The White Palace — Central War Room
Inside the highest seat of authority in the United States, every chair was occupied.
Senators, generals, intelligence chiefs, security advisors—the power elite of America.
If someone were to drop a bomb on this room right now, the entire government would collapse overnight. No exaggeration.
The last time this many top officials had gathered… was the day Alex walked into the Pentagon and left a trail of bodies behind him.
And now—just months later—many of those same faces were here again.
> "As of this morning, the death toll has surpassed 8,000.
Our police, military, FBI, CIA, and even private armed contractors have engaged these so-called 'UB6 units' seventy-nine times.
Every encounter ended the same—total annihilation.
Two entire carrier fleets have been wiped off the map.
Eight military bases destroyed.
And all of it… in just five days."
The grim report was delivered by a high-ranking official in uniform, seated directly beside the President.
Every sentence felt like another stone crushing the already suffocating silence in the room.
> "And as of now, the attacks haven't stopped. It's clear: unless we hand over the AllSpark, they will not let up."
The mention of that ultimatum—Megatron's demand—dropped over the conference like a guillotine.
"This is the situation we face."
President Smiles-a-Lot finally spoke. His tone was grim, commanding.
"We need options. All of them. Right now."
One of the first to speak was Director Hansen from the Intelligence Bureau.
"There's only one path left—
That idea was immediately echoed by a number of senior officials.
But just as quickly, a voice of dissent rose from the far end of the table.
"You're fools if you think handing over that cube will stop them."
It was the Director of Homeland Security, voice sharp and cutting.
"These machines didn't just stumble onto Earth yesterday. Megatron said it himself—they've been hiding here for years. Why?"
"And you seriously want to give them a device that can create more of them?"
"You hand that thing over… and next time, they won't just take out cities. They'll level the entire planet."
No one wanted to be the politician whose name was etched into history as the man who handed Earth to its conquerors.
"You're jumping to conclusions!" one senator snapped.
"We don't even know if they'll use the AllSpark that way. You're assuming the worst."
"That's the job," the Director shot back.
"We assume the worst so humanity doesn't end up dead."
And just like that, the room devolved into chaos.
Two camps. One demanding surrender. The other warning of annihilation.
Back and forth, shouting, accusations—until finally…
A heavy fist struck the table.
General Phillips, one of the last founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., stood from his chair.
"You're all wasting time!" he thundered.
"You want to find the AllSpark? Great. Do any of you even know where to start?"
The silence was damning.
"General…" one of the defense leaders finally asked, confused,
"Didn't you say the AllSpark was taken by the Decepticons? Why is Megatron still looking for it?"
Phillips shrugged. "Maybe there's more than one. Or maybe he lost it."
More confusion. More tension.
And then—inevitably—the blame game began.
"This is your fault, Phillips!" a congressman barked.
"All of this is because of you people and your damn S.H.I.E.L.D. experiments!"
The room once again erupted into shouting matches.
Until the President's voice cut through it all like a blade.
"Enough! Are we leaders of a nation or a group of schoolchildren?"
"We will not hand our future over to aliens."
His words were sharp and final.
"America doesn't negotiate with terrorists—especially alien ones."
That drew a brief round of nods.
But the hard truth still loomed: How do you fight something you can't even hurt?
One advisor finally said what many were thinking.
"Mr. President… if we're serious about fighting back, there's only one viable path left: nuclear options."
Even the President flinched.
But before anyone could reply…
It was General Phillips again.
"We have… another option."
The word hung in the air like a thunderclap.
A dozen different emotions surged across the room—disgust, hesitation, panic.
It was the last suggestion anyone wanted to hear.
"I know what you're all thinking," Phillips said.
"Yes, mutants are complicated. Yes, our history with them is messy. But you've all seen what they can do."
"You've all heard what happened at our base."
He let the silence hang.
"One mutant—just one—killed four Decepticons and sent Megatron running."
Everyone knew who he meant.
Just hearing the name made a few of them visibly tense.
A few others went pale.
It was a name that had become taboo in high-level meetings.
"You're suggesting him?" one senator said with disbelief.
"After what he did to our government? To our people? And now you want to rely on him?"
"Our people are dying, senator."
Phillips slammed his hand on the table.
"We don't have the luxury of pride. We need results."
Everyone in the room understood the logic.
They just didn't want to admit it out loud.
Letting mutants—that mutant—save them meant they owed him.
Meant they'd have to change everything they'd done and said about mutantkind.
It was easier to pretend they still had a choice.
The President rose to his feet.
"Charles Xavier has always wanted peace. We'll start with him. See what kind of support the X-Men can offer."
"Phillips—get me Howard Stark. I want a backchannel opened to Alex."
And with that, the decision was made.
The future of Earth now rested…
in the hands of the very people America had spent years trying to destroy.
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