The X-Men's jet roared through the sky, cutting across the clouds toward Liberty Island, where Magneto's twisted metal fortress loomed in the distance. Inside, Storm sat at the front, calmly watching their approach, while Jean sat beside her, scanning through files and keeping a sharp eye on their progress. Behind them, Wolverine, Beast, and Cyclops sat in uncomfortable silence, the tension palpable as they prepared for a battle that none of them knew how to predict.
In the middle of them all, Professor Charles Xavier floated proudly in his upgraded hover-chair, his long, luxurious locks cascading down his back like a shampoo commercial gone rogue. The breeze from the jet vents blew through his hair, making it flutter in slow motion as if he were posing for a magazine.
Jean glanced back at him, eyeing the large, strange device mounted on the back of his chair with a puzzled frown. She leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "Professor, why is Cerebro strapped to your chair? Planning to mind-wipe Magneto mid-flight?"
Charles slowly turned to her, shaking his head with serene calm as his golden hair glimmered under the artificial light. "Jean, that's not Cerebro," he said, adjusting the strange device with care. "It's a high-grade tactical battle hair dryer. Specially designed to prevent split ends during combat."
Jean blinked at him, her lips pressing together as if unsure whether to laugh or scream. "You spent money on a battle hair dryer?"
Charles raised his chin, adjusting a golden strand of hair with practiced care. "Jean, these locks require protection. You wouldn't understand."
Before she could respond, Storm's phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the tension like a knife. She frowned, pulling it out and answering curtly. "Storm speaking."
A cold, professional voice echoed from the other end. "This is Mr. Auditus Vile from the M.R.S.—Mutant Revenue Service."
Storm blinked, confused. "The mutant IRS?"
Auditus Vile's voice remained flat and sharp. "We handle government funding and misuse of taxpayer dollars within mutant organizations. We need to speak with whoever is in charge of the X-Men's finances."
Storm raised her eyebrows, glancing at Charles with a sharp smirk. "Oh, you'll want to speak with Professor Xavier." She handed the phone over with slow deliberation, a glint of amusement flickering in her eyes.
Charles accepted the phone smoothly, raising it to his ear with a calm expression, though a faint bead of sweat began forming at his temple. "Charles Xavier speaking."
Auditus Vile didn't miss a beat. "Mister Xavier, we're investigating some questionable accounting from the X-Men budget. It appears over 1.2 billion dollars have been spent under 'Haircare-Related Expenses.'"
Charles visibly stiffened, his hand reflexively running through his silky hair as though checking to make sure it was still flawless.
Auditus Vile continued with venomous calm. "To our knowledge, Mister Xavier, you are the only member of the X-Men with hair. Therefore, we must assume this entire budget is for your personal use."
Jean and Storm exchanged wide-eyed glances, both turning in their seats to give Charles a long, hard stare.
Jean leaned closer to Storm, whispering under her breath, "No wonder he always looks like he walked out of a salon."
Behind them, Wolverine's deep growl cut through the air. "You mean to tell me we've been fightin' Magneto with scraps while baldy here's droppin' a billion on shampoo?!"
Cyclops adjusted his visor sharply, glaring at Charles. "Do you have any idea what that could've bought us in tech upgrades?! Or… hair plugs?!"
Beast, sitting stiffly in the corner, adjusted his glasses with a dark look. "I have a doctorate," he muttered bitterly, "and I've been sewing my own uniforms. But no, let's give Charles another conditioner fountain."
Charles paled, adjusting his collar, eyes darting around as though searching for an escape route from the conversation.
Auditus Vile wasn't done. "Mister Xavier, I would remind you that tax crimes are how we took down Al Caponey, the famous mutant crime-fighting mob boss. He took a bite out of crime before he took a plea deal for evading taxes on his collection of limited-edition hats."
Charles swallowed thickly, adjusting his tie. "That… that was a different time."
Auditus Vile's voice dropped, sharp as a razor. "Perhaps. But Al Caponey thought he was untouchable, Mister Xavier. And now? He's still in supermax. We wouldn't want a similar fate for you… over split ends."
Charles ran his fingers through his hair again, pausing as they caught on a small, fraying tangle. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Jean leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Professor, your hair… is that a split end?"
Charles' fingers twitched as he tried to smooth it out. "Surely we can work something out. The… hair dryer was a necessary expense. Combat readiness and all that."
Storm arched a brow, her arms folding tightly over her chest. "Combat readiness or vanity, Professor?"
Charles' hair frizzed slightly at the ends, the beginning signs of disaster looming.
Auditus Vile's voice turned venomously sweet. "We expect a full accounting of every purchase related to haircare by next week. Or the next time you're in battle, Mister Xavier, you may find split ends are the least of your worries."
Charles cleared his throat, his voice strained but attempting to remain dignified. "Of course, of course. I'll have my accountants look into it… immediately."
"See that you do," Auditus Vile said coldly before ending the call.
Silence fell in the jet for a long moment, broken only by the sound of the engines roaring as they sped toward Liberty Island.
Jean crossed her arms, eyeing Charles sharply. "So. A billion dollars. Hair dryer, huh?"
Storm leaned back, her eyes half-lidded in judgment. "Think that'll block Magneto's powers?"
Wolverine growled from his seat. "You owe me a beer. And some hair plugs."
Cyclops shook his head slowly, his voice sharp and bitter. "I'll start a GoFundMe for mutant hair care. Just for us bald guys."
Beast, adjusting his glasses with a quiet sigh, muttered, "Imagine what that budget could have done for research."
Charles sat rigid in his chair, adjusting his collar again, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. His fingers twitched nervously as he tried to smooth out another fraying strand of hair.
Outside the window, Liberty Island loomed ever closer, a storm gathering on the horizon as Magneto waited unknowingly to face them. But inside the jet, another storm was brewing—one that Charles knew would take more than a battle hair dryer to fix.
But as the battle loomed ahead, Charles Xavier began to plot how to pin his obvious tax crimes on the perfect patsy. Magneto he always takes the blame for Charles's mistakes he he.
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