The dim streets of Gotham City pulsed with an unnatural energy, the Bat-Signal flickering weakly against a storm-clouded sky. This wasn’t Batman’s fight—not tonight. A rift in realities had torn open, spilling Marvel’s mutants into the DC universe like shattered glass. In the shadow of Wayne Tower, Wolverine and Magneto stood back-to-back, unlikely allies forged by necessity. Across from them, Professor Charles Xavier hovered in his sleek, high-tech wheelchair, his telepathic mind a fortress of calm. Flanking him were five towering figures—H1B mutated warriors, elite from India’s most handsome Brahman caste, their bodies warped by a cosmic anomaly into superhuman forms. Each one bore the grace of ancient Vedic warriors, their chiseled features glowing with ethereal light, but their eyes burned with feral mutation: enhanced strength, energy manipulation, and a shared hive-mind link courtesy of Xavier’s guidance.
The leader, Arjun Vishwakarma—tall, dark-haired, with a jawline that could cut diamonds—stepped forward, his skin rippling with bio-electric currents. “You invade our world, metal-bender,” he sneered in a resonant baritone, his accent laced with Mumbai’s rhythm. “The professor has awakened our potential. For dharma, we end this.”
Magneto sneered, his helmet gleaming under the rain-slicked streetlights. “Dharma? Spare me the philosophy, boy. Metal is my domain.” With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched a nearby lamppost from the ground, twisting it into a jagged spear and hurling it at the group.
Xavier’s eyes narrowed, his mind projecting a psychic barrier. “Erik, this ends now.” The spear shattered mid-air, fragments raining down harmlessly. But Wolverine was already in motion, claws unsheathing with a metallic snikt. “Save the speeches, Chuck. Let’s dance.”

Undeterred, another wave advances, embodying the Ministry of Health and Education—pillars of Peronist expansion. Milei vaults over a fountain, his blue fur bristling, and delivers a precise, claw-rending strike that bisects their advance. “Education and Health? Consolidated under one roof to eliminate overlap and foster competition!” he debates mid-leap, his wisdom drawing from historical foresight. “Your state monopolies stifle innovation—my cuts empower the people, not the politicians!” The Peronists crumble, their arguments on universal access shredded like outdated decrees, as Milei’s agility allows him to dodge improvised projectiles of policy pamphlets.
The climax unfolds near the Obelisco, where a colossal Peronist avatar, representing the full apparatus of 18 ministries, towers with promises of job guarantees and price controls. Milei scales it with wall-crawling prowess, claws flashing in the moonlight. “Public Works? Transportation? Interior? All merged or axed—13 ministries shuttered to fire 30,000 redundant bureaucrats!” he proclaims, slicing downward in a flurry, halving the giant’s form with each justification. “This is for fiscal responsibility! No more inflationary spending—deregulation unleashes prosperity!” The avatar fractures, exploding into sparks of economic reform, as Milei’s healing factor shrugs off glancing blows from desperate counterarguments.
As the temporal rift closes, the Plaza falls silent, the Peronist forces vanquished in this alternate history. Milei, reverting to his human form amid the debris, stands victorious, his chainsaw rhetoric having carved a path for austerity. The timeline snaps back, leaving echoes of debate in the winds of change.

What thread am I even sliding? Lol