Aidan and Logan sat in comfortable silence by the lake, the quiet punctuated only by the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Logan nodded, processing Aidan's proposal, and was about to speak when his entire body went rigid. His expression went blank, his jaw slack. At that exact moment, Aidan's eyes snapped to Logan's fishing line. The red and white bobber, which had been perfectly still, dipped sharply beneath the surface.
Aidan didn't reel in his line. He slowly turned his head, his gaze fixing on Logan's unmoving form. A cold, hard anger, like the flash-freezing of water into ice, settled over him. A sudden, intrusive pressure pushed against the walls of his mind, a foreign consciousness trying to deftly pick the lock of his thoughts.
"Tell your Professor, Logan," Aidan said, his voice dangerously soft, "that unwanted guests in my head are treated the same as intruders in my home. They are removed. Forcefully."
"...My apologies," a new voice said, emanating from Logan's mouth. It was articulate, refined, and utterly out of place. It was Charles Xavier. "I simply could not wait to speak with you myself."
"Then you should have picked up a phone," Aidan retorted, his face an indifferent mask. He began reeling in his line. "Perhaps it's for the best. This little incident has made it clear that our respective positions are incompatible. Our cooperation may be at an end." He stood up, deliberately turning his back on the man possessed by the world's most powerful telepath, and started to walk away.
"Wait!" the Professor's voice called out, laced with panic. A moment later, Logan's body slumped, and he gasped, his own consciousness flooding back. He saw Aidan's retreating back and scrambled to his feet.
"Aidan! Aidan, wait up!" Logan's powerful legs easily closed the distance, his footsteps heavy on the soft earth.
Back at the Xavier Institute, a bald man in a wheelchair closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. "I've made a terrible mistake," he murmured.
"Professor, what is it?" Jean Grey asked, sensing his distress.
"I used Logan to contact the boy," he explained, his voice heavy with regret. "I was impatient. I have angered him. Deeply." He understood now. This wasn't just a gifted boy; he was a sovereign power, and the Professor had just tried to invade his territory. An opportunity to seamlessly integrate mutants into society, a plan of breathtaking elegance, was now at risk of being completely undone by his own arrogance.
"Perhaps we could visit him, apologize in person…" Jean suggested.
"No," Professor X shook his head. "He is already wary of me, for reasons I can now fully appreciate. A direct visit would be seen as another intrusion. All we can do now is trust in Logan." He sighed, the weight of his error pressing down on him.
"Hey, Aidan, I'm sorry," Logan said, finally catching up. "I am. But you have to understand our situation. What you offered… it's more hope than we've had in a decade. The Professor got… excited."
"I understand excitement, Logan. I don't understand trespassing," Aidan said, his voice still cold. He paused, his expression seeming to pinch with a sudden pain.
"Hey, you alright?" Logan asked, his anger at the Professor now mixed with concern for the boy.
Aidan rubbed his temples, a faint, metallic taste of ozone in his mouth. The thrumming of the slim, silver circlet hidden beneath his hair was finally subsiding. "I'm fine," he lied. "Tell the Professor we both need to calm down and reconsider our positions. We're friends, Logan, but that doesn't automatically make his entire species my friends." With that, he turned and left, leaving Logan standing alone by the silent lake.
As Aidan walked, he focused on the feeling in his mind. The mind-shielding alarm, a device he'd reverse-engineered from Hiro's neural-transmitter, had performed perfectly. When the Professor's mind had pushed against his, the circlet had instantly generated a low-level current, forming a protective magnetic field. As the telepathic pressure increased, the device had escalated, flooding his own neural pathways with chaotic energy, turning his mind into a fortress of pure static. It had worked, but the feedback gave him a splitting headache. The fact that the Professor had recoiled so quickly meant he'd only wanted to read him, not control him. A small mercy.
The conversation, however brief, had shattered his primary plan. He couldn't build his future on a foundation of such profound mistrust. It was time for Plan B.
He walked, letting the headache subside, his mind a whirlwind of calculation. The chip factory partnership with the X-Men would stand. It was repayment for their initial investment in Real Steel, a debt he always paid. But his new, far more ambitious venture, the medical technology company, would need a different anchor. It would need Stark Industries.
His mind mapped out the timeline. News reports had already mentioned Tony Stark was heading to Afghanistan to demonstrate the Jericho missile. His capture was imminent. His return, his "I am Iron Man" moment, the subsequent closing of the weapons division—it would all send Stark Industries stock into a nosedive. That was his opening. He would use his capital to buy up a significant portion of the plummeting stock. He would use his technology to rescue Tony from the desert, earning not just his gratitude, but his friendship. Together, they would rebuild the company. Baymax Medical Technology would be born, first as a Stark subsidiary, then as a powerful, independent partner. It was riskier, far more dangerous, but the potential payoff—access to Arc Reactor technology and an alliance with the world's most brilliant engineer—was undeniable. The Professor's mistake had not closed a door; it had simply forced Aidan to build a new one.
His path changed. Instead of heading home, he went to his school's principal's house.
The yard was immaculate, and a white Doberman pinscher named Tucker trotted over to greet him at the gate, tail wagging furiously.
"Principal Angus," Aidan called out, waving to the old man reading under a parasol.
"Aidan! Come in, come in," Angus said warmly.
Aidan sat down, petting the happy dog. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm here to ask for another leave of absence."
The principal sighed, a good-natured, weary sound. "Another stroke of genius, is it? You know, the offers from MIT and Princeton are still on my desk. You've clearly outgrown high school."
"Midtown is closer to home, sir," Aidan said with a shrug, pouring himself a cup of iced tea. "This time, I need at least a month."
"A month! You really dare to ask."
"It's important research, you know how it is," Aidan said with a practiced, sheepish grin. "And I have a bigger request. I need a lab. Something larger, more secure. The last one won't do."
Angus's expression turned serious. "You're not planning on studying weapons, are you, son?"
"Individual combat systems," Aidan corrected gently. "For personal protection. The world is getting more complicated. I need to be able to protect myself."
The principal studied him for a long moment, then nodded. He went inside and returned with a black, metallic business card. "Tandar Experimental Technology," he said, handing it to Aidan. "It's an old blasting research site out in the desert. Secure. Isolated. Should be perfect for… whatever it is you're doing."
"Thank you, sir," Aidan said, taking the card. "This is exactly what I needed."
Back at the Xavier Institute, Logan stormed into the Professor's office, his face a thundercloud of fury. "Why did you do it?" he snarled at the long-awaited Professor. Scott, standing by the window, instinctively put a hand to his ruby quartz glasses.
"I needed to be certain," Professor X said, his voice quiet. "I did not expect him to have a mental defense."
"A defense? Chuck, he shut you out cold and then walked away!" Logan paced anxiously. "He said… he said he needs to reconsider our partnership. That he might have to find other friends."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Jean Grey, standing beside the Professor's wheelchair, closed her eyes. Scott let out a low whistle. Charles Xavier looked down at his hands, the full magnitude of his blunder finally settling upon him. He had reached out to grasp an alliance and, in his haste, may have crushed it completely.
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