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Chapter 105: Humanity Was Never Lacking In Evil
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Is this what I convinced him to do? she thought, the memory of his "Thank you" now chilling her to the bone. To become a 'mouth-breather' on steroids?
To just… blab state secrets and superhero team-ups on live TV? She had a sudden, vivid image of Fury's face when he debriefed her. She needed a very strong drink. And possibly a new identity.
She could only hope he wouldn't leak too much. Please! Please have some self-control!
But the journalists in the hall, after a moment of stunned paralysis, remembered their nature.
The scent of blood; metaphorical and, given Adam's new revelations, possibly literal; was in the water.
One, a hawk-faced man from a lesser-known news network, couldn't wait for the pointed finger. He surged to his feet, his voice cutting through the murmur.
"If you're such a 'superhero,' Mr. Cypher," He sneered, making air quotes, "Then why have you worked with the known terrorist Magneto? Why not make your mutant identity explicitly public from the start?"
"Why have you not turned yourself in to cooperate with the authorities' investigation?"
It somewhat reminded Adam of the diner scene, the classic generic conflict. He felt like a Chinese protagonist; all that's missing is some face-slaps.
That was, however, the spark in the dry tinder.
Chaos erupted. A dozen others stood, shouting over each other, a cacophony of accusation and malice.
"What do you say about your parents' accusations that you forsook them? That you're a terrorist sympathizer!"
"Is it true your start-up capital came from blood money? From the mafia? From mutants like Magneto?"
"How do we know your success isn't because of a mutant power to cheat the system? To manipulate markets?"
"Shouldn't you submit to government testing to prove your ability isn't a danger to society?"
"Why are you treating this with jokes? Do you think your wealth puts you above the law?"
"Is it true you and Magneto conspired to murder Wilson Fisk?"
The questions were a barrage, a toxic swarm designed to trap, to condemn, to paint him as the monster they'd already decided he was.
The livestream chat became an indistinguishable blur of outrage, support, and sheer chaos.
[THE VULTURES ARE PECKING!]
[These questions are so loaded they need their own forklift.]
["Shouldn't you submit to government testing?" That's a one-way ticket to a lab cage.]
[Journalists must be a protected class because how in Hydra had God not sent them all to hell already?]
[Hey, don't generalize. There are some good ones that put their lives at risk to unearth tragedy and corruption.]
[Whhhaaat? A reasonable take on the internet!? I must be seeing things!]
[I can't see nothing cause u mama is on my dick, she big.]
[Tf? What have I done to u?] [U fucked his mama.] [???] [..]
Through it all, Adam sat cross-legged on his throne of living metal. His expression was one of profound, curious amusement.
A quirky smile played on his lips. He watched the shouting, red-faced journalists like a naturalist observing a particularly aggressive breed of baboon.
He chuckled, a soft sound that was somehow audible over the din. It was the chuckle of a man watching the biggest, most predictable joke in the world unfold.
The Joker was right, he mused internally, his crimson eye itching behind its hazel lens.
The world is so desperately unserious. And that's what makes it so entertaining.
He snapped his fingers.
Two of the six mechanical arms supporting his throne snapped forward with terrifying speed and force.
One aimed directly at the hawk-faced journalist who'd started the frenzy. The other swept in a slow, menacing arc, pausing to point at each shouting reporter in turn.
A deep, resonant hum filled the hall, vibrating in their chests. The ends of the two arms transformed, panels sliding back to reveal glowing, barrel-like apertures.
A fierce, building blue-white light ignited within them, casting stark shadows on the terrified faces below.
The hum rose to a threatening whine; the sound of a catastrophic energy weapon charging to full power.
Everyone froze. The shouting died instantly, replaced by a silence so complete they could hear the panicked heartbeat of the person next to them.
Hundreds of people stared down the barrels of what looked like twin miniaturized suns.
Adam let the silence stretch for three agonizing seconds.
Then he laughed. A bright, carefree laugh. He snapped his fingers again.
The whine cut off. The blinding light winked out.
The arms retracted smoothly, the weapon ports sealing shut. The two arms simply resumed their position as part of his throne.
"You fell for it again!" Adam said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "I can't help it! It's so fun to be fun, y'know?"
He grinned. "Oh, and yeah. I'm just fucking with you. They're just fancy LED lights I cooked up for when I have to walk through hell. It's quite dark down there, need a good flashlight."
His smile was brilliant, radiant with pure, unadulterated joy.
The entire room exhaled a shuddering, collective breath. The dominant emotion wasn't relief.
It was a dawning, unified realization; What the actual fuck is wrong with this motherfucker?
He was a force of chaotic, psychological entropy. You couldn't have a serious confrontation with a man who treated death threats as punchlines.
Before the stunned silence could curdle back into anger, Adam's voice cut through, losing its playful edge. It became calm, analytical, and utterly cold.
"But it's surprising," He said, his gaze sweeping the room, "Just how much of a fucking vulture you all are. Pretty good at being the worst. The media, right? Everyone hates you. Actual sharks."
He let the insult hang. Then he pointed his cybernetic finger. "You all brought up some 'tough' questions. I'll answer them. But not before security escorts a few… particularly fragrant bottom-feeders… out of my building."
On cue, a squad of large, professional security personnel, who had been stationed unobtrusively around the hall, moved with smooth efficiency.
They descended on the journalists Adam had pointed out; the hawk-faced instigator and the three most virulent shouters.
Protests erupted. "You can't do this! Freedom of the press!" "This is tyranny!" "I'll sue!"
Adam watched, impassive, as they were firmly but professionally grabbed by the arms and ushered toward the exits, still yelling.
Just as they reached the doors, Adam raised a hand. The security team stopped.
He looked directly at the hawk-faced man. "You. The one who's never heard of fun. A question." Adam's head tilted. "Do you work for Hydra?"
The man, flustered and furious, glared. "No! What does that have to do with anything? Let me go!"
Adam's expression was unreadable. He murmured, almost to himself,
"Interesting." He gave a final, dismissive wave. "I'll remember you." To the security team: "See them out. And the camera crew from their networks too. I'd hate for their biased equipment to malfunction."
As the protesting gaggle was removed, Adam turned his attention back to the remaining, much quieter audience.
He saw a range of emotions: fear, curiosity, and in a few, a gleeful schadenfreude at their competitors' misfortune.
Adam's smile returned, this time conspiratorial. "Happy now? Less competition. You all get the story to yourselves."
He laughed before his eyes found the main conference camera, its red light a beacon to the watching world.
"Now," He said, his voice dropping into an intimate, theatrical register. "For the main meal."
He paused, letting the anticipation build in the hall and in millions of homes. "I'm a very kind host. So for the vultures watching… I shall feed you well tonight."
Another pause, longer this time. His playful demeanor evaporated, replaced by something contemplative, almost… weary. He was about to bullshit again.
"But…" He stroked his chin, looking down at the crowd, his gaze seeing through them to the larger audience beyond.
"I've kept up with the news. From everything I've seen… and from the 'questions' today…"
He shook his head slowly, a gesture of genuine perplexity. "I get the feeling everyone is treating my mutant nature… as if it's a crime."
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
"When did the world get this… misconception?" He asked, his voice quiet but piercing. "That being born a mutant makes you a target for public hatred? For criminal accusation without evidence?"
He spread his hands; one flesh, one metal; in a gesture of open inquiry.
"Could it be because of Magneto's actions?" He pondered it. "Maybe. But if we go by that logic… let's look at the record books."
He began counting off on his fingers, his tone that of a lecturer listing regrettable but unquestionable facts.
"You've got Adolf Hitler. Hong Xiuquan. Reinhard Heydrich. Joseph Stalin. Osama bin Laden. Pol Pot."
He switched to his other hand. "Let's change the category. Serial killers. John Wayne Gacy. Charles Manson. Ted Bundy. Jeffrey Dahmer."
He let the names hang in the air, each one a synonym for human-inflicted horror.
The hall was utterly silent. The livestream chat, for the first time, had slowed to a crawl.
Adam looked back at the camera, his mismatched eyes holding the gaze of the world.
"See?" He said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying to every corner. "When it comes to evil… Humanity was never lacking."
[Man, he's spitting.]
[True true, especially in Marvel, evil is unique to no race.]
[Damn, some names I haven't heard of, time for some research.]
["Humanity was never lacking." HOLY SHIT.]
[This went from a tech showcase to a philosophical indictment in 2.5 seconds.]
[Man, he's good, too fucking charismatic. I bet he will grow an enormous fanbase through those words alone.]
[He's like cult leaders, and I bet a cult will soon rise in his name.]
[No way, he isn't that charismatic.]
[He still has room to grow, not yet with the big names.]
[Eh, I think he already is, and if he grows beyond this, what will he become? That's scary.]
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[ 1000 Power Stones For An Extra Chapter! ]
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