The news is projected across every corner of Japan. A middle-aged man, engulfed in flames, laughs maniacally as he extends his arms and fire erupts from his palms. Ancient trees writhe in the flames, suffocating smoke rising in blackish columns. Locals flee in terror.

The news helicopter struggles to fly over the area. The reporter, a young woman with anguished eyes, clings to the open door as the hot wind lashes her face: "The mutant identified as 'Firefox' has lost all control. At this rate, much of Japan will be consumed by flames."

And then, the sky darkens instantly. Dense black clouds cover the sun in seconds. Millions of television viewers hold their breath.

The reporter turns: "There's someone there! Cameraman, focus!"

The camera shakes before focusing on the silhouette floating in the midst of the storm.

Ororo Munroe. Storm.

She floats with the majesty of an African deity, defying the laws of gravity with an elegance that borders on the insulting. She wears an immaculate white suit that contrasts violently with the smoke and destruction, a design that hugs every curve of her mature, statuesque figure. The white vest barely contains the ample bosom of her breasts, while her flared trousers billow gently in the breeze she controls. The white crescent-shaped cape floats behind her like the wings of a vengeful angel. Her white hair, wild and electrified, whips about without regard for the wind.

She observes the burning forest with utter disdain. Her sharp blue eyes could freeze the hell below.

"Pathetic," she whispers in a serious, commanding voice. Nature itself listens when she speaks.

With the slightest gesture of her hand, she executes her will. The sky opens in a biblical deluge that falls with redeeming fury. The water slams against the scorched earth, steam mingling with smoke. The flames hesitate, retreat, surrender to the queen of the weather.

Her thick lips curl in disgust at the sight of Firefox. The arsonist, soaked and confused, tries to ignite what remains, but every spark is extinguished by Ororo's will.

She raises both arms above her head. The air crackles with electricity. Tiny sparks dance between her fingers, growing violent and colossal. The entire area flickers under the strobe light of the energy accumulating in her hands.

"That's enough," she declares.

The lightning strikes. Enormous, blinding, a column of pure energy connecting heaven and earth through the arsonist's body. The light is so intense that screens go white for an instant, the sound reverberates throughout Japan.

The arsonist's silhouette lit up for an instant before collapsing lifeless onto the smoldering earth.

Silence filled the television studios. Millions of Japanese watched their screens, unblinking.

In the helicopter, it took Akiko Tanaka several seconds to find her voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she finally whispered. "We have just witnessed... a trial."

Storm hovered for a moment longer above the saved forest, watching the rain continue its healing work on the wounded earth. Then, without looking back, she ascended into the clouds, disappearing amidst the lightning that still danced across the sky.