|Date of Cutscene:||26 February 2019|
|Location:||Xavier's Scool, Westchester, New York|
|Synopsis:||Mason makes a discovery about his powers|
|Cast of Characters:||Mason Steele|
He kept it together. Andrea flipped out, Erika didn't understand, but Mason was a performer. When his sweat took a slightly darker hue on stage, risking his exposure, he managed it. He wiped his face, kept order as students from all over the New York Public School System filed out with a fire drill. Andrea offered for him to go back with James in the fancy SUV. Erika thought he should as well. He didn't. He got in his own car, he drove himself.
He walks through the entrance to the mansion. Someone said hi. He didn't return the greeting. Left, down the hall, second floor, and into his room. He shuts the door, and drops to his knees, emotionally exhausted at the facade. They look clean, his hands. He checks the back, and he looks in the mirror. He doesn't look dirty. He grabs a towel, his louva, and bodywash, walking to the community bathroom. He rounds the corner, heading to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he lets the water warm up, and lathers his arms up to the elbows. The water gains a mildly brown tint to it as he scrubs.
He scrubs more.
The water stays the same. His heart quickens. He goes to the shower, opening the door and throwing the towel on the hook. He has been eating the rocks, for some reason, with his mutation, eating dirt and rock had been nearly an irresistible draw. He never thought it would be any harm.
He strips out of his clothes, tossing them carelessly on the floor before stepping into the shower, striking the water to pour over him before it's heated. It's cold. He doesn't care. Bodywash is applied. He scrubs. He scrubs more. The murky color at the bottom of the shower drains, but it doesn't clear. He can smell mud. He scrubs harder, his skin starting to burn from the rough application. His heart races, franticly scrubbing to try to make the water run clear, and then his hand slips. His arm is bleeding, and red mixes with the brown.
He slams a fist against the tile wall, cracking it. The panic rises within him, and He falls back against the shower wall, sliding to the floor, pulling his hands up to his head as the shower continues to rain indifferently on him. He watches the drain, watching as the red subsides from the scratch he gave himself.
But it's still brown.