Well, well, well… look who decided to bless themselves by reading my story. The name's Johnny Cage and try not to forget it. And no, I'm not related to Luke Cage… but let's be honest, he probably wishes he was related to me.
Fastest-rising star in movie history, the action hero at 18, four Oscars, millions of fans, and yeah I do all my own stunts. I know, I know… it's hard being this talented. But apparently, being a global superstar wasn't enough for the universe, because somehow, someway… I ended up becoming an actual hero. Yeah… you can thank me later. That whole story? It starts one day… in my mansion.
New York
Johnny POV
Man… I just love my life.
I'm laying out in my pool on a floatie, sunglasses on, smoothie in hand, letting the sun do what it was clearly designed to do which is highlight perfection. The water's perfect, the weather's perfect, and, most importantly, I'm perfect. Just wrapped filming another blockbuster, and if the universe has any sense of fairness, that's Oscar number five right there. Not that I'm counting. I mean, I am… but casually.
I take another sip, leaning back as the float drifts lazily across the water. No cameras, no directors yelling, no fake explosions just peace. For once, the only thing I'm performing for is myself, and honestly? The audience of one is my favorite.
Then glass shatters somewhere inside the mansion I pause mid-sip. Slowly lower the smoothie. My eyebrows crease just a little.
"…Seriously?"
I sit up on the float, letting my feet hit the water as I look toward the house. Another crash follows. That one was louder. Definitely not part of the ambiance. I sigh, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head like I'm about to walk onto a set.
"Alright," I mutter to myself. "Who didn't get the memo that this is a no-interruption zone?"
I step off the float and wade out of the pool, water sliding off me as I grab a towel and toss it over my shoulders. Barefoot, I head toward the house, already annoyed. Burglars. In my mansion. On my time. Honestly, it's almost impressive how bold people are these days.
I push the sliding door open and step inside and I saw my living room is a mess with cases are smashed and one of my awards is missing from its pedestal. Another is on the floor, cracked at the base. Black-clad figures move quickly through the space, grabbing valuables, stuffing things into bags like they've done this before. Professional, efficient… and completely in the wrong house.
I stop in the doorway.
"…Oh."
One of them notices me first. He freezes. Then nudges the guy next to him. That guy looks up. Then another. Within seconds, all eyes are on me.
"Who's there!?" I say, loud enough to make sure they hear the authority in it.
Yeah, that's right. Not scared. Never scared. Just… surprised. There's a difference. One of them straightens slightly, like he's sizing me up. "It's him," he mutters.
"'Him'?" I echo, stepping further into the room. "Buddy, you're in my house. If you're gonna reference me, at least use my name."
They don't respond and that was a big. I glance around at the damage. My trophies. My awards. My stuff. My legacy. One of the guys tosses something into a bag like it's junk.
"…Okay," I say slowly, cracking my neck. "That's it."
I take a step forward.
"Last chance. Drop everything, apologize, and leave before I have to remind you why breaking into a movie star's house is a terrible career move."
No one moves and of course they don't and one of them pulls something from his belt and it was some kind of baton or weapon. He lunges forward suddenly, fast.
Too fast for a normal person and I react instinctively, stepping to the side. My hand comes up and I catch his wrist mid-swing. For a split second, everything feels… weird. Like time stretched just enough for me to notice the impact before it happens then it happens.
A flash of green energy bursts from my hand on contact. The guy gets launched backward across the room, slamming into the wall with a loud thud. The others react instantly, moving in at once.
"Whoa!" I blink, looking at my hand. "Okay… that was new."
Another one charges. I pivot, throwing a punch without thinking. The same green energy flares again, coating my fist. When I connect, it's not just a hit but more like the impact multiplies. The guy flies back harder than he should've, crashing into a table that splinters under the force and this makes me freeze for half a second.
"…Huh."
I look at my hands again. Flex my fingers. Nothing feels different. But clearly, something is very different.
"Alright," I say, a grin forming. "So we're doing this now."
Three of them rush me at once and this time, I move without hesitation. My body reacts faster than my brain can process. I duck under one swing, twist, and drive an elbow into another. Green energy pulses again, like it's responding to my movement, amplifying every strike. It's not just strength and it makes every hit lands cleaner than it should.
I spin, kick one in the chest, and the force sends him sliding across the polished floor like he hit ice. Another tries to flank me, but I step back, letting his momentum carry him forward. I grab his arm, pivot, and throw him over my shoulder and green energy flashes again on impact.
"Okay yeah," I laugh, genuinely impressed. "This is awesome."
One of the remaining guys hesitates now. Good. Fear is a healthy response. The last guy standing pulls out something that looks a lot more serious than the rest.
He aims it at me and that just made me raise an eyebrow and say "Buddy… you really want to be the guy who shoots the guy who just discovered he has powers?"
He fires anyway and I don't even think I just move and the shot slows in my perception just enough for me to sidestep it. The energy in my body surges instinctively, green light flickering around my arms as I rush forward and close the distance. I grab the weapon, twist it out of his hand, and slam it to the ground.
The energy pulses again and the weapon cracks then I look at him, then down at the broken device, then back at my hand.
"…Okay. That's definitely not normal."
The room goes quiet. The remaining intruders don't move. Some of them are already backing toward the exits. Smart. Very smart.
I straighten up, rolling my shoulders like I just finished a warm-up.
"Well," I say casually, brushing imaginary dust off my shirt, "that was fun. But next time, maybe try a house that doesn't come with its own final boss."
They don't argue but they run and as I stand there in the middle of my now slightly ruined living room, surrounded by broken glass, scattered awards, and the faint glow still fading from my hands… I realize something.
One of them is still knocked out, slumped against my wall like he tried to audition for a very bad action scene and failed the callback. I stare at him for a second, then sigh, grabbing a nearby chair and dragging it over.
"Alright, buddy," I mutter, tying his arms to the chair with some spare cord I keep around for… reasons that definitely aren't this. "Congratulations. You've been upgraded from 'home invader' to 'temporary guest star.' Try not to ruin your performance."
He doesn't respond because he is still out cold. I lean back, crossing my arms. Now… in a normal situation, this is where I'd say, "Time to clean the house."
That was a funny joke. I'm not cleaning anything so instead, I grab my phone and call a cleaning service. High-end. Discreet. The kind that doesn't ask questions when there's broken glass and expensive damage everywhere. I put on my best "professional celebrity voice" and within minutes, it's handled.
"Send them over. And make it quick," I say, ending the call.
An hour later, my mansion looks like nothing happened. Like the chaos was just a bad dream someone else had. Floors spotless, glass gone, everything reset to its original "Johnny Cage is thriving" aesthetic. I could almost pretend I didn't just fight off armed intruders and discover I'm glowing like a sci-fi prop.
During that hour, though, I had to improvise. Because I wasn't about to let cleaning crew people wander in and see a tied-up guy in my living room like it's a normal Tuesday.
So yeah… I dragged the unconscious dumbass into my bedroom. Just casually. Like I wasn't hauling a human being across marble floors past framed posters of myself.
"No questions," I told myself. "This is called being responsible."
Once the cleaners finish and leave, I wait a bit, double-checking everything's clear. Then I drag him back out to the living room and set him down again, still tied up.
He's still out so I crouch down in front of him, look at him for a second, then slap him lightly across the face.
"…Wake up."
No response so I slap him again but this time a little harder this time.
"Hey. Rise and shine. This isn't a sleepover."
He groans and his eyes flicker open, disoriented at first, then panic sets in as he realizes where he is and more importantly, who's sitting in front of him.
"Welcome back," I say, clapping my hands once. "You're just in time for the interview portion of tonight's program."
He struggles against the restraints immediately, but they hold. "W-what… what happened?"
"You got yourself launched into a wall by yours truly," I cut in. "Try to keep up." He looks around, still processing. "You… you're not supposed to be able to do that…"
"Oh, I'm full of surprises," I say, leaning forward slightly. "Now, let's make this easy. Who hired you?"
He hesitates. Good. That hesitation tells me everything.
"I… I don't know his name," he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow. "That's not very helpful."
"I swear," he says quickly. "We never met him directly. Orders came through channels. He's… powerful. People call him the Kingpin."
I pause.
"…Kingpin," I repeat slowly. "That sounds like a guy who definitely has a dramatic chair." He looks confused and I ignore it.
"Alright," I continue. "So you've got a mystery boss with a nickname that sounds like he eats villains for breakfast. Great. Love that for me."
Before I can ask anything else, there's a knock at the front door.
I freeze.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
Another knock and I stand up slowly, glancing back at the tied-up guy. "Stay right there. Don't go anywhere. Not that you could."
I walk over to the door, brushing my hands off like I'm about to greet a guest at a red carpet event instead of whatever this is turning into.
I open the door and immediately…
"…What am I looking at?"
Standing there are four people. And I don't mean that casually just like I mean they look like they just stepped out of four completely different genres.
One of them is in a black-and-yellow suit with claws. Another has a visor and looks like he's permanently mid-serious moment. A redheaded woman with an intense stare stands beside them, and behind all of them is a bald guy in a wheelchair who somehow feels like the most important person in the room without moving an inch.
"Uh… Halloween was last month," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "You guys either missed it or really committed to the theme."
The one with the visor speaks first. "Johnny Cage?"
I tilt my head. "Depends. Are you fans, lawyers, or more break-in enthusiasts?"
The bald guy wheels forward slightly. "My name is Charles Xavier. We've come to speak with you."
"Charles Xavier," I repeat, nodding slowly. "Okay, that one sounds official."
The claw guy folds his arms. "You're a mutant."
I blink.
"…Alright, that escalated quickly."
The redhead adds, "Your abilities activated during a high-stress situation. That's consistent with mutant emergence."
I glance back toward the living room, then back at them. "So let me get this straight I get attacked in my own house, unlock superpowers, beat the crap out of trained intruders, and now you show up to tell me I'm… part of a club?"
The guy with the visor nods slightly. "Essentially."
I stare at them for a moment.
"…Do I get a membership card?"
No one laughs.
"Wow," I mutter. "Tough crowd."
Charles Xavier speaks again, calm and measured. "We'd like you to consider coming with us. There's a place where individuals like you can learn to understand and control your abilities. It's called Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters."
I blink again.
"…You want me to go to school."
"Yes."
I laugh immediately. "Yeah, no. Hard pass."
The claw guy smirks slightly, like he expected that answer.
But Xavier continues. "You've already demonstrated your abilities are reactive. Untrained power can become dangerous to yourself and others."
I fold my arms. "I've been doing dangerous things professionally for years. I'm kind of good at it."
The visor guy steps forward slightly. "This isn't a movie set. If your powers spike unpredictably, people could get hurt."
That… lands a bit more.
I glance down at my hands again, remembering the green energy, the force behind every hit.
"…Okay," I say slowly. "Fair point."
Xavier nods. "We're not asking you to give up your life. Only to learn how to control what you've become."
I look back at them, weighing it. Then shrug.
"Alright. Here's the deal," I say. "I'll come. Not for school. Not for some mutant group therapy session. Strictly to learn how to not accidentally launch someone into orbit when I sneeze."
The claw guy raises an eyebrow. "That's acceptable."
"Cool," I reply. "Because everything else? Yeah, still not happening."
Xavier studies me for a moment, then gives a small nod. "Agreed."
I step aside slightly, gesturing inward. "Well, since you guys showed up uninvited, I guess we're doing introductions. But fair warning if this turns into a tour, I'm grading it."
As they begin to enter, I glance back one more time at the tied-up intruder still in the living room. Then back at my guests.
"…Yeah," I mutter under my breath. "This is definitely not a normal day."