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The trip back to Los Angeles was uneventful.
Before reaching the airport, Jean Grey, the Phoenix, had already gone her own way. With her power, properly developed, she was capable of anything—literally anything—so Henry had no reason to worry about her.
Perhaps only the Scarlet Witch at full chaos-energy output could compare to her. Both women stood outside the reach of any normal rules or limitations. In contrast, even Superman would need time to mature before he could challenge them on equal ground.
Still, in this world, mutants were treated far too gently—coddled by both the U.S. government's hesitation and the constant shielding of Professor X and Magneto.
When external pressure increases, internal strength grows. When protection increases, weakness spreads. Those two titanic "umbrellas" may have blocked the storms from the mutants—but in doing so, they also prevented the race from ever truly awakening.
Say what you will, but even the X-Men here were pale imitations of their comic-book counterparts. Every one of them seemed to operate on instinct alone, their abilities raw and unrefined.
On the bright side, that also meant mutants and the government weren't openly at war. The world was, for now, at peace…
How long would that last? Henry had absolute confidence in his lack of confidence.
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When the taxi dropped him off, Henry hauled his luggage out—boxes of clothes, personal items, and his computer from Switzerland.
And there, basking in the afternoon sun on the street as usual, stood his flamboyant landlord Old Gary—today's lipstick of choice a vivid, scandalous purple.
Spotting Henry, he strutted over with that signature sway of his hips.
"Well, well! Decided to move back in, have you?" Gary teased. "I thought you were planning to keep paying rent just to feed the mosquitoes. I wasn't sure if I should negotiate a rent increase with them."
"Hey, you old queen," Henry shot back. "You give me attitude the second I return, huh? Maybe I should buy a few pounds of Mexican ghost peppers, make you a pot of spicy chicken. That'll clear your constipation right up—hell, it'll clean out your intestines too."
"Whoa, whoa—easy there, kid," Gary laughed, raising his hands. "Old Gary's a good landlord! The fact I didn't break your lock and rent your place to someone else is proof enough!"
They both laughed and shared a quick, friendly hug—one that, thankfully, involved no wandering hands.
After the greetings, Gary grabbed one of the lighter boxes and followed Henry upstairs to help. "So, you moving back means there's news about Miss Audrey Hepburn?"
Henry blinked in surprise. "What—you haven't heard?"
"No. Apart from a report earlier this month about Mother Teresa calling for prayers, there hasn't been much in the papers."
Henry shrugged. "Then I guess they'll publish it in a few days. Europe's already reported it—it's just that the American press is a little slow.
"Miss Hepburn passed away on the evening of the 20th. The funeral was held on the 24th in Tolochenaz, Switzerland, and she was buried at the local cemetery there."
"Whoa, that was just two days ago! And they already sent you packing?" Gary exaggeratedly widened his eyes.
Henry smirked. "Come on, I was only Miss Hepburn's assistant, not her butler. Since I don't plan to follow her to heaven to keep serving, what's left for me to do? Her family and sons can handle their own affairs."
Gary nodded, sighing. "True enough. You didn't even work for her two full years. I doubt you knew the family that well. Still, you picked a good time to be out of L.A. for a while."
"How so?" Henry asked.
"You mean you don't know?" Gary looked genuinely surprised. "The riots last year—biggest mess in America. You missed it?"
"Oh, that," Henry said, recalling bits of news he'd caught while in New York. "You're talking about the… you-know-what—the whole mess that turned half the country into a war zone?"
Gary's face twisted with frustration. "Exactly! Some motherf*ing ex-con on parole—resisted arrest, attacked a cop—and then a bunch of media vultures chopped up the footage to make him look like a victim.
"That gave all those angry Black folks an excuse to start protesting. At first, it was peaceful marches—then it turned into full-blown riots. People clashed with the cops, smashed up stores, looted everything they could carry.
"It went totally out of control. You wouldn't believe it. Not just Blacks—Mexican gangs joined in too. Looting, arson, assault, murder—you name it. It was like Chicago during Prohibition all over again!
"Luckily, our neighborhood's near the Brazilian district, and we don't get along with either the Mexicans or the Black gangs. We managed to hold the line.
"But the toughest resistance came from Koreatown. Those guys formed militias, manned the rooftops—shot back hard. They killed and wounded plenty.
"It finally took the army and nationwide law enforcement support to calm things down. But even now, smaller incidents keep popping up.
"So yeah, you dodged the worst of it. But L.A. still isn't what it used to be. You better watch yourself out there."
Henry smiled faintly. "Thanks for the warning."
They set down the luggage inside his apartment. Even though Gary had only carried the lightest box, he was panting like he'd run a marathon. Still, he wasn't done talking.
"You know," Gary went on between breaths, "I've heard people call Black folks stupid my whole life—but now I get it. The news already cleared things up, yet they cling to the same lies like blind idiots."
Henry chuckled. "The truth never mattered. They just needed an excuse to justify what they were doing.
"For most people, once they've done something—robbed, burned, whatever—it's easier to double down than to apologize. You think they'll give everything back and say sorry?
"No, they'll pretend they were right all along. If enough people are wrong together—and one's not the worst offender—it's easy to slip through without punishment.
"So you say they're stupid? I'd say they're too clever for their own good."
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