"Alright, Charles. If you think you can handle this mess, I'll leave Eric in your hands."
Raven took a deep, shaky breath, her yellow eyes lingering on the broken man in the bed for a final second before she turned on her heel. The door hissed shut behind her, leaving Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr—two old friends who had spent decades trying to save the world by trying to destroy each other's methods—alone in the sterile silence of the med-bay.
Erik looked like a ghost of his former self. The man who could move mountains of steel was now struggling just to keep his posture upright against the pillows. He looked at Charles, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual metallic authority. "Tell me the truth, Charles. Is there actually a chance I'll walk again? Or are you just keeping me comfortable while the world burns?"
He paused, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his face. "Actually... you shouldn't have intervened back then. You should have let that boy finish it. At least then, the Brotherhood would have a martyr instead of a cripple."
"And then you'd be dead, Erik. And you know as well as I do that you're too stubborn to die," Charles replied, his voice firm as he maneuvered his own wheelchair closer to the bed. "Besides, if this 'Huang Wen' created this condition using his own energy and technique, then logic dictates he has the key to reversing it. Bobby and Anna were quite descriptive about his methods—he hits a point to lock a function, and he hits another to release it. It's a science, even if it looks like magic to us."
Charles leaned forward, his expression darkening. "But we have to prioritize. The assassination attempt on the President has set the world on fire. If we don't douse those flames, the mutant registration act won't just be a law—it'll be a death warrant for every child in this school. We can't afford a stalemate anymore."
Erik sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "You've always held yourself to a higher standard, Charles. That moral high ground of yours is beautiful, but it's also a cliff. You're so afraid of stepping off it that you've let us get backed into a corner."
"You know why I'm careful, Erik. It's not just about morality." Charles shook his head, a haunted look entering his eyes. "I've told you before. When I stretch my mind out into the cosmos, I don't just find mutants. I found that Ancient One... a power so vast it made me feel like a flickering candle in a hurricane. And she wasn't the only one. There are forces watching this planet, some from dimensions we can't even comprehend. If we cause too much noise, if we tear ourselves apart, we aren't just inviting human persecution—we're inviting something much worse."
Erik's eyes flickered. He remembered the brief brush with the Ancient One's presence during their last encounter. It was a cold, absolute power that didn't care about the petty squabbles of humans and mutants.
"So, what's the play?" Erik asked. "How do you fix a PR nightmare when your best soldier is in a bed?"
"Strategy," Charles said, a faint, tactical smile appearing on his lips. "I'm going to tell the President the 'truth'—or at least, the version of it that keeps us safe. I'll tell him that you've escaped your plastic tomb and are currently rallying the Brotherhood for a full-scale rebellion. I'll position myself as the only wall standing between him and your 'wrath.' It gives the X-Men legitimacy and buys us time to figure out our next move."
He patted Erik's shoulder, his tone softening. "In the meantime, my friend, you need to get used to the chair. Believe me, I know the transition is hard. It took me years to stop trying to stand up every time I got angry."
Erik looked at the wheelchair parked by the bed and let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. "I've watched you sit in one of those for half my life, Charles. I suppose it's only fair I see the world from your perspective for a while. As long as my mind still functions, a chair won't stop me."
"That's the spirit," Charles said. "I'll get you back on your feet, Erik. I promise. But first, I have a President to manipulate."
Charles settled back into his own seat and slowly closed his eyes. The air in the room seemed to hum with static as a massive surge of psychic energy erupted from his mind. He didn't need Cerebro for this—not when he had a specific target in mind. His consciousness blurred across the miles, traversing the distance from Westchester to Washington D.C. in a heartbeat.
This was why the world feared Charles Xavier. This was why men like Nick Fury didn't sleep at night. There were no walls thick enough, no encryption strong enough, to keep out a man who could rewrite your thoughts while you were eating lunch. Even Magneto's helmet was only a shield because it was a physical anomaly; without it, even the Master of Magnetism was just a puppet on Charles's strings.
Inside the Oval Office, the President was slamming a pen onto his desk. He was furious. William Stryker had gone radio silent. The "Mutant Solution" was supposed to be well underway, but instead, he had a hole in his wall from a teleporter and a general who wouldn't pick up the phone.
"Mr. President? We need to discuss the budget for the new security protocols," his secretary said, walking into the room. Her eyes were strangely vacant, her movements robotic.
"Not now, Sarah! I'm in the middle of—" The President stopped. He looked at her closely. Something was wrong. "Sarah? You look... pale. Are you feeling alright?"
"I am not Sarah, Mr. President," the secretary said, her voice dropping into a calm, masculine baritone that definitely didn't belong to her. "But I would very much like to have a talk with you about William Stryker and the future of our country."
The President froze. He gripped the edge of his desk, his heart hammering against his ribs. The secret tunnels hadn't been finished yet. He was trapped in the most famous office in the world with a woman who was clearly being puppeted by a ghost. "Who is this? How did you get past my detail?"
"Nick Fury's men are competent, but they aren't psychics," the secretary continued, her face remaining eerily still. "My name is Charles Xavier. And I am here to offer you a way out of the disaster Stryker has created."
The President's hand moved toward a small button on his watch—a panic signal—but he hesitated. The voice was so... reasonable. "Another mutant. Great. Just what I needed today."
"I mean you no harm," Charles said through the secretary's lips. "I am here to inform you that William Stryker is no longer a factor. His obsession with our kind led him to a dead end. But more importantly, I need to warn you about Erik Lehnsherr. Magneto has escaped. He is currently rebuilding the Brotherhood, and his first target is the very structure of this government."
The President's blood ran cold. Stryker was gone? And Magneto was loose? "If he's loose, why are you talking to me? Why aren't you stopping him?"
"Because I need the authority to do so without being hunted by your armies," Charles replied. "The X-Men are the only force capable of neutralizing the Brotherhood without turning the streets into a war zone. Stryker wanted a war. I am offering you a resolution."
"And what do you want in exchange?" the President asked, his political instincts finally kicking in. "Mutants don't do anything for free."
"Official recognition," Charles said. "A charter for my school. Legal status for my 'specialized' team. Acknowledge that we aren't a threat, but a partner. If you give us the legitimacy we need, we will handle the 'Mutant Problem' internally. No more teleporters in your office. No more Magnetos threatening the bridges."
The President leaned back, his mind racing. Stryker's failure had left a power vacuum. If he backed Xavier, he could spin it as a "Peace Initiative." If he didn't, he'd be facing Magneto with nothing but regular soldiers who couldn't hit a target they couldn't see.
"Fine," the President muttered. "If your 'X-Men' can keep the peace, I'll sign the papers. I'll grant your school official status and recognize mutant academic qualifications. But if one of your people slips up... the deal is off."
"Thank you, Mr. President," the secretary said, a small, genuine smile appearing on her face. "You've made the right choice. Erik's rebellion will stay in the shadows where we can manage it. You have my word."
"I hope so," the President said, sounding tired. "I really hope so."
With a sudden gasp, the secretary's eyes regained their focus. She blinked, looking at the President in confusion. "I... I'm sorry, sir. Did I lose my train of thought? I felt a bit lightheaded for a second."
"It's fine, Sarah," the President said, waving her off. "Go find the chief of staff. Tell them I want a formal academy certificate drawn up for the Xavier School in Westchester. And tell the press office we're preparing a statement on 'Collaborative Security'."
"Sir?" She looked stunned.
"Just do it," he barked.
Meanwhile, miles away at the Triskelion, Nick Fury stared at a monitor showing the thermal readings of the Oval Office. He saw the brief spike in psychic energy. He saw the President's sudden change of heart.
"Boss?" Maria Hill asked, standing behind him. "The President just issued an executive order recognizing Xavier's school. What's the play?"
Fury let out a cold, sharp snort. He leaned back, his one good eye narrowing in the dark. "The play is to watch our backs. Charles is getting reckless. He thinks he can mind-wipe the Commander-in-Chief into a partnership? He's playing with fire. If the public finds out the President is being influenced by a psychic, it won't be a registration act—it'll be an extermination order."