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….
"Loki…" the mutant grimaced, "just… shut up. And throw that head somewhere already! Rogue, you okay?"
"Blargh-h-h…" answered the roadside ditch on the other side of the car.
Well, there you go. I share food with someone free of charge, and they immediately translate it so ungracefully. I am saddened.
And… this is probably also a sign of a not-entirely-healthy psyche, but… I'm still saddened. I wanted to eat those sandwiches myself.
"Sigh, nobody appreciates m…"
Suddenly, two more subjects appeared on the road, spotted by the phantom.
"…me. Oh, two more?" I added my own angle of vision to the illusion's eyes. "Seems he wasn't alone in ambush here…" I smiled cordially at the new guests.
"This day gets worse by the minute…" Wolverine stated, standing up next to me and popping his claws.
"Wait," one of the uninvited guests raised a hand, or rather, she raised a hand.
Hmm, perhaps I should describe the visitors' appearance in a bit more detail. There were two of them: a man and a woman.
The man was nothing special, average build, brown hair, stern face, but he had a long way to go to reach Logan's level of brutality.
On his eyes was a fancy visor with a red filter.
As I recall from the movie, he has to reach up with his hands every time to adjust the output. In my opinion, a mediocre solution.
Surely adding a "power window button" somewhere on his arm to waste less time in combat, without telegraphing to the enemy by raising a hand to his head that owies are coming, wasn't forbidden by his religion?
In short, the real Cyclops looked exactly like the movie version. Even the stylish black suit was present, though it clearly lacked a flak jacket to become proper combat gear; right now it was just a faux-leather suit with a hint of futurism, and that's it.
His companion wore the same thing, though she herself was much more interesting.
She looked about twenty-five, maximum thirty. White hair shimmering with silver, skin the color of dark chocolate, a perfect figure, and a beautiful face with fine features and no visible defects. She really looked like Halle Berry in her prime.
Damn, she looked like a goddess, orders of magnitude more than half the women of Asgard!
If my memory serves me right, in one version of the comic universe, Dracula himself was struck by her beauty and spent a decade trying to win her over with various methods, including offering immortality, throwing countless riches at her feet, the thrones of a couple of nations, singing under her window, feats in her honor, and about a dozen and a half kidnapping attempts when all of the above didn't work.
And I understood the guy, dammit.
This is legitimately the first truly beautiful woman I've seen in this world!
And Loki's memory, by the way, can't help me here; rather, it makes things worse, it aggravates the contrast.
And Storm, because this beautiful person could be no one else, continued:
"We are not your enemies. Moreover, we came to help."
"Doesn't sound very convincing," Logan raised an eyebrow skeptically. "First, nobody drives down this road for a week, and then suddenly a whole crowd shows up, one after another."
"I must admit, my friend makes a solid point," I said, ditching Sabretooth's head and playing with the dagger in my newly freed hand, casually layering a couple of subtle illusions over us. "As a certain less-than-honest senator once said: 'What are your proofs?'"
"We are not attacking you," Cyclops took a step forward.
"That is very farsighted of you," I nodded with a smile, twirling the dagger in my fingers again. "Your buddy wasn't quite so prudent."
"He is not our friend," Storm spoke again, raising her left hand as if to stop her teammate. "The mutant who attacked you is named Sabretooth. He works for the leader of a secret radical mutant group. We hold different views and were sent by Professor Charles Xavier to stop this attack. He has spent many years helping mutants from all over the world, teaching children to control their abilities and hide from ordinary people. We wish you no harm; we simply want to help."
"Already helped," Logan snorted skeptically. "My car has never been so safe from attacks." Considering we were standing against the backdrop of a hood crumpled into scrap metal and a windshield smashed out by his own body, the sarcasm, in my humble opinion, was top-tier.
The X-Men exchanged glances filled with a dose of confusion, performing a strange pantomime of looks from which I personally concluded that Cyclops was being blamed for something.
At the very least, the expression on Storm's face, in the mildest translation, read: "Satisfied?"
"I got off course, okay?" the guy said, shaking his head in an 'alright, I give up, back off!' gesture. "I've never flown over the forests of Canada before. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a landing spot for a jet around here?!"
"You…" Logan shook his head, closing his eyes. "You really moved me." He looked at Cyclops again, and there was so much bile in that gaze that the hapless pilot actually winced as if he'd chewed a lemon.
"Alright, you've convinced me," I took pity on the humans, hiding the dagger up my sleeve.
"Seriously?" Wolverine looked at me askance.
"Look at their clothes," I accompanied the advice with a nod. "Their boss would never let his people walk around in pelts."
Logan sized up the stylish black X-Men suits, shifted his gaze to Sabretooth's corpse, moved it back, sighed heavily, and retracted his claws with a snikt.
"Yeah, that's too stupid to be planned." The man's hand fumbled in his jacket pockets, clearly intending to retrieve a cigar.
"Are you alone?" the blonde-haired beauty asked, heading toward us with visible relief.
"There's also a girl, but she's powdering her nose right now," I smiled. "Hey, Rogue, you alive back there?" raising my voice slightly, I asked the girl huddled on the other side of the car.
….
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