine like it was nothing.

And then, after she’d blacked out, she heard what happened next. About the man who created those monsters, torn to pieces by the very things he built.

A chill crawled across her skin just thinking about it.

That’s why she hadn’t let herself think too much since waking up. Whenever she tried, it all came rushing back. The fear. The helplessness.

What if Daniel hadn’t been there? What if he hadn’t awakened whatever power Bobby said he did?

Would she even be alive?

And even if she had survived—what kind of life would it have been? Her spine had been shattered. No medicine could have fixed that. She would’ve been paralyzed. Trapped in a bed. Forever.

But she wasn’t.

She could sit. She could move. She could walk.

Because of him.

Daniel. A mutant unlike any she’d met. Confusing. Mysterious. A mess of contradictions with a past even more tangled than her own. But powerful—undeniably so.

Her eyes drifted again to the window. The soft scenery outside seemed far removed from everything she’d been through. It was… peaceful. Comforting.

And then, a knock.

She turned her head, but didn’t speak. She didn’t tell the person to come in. Didn’t ask them to go away. She just sat there.

“Coming in.”

Daniel’s voice came through the door before it creaked open. He peeked inside, wearing a soft smile—one much brighter than anything anyone in the mansion had worn a day ago.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, stepping inside.

“Was,” she replied. “Couldn’t stay that way.”

They’d told her to rest, but that was easier said than done. Every time she closed her eyes, those machines came back. Those dead, red eyes. That sound of tearing metal and shattering bone.

“I couldn’t either,” Daniel admitted, the brightness in his face dimming. “Most of it’s a blur. But I remember the faces.”

She clenched her fist without realizing. And he noticed.

“But they’re not coming back,” he added gently. “The last ones—upstairs. I destroyed them too.”

He didn’t say it with pride. Just fact.

She knew what that meant. Knew who else had died in the process. And as much as the X-Men believed in mercy, sometimes someone had to take care of what they couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

She was grateful it hadn’t been her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

There was more she wanted to say, but the words stuck. She owed him everything. Her life. Her spine. Her freedom.

He’d nearly lost an arm. And still, he’d come to save her.

‘Why?’ she wondered. ‘Why go that far?’

They didn’t know each other well. They barely knew each other at all. His past was a mystery. He was being hunted, carried more secrets than answers. And yet… he’d done all that for her.

Why?

And why did she want to know more?

She never pried. Never asked more than she needed to. She helped when it was asked of her, not before. She kept to herself.

But with Daniel… something was different. She was curious. Drawn in.

‘And still… I can’t ask.’

She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“I’ve healed you fully,” Daniel said, offering a smile in place of any grand gesture. “At least physically. The rest—you’ll have to heal yourself.”

‘If only it were that easy,’ she thought. She’d never let anyone see her weak. Not once. Not ever.

That wasn’t going to change now.

“But,” he added, a playful look crossing his face, “I’m not a doctor. So I’m not giving you any recovery restrictions.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Go wild,” he said, almost too cheerfully. “Eat, drink, watch movies, nap in the sun. Do anything you want. Peace and fun—doctor’s orders. And if it’s illegal… well, you’re Storm. Who’s going to stop you?”

She almost smiled. Almost.

“If you need anything, let me know,” he said, softer now. “Even if it’s just someone to talk to.”

She met his eyes. And for a moment, she tried to read him. To find something selfish hiding in there. Some ulterior motive.

But she found nothing.

Just Daniel.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said, checking the clock. “Professor asked to meet. Logan and the others brought the girl from Japan back. So the plan’s still in motion.”

He turned to go.

And she surprised herself by speaking.

“Daniel.”

He paused.

It was the first time she’d said his name out loud.

“Take care.”

He turned back, a little surprised. But then he smiled—an honest, warm one—and nodded.

“I will,” he said. “And so should you.”

And with that, he left, gently closing the door behind him.

Storm stayed where she was, her eyes back on the window. Alone again.

But not quite the same.

…

…

It would take time. A lot of it. Mental scars, especially the horror-flavored ones, don’t exactly come with an expiration date. Sometimes they fade. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they dig in so deep, you just learn to live around them.

But she was tough. Probably one of the toughest women walking this messed-up planet. And she’d been through worse. Way worse.

I didn’t know all the details of her past—just the cliff notes. But even that was enough to know she’d walked through hell wearing stilettos and didn’t flinch.

The only reason this hit her so hard?

It wasn’t the pain. It was the surprise.

Storm wasn’t used to losing. Not like that. Not with her spine snapped like a twig and her powers laughed off like a party trick. She wasn’t used to being powerless. Since the day she could walk, she’d been the powerhouse in the room.

“She’ll heal,” I said, taking the cup the professor handed me. Fancy little porcelain number. Probably older than me. “It’ll take time, but she will.”

Charles Xavier, the mind-reading, wheelchair-rolling enigma of a man, nodded. For a guy who could fry your brain with a thought, he had a weirdly gentle face sometimes. Kinda like a wise old tortoise who knew exactly how your trauma tasted.

“And I have you to thank for that, Daniel,” he said, smiling softly. “You not only protected them. You healed them.”

Bobby was easy—frosty popsicle with a few cracks and bruises. But Ororo… fixing a shattered spine took hours. Literal hours of constant healing. My magic hands were glowing like a rave party gone wrong.

“And I’m glad to see you’re taking the experience well,” Xavier added with a thoughtful sigh. “Not many can walk away from something like that with a clear mind.”

I didn’t.

But sure, let’s pretend I’m the poster boy for emotional stability.

I was holding it together, yeah. But deep down, I was a cocktail of stress, trauma, and very poor life choices.

Three sins. Lust. Wrath. Pride.

Three curses wrapped in one extremely tired body. If the System hadn’t forced my hand—if I hadn’t accepted those sins? We’d all be dead. Me, Storm, Bobby. Hell, maybe half the mansion.

“I don’t have much to offer you, Daniel,” Xavier said suddenly, shifting the mood. “I’m just an old man with… some money. And that’s all I can give you. But it isn’t enough. It can’t be.”

Money, huh?

A part of me wanted to say that money was enough. If I’d had more of it back then, if I could’ve rolled that damn system one more time, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to pick up two more curses like they were Pokémon cards.

My hands curled into fists under the table. Heat climbed up my neck, buzzing in my ears.

But I didn’t let it show. I was better than that. Better than giving him a peek at the mess inside. Better than being an open book to a telepath with a conscience.

“So,” he said, breaking the tension, reaching into the drawer beside his desk. “Let me offer you something else.”

He pulled it out carefully, like it was sacred. Black and yellow. Flexible like spandex, but stronger. Power-conductive. Sleek. Recognizable.

An X-Men uniform.

I didn’t need to touch it to know how durable it was. I’d seen Iceman freeze himself solid and still have it intact when he thawed out. Normal fabric would’ve shattered or burned away. But this—this stuff was premium mutant-wear.

“I can only present you with this,” Xavier said with a strange, uncertain look. “And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with the X-Men after what happened. That would be… fair.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was an X-Men mission that almost got me killed.

“You’re free to say no,” he continued. “But hear me out first.”

It was one of the few times I saw the man genuinely vulnerable. And yeah, it was weird. Really weird.

“I didn’t create the X-Men to parade kids around as heroes of justice,” he said quietly. “I created it to protect them. To give them a home. A place where they could feel accepted… and maybe even loved.”

He looked at me. Eyes soft, voice low.

“You awakened late. Storm found you early. And I know you’ve had it rough—your past speaks for itself. But so have they. The kids here? Some had it better than you. Some much, much worse.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Jean? Emotional trauma cranked to eleven. Logan? His origin story was half horror movie, half science experiment gone rogue. And we all knew Xavier had done some mental gymnastics he wasn’t proud of.

“Being an X-Man isn’t about playing hero,” he said. “It’s about learning to live with yourself. Your powers. Your past. And learning to see others with the same scars as… kin.”

Sounded a bit like the Brotherhood, just with fewer superiority complexes.

“The reason I didn’t want you on the team at first…” He paused, like the words tasted strange. “It wasn’t fear. It was worry.”

Same difference, isn’t it?

“I didn’t know you. Didn’t know your past. And while I say I don’t use my powers on others… I do. I read minds. Not to invade, but to protect.”

He gave me a small, sheepish smile. The kind a dad gives when he’s admitting he broke the remote and blamed the dog.

“Your mind is a fortress,” he said. “I don’t know how, and I know you don’t show signs of being a telepath, but… I can’t read you. At all. And that scared me. Because I didn’t know what you were capable of.”

Neither did I.

But I was starting to get a clearer picture.

I… cannot really blame him for it.

“And I also had another selfish reason, a much more petty one.” He looked down, as if ashamed. “Everyone that you see around you, except for the children you brought in two days prior, has been around for a long time. I started with only Jean, and now I have a whole family. And that family, I named the X-Men.”

“You feel uncertain about adding more members to this family,” I shared a smile, somewhat understanding his reasoning. “You want to bring in more mutants, want to have them around and train them, teach them. But you are not willing to make them family, not yet.”

The old man remained quiet and simply nodded.

“I don’t blame you for it,” I couldn’t. “I would have felt the same, and I can see why you want the new mutants to start as students instead of members of the X-Men, irrespective of their age.”

Even if you were middle-aged, you would be a student of the X-Men if you were added now. Of course, you wouldn't be taught literature or science—unless you wanted to learn—but you would be taught about the mutant life and powers, and the way to control said powers.

A student.

“So, will they ever be in the X-Men?” I had to ask. “Can they graduate from being a student to being an X-Man?”

“If they prove to be capable, of course.” Xavier gave a smile. “That is the whole purpose of having them as students.”

To teach them, protect them all while they prove their worth.

A good way to encourage growth.

“But for you,” he looked at me with a serious expression. “I do not want you to start as a student. You proved that you would risk your life to save others. You already did and saved Ororo and Bobby, my children. And if anyone is worthy of this costume, it is you."

He pushed the black and yellow towards me, allowing me to take it in hand and examine it.

He was hopeful. He certainly was.

And yet, I had to break that hope.

“I cannot accept this, professor.”

I couldn’t tell you how fast his expression dropped.

From hopeful to sad, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“Oh?” He muttered. “Why?”

He didn’t have much of a sentence, just a single word—why.

And the answer was just as simple, as characterized by the disgust on my face.

“Because I hate this costume.” I couldn’t hide my hatred for hero costumes. “I hate spandex suits, and I hate uniforms in general. I cannot wear it, nor am I willing to be seen wearing it.”

Just imagining some hero with the shape of their crotch emphasized in such a suit makes me want to throw up.

And needless to say, my statement left the man baffled, almost amused.

“The reason you do not want to join the X-Men… is the uniform?” He asked, astonished. “Nothing else?”

“That’s the only reason, and I am not going to dress in it.”

Never. I would rather join a group of villains than put on this costume.

“Oh,” he muttered before a small chuckle escaped him. “I see.”

It wasn’t funny.

The heroes had no clothing sense. Look at the villains; that’s why some villains, like Doom, are more popular than entire teams of heroes.

“Do you have a problem with uniforms in general?” He asked, curiously, and I nodded.

“Then I cannot really change the costume if it will all be the same,” he sighed, examining the costume. And from his face, I could tell that he was quite proud of it. “The reason I had the uniform was for the properties of the fabric. It is tear-resistant, heat and frost-proof, does not stain, nor does it get loose.”

“My powers do not require such a dress,” I stated. “Even if I did, I would rather go through a wardrobe a day than wear a uniform.”

His face changed into a smile. “Then you do not have to.”

This… was a little surprising.

“The uniform serves as a way to let people know which organization someone is part of, but even an ID card or a simple brooch is proof enough of it.” He looked at me. “Will you be willing to wear a brooch? It won’t be anything tacky, just the X of the X-Men. Small enough to be the size of your nail.”

That… that didn’t sound so bad.

“Are you sure I don’t have to wear a uniform?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. I had no intention of being lied to.

“I promise. If it is just the costume you have a problem with, you don’t have to wear it.” He assured me. “Just the brooch works.”

“Then… I am fine with it.” I crossed my arms, a smile on my face at his leniency. “Although, there is something more I want.”

That made him curious. “Oh? Which is?”

It was a job, wasn’t it? No matter how he put it. And every job offers something—a very specific thing.

“Money,” I said, face as serious as it could get. “I want a good payment for it.”

He looked at me, blinked multiple times, and then finally broke into a laugh.

“Of course,” he assured. “Of course, you will be paid.”

But just as quickly as he was to laugh, he also froze and coughed.

“A million,” I stated, causing him to freeze immediately. “A million per annum.”

He coughed violently hearing this. “Daniel. I am rich, yet not rich enough to pay all of you a million every year.” His face grew small. “I will have to lose this mansion if I have to pay multiple millions in salary every year.”

That wasn’t really my issue, but I couldn’t let him go broke either. And in a way, I needed a person to operate on my behalf, to work on my ideas to grow money.

“I have ways, professor,” I assured him. “Ways to gain enough to pay everyone and still be left with millions.”

He seemed conflicted, unsure. “How?” He asked. “And if you can earn using those ideas, why not use them yourself?”

“Because I cannot,” I said honestly. “People don’t know me. They don’t trust me. And without trust, no business can run. Especially not one like this, where trust brings in the customers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What is this idea?”

As he asked, I extended my hand, and a translucent golden-green orb shimmered into existence around me. “This—the power to heal almost any injury or disease, so long as the person is still alive.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed into a frown. “You want to use your powers?”

“I do,” I nodded. “Not all of them—just the ability to heal. With it, I can help people, while operating more like a private health organization or clinic. We’re too small to be called a hospital, but we can still do what they can’t. I can guarantee perfect recovery. Actual improvement.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I don’t encourage mutants using their powers publicly,” he said. “It’s not a wise idea. Especially not now, with so many people still prejudiced.”

“And that’s exactly why we should do it,” I pushed. “Healing people, out in the open—it’s a chance to build trust. To show them our powers aren’t just for destruction. That some of us are here to help, in ways that don’t involve a single punch.”

“Then why not offer it for free?” he asked—sharp, pointed. The right question.

And I had the right answer.

“Because that makes it feel more conniving,” I said. “People love free things—until it’s about their lives. Health. Then they get suspicious. No one trusts a miracle cure that comes without a price tag. You show up saying you can fix a broken spine or cure paralysis for free, and they’ll think you’re a con artist. Even with your reputation, a free clinic might just look like a front. But if we charge? Then we’re a business. A health organization. A real, private clinic.”

I crossed my arms, confident. “And with your name backing it, people will come. And we can handle the legal crap even without a medical license.”

He studied me, thoughtful. Weighing my words.

“And you’ve seen what I can do,” I added. “If they want proof, I’ll give it.”

That sent him deeper into thought—conflicted, but not closed off.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” he admitted. “And I can’t promise people will come flocking. But… it’s not impossible. People go to unbelievable lengths to save someone they love.”

Neither of us brought up the ethics. We'd worry about the poor or the desperate once we had the money to sustain this idea. Until then, we were driven by what mattered most—funding.

“A healing facility here at the mansion… with subtle advertising for the school in the future,” he said, almost to himself. A smile bloomed across his face, unexpectedly bright. “It might just work. But I can’t promise anything.”

“I just want your word to start the initiative, professor,” I said. “The healing and recovery—I can guarantee that part.”

As for the money? That would come the second people saw what I could do.

“Then,” he said, taking a breath, “I can do that.”

I extended my hand.

“Then I’m also willing to be a part of the X-Men, professor.”

He gave a tired chuckle, and met my hand with his own—confirming both my place among the X-Men and his place in my plan.

“A million,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Might have to come out of my own pocket, at least for the first year.”

“Something tells me you won’t have to.”

Just like that, I’d secured a solid income stream—for now.

“Well then, we should head to lunch with the grou—”

Lunch would have to wait.

“I’m back!”

A sudden, almost explosive shout echoed from the hall.

“Where is everyone?!”

That cheery voice…

“Look what Kitty brought for you all!”