The protests were finally addressed—but the answer only left a bitter taste.
In an official announcement, the government claimed that military systems had been hacked. That the missiles launched in Midtown were the result of external interference by extremist anti-mutant elements who had seized control of the weapons.
They insisted—again and again—that the government would never authorize the use of heavy force in a civilian area.
Very few people believed it.
At the press briefing, tension hung thick in the air. Then one reporter stood up.
"But what about the mutant's proposal?" they asked.
"The one suggesting mutants live on an island—separate, but safe. Is the government willing to consider that?"
The spokesperson's expression hardened.
"We do not negotiate with dangerous entities," the spokesperson repeated. "And we will not legitimize segregation under the guise of coexistence."
A reporter pushed back immediately.
"But the public is calling for coexistence. Many are saying it's better to give mutants a chance rather than escalate—"
"No," the spokesperson cut in sharply. "The government does not govern by public suggestion. Public opinion is often emotional, uninformed, and short-sighted. That is precisely why decisions are made for the people, not by them."
Murmurs spread through the press room.
"Our responsibility is national safety," they continued. "Until all mutants are fully contained and the threat they pose is neutralized, government policy will not change."
Cameras flashed harder now. Questions overlapped. Voices rose.
Outside the briefing room, the statement spread like wildfire.
People began asking the question out loud—on streets, online, in homes across the country:
If public will is ignored this easily…
If fear overrides consent…
Was this still a democracy?
Or just control with a flag wrapped around it
The mutant island didn't stay hidden for long.
In an age of satellites and constant surveillance, something that large appearing overnight was impossible to miss. Within hours, its coordinates were flagged, analyzed, and marked in red across multiple military databases.
And the response was immediate.
Across several bases, hangars came alive. Fighter jets were rolled out and armed with high-yield missiles—payloads designed not for precision, but for erasure. Weapons meant to flatten terrain, to leave nothing behind.
Naval task forces were mobilized as well, battleships altering course
The island.
In one command center, William Stryker stood overlooking the preparations, hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled.
"Finally," he said quietly, almost reverently, "I can remove the problem."
On the surface, it sounded like strategy.
But there was something wrong with his reflection in the glass. His eyes were no longer human—pitch black, lightless. And the smile that stretched across his face wasn't satisfaction.
It was hunger.
Deep in the shadow behind him, that grin lingered a second longer than it should have.
***
On the mutant island, the evacuation was finally complete.
Refugees poured in through Blink's portals—families, children, the injured, the exhausted. By nightfall, everyone had been accounted for. The place no longer felt like an empty stretch of land; it felt lived in.
Luke hadn't been involved in any of the repairs. He didn't know the first thing about wiring, plumbing, or infrastructure—and he didn't pretend otherwise.
That work fell to Hank and a handful of mutants with technical and utility-based abilities. Between salvaged equipment and careful planning, power grids came online. Water purification systems were restored. Storage facilities were stocked and organized.
By next morning, the island had electricity, clean water, and enough supplies to last for months.
There was even a plan for food.
With large stretches of flat land available, Charles suggested agriculture—simple crops that didn't require heavy processing. Potatoes. Lettuce. Things that could be grown, harvested, and used directly.
It wouldn't make them fully independent overnight, but it was a start. A way to survive without relying on a world that clearly didn't want them.
Three days passed.
The mutant island no longer felt like an emergency shelter. It felt… normal.
People walked the streets. Kids ran around between buildings. Mutants had been assigned roles—maintenance, security, farming, logistics. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable. Alive.
Luke walked through the town at an easy pace, Jean beside him. They weren't on guard duty—just checking in, making sure things were running smoothly.
"Hmmm," Luke said, glancing around. "Looks livable now. That bunker really wasn't meant for people. More like coffins with ventilation."
Jean gave a small nod. "Luxury wasn't really an option back then."
"Yeah," Luke replied casually. "I've dealt with situations like that before. Usually I just… end them."
Jean blinked. "Situations like this?"
"Zombie outbreaks. Alien invasions. A psychopathic organization trying to wipe out humanity," Luke listed, counting on his fingers.
Jean slowed her steps, staring at him. "…Those sound like movie plots."
She'd never heard of problems like that actually happening. So why was Luke talking like he'd faced them before?
Luke shrugged. "Different worlds. Different problems."
That didn't make her feel better.
"You might want to ignore that," Luke added. "Thinking about it too much gives people headaches."
Jean exhaled and decided not to ask further. Some things were better left unexplored.
They walked in silence for a moment before she glanced sideways at him.
"So… is Esdeath your wife?" she asked, doubt slipping into her voice.
Every time she saw the two of them together, it threw her off. One was calm and composed. The other was… violently enthusiastic.
They felt like complete opposites—and yet somehow, they fit.
Luke didn't even hesitate. "One of them."
Jean stopped walking.
"…One of them?" she repeated slowly.
"Yeah"
Her eye twitched. "How many do you have?"
"Four. Currently."
Jean stared at him, disbelief written all over her face. How could he say something like that with a straight face? Four wives? And he said it so openly, like it was nothing.
Before she could even respond, Luke's gaze shifted upwards.
"Oh," he said calmly, looking toward the sky. "It seems they've arrived."
He could sense a fleet of warships and multiple fighter jets moving toward the island.
*****
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