"You asked me who I was," Locke said, his tone steady as he looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "Now I'll tell you."
He paused just long enough to let the anticipation settle, then continued without hesitation.
"I am destined to save this world. I am the last conscience it has left, and its strongest line of defense. I am… the man of destiny."
The declaration landed like a stone dropped into still water. Every person in the room reacted at once, their expressions freezing in disbelief as their minds tried to process what they had just heard.
Scott's mouth opened slightly, his usual composure slipping for a moment. Ororo blinked, clearly caught between skepticism and confusion. Jean looked as if she wanted to question it immediately but couldn't quite find the words. Logan simply stared, his brows drawn together, trying to figure out if this guy was serious or completely insane.
Locke, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm on the surface. Internally, though, he let out a long, silent sigh.
He wasn't lying—at least, not entirely. But even he knew how absurd it sounded. Still, early-stage operations always came with difficulties. When you were building something from nothing, sometimes you had to lean on methods you wouldn't normally consider.
To achieve his ultimate goal—uniting the world under one eternal order—he had no choice but to temporarily sacrifice his cherished virtues of honesty and integrity.
A tragic compromise.
Even he didn't fully believe his own words. But that didn't matter. He didn't need them to believe everything. Half belief was enough. Even two or three parts out of ten would be sufficient to get things moving.
Charles was the first to recover, shaking his head slowly. "I'm afraid… I find that very difficult to believe."
Scott crossed his arms, his voice firm. "I strongly suspect you're trying to deceive us."
Jean frowned, though her gaze lingered on Locke with curiosity. "Then how does he know so much about us?"
Storm and Logan exchanged glances, both clearly unsettled.
Locke smiled faintly and shook his head. "Scott, why would I bother lying to you?"
He gestured casually toward himself. "I'm richer than you, stronger than you, and let's be honest—better looking than you. What exactly do you have that I would want?"
Scott's expression stiffened, but he didn't respond.
Locke sighed theatrically, shaking his head as if disappointed. "I came here with good intentions. If you don't believe me, then forget it."
He stood up as if ready to leave, turning toward the door without hesitation.
"Wait!"
Logan's voice came out faster than anyone expected. He took a step forward, clearly unwilling to let the situation end like this. "Don't go. I believe you."
He glanced briefly at Charles before continuing. "Professor, I've got a good feeling about him. Let him stay."
Locke stopped mid-step, turning back slowly, his expression shifting into something that looked almost… wounded.
"Logan," he said, his tone heavy, "if they don't believe me, what's the point of me staying?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, shaking his head. "It's hard enough being human. Being a good person is even harder. This cold world doesn't leave room for sincerity anymore…"
"Enough."
Charles raised a hand, cutting through the dramatics. His expression was conflicted, but there was a clear decision forming behind his eyes.
"I can't accept your claims without proof," he said. "If you want us to believe you, then show us something."
Locke tilted his head slightly. "And what exactly would count as proof?"
"That," Charles replied calmly, "is for you to figure out."
Locke stroked his chin, as if considering it seriously. After a moment, a faint smile appeared.
"Well… as the man of destiny, I can see fragments of the future. Would that work?"
The room shifted again.
"Predict the future?" Storm asked, her curiosity overtaking her skepticism.
"It's limited," Locke clarified. "The future isn't fixed. It changes. So don't expect anything absolute."
Ororo leaned forward slightly. "Then what do you see right now?"
Locke's expression turned serious.
"The president may be assassinated. New York will face another major disaster. And…" He paused briefly, letting the weight of his words settle. "The world will officially enter the era of superheroes once again."
Charles' eyes sharpened immediately. "If disaster comes… will you act?"
Locke smiled without hesitation. "Of course."
Then he leaned slightly forward, his gaze locking onto the professor.
"What about you? Will you stand beside me and help save the world?"
Charles didn't answer immediately. The room fell into a brief, tense silence as he weighed the implications.
Finally, he spoke.
"If what you say comes to pass," he said slowly, "then you will see us there."
Locke's smile widened. "Perfect."
He clapped his hands once, clearly pleased. "That'll be a moment worth remembering. Just imagine it—saving the world in front of everyone. The gap between mutants and humans will shrink overnight."
He began pacing slowly as he spoke, his tone growing more animated.
"Every mutant out there will see what you've done. They'll recognize your contribution. Your sacrifice. Your value."
He stopped and glanced at Charles, his expression sharpening slightly.
"That's something Magneto could never achieve, no matter how many schools he builds or how many people he recruits."
Charles' expression shifted subtly. For a brief moment, there was a hint of agreement—but it quickly gave way to discomfort.
"Don't say that," he replied. "He's doing what he believes is necessary to protect our kind."
Logan frowned, clearly not interested in that debate. He stepped forward again, his attention snapping back to Locke.
"Forget that," he said. "Tell me about me. What's my past?"
Locke raised an eyebrow. "Didn't the professor already tell you?"
Logan shook his head, frustration bleeding into his voice. "My brain's messed up. He could only see fragments. Said I'd have to find the rest myself."
He clenched his fists slightly. "Problem is, I don't even know where to start."
Locke hesitated for a brief moment, then sighed.
"Alright. I'll help you."
The room went quiet as he spoke.
"You were born in Canada, around 1860. Your family was wealthy, but far from peaceful. When you were about fifteen, your family's groundskeeper killed your father."
Logan's breathing slowed, his attention locked in completely.
"In that moment, your mutation awakened. Bone claws extended from your hands, and you killed him."
Locke's voice remained calm, but his words carried weight.
"But before he died… he told you the truth. He was your real father."
The air seemed to freeze.
"Your mother couldn't accept it," Locke continued. "She hated you for what happened. So the groundskeeper's son—your half-brother—took you away. The two of you wandered for years."
Logan stood there, stunned.
"I… killed my father?"
Around him, the others reacted as well.
"That's… complicated," Scott muttered.
"You're over a hundred years old?" Jean asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
"Wait," Logan said suddenly, his eyes widening. "You said I have a brother. Is he… dead?"
Locke shook his head. "No. He has the same mutation as you. Living for centuries isn't a problem."
Hope flickered in Logan's eyes. "Do you know where he is?"
Locke looked at him steadily. "Why do you want to find him?"
Logan hesitated. "Why…?"
"Can you accept what he's done?" Locke pressed. "Can you accept that he worked with others to experiment on you? That the metal skeleton inside you nearly killed you? That you went through all of it because you wanted revenge?"
Logan froze completely.
"Can you accept that he's not the person you want him to be?" Locke finished quietly.
Silence filled the room.
"Losing your memories is painful," Locke said. "But getting them back doesn't guarantee happiness."
Charles nodded slightly. "That's enough for now, Logan. We can continue this later."
"No."
Logan's claws snapped out again, slashing down onto the table. The corner shattered and fell to the floor.
"I killed my father. My mother hates me. My brother betrayed me," he growled. "What else is there to be afraid of?"
He stepped forward. "I want the truth. Now."
"Logan."
Locke placed a hand on his shoulder, his tone firm but calm.
"You've been chasing your past for years. You can wait a few more days. Get yourself together first. I'll tell you everything when the time's right."
Jean stepped in beside Logan, gently holding his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. Scott stood nearby, his jaw tightening audibly.
"You're not alone," Jean said softly. "We're here. All of us. Don't let this break you."
Slowly, Logan's breathing steadied. The tension drained from his body, and his claws retracted with a soft metallic sound.
Scott adjusted his glasses repeatedly, clearly trying to suppress his own reaction.
Seeing things settle, Locke didn't linger. He turned and walked out without another word.
This visit had achieved its purpose.
They still doubted him—but the door had been opened. From this point forward, resisting him would only get harder. As long as he held onto the banner of "saving the world," he would have leverage among them.
On his way back, Locke pulled out his phone, casually scrolling through live news.
A familiar voice blasted through the speaker.
J. Jonah Jameson appeared on screen, his usual exaggerated expression in full display. Beside him was a blurry image of a figure rising into the sky.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Jameson announced loudly, "take a look at this shocking photo!"
He pointed dramatically at the image.
"Reports say a mysterious individual appeared in Afghanistan and single-handedly eliminated over a dozen terrorists—and even destroyed a tank!"
His voice rose with excitement.
"This guy is a complete mystery. But here at the Daily Bugle, we've consulted experts. After careful analysis, we can confirm one thing—this man is wearing some kind of iron armor!"
Jameson leaned closer to the camera, eyes wide.
"Can you imagine it? You're in danger, and suddenly—bam!—a man in a suit of iron drops out of the sky to save you!"
He paused, then burst into laughter.
"Honestly, it looks like a human wrapped in a metal can! A walking tin can!"
He coughed lightly, trying to regain composure.
"Of course, I have great respect for this hero saving civilians. No prejudice at all."
Then he smirked again.
"But still… canned meat comes to mind. Anyway—that's all for today's report!"
....
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