X-GENE OMNITRIX-Chapter 49: XGO - 47 : The Bait

The common room of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was rarely this quiet. Thirty-seven students of various ages sat cross-legged on the floor or perched anxiously on furniture, eyes fixed on the massive television screen dominating the wall. Even the youngest children, who normally couldn't sit still for more than five minutes, were motionless, transfixed by the breaking news broadcast.

Bobby Drake, still in his academy uniform, unconsciously formed a small ice crystal between his fingertips, the manifestation of his anxiety making the temperature around him drop several degrees. Kitty Pryde placed a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly dissolved the ice, murmuring an apology.

The news anchor's voice cut through the tense silence, her professional demeanor barely concealing her own shock.

"We're continuing our breaking coverage of what officials are now confirming was an attempted assassination on President McKenna at the White House earlier today," she said, her perfectly styled hair and makeup contrasting with the gravity of her words. "We go now to Tom Reynolds, live at the White House. Tom, what's the latest?"

The screen split to show a male reporter standing on the White House lawn, Secret Service agents and emergency vehicles visible in the background. Wind whipped his tie as he held his earpiece.

"Thank you, Diane. The scene here at the White House remains chaotic as authorities continue their investigation into what they're describing as a coordinated mutant attack on the President of the United States."

Behind him, men in dark suits and tactical gear moved with urgent purpose across the grounds. Yellow police tape cordoned off a section of the Rose Garden, where scorch marks were clearly visible on the pristine white exterior wall of the building.

"According to White House officials, at approximately 11:42 this morning, an unidentified mutant with advanced teleportation abilities breached White House security, appearing inside the Oval Office during a routine briefing. The assailant allegedly displayed additional mutant abilities, including what one source described as 'explosive energy manipulation.'"

The camera zoomed in on the damaged section of the building.

"Secret Service agents engaged the attacker, who fled the scene after causing significant damage. The President was immediately evacuated to a secure location and is reported unharmed."

The screen changed to show a grainy security camera image of a hooded figure surrounded by what appeared to be a reddish energy field.

"And Tom," the anchor interrupted, "there are reports linking this attack to Erik Lehnsherr's organization?"

"That's right, Diane," the reporter continued, his expression grave. "FBI sources have just confirmed that the attack bears the hallmarks of the mutant terrorist group known as the Brotherhood. Initial investigation suggests the attack may have been coordinated by Erik Lehnsherr—known as Magneto—who reportedly escaped from his specialized containment cell at the Wakefield Mutant Detention Center three days ago."

The screen changed to show a familiar image of Magneto in his helmet, followed by footage of him being escorted in specialized restraints to a prison transport vehicle.

"The FBI has released this statement, and I quote: 'Evidence recovered at the scene connects this assassination attempt to known Brotherhood operatives. We are treating this as a coordinated terrorist attack by Lehnsherr's organization. All resources are being deployed to locate and apprehend those responsible.'"

The camera returned to the news anchor in the studio, her expression appropriately somber.

"Tom, can you tell us about the public reaction?"

"Diane, the atmosphere in D.C. is tense, to put it mildly. Hundreds of demonstrators have already gathered at Lafayette Square."

The broadcast cut to footage of angry crowds behind police barricades, some holding hastily made signs with slogans like "MUTANT = TERRORIST" and "PROTECT HUMAN RIGHTS." One particularly large banner read "REGISTRATION NOW!"

"As you can see, anti-mutant sentiment is running high. There have been reports of isolated incidents targeting known mutants in several major cities. Authorities are urging calm, but many are calling for immediate action—including emergency legislation on mutant registration that had been stalled in Congress."

The camera returned to the anchor, who nodded gravely. "Tom Reynolds reporting live from the White House. Thank you, Tom."

She turned to face the camera directly. "We're joined now by General Robert Kelly, former security advisor and advocate for the Mutant Registration Act. General Kelly, your reaction to today's events?"

The screen split to show a stern-faced man in his sixties, with silver hair and the rigid posture of a career military officer.

"This attack on the heart of our democracy confirms what I've been saying for years," Kelly stated, his voice clipped and authoritative. "The mutant threat is real, it's growing, and it's targeting our institutions. The time for debate is over. We need action—immediate registration, monitoring, and containment of dangerous mutants."

"And what about those who argue that the majority of mutants are law-abiding citizens?" the anchor asked.

Kelly's expression hardened. "Tell that to the Secret Service agents who nearly lost their lives today. Tell that to the families who lost loved ones in Chicago six months ago. How many more attacks before we take this seriously?"

In the Xavier School common room, Rogue hugged herself tightly, her voice barely audible. "This is gonna be bad."

Jubilee, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sparked nervously, tiny fireworks dancing between her fingers. "They're gonna come after more mutants now, aren't they?"

"Quiet," Ororo Munroe commanded gently from where she stood at the back of the room. "Let's hear what else they have to say."

On screen, the news continued. "We're now receiving footage from anti-mutant protests forming in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago."

The broadcast showed crowds growing larger by the minute, police in riot gear forming lines as tensions visibly escalated. In one particularly disturbing shot, a blue-skinned mutant was being escorted to safety by police as objects were thrown by the crowd.

"Administration officials have announced an emergency press conference scheduled for 5 PM Eastern Time, where the President is expected to address these events and outline immediate security measures."

The camera cut back to show both the anchor and General Kelly.

"General, final thoughts?"

Kelly looked directly into the camera, his eyes cold. "The attack in Chicago was our warning. Today's attack is our wake-up call. If we don't act now, the next attempt might succeed—and then what happens to our country?"

The anchor nodded solemnly. "Thank you, General Kelly. We'll return after these messages with more on this developing story, including a timeline of recent mutant attacks and what they could mean for national security."

As the broadcast cut to a pharmaceutical commercial, the common room erupted in anxious chatter. Ororo clicked the remote, muting the television.

"That's enough for now," she said firmly. "Everyone under fifteen, please go to your dormitories. This is not a punishment; we just need to have a staff meeting."

Amid groans and protests, younger students began filing out under the watchful eyes of older student monitors. Once they had left, Ororo turned to the remaining students.

"I need you all to remain calm and avoid social media right now. Don't respond to messages from outside the school, and remember that to the world, this is simply a private preparatory academy. Your safety depends on discretion."

Nods all around, though the fear was palpable.

"Good. Now, the senior students know the protocols. If anything happens while we're in our meeting, you follow their lead."

With that, she strode from the room, her usual graceful movements now tight with tension. The remaining students huddled closer together, the television continuing to show images of growing unrest across the country, though the sound remained muted.

In Professor Xavier's office, the mood was equally tense but more controlled. Charles Xavier sat behind his desk, fingers pressed together in contemplation as he watched the same news broadcast on a smaller screen. Around him stood the senior X-Men: Jean Grey pacing by the window, Scott Summers leaning against a bookshelf with arms crossed, Hank McCoy adjusting his glasses as he analyzed the footage, and Ororo entering to join them.

"It doesn't make sense," Jean said, breaking the silence. "Why would Magneto do this? He knows it would only hurt mutant-human relations."

"Precisely why I don't believe he did," Xavier replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Erik can be extreme in his methods, but he's not foolish. This attack accomplishes nothing except to provoke anti-mutant hysteria."

"Could be a splinter group," Scott suggested. "Brotherhood members acting without his approval."

"Possible," Hank acknowledged, "but the timing is suspicious, coming so soon after his alleged escape."

"Which we hadn't heard about until now," Ororo pointed out as she joined them. "Don't you find it odd that news of Magneto's escape only emerges after this attack?"

Xavier nodded slowly. "I've been trying to reach Erik telepathically since the news broke. Nothing. Either he's using his helmet, or he's not where they claim he is."

"Or it's all fabricated," Jean added quietly. "A pretext."

"For what?" Scott asked.

Before anyone could answer, the door opened and Logan strode in, his expression even more dour than usual.

"The kids are worried," he reported gruffly. "And they should be. This is going to make life harder for mutants everywhere."

"Fortunately, our status as a private educational institution affords us some protection," Hank said. "As far as the public is concerned, we're simply an exclusive preparatory school. Our mutant registry is confidential under educational privacy laws."

Xavier nodded. "Which is why we've always maintained that public facade carefully. But we should still be vigilant."

The sharp ring of the secure phone line on Xavier's desk interrupted their discussion. The room fell silent as Xavier reached for it, his expression revealing nothing as he listened to the caller.

"Yes, I understand. We've been following the news." A pause. "I see. And you believe we can help locate them?" Another, longer pause. "Very well. I'll need to confer with my staff, but you can expect our cooperation. Thank you."

As he placed the receiver down, the others waited expectantly.

"That was the White House," Xavier said, his voice carefully neutral. "The President's Chief of Staff, to be precise. They're requesting our assistance in locating the Brotherhood members responsible for the attack. Apparently they have evidence, including items left at the scene that might help track the perpetrators."

"And you agreed?" Logan asked incredulously.

"I expressed our willingness to cooperate," Xavier clarified. "It buys us time to assess the situation."

He wheeled himself around the desk, his expression troubled as he gazed out the window toward the school grounds where students were going about their day, blissfully unaware of the machinations potentially targeting them.

"Something about this situation feels... engineered," he said finally. "The attack, Magneto's convenient escape, the immediate calls for registration legislation that had been dormant."

"You think it's a setup?" Scott asked.

"I'm not certain," Xavier admitted. "But I've learned to trust my instincts. And right now, they're telling me we're being manipulated."

He turned to face his X-Men, his decision made. "We need to investigate this from both ends. Scott and I will go to Washington, ostensibly to assist with the investigation. The rest of you will track down Erik and his known associates—find out if he really has escaped and what he knows about this attack."

"I still don't like it," Logan growled. "Feels like we're walking into a trap."

"Perhaps," Xavier acknowledged. "But refusing to cooperate would only reinforce the narrative that mutants oppose law enforcement. We need to show we're part of the solution."

He looked around at his team, reading the concern on their faces. "The Brotherhood is in disarray after the confrontation with Alex. If Erik is free, he's operating with limited resources. Find him, but approach with caution. Something larger is at play here."

"We'll take the Blackbird," Ororo said. "Jean, Hank and I can cover more ground if we split up once we have a lead."

Xavier nodded in approval before turning to Logan, who was already looking impatient.

"Logan, I need you to remain here."

The gruff mutant's eyes narrowed. "Why? You're gonna need muscle if this goes south."

"The students will continue their regular schedule," Xavier explained calmly. "But they'll need supervision, particularly the older ones who might be tempted to get involved. I need someone here who can keep things running smoothly and handle any situations that arise."

Logan crossed his arms. "So I'm on babysitting duty."

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"You're on faculty duty," Xavier corrected with a hint of a smile. "Besides, with our resident athletes' competition this weekend, someone needs to oversee their training."

Logan's expression suggested he wasn't buying the explanation entirely. "And if Sabretooth decides to show up?"

"That's precisely why having someone of your... particular talents here is reassuring," Xavier replied. "Though I doubt Erik would waste resources on this facility when his focus appears to be elsewhere."

Logan grunted, not entirely placated but accepting the assignment.

Xavier addressed the group again. "We move in thirty minutes. Scott, prepare the car. The rest of you, gather what you need for tracking operations."

As they dispersed to prepare, Xavier remained by the window, watching the students outside. On his desk, the muted television continued to broadcast images of unrest spreading across major cities.

Xavier reached out telepathically, sending a gentle probe across hundreds of miles, searching for a familiar mind—Erik's mind—in the void. Nothing. The absence was telling. Either his old friend was shielded... or something was very wrong indeed