Brad's eyes shifted. He nodded, dropped his body, and shot toward the ground with a whoosh.
Erik still wore a composed smile. He smoothed his wind-tousled hair, then spread his hands slightly and descended with impeccable grace.
Brad had already reached the ground. Looking up at the figure still drifting slowly down, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
A few minutes later, Brad led them to a nearby tavern.
Perhaps because they were still near the border between Canada and the United States, some of the old architectural style had survived here.
The waist-high wooden swinging doors, the tinkling wind chimes, and the wooden floorboards creaking beneath their feet all gave the tavern an air of age.
They chose a small round wooden table in a corner. A middle-aged woman with dark skin approached, her ample hips swaying beneath an apron covered in grease and beer stains.
"What can I get you two? Besides all kinds of beer, we've got stewed beans and fried pork chops."
The Black woman spoke so quickly that she almost sounded like she was rapping.
Erik frowned and was about to tell her to leave.
Brad raised a hand to cut him off, then gave the woman a friendly nod.
"Want a drink?"
"No."
"Then one wheat beer, one serving of stewed beans, and one fried pork chop."
The woman whipped out a small notepad and a grubby pencil stub, scribbled rapidly, then tore off a slip and slapped it onto the table.
Before leaving, she rolled her eyes at Erik, who had ordered nothing, then winked at Brad.
Her conspicuous hips swayed as she headed for the kitchen.
Erik took a deep breath and forced a faint smile.
"I would've thought Canada's richest man would choose somewhere more refined for a discussion."
Clack!
A scruffy, middle-aged man with a lethargic expression set a mug of beer on the little round table.
Brad raised his beer. "I think this place is plenty refined."
Erik choked on his words. He realized he couldn't waste any more time on trivialities, or they would never get to the point.
"I would like you to join the Brotherhood of Mutants, Mr. Brad."
Erik wanted to plant both hands on the table to give his words more weight. It was a little negotiating trick he had learned recently.
Unfortunately, after glancing at the grease that hadn't been wiped off the table, he abandoned the idea. His hands merely hovered there, looking rather comical.
"Why?"
Brad leisurely blew at the foam rising from his beer.
"To fight for a noble ideal! To fight for the shared future of mutants!"
Erik fixed his deep-set eyes on Brad, who met his gaze while continuing to blow at the foam.
"An ideal and a future? What kind of ideal and future?"
Brad lifted his other hand to scratch his chin.
"We are the new humanity. We should eradicate the old humanity with its inherent flaws and let mutants lead..."
The scruffy man returned.
He brought over the stewed beans and fried pork chop, along with a single heavily scratched fork polished to a shine. There wasn't even a knife.
Erik's grand speech was abruptly interrupted, and the aroma of fried pork kept wafting into his nose.
Brad picked up the fork and wielded it as deftly as a spoon, scooping a large mouthful of thick stewed beans into his mouth.
A satisfied smile spread across Brad's face.
He was actually over fifty years old.
He had eaten at this restaurant before, though he hadn't bothered remembering exactly which year.
"Can you make stewed beans?"
Brad chewed, savoring the flavor, then took a long drink of beer.
Erik looked incredulous. He couldn't understand what Brad was thinking or doing.
"What?!"
"Can you make stewed beans? Or fried pork chops?"
Brad speared the entire pork chop and raised it to their eye level.
Its golden surface glistened with oil, and steam rose from it.
"Of course not!"
Veins began to stand out faintly on Erik's forehead.
"Then there's nothing more to discuss, great Magneto!"
"I'm used to a life of comfort. I have no desire to start by growing beans and raising pigs. I like my meals ready-made."
Brad bit into the pork chop, his words growing somewhat muffled. "Without the 'old humanity,' where would I get delicious stewed beans and fried pork chops?"
Erik had nothing in his mouth, yet the muscles beneath his high cheekbones twitched in time with Brad's chewing.
At last, he gave Brad a long look and swept away.
Brad finished all his food slowly, drained his beer, then took a small stack of bills from his pocket and gently tucked it beneath the plate before getting up to leave.
Erik walked along with a grim expression. A Black woman caught up beside him, blue scales rippling with each step until she became a striking, curvaceous alien beauty with deep-blue skin.
"Wait, Erik. What did you talk about?"
"Everything, Mystique."
Erik stopped, slipped his hands into his pockets, and let out a long sigh.
"But all I heard was talk about beans and pork chops..."
Mystique looked bewildered.
"He has a well-developed worldview, and he doesn't agree with my belief in mutant superiority..."
"He also thinks we lack the ability to build anything. In his eyes, we're just a bunch of delusional people who would destroy the existing social order."
Erik frowned and glanced instinctively at Mystique.
"Brad is getting old. It's understandable that he doesn't want to be radical. I only hope we don't become enemies someday."
Mystique looked even more confused.
She had been standing in the kitchen the whole time, but she hadn't heard Brad and Erik discuss anything besides stewed beans and fried pork chops.
Ever since his conversation with Brad, however, Erik had kept his brow furrowed, as though pondering some problem.
A jeep slowly pulled up in front of them. Erik suddenly looked back at Mystique, his pupils widening slightly. He pressed his lips together, waved the door open, and climbed in alone.
Mystique watched the vehicle slowly pull away into the distance.
The blue scales on her body suddenly began to ripple, and she finally transformed into the Liquid Robot T1001.
Back in the restaurant's kitchen, Brad nudged the unconscious Mystique beneath his feet, crouched down, and removed a small device attached to her temple.
Brad casually gave one of her prominent curves a squeeze.
"Wild. So this girl is naked all the time?"
Of course, it wasn't that Brad was being lecherous or anything. He simply had a scientific interest in Mystique's abilities.
"Magneto... I'll have to reassess him. He's much more decisive and cold-blooded than I imagined. He abandoned his companion without a second thought."
Update Magneto's psychological profile keywords: philosophical, calm, possesses considerable strategic awareness and crisis awareness. Reassess threat level.
Skynet quietly updated the data.
Threat level assessment: raised from extremely low to low.
Brad scanned the unconscious girl on the floor, then frowned and pressed on the bone of her right index finger.
Meanwhile, Magneto sat in the departing jeep, drenched in sweat.
"I knew something felt wrong. How could I possibly fail to sense any metal's magnetic field on Mystique? I've hidden metal particles in the right index finger of every one of my followers."
"That Brad... that Brad has some kind of technology that can completely neutralize my control over magnetic fields!"
"But when I first saw him, I didn't sense any resistance from the metal on his body at all."
"He's been concealing his capabilities, waiting to see whether I'd attack him!"
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