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XGO CHAPTER 48 X-MEN: THE STRYKER PROTOCOL
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 13:52:29 +0000 UTCA desolate landscape of jagged mountains and frozen forest surrounded the vast, pristine expanse of Alkali Lake. The wind howled across the water's surface, creating ripples that caught the afternoon sunlight in fleeting diamonds of brilliance.
High above, cutting through wispy clouds, the sleek black X-Jet descended in a controlled spiral. Its engines emitted a distinctive whine as it approached a clearing that appeared completely natural from above. As the jet neared the ground, however, a portion of the forest floor slid away, revealing a concrete landing pad with blinking guidance lights.
Inside the aircraft, Professor Charles Xavier sat calmly in his wheelchair, secured to the floor. His eyes were closed, concentration etched on his features as he extended his telepathic awareness. Beside him, Scott Summers—Cyclops—piloted the craft with practiced precision. His ruby quartz visor gleamed in the cockpit's artificial light.
"We're approaching the coordinates Stryker provided," Scott said, checking his instruments with a frown. "I don't like this, Professor. Meeting a military operation on their turf puts us at a disadvantage."
Xavier opened his eyes, his gaze thoughtful. "I understand your concerns, Scott. But Colonel Stryker claims to have information vital to mutant security. After the attack on the President—"
"Which we had nothing to do with," Scott interjected sharply.
"Precisely." Xavier nodded. "But someone wants the world to believe otherwise. Stryker's call was... unexpected. If he truly has intelligence on who's framing mutants, we need to hear it."
Scott's jaw tightened visibly beneath his visor. "I still don't trust him. His history with mutants isn't exactly friendly."
"Few in military intelligence are," Xavier admitted with a slight smile. "But sometimes we must build bridges precisely where they seem least likely."
The X-Jet touched down with a gentle hiss of hydraulics. Before the engines had fully powered down, a squadron of heavily armed soldiers emerged from concealed positions around the perimeter. They formed a tight semicircle around the jet, weapons at the ready but not aimed directly at the aircraft.
A steel door at the edge of the landing pad slid open. Colonel William Stryker walked out, flanked by two senior officers. In his mid-50s, Stryker carried himself with military rigidity. His face was weathered but intelligent, his eyes constantly calculating. A thin smile crossed his lips as the jet's ramp descended.
Cyclops emerged first, immediately surveying the security personnel. His hand hovered near his visor – a gesture not lost on the soldiers, several of whom tensed visibly. Xavier followed, guiding his wheelchair down the specially designed ramp.
"Professor Xavier. Mr. Summers," Stryker stepped forward. "Welcome to Operation Whiteout. I appreciate your willingness to come on such short notice."
Xavier extended his hand. "Colonel Stryker. It's been some time."
Stryker hesitated almost imperceptibly before shaking Xavier's hand. "Indeed it has. Nearly two decades since that Senate hearing, if I recall. You argued quite passionately against my early registration proposals."
"I still would," Xavier replied evenly.
"And yet here we are, finding common ground in crisis." Stryker's smile tightened. "Please, follow me. What I need to show you is inside."
Stryker turned and gestured toward the door. The soldiers parted to form an escort formation – ostensibly respectful but unmistakably a containment procedure.
"Twelve armed guards for two visitors," Scott whispered to Xavier. "Feels more like a prisoner transfer than a consultation."
"Stay alert, Scott," Xavier murmured back. "But remember why we're here."
They moved through sterile, brilliantly lit corridors. The walls were reinforced concrete, painted institutional white. Every twenty feet, security cameras tracked their movement. Occasional heavy blast doors broke up the hallway, each requiring Stryker's retinal scan and code entry.
"This facility was originally constructed during the Cold War – a NORAD backup site," Stryker explained as they walked. "We've since... repurposed it for more specialized containment."
Xavier's brow furrowed. "Containment of what exactly, Colonel?"
Stryker paused, his expression calculating. "Threats to national security that require... unique accommodations."
They passed a laboratory where technicians in hazmat suits examined what appeared to be a fragment of blue-furred tissue under intense microscopes. Scott tensed immediately, his hand rising instinctively toward his visor.
"You're studying mutants," he accused, his voice tight with controlled anger.
"We're studying capabilities, Mr. Summers," Stryker corrected smoothly. "Just as your school does. Difference is, we focus on those who've already proven dangerous."
As they continued walking, Stryker's voice lowered slightly. "Frankly, gentlemen, after what Alex has done across the globe… we can't afford to be reactive anymore. Over seven hundred dead — soldiers, scientists, operatives. He leveled black sites no one even admitted existed. And he’s not alone. There are others like him — maybe even stronger. What Alex did wasn’t terrorism, not exactly. It was vengeance. Strategic, precise... and terrifyingly efficient."
Xavier’s eyes narrowed.
Stryker went on, "The world saw one mutant single-handedly bring down international operations. It made governments nervous. Terrified. This facility? It’s not just a prison. It’s a research hub. A line in the sand. We’ve taken mutants who were already criminals, already violent, and... put them to use. They serve a purpose now. Whether it’s science, weapons testing, behavioral study — they’re contributing to something greater."
"You’re exploiting them," Xavier said.
"They're already broken, Professor. We're just making sure they don’t break the rest of the world."
They approached an imposing circular door resembling a bank vault. Above it, a strange device emitted a pulsing blue light that washed over anyone who passed beneath.
"One of our more recent innovations," Stryker said with undisguised pride. "We call it the Suppressor. It creates a localized field that temporarily inhibits the mutant gene from expressing its... abilities."
Xavier suddenly frowned, his hand going to his temple as he felt his telepathic abilities dampening.
"I see. A rather direct approach to security."
"Simple precaution, Professor," Stryker replied. "I'm sure you understand that while you're our honored guest, your... particular talents would give you access to classified information beyond our discussion today."
Scott's posture stiffened. "And my eyes?"
"The Suppressor doesn't affect existing biological adaptations – only active power usage. Your eyebeams will remain contained by your visor, but you won't be able to control them if removed. Safety for everyone."
Stryker placed his palm on a scanner, and the massive door began to rotate open with a heavy mechanical groan.
"What I'm about to show you explains why your X-Men were never responsible for the attack on the President," Stryker said as they entered. "And why we might need to work together for the first time."
