As the soldiers revved up for battle, their spirits ignited by the adrenaline of the impending confrontation with the supernatural, Steve approached Erick and General Royer, holding a tablet that seemed to pulse with urgency. "You're gonna want to see this, sirs," Steve said, holding the device so its screen faced them. "What is it?" Royer asked, his tone a mixture of impatience and curiosity.
The screen flickered to life, broadcasting a live video feed from inside the White House. The image was projected on every screen in Washington, even the massive displays adorning the city's skyscrapers. The footage revealed a man dressed entirely in black, his long hair cascading to his waist and a sparse beard framing his sharp features. "I'm Julius Haine," the man announced, his voice dripping with a confident, almost mocking tone. "Leader of the so-called superhuman society that you've dismissed as mere fairy tales for generations." Royer's irritation was palpable. "That's him. That's the freak you were talking about?" he said, his voice edged with frustration.
Erick's gaze was fixed on the screen. "Yeah, that's him," he confirmed, noting the dangerous confidence radiating from Julius. It was clear from the leader's demeanor that he felt untouchable, a sentiment that both worried and intrigued Erick. The ease with which Julius spoke and the freedom he displayed suggested a profound understanding of their situation—an understanding that even the Blind One seemed to lack.
Guion, standing beside Erick, exchanged a look of determination. Together, they scrutinized the surroundings of the broadcast. Julius wasn't hiding; he seemed almost taunting in his openness, and that was unsettling. His lack of fear, despite knowing the strength of his opponents, indicated a deep-seated confidence—or perhaps a deeper, more frightening plan.
The video cut to a room where Julius stood with two shadowy figures in the background. A tall woman and a teenage boy, their identities barely discernible, hovered in the periphery. Erick identified them quickly. "Those two must be Rage and Pain," he said, his eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold.
Julius signaled to someone off-screen. "Bring him in," he ordered, his voice a chilling command.
The doors opened to reveal the President of the United States, escorted by two imposing twin brothers in military uniforms. They were large and muscular, and as they pushed the president into the room, they were firm but not violent.
"Get moving, sir. You've got an audience waiting," Julius said, his smile a veneer of civility masking a deeper cruelty.
The President, Iran Cross, moved hesitantly toward the chair placed two meters from the cameras. He was visibly distressed, his expensive white shirt torn and defaced with crude symbols and insults. His face bore marks of humiliation, and the sight of him so degraded was both painful and unsettling for those watching.
Julius, clearly irritated by the state of the president, glared at the teenager in the background. "Who did this?" he demanded. The boy quickly deflected, "Don't look at me!" His gaze shifted to the woman. "Damn it, Fury, was this really necessary?" Fury rolled her eyes, her demeanor nonchalant. "I was bored. There was nothing entertaining happening here."
The trivial exchange did little to appease Royer's anger. He gritted his teeth, his frustration evident. Julius, tired of the bickering, decided to move on. "Let's get to the point," he said, his voice carrying a tone of finality. He tapped his right shoulder twice, signaling the start of the real message.
"I am Iran Cross, President of the United States of America," the President began, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. Despite his position, he struggled to meet the cameras' gaze, the gravity of his admission weighing heavily on him. His eyes reflected remorse and a profound sense of inevitability. "I am here to repent for years of dishonesty," he continued, his voice heavy with regret. "I must warn you all that I may not have much time left. The stories you thought were myths… they're true. And I'm the one who ordered their destruction."
He explained that he had feared the power these beings held. If such power were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences could be catastrophic. His decision to eradicate them was driven by a desire to protect humanity, but it had resulted in a devastating cost. His admission came with the realization that his efforts to control the threat had only contributed to the current disaster. "I need you to know that whatever I did, I did it for America. And if given the chance, I would do it again in a heartbeat," he said, his voice faltering but resolute.
The broadcast elicited a mixed reaction from viewers. Many were moved by the sight of their leader so publicly humiliated, their anger towards the hidden truths tempered by a reluctant sympathy. Despite their grievances, they saw the President's vulnerability and felt a pang of compassion.
Julius clapped his hands slowly, a sardonic smile on his face. "Spoken like a true president," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Even in the face of death, you manage to deliver an inspirational speech. I truly admire your bravery." He stepped closer to the President, his smile widening. "But don't hold out hope for a rescue. Your so-called saviours from the conference—well, their bodies are hanging outside, decorating the flagpoles. And you, Mr. President, will join them soon. We left the last one on the roof for you."
The President's gaze met Julius's, a mix of defiance and fear in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Julius's eyes darkened, and his smile vanished. He leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "Ask me that question one more time, and I'll squeeze your neck so hard your head will pop off. And with your blood, I'll write a declaration of war against America." With that, Julius shut down the video feed, leaving a tense silence in its wake.