Silver Manor felt unusually quiet when Richard stepped inside. The White Queen was already waiting for him in the main hall, a tablet in her hand and a faintly amused expression on her face. She didn't need to say anything for him to understand what was happening.
He had expected to dominate the headlines. He had not expected the messaging to be this coordinated.
Every major television network and newspaper in New York was running nearly identical framing. The phrasing varied, but the intent did not.
"Who Will Protect Ordinary People? A Tragedy That Could Have Been Avoided!""Saving Lives or Taking Them? The So-Called King of Mutants!""Hero? No. A Murderer!"
The narrative was crystal clear. The casualties from three nights ago had been placed squarely at his feet.
Richard skimmed several online articles, then casually tossed the tablet aside. It didn't take a genius to see what was happening. Competing media outlets did not align this neatly without external coordination. This was orchestration.
"They're testing me," he said lightly.
The White Queen crossed her legs elegantly. "Of course they are."
Guided public outrage. Manufactured moral framing. Escalation through media pressure. The pattern was obvious. After tolerating him for more than three months, Washington had decided it was time to probe the perimeter.
If Kingpin's intelligence hadn't already hinted at an upcoming capture operation, today's headlines would have confirmed it.
"Do they think I care about public opinion?" Richard asked with a faint smile. "Have I attended too many banquets lately? Made myself look domesticated?"
"As long as you're alive and independent, they won't stop," she replied evenly. "Public opinion can't hurt you physically, but it can brand you. If the world decides you're a villain, self-appointed heroes will come knocking without being asked."
Richard leaned back. "I understand the branding strategy. What I'm curious about is who gave them the courage. Aren't they afraid I'll visit the White House or the Pentagon personally?"
"Maybe they're hoping you will," she said calmly. "Or maybe they believe they're prepared."
He chuckled softly. "Then let's give them what they want."
He pulled out his phone. "I don't think I've ever done a live interview."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You're going to respond publicly?"
"They've created such a grand stage. It would be rude not to perform."
He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he wanted.
Anna Kraus.
Blonde. Reporter. Sharp questions. Memorable legs. She had challenged Fadili Trask at the X-Gene Cure press conference months ago. Richard hadn't remembered her name at first, but he had remembered everything else.
He pressed call.
The line connected after a few rings.
"Prepare a live interview," he said immediately. "Three days from now. I'll respond to the Brooklyn incident."
Silence filled the other end for two full seconds.
"Are you serious?" Anna finally asked.
"Completely."
Her voice sharpened instantly with excitement. "I'll contact the director right now. Live broadcast. Prime slot. Do you want it here at the studio?"
"Yes. Your station."
He paused deliberately. "And wear the gray OL suit you had on at the X-Gene conference."
A playful tone entered her voice. "And underneath?"
"Surprise me."
He ended the call.
The White Queen looked at him calmly. There was no jealousy in her expression, only quiet analysis. She had long ago decided that free entertainment delivered to one's doorstep wasn't worth emotional investment.
"Why three days?" she asked.
"Because pressure needs time to ferment," he replied. "The louder the outrage, the louder the echo."
She didn't ask how he intended to respond. She already had a good idea.
Richard did not bow to pressure. He crushed it.
…
Three days later. 7:50 PM.
Richard didn't bother driving. He teleported directly into the television studio. He wore casual clothing instead of a tailored suit. To him, this wasn't a negotiation or a court appearance. It was a demonstration.
His sudden appearance silenced the entire studio floor. Technicians froze. Assistants stared. Anna recovered first, quickly directing staff to attach a microphone.
She was wearing the gray suit, exactly as requested. Jacket, skirt, pink blouse. No stockings. Her long legs were as striking as he remembered.
He noticed. She noticed him noticing.
After the mic was secured, he took a seat opposite her on the set.
"This is the interview outline," she said softly, handing him the script. "You can remove anything you don't like."
He skimmed it once and handed it back. "Ask whatever you want."
At exactly 8:00 PM, the broadcast began.
After a formal introduction, Anna looked directly into the camera and then back at him.
"Mr. Wesley, thank you for accepting this interview. The battle three days ago resulted in significant civilian casualties and has sparked nationwide protest. Do you have any explanation?"
Richard's expression didn't change. "There's nothing to explain."
"Do you mean you refuse to explain? Or that you feel no obligation?"
"Neither." He leaned slightly forward. "You misunderstood something."
Anna blinked. "Misunderstood what?"
"I've seen the headlines. The protests. The outrage." His voice grew colder. "Let me ask you a question. Who told you I was there to save people?"
The studio went very quiet.
He turned toward the main camera.
"You are all incredibly self-righteous. I showed up because I wanted to kill him. That's it."
He let the words settle.
"If you didn't hear clearly, I'll repeat it. I killed him because I wanted to."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Saving people and causing casualties?" he continued. "Don't be ridiculous. Even if I intended to save someone, I certainly wouldn't save idiots who stand around watching a fight instead of running."
His gaze sharpened.
"You stay in a combat zone, you get burned. That's not tragedy. That's stupidity."
He didn't pause.
"You keep saying 'innocent civilians' as if I owe you something. Let me make something clear. Mutants and ordinary humans are not the same race. You are not my kind. You are not my friends. What obligation do I have to risk myself for you?"
The control room was frozen.
"As for your protests and opposition, do you think I care?"
His tone became flat, almost conversational.
"The White House didn't cancel my S-Class wanted order because of corruption in the Mutant Affairs Department. They canceled it because I killed them. The director. The deputy director. The operations chief. Every mutant agent at headquarters."
He let that sink in.
"And while we're being honest, Captain America, Steve Rogers? He wasn't on a secret mission. I killed him too."
The studio air felt suffocating.
"You wanted an explanation?" he said evenly. "That's your explanation."
He looked directly into the lens.
"You know where my manor is. If you're unhappy, come ask me for another explanation. Provided you have the strength."
He leaned back slightly.
"And here's a final reminder. Don't do anything that angers me. Don't do anything that makes me unhappy."
His voice was calm, but the warning was unmistakable.
"If you do, you will bear the consequences yourselves."
.....
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