The moment the advanced device switched on, not only Nightcrawler but even Daisy felt her connection to string resonance forcibly cut off. An unknown frequency band was interfering with her ability.
"You should get out as soon as possible too," Beast said softly. He understood her abilities.
"Be careful." Daisy readily took his advice, left the laboratory, and joined the politicians watching Beast perform further tests through bulletproof glass.
A true polymath! Much like Reed Richards, Hank was the type of genius who excelled in practically every field. Mutant affairs simply consumed too much of his energy, leaving him without the same opportunity Reed had to devote himself entirely to research. As a result, he was still a considerable step behind Reed in scientific achievement.
But Beast was still impossible to underestimate when he became serious. He quickly removed a finely manufactured device from Nightcrawler's neck.
"Mr. President, someone is controlling mutants in an attempt to create chaos," Beast said, giving his opinion with characteristic straightforwardness.
In truth, he did not need to explain. The people present with sharp political instincts already understood what this meant.
Subversion? War? Or merely a private grudge? They knew exactly how serious the matter was. If handled even slightly badly, it could turn into a political earthquake.
Several senior officials said nothing. They stood quietly, eyes lowered, waiting for President Obama to deal with the matter.
It was not entirely wrong to say that a president had limited power, but that depended on which country you compared him with. In reality, the president's power was hardly small. Otherwise, why would politicians put themselves through this circus every four years? Because they had nothing better to do?
President Obama was genuinely frightened now. His first thought was a personal grudge!
Could the capitalists in the insurance industry be unhappy? But the government had already made concession after concession. Could they still be dissatisfied?
Or perhaps the real-estate developers had a problem? Did they think the slice of the pie already in their hands was not big enough?
Thought after thought raced through President Obama's mind until, for a moment, he truly could not decide.
Seeing the president's furrowed brow and clenched fists, Daisy immediately knew he had gone off in the wrong direction. She had to pull him back.
She glanced at the compact device in Beast's hand. It was identical to the devices implanted in the necks of the soldiers who had tried to abduct Lorna. Daisy gave the director of the Department of Homeland Security's protective service a look. He was a member of their parents' alliance, and he quickly leaned over to whisper a few words in President Obama's ear.
They had to make President Obama understand that this was not an isolated incident, but an important piece of a vast conspiracy.
President Obama quickly came to his senses. It was too early for wild speculation; he needed to know who was behind this. After mentally running through several intelligence agencies, he finally turned solemnly to Daisy, with whom he had the best personal relationship. "Please make sure S.H.I.E.L.D. finds us a lead as soon as possible. If there's anything the government can do to help, let me know."
"Please rest assured. I'll give you an answer, Mr. President."
With that, she dragged Beast off to look for "clues."
Hank knew absolutely nothing about her real plan. Thoroughly confused, he went back to researching how the sophisticated device worked and where it had been made.
To keep up appearances for outsiders, Daisy made a circuit of the major intelligence agencies. On the surface she was searching for leads; in reality, she was gathering manpower.
None of the major intelligence agencies was a single unified bloc. Drawing three to five people from each organization under the banner of rescuing women and children, Daisy formally established her Joint Anti-Abduction Task Force through interagency cooperation.
After telling President Obama that they had found a major lead, she rendezvoused with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Strike Team. The agents boarded Zephyr One and headed for Stryker's Alkali Lake Research Base in Alberta, Canada.
In Daisy's view, there was no need to frame Stryker at all. Expose even a little of what he was doing, and the United States and Canada could destroy him themselves.
Alberta lay in the Rocky Mountains, and temperatures there were very low. Alkali Lake had once been a fairly famous industrial area, but it had long since been abandoned. The government had driven away all the residents under the pretext of a nuclear leak.
The nuclear leak was obviously an excuse. If the U.S. government wanted to conduct human experiments, it would not do them on American soil. Its favorite trick was to dump every kind of questionable experiment in Canada, where even if something went wrong it would face much less criticism—at least on the surface.
Alkali Lake was bitterly cold, but even that was nothing compared with the coldness of the human heart.
Mr. Wade Wilson's run of good fortune had recently taken a nasty turn. After one exhilarating battle, he had conned a huge sum of money out of a fat mark. First he split some of it among several wounded mercenaries, then gave his old buddy Weasel a large share because the guy's bar had been destroyed and needed rebuilding. Even after all that, Mr. Wade Wilson still ended up with a hundred thousand dollars.
In America, with its enormous gap between rich and poor, that was absolutely a fortune. Good luck put a spring in a man's step, and Wade had charisma and good looks to begin with. Mr. Wade found himself a girlfriend. When golden wind met jade dew, the two had one hell of a time together.
One day, while the two were enthusiastically enjoying some role-play, Mr. Wade suddenly collapsed. The doctor's diagnosis: terminal cancer. No cure. Go home and wait to die!
With the mentality of trying anything as a last resort, he accepted an invitation from a medical laboratory that looked unreliable from every angle and volunteered to become a highly valuable lab rat.
After traveling through who knew how many places with his head covered, he entered a sprawling research facility.
There were numerous researchers here and thousands of soldiers armed to the teeth. Of course, there were also test subjects like him, some tricked into coming and others simply abducted.
On the very first day after being deceived into coming, he knew something was wrong. This was no treatment facility. What kind of hospital pinned its patients down and beat the hell out of them?
First, serum was injected to activate mutant DNA latent in an ordinary person's body. Then beatings, drowning, electric shocks, and other methods were used to drive adrenaline production and force the mutant DNA to evolve through artificial stimulation.
The process was crude and brutal, but it did have at least some scientific basis.
Mutants had always existed within human society. In theory, everyone actually carried at least a little mutant genetic material; the only difference was how much of it each person had.
Some people possessed more mutant genes, and when those genes activated, they became mutants.
Others had so little mutant genetic material that they remained ordinary people until the day they died.
Stryker intended to artificially turn ordinary people into mutants later in life. As for why he wanted to do that, perhaps only he knew.
"I'm Ajax. I'm in charge of this section. I hope you enjoy your stay." Tormenting Mr. Wade was the buzz-cut Ajax's daily pleasure. He very much wanted to know how long this foul-mouthed bastard could keep going.
Wade had been secretly studying the layout the entire time. Cancer or no cancer, he needed to escape, because if he did not, they were going to torture him to death.
Unfortunately, the facility was far too large and too heavily guarded. From other prisoners, he learned that the area they were currently in was considered the normal sector—the place for ordinary humans. Most of the test subjects here were ordinary civilians and soldiers.
There was another sector for mutants. He had heard it was practically hell. Sometimes the screams could be heard even through layer after layer of metal doors.