Hale straightened, seizing the moment like a lifeline.
"See?" he said sharply, turning toward the nearest camera and motioning for it to stay on him. "This—this is exactly what I've been warning people about. Mutants are lawless criminals. They storm live studios, knock down armed security, and think power puts them above the law."
The cameraman swallowed hard, hands shaking as he kept the frame steady.
Why today? Why me?
Luke didn't interrupt. He didn't even look angry.
He just watched Hale talk.
Hale kept talking, voice steady, practiced, feeding off the red LIVE light.
"Hmmm," Luke said at last, nodding once. "Good argument."
He snapped his fingers.
A transparent chart flickered into existence on the table between Hale and the anchor, hovering just above the surface.
At the same time, the studio camera shifted on its own, smoothly reframing the shot so Luke sat directly across from Hale, the table clearly separating them.
The LIVE indicator stayed on.
Luke leaned back slightly in his chair, hands resting on the table, posture relaxed.
"But now," he said calmly, "I'm here as a representative of mutants—people who are being oppressed, hunted, and killed across the world."
Hale smiled, unfazed. This was exactly the kind of confrontation he thrived on.
"What right do you have to represent them?" Hale asked smoothly, eyes on the camera. "Mutants don't deserve rights. They're unstable. Dangerous. The public needs protection, not sympathy."
Inside, he was already certain he'd won. Whatever game this man thought he was playing, Hale knew the rules of live television better than anyone. Public opinion was on his side. Fear was on his side. And on a live broadcast, fear always beat nuance.
I'll bury him right here, Hale thought, eyes flicking briefly to the camera. By the time this ends, he'll just look like another dangerous mutant proving my point.
Luke turned his gaze to the anchor. "So," he asked calmly, "do you support that opinion?"
The anchor stiffened, a visible swallow running down his throat. Cameras were still rolling. Millions were watching.
"I—uh," he hesitated, eyes flicking briefly toward the collapsed guards on the floor. "I don't know. I'm… neutral."
Luke nodded once. "Neutral. I see."
He shifted his attention back to Hale, voice steady, almost polite. "Then I'll ask you directly, Military Advisor Hale. Why do mutants have no rights? Aren't they also humans?"
Hale leaned back in his chair.
"Human?" he scoffed lightly. " Mutants are unstable variables—walking disasters."
He gestured vaguely, as if the answer were obvious. "Rights are for those who can be trusted. Mutants have proven, time and again, that they can't be."
Luke tilted his head slightly.
"Oh?" he said. "Then let me ask you something simple."
"How many people died during World War One and World War Two?" Luke asked calmly.
Hale frowned. "That's irrelevant—"
"Humor me," Luke cut in, still polite. "Ballpark numbers."
Hale's jaw tightened. "Tens of millions."
Luke nodded. "Humans. No mutants required. You're talking as if things were peaceful before mutants ever existed."
He leaned forward just a little. "Genocide. Firebombing. Nuclear annihilation. Entire cities erased. So tell me—what caused all that? Mutants, or humans? Because by your logic, humanity should've lost its right to exist a long time ago."
The smile faded from Hale's face.
The anchor's eyes flicked between them. The cameras stayed locked in.
Luke turned his gaze toward the lens—toward the millions watching.
"To everyone watching this," he said, voice steady but carrying weight, "can you honestly say there aren't humans who hurt others purely for their own gain?"
No shouting. No theatrics. Just a question.
"People who lie, steal, murder. People who destroy lives for money, power, or pride—yet they're still called human. They still get trials. Rights. Second chances."
He let that sink in.
"But mutants?" Luke continued. "Just because they're different—born different—their rights are stripped away. They're hunted. Caged. Executed. Not for what they've done… but for what they might do."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"Tell me—what do you call that, if not a double standard?"
Across the country, traffic slowed. Cars idled at intersections as drivers stared at screens in shop windows. In living rooms, hands lowered from remotes. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Luke finished quietly, but the words carried farther than shouting ever could.
"If danger is your measure," Luke went on, his voice steady, "then judge actions—not existence. And before you agree with what you're being told, ask yourself this: have they ever done anything to you personally to deserve that hatred?"
He paused, letting the question hang.
"Among mutants, there are countless people who were living ordinary lives. Parents. Children. Workers. People who went to sleep worrying about rent, school, tomorrow—just like anyone else."
His gaze didn't waver from the camera.
"But the moment their mutation surfaced, everything changed."
"Homes were abandoned overnight. Families torn apart. Children dragged away in the dark. Neighbors who once smiled suddenly pointed fingers. Fear replaced familiarity."
"They didn't choose to be born this way," Luke said quietly. "Yet they're punished as if they committed a crime simply by existing."
The room felt heavier with every word.
"So ask yourselves," he finished, "are you afraid because of what mutants have done… or because someone taught you they were something to fear?"
For a moment, the noise faded.
In diners, forks hovered halfway to mouths. In living rooms, conversations died mid-sentence. On sidewalks, pedestrians slowed, eyes fixed on shop-window screens.
Why are we hating them?
The thought crept in quietly—uncomfortable, unwanted.
Most of them had never met a mutant. Never been harmed by one. Never even seen one up close. Their anger wasn't born from experience, but from headlines, speeches, and fear repeated often enough to feel real.
A woman frowned at her TV, remembering the mutant kid from her son's school who'd vanished overnight.
"Mutants are like people with disabilities," he said. "Not all mutants are lucky. Some are born with physical mutations—things people fear, things they hate. Do you really think it's right to hate someone who's already at the bottom of life just because a politician or some public figure tells you to?"
"But what about last night?" Hale interrupted, tension creeping into his voice. He hadn't expected Luke to be this composed—this convincing. If this kept up, public outrage might falter. Sympathy might even start to grow.
He pressed harder. "Over fifty military personnel are dead. Doesn't that alone prove their cruelty?"
Luke didn't answer immediately.
The silence stretched—long enough for viewers to lean closer to their screens, for anchors in studios around the world to stop breathing, for social media feeds to freeze mid-refresh.
Then Luke spoke.
"That was done by me."
The words fell heavy and final.
In living rooms, conversations died mid-sentence. Phones slipped from stunned hands. Across the world, millions stared at their screens in disbelief, the weight of what they'd just heard sinking in all at once.
The broadcast didn't just go quiet.
It froze.
*****
A/N: If you'd like to read chapters ahead of the Webnovel release schedule, you can join my Patreon!
The Patreon version is already updated up to Chapter 208
👉 patreon.com/Universal_Peace