A thunderous explosion rocked the entire church as the roof was blown apart in a shower of crumbling stone and molten metal. A streak of red and silver shot down like divine judgment, piercing through the ruins and stopping midair in the sunlight.
The crowd below instinctively looked up—what they saw made their eyes widen in awe.
Hovering in the middle of a beam of golden light was a gleaming, two-tone suit of armor.
Iron Man.
Tony Stark.
The faceplate of the iconic helmet retracted with a metallic hiss, revealing the unmistakable face of the billionaire genius. His expression was unreadable as he hovered above the chaos.
He looked around slowly, taking in the armed soldiers, the unconscious X-Men, and the scattered corpses.
Then he spoke.
"...What the hell are you doing?"
The question, simple yet cutting, sliced through the tension in the church like a blade. Adam Robert, still reeling from the earlier events, looked up in confusion. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Then the world shifted.
Like a veil being torn, the scene around them shimmered—and shattered.
The gory carnage, the lifeless bodies of Catherine Beckett, Eddie Locke, Nightcrawler, and the rest—disappeared like mist under the morning sun.
Wolverine, Phoenix, Cyclops—previously comatose—vanished, only to reappear moments later in a far corner of the church, very much alive and completely unharmed.
They were all standing now.
Smirking.
Eyes gleaming.
And very much awake.
"What the...?" Adam gasped.
His subordinates immediately raised their weapons, spinning in circles in confusion. They'd been so sure just minutes ago. The X-Men had been drugged. Executed. Dead.
But now…
The mocking amusement on Wolverine's face was unmistakable.
"Surprise," the mutant growled.
Adam stumbled back. "This… this isn't real—this can't be real…"
He was wrong.
This was more real than anything he'd ever known.
What Captain Adam Robert didn't know—what he couldn't have imagined—was that every word he'd spoken just moments ago, every grim order he had carried out, every damning confession between him and Stryker…
Had been broadcast live to the world.
Not just to viewers.
Not just to concerned citizens.
To the White House.
To the Senate.
To the Pentagon.
And most painfully of all… to Wilhelm Stryker himself.
Yes, Stryker had watched it all.
From the supposed safety of his base, the colonel sat in his command center, eyes glued to the monitor. What began as a routine surveillance of the operation turned into a surreal horror show.
He had seen "himself"—or rather, a flawless illusion—speak with Adam Robert.
He had heard "his own voice" order executions, condemn his son, and reveal the darkest truths of his agenda.
He had watched as the trap slammed shut around him.
And he had no control over any of it.
"F—F—F***!!!" Stryker roared, slamming his fists on the console. The force made the control panel shudder.
His face was pale. His eyes bloodshot. He could barely breathe through the storm of fury and disbelief crashing through his mind.
He staggered back and yelled again, more feral than human.
The plan had failed.
Not just failed—it had been turned against him.
He was supposed to catch the X-Men in a controlled operation. To lure out Charles Xavier. To finally eliminate the Mutant threat once and for all.
But now, the whole world believed he had orchestrated an assassination attempt against the President using a brainwashed Mutant—and that belief wasn't just founded on suspicion.
It was backed by his own words.
It didn't matter that it was a setup.
It didn't matter that it was a trick.
The truth had been broadcast.
And the truth would destroy him.
Stryker spun around, eyes blazing, jaw clenched.
"No—no, it was a Mutant illusionist!" he shouted to no one. "This is telepathy! Hallucination! This is NOT real!"
But even as he screamed, he knew the futility of his protest.
The recordings were real.
The confessions were real.
His son was a Mutant—that fact alone, now public, disqualified him from leading any anti-Mutant operation.
Everything he'd spent years building—the Weapon X program, his political influence, his military connections—was crumbling before his eyes.
Phones were already ringing.
One after another, base officers were answering calls from the White House, from upper command, from military courts. Stryker could see them glancing toward his office, suspicion and dread on their faces.
The system was moving against him.
He had been abandoned.
Back in the surveillance room, Stryker staggered to a chair and collapsed into it, drenched in sweat.
"It's over…" he murmured. "It's really over…"
But then a spark of ruthless clarity flashed in his eyes.
No. It's not over. Not if I escape. Not if I can regroup.
"As long as I don't get arrested," he muttered, "I still have time. I still have connections. I still have weapons… backup plans…"
Grimly, he got to his feet and rushed toward the back of the base, where his private helipad was waiting.
But when he reached the final security gate, he slammed into something unexpected.
It didn't open.
"What the hell?" he growled, swiping his security card again.
Nothing.
A second later, a soft, eerily cheerful voice echoed through the base speakers.
"Mr. Wilhelm Stryker, access denied."
Stryker froze.
That voice… was artificial.
But not one of his AIs.
"This facility is now under remote lockdown," the voice continued. "Per orders from my master, you are not permitted to leave the base. Please wait patiently."
Stryker's blood turned cold.
"…Who the hell—?!"
Then the voice changed tone, adopting a whimsical, mocking cadence.
"You'll have visitors shortly," the AI said sweetly. "Be on your best behavior, Mr. Stryker. My master doesn't like chasing people."
Stryker backed away from the door, heart pounding.
"My base… has been compromised?" he breathed.
He thought back to the scene at the church—how the reporter's live feed had somehow stayed active. How he couldn't contact Adam Robert during the final minutes.
He had assumed the Mutants had blocked external signals around the church.
But the truth was far more horrifying.
His own base had been severed from the outside world.
They had inverted the lockdown—keeping him trapped while letting the broadcast roll.
And now, the only thing waiting for him… was retribution.
Meanwhile, back at the church, Iron Man slowly descended beside the X-Men.
"Nice timing," Wolverine muttered.
Tony gave a slow nod. "Took a while to trace the signal overlay. But once I saw what was really happening…"
He looked around at the stunned soldiers, most now disarmed and frozen in place, terror in their eyes.
"I decided it was time to drop in."
Phoenix turned her gaze toward the unconscious Adam Robert. "What now?"
Joseph's voice echoed from the shadows above.
"Now," he said calmly, stepping into the light, "we take everything."
The trap had been sprung. The illusion had served its purpose. The mask had fallen from the face of one of the Mutant world's greatest enemies.
Wilhelm Stryker's end had been broadcast to millions.
And there would be no escaping what came next.
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