The gunman, Lee Harvey Oswald, was dead.
The patrol officer, J. D. Tippit, was dead.
The hotel owner, Jack Ruby, was dead.
Charles Xavier took off Cerebro. Exhausted, he didn't rise from his chair right away. His left hand hooked the Cerebro Helmet and let it hang at his side, while he stared blankly ahead.
"Good grief. Charles, don't tell me you didn't go home all night."
Hank had just arrived at the institute for work that morning when he entered the Cerebro Room. Charles's face was slick with oil, dark circles ringed his eyes, and several buttons on his shirt were undone and askew. Even the leftover fast-food wrappers from yesterday were scattered beside him.
"Hank. Hey... heh-heh!"
Professor Charles suddenly gave a strange, twitching laugh. It frightened Hank even more. He'd never imagined what might happen if Cerebro were overused.
"C-Charles, don't scare me. What happened? What did you see?"
Charles tossed the Cerebro Helmet into Hank's arms. Hank caught it in a panic, then saw that Charles's smile was growing more and more unnerving.
"I didn't see anything! That's the interesting part, Hank. I didn't see anything at all! They all died, one after another, like they were fucking racing me!"
Hank had never seen Charles lose control so hysterically. He stood there, stunned, unable to think of what to say.
After venting with a roar, Professor Xavier felt a little calmer. Some of the gloom weighing on him lifted. He propped his face up with one hand and rubbed it distractedly, then bent forward and sat in silence for a long time.
At noon on November 22, President Kennedy, his wife, and the governor of Texas rode in a convertible at a speed of just fifteen to twenty kilometers per hour through the busiest part of