This is based off of a roleplay with a close friend. You can consider the fanfic an excercise in character and thing development-so yes, you will see OCs (more cameos than anything), mostly in Erik's gang and in the special place called Eastside. Because of this, a lot of other details that I'm unfamilar with are glossed over with incorrect mumbo-jumbo, so if you happen to be in the law enforcement or automotive branches you'll see plenty of wrong things. (Feel free to correct me if you'd like.)

I have no problem with paralyzed!Charles and in fact I consider it very important and would MUCH rather write that than not, but police chief and wheelchair simply do not get along. :( Maybe it will happen in the course of the story if I write that far. I also don't have a problem shipping their older selves, but they likely couldn't handle the effort involved with these positions at those ages, so here have a handwave about the X-Gene.

Crossposted on AO3

It started mildly, like most things. A group of four passing through; bikes red and purple; themselves relatively nonthreatening; jackets proudly bearing the logo of the Steel Vipers. But it was enough for a concerned passerby to report suspicious behavior, and it was an innocent warning of what was to come.

While they hadn't yet done anything truly despicable (that they could link indisputably to them, at least), Charles Xavier, the local police chief, would appreciate it greatly if they would stop causing public unrest.

Charles was born in 1932, but very few people would guess that he was almost 80 years old. While he would grudgingly admit that his time of young beauty had passed, he was hardly the frail, dilapidated old man most people would associate with an age of that number.

This was due to a strange genetic phenomenon that was slowly gaining traction in the scholarly community, known as the X-Gene. The X-Gene was known to grant its possessor slower aging among other abilities.

One of these abilities is telepathy.

While it was hardly a thorough and accurate account of what exactly Charles was capable of, it was one that people were likely to understand, and in the few situations that he had been asked what it was, it was generally the answer he gave.

Unfortunately, while the abilities were certainly extraordinary and helpful, everything had its limitation, and the case of the Steel Vipers was one that was particularly challenging to Charles.

It was a fairly simple stratagem: when dealing with gangs or other unruly and rowdy people, take out the leader, and the rest falls to pieces. In this situation, fairly simple also meant fairly well-known, which meant that said leader was also aware of it, which meant that isolating and arresting him would be nearly impossible.

Read: They don't know who he is.

Which is why he hoped Hank was bringing good news about it, as he vaguely heard "Steel Vipers" and "Charles" cross his thoughts.

"Come in." Hank was one of the informal "upper echelon" of the force, which essentially meant he was aware of Charles's powers. Though Hank didn't have any powers that they knew of, Charles does believe he's aging a tad slow for a human, though of course there's no way to prove it without extensive research, and those days are over for Charles.

"We've found out a little more information about the Steel Vipers…," Hank started, trailing off a little.

"Hmm?" The question as implicitly understood by Hank.

"Well, Raven approached a few members and asked them."

"…Of course she did." Legal ramifications aside, gangs attracted all sorts of individuals, most of which Charles doesn't want any of his force around unless absolutely necessary. You could say that caring for his officers like children was a weakness, and he has many times felt it keenly, but it wouldn't change. "Continue."

"Of course, we can't hold anything they say to any sort of standard, but she did get one piece of potentially critical information, and they seemed confident of the others." Speaking of confidence, Hank seemed to lack it right now.

"And why are you reporting it, and not herself?" Hank mostly dealt with forensics. That wasn't to say he didn't go out in the field, but Charles sincerely doubted it was his idea to approach the gang members and question them.

"…Why do you think?"

"…I'll speak with her later." Charles's expression fell. "Continue."

"The boss goes by the name Magneto. They didn't seem to have any better idea of who he is than we do, but seemed confident in the fact that we're not going to catch him." That seemed to be everything Hank had to report.

The last part wasn't particularly surprising. Very few criminals operated on the mantra that they were going to get caught, and those criminals were either very easy to catch, understanding what they did wrong, or very hard, due to the excessive steps taken to prolong the time until the eventuality.

The first part wasn't either, pseudonyms and titles were not uncommon in the gang world, and figuring out what it meant could prove valuable.

The middle part…was alarming. Where there was one secret, many generally followed, and there was no telling what secret dealings the gang got involved with on a regular basis. In addition, if the gang does not have a face, they have to execute their business in other ways, and anything a gang does in "other ways" is never good.

"I see. Have the officers actually assigned to the case found anything?"

Hank winced. "You would have to ask them, sir."

"Thank you for informing me. Dismissed." Charles returned to his other work.

As much as he would love to sit there and think it out, information was limited, and any thinking would simply be theoretical, and ultimately not of much use. He also did have other work to do, so that would come first.

"Raven, what did you do?" They were off shift now, returning to Charles's mansion. Suffice to say, Charles was born rich, and he didn't have a problem extending housing to those who may need it at any given time. Living in a building that large alone just ached of emptiness and teemed with shadows of the past. Raven and Hank just happened to be two whose company he often enjoyed.

"You're going to have to be more specific." Raven innocently continued walking, though she was fully aware of what he was referring to.

"You approached the gang. Hank told me that much." Charles looked at Raven with an expression that dared her to deny it.

"I approached three members that were idling in a parking lot. We had a friendly conversation. That's it." Raven shrugged. One of her specialties was undercover operations—being memorable exactly how she wants to be, and not how she doesn't.

"You approached suspected criminals, off duty, without any sort of backup." While Raven didn't technically do anything wrong, Charles still considered it reckless.

"And they were nice and I got good information. You know I can take care of myself. What happened to the Charles that was preaching about the inherent good in everyone?"

"There is," Charles maintained, "but that doesn't mean you should just approach them senselessly."

"Are you going to make use of the information gathered?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then stop lecturing me." Accompanied by a wink.

Charles frowned.

Charles, could, honestly, go the rest of his life without hearing the name "Steel Vipers" or seeing the color combination red and purple. It was a terribly gaudy combination and he couldn't comprehend what the colors and name had to do with each other. The fact that their logo was actually a cobra also annoyed him, but that was more than likely irrelevant.

"They're currently compiling a list of confirmed members," Logan stated, while appearing to be doing nothing.

"How's the progress?"

"Considering your no approaching rule, poorly."

Charles ignored the jab. "But some progress?"

"We've found a few, mainly through their license plates. Others are very blunt about their association and were easy to find too." Logan mostly seemed uninterested about the affairs.

"And yourself, Officer Howlett?"

"I'm going to go have a friendly chat with them."

Charles paused. "…How about I accompany you."

Logan grunted.

Talking with the selected members was an interesting affair, to say the least.

Terri was young and talkative, more than willing to cooperate, ultimately giving them much more information than they asked for or needed to know. Escaping from her was a tricky affair.

Lambert, on the other hand, was older and quiet, tattooed from his neck down, and owned FabriCraft, the store where the gang purchases their jackets. Charles is fairly certain he was lying through much of their interview, but let it go for now.

They avoided Victor Creed, upon Logan's request.

John and Rebecca were a married couple, gentle and friendly, John a bit more outgoing than Rebecca.

Andrew's wife is not a part of the gang, and he works as a cardiologist.

Tim lives in Canada. That was apparently important information, Charles heard it repeatedly.

In other words, there was no easily distinguishable common factor among the members.

"Who's next?" Charles had a firm frown on his face as he focused on the road.

"Erik Lehnsherr, that mechanic."

"Really?" In the area, Erik was renowned as not only an expert mechanic, but also a quick one, able to make repairs swiftly and precisely. He was also known to be ridiculously stubborn with a less than stunning personality, which is likely why his store isn't as popular as one might expect. "I know where it is." He absently switched lanes to get there.

Once at the shop, Charles pulled in and parked, quickly identifying the man working under a car. What caught his attention wasn't the toned body, but the mind—Charles wasn't actively using his powers for any purpose now, but he could still feel the man's presence: strong, steadfast, and powerful, steely focus caring for and only for his reparative goal, and working accordingly to achieve it. Charles needed to get a closer look—good thing that was in the books anyways.

He exited the car, carefully making his way through the workshop—leaving Logan as standby in the vehicle, as always—before coming to a stop beside Erik, and calmly and quietly peering down, both physically and into his mind. It was just as intriguing as previously. While a less sophisticated man might call it "crushing," Charles would simply refer to it as enthralled. He suddenly caught the lightning quick irritation before—

"What?" Erik was looking at him now, the twitch of an eyebrow and lip belying the calm of his face.

"Hello, Mr. Lehnsherr, I'm Charles Xavier, and I would just like to ask you a few questions about—"

"No." Erik resumed working.

Charles paused. "Ah. You're not under suspicion, I would just like to talk."

"No."

"…I see. I apologize for interrupting you, then. Have a nice day." Charles straightened, intentionally slowly, to allow himself a look at the business. It was small, as expected for one privately owned, and it seemed as though it connected to an area in back where Erik presumably lived. A motorcycle brightly painted with the colors of the Steel Vipers sat, as if on display, out front, and two sheets displaying the exact colors hung in the window alongside a gang jacket. Various other projects littered both the yard and the garage, with an organization surely only understood by the man before him. "Thank you for your time," he said, one last futile attempt to ignite conversation.

Erik grunted.

Charles returned to his cruiser—not dejectedly, mind you, that was not an emotion he wore—and reclaimed his seat beside Logan.

"That was fast," Logan commented as they began to pull out of the driveway.

"He was most uncooperative…" Charles couldn't help but stare behind them as they drove off.

Logan snorted. He knew that tone meant they'd have little luck getting him to drop the topic anytime soon.

Like I said, this is a exercise in development, so of course I could have just called Erik's gang The Brotherhood (of Evil Bikers?) but I wanted to create something new along with a story for it.