A Meeting Of The Minds

The dim light of Magneto's lair cast long, cold shadows across the steel walls, reflecting the quiet hum of machinery in the background. Mystique strode confidently through the corridors, the sealed case containing Cerebro's blueprints clutched tightly in her hand. Her footsteps echoed faintly, sharp and precise, as if declaring her success with each step. Passing by Sabretooth, who gave her a grunt of acknowledgment, and Toad, who nearly dropped a wrench while gawking, Mystique didn't even break her stride.

"Toad," she said flatly without looking at him, "close your mouth before something flies in."

Toad snapped his jaw shut and scurried off, mumbling something incoherent. Mystique smirked to herself, enjoying the small moment of superiority before entering the planning chamber. Inside, Magneto stood at the far end, tall and imposing as ever, his helmet gleaming under the sterile lighting. The mirrored lenses over his eyes caught the dim glow of the room, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. Mystique's eyes lingered on the helmet for a moment, curiosity flaring briefly.

Why the mirrored lenses? she wondered. He didn't wear those before. It's strange... Her thoughts trailed off as Magneto turned to face her, his deep, commanding voice cutting through the stillness.

"Ah, Mystique," he greeted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I trust your mission was a success?"

She approached the table, placing the case down with a deliberate motion. "Cerebro's plans, as requested," she said, her tone smooth but edged with a hint of challenge. "I assume you have grand plans for these."

Magneto's smile widened slightly as he opened the case, his gloved fingers carefully lifting the blueprints as if they were sacred texts. "Grand? Cerebro is a tool, Mystique. But in the right hands, it becomes something far more—a weapon. One that Charles never had the courage to wield."

"And you do?" Mystique asked, leaning against the table and watching him closely.

Magneto's expression hardened slightly. "Courage is not the absence of fear, Mystique. It is the will to act despite it. Charles believes in coexistence, in harmony. But harmony is fragile, a fantasy. Fear is a far more potent motivator. Cerebro, when properly... adjusted, will show humanity what they fear most—and force them to accept it."

Mystique raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And by adjusted, you mean?"

Magneto's lips curved into a dark smile. "Modified to amplify my mutation-inducing device. Imagine the world's leaders—those who hold power over billions—experiencing the very thing they dread. They will become what they fear most. Only then will they understand. Only then will they fall in line."

"Poetic," Mystique said with a smirk. "Charles' precious symbol of unity becoming the tool of their undoing."

"Indeed," Magneto replied, placing the blueprints back in the case. "But tell me, Mystique, were you noticed during your mission?"

Mystique hesitated for a fraction of a second, the admission burning her pride. "Yes," she finally said. "A woman noticed me. Wanda Maximoff. She uses some kind of red magic—chaotic, destructive. And she's dressed... well, stylishly, to say the least."

At the mention of the name, Magneto froze. His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table, and his posture stiffened. "Wanda Maximoff?" he murmured, almost to himself. His voice, for the first time, carried a note of disbelief.

Mystique's sharp eyes caught the subtle change in his demeanor. "You know her?"

Magneto shook his head quickly, regaining his composure. "No. It's nothing. Continue."

Mystique frowned but didn't press further. "She caught onto me because I didn't wear mirrored sunglasses," she admitted, her tone tinged with annoyance. "Apparently, that was my rookie mistake."

Magneto sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his helmet. "Rookie indeed, Mystique. It's 2001, dammit. Men have standards in the new millennium. If you're going to blend in with them, you need to pay attention to the details."

Mystique blinked, caught off guard. "Standards? What does that even mean?"

Magneto gave her a pointed look. "The sunglasses, Mystique. It's not just a fashion statement—it's a symbol of the modern man's awareness. You failed to observe a basic social norm, and it cost you."

Mystique's lips tightened as confusion flickered across her face. Could those ridiculous rumors about an international conspiracy involving men and mirrored sunglasses actually hold some truth? She quickly dismissed the thought. No. Impossible. Magneto wouldn't entertain such nonsense.

"You've heard the rumors, haven't you?" Magneto asked suddenly, his voice calm but probing.

Mystique hesitated. "About... lecherous men? Yes. But I dismissed them as absurd."

Magneto's gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. "Hmm."

Before Mystique could question him further, Magneto returned to the matter at hand. "Who else noticed you?"

"Only Maximoff," Mystique replied. "She confronted me, and we fought briefly. She's strong, Erik. Red magic isn't just for show—she's a force to be reckoned with."

Magneto's grip on the table tightened again, though his face betrayed nothing. "Red magic," he murmured, almost wistfully. "She's... capable. And the virus? Did you plant it?"

Mystique smirked, leaning back slightly. "Oh, yes. Though I still think it's overkill. A bald man compensating with a mind-reading helmet? Hardly a threat."

Magneto stopped mid-thought, turning sharply to face her. "Mystique," he said, his tone suddenly sharp, "there are some things one does not mock."

Mystique raised an eyebrow, confused. "Excuse me?"

"Even our enemies deserve a degree of respect," Magneto continued, his voice carrying an air of indignation. "And mocking a man's hairline is a line one should not cross."

For a moment, Mystique was utterly speechless. Then, unable to resist, she said, "Are you serious?"

"Entirely," Magneto said, brushing a hand through his own full head of silver hair. His lips curved into a smirk. "Nearly ninety years old, and not a single strand lost. Some of us have our victories."

Mystique rolled her eyes. "Congratulations, Erik. Truly, you've achieved greatness."

Magneto chuckled softly but quickly shifted his focus back to the blueprints. "Enough distractions. Mystique, this is just the beginning. Cerebro, Wanda Maximoff, Charles—it all connects. We will soon see which pieces of this chessboard survive the coming storm."

Mystique tilted her head, intrigued. "And I assume I'll play a significant role in that storm?"

Magneto glanced at her, his smirk returning. "You always do."

As their conversation continued, the faint hum of machinery filled the air, a steady reminder of the power Magneto was preparing to unleash. Mystique, though loyal, couldn't shake her curiosity about his earlier reaction to Wanda Maximoff. What is it about her that unsettled him? she wondered. But she kept her thoughts to herself, for now.

Mystique folded her arms, smirking again as Magneto meticulously adjusted the blueprints. "You know," she said, "you could at least try to act surprised when I succeed. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you."

Magneto didn't look up. "Gratitude, Mystique, is earned. Perfection is expected."

Mystique raised an eyebrow. "Expected? Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. Next time I'll make sure to wear mirrored sunglasses, recite the men's handbook, and bring you coffee."

"Black," Magneto quipped without missing a beat. "Two sugars."

Mystique let out an exaggerated groan, leaning against the table. "You're impossible."

"And you're my best operative," Magneto replied smoothly. "Which is why I expect more from you."

Mystique was tempted to fire back with a sarcastic comment but decided against it. Instead, she let her mind wander again to Magneto's earlier reaction to Wanda's name. What are you hiding, Erik?

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