The doors burst inward with a metallic BANG, hinges screaming as they gave way.
Soldiers flooded the studio in a practiced rush—boots pounding, rifles snapping up in unison. Red laser dots bloomed across Luke's back, chest, head. He hadn't even turned around yet.
Before anyone could shout another order, a sharp thwip cut the air.
A compact device fired—and in a blink, a reinforced collar snapped around Luke's neck, locking into place with a heavy CLACK.
The light on it flared red.
A few of the soldiers exhaled in relief.
"You are surrounded," one of them barked, finger tight on the trigger.
Hale stood up slowly, smoothing his suit as confidence returned to his posture. He glanced at the collar, saw the indicator, and smiled.
"Hahah—you idiot," Hale said, almost laughing now. "That's a mutant suppression collar. X-gene inhibitor. With that on, you can't even breathe wrong without permission."
He took a step closer, savoring the moment.
"Alpha-level, Omega-level—it doesn't matter," Hale said smugly. "In front of human technology, you're nothing."
Hale was still talking—rambling now, drunk on control, on the sound of his own voice.
Luke barely heard him.
"…Oh," Luke said again, softly.
He rose from the chair, slow and deliberate.
"Don't move!" a soldier shouted. "On the ground—now!"
Luke stopped halfway up, then straightened fully and turned around to face the soldiers.
The collar's red light pulsed faster.
Hale sneered. "Didn't you hear them? One more step and you're eliminated."
Luke glanced at the soldiers—young faces, tight jaws, fear buried beneath training. Then his eyes returned to Hale.
"I'll give you one last chance," Luke said calmly. "Walk away. Or die."
The captain scoffed. To him, Luke was finished. No mutant could use their powers with that collar active. He lifted his hand slightly, signaling his men to stay ready.
Luke's words were dismissed as ramblings.
***
Outside the building, military units were already in position.
Sentinels stood in a wide perimeter, heavy frames locked in place, weapons tracking every movement.
Across the street, civilians had gathered at a distance. Phones were raised. Livestreams were running.
Some shouted—calling Luke a terrorist.
Some stayed quiet, uneasy after what they'd heard on the broadcast.
Everyone was watching.
Then—
CRASH.
The upper side of the building tore open.
Concrete, glass, and steel collapsed downward, raining through the air in a violent cascade. The sound alone sent soldiers ducking on instinct.
A figure dropped through the falling debris.
Luke.
He came down fast.
Like a body hitting the earth with impossible force.
The street buckled under the impact. A raw shockwave rolled outward, flipping soldiers off their feet, shoving Sentinels backward, cracking asphalt and shattering nearby windows. Cars rocked violently. Dust and debris flooded the air.
When the dust settled—
Luke stood in the center of the street.
Unharmed. Upright. Calm.
In his hand was Hale's severed head. Blood dripped onto the cracked pavement.
For a heartbeat, no one responded.
Then someone screamed.
"FIRE—!"
Gunfire erupted. Sentinels opened up at the same time, cannons roaring, missiles streaking in. The air filled with noise—metal, engines, shouting.
"Sigh… these guys really can't think." muttered Luke
A flash of blue lightning burst from him—not outward like an attack, but expanding, a perfect sphere centered on his body.
The air screamed.
Ionization spread instantly, racing across the street, crawling up Sentinels, leaping from rifle to rifle, tank to tank. White-blue arcs snapped through the atmosphere, not targeting—conducting. Every piece of metal became a path.
Sentinels shrieked as their frames glowed orange, then white-hot. Armor softened, peeled, and slid off like liquid wax. Missiles detonated midair, swallowed by expanding heat that crushed the shockwaves before they could bloom.
The ground couldn't hold.
Asphalt bubbled and flowed. Steel beams warped like clay. Guns fused to hands. Vehicles sagged, engines collapsing inward as molten metal poured out beneath them.
Five seconds.
That was all it took.
When the light faded, there were no soldiers. No Sentinels. No vehicles.
Only a field of glowing slag cooling in the open air—metal rivers hardening into black glass.
Luke stood at the center, lightning gone, collar cracked and smoking.
Of course, Luke controlled the lightning field.
The arcs never crossed the boundary he set. They didn't touch the civilians, didn't jump toward the crowds, didn't lick the buildings beyond the street. Every bolt stayed contained—soldiers, Sentinels, machines. Only the ones who had come to kill.
Phones were still raised.
Every second of it streamed live.
Now they understood—his words hadn't been a bluff. If he decided to move, the kill count really would go up.
People who had been cheering for his death only moments ago went silent. Some swallowed hard.
Others stepped back without realizing it. Cheering was easy when death felt distant. Standing a few meters away from it was something else entirely.
Luke appeared in front of them.
No warning.
The crowd broke.
People screamed and scattered, shoes scraping pavement, phones shaking, voices cracking. No one wanted to be close anymore. No one wanted to be seen.
Except for one blonde haired woman.
She was still livestreaming.
"Hey—this is your Lucy," she said breathlessly, camera held high as she backed away. "As you can see, the mutant is behind me… the military and the Sentinels are—"
She didn't realize Luke was already there.
Behind her.
The viewers did.
The chat exploded.
"Look behind you."
"Turn around"
"Lucy run"
"Forget it. It's too late."
"We should probably prepare a digital funeral."
"RIP Lucy."
That was the last message flashing across the screen.
Then Lucy turned around.
Luke was standing right in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint glow still fading from his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, calm, almost amused.
"You really should watch your surroundings," he said lightly.
"AHHHHH—!"
Before the scream could fully escape, Luke leaned in and gently—but firmly—pinched her lips shut.
"Zip it," he said. "Relax. If I'd come here with killing intentions, this conversation wouldn't be happening."
Her whole body froze. Terror, confusion, disbelief—all fighting for control.
Luke glanced down at her phone. Still live. Thousands—no, millions—watching.
He leaned slightly into frame and gave a small, casual wave.
"Hi," he said to the viewers. "For the record, she's fine."
The chat exploded.
Lucy's eyes went wide.
"I prefer being friendly," he said. "As long as you do your part."
*****
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