For the time being he chose to ignore her lack of knowledge about the Centurions. That would become self-evident, he felt, and it wasn't really relevant to the story that he intended to tell. There were other people who could clarify things on that front. His story went back farther. That was where he intended to begin.
"Before it was a school it was an asylum, yes, and those in control did experiments on the mutant inmates. Though maybe not all of them. I don't know. Maybe some made it through relatively unscathed." He nodded, confirming the vague and sketchy notions that she presented. That concern seemed genuine, and he almost didn't know how to react to it. He didn't need to, he supposed. Just keep talking, keep thinking, keep moving on. There was a lot of ground to cover in as brief and painless a way as possible. He pursed his lips, considering where to go next.
"I'm the result of one of those experiments. I wouldn't have been born if they hadn't decided to cross my mother and father in the hopes of making a better human weapon. Or warrior. Something along those lines." A chuckle escaped him. "I was a failure. No offensive capabilities to speak of back then, though my power manifested...very early. Very early." He decided not to tell her that his trigger was pain. That was a secret he didn't feel like sharing. "I heal when things happen to me. I don't know if you know that about me. If not for that, they would have destroyed me. But there was use even in that. I was their property, so they decided to keep me as a live test subject. Whatever they needed to test--other people's powers, torture techniques, government weaponry, mutant anatomy and physiology, experimental procedures and surgeries--they used me. Because I'd recover from it. And that was my life from the time I was born until I was ten years old."