The next day.
Luke sat alone in the canteen, pushing food around his plate with his fork. Esdeath still hadn't woken up—and honestly, he wasn't brave enough to change that.
The very real possibility of her suggesting round two had made the decision for him.
Coming here had felt like the safer option.
He regretted it immediately.
The food was… bad. Not poisoned-bad. Just sad. The kind of meal that reminded you this was a bunker, not a hotel.
"Yeah," Luke muttered, chewing anyway. "That's on me for expecting more."
His eyes drifted to the TV mounted high on the wall.
"Breaking news."
The anchor's voice was sharp, urgent.
"Mutant Suppression Unit Five, deployed last night to apprehend dangerous criminals including Charles Xavier, Logan, and other high-risk mutants, has been completely wiped out."
The screen shifted to shaky footage—burned-out vehicles, bodies scattered across asphalt, uniforms dark with blood.
Luke paused mid-bite.
"…Well," he muttered. "That didn't take long."
The broadcast continued.
"This incident has sparked massive public outrage. Protesters across multiple cities are calling for harsher measures, stating that mutants are a threat to humanity and that Earth does not belong to them."
Crowds filled the screen next—angry faces, signs, shouting mouths.
"Kill them all." "No more mutants." "They're not human."
Then the anchor straightened.
"On this matter, a senior military advisor, Marcus Hale, has stepped forward to address the public. We're going live now."
The screen shifted.
Luke leaned back slightly, appetite fading as the broadcast took over the canteen.
The anchor turned toward the man beside her.
"So, Mr. Hale—what is your response to what many are calling a massacre?"
Marcus Hale didn't hesitate.
He faced the camera head-on, jaw tight, eyes cold. "This was not a massacre," he said flatly. "This was the unavoidable outcome of harboring dangerous entities."
The anchor blinked but kept her composure. "Entities?"
"Mutants," Hale clarified. "Beings with unchecked abilities, no accountability, and no loyalty to human law. Unit Five was deployed to contain a known threat. They were eliminated."
Hale continued, voice steady. "Let me be clear. These creatures are not civilians. They are weapons that can think. And when weapons turn on their makers, they must be dismantled."
The anchor tried to interject. "There are reports of children—"
"Collateral," Hale cut in. "Tragic, but inevitable. The public deserves safety, not sentiment."
The chyron updated beneath him: PUBLIC SAFETY FIRST – ZERO TOLERANCE POLICY
"Even a mutant child," Hale continued, unflinching, "can cause destruction capable of killing dozens—hundreds. One loss of control is all it takes."
He looked straight into the camera.
"So I'll ask the public this: are you willing to lose your loved ones for the sake of restraint? For sympathy? Because that is the risk we're being told to accept."
The studio fell quiet for a beat.
Hale didn't wait for a response. "We won't."
"Wow," Luke muttered, pushing his tray aside. "That's impressive. They show up planning a slaughter, get wiped out, and suddenly they're the victims and everyone else is a 'dangerous entity.'"
Around the canteen, the mood had shifted. Conversations dulled. A few mutants stared at the screens with clenched jaws; others looked down at their food, appetite gone.
"They're really shameless," Clarice said as she arrived and sat across from him. She poked at her food without much interest. "They don't even bother pretending to tell the whole story anymore."
"Why would they?" Luke replied. "Fear sells better than facts."
"In their version," Clarice said quietly, "we're never defending ourselves. We're always the problem."
Luke nodded. "That's how it usually goes. Once a label sticks, everything after gets rewritten to fit it."
Clarice let out a small breath. "Still… thanks. Without you last night, this morning wouldn't have been this peaceful."
"Nah. The alarms are just annoying," Luke said. "And this isn't the first time. Compared to the kind of problems I usually deal with, the military ranks pretty low."
"What kind of life is that?" Clarice asked.
If the military hunting them ranked at the bottom of his worries, then what the hell did he consider a real threat? That wasn't bravado—just familiarity. Like someone who'd learned to treat danger the way other people treated bad weather.
Luke didn't hesitate. "My life."
Before she could ask what that meant, the television flared again.
"…mutants are animals that should be locked up in cages—"
Hale's voice cut through the room, sharp and venomous, even as the anchor tried—and failed—to rein him in.
"Yep," Luke sighed. "That seals it."
Clarice followed his gaze back to the screen. "That guy's name is everywhere lately," she said. "Every time things get worse, he's right there, calling it 'public safety.'"
Luke stood, pushing his chair back. "Do you know where this is being broadcast from?" he asked, looking at her.
That guy's words pissed him off enough that Luke decided to personally deliver him a morning breakfast—Luke-style.
Clarice blinked. "Yeah. Midtown. Why?"
Luke's eyes stayed on the screen as Hale continued to spit his rhetoric. "Because I'm done listening to his yapping."
***
The studio doors of the live broadcast building slammed open.
The sound cracked through the set—sharp, wrong—and every head turned at once.
Luke walked in.
For half a second, no one reacted. Then the control room erupted. Producers shouted. A cameraman swore. Someone yelled that they were live.
Security reacted at once, instincts taking over as two armed guards snapped their rifles up.
Snap.
The sound was soft. Almost casual.
Both men dropped where they stood, unconscious before they hit the floor. No blood. No theatrics. Just gravity doing its job.
Panic followed as everyone realized what was happening—a mutant had just walked in after watching their live broadcast. And judging by his expression, he definitely hadn't come to talk.
A technician bolted for the exit. Another ducked under a desk. Someone knocked over a light stand as people scrambled away.
But the doors were already closed.
"Sit down," he said calmly. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt anyone."
The room froze.
"I just came to help your ratings," he added, glancing at the red LIVE indicator. "You're welcome."
Slowly—very slowly—the staff stopped moving. Some crouched. Some stood frozen, hands raised, eyes glued to him.
Luke turned his attention to the center of the set.
Marcus Hale was still seated, jaw tight, eyes locked forward. The practiced composure hadn't quite cracked—but it was close.
"My business," Luke said, voice even, "is with him."
The camera kept rolling.
*****
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