Kara Zor-El stood beneath the hallowed chandeliers of the House of Commons like a divine judgment personified. She didn't move. She didn't blink. She simply existed in that room like gravity, and gravity demanded attention. Behind her, L.E.Y.A. fanned out like shadows in a royal painting—Gwen, Wanda, Jean, Rogue, Mystique, and Storm. Each of them stood in sleek, tailored black, radiating an aura of power that Parliament, for all its centuries of procedure and precedent, had no protocol to address.
"You've already lost your tea," Kara said, her voice measured, lethal in its stillness. "You've already lost your telly. Now I ask you this—do you wish to lose your fish and chips as well?"
A trembling Member of Parliament, cheeks blotchy with desperation, blurted, "You wouldn't dare… that's our national identity!"
"Oh, I dare," Kara replied, stepping forward. "England will bow, or England will starve without her comfort foods."
Gasps broke like a wave across the floor. Papers fluttered to the ground as whispers sparked panic in every corner.
"We can't lose the chips."
"My wife already cried when BBC got replaced with that glitchy robot…"
"She'll take the pubs next, I just know it."
The Speaker of the House rose slowly, like a man surrendering to history. He looked to Excalibur, its glow unwavering, then down to his empty tea mug as if seeing his future in its hollow base.
"So be it," he said. "By divine right… and economic collapse… and our empty wallets… we declare Kara Zor-El the one true Queen of England."
The words rolled through the chamber like thunder.
One by one, Parliament fell to their knees.
"Long live the Queen of Fish and Chips!"
"Long live the Queen of Rock and Tea!"
Elvis, still chewing happily in the corner, raised his fish and chip cone high. "Hail to the Queen, baby. Let the tea flow."
At that moment, a golden kettle on a ceremonial pedestal began to whistle. Steam rose like incense. Somehow, magically or malevolently, tea had returned to England. Parliament exhaled in unison, a nation soothed by warmth and caffeine.
Kara didn't celebrate. She simply observed. Measured the shape of the room now bent to her will. She turned slightly, allowing her eyes to rest on each of her harem. "Well," she said calmly, "mission accomplished."
Gwen stepped forward, her lips curling with delight. "What now?"
Rogue folded her arms. "Now comes the evil montage. We give England a makeover."
Jean answered before anyone else could. "We've already arranged the real royal family's accommodations."
Wanda added, "Four-star hotel. Full spa access. Limited mini-bar. No gold wallpaper."
A Parliament member recoiled. "You'd banish the royals to… semi-luxury?"
Gasps of horror rang out again. Someone fainted. Another whispered, "She's worse than any tyrant in history."
Kara tilted Excalibur forward just slightly, catching the light as it hummed with approval. "Only a true villain would doom a royal family to a life of luxury—but not too much luxury."
There was silence.
And then—thunderous applause.
Elvis raised his briny fingers in salute. "Long live the Queen," he mumbled, gold-crusted crumbs trailing from his lip.
Kara let the sound wash over her. Not because she needed their praise—but because it was owed. She had taken nothing with violence. She had waged a war with tea, with television, and the terrifying power of suggestion. Her crown had been bought, not earned. But what was monarchy if not theatrical economics?
She turned from the podium slowly, her cape swaying behind her like a black tide. Parliament stayed on their knees. The scent of fish and chips hung in the air. Somewhere, the AI anchor mispronounced "Nottingham" again.
The monarchy had been rewritten.
And the Queen of vinegar, vengeance, and villainy had finally risen.
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