Director Mike McCone propped his chin on his hand, his ballpoint pen wandering aimlessly across the paper. He was getting a little sleepy. He was getting on in years, after all.
The young man before him, Zavizewol, had somehow earned himself the title of professor and a doctorate at such a young age. In any case, his name was a mouthful. McCone had no idea how much longer this dull, tedious lecture—one that was making him sleepier by the minute—would go on.
".So the effects produced by possible mutations of the X-Gene are enormously unpredictable. Changes in neural synapses and brain waves—"
McCone lowered his head, half-covered his mouth with one hand, and yawned. His thoughts wandered. Maybe I'll have pie for lunch. Hopefully not apple-pecan—
"It's apple-pecan, yes, Mr. McCone."
Charles Xavier capped his marker and casually tossed it onto the conference table, bringing his explanation to an end.
He looked a little unhappy. Anyone would be in a bad mood if they were earnestly presenting an important idea while their audience doodled absentmindedly, lost in thought about what to eat that day.
"By the way, it's Professor Xavier. Xavier starts with an X."
Charles pulled out a chair and sat down. As he unbuttoned his gray suit jacket and straightened his tie, he lifted his chin slightly and corrected CIA Director Mike McCone.
Besides Director McCone, Charles, and the CIA agent Raven, there was also a portly, black-haired official seated in the corner of the conference room.
Unlike the director, who had been momentarily struck speechless, the unknown official seemed to grasp the situation more quickly. He shifted in his chair, bracing himself on the armrests, and leaned forward to study Charles intently.
"Agent MacTaggert, if what you've brought me today is a skilled magician—or some kind of