The news channels, normally preoccupied with celebrity gossip and economic forecasts, were now entirely consumed by a singular, terrifying headline: "Mutant Terrorist Attempts Assassination of U.S. President." The footage—a blurred, synthesized image of the demonic figure vanishing in a puff of smoke—was looped endlessly, painting an entire marginalized population with the brush of extremism.
Across various corners of the globe, the reaction was immediate and self-serving.
In the Pentagon, General William Stryker's lips curled into a silent, triumphant smirk. The pieces were falling into place. The public outrage, the fear, the demand for protection—it all pointed toward a massive, federally funded expansion of his mutant containment and elimination programs. It was more than a conspiracy; it was vindication.
Meanwhile, back in his deep, shadowed headquarters, Nick Fury allowed himself a fleeting smile as the reports of the White House security handover landed on his desk. The President, utterly terrified and publicly humiliated, had essentially handed over the keys to the most secure building in America to S.H.I.E.L.D. It wasn't about the President's actual safety; it was about the strategic value.
The political leverage gained was immense. Both Stryker and Fury were operating in a sphere where personal injury was irrelevant; the true currency was power and control, and both men were incredibly satisfied that they had positioned themselves perfectly for the incoming tidal wave of chaos.
The news shocked Charles Xavier and his students at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters the most. The assassination attempt was clumsy, desperate, and utterly unlike the calculated actions of their primary adversaries, particularly the Brotherhood.
Charles sat in his study, his hands resting on the wheels of his chair, the weight of the mutant world on his shoulders. He slowly closed his eyes, centering his focus, letting his mind reach out to the one person who might have ordered such an attack, or at least provided context.
Deep within the custom-built, high-security plastic prison—a pathetic attempt by human authorities to contain the master of magnetism—Charles's voice echoed gently in Erik Lehnsherr's mind. "Erik. Was the President assassinated by one of your people? An unsanctioned move?"
Magneto, resting on a small cot, felt a wave of icy coldness wash over him. He scoffed, a deep, humorless laugh rumbling in his throat.
"Do you truly think I would waste a valuable asset and all my strategic momentum on something so foolish, Charles? An assassination is a declaration of war, and I am not ready for that declaration yet." He projected the cold logic back at his old friend. "It is obvious, Charles. Someone is trying to frame us. Is it Stryker looking for his Mutant Registration Act? Or is it a more sophisticated power moving to exterminate us?"
"I see," Charles's mental voice sighed, already burdened by the grim knowledge that a third party was manipulating events. His presence faded away.
Erik looked calmly at the unsuspecting, heavily armed prison guards outside his cell. A mocking smile appeared on his lips. It was laughable that they actually thought a mere plastic cell—designed to negate his magnetic abilities—could truly confine him when the world outside was calling for his leadership. He was a caged beast, yes, but the lock was about to melt.
Miles away, in a shadowy, secure apartment, Mystique (Raven Darkhölme) felt a thrill run through her as Charles's mental conversation briefly brushed past her own thoughts, giving her a momentary connection to the imprisoned leader of the Brotherhood.
"Raven, Eric should come out soon. Be ready for the order," a voice—not Charles's, but a deep, familiar voice that belonged to a trusted subordinate—appeared in Mystique's mind from her current hiding place. Her chameleon-like eyes lit up with predatory eagerness. The time for caution was ending.
Meanwhile, the hot pot restaurant was enjoying a pleasant, if boisterous, lunch crowd. The rich aroma of simmering broth and spicy chili filled the air.
Suddenly, "Whoosh!"
Logan, a.k.a. Wolverine, who had been calmly spooning broth, slammed his fists onto the table and sprang out of his chair. Three wicked, razor-sharp steel claws—his adamantium signature—snicked out of his knuckles with a sound like tearing metal.
He stared intently at the small television screen mounted high in the corner, which was currently showing a frantic news report on the Nightcrawler incident. A surge of primal, furious anger rose in his heart.
"Uncle Wolf!" Huang Wen, who was sitting across from him, had the presence of mind and the physical speed to forcefully press Logan back down into his seat before the patrons could panic.
Zhong Bo and Uncle Zhong, seasoned by years of living with the unpredictable Logan, continued eating, their expressions unchanged. The only person who showed true surprise was Huang Liang, the new apprentice, who stared at the retractable metal claws with a mixture of shock and profound curiosity.
"A conspiracy! This is definitely a setup!" Logan took a deep, shaky breath, forcing his claws to retract. He frowned and sat back down, his eyes still burning with suppressed rage as he slowly adjusted his breathing. Logan knew what this meant: a far larger, bloodier conflict was about to erupt between mutants and humans, and the bloodshed would land squarely on Xavier's doorstep.
"It seems the plot for X-Men Part 2 has officially begun," a thought flashed through Huang Wen's mind, observing the volatile Logan. He calmly chewed a piece of cabbage. "Perhaps I can get involved a little. If I can complete a legendary-level lottery draw, I'll have a stable foothold. But the danger involved in contacting these central characters is incredibly high…"
He glanced at Logan, who was brooding fiercely. "Even someone like Uncle Wolf, who is practically immortal, can only net me an Extraordinary-level lottery. I wonder if the system calculates this based on innate potential, or only actual, peak combat power…"
"Regardless, Charles, Magneto, and the Phoenix are guaranteed to win prizes above the Extraordinary level, but none of those three are easy to mess with or even approach without immediate, catastrophic risk!"
"No! I have to go to Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters now and ask Chuck what in God's name is actually going on!" Logan announced, making a quick, instinctive decision. He stood up and looked at Huang Wen, his expression grave. "Boss, I'm leaving for a while. It's possible I won't ever be coming back."
"If you need anything, truly anything, you can contact me if you genuinely believe I can offer assistance," Huang Wen offered, but he subtly steered the conversation away from an immediate partnership. He was not ready to throw himself into an X-Men storyline just yet.
"You'd better not get involved in this one, kid. It's too messy," Logan warned, shaking his head. He was already halfway to the door.
"Master, is Wolverine a… a mutant?" After Logan left, Huang Liang glanced anxiously at Zhong Qiang and Uncle Zhong, who were clearly in the know, then looked at Huang Wen, his voice barely a whisper. "Uncle Zhong and Brother Qiang seem to know his secret!"
"Didn't it hurt when his steel claws pierced out of his hands like that?" Zhong Qiang scratched his head, finally articulating the question that had been eating at him since he witnessed the initial outburst. "And his flesh was torn open, how did it heal so quickly? Did he have a secret application of the Shen technique?"
"It definitely hurts, but Uncle Wolf has learned to ignore the pain," Huang Wen confirmed, shaking his head slightly. "Uncle Wolf's mutant ability is his incredibly strong regenerative factor. His healing is rapid and absolute. In this world, there is almost nothing that can kill him permanently."
"Immortality? True immortality?" Zhong Qiang and Huang Liang's eyes widened in shocked unison.
Even Uncle Zhong, the seemingly unflappable old man, looked genuinely surprised.
"Um, he's immortal… but that doesn't mean he can stay perpetually young, does it?" A faint, embarrassed flush crossed Uncle Zhong's face. "I've always respectfully called him 'Brother Logan' since I first met him, but… he can't possibly be older than me, can he?"
"Ahem," Huang Wen coughed into his hand to stifle a laugh. "This is the 21st century, Uncle Zhong. Uncle Wolverine was born in the 19th century. That means Uncle Wolverine is closing in on two hundred years old, give or take a few decades of amnesia."
"Cough cough! Splutter!" In an instant, the table was filled with hacking and coughing sounds. Everyone was absolutely stunned by the revelation of Logan's incredible, true age.
"That Ice Man, Bobby Drake, though there was a plot hole in the setting that made him an Omega-level mutant, his strength isn't all that impressive in combat. Maybe he's a safe target to attempt an Extraordinary-level lottery draw…" Huang Wen looked at the flabbergasted crowd, his mind already calculating the risk versus reward of interacting with the X-Men.
Meanwhile, Logan didn't waste time looking for a bus or a ride-share. He hailed a taxi immediately and sped toward Xavier's Academy. Now that he was earning a legitimate salary from Huang Wen's establishment, he no longer had to rely solely on his superhuman endurance for long-distance travel.
The stately grounds of the Academy were quiet and peaceful, a deceptive calm over the brewing storm. Just after Logan marched through the front gates, a soft voice hailed him.
"Halt! I don't recognize you. Who are you, sir, and what is your business here?"
Logan turned his head and looked at the man speaking: Bruce Banner. He was sitting on a secluded bench, hunched over a thick textbook, looking every bit the quiet, scholarly physicist. Logan frowned.
"Are you the new teacher?" Logan asked, his tone brusque. "That bald Charles usually wouldn't take on tutors this old, would he? You look like you should be teaching advanced calculus, not dodgeball."
"Professor Charles Xavier is a respectable elder and a visionary mentor; you should show some reverence when speaking of him!" Bruce Banner frowned, looking at Logan with immediate, intellectual hostility.
During his time at the Academy, Professor X's constant support had allowed Banner to achieve simple, if tenuous, communication with the inner, rage-fueled personality of the Hulk. Banner attributed all of this progress to Charles's help, making him fiercely protective of the Professor, and instantly unhappy with Logan's disrespectful attitude.
"Oh! 'Elder'?" Logan chuckled, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Don't let that guy's age fool you, professor. I could easily be his great-great-grandfather. He's a pipsqueak compared to me."
"You've angered Banner," a deep, guttural voice rumbled, seemingly from the ground. Then, louder: "AND YOU'VE ANGERED THE HULK!"
Logan hadn't even finished the disrespectful thought when his highly attuned beast senses screamed a warning. The ground trembled. Banner's skin was already turning green, his muscles swelling exponentially, tearing the fabric of his clothes. A deafening, primal roar followed, and the enormous, emerald-green Hulk lunged at Logan with staggering speed.
With a loud "BOOM!" Logan was sent flying across the lawn by a single, casual backhand from the Hulk. Logan skidded forty feet across the grass, hitting a decorative fountain before coming to a stop.
But after delivering the blow, the Hulk paused, looking at his fist with a sudden flicker of confusion. The green skin was marred by a deep, rapidly closing cut, and a faint smear of Logan's blood already covered his knuckles. The wound, caused by Logan's initial defensive posture, healed almost instantly.
At that moment, another roar—this one human, feral, and utterly determined—rang out. Logan burst out of the ditch, a whirlwind of motion. His adamantium claws thrust out, gleaming like surgical steel, as he charged the Hulk.
"Pfft!"
The Hulk was caught completely off guard, stunned by the sheer, unreasonable aggression. Logan's steel claws easily pierced through the Hulk's famously dense, tough skin, raking across his torso and eliciting a sound of surprised, agonizing pain.
"You hurt Hulk!" The giant roared in shocked fury. He moved with brutal simplicity, suddenly lifting Logan up by the ankle and throwing him away with astonishing force, like a rag doll.
"Damn it! He's even stronger than the Colossus kid!" Logan quickly climbed out of the new, massive crater his body had created in the ground. He dusted himself off, his own wounds already stitching themselves closed, and muttered to himself, "I can't fight him head-on with brute force; I have to use my speed and claws. I need to find a way to disable his agility before he can crush me!"
Logan braced himself, his mind focusing on the green giant, ready for a fight that would shake the very foundations of the Xavier Academy.