Marvel's New Magneto

"Hello, Erik. Is it okay if I call you that?" the reporter asked warmly.

"Of course. I think we can address each other by name," Erik replied with a smile.

Both sides were willing to cooperate, and the interview quickly got underway.

Perhaps worried that Erik, as a mutant, might hesitate due to concerns about discrimination, Christine began by introducing herself. She was the niece of Moira MacTaggert—she took her mother's last name—and had grown up hearing stories about mutants from her aunt. This made her quite familiar with their existence, and because of her aunt's past relationship with Charles Xavier, she harbored a certain goodwill toward mutants.

"I'm here to better understand our neighbors and help the public see that ordinary people aren't alone in this world. We should get to know each other so we can interact in a better way," Christine said. Although her goal was to land a headline, she still had to lay out the big picture. As an experienced journalist, delivering a smooth narrative was second nature to her.

Erik agreed with her viewpoint. Though he hadn't expected her to approach him personally, he had been planning for someone to act as a messenger to facilitate this type of dialogue. Having the reporter come to him on her own made the whole thing seem like a natural occurrence rather than a calculated move.

"Before coming here, I gathered a lot of information about mutants through my sources. Some of it was quite shocking, and I couldn't determine whether it was true or not. So, I hope we can have an open and honest conversation to verify these claims and give the public a clearer picture of mutant society. To avoid misunderstandings due to vague wording, I suggest we be as straightforward as possible. If any of my questions seem intrusive, I apologize in advance." After the pleasantries, Christine got straight to the point.

"Honesty and directness are the foundation of good communication. I agree," Erik nodded, signaling the official start of the interview.

"My sources indicate that you bear an uncanny resemblance to Erik Lehnsherr, the man convicted of assassinating JFK. How do you respond to this claim?" Christine's first question was sharp. As soon as she asked, she fixed her gaze on Erik, watching for any reaction.

"You mean that old man who was just sent to prison? I don't think he has a common face, and besides, I'm much younger than him," Erik joked. "Actually, he's my brother. During the war, we got separated—he escaped from a concentration camp, while I ended up trapped in a glacier. After being frozen for decades, someone woke me up, and... well, that's all there is to it."

"That sounds oddly familiar..." Christine muttered. Erik's expression was calm, and his gaze was steady, leaving her with an inexplicable sense that something wasn't quite right.

"But of course, that's not the truth." Erik dropped his playful tone. "In reality, I have no idea where I came from. My earliest memory is waking up in a small bar in Lofon, Alberta, Canada. I had no identification, no money, nowhere to go. Just as I was figuring out what to do, I met someone from the school. That's how I ended up there. The school became my home."

He spoke earnestly. Until his memories returned, that was the truth—just not the whole truth.

"As for my connection to Magneto, the school once speculated that I might be a clone of him. You see, that man has spent a lot of time in prison. Perhaps he left behind something in a lab—some DNA, an embryo, or something else entirely. Science is unpredictable, and without concrete evidence, who can say for sure? Personally, I don't dwell on it. What matters is that I exist as my own person, with my own will and desires. That's enough for me."

"Forgive me if this is a bit blunt, but since you resemble such a dangerous figure, have you inherited his hatred for humanity? Do you feel any hostility toward ordinary people?" Christine probed.

"There's no evidence that cloning can replicate a person's soul," Erik shrugged. "As for me, I've always kept my distance from humans—not out of hatred, but because I see no reason to engage with them. It's not that I'm indifferent to society; it's that society has wronged me. If you've never experienced being hunted at gunpoint, you won't understand the suffering mutants endure. Compared to others, I've actually been spared from some of that pain. So, whenever possible, I prefer to stay far away from humans. And if I have no choice but to pass through their world, I'd rather move as quickly as possible."

"But you still saved the children at Lincoln Elementary School, as well as the residents near the Westchester River."

"We are part of humanity, after all. Our genes don't change our humanity."

Meanwhile, in his office, Charles Xavier was engaged in another conversation about Erik.

Hank had already taken his leave, not wanting to interrupt. Alone in the office, Charles and his former lover, Moira MacTaggert, spoke openly.

Moira had been a CIA agent in her youth. She was the one who had discovered Charles and Erik and had recruited mutants to stop a group that had attempted to trigger another world war.

Like many unsung heroes, she and her allies were met with betrayal after their success. The very people they had saved turned against them. Seeing mutants as a threat, both the U.S. and the Soviet Union launched attacks against them. Though mutants managed to survive, humanity's aggression deepened the rift between Charles and Erik.

Erik, advocating for more radical methods, took his followers and left. Charles chose a different path, retreating from human society to protect his people. He erased Moira's memories of their mission to ensure her safety. Afterward, she resigned from the CIA and focused on genetic research. But their bond was so deep that even her altered memories couldn't suppress her feelings. Eventually, she remembered everything, bringing them back into this complicated relationship.

"You still look so young, while I've grown old," Charles said, looking at Moira's elegant figure with a sigh.

Whether due to scientific advancements or natural gifts, the once-mature agent still looked like a woman in her prime.

Hearing his words, Moira touched the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not young anymore, Charles. The young ones are in the classroom. We're just hollow old trees, standing through the seasons."

Charles took her hand and gazed at her deeply. "I still remember how you used to be—fearless, like a knight. Do you know? My favorite moment was watching you tilt your head as you fired your gun—focused, decisive, and absolutely stunning."

Mentioning the gun made Moira uneasy. After all, it was her bullet that had paralyzed Charles.

"That wasn't your fault—it was Erik," Charles said, trying to ease her guilt.

As expected, his words worked. Moira shifted her attention back to Erik.

"Do you really believe in this 'new Erik'?" she asked. "He looks exactly like Magneto. They're practically the same person. You know him as well as I do—his expressions, his smile, even that mark on his arm. Are you really sure he can take up your mantle?"

Charles gently squeezed her hand and nodded.

"I believe in him. Not because he can carry on my legacy—there never was a 'Charles Xavier legacy.' All I've ever wanted was to shelter our people, to give them a place in this cold world. But Erik and I have fought for so long that we've exhausted ourselves. Our paths became more extreme as we opposed each other. But this Erik… he has both of our strengths without our weaknesses. I trust that he can do better."

"I hope you're right." Moira wasn't as convinced, but if Charles had faith in Erik, she could only accept it. At her age, she had learned not to dwell on things she couldn't change.

"I hope that one day, when Erik is released, he'll set aside his radical views. We could sit together, drink tea, play chess, and talk about life—just like in the old days. Maybe even Raven could join us. Hank must miss her dearly. We could have a picnic on the lawn, with the children gathered around, listening to our stories… If that day ever comes, I think all our fallen friends would be at peace."

Bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, Charles Xavier, accompanied by the woman who once loved him, envisioned a hopeful future.

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