Charles watched the dancing flames in the fireplace, growing drowsy, yet he still muttered, "When your people came looking for me back then, I was scared out of my wits. I really don't know how many tons of water must have gotten into my brain for me to believe that crazy plan of yours."
"The facts proved I was right." Erik was still as sharp-tongued as ever. "It lived up to our expectations. The Eastern Three Islands gave Mutants their first foothold, and it also became the foundation that allows us to explore the universe today."
"But you were still far too bold," Charles murmured. "I don't know what madness possessed me to actually go along with you."
"I told you long ago: you're a mad professor, and I'm a mad terrorist. That's the only way we could stand each other for decades." Erik continued working as he spoke, while Charles had already fallen asleep.
Perhaps it was because what occupied the mind by day appeared in dreams by night. Or perhaps sleep in the psychic world was more easily disturbed by prior thoughts. Charles dreamed of that mad era, of that legendary adventure involving himself, Erik, and all Mutants.
On October 15, 1945, Charles was still a youth. He had already enlisted and arrived in the Middle East with his unit, though his superiors did not think highly of him at the time, so he was merely a low-ranking patrolman.
But Charles already possessed considerable psychic abilities then. So when a mysterious Mutant suddenly appeared in his patrol area, he discovered him almost immediately and read the thoughts in his mind.
The man was a scout sent by someone calling himself Erik Lanscher. His purpose was to find a gang leader named Farouk nearby. Erik wanted to recruit him