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The Other Side
Magneto sat across from Mystique in a booth near the back, both of them observing Jay's television appearance on the muted television above the bar.
"Idealistic," Mystique said, her natural blue skin and yellow eyes marking her as clearly non-human even in the dim light. "Dangerously idealistic. He thinks compassion and good intentions will protect him from humanity's fear."
Erik LehnsherrâMagnetoâswirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully, his face contemplative. "Perhaps. But idealism isn't always weakness, my dear Raven."
Mystique raised an eyebrow. "You're defending him?"
"I'm observing him." Erik's voice carried the weight of decades of struggle and loss. "Charles and I have spent years debating the best path forward for our people. Integration versus separation, hope versus pragmatism. This young man... he might actually make Charles's dream work."
"How do you figure that?" Mystique's voice carried skeptical curiosity.
Erik gestured toward the television, where Jay was speaking passionately about judging people by their actions rather than their origins. "He has something Charles never didâthe common touch. Charles is brilliant, but he's also privileged. A wealthy academic speaking from his mansion in Westchester. This boy? He lived with the homeless. He understands what it means to be abandoned, forgotten."
"And you think that matters?"
"I think," Erik said carefully, "that when people see a young man who grew up in foster care using his abilities to heal the homeless and save families, it's harder to paint him as a threat. He's not an Other trying to infiltrate their societyâhe's one of their forgotten children who happened to manifest abilities."
Mystique considered this, watching the replay of Jay exhausting himself to save the Castle family. "The government will still try to control him. Registration, monitoring, all the things we've fought against."
"Of course they will. The question is whether the public will let them." Erik's expression grew darker. "Charles believes in the better angels of human nature. I believe in their capacity for fear and hatred. This boy... he might be the test case that settles our debate once and for all."
"And if he fails? If they turn on him?"
Erik's hand tightened slightly around his wine glass, metal stress fractures appearing in the rim. "Then Charles will have his answer, and I'll have mine. And perhaps we can stop pretending that coexistence was ever truly possible."
On the television, Jay was helping Frank Castle to his feet, the man whose family he'd just saved from certain death. The gesture was simple, human, and powerful.
"For his sake," Erik said quietly, "I hope Charles is right."
 ooOoo
Shadow Lab
The laboratory stretched into darkness beyond the reach of the harsh fluorescent lights, rows of life-support cylinders filled with unconscious figures floating in synthetic amniotic fluid. Each tank bore monitoring equipment that pulsed with steady rhythms, tracking vital signs and genetic modifications that would have been impossible just a decade earlier.
Dr. Nathaniel Essex moved between the tanks like a surgeon making rounds, his pale features sharp under the clinical lighting. The black diamond on his forehead caught the light as he paused before a particular specimenâone whose genetic markers showed promising signs of cellular regeneration.
"Fascinating," he murmured, checking the readouts. "The cellular restructuring is proceeding ahead of schedule."
A wall-mounted screen showed Jay's press conference, the young healer speaking passionately about using abilities to help others. Essex glanced at it with the detached interest of a scientist observing an interesting specimen.
"Dr. Essex," his assistant's voice crackled through the intercom, "the subject in Tank Seven is showing increased neural activity."
Essex moved to the indicated tank, studying the readouts with professional intensity. "Increase the sedative mixture by fifteen percent. We can't afford premature awakening."
His gaze returned to the screen, where Jay was exhausting himself to heal the Castle family. "Such inefficient potential," Essex observed clinically. "All that power focused on individual cases rather than systematic advancement."
He turned back to his work, making notations on a tablet. "Still, every data point has value. Even misguided altruism provides useful behavioral patterns."
The figure in Tank Seven stirred slightly, vital signs spiking momentarily before the increased sedatives took effect. Essex watched with satisfaction as the readings returned to normal.
"Soon," he said to no one in particular, his voice carrying the patient confidence of someone who measured progress in decades rather than days. "Very soon, we'll have a complete picture."
On the monitor, Jay was being helped into the Fantasticar by the Fantastic Four, his public identity now exposed to the world. Essex made one final notation before moving to the next tank, already focused on the next phase of his research.
 ooOoo
Pierce's Office
Alexander Pierce's office in the Triskelion was a study in understated powerâexpensive furniture, carefully arranged awards and commendations, windows that offered a commanding view of Washington D.C. But Pierce himself barely noticed the dĂ©cor, his attention focused entirely on the wall-mounted screens showing Jay's public emergence from multiple angles.
"Jasper," he said without turning around, his voice carrying a quiet authority.
Jasper Sitwell entered the office, tablet in hand, his expression professionally neutral. "Sir?"
"I want everything Fury has on this 'Doctor.' Every file, every scrap of intelligence, every photograph." Pierce's voice was calm, but there was something underneath it that suggested dangerous waters. "And I want it quietly."
"That might be difficult, sir. Director Fury tends to compartmentalize sensitive files, andâ"
Pierce turned from the windows, his expression pleasant but his eyes carrying a warning. "Jasper, I've been working with Nick Fury for longer than you've been with SHIELD. Get me what I need."
Sitwell nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. What level of priority should I assign this?"
"The highest." Pierce moved to his desk, settling into his chair with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to power. "This young man just declared himself to the world. That makes him either a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy. I need to know which."
On the screens, Jay was exhausting himself to heal the Castle family, running toward danger while bullets flew around him.
"There's something else, sir," Sitwell said carefully. "The public response has been largely positive. Social media sentiment analysis suggests genuine support for his message about mutant-human coexistence."
"Public opinion is malleable, Jasper. It can be shaped, guided, influenced by the right people with the right resources." Pierce's smile was cold and patient.
"And if he proves... uncooperative?"
Pierce was quiet for a moment, watching the replay of Jay's passionate speech about judging people by their actions rather than their origins. Idealistic. Naive. Potentially useful, but only if properly guided.
"Then we remind him that good intentions are no match for superior organization." Pierce's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but Sitwell heard every word clearly. "Hail Hydra."
"Hail Hydra," Sitwell replied automatically, then turned and left the office with his new orders.
Pierce remained at his desk, studying the screens as Jay was helped into the Fantasticar by the Fantastic Four. The boy was young, inexperienced, driven by emotion rather than strategy. All of which made him both powerful and potentially controllable.
The key was finding the right pressure points.
 ooOoo
Roadside Diner
The diner was the kind of anonymous place where people came to disappear for a whileâcracked vinyl booths, fluorescent lights that flickered occasionally, and coffee that tasted like it had been brewing since the Clinton administration. Perfect for two fugitives trying to blend into the background.
Dr. Bruce Banner sat across from Betty Ross in a corner booth, both of them wearing the kind of nondescript clothing that helped them blend into any crowd. On the wall-mounted television above the counter, Jay's media appearance played on mute while a closed-captioning system struggled to keep up with the rapid-fire questions.
"If he can heal gunshot wounds..." Betty said quietly, her voice carrying a hope she was afraid to acknowledge. "Bruce, if he can literally regenerate damaged tissue..."
Bruce stared into his coffee cup like it might contain answers to questions he'd been asking for years. "Betty, we've been down this road before. Every potential cure, every experimental treatmentâthey all end the same way. The only viable option we have right now is Dr. Sterns' research."
"This is different." Betty leaned forward, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
On screen, Jay was kneeling beside the Castle family, his hands glowing with soft healing energy while chaos erupted around him. Even through the grainy broadcast, his exhaustion was evident, but he kept going until all three victims were stable.
"Bruce." Betty's voice carried years of shared pain and stubborn hope. "What if he could heal the genetic damage without affecting the Hulk? What if you could have control back?"
Bruce looked up from his coffee, meeting her eyes for the first time since the broadcast started. "Betty, I've learned to manage this. The meditation, the breathing exercises, staying away from situations that trigger him. I can't risk throwing that balance away for another maybe."
Betty reached across the table, her hand covering his. "But what if this time it worked? What if you could have your life back?"
Bruce watched the screen, where Jay was being surrounded by reporters but still taking time to check on the Castle family one more time before leaving. "Look at him," Bruce said quietly. "Kid's exhausted, probably doesn't even know what he's gotten himself into, but he's still trying to help everyone."
"So you'll consider it?"
Bruce was quiet for a long moment. "If we ever cross paths with him... maybe we'll ask. But I'm not getting my hopes up, Betty. I can't afford to."
But he also looked like someone who kept his promises.
 ooOoo
Street Corner, Lower East Side
The homeless man sat on his usual piece of cardboard, a paper cup containing a few coins at his feet.
"That's him," he whispered to nobody in particular, staring at Jay's face on someone's smartphone screen. "That's the angel. Came to me when I was dyin' of hypothermia, couldn't feel nothing below my chest. He made me whole again."
People passed by without paying attention, but the man kept talking anyway, his voice carrying a reverence usually reserved for saints.
"Didn't ask for nothin'. Didn't want no thanks. Just... fixed me up and told me to take care of myself." He looked down at his leg, flexing his toes inside his worn boots. "Three years I been walkin' on this leg, and I ain't told nobody who gave it back to me. But now... now the whole world knows."
 ooOoo
Suburban Kitchen, Westchester County
The Martinez family sat around their dinner table, the evening news playing on the tablet propped up against a bowl of fruit. Maria Martinez served rice and beans while her husband Carlos passed around freshly made tortillas, their three children chattering excitedly about their day at school.
"Mami," their youngest daughter asked, "are mutants real?"
Maria glanced at Carlos, sharing one of those wordless conversations that married couples master over time. "What do you think, mija?"
"I think... I think if someone can heal people, that's good. Even if they're different." The little girl considered this seriously. "Like when Abuela's hands hurt and she can't cook, but then her medicine makes her better."
Carlos nodded approvingly. "Sometimes being different means you can help people in ways others can't. The important thing is what you do with your gifts."
On the tablet, Jay was speaking about judging people by their actions rather than their origins, his voice carrying across their kitchen with quiet conviction.
"I still don't trust it," their teenage son said, picking at his food. "What if they're lying?"
"Then we'll find out," Maria said simply. "But until then, maybe we give them the same chance we'd want if we were different."
 ooOoo
Political Back Room, Washington, D.C.
Senator Robert Kelly sat at the head of a mahogany table, surrounded by advisors, lobbyists, and political operatives whose faces never appeared in campaign photographs.
"This changes everything," Kelly said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "One bleeding-heart mutant with a savior complex and suddenly they're not scary anymore. They're misunderstood heroes."
"It's a PR disaster," agreed his chief of staff. "The Mutant Registration Act was gaining traction because people were afraid. Fear is a powerful motivator. But this..."
On the wall-mounted screen, Jay's weary but unwavering face spoke about every life mattering, about using abilities to help rather than harm. The polling data scrolling along the bottom showed public opinion shifting in real-time.
"We need to control the narrative," Kelly continued. "Find the dangerous ones, the ones who can't be painted as sympathetic. Magneto, Sabretooth, that pyro kid in Boston. Remind people that for every healer, there's someone who can level city blocks."
"What about the Doctor himself?" asked one of the lobbyists. "Any dirt we can dig up?"
Kelly's smile was cold and calculating. "Everyone has secrets. We just need to find his."
 ooOoo
Late Night Television, Nationwide
"So let me get this straight," Jimmy Fallon said to his studio audience, his trademark grin somewhat strained, "we've got mutants, we knew that, but it was an open secret. And one of them just held an impromptu press conference in Central Park after saving a family from a gang shootout."
The audience laughed, but it was nervous laughter.
"I mean, good for him, right? Using superpowers to help people instead of... I don't know, what's the bad option here? Taking over the world? Is that what we're afraid of?" Jimmy shrugged. "Because honestly, have you seen the state of the world lately? Maybe we could use some new management."
More laughter, warmer this time. On late-night television, everything could be made palatable with the right joke and proper timing.
But in living rooms across America, families watched with expressions that ranged from wonder to worry, trying to process a world that had suddenly become more complicated, more dangerous, and possibly more hopeful than it had been that morning.
The footage kept playingâJay drained but determined, Domino at his side, the Castle family alive because one young man had been willing to run toward danger instead of away from it.
Tomorrow, everything would be different.
Tonight, the whole world was watching.