"I'll report today's events truthfully to my superiors."
The human commander stood stiffly, voice formal but respectful as he addressed Charles and the others.
For a moment, Charles simply smiled.
Maybe he hadn't been wrong about humanity after all.
Prejudice still lingered, yes—but today had proven that understanding was possible. That coexistence wasn't just a dream.
"Don't misunderstand."
Erik's voice cut through the air like steel.
> "We didn't come to save you. We came for our own. You're not worth the effort."
Charles's eye twitched.
> So much for goodwill.
The commander flushed but wisely said nothing.
After all, this was Magneto—the man who'd nearly torn New York apart more than once. The fact that he hadn't turned the entire battalion into scrap was practically a diplomatic miracle.
Beyond the Barricades
> "They beat the aliens!"
"The government failed—mutants saved us!"
"Freakin' mutants actually won!"
"We were saved… by mutants?"
Behind the barricades, civilians buzzed with disbelief.
The Decepticons had brought days of terror—massacres, blackouts, and helplessness.
Delivered by the very people society had marginalized, mocked, and feared.
Charles didn't need to hear their words. Their emotions poured into his mind through the mental static: awe, confusion… and guilt.
But they saved us anyway.
Charles's smile softened.
He wanted to press on—hunt down every last Decepticon and end this war tonight.
But one glance at his team told him what he already knew:
They'd fought five battles in a single day. Even with Alex shielding most of the damage, the strain was immense.
> "We'll stop here for today," Charles said, exchanging silent agreement with Erik and Alex.
Erik gave a curt nod.
Alex? His expression didn't change. But Charles could sense it—he wasn't tired. In fact, he welcomed the pause.
Letting the world digest what had just happened might be more impactful than pushing forward.
With that, the Blackbird took off, carrying the team back to base.
Excited voices rang out as the Blackbird touched down. Young mutants crowded the landing pad, faces alight with admiration and pride.
Their heroes had returned from war.
And across the globe—the world had watched.
The mutants' battles had been broadcast by every major news network. Their triumphs looped on screens in living rooms, airports, shelters, and war rooms.
> "Alex. Everyone. Outstanding work."
Mystique's grin was rare but genuine. Even Emma Frost, usually cool and unreadable, looked visibly pleased.
She gestured to the screen, where news anchors struggled to keep up with the flood of footage and headlines.
> "You've made quite the impression."
Clips cycled across the monitors—
> "—The mutants drove back an entire Decepticon unit—"
"—Citizens cheering in Manhattan—"
"—First real victories since the UB6 invasion—"
"—Love them or fear them, today, mutants are heroes—"
There were still skeptics. Some commentators questioned why the mutants hadn't acted sooner.
But those voices were being drowned out.
The world needed a win.
And the mutants had delivered it.
> "Heroes, huh?" Banshee muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "That's… weird."
Weird—because none of them had ever been called that before.
And for the first time… it felt real.
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