The streets around the building were completely locked down.
Within a one-kilometer radius, traffic had ground to a halt. Cars sat idle, pedestrians squeezed together, and the entire area had turned into a living mass of people.
All of them had come for one reason.
Noah Vale.
And when he appeared—
The atmosphere exploded.
Chants thundered through the streets.
"NOAH! NOAH! NOAH!"
It wasn't just excitement anymore.
It was something deeper.
Before today, most of these people wouldn't have called themselves religious.
Now?
Some were already on their knees.
Looking at him like he was something more than human.
Noah didn't speak.
He just stood there, watching them.
Calm.
Silent.
Like a teacher waiting for a noisy classroom to settle down.
And slowly—
The noise faded.
The chanting weakened.
Until finally, silence returned.
"Thanks for the support," Noah said, smiling faintly.
"But let's keep things reasonable."
He gestured lightly toward the blocked streets.
"You're shutting down traffic, disrupting the city. That's not helping anyone."
His tone stayed relaxed, but firm.
"If you want to support what I'm doing, go home. Do something productive. That matters more."
The crowd hesitated.
Listening.
Noah's gaze shifted to the reporters nearby.
He scanned them briefly, then pointed to a woman holding a live broadcast camera.
"You free for the next couple of hours?" he asked.
She blinked, startled.
"Me?"
He nodded.
She swallowed, then straightened. "Yes. Of course. What do you need?"
Noah smiled.
"If I'm telling people to contribute to society, I should probably set the example."
A pause.
"So here's the plan."
He looked directly into the camera.
"For the next two hours, I'm going to respond to crime across the city."
The reporter froze for a second.
Then nodded quickly. "I'll follow you."
Her earpiece was already buzzing—her producer practically screaming at her not to mess this up.
George Stacy had just made his way downstairs when Noah turned back briefly.
"Commissioner," Noah said, "I'll leave the cleanup to you."
George blinked. "Wait—what—?"
He didn't get to finish.
A surge of violet energy wrapped around the reporter.
She gasped as her feet left the ground.
And then—
They rose.
Straight up.
The crowd stared.
Some shouted.
Others just watched in stunned silence.
Within seconds, Noah and the reporter were already climbing into the sky.
Up above the city, the air felt different.
Quieter.
Cleaner.
The reporter clutched her equipment, still processing what was happening.
"You're… just flying," she said, half in disbelief.
"More like controlling how I fall," Noah replied casually.
Then his expression shifted.
Focused.
He let his awareness expand.
Not sight.
Sound.
The city unfolded in his mind—heartbeats, footsteps, distant shouts, engines, breaths.
Every detail layered together, forming a living map.
Then—
He locked onto something.
"Got one."
Between his hands, a small sphere of violet energy formed.
It pulsed—shrinking, expanding—unstable but controlled.
"What is that?" the reporter asked, eyes fixed on it.
"A variation," Noah said. "Different energy flows create different effects."
He glanced at the camera.
"Think of it as… an experiment."
Then he added, almost casually—
"My own technique."
His hands moved.
The sphere detonated outward—
Splitting into multiple streaks of light.
They scattered in all directions.
Below—
A man sprinted down an alley, clutching a stolen bag.
Behind him, someone shouted for help.
He didn't get far.
A flash of violet struck his back.
He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him completely.
The bag slid from his hands.
Elsewhere—
Another flash.
Another impact.
Another crime stopped mid-action.
Across several blocks, the same thing repeated.
Precise.
Instant.
Unavoidable.
Up above, the reporter stared, speechless.
"You just… hit all of them?"
Noah glanced down briefly.
"Pretty much."
Distant sirens began to rise.
He exhaled lightly.
"This area's clear."
Then he looked ahead.
"Let's move."
They crossed the city in minutes.
Different neighborhoods.
Different streets.
The result was always the same.
By the half-hour mark, hundreds of incidents had been stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Completely.
Of course—
Not everything was perfect.
Some of Fisk's operations got caught in the sweep.
Collateral.
Unintentional.
But inevitable.
Two hours later, Noah slowed to a stop.
Back on the ground.
The reporter looked like she didn't want to leave.
"Thank you," she said quickly. "For letting me—"
Noah waved it off.
"No problem."
Then—
He was gone.
A blur.
Disappearing from the camera's frame in an instant.
Elsewhere—
Far from the city—
A transport vehicle moved quietly through restricted territory.
Inside, two figures lay unconscious.
Jean Grey.
Charles Xavier.
They'd been taken quickly.
Efficiently.
A sudden ambush.
No time to react.
Hours later—
Xavier's eyes opened.
The first thing he saw—
Was William Stryker.
Standing across from him.
Smiling.
"Charles," Stryker said calmly. "It's been a while."
Xavier's expression darkened immediately.
"You," he said. "What have you done?"
He tried to reach out—
To use his ability—
But something blocked him.
A helmet.
Metal.
Sealing his power in.
Stryker noticed.
"Don't bother," he said. "That technology works."
He stepped closer.
"Now," he added, "I want to show you something."
Xavier's voice sharpened.
"What?"
Stryker's smile widened.
"A demonstration."
A pause.
"Of what happens next."
...
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