In the days that followed, the entire planet seemed to hold its breath.
The world had been shaken to its core by two cataclysmic events—the Chitauri invasion and the death of Superman.
These weren't stories confined to news headlines. They were seismic shifts in human history. Everywhere—from dusty village roads to the glowing skyscrapers of megacities—people whispered, shouted, and debated what had happened.
And online? The virtual sphere boiled over.
The usual firewalls that had long kept nations divided seemed to melt. Whether intentionally or not, nothing could stop humanity's hunger for answers.
Within hours, images and videos flooded the globe.
Footage of war-torn cities, of skies ablaze with alien ships, of Doomsday's monstrous roar, and Superman's final fall played on a loop across every platform.
People stared in horror at the devastation in cities like Twilight, Gotham, and Wudu. They watched families cry in ruined streets. They counted the dead and feared the survivors might not live much longer.
And then…
Attention shifted to something more chilling.
The six nuclear bombs.
---
"Why did they launch nukes?!"
At first, the question seemed like conspiracy bait—spoken in whispers, reserved for online forums and late-night calls. But as more footage emerged, as more survivors came forward, and as global tension mounted…
The question became a movement.
And then a wave.
"Why did the government launch a nuclear strike while Superman was still fighting Doomsday?"
"They had no proof he'd lose. Why assume he would?"
"Were the bombs really for Doomsday—or for Superman?"
"What about the other five cities? The X-Men were already holding the line! Why send nukes to places where they weren't even needed?!"
"If Iron Man and the X-Men hadn't intervened... would those cities still exist today?"
The questions piled up.
Soon, journalists, bloggers, and celebrities joined the discussion.
And then, the theory hardened into belief.
"The government tried to eliminate Superman and the X-Men in one strike."
"They saw a chance to regain control. They wanted to wipe out every unpredictable element—alien, Mutant, or otherwise."
"They failed."
And now, the world knew it.
---
The backlash was like nothing modern civilization had seen.
In New York City alone, tens of thousands marched in protest, their chants echoing through glass canyons and across digital networks.
"We need heroes, not politicians!"
In Twilight and Gotham, where citizens still sifted through rubble for belongings and bodies, rage boiled over into riots.
The military deployed forces to maintain control, but even among the soldiers, discontent was growing. Some had fought alongside the X-Men. Some had watched as orders from above nearly killed them all.
It wasn't just the public that was angry.
It was the system fracturing from within.
---
Whispers became movements.
Movements became revolts.
And then came the desperate response.
The White House and top military leaders convened in an emergency summit. Backroom deals, power negotiations, and whispered compromises flew fast.
And finally… a narrative emerged.
---
"During the alien invasion, the President was attacked and temporarily lost communication."
"The nuclear strike was authorized by Congress during this blackout."
"Vice President Rodriguez issued the emergency order."
"He will take full responsibility and step down at 8:00 AM tomorrow."
---
It was a flimsy excuse.
Everyone knew it.
Even the most uninformed citizen understood that only the President had launch authority under standard nuclear protocol. Congress could petition. The House could convene. But the button?
Only the President could press it.
So the sudden blame placed on Rodriguez made the answer all too obvious:
He was the scapegoat.
A sacrificial lamb thrown to the wolves to save the herd.
The public didn't buy it, and tensions remained high. But something else emerged—an additional deflection.
The governments of five major nations jointly announced the existence of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Yes, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—long rumored, now confirmed—possessed aircraft carriers equipped with nuclear payloads.
And these aircrafts could be commanded not by individual governments, but by the World Security Council.
And Rodriguez?
He was now publicly revealed to be a member of that council.
Even if he hadn't been before… he was now.
And so, the world was handed a package: blame shared, accountability distributed, and a vice president removed.
A global sigh of half-hearted relief followed.
Rodriguez had been sacrificed.
But no one was truly satisfied.
---
In Rodriguez's lavish, dimly lit home, silence reigned.
And then...
"You've been abandoned," said a cool, feminine voice.
She reclined on an expensive leather sofa, red wine swirling gently in her glass.
The White Queen.
One leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her eyes gleaming with sharp amusement.
Rodriguez entered the room like a ghost. Gloom clung to him like smoke.
His expression twisted the moment he saw her.
"You?" he growled. "You've got the nerve to show up here?"
He looked exhausted—humiliated. A politician toppled from grace. The lion made a laughingstock.
"You mutants did this," he spat. "You sabotaged me. And now you're here to gloat?"
White Queen sipped her wine. "Don't be ridiculous," she said casually. "I'm far too busy to gloat. You think I came here for your downfall? Please."
"Then what do you want?" he snapped.
"I'm here to offer you help."
Rodriguez froze.
The wine glass clinked softly as White Queen set it down. "You may not realize it yet," she said, "but your fall is an opportunity."
"For who?" he hissed. "You?"
"For both of us," she replied simply.
---
Rodriguez laughed bitterly. "I'm finished," he said. "I've been stripped of everything. No one survives this kind of political death."
"And yet," White Queen said, leaning forward, "you're still breathing."
He didn't respond.
"You lost the backing of your interest groups," she continued. "President Ellis and his people moved on. So did your replacements. You were a tool. And now you're expendable."
Rodriguez clenched his fists.
"So," she said again, "are you going to fade into obscurity? Or are you going to take the hand being offered?"
He looked at her with loathing.
"I'm not your puppet."
"We don't want puppets," she said, her tone sharpening. "We want allies."
"Lies."
She smiled faintly.
"Before, you feared us. You tried to suppress Mutants. Why? Because we were a threat to your power."
"Now?" She stood, her gaze leveling with his. "That power has shifted. You no longer have the luxury of fearing us."
Rodriguez turned pale.
"You're monsters," he whispered.
"No," she said, stepping toward the door. "We're the future."
---
Before she could step out, his voice cracked.
"Wait!"
She paused.
Rodriguez's forehead was damp. His eyes were wild. "Just tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what you Mutants are planning. That thing—'Oasis'—it's not just a game, is it?"
She turned her head slowly.
And smiled.
"No," she said. "It's not."
Rodriguez swallowed hard. "Then what is it?"
Her eyes gleamed.
"Soon," she said, "the whole world will find out."
And with that, she vanished into the night.
---
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