Marvel's Alien Force

The interior of the Blackbird shimmered into view—sleek, silent, and humming with restrained power—as Diamondhead blinked away the disorientation of sudden teleportation.

Nightcrawler had brought him here in a flash, with Scott arriving alongside him, still gently cradling Jean in his arms.

Lily's eyes widened in awe at the futuristic design of the aircraft, her small fingers pressed to the window as she took in every glowing panel. Beside her, Martha stood stunned, struggling to process the fact that teleportation—instantaneous, impossible, real—had just happened.

Professor Charles Xavier, Tony Stark, Logan, and Ororo Munroe turned toward the newcomer—the crystalline being who had, in the span of minutes, turned global tension into silence, awe… and fear.

Feeling the weight of their stares, Diamondhead took a step forward and broke the silence.

"Hello. I'm Diamondhead."

Logan, Ororo, and Tony rose to greet him. Xavier remained seated. His legs had healed, yes—but it had been far too long since he'd last stood. He wasn't willing to risk stumbling, not in front of someone this important. Better to preserve the image of composed wisdom than to reveal rusted limbs still relearning the act of walking.

Scott quietly moved to the rear of the plane and gently laid Jean across one of the reinforced seats. After making sure she was comfortable, he returned to join the others.

Tony stepped forward first, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Mister Diamondhead. I'm Tony Stark."

Diamondhead accepted the handshake with a polite nod. "The pleasure is mine, Sir Stark. It's truly an honor to meet you in person."

Tony smirked and stepped back. Ororo followed next, concern flickering in her eyes at the sight of Jean—but she kept her emotions in check.

"Hello, sir. I'm Ororo Munroe," she said, offering her hand.

Diamondhead smiled. "Nice to meet you, Miss Ororo."

Then came Logan.

He didn't offer his hand. Just gave a small nod, arms crossed. "Wolverine. Good to see you."

"The pleasure's mine," Diamondhead replied, still holding his friendly tone.

Finally, he turned toward Xavier.

The Professor met his gaze with a calm smile. "Please, have a seat, Mister Diamondhead."

Diamondhead gave a courteous nod and took the seat beside Tony. Though his crystalline form was both larger and heavier than a normal human's, the Blackbird's reinforced structure—built to accommodate mutants far larger than him—handled his weight with ease.

At the back, Martha took Lily's hand and followed Scott's gesture to a row of open seats. Nightcrawler lingered briefly near the side of the cabin, exchanged a silent nod with Scott… then vanished in a soft bamf, leaving behind only the faint scent of sulfur.

Now that all the key players were seated, it was time to begin the meeting—to discuss what had happened, and what came next.

Professor Xavier was the first to speak.

"Mister Diamondhead, what you've done… it's nothing short of miraculous. But your act—while noble—may have serious consequences. Specifically, it may damage the already fragile bridge between mutants and humanity."

Diamondhead nodded, understanding the weight of Xavier's words. "I understand. And I also understand… that mutants and ordinary humans are different."

At that blunt declaration, the atmosphere subtly shifted. A few brows furrowed. The table fell into momentary silence before Scott spoke, his voice calm but firm.

"What do you mean by different?" he asked. "Are you saying we're a different species? Superior? Inferior?"

Diamondhead met his gaze steadily. "It's not about superiority or inferiority. I don't believe in that kind of comparison—one species against another, or within its own. I'm not saying mutants are 'more' or 'less' than humans."

He paused for a breath, letting his words settle.

"I simply said: mutants and humans are different. That's all."

Seeing the expressions still tense, he clarified further. "Look, human beings—mutant or not—are individuals. No two people are the same. There's only one Tony Stark in the universe. Even if someone looked like him, they wouldn't match his personality, his mind, his presence."

He turned his attention to Charles and said with quiet finality, "Just like that, I believe mutants shouldn't be compared to normal humans. Because we all know—we are different. Not lesser. Not greater. Just… different."

Tony raised his hand, ready to ask why he was used as the example of humanity, but before he could speak—

Bang!

The table shook under the force of a sudden impact. Logan had slammed his hand down, his expression twisted in frustration.

"What do you mean by different?" he growled, eyes narrowed at Diamondhead. "You just showed up, did something you shouldn't have done—undid decades of hard work by people fighting to bring mutants back into society—and now you're saying you did it just because you thought we're different? That's it?"

He glared at the crystalline figure like he was staring down a well-meaning fool—a man too caught up in his own ideals to see the consequences.

Diamondhead looked at Logan, calm and unshaken. His voice didn't rise; instead, it grew deeper—heavier with meaning.

"I understand why you're angry," he said. "I've seen Miss Jean Grey in the news—speaking for mutant rights at the White House, only to be dismissed and shut down by corrupt politicians who don't even care about regular people."

He stood up slowly, the light from the Blackbird's interior panels reflecting off his crystalline body. His gaze locked onto Logan's.

"Mister Logan, you're a mutant. You were hated—not just because people didn't want to accept you—but because they were taught not to. Indoctrinated. Conditioned."

He glanced around at the others. "It's never just been about powers. It's always been about fear. People are hated for their color, their beliefs, where they come from—hell, even for being poor. Mutants are just the latest target because they're harder to control."

He slowly returned to his seat, his voice steady but edged with pain.

"I was once human. I know what that life is like. I know how people looked at me. I know what it means to feel powerless, not just because of your position in life—but because those in power want you to stay that way."

His gaze moved to Professor Xavier now, then back to Logan.

"The people in charge will never let mutants become part of society. Not because of what you can do, but because if mutants were accepted, truly accepted—then regular people might begin to realize just how many of their 'differences' are manufactured. And when people unite?" He leaned forward slightly.

"They stop needing rulers."

The people at the table went silent for a moment.

Professor Charles Xavier closed his eyes as Diamondhead's words echoed through his mind. He understood where this being was coming from—deep down, he truly did—but…he didn't want to believe it.

To accept that truth would mean letting go of his ideals. It would mean surrendering the dreams and hopes of so many mutants—dreams he had carried on his shoulders for decades. Dreams he had sworn to protect.

His thoughts wandered back to his childhood…to those early, innocent days when he first awakened his powers. Back then, he wasn't treated like Mystique was. Not with fear or rejection. Why?

Because he looked human.

He blended in.

His mutation—telepathy—was invisible, a power hidden behind a charming smile and a polished appearance. But even then, he felt the curse of it. Reading minds, seeing thoughts and memories not meant to be seen... that power opened his eyes too soon.

He saw what other mutants endured.

He saw the abuse. The isolation. The rage.

He saw that life—for them, and for many humans—was never fair. And maybe never meant to be.

Charles sighed deeply and opened his eyes again, locking gazes with Diamondhead.

This being… this "Mark"… didn't just look different—he was different. Not just in form, but in presence. In clarity. In conviction. 

His body may have looked like a crystalline warrior...

But his words carried the weight of a leader. Someone who understood not only how to win battles…

But how the world truly worked.

A heart of a warrior. The mind of a revolutionary.

And the power to turn both into reality.

Charles felt the exhaustion in his soul—the fatigue of an old man who had fought too many battles for too long, clinging to hope because it was all he had left.

'Let it be… Let them be gone.'

He reached out and gently placed his hand on Logan's forearm.

"Sit down," he said softly.

Logan, startled by the rare touch, looked at him. His instincts screamed to pull away—he never liked being touched—but something in Charles' eyes stopped him.

Not command.

Not guilt.

But quiet understanding.

And so, for once… Logan didn't resist. He nodded, and sat back down.

***

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