At seven o'clock in the morning, President McKenna sat in his chair inside the White House office, surrounded by a flurry of activity.
Security personnel stood at attention, secretaries and executives moved efficiently, and a team of live broadcast technicians checked their equipment.
Everything was being set up meticulously for a critical live speech he was about to deliver on Washington TV—a speech addressing the mutant crisis.
The recent mutant infiltration and attempted assassination of the president had sent shockwaves through the nation, and the White House had decided to take a firm stand.
In just thirty minutes, McKenna would go live, delivering what was meant to be the strongest response to the mutant threat yet.
Seated at his desk, he focused intently on the teleprompter, rehearsing his words to ensure there would be no missteps when the cameras went live.
"Mr. President, we have a situation!" His personal secretary burst into the room, breathless.
McKenna frowned, still scanning the script. "What is it?"
"New York's morning news has already started airing."
"So what?" He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, New York, Washington, San Francisco—all major cities air morning news at this hour."
"But this is what they're showing!" The secretary, clearly shaken, shoved her phone toward him.
On the screen, a breaking news segment played: "Last night, a horrific tragedy unfolded in New York. A U.S. special operations team launched an unprovoked attack on a boarding school, resulting in heavy civilian casualties."
"What the hell?!" McKenna's face went pale as he grabbed the phone.
His expression darkened as the news reel continued. The attack on Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had not only been exposed but also recorded in brutal detail.
Images of the ruined school played on loop—children lying motionless in pools of blood, some scenes so graphic they had been censored.
One shot lingered on the remains of a young mutant, his head obliterated. Another showed the mangled body of a child whose guts had spilled onto the floor.
McKenna clenched his jaw. A furious voice rang in his head: 'Stryker, you bastard! You screwed me over!'
He had explicitly ordered the operation to be carried out cleanly. And this was clean?! Terrorist groups in the Middle East handled things with more subtlety.
Even the networks that were typically anti-mutant framed the incident in a way that painted mutants as victims.
The sight of dead children triggered an emotional response in the public, one that no political spin could undo.
Even those who had always distrusted mutants would struggle to justify this level of brutality.
McKenna, seasoned in political maneuvering, recognized the narrative shift immediately.
The phrasing in the broadcast was deliberate—a calculated effort to stoke public outrage and sympathy for mutants.
The public had short memories. They would conveniently forget that a mutant had attempted to assassinate the President.
Instead, they would reframe the event: the government had waged a war against mutants, pushing them to retaliate.
In the eyes of the people, the government was now the aggressor.
"Mr. President," the secretary continued, "other networks are picking up the story. Ratings are skyrocketing, and New York TV is planning a rebroadcast after the morning news, along with a panel discussion featuring experts on mutant rights."
McKenna felt a headache brewing. "What about the internet?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Sir, the video is going viral. In just this short time, it's already racked up over ten million views.
And our White House website… it crashed under the sheer volume of traffic from outraged citizens."
"Those sons of bitches!" McKenna slammed his fist onto the desk.
The fallout was inevitable. The government would be ripped apart by media outlets, both on television and online.
Every major news network, every political commentator, every social media platform would turn against him.
His political adversaries would seize this moment, eager to drag his administration through the mud.
He had authorized this strike after careful deliberation, believing it to be in the best interest of the nation. And yet, the masses—ignorant as they were—would never understand.
They wouldn't care that Xavier's so-called school was, in reality, a training facility for mutants with combat capabilities.
They wouldn't acknowledge the fact that a powerful mutant had come dangerously close to assassinating the President of the United States.
All the public sees is a tragedy—helpless children caught in the crossfire, their innocent lives snuffed out by a ruthless government.
The outrage is instant.
To them, the government is nothing more than a pack of bloodthirsty monsters, and no one wants to hear an explanation.
"Mr. President, should we proceed with the live broadcast?" the secretary asked hesitantly.
"Are you kidding me?!" McKenna roared, slamming his fist onto the desk.
Anyone with a functioning brain could see that proposing an anti-mutant bill at this moment would be political suicide.
By tomorrow, there would be ten thousand protestors outside the White House, screaming about government tyranny and mutant rights.
Many people feared mutants, but just as many sympathized with them.
And after today's news, those sitting on the fence would inevitably lean in their favor.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken control of the scene," the secretary continued, voice cautious.
"They claim they were conducting an anti-terrorism drill nearby and arrived just in time to intervene. According to their reports, they're now assisting the survivors."
McKenna clenched his jaw.
"S.H.I.E.L.D., huh?" He spat out each syllable like a curse.
Last night, Stryker had launched a full-scale assault on the Mutant Academy, and conveniently, S.H.I.E.L.D. just happened to be running a drill there?
Did they really think he was that gullible?
He had warned those bureaucratic bastards just yesterday, and today they pulled this?
It was a deliberate play—one meant to back him into a corner.
"Get me S.H.I.E.L.D. on the line. Now." His voice was ice.
The phone rang for only a few seconds before the other end picked up. "Hello."
"Director Fury, I need answers," McKenna said, his tone laced with restrained fury.
Fury's voice was maddeningly casual. "You must be talking about the Mutant Academy incident."
McKenna's grip on the receiver tightened. "Director, I suggest you start explaining, or I'll be filing a formal complaint with the World Security Council.
Maybe you need a reminder that half of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s funding comes from the U.S. government."
"Of course, Mr. President," Fury replied, completely unfazed.
There was even a hint of amusement in his voice, as if he knew exactly how much power he held in this conversation.
McKenna had dealt with Fury enough times to know that kind of confidence only meant one thing: leverage.
Fury toyed with a file folder in his hand, stretching the silence before finally speaking. "What if I told you I already know who orchestrated yesterday's assassination attempt?"
McKenna's anger momentarily gave way to intrigue. "What? Who?"
"The real mastermind was none other than Colonel Stryker—the very man who convinced you to sign off on this military operation."
McKenna's expression darkened. He frowned, processing the information. After a moment, his voice hardened. "Fury, I don't care about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pissing match with the military. I want the truth."
"Mr. President, let me clarify: I have the truth." Fury's tone was serious now.
"I have irrefutable evidence—Stryker's entire operation, laid out in black and white. In fact, I just sent the files to your secretary. Read them, and decide for yourself."
McKenna fell silent. His fingers curled into fists on the desk.
'Stryker, you bastard. You played me.'
He had always known the military had its own agenda, but he had underestimated just how reckless they were willing to be.
Fury's voice cut through his thoughts. "Mr. President, if you're thinking about taking Stryker down, don't bother. He's already finished."
McKenna exhaled sharply. The implication was clear.
"One more thing," Fury added smoothly.
"This information? It came from mutants who helped us uncover the truth. So, Mr. President…"
McKenna shut his eyes briefly, understanding exactly where this was going.
Fury was giving him an out—a way to shift public perception, to salvage his presidency.
But it meant playing ball with the very people he had been trying to suppress.
McKenna took a deep breath. "Director Fury, I want a meeting. Introduce me to the mutants. We need to talk."
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