The skies over Twisted City were a clear blue today—an oddity in a place so frequently wrapped in chaos and conflict. But on this day, as if to bless the event, the weather itself offered serenity.
Prairie Park in Flushing, Queens, had transformed once again into the world's focal point.
This wasn't the first time the park had hosted a major event. In the past, it saw the bright lights and fanfare of the Stark Expo, a technological marvel curated by none other than Tony Stark himself. Not to be outdone, Justin Hammer of Hammer Industries once staged his counter-expo here to steal some of Stark's limelight.
But today—none of that mattered.
No one looked at the iconic 140-foot globe that once symbolized the park's status. No one admired the carefully manicured gardens or the historic monuments. All eyes—every pair of them—were locked onto a singular location.
The Second World Exhibition Hall.
A sea of people surged toward the entrance, driven by curiosity, excitement, and a dash of apprehension.
Eddie Bu Locke, senior reporter for Global Daily, stood near the doors with his camera team. They had already set up a live broadcast, wires tangled at their feet and microphones clipped to their jackets.
"Good evening, viewers," he began with practiced enthusiasm. "What you're watching is the live coverage of the long-anticipated 'Oasis' Global Press Conference, brought to you directly from the headquarters of Second World Technologies."
He gestured to the massive exhibition hall behind him. "Ten minutes from now, the event will begin officially. But already, thousands of high-profile guests and selected members of the public have entered the venue…"
He raised a brow and glanced at a clipboard. "Our cameras spotted several notables entering just moments ago…"
"The genius billionaire Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, has arrived with Pepper Potts, the current CEO of Stark Industries."
"Also seen was Aldrich Killian, president of Pioneer Technology. And here comes a surprise—Bolivar Trask, founder of Trask Industries. While the man is over seventy, he looks barely over forty. Quite the skincare routine—or perhaps something... stronger?"
"Wait—Dr. Hank Pym is also here!" Eddie exclaimed. "Founder of Pym Technologies. From being ousted by his own board to reclaiming his company and redefining shrinking tech, this man deserves an autobiography!"
Suddenly, Eddie's expression changed. His eyes widened.
"Hold on—you won't believe who just walked in!"
The camera jerked to refocus on a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepping onto the scene.
"Oliver Queen," Eddie said breathlessly. "The infamous playboy heir to the Queen Group in Star City! And just like Tony Stark, he's here. Is the green archer taking interest in virtual worlds now?"
But Eddie's awe was just getting started.
"Holy... crab cakes."
The words slipped out before he could stop himself. He quickly coughed and straightened up.
"Ahem. Entering now... representing Wayne Enterprises of Gotham City... none other than the mysterious and stunning Miss Diana Prince."
The camera swiveled to capture Wonder Woman in a fitted white blazer paired with sleek black trousers. Though dressed in the understated fashion of a corporate executive, nothing about her appearance could hide her regality.
Her beauty wasn't loud—it was commanding.
Long black hair framed her face. Her makeup was subtle but flawless. She carried herself with elegance that drew the gaze of everyone around her—not because she tried to be noticed... but because it was impossible not to notice her.
For several seconds, the broadcast was silent. Even Eddie seemed to have forgotten his job.
Diana, unfazed, handed over her invitation and gave the attendants a gentle smile as she entered the building. The camera followed her until she disappeared from view.
Eddie exhaled long and slow. "Right. Let's keep going..."
Around him, journalists from every corner of the world hustled to capture interviews, photos, and soundbites. But not all media outlets had the same agenda.
At the edge of the crowd, J. Jonah Jameson, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, stood with a sour expression. Clutching a mic, he pushed aside his own reporter and seized the camera's attention.
"Let's be honest here," Jameson grumbled. "This press conference isn't just about tech or gaming. Based on our exclusive investigations, Second World Technologies is almost certainly Mutant-owned."
He spat the word like venom.
"That makes this more than a launch. It makes it a political statement."
He rattled off names entering the venue:
"Judge Kate Mara from the Federal Court. Director Catherine Bergett of the NYPD's Bureau 17. Maura Macta, former CIA operative. All of them—open Mutant sympathizers."
He sneered.
"But here's the kicker: their bosses are here too."
"We've seen the Mayor, Federal Contract Branch Head, Armed Forces Committee Chairman Stan, and even White House representatives arriving!"
He looked ready to burst a vein. "Major General Meade of the Air Force and Admiral Scudder of the Army are on site—personally!"
He leaned closer to the mic.
"Tell me, folks—does that sound like a normal game release to you?!"
His voice grew louder.
"After the Chitauri invasion, Mutants stepped into the spotlight and saved the world. But officials? They fumbled. Lost face. There was even talk of impeachment after that damn nuclear missile incident!"
"In times like these, can we really trust this fake alliance between the government and the X-Men? How long can this peace last?!"
He raised a finger to the camera.
"Stick with the Bugle, and tonight—we'll find out!"
---
While Global Daily presented a balanced and awe-filled coverage, the Daily Bugle went the route of fear, conspiracy, and suspicion.
It wasn't about evidence anymore.
It was about engagement.
And it worked.
Conspiracy theories and anti-Mutant sentiment still existed—stronger than ever among certain demographics. The Bugle tapped directly into their paranoia and stoked the flames.
Their ratings soared.
But they weren't alone in competing for global attention.
The real titan of the night was none other than Daily X—a revolutionary, decentralized media channel born from within the Mutant movement itself.
Fueled by the rising fame of the X-Men, and bolstered by the global trauma of the Chitauri invasion, Daily X had gone viral.
Their app had bypassed firewalls, infiltrated foreign censorship, and installed itself on millions of devices in countries that didn't even officially allow such networks.
And now?
The "Oasis" broadcast was breaking viewership records in real time.
Even before a single person took the stage, the Oasis Channel was attracting an audience in the tens of millions—and counting.
People weren't just curious.
They were desperate to know.
What was the black bracelet that summoned magical armies during the Chitauri invasion?
The image of those mysterious bracelets—their glow, their power—had haunted dreams worldwide.
Everyone knew "Oasis" was a game. But no one truly understood what kind of game it was. Or why so many governments, billionaires, tech giants, and military personnel were so deeply invested.
Was it a simulation? A combat tool? A new form of training?
Theories ran wild.
Some believed it was alien tech reverse-engineered by Mutants. Others swore it was a portal to a magical dimension. There were even those who claimed it could alter DNA itself.
But tonight—at last—answers would come.
Time inched forward.
Every minute dragged.
Then, at precisely 8:00 p.m., the lights dimmed inside the hall.
All across the world, in living rooms and theaters and war rooms and labs, every eye turned toward the stage.
And the whispers rose:
"Joseph… come on."
--
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