Outside the screen, Erik had thought he'd feel satisfied watching the senile, confused version of Professor X in the video. But instead, his heart was filled with an indescribable sense of loss and sorrow.
He couldn't help but wonder—no matter what, at least that guy was still alive. And what about me?
'In this new timeline… am I already dead?'
'No—maybe it's better that way. Living like that would be worse than burning out gloriously in one final moment of brilliance.'
Erik wanted to seize the opportunity to mock Charles, to throw it in his face: "Look! This is the future you fought for. How ironic, how pathetic, isn't it?"
But his lips moved and no words came out. In the end, he stayed silent—because there was no pleasure or vindication in his heart. Only a growing, soul-crushing sadness.
Charles himself was even more shaken. He could no longer maintain a calm expression; his eyes were widening, his fists clenching tighter by the second.
At this point in his life, Charles was still in his prime. He hadn't yet been tempered by hardship or trials. Despite having just seen a brutal and chaotic future, he still held on to hope—still believed in the possibility of a better tomorrow.
But that only made it worse. Watching the video, seeing his future self—a vacant, babbling old man—filled him with a deep and aching despair.
"Why? I spent my entire life fighting for something… and this is what I end up as?"
It wasn't that Charles couldn't accept the fact that he'd grow old. He had no desire for immortality. But this—dementia on top of aging—this he simply couldn't stomach.
In fact, he found this future crueler than the old timeline, where mutants died in battle against Sentinels. This was worse. Much worse.
"Wait a second…" Logan raised a hand, his expression turning uneasy as he looked at Charles. "Charles, your powers come from your mind. If your mind starts to go… wouldn't that make your powers dangerous?"
Charles froze at the thought. Then his expression darkened, and a bitter smile crept onto his face. "You guessed right. If I lose control of my mind… then my brain might become an unstable bomb. Heh… more dangerous than any bomb, really. No wonder they classify me as a weapon of mass destruction."
As they spoke, the video continued.
Logan was struggling to deal with the older Professor X. The old man was clearly confused—he didn't recognize Logan, didn't want him near, and resisted taking his medication.
In the middle of their scuffle, Charles lost his balance and fell from his wheelchair. He began to shake uncontrollably, drooling and crying out incoherently, just like a patient deep in the throes of Alzheimer's.
But this wasn't just any old man. He was a mutant. A telepath.
And then… the disaster struck.
As his cries grew louder, a chaotic and overwhelmingly powerful wave of psychic energy burst from him—completely out of control, surging outward in all directions.
A mind like Charles's, once it spirals out of control, truly is like a bomb detonating—explosive, devastating, and wide-reaching.
That psychic shockwave instantly paralyzed both Logan and Caliban, who was in the next room. They lost control of their bodies, overwhelmed by searing pain from the psychic backlash.
Even Logan, someone known for his tolerance of pain, could barely hold on. Eyes bloodshot, muscles trembling—but thanks to his healing factor, he managed to move, inching forward with immense effort, until he could finally inject the sedative into Charles.
Only then did the violent outburst stop.
Breathing hard, Logan rested a while before lifting Charles back onto a makeshift bed and giving him his medication.
Slowly, Charles began to regain some clarity. He complained about being left in the care of that "damn albino" (Caliban) and told Logan he had sensed a newly awakened mutant nearby. He begged him to go help.
He said the new mutant was waiting near the Statue of Liberty.
Even in his deteriorated state, Charles hadn't forgotten his mission. But everything had changed. He was no longer the wise, refined leader of the X-Men—and Logan was no longer the fearless, indomitable warrior. He was an old wolf with worn claws.
Logan didn't take it seriously. As he helped Charles change clothes, he said flatly, with a touch of resignation, "That was a long time ago, Charles. The Statue of Liberty… that was a long, long time ago."
He remembered—back in the old timeline, Logan had his moment of glory at the Statue of Liberty. That was the very first mission after joining the X-Men.
It seemed that something similar had happened in this new timeline too. But now, it was all just the past. The once-invincible warrior was nothing more than a tired, aging man.
Logan looked at the dazed old man and told him, "There won't be any more new mutants. It's been 25 years. No new births. Nowhere. You always said we were part of God's plan… but maybe, maybe we were just His mistake."
As those words hit home, the cloudy eyes of the old Charles suddenly gleamed with a sharp, almost furious light.
He grabbed Logan's face with trembling hands, full of sorrow: "You've really let me down! When I first found you, you were just a cage fighter, drugged up, living like a beast. But we took you in. We gave you a home…"
Logan quietly packed away the rest of the supplies and replied, "There's nothing left anymore."
Dragging his weary body, Logan stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Inside, Charles began muttering again, calling out his name in confusion, increasingly frustrated with his own state of mind.
As the metal door slammed shut, Charles muttered under his breath, "You're just waiting for me to die…"
Outside the projection, Charles, Erik, and Logan all fell silent.
No one said a word. When their eyes occasionally met, all they could see was the overwhelming sadness in each other's gaze.
Even in the old future, when Sentinels were slaughtering mutants, none of them had been this silent—on or off screen. None of the mutants had given up hope.
Back then, even as Sentinels pushed them to the brink of extinction, the survivors still fought back. Still searched for a way to change their fate.
But now? What could they possibly do in the face of a future like this?
Put their hope in a senile Charles and a Wolf who can barely lift his claws?
They had no words left.
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T/N:
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