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Chapter 145 – Tensions at 30,000 Feet
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 15:25:16 +0000 UTC
“Goddammit! He hung up on me again!”
Mystique, still in her yellow-and-blue field uniform, nearly crushed the phone receiver in her grip. She glared at the dead line as if she could incinerate it with pure rage.
Across the Blackbird’s cabin, Hank McCoy—currently in his blue-furred Beast form—adjusted his glasses nervously. “Raven, are you really going to keep trying? With respect, calling him is… not our best option.”
Mystique’s golden eyes snapped toward him. “Oh? And you think it’s better to rely on a man who tampers with people’s minds ‘for their own good’? At least Henry’s only an ass with a mouth. He hasn’t dirtied his hands with that.”
“I told you,” Charles Xavier said, his voice fraying with regret. His hands trembled, fingers twitching toward his mouth like he wanted to chew his nails but forced himself not to. “I did it to protect Jean. She was still a child when it happened. You know that.”
“And when exactly were you planning on telling her? On telling him?” Mystique’s voice cracked like a whip. “He’s an adult now—and not newly minted, Charles. Were you going to keep him in your fabricated world forever? He’s a person, not your puppet on a string.”
Xavier’s jaw clenched. “I… I never found the right moment.”
Mystique barked a harsh laugh. “The right moment? That’s your excuse?”
Around them, the younger X-Men shrank into their seats. They weren’t about to step into that storm. The only ones close enough in age to intervene—Beast and Raven herself—were already locked in. Charles, normally the unshakable Professor X, sat hunched like a chastised schoolboy, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
Mystique spun on her heel to keep chewing him out when—
Thwack!
A sound slapped across the cabin. Everyone’s eyes went wide, jaws dropping.
Mystique followed their gaze, turned back—and froze.
Pressed against the Blackbird’s front canopy, like a bug on a windshield, was Henry Brown. The same man who had been in Switzerland minutes ago.
“You’ve got to be—” Mystique didn’t even finish. She threw up a hand. “Kurt, bring him in!”
But before Nightcrawler could move, Henry blurred—like a ghostly afterimage—and phased clean through the jet’s reinforced glass. He stepped inside, solidifying as if nothing had happened, and brushed imaginary dust from his jacket.
Mystique blinked. “How did you—”
“Ultra-high frequency micro-vibrations,” Henry interrupted, as if giving a TED talk. “Agitate your molecules fast enough and you slip through gaps in solid matter. Basic stuff.” He glanced at Quicksilver, who was still gaping. “You do read, right? High-school physics ring a bell? Apply a little imagination to your gift, expand your horizons. Or did that fancy school of yours not bother with science class?”
Pietro mouthed soundlessly.
Henry clucked his tongue. “Figures. What do they teach at Xavier’s? ‘Powers 101: How Not to Scare the Neighbors’? Maybe a seminar on Brooding in Leather Jackets?”
The verbal knife sank deep, and Charles actually flinched.
Henry, oblivious—or just uncaring—shot Quicksilver a look. Pietro, reading the cue, darted out of his seat in a blur and surrendered the chair. Henry flopped down like he owned the place, then leaned toward Mystique in the co-pilot’s chair.
“All right, lady. You dragged me up here, so talk. Why am I here? I don’t recall seeing an X-Men paycheck in my mailbox. Do you guys even get paid?”
Mystique ignored the jab, her gaze sharpened. “You knew. About Charles.”
Henry blinked innocently. “Knew what?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She jabbed a finger toward Xavier. “You knew he manipulates minds.”
Henry swiveled to appraise the man. Not the handsome actor from the movies—this Charles looked his age. Mid-fifties, dignified in posture but weary in the eyes. He carried the air of an English gentleman… if a gentleman had been chewed up and spit out by life.
Henry smirked. “I mean, can’t say I’m shocked.”
Mystique’s yellow eyes narrowed.
Henry spread his hands. “The moment I met him, he tried to dig into my head. Didn’t even ask first. Real subtle, Professor. So, let me guess: guy who thinks he’s the moral compass of humanity, but reserves the right to cheat whenever it suits his definition of justice. Yeah, no surprises there. Sometimes do-gooders are scarier than straight-up villains.”
He leaned back, eyes glinting. “Because villains at least know they’re crossing a line. Do-gooders? Half the time, they don’t even realize the damage they’re causing. They just know their righteousness is worth the cost. And God help anyone who disagrees.”
Charles finally lifted his chin. His voice was tight, brittle. “You don’t understand the circumstances. You know nothing of the choices I’ve had to make. How dare you judge me?”
Henry tilted his head. “All right, fine. Let’s play. You think medieval laws were just? Thieves lose a hand, eye for an eye? Was that right?”
“Of course not!” Xavier snapped. “Punishment must be about rehabilitation, about teaching. Not maiming.”
Henry clapped mockingly. “Bravo. Couldn’t agree more. So why is carving pieces out of someone’s mind magically different? Why is erasing thoughts somehow noble? What, physical wounds matter but mental ones don’t? Cancer’s a disease, but mental illness isn’t? Try telling that to every psychiatrist in America.”
Xavier’s composure cracked. “You don’t know what I know!”
Henry grinned like a shark. “I don’t need to. I know arrogance when I see it. You still believe you were right.”
The Professor’s jaw worked, but no words came out. He didn’t dare reach into Henry’s mind again—not after what happened last time.
Henry sat back, folding his arms, basking in the silence. The X-Men fidgeted, trading uneasy glances. Mystique smirked like she’d won a personal victory. And Henry? He was having the time of his life.
He was so caught up in the thrill of roasting Charles Xavier that he failed to notice how dangerous the situation he’d just walked into truly was…
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End of Chapter
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✨ What I did here:
Gave the Blackbird scene cinematic weight—the younger X-Men shrinking back while their elders clash.
Henry’s “science quip” toward Quicksilver turned into sharp Marvel humor.
Mystique’s fury at Xavier’s secrecy is sharp, emotional, and raw.
Henry vs. Xavier’s moral debate polished into a philosophical but biting back-and-forth—snappy, not meandering.
Kept the comedic “Henry’s having fun roasting Xavier” beat at the end, while foreshadowing danger.
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Romero
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