If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

William Shakespeare

The Merchant of Venice

The commissioner of the United States Armed Forces sat at his enormous, mahogany desk in his spacious office, his gaze fixed on the computer screen in front of him. The office was in the Pentagon, the headquarters of the United States Department of Defense, and was filled with military artifacts and honors. The commissioner was a tall, intimidating man with a no-nonsense approach, his hair cropped close to his scalp and a sculpted jawline.

As he plowed through his emails and reports, the commissioner's phone rang, jarring him out of his reverie. He grabbed the receiver and spoke immediately.

"Commissioner here."

"Commissioner, it's the president," a voice on the other line said.

"I need to speak with you right away."

"Of course, Mr. President," the commissioner answered, his face solemn "How can I assist you?"

"I need you to order the annihilation of a group of people," the president said urgently, his voice low. "But I want it done in private." I want no record of it, and no witnesses. Understood?"

As he evaluated the request, the commissioner felt a chill run down his spine and his eyes narrowed. Even for the president, this was exceedingly unusual.

Memories of his own narrow escape from a state-sanctioned execution returned to him. At the time, he was a young lieutenant serving in a covert operation overseas. When a presidential assassination attempt failed, he was blamed. He had narrowly escaped with his life, only to be pursued by his own government for months thereafter. He was eventually able to clear his record, but the experience had left him with a strong distrust of those in power.

"Are you there, Commissioner?" The president questioned, drawing him back to the present.

He paused for a time before responding.

"Sir, I require additional information. Who are these people? What is the reason for this order?" even though he knew exactly who the president was referring to.

"Don't give me that garbage." The president exploded suddenly "You know who I'm talking about, and you can't tell me you didn't see this coming after the last stunt they pulled." His voice sounding way more aggressive than normal. After a brief pause, he resumed his cool demeanor as it was when they began the conversation.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't give you any more details," the president stated emphatically. "Please understand that it is a matter of national security. Well, can I rely on you to carry out this order?"

A knot formed in the commissioner's stomach. He was divided between his loyalty to the president and his own moral compass. The commissioner paused for a while before responding.

"Sir, I need further details before I can comply with your request."

The president's tone became icy.

" I am the President of the United States, and I have just given you a direct order. Don't challenge my authority."

The commissioner's mind again drifted to the group of persons he had been told to wipe out as the president finished speaking. Over the years, they had proven to be important to the military, giving critical intelligence and aid in various kinds of operations.

The commissioner understood that without them, the US military forces would have been unable to contain many of the crises and insurgencies that had endangered the country.

"Sir, I understand the importance of national security," the commissioner stated calmly.

"However, I must inquire: why total annihilation? They've been our allies for a long time. We would have lost innumerable lives and fights if it hadn't been for them. Is it truly worth it to convert them into enemies?"

The president's response was short and to the point.

"You have no right to ask that question, commissioner, I've made my choice, and I expect you to honor it."

"But, sir," the commissioner insisted, "these people have not done enough to ensure their annihilation. They've been quite helpful to us in numerous ways. Isn't there another way to tackle this?"

The president's tone became stern.

"You're calling my authority into question, commissioner. I will not accept disobedience".

The commissioner was well aware that he was treading on thin ice, but he couldn't escape the idea that there had to be a better way.

"I'm sorry, sir," he finally said.

"I'll carry out your instructions. But I can't help but think this is an error on our path."

The president's response was firm and decisive.

"Commissioner, you're a soldier. It is not your responsibility to question orders. Carry out your mission, and we'll leave it at that."

As he reached his decision, the commissioner felt a sense of remorse. He knew what he had to do, even if it violated his moral code.

"Yes, sir," he responded gently. "I'll make all of the necessary arrangements."

"Good," said the president. "Keep in mind that this is absolutely off the books. No one can possibly be aware of this."

"I understand, sir," the commissioner continued, his voice trembling with the gravity of his judgment.

The call ended there, leaving the commissioner to consider the consequences of what he had just consented to. He couldn't help but go through a sense of déjà vu as he sat alone in his office. He had once been in this position, and he was well aware of how effortlessly the boundaries between right and wrong could be blurred out in the name of national security.

His previous experiences weighed heavily on him as he considered what he had just decided to do.

He knew he had an obligation to obey orders, but he couldn't shake the sensation that he was breaking his allies' confidence. The weight of his decision hung heavily on him, and he knew the days ahead would be among the most challenging of his career. Nonetheless, he was aware of his obligation to his country. Even if it meant forsaking the only thing he valued most in life, the thing that had gotten him into this position he was today: his morality.

The commissioner sat in his office, staring at his computer screen blankly. The only sounds in the room were the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the faint sounds of activity outside. He'd been sitting there for hours, mentally going through the president's commands. He strode around the room, his mind racing with situations and outcomes. He already realized it would be impossible to just disregard the president's directives. But he had always been a man of principle and dignity, and the thought of compromising those principles sickened him.

He reflected on his years of field experience, the numerous missions and operations he had led. He was aware that there were always potential risks as well as possibilities for things to go wrong. But he also realized he owed it to his country to protect the innocent and respect the law.

So, after hours of thought and self-reflection, he came to conclusion.

He would comply with the orders, but only on his terms. He would carefully prepare the operation, ensuring that no civilians were killed and that the targets were taken out quickly and efficiently. He was well aware that it would be a hazardous act, one that might cost him many fine men and maybe even his life. But he knew that was also exactly what he needed to do. He owed it to himself and his country to carry out his duty with honor and honesty, even though the odds were stacked against him.

The commissioner sat down at his computer and began to type down the specifics of his plan, filled with resolve and purpose. He knew it would be difficult, but he also felt he was the most effective person for the job. And so, for the sake of his nation, he would do whatever he had to do. One thing was certain: no one would be permitted to live, especially because even the government was unaware of the full potential of these mutants. As a result, nothing short of absolute annihilation would ensure the saftey of humanity for the rest of their lives.