"Are you planning to control the President?"
Mystique cast Peter a probing glance, clearly noticing the anticipation in his expression.
Peter, however, looked back at her as if she had just said something absurd.
"Do I look that stupid to you?"
He let out a faint scoff, his tone laced with disdain.
The President? What did that even amount to?
In a country like this, did the President truly hold real power?
In a nation driven by money, the government was never the true ruler— wealth was. If the state couldn't even control essential industries like oil and telecommunications, then what authority did it actually possess?
If an oil tycoon woke up in a bad mood and halted supply for a single day, the entire economy would shudder. Countless families would feel the impact instantly. And if telecom giants decided to shut down networks nationwide—even briefly—the results would be even more devastating.
And the worst part? You couldn't even guarantee they wouldn't do it. They were private entities. If they chose to act on a whim, nothing could truly stop them.
Of course, there were exceptions—true leaders who held real power. Figures like Abraham Lincoln or Franklin D. Roosevelt weren't merely Presidents; they were the embodiment of the forces behind them. Roosevelt, in particular, came from one of the most powerful families in the nation.
Peter understood all of this clearly.
"Controlling him is meaningless," he said flatly. "If I ever need someone in that position to speak for me, I'll use other methods. Mind control isn't one of them."
At this stage, he had no need for the President. And even if he did, a puppet without the approval of the forces backing him was useless. The moment he stepped out of line, he'd simply be replaced.
That was likely why neither Professor X nor Magneto had ever bothered with such tactics.
Mystique fell silent, clearly considering his words. From her perspective, if not the President, then what inside the White House could possibly justify this level of effort?
Peter didn't bother explaining further. Instead, he stretched slightly and said, "I'm heading in. Have the others move."
Chaos required more than just a single battering ram. Juggernaut was the main force—the one drawing fire—but a true distraction needed scale.
Mystique glanced at Psylocke and gave a subtle nod.
In response, Psylocke raised her hand. A streak of violet psychic energy shot into the sky, brilliant and unmistakable against the night.
It was the signal.
Moments later, the air filled with grotesque howls and feral roars. From every corner of the plaza surrounding the White House, figures began to emerge—mutants, dozens of them, their appearances twisted, unsettling, barely human in some cases.
"These are members of the Brotherhood," Mystique said calmly, her gaze fixed ahead. "Most of them have incomplete X-genes—low-level mutants at best. They're disfigured, unstable, and rejected by society. The Brotherhood is the only place that shelters them."
She paused briefly before continuing, "This time, they're acting as a diversion. You could say… they're contributing to the future of mutantkind."
Peter didn't even turn his head.
"You don't need to justify it," he replied. "You did what I asked. That's enough."
These mutants existed on the fringes—unwanted, feared, and often unable to control their own abilities. Some had already lost their grip on reason, reduced to little more than instinct-driven creatures. Without the Brotherhood, they had nowhere to go.
And that was precisely why Magneto continued to command loyalty, despite everything. Despite the fear he inspired, despite the hostility he provoked, he still gave them something no one else would—a chance at a future.
Even if that future stood on the edge of a cliff.
Tonight, they fought for it.
The darkness of night deepened, but the White House grounds had already descended into chaos.
Juggernaut roared like a beast unleashed, his massive frame surging forward under relentless bombardment. Missiles, heavy weapons—everything was focused on him, yet each explosion only seemed to fuel his fury.
The more they attacked, the stronger he became.
Gradually, the barrage lost its effectiveness. The defenders could no longer hold him back.
With a thunderous crash, Juggernaut reached the outer perimeter. The main gate—designed to withstand the impact of armored vehicles—was torn apart as if it were made of paper.
And amid the chaos, hidden within the deepest shadows of the night, a lone figure moved.
Silent. Precise.
Like a ghost slipping through cracks in reality.
While all eyes were fixed on the unstoppable monster at the front…
Peter Parker had already infiltrated the most powerful building in the world.
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T/N:
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