The polished marble floors of the West Wing's corridor reflected the overhead lights in perfect symmetry, creating the illusion of walking between two worlds. General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross moved with military precision, his decorations clinking softly against his dress uniform. Beside him, Colonel William Stryker maintained an equally rigid posture, though his eyes darted occasionally to the classified folder clutched in his gloved hands.
"How many people did you have to threaten to get this meeting?" Ross asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Stryker's thin lips curved into what might have been a smile on a more expressive man. "I didn't threaten anyone, General. I simply reminded certain individuals of mutual interests."
Ross grunted. Getting the Joint Chiefs together on short notice was difficult enough. Convincing the President to attend was nearly impossible. Yet here they were, about to present a proposal so controversial it could end both their careers—or change the course of national security forever.
"And our mutual friend from the NSA?" Ross asked.
"Will corroborate everything. The satellite imagery is compelling." Stryker clutched the folder tighter. "We only get one shot at this, Ross. If the President walks..."
"He won't," Ross said with grim certainty. "Not when he sees what we're up against."
The Secret Service agents stationed at the Roosevelt Room doors stood at attention as the two military men approached. Their earpieces crackled with verification protocols before they nodded and stepped aside, opening the heavy wooden doors.
Inside, the tension was palpable. The Joint Chiefs of Staff sat around the gleaming conference table—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and the Chairman himself—each with aides positioned behind them. At the far end of the room, Director Carver of the CIA examined his reflection in his water glass, while the National Security Advisor whispered urgently to the Secretary of Defense.
Conspicuously empty was the chair at the head of the table—the President's chair.
"Gentlemen," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs greeted them with thinly veiled skepticism. "I hope this emergency session is worth pulling us away from the South Asian crisis."
General Ross took his designated seat. "Mr. Chairman, what we're about to discuss makes South Asia look like a playground squabble."
The door at the opposite end opened, and conversations immediately ceased. The rhythmic, authoritative sound of dress shoes on hardwood announced the President's arrival before he was visible. The military men rose in unison as President McKenna entered the room, followed by his Chief of Staff and two additional Secret Service agents.
"Be seated," the President said briskly, taking his place at the head of the table. There was a heaviness to his movements that hadn't been there six months ago, before the Chicago Incident. Before Alex. "I've got the Chinese ambassador in thirty minutes, so let's make this count."
He nodded to General Ross. "You've called this meeting. The floor is yours."
Ross exchanged a glance with Stryker, who activated a device on his wrist. The lights in the room dimmed as a holographic projection appeared above the center of the table—an aerial view of what appeared to be an elaborate private estate.
"What you're looking at, Mr. President, is Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester County, New York." Ross's voice filled the hushed room. "On paper, it's a private educational institution for exceptional children. In reality, it's the headquarters and training facility for what Charles Xavier calls his 'X-Men'—a paramilitary mutant strike force."
The President frowned, leaning forward. "We're aware of Xavier's school, General. It operates within our laws, and Xavier himself has been a cooperative asset in managing mutant-human relations. What's changed?"
Stryker rose, tapping his device again. The image shifted to a lower level of the mansion, revealing what appeared to be a spherical chamber with a central platform.
"This, Mr. President, is Cerebro." Stryker's voice carried a quiet intensity that drew everyone's attention. "It's not just a detection system as Xavier has claimed. Our intelligence suggests it's capable of far more."
He tapped again, and a technical schematic appeared, showing the intricate neural interface of the device.
"Cerebro was designed to amplify telepathic abilities," Stryker continued. "When operated by a powerful enough telepath—like Xavier—it can locate any human or mutant mind on Earth. But our new intelligence indicates that with specific modifications, it can do much more than locate minds. It can influence them. Control them. Or terminate them."
A murmur rippled through the assembled officials. The Secretary of Defense leaned forward.
"Are you suggesting Xavier has built a weapon of mass destruction in his basement, Colonel?"
"That's exactly what I'm suggesting, Mr. Secretary," Stryker replied, his voice steady. "A weapon that doesn't discriminate between civilian and military, that leaves no radiation, no chemical trace—just death on an unprecedented scale."
The President's knuckles whitened as he gripped his armrest. "Evidence, Colonel. I need more than speculation."
Stryker nodded to Ross, who produced a small device from his pocket and placed it on the table. A blue light blinked once, and a holographic recording appeared—Erik Lehnsherr, known to the world as Magneto, speaking to an unseen interviewer.
"Charles and I built Cerebro together," Magneto's voice filled the room, his aristocratic accent unmistakable. "He believes it's a tool for finding our lost brothers and sisters. He refuses to see its true potential. With the right modifications and the right telepath, Cerebro could reshape the world... or end it."
Ross stopped the recording. "This was obtained three weeks ago by an undercover operative who infiltrated Lehnsherr's Brotherhood."
The room fell silent. Every person present understood the implications. The National Security Advisor was the first to speak, his voice barely controlled.
"If this intelligence is accurate, we're looking at a threat greater than nuclear weapons. No ICBMs, no warning systems, no deterrence doctrine. Just... instantaneous global reach."
The President's face had gone ashen. He took a glass of water from the table, and those closest could see the slight tremor in his hand as he drank deeply. The silence stretched uncomfortably until he set the glass down with deliberate control.
"Charles Xavier has been an ally to this administration," he said finally. "His school operates under our laws and has our protection. Are you suggesting we violate that relationship based on the word of Erik Lehnsherr—a known terrorist?"
General Ross leaned forward, his voice dropping to a grave register. "Mr. President, the threat is bigger than Xavier. It's what happens if this technology falls into the wrong hands. What happens if Lehnsherr decides to take it by force? What happens if Alex learns of its existence?"
The name hung in the air like a storm cloud. Alex —the omega-level mutant who had decimated a military convoy in Chicago six months ago, who had publicly challenged worlds governments to accept mutant sovereignty, whose followers had carried out coordinated attacks in seven countries.
The President's jaw tightened. "Get to the point, General. What are you proposing?"
Stryker stepped forward again, changing the holographic display to a tactical overlay of the Xavier estate.
"A precision operation, Mr. President. Not an all-out assault, but a surgical extraction of the Cerebro technology and containment of key mutant assets." His finger traced paths across the display. "Our intelligence shows regular patterns when Xavier and his senior X-Men leave the facility. We create a diversion—a Brotherhood attack on a government target that requires Xavier's intervention."
"You want to fake a terrorist attack?" The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs interrupted, his voice sharp with disbelief.
"A controlled incident," Stryker corrected smoothly. "No civilian casualties. We simply need to draw Xavier and his senior team away from the mansion."
The President's eyes narrowed. "And then what? Storm the school? Are you insane, Colonel? That facility is full of children."
"Children who can control weather, fire energy blasts, or walk through walls," Ross interjected. "But no, Mr. President, we're not proposing harm to any students."
He nodded to Stryker, who changed the display again. This time it showed personnel files—men and women in military uniforms, each with a designation: MUTANT.
"Task Force X, Mr. President. Mutant operatives who serve in our armed forces voluntarily. Trained, disciplined, and loyal to the United States. They'll lead the operation, neutralize any resistance using non-lethal means, and secure Cerebro."
The Air Force Chief leaned forward. "You're proposing using mutants against mutants?"
"It's the only way," Ross said firmly. "Conventional forces would be detected and overwhelmed. Our mutant operatives can counter Xavier's students on equal footing."
The President stood abruptly, walking to the window. His reflection stared back at him, the weight of the decision evident in the set of his shoulders.
"And if Xavier detects this operation and decides to use Cerebro against us?" he asked, not turning around. "You could be triggering exactly what you're trying to prevent."
Stryker's voice was calm, measured. "Our operatives will be equipped with psi-blockers, Mr. President. Technology derived from Trask Industries' research. Xavier won't sense them until they're already inside."
The silence that followed was broken only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The President turned back to the table, his expression grave.
"Even if I authorized this—which I haven't—what happens after? What's your endgame, General?"
Ross exchanged a look with Stryker before answering. "Once we have Cerebro and have contained any immediate threats, we implement contingency protocols. The mutants are fitted with power-dampening collars. Not permanently—just until we can ensure they're not a danger to themselves or others."
"And Xavier?" the President pressed.
"Will be treated with the utmost respect," Stryker assured. "But we will need his cooperation to fully understand Cerebro's capabilities."
The Secretary of Defense cleared his throat. "Let's be clear about what you're really proposing here. You want to use Cerebro against Alex ."
Ross didn't flinch. "Alex has killed thousands of American servicemen and women, Mr. Secretary. He's openly called for mutant supremacy. And our conventional forces have proven ineffective against him."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow carried through the entire room. "With Cerebro and a cooperative telepath, we could locate alex wherever he's hiding. We could neutralize him without a single bullet fired. No collateral damage. No international incident."
The President returned to his seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He stared at the holographic display, at the mansion that looked so peaceful from above.
"You're asking me to violate every principle this office stands for," he said quietly. "To attack American citizens on American soil."
"I'm asking you to protect millions of American lives," Ross countered. "From a weapon that shouldn't exist and a threat we can't counter by conventional means."
The President looked around the table, measuring the faces of his advisors. The National Security Advisor gave an almost imperceptible nod. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked troubled but didn't object. The Secretary of Defense stared at his folded hands.
"The public backlash would be unprecedented," the President said, thinking aloud. "If word got out that we attacked a school..."
"Which is why operational security is paramount," Stryker interjected smoothly. "The official record will show that we received intelligence about a Brotherhood plot involving Cerebro. We approached Xavier for assistance, and in the process, discovered the true nature of the device. The subsequent containment was for public safety."
President McKenna rubbed his temples, the weight of the decision visible in every line of his face. Six months of Alex attacks had taken their toll—not just in lives lost, but in the growing public fear of mutants, the protests outside the White House, the falling approval ratings. His party was facing an electoral disaster if he couldn't get the situation under control.
"No casualties," he said finally, his voice firm despite his evident conflict. "I want your personal guarantee, General Ross. Not a single student harmed."
Ross nodded solemnly. "You have my word, Mr. President."
"And what about the ethical implications?" The President continued, his voice hardening. "Even if we secure Cerebro, using it against anyone—even someone like alex—constitutes a level of invasion and control that goes against everything we stand for."
Stryker stepped forward, his voice taking on an almost evangelical quality. "Mr. President, we stand at a crossroads in human history. The emergence of mutants with omega-level powers has changed the equation fundamentally. alex has demonstrated . He can control metals at a molecular level. And he's just one mutant." he changes into things we don't have any idea about.
He gestured to the holographic display, which now showed footage from the Chicago Incident—buildings crumbling, military vehicles tossed aside like toys.
"This is the new reality, sir. We need new tools to maintain the security and sovereignty of our nation. Cerebro, properly controlled and regulated, could be that tool."
The President stared at the footage, at the devastation one mutant had caused. The memory of the frantic calls from the Illinois governor, the panicked evacuation, the helplessness he'd felt watching American soldiers die while he could do nothing.
"And if I say no?" he asked quietly.
Ross's response was immediate and blunt. "Then we prepare for the next attack, sir. And the one after that. And we hope that when alex or any other mutant decides to take Cerebro for himself—and he will—we can somehow stop him before he uses it."
The grandfather clock ticked away seconds that felt like hours. The President reached for his water glass again, drinking deeply before setting it down with a decisive clink.
"I want full operational details on my desk by tomorrow morning," he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of his decision. "Contingency plans for every scenario. And I want psychological evaluations of every member of Task Force X."
He stood, and everyone at the table rose with him. "To be absolutely clear, gentlemen: this operation never happened. The files never existed. If anything goes wrong—anything at all—I will disavow all knowledge, and you will bear the full consequences."
His gaze swept the room, settling finally on Ross and Stryker. "God help us all if we're wrong about this."
The sound of the President's shoes echoed through the room as he departed, followed by his entourage. The door closed with a soft click that somehow carried the weight of history.
In the silence that followed, the military leaders exchanged glances—some troubled, others grimly satisfied. The Secretary of Defense was the first to gather his papers and leave, followed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Soon, only Ross and Stryker remained in the room, the holographic display still glowing between them.
"He'll deny authorizing this if it goes public," Ross murmured.
Stryker nodded, shutting down the display. "Of course he will. That's why we need to ensure it doesn't go public until we've secured Cerebro and neutralized the primary threats."
Ross studied his younger colleague with newfound respect and wariness. "You've been planning this for a long time, haven't you?"
A small smile played at the corners of Stryker's mouth. "Let's just say I've anticipated the need, General. Humanity must be prepared to defend itself."
He collected his materials with methodical precision. "I'll have the operational plans ready within six hours. We should move quickly, before the President has time to develop second thoughts."
Ross nodded, straightening his uniform as he prepared to leave. "I'll contact our assets at Langley. We'll need their surveillance capabilities."
As they walked toward the door, Stryker paused, looking back at the now-empty Roosevelt Room. "History will remember this day, General. The day we took back control of our species' destiny."
Ross said nothing, but his stride was purposeful as they exited into the corridor, where the harsh fluorescent lights bleached all nuance from the world, leaving only stark black and white.
Outside the West Wing, rain had begun to fall, gentle at first but quickly becoming a downpour. General Ross stood under the portico, watching sheets of water cascade down the manicured White House lawn.
"Weather's turning," he observed as Stryker joined him.
"Indeed," Stryker replied, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where dark clouds gathered. "A storm is coming, General. Best we be prepared."
With that, they descended the steps into the rain, two figures moving with determined purpose toward what they believed was humanity's salvation—no matter the cost.
Miles away, in Westchester County, Charles Xavier wheeled himself away from the window of his study, a troubled expression on his face. Outside, despite the clear forecast, storm clouds were gathering.
"Professor?" Jean Grey stood in the doorway, concern evident in her voice. "Is everything alright?"
Xavier steepled his fingers, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm not certain, Jean. For a moment, I felt... something. A decision of grave consequence."
"Should I alert the others?" she asked, already reaching for the communicator on her belt.
Xavier hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet. But perhaps we should review the school's security protocols. Just as a precaution."
As Jean nodded and left, Xavier turned back to the window, watching as the first raindrops began to fall on the grounds of his school—his sanctuary. The sanctuary he had built to protect those who needed it most.
"What are you planning, old friend?" he whispered, though whether he was addressing a specific person or the universe at large, even he couldn't say.
The rain fell harder, drumming against the windows like an urgent warning.