"Mr. President, you're lucky—just a hair's breadth away."
A thin, silver-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses peered down at the small hole in the wooden desk, his expression unreadable.
A mutant assassin had come dangerously close just moments ago, his knife missing its target by mere inches.
Instead of sinking into the President's skull, the blade had embedded itself into the table, its tip still vibrating from the force.
"I wonder," the man mused, glancing at the shaken but composed President, "if you'll be just as lucky next time."
The President, a man in his early fifties with neatly combed dark hair, straightened his tie and exhaled sharply.
He locked eyes with the older man before him. "You didn't come here just to gloat, did you, William Stryker?"
Stryker smirked, his expression laced with amusement. "Of course not. Who in this world would dare mock the President of the United States?"
"Cut the games. What do you want?" the President asked, already knowing that Stryker never came without a reason.
The man had far too much pull in the military to make social calls.
Stryker's smirk remained, but his voice turned serious. "I need your authorization for a special operation."
At those words, the President's guard went up.
The military rarely sought permission when dealing with mutants.
If Stryker was asking, then this was big.
Something too large for the military to handle quietly, something that could backfire spectacularly.
Feigning nonchalance, the President poured himself a drink.
"Oh? And here I thought you were here to discuss education reform." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and took a slow sip, keeping his expression neutral.
Stryker chuckled. "You always did have a sense of humor, Mr. President."
Before the conversation could continue, the door creaked open, and a tall, well-dressed man in a crisp navy-blue suit stepped inside.
"Mr. President, I'm here," the man announced with a politician's practiced smile.
"Senator Kelly," the President greeted, standing to shake his hand.
He turned to Stryker. "Colonel William Stryker, head of advanced military research on mutants. Colonel, this is—"
"I know who he is," Stryker interrupted smoothly, offering his hand.
"Senator Kelly, a longtime advocate of the Mutant Registration Act. Quite the champion against mutant rights… until recently."
Kelly accepted the handshake but didn't react to the jab.
Of course, this wasn't the real Senator Kelly.
The actual senator had died after being experimented on, and the one standing here was Mystique in disguise.
"Times change," 'Kelly' said with a rehearsed smile.
"One must see the bigger picture."
Stryker's lips curled in something between a grin and a sneer. "Some would call that compromise. Others would call it enabling."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folder, tossing it onto the desk.
"We've gathered intelligence on a training facility in upstate New York. It specializes in mutant combat training."
The President arched a brow, picking up the file. "And the source of this intelligence?"
"A former prisoner. One of the men detained after the Liberty Island incident."
Mystique's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean Erik Lehnsherr?"
She caught herself too late, but Stryker's smirk confirmed her suspicions.
"Exactly. Magneto himself." Stryker leaned back in his chair, looking smug.
"Since I personally oversaw the construction of his plastic prison, I make regular visits. Call it after-sales service."
Mystique forced a neutral expression, but inwardly, alarms were going off.
If Magneto was in danger, she needed to act fast.
Before she could think of a way to extract him, her gaze fell upon a photograph in the President's hand.
Her stomach twisted.
The image was grainy but unmistakable.
The Xavier Institute.
Her blood ran cold.
Stryker wasn't just targeting another random mutant enclave.
He was planning to storm Professor Xavier's school.
"Mr. President," she interjected smoothly, keeping her voice even,
"I urge you to reconsider. That so-called 'training facility' looks an awful lot like an actual school."
Stryker's expression darkened as he pulled another image from the folder. "Oh? Then perhaps you can explain this."
The picture was unclear, showing the faint outline of a large, advanced aircraft.
The President frowned. "And what exactly am I looking at?"
"We don't know," Stryker admitted, "but we do know that this… whatever it is, took off from the school's basketball court."
The President exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "This is…"
He hesitated, setting the picture down and rising to his feet.
His mind raced with the implications.
If Stryker was right, then an unidentified aircraft was operating within U.S. borders, piloted by mutants—possibly even children.
Stryker seized the moment. "Mr. President, we have to act."
The President remained silent for a long moment before finally nodding.
He could already see the headlines—mutant extremists operating under the guise of education, military raids on American soil.
It was a nightmare scenario.
"All right, William." His tone was firm now.
"You have clearance to search, detain, and interrogate. But I had better not wake up to the sight of dead mutant children on the morning news."
Stryker gave a slow, satisfied nod. "As you wish, Mr. President."
As the meeting concluded, Mystique's mind was already working through scenarios, planning the Brotherhood's next move.
Xavier's school was in danger, and she had no choice but to act fast.
Stryker, on the other hand, left the room with a smug expression.
The wheels were now in motion, and soon, the Xavier Institute would fall.
...
Nick Fury gripped his phone tightly, trying to steady his tone. "Mr. President, I understand your concerns, but this is—"
Beep, beep...
The call ended abruptly.
Fury stared at the deadline before slamming the phone down onto his desk, his expression darkening even further.
"Damn it. Who the hell set me up this time?"
His mind raced, flipping through a mental Rolodex of enemies. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no shortage of rivals—the Department of Defense, the CIA, the FBI, rogue elements in the military.
Any of them could have planted this mess on his doorstep.
After a brief pause, he activated his communicator. "Coulson, put the word out. I need to see our mutual friend. Now."
"No need," came a voice from the doorway. "I'm already here."
Ethan strode into the dimly lit office, his long coat swaying behind him as he casually knocked on the doorframe.
Fury exhaled sharply through his nose. "That saves me a little trouble. Professor X sent you?"
"That's right. He figured a little communication might prevent some... misunderstandings." Ethan sat down, folding his arms as he studied Fury's expression.
"And judging by the storm brewing on your face, you've got problems of your own."
Fury sighed, rubbing his temple. "The President just called me himself. Apparently, someone gave him evidence that I've been getting a little too cozy with mutants.
And considering he was just attacked by one, he's not in a forgiving mood. Someone is using this to take a shot at me."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty serious. Any idea who's behind it?"
"Not yet," Fury admitted, his fingers tapping against his desk. "But I'm working on it."
"You think it was Magneto?" Ethan asked, tilting his head slightly.
Fury studied him for a moment. "It's crossed my mind. He may be locked up, but he's not exactly helpless."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Are you insulting Magneto's intelligence? That man doesn't do small-scale attacks. If he wanted to make a statement, he'd do it on live TV during a major event
—something dramatic, something that screams, 'Mutants have had enough.' Assassinating the President in a backroom? That's not his style."
Fury rubbed his chin. "Fair point. So if not Magneto, then who?"
Ethan leaned forward. "Let's think logically. The White House has mutant countermeasures in place, right?
No lone mutant could just waltz in undetected.
This means whoever did it knew the security layout.
That's not something a random mutant could pull off."
Fury nodded grimly. "Yeah. That means someone with inside knowledge was involved. And only two groups would have that kind of intel
—the Brotherhood or the military. We've already ruled out Magneto, and Xavier's people wouldn't do this. That leaves only one option."
"It's the military." Ethan finished,
Fury activated a holographic screen, pulling up an image of a man in uniform. "Colonel William Stryker. He's been pushing an anti-mutant agenda for years.
If anyone had the resources and the motivation to pull this off, it's him. And let's not forget—he's got his own set of mutant operatives."
Ethan exhaled sharply. "Great. And let me guess, Stryker isn't stopping there."
"You catch on quick," Fury said, flipping to another image. "President McKenna just greenlit a military operation against Xavier's school."
Ethan shot up from his seat.
'Of course he's going after the X-Men, its his life's work! I bet he's having a hard-on just thinking about the young mutants that he will collect like some Pokemon, that bastard motherfucker...' Ethan thought, frowning,
Fury gave a slow nod. "We both know that's not gonna be just a routine search-and-seizure. Stryker's out for blood."
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse under his breath. "We have to stop this."
Fury smirked. "I had a feeling you'd say that. That's why I have a job for you."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "S.H.I.E.L.D. recently recruited a batch of fresh agents. I'm questioning their combat-readiness, so I think it's time for a little...
field training. As S.H.I.E.L.D.'s special security consultant, I'm authorizing you, Coulson, and Melinda May to oversee an anti-terrorism exercise."
Ethan caught on immediately, a grin creeping onto his face. "And I assume this 'exercise' just so happens to take place at Xavier's Institute?"
"Coincidence, I'm sure," Fury deadpanned. "Of course, if actual hostiles just happen to show up, well... I trust you'll handle it."
Ethan chuckled darkly. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure the 'exercise' is a memorable one."
Fury nodded. "Then get moving. Time's short."
Ethan wasted no time, heading for the exit.
As he disappeared down the hall, Fury's smirk faded, replaced by a calculating stare.
"Alright, Stryker," he muttered to himself. "Don't you want trouble, I will send you a person who can give you that the most, you slimy motherfucker..."
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Word count: 1720
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