"...This is insane."
No one said it out loud, but the thought hung heavy in the air.
Behind Noah, the group stood stiff and silent, sweat creeping down their backs. In just a few sentences, he had turned an already volatile crowd into something close to a riot.
If the main doors hadn't been locked down—and if security hadn't been holding the line with everything they had—the protesters might have already stormed the building.
Noah leaned casually over the railing, looking down at them like he had all the time in the world.
"Look at you," he called out, voice carrying clearly through the speakers. "All worked up, shouting yourselves hoarse… while I stand up here and watch."
He smiled, easy and relaxed.
"I get to say whatever I want. You don't get to do a thing about it. That bothering you yet?"
The effect was immediate.
Frustration turned into something sharper. Anger edged toward fury.
Below, the crowd was already primed. Noah was just pouring gasoline on it.
"I know why you're here," he continued. "You're mad about the policy. You think I should cancel it."
He shook his head lightly.
"Not happening."
A few jeers broke out, but he talked right over them.
"In a few days, when it passes, I'll be at home, feet up, watching money roll into my account. Fifteen dollars at a time—from every one of you."
He let that sit for a second.
"Does that make it worse?"
It did.
You could see it on their faces.
"And that's just the beginning," Noah added, almost cheerfully. "I've got another book coming. Version 2.0."
That caught people off guard.
Even on the balcony, heads turned.
"A preorder system this time," Noah said. "Money comes in first. Then I decide when to release it."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"What does that even mean?" someone shouted.
"It means," Noah said, voice sharpening slightly, "the price depends on you."
Silence spread, thin and uneasy.
"Talk about me behind my back?" he went on. "Price goes up."
"Trash me online? Goes up more."
"Say something to my face that I don't like?"
A faint smile.
"You're really not going to enjoy the final number."
The reaction was immediate.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
"This is insane!"
"You think anyone's paying that?!"
Noah didn't even blink.
"Complain about it," he said. "That'll raise it too."
A man near the front cupped his hands and shouted, "Forget your second book! You're not getting a cent from the first one either!"
Noah shrugged. "Opposition adds a surcharge."
The crowd erupted again.
Noah's tone stayed calm.
"Starting price for the next one? Let's say a hundred dollars per person."
That sent another wave through them.
"And if you don't want to pay?" he added. "Then I just don't release it. I'm not exactly hurting for money."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Give it a few decades. I'll still be around. Not sure I can say the same for all of you."
On a screen across the city, Gwen stared, frowning.
"…Okay, that's a bit much," she muttered.
A moment ago, she'd been angry at the protesters.
Now?
She wasn't so sure who to side with.
At Xavier's school, reactions were split—shock, disbelief, and, in some corners, outright admiration. No mutant had ever pushed back this hard, this openly.
Magneto, watching from afar, actually laughed.
"Now that," he said, "is how you answer them."
Back at Doom Industries, the crowd had grown.
Three hundred now, maybe more.
No one was leaving.
They were too angry.
Perfect.
Kingpin stepped closer to Noah, lowering his voice.
"Our people are in position."
Noah gave a small nod, eyes still on the crowd.
Then, almost casually—
"I'll give you one minute."
The speakers carried his voice clearly.
"If you don't want things to get worse, walk away. Anyone still here after that…" He shrugged. "Let's just say your situation won't improve."
It was the closest thing to mercy he'd offered all day.
No one took it.
If anything, the crowd swelled further, fueled by defiance.
Noah didn't push.
He just smiled faintly, pulled out his phone, and started playing a song. Holding the microphone close, he let the music drift over the crowd—light, almost upbeat.
Then he set the phone down and waited.
Forty seconds passed.
A plain van rolled up near the edge of the crowd.
Ten men stepped out.
Nothing about them stood out. No uniforms. No weapons in sight.
Most people barely glanced at them.
Just more bodies joining the protest.
From above, Noah watched them take position.
Then he spoke again.
"Time's almost up."
A pause.
"Ten."
The crowd jeered.
"Nine."
No one moved.
"Eight…"
Some laughed, pointing up at him.
"…Three. Two."
He didn't say one.
He just turned and walked away.
The music kept playing.
And then—
A scream.
Heads snapped toward the sound.
One man was on the ground, clutching his leg—both legs twisted at angles they were never meant to bend.
Before anyone could process it—
Another crack.
Then another.
The sound spread like a chain reaction.
Bone snapping. People collapsing. Screams tearing through the air.
"Ahh—!"
"What the—?!"
"Run—!"
Too late.
The attackers moved fast, precise, methodical. One after another, protesters dropped, the crowd folding in waves like a field cut down in seconds.
The upbeat music continued overhead, absurdly out of place against the chaos.
Live cameras caught everything.
Every fall.
Every scream.
Every second.
Inside, Noah walked back toward the others as if nothing unusual had happened.
He stopped in front of Johnny, who looked like his legs might give out at any moment.
Noah spread his hands slightly, almost apologetic.
"I told them to leave."
Johnny swallowed hard, voice unsteady.
"…Yeah."
A beat.
"You did."