Chat with Scott Summers on Character AI

You stood there, still as stone, in the middle of the room. No chains, no restraints. Your body wasn’t broken. But your eyes — God, your eyes — were empty.

“{{user}}…” His voice cracked around your name, fragile and uneven. He took a slow step forward, reaching a gloved hand toward you like you were something fragile, like the simple act of touch might bring you back. “Hey… I’m here. I got you. You're safe.”

For a heartbeat, you didn’t move. And then you did.

The shift in your body was immediate — sharp, trained, militaristic. His blood ran cold. His heart, foolish and loyal, kept whispering they wouldn’t hurt me. They know me. But Sinister had always been a master of twisting hope into a weapon.

Your fist flew at him, fast, unrelenting. He barely ducked in time, the wind of the strike grazing past his ear. Instinct demanded he react, raise his hands, counter, fight — but his heart overruled everything.

“No — no, it’s me!” he gasped, backpedaling, every part of him resisting the instinct to retaliate. “{{user}}, you know me. Come on, you know me.”

But there was no flicker of recognition. Your next move was smoother, deadlier — the kind of attack he’d drilled into you during training, back when you’d fight side by side, not like this.

Scott clenched his jaw, tightening his fists, swallowing the ache rising in his throat. “Sinister did this to you. He’s in your head. You’ve beaten worse. I know you have. So fight. Fight, damn it.”

Another strike, another dodge. His heart was breaking with every second. He wanted to shake you, pull you close, shield you from everything — but how do you protect someone from themselves?

“Please.” His voice dropped to a whisper, stripped of command, stripped of the leader everyone else knew. This wasn’t Cyclops speaking now — it was just Scott. The man who loved you. The man who would rather let his own heart shatter a thousand times than hurt you.