In Marvel with the Force?

Oliver's eyes fluttered open, the blurry outline of his bedroom ceiling slowly coming into focus. His head throbbed, and every part of his body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. He blinked a few times, trying to remember how he'd gotten here. 

The last thing he recalled was chaos—gunfire, screaming, and then... nothing. 

He groaned, turning his head slightly to find himself tucked into his bed. His backpack was slumped against the wall, and his shoes were neatly placed by the door. Everything looked so... normal. 

But it wasn't. 

His chest tightened as fragments of the day crashed into him like a wrecking ball. Jake. Melany. The soldiers. 

The gunshots. 

Oliver sat up too quickly, his head spinning as nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He gripped the edge of his bed, breathing heavily as the memories became clearer. 

They were dead. Jake and Emily were dead. 

He stared at the wall, his hands trembling. "No. No, no, no," he muttered under his breath. It felt impossible. Unreal. But the images burned into his mind wouldn't go away—Jake's shocked expression, Emily's screams, the soldiers pulling the trigger without a second thought.

Hot tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, his body shaking. 

--

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—Oliver couldn't tell. When he finally managed to stop crying, he lay back down, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

It was hard to think. His mind was a mess of anger, fear, and guilt. 

"Why them?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why not me?" 

Jake had been his best friend since elementary school. They'd spent countless afternoons gaming, arguing over comics, and sneaking snacks from each other's houses. And Melany... 

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. She had been the glue that held their group together, always stepping in when Jake and Tyr got too intense or when Oliver drifted too far into his own head. 

Now they were gone. 

---

And then there was Tyr. 

Oliver's brow furrowed as he thought about their other friend. Tyr had been... calm. Too calm. 

Even in the middle of everything, when the soldiers were mowing people down like animals, Tyr had stayed in control. He'd dragged Oliver out of the chaos and carried him back to the group like it was just another day. 

"How?" Oliver whispered, his voice thick with confusion and anger. "How were you so calm?" 

He clenched his fists, a fresh wave of frustration washing over him. 

It didn't make sense. Tyr had seen everything—just like Oliver had. Jake and Emily had died right in front of him, but Tyr didn't cry. He didn't scream. He didn't even look scared. 

Oliver's thoughts spiraled. 

Did he not care? 

No, that couldn't be it. Tyr cared—he knew that much. But there was something else. Something Oliver couldn't quite put his finger on. 

---

Then there was the other thing—the thing Oliver didn't want to think about but couldn't ignore. 

His hands started shaking again as he remembered the way the air around him had rippled, the faint glow that had pulsed from his body. 

"What the hell was that?" he muttered, staring at his palms like they might suddenly burst into flames. 

He'd felt it building inside him, some kind of energy he couldn't control. It had been terrifying, like his body wasn't his own anymore. And then... nothing. 

Tyr had knocked him out. 

Oliver's chest tightened at the thought. He didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. 

Did Tyr know?

The answer was obvious. Of course Tyr knew. He wouldn't have knocked Oliver out otherwise. But that just made things worse. 

If Tyr knew, then he also knew what that meant.

Oliver was a mutant. 

--

The thought made him feel sick. He'd seen how the soldiers treated mutants—like monsters. It didn't matter that the mutants they'd killed today were just scared kids. It didn't matter that they hadn't attacked anyone. 

The soldiers didn't care. And apparently, neither did some of their classmates. 

Oliver clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He could still hear their voices cheering for the soldiers, calling the mutants freaks and monsters. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, to break something, to make them understand how wrong they were. 

But he couldn't. 

Because now he was one of them. 

A freak. A monster. 

---

Tears pricked at his eyes again, but this time, they didn't fall. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his mind swirling with questions he couldn't answer. 

What was going to happen now? 

Would the soldiers come for him? Would Tyr tell someone? 

And most terrifying of all: what if he couldn't control whatever was inside him? 

He thought about Jake and Melany again, the way their powers had surged out of control in their final moments. He thought about the soldiers gunning them down without hesitation. 

Would that be him someday? 

---

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts, and Oliver flinched. 

"Oliver?" his mom's voice called softly. "You okay in there?" 

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

There was a pause. "Dinner's ready when you are, sweetheart." 

"Okay," he said, his voice cracking slightly. 

He listened to her footsteps retreating down the hall before letting out a shaky breath. 

Oliver didn't move. He didn't think he could. 

Instead, he lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how everything had gone so wrong so fast.