"How do we explain the lie?" Shuri asked, her mind already navigating the PR nightmare. "The world thinks we are a third-world nation. The moment we open the borders and show them this," she gestured to the sprawling high-tech city outside the window, "the shock will turn to resentment. They will ask why we didn't help during the wars, during the famines, during the rise of the dictators."
"We tell them the truth, framed by the rot of their own systems," T'Challa answered. "We will say that Wakanda has watched from the shadows, disgusted and terrified by the deep-rooted corruption of the previous global governments. We will point to the infiltration of Hydra into S.H.I.E.L.D. and the United Nations. We will tell them: 'We could not trust you with our secrets because you could not even trust yourselves. We could not give our technology to a world that was secretly being run by a death cult.'"
He paced the room, his movements effortless. "But now, the old world is dead. The Earth Federation is being built by the people—by visionaries like Stark, by the strength of the Tarot Club, and by a new collective will that seeks to purge the shadows. We will tell them that because of this new era of transparency, Wakanda is ready to step out. We aren't joining their broken systems; we are offering them our hand to pull them out of the mud."
T'Chaka, who had remained silent, stood up. The "Anchor" hadn't even been fully transferred yet, but the mere proximity to T'Challa's new aura seemed to stir the warrior spirit in the old king.
"To go public with the power of The Fool and the wealth of The Void..." T'Chaka mused, "T'Challa, you are not just talking about a political alliance. You are talking about a total shift in the human hierarchy. If we bring our technology to the table—our medical advancements, our energy solutions—we become the heart of the Federation."
"We become its conscience, Father," T'Challa added. "The Federation needs a center of gravity that isn't motivated by profit or petty borders. We will offer our stability to a world that desperately needs both. We will provide the resources, the science, and the protection. In exchange, the world will follow the path we help set. A path of order, logic, and prosperity."
Ramonda walked to the window, looking out over the Golden City. "The people will be afraid. Not just of our technology, but of us. If they find out their leaders are now immortal—if they realize the Starks and the Panther line will live for five hundred years—they will scream 'Tyranny.'"
"Then we must be the most benevolent tyrants history has ever seen," T'Challa said, though there was a lightness in his tone that suggested he knew the word didn't fit. "But we won't tell them everything at once. They will see our health, our vitality, and our wisdom. They will see a kingdom that remains unchanged and peaceful while the rest of the world struggles to catch up. By the time they realize we aren't aging, we will have already built a utopia they won't want to leave."
He turned back to the holographic display. "I have already coordinated with the other members. Stark is doing the same in the West. Namor will secure the seas. The Tarot Club is the invisible hand behind the Federation's throne. We are not just joining a Federation... we are defining its soul."
T'Chaka placed a proud hand on his son's shoulder. "The ancestors always said that the King is the mountain. But a mountain eventually crumbles into the sea. You are asking us to be the sky, T'Challa. To be there, unchanging, forever."
"The sky is where the Panther belongs, Father," T'Challa replied.
He looked at Shuri, who was already typing away at her holographic interface, likely drafting the first ten versions of the 'Wakandan Global Integration Act.'
"Shuri, prepare the diplomatic protocols. Our entry into the global stage must be an unveiling," T'Challa commanded, "But a King does not walk into a new era alone, nor does he rely solely on the walls of his city. Protection must be mobile, and terrifying to those who would seek to test our resolve."
He pressed a sequence on his Kimoyo beads, and the heavy vibranium doors hissed open. "Okoye, enter."
The General of the Dora Milaje stepped into the chamber, her spear held with lethal precision. She struck her chest in a crisp salute, her eyes instantly scanning the room. She was the shield of the throne.
"Okoye," T'Challa began, his expression unreadable, maintaining the necessary mystery of the crown. "The survival of Wakanda requires more than just high walls. I have acquired one hundred doses of a new Super Soldier protocol. This is a gift from the ancestors to the protectors of the realm. I want you to begin the selection process immediately. Choose the most disciplined among the Dora Milaje and the most unshakable warriors of the Border Tribe."
Okoye's breath hitched—a rare sign of emotion. She knew the legends of the Super Soldier, the stories of Captain America and the failed attempts of the world to replicate him. "A hundred, my King? You speak of a legion that possesses the physical perfection of the Panther without the need for the Herb. A force that could dismantle a traditional army before the sun sets."
"Exactly," T'Challa replied, "These warriors will be our Centurions. They will serve as the invisible shield behind our diplomatic words. When we stand before the leaders of the old world, these hundred will be the proof that the era of 'might makes right' belongs to Wakanda. You are not to discuss the source or the method with them. They are to be told only that they have been chosen for the highest honor Wakanda can bestow."
He paused, his gaze boring into Okoye's. "The administration of this power will be handled by me personally. Once your list is finalized, each warrior will be brought before me in the sacred grove. They will receive the 'Blessing' through a ritual of touch and recitation. There will be no chemicals, no invasive surgery, and no genetic scarring. They will remain as they were, yet they will become capable of tearing through steel."
T'Challa turned back to the holographic map of the world, leaving Okoye to marvel at the sheer scale of the power he had brought back.
"Stark is already preparing his side of the board. Namor is securing the depths. I want our proposal—the 'Wakandan Global Initiative'—to be so perfect, so technologically undeniable, and so militarily backed that the leaders of the old world have no choice but to bow. They will not see a hidden kingdom emerging from the trees; they will see the inevitable future of the human race."