Xavier sat in his office, fingers tapping against his desk, eyes narrowing at the dozens of hair growth products that had mysteriously appeared overnight. He didn't know who had placed them here, but he had his suspicions.
Across the mansion, in a dimly lit storage room turned war bunker, Wolverine and Beast sat at a makeshift table, going over their battle plans.
"We strike tonight," Beast said, voice low and serious.
Wolverine, still seething from the permanent loss of every hair on his body, clenched his fists. "I say we go in claws first and end this now."
Beast adjusted his glasses. "We must be strategic. We need to make them suffer before we take our final revenge."
Wolverine growled. "What's the plan?"
Beast placed a folder labeled 'Operation Bald Justice' on the table. "Phase one: Psychological Warfare. Don't forget Wolverine when this is all over we are the few the proud the permanently bald resistance."
As Beast said this both he and Logan burst into tears as they held each other crying in shame over their lost macho manliness.
The first strike began subtly.
It started with whispers.
The female X-Men overheard murmurs in the hallways: Did you know Xavier is jealous of Cyclops' hair? I heard he glares at it when Scott isn't looking. Maybe that's why he made Beast and Wolverine bald—he's targeting all the hairy ones.
Cyclops, blissfully unaware, had never once considered that Xavier might be envious of his hair. But as the rumors spread, he couldn't help but notice things.
Like the way Xavier's gaze lingered on him whenever he ran a hand through his still luscious locks.
Or how Xavier's expression tightened ever so slightly when Cyclops shook his hair after a shower.
Or how, just yesterday, Xavier had absentmindedly muttered, "Youth is wasted on the hairy."
Cyclops began sleeping with one eye open.
The next strike was even more devastating.
Xavier found small, subtle gifts placed around his office—bottles of Hair Regrowth Serum. Each one labeled "100% Effective – Fight Follicle Injustice Today!"
Then came the email notifications.
"Recommended for You: Top Hair Restoration Treatments."
"Struggling with Baldness? We Can Help!"
Xavier frowned, scrolling through his inbox. Was this an attack? Or was the universe just cruel?
The final blow to Cyclops came two days later.
Cyclops stepped into the shower, humming to himself as he reached for his favorite shampoo. The moment he lathered, he felt it.
A tingling sensation.
Then—burning.
Then—sudden, horrifying slickness.
Cyclops screamed.
Jean, already suspecting foul play, casually walked past the bathroom door. She caught a glimpse of a trail of smooth, glossy hair leading to the drain.
She smirked. "Oh, this is getting good."
Meanwhile, at the front gates of the Xavier Mansion, a lone figure stumbled toward the entrance, appearing weak, injured, and desperate.
She was dressed in tattered clothing, her face smeared with dirt, eyes filled with a perfect mix of fear and hope.
The security systems activated. A mechanized voice crackled through the intercom.
"State your name and intent."
The woman hesitated, then whispered, "Please… I just need shelter. My name is Raven."
The gates unlocked immediately.
Inside, Xavier—still fuming from his psychological war with the Bald Resistance—barely glanced up when he received the security alert.
"A stray mutant," he muttered. "Fine. Let her in."
He didn't stop to question it.
Jean, however, watching from afar, narrowed her eyes.
Something felt off.
Mystique walked into the mansion, her body sore, her steps unsteady. She was the picture of a wounded traveler, desperate for a place to rest.
But inside? She was grinning.
They bought it.
Xavier hadn't even bothered to probe her mind. He was too preoccupied with his bald war.
Pathetic.
Mystique had infiltrated hundreds of places, worn the faces of politicians, generals, world leaders. This? This was child's play.
And now, she was exactly where she needed to be.
Her eyes immediately locked onto Rogue.
The girl was chatting with Kara, her movements relaxed, her demeanor warm.
Mystique studied them carefully.
Rogue was her first target. Kara was the prize.
Mystique had hunted millions.
She had consumed the bodies, memories, and lives of entire families.
But Kara?
Kara was different.
Mystique had watched footage of her, seen the way she carried herself. The way others bent toward her.
There was something magnetic about her.
Something wrong.
And Mystique had to know.
Could she consume her?
Or…
Was there something else?
Mystique bit her lip, suppressing a smirk.
This might be fun.
Rogue noticed the newcomer before Kara did.
She turned toward Mystique, brows furrowing. "Hey, you okay?"
Mystique lifted her head slightly, perfecting her look of exhaustion. "Just… need some rest."
Kara, ever the bleeding heart, immediately smiled. "You're safe here."
Mystique nearly laughed. This was too easy.
But then, Kara turned toward her.
Mystique felt it instantly.
A pull.
An unsettling, overwhelming pull.
Kara's eyes were too bright, too sharp, too perfect.
Mystique's heartbeat skipped.
For the first time in a long, long time, Mystique felt something she didn't understand.
What the hell is this?
Kara grinned. "C'mon, let's get you settled."
Mystique followed.
And for the first time in all of her years of hunting, of consuming, of taking everything and leaving nothing—
She wondered if maybe, just maybe, she wanted to keep this one.
Jean, watching from a distance, smirked.
"She's good," she murmured.
Wanda, sitting beside her, tilted her head. "Who?"
Jean stirred her tea, her gaze never leaving Mystique.
"She doesn't belong here."
Wanda sipped from her cup. "Are you going to say something?"
Jean's smirk widened.
"Not yet."
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