White House, 30 Minutes Later
The strategic bunker held military and political brass: Defense Secretary, FBI Director, National Security Advisor, all tense. Whispers filled the room.
"Emergency meeting? What's up?"
"Bet it's Superman's base attack."
"Ross is missing, his command's a mess."
Trump entered, slamming the Act on the table. "The Superhuman Registration Act," he declared. "All superhumans in the U.S. must register—identity, address, family, powers. Refusers are criminals, arrested by a special task force."
Silence gripped the room. Defense Secretary Howard spoke. "You mean control Superman?"
"Not just him," Trump said, confidence growing. "Hulk, Adam Bernard, mutants—all under oversight."
The FBI Director frowned. "Our assessments show superhumans outmatch regular forces. Superman trashed Ross's base today!"
Trump tapped the table. "We need stronger forces to balance them."
The Advisor asked, "How, Mr. President?"
"A special unit of professionals," Trump said, eyeing them.
Heads exchanged glances. Howard said, "Our tech can't handle Superman-level threats. Unless we find Kryptonite—not realistic—or create superhuman soldiers."
Trump smirked. "Who says we don't have them?"
Silence returned. Howard asked, "Who?"
Trump didn't answer directly. "They call themselves the Regime Squad, from a destroyed parallel universe. They ruled and judged there."
The FBI Director stood. "Not our world's humans?"
"Exactly why they know superhuman weaknesses," Trump said. "And they'll work with us."
His voice rose. "Superhumans defy natural order. We'll fix that."
Seeing their reactions, he pressed a comm. "Bring them in."
The door opened, armed agents parting nervously. Seven figures entered. The leader wore red tights, gold armor gleaming, eyes glowing white, his presence stifling. A figure followed, purple-black energy at their fingertips, prism bracers glinting dangerously. Another, red-green, flickered, appearing by the table instantly.
Murmurs rose. "Wonder Woman?" "A skull in a black robe?" "Flash?"
Hyperion stepped forward, voice booming. "Any superhuman not registering identity, powers, and whereabouts is a criminal. We won't tolerate threats. Non-compliers will be arrested. Resisters, executed."
Power Princess added, "Including your Superman."
Trump stood, declaring, "The Superhuman Registration Act is effective immediately! The Regime Squad will enforce it as supreme arbiters!"
The officials paled, none daring to object.
Long Island Villa
A golden hologram played the White House meeting: the Regime Squad's arrival, Hyperion's decree, Trump's signing. Wanda sat cross-legged, eating ice cream. "Wow, they're cocky."
Kara, arms crossed, studied the projection. "That's Hyperion? A knockoff Kryptonian?"
James lounged, tapping the armrest. "A parallel-world Eternal powered by solar radiation. I've killed the real thing. He's no threat."
Turing's voice chimed, "Sir, need Hyperion's combat data?"
"No," James waved. "Not worth it."
Wanda sat up, excited. "When do we hit? Storm the White House?"
Kara frowned. "If they start arresting superhumans, people will suffer."
James remained calm. "We wait. Let's see how this world's heroes react."
He switched the hologram to global news, the Act's announcement sparking outrage. "Let them push it," he said. "Let the world see their enforcers in action. When the first hero's caught, when they realize compromise brings no respect…"
Kara leaned closer. "Violence does?"
James scooped ice cream. "Then they'll see the Regime Squad turned to scrap. The world will know who's truly supreme."
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