Back in Russia!

With the meeting finished, Maxim and Ororo had quickly returned to Madripoor. He had dropped her off at the Mutant Estate and he went back to his own penthouse suite atop the central spire.

He currently was sitting looking at the scenes below as the lights flickered one by one. The entire region was calm. After so much time, he had completely turned Madripoor into a near utopia.

~HUM!~

Suddenly, behind him, the soft hum of A.N.G.E.L's holographic presence activated with a subtle shimmer, and then Charles Xavier's voice followed, calm and measured as ever, transmitted through a secure line.

"You've returned," Charles said, "I take it the meeting went well?"

Maxim didn't turn around immediately. He exhaled slowly, eyes still trained on the horizon before replying, "Well enough. She didn't shut the door."

"Emma Frost never does," Charles replied. "She leaves it cracked. She never closes the door on opportunities to increase her own power and influence, she's a tactician at heart."

"Well with that kind of mindset, she'll surely be able to see this is her best option. She's already agreed to hold a faculty meeting. Storm made sure the message was delivered properly."

Maxim allowed himself a small smirk. "Then I've kicked it open just enough. She's agreed to hold a faculty meeting. Storm made sure the message was delivered properly."

"Well I hope everything else goes swimmingly." Charles said and the call ended soon after with a polite beep, leaving Maxim alone once again.

Maxim stood still for a moment, before turning towards the center console, issuing a single command, "A.N.G.E.L."

"Yes, Maxim?" the AI responded, her voice ever-calm.

"I'll be heading to Russia, call me if anything goes wrong here." Maxim said.

"Understood, where exactly in Russia will you be located Sir?" A.N.G.E.L inquired.

"Anywhere near the worst parts of Moscow. I want to see how far the gangs there have gone since I left." Maxim responded.

There was a pause. Then, "Understood."

Within the hour, Maxim was already slicing through the clouds high above Eastern Europe. He didn't wear a mask, but instead he used the Mind Stone to change his appearance to one resembling Geralt of Rivia.

Paired alongside that facial change, Maxim just wore a long black trench coat, his eyes faintly glowing gold as he noticed the distant lights of Moscow approach.

Maxim slowly landed on the ground hidden in the shadows, and his boots echoed as he turned down a narrow alley to approach a rusting neon sign.

The buzzing letters flickered above a recessed metal door, spelling out КАПКАН~The Trap.

For a long time, this place was known zone for some of the most entrenched gang networks in Moscow, a cesspit for decades.

He pushed the door open without hesitation.

The air inside was thick with smoke, heat, and the steady thrum of low bass music rattling the glasses behind the bar. A crowd of hard-faced men lounged in cracked booths and at scarred tables. Leather jackets, tattoos, scars that told stories.

Everyone in here had killed someone. Most had done it more than once. Women danced on poles and grinded on some of the men, the sounds of moans and whimpers echoed from the backrooms and everyone knew what was going on.

Maxim's arrival drew only a few casual glances. In this place, someone like him was just another ghost passing through. That was fine.

He made his way to the bar, nodding once to the bartender, a broad-shouldered man with a broken nose and an expression that hadn't changed in twenty years. He looked Maxim over and grunted.

"Какой напиток?" The bartender asked with a gravelly voice.

( What drink? )

"What'll it be?" he asked in Russian, voice gravelly.

"Vodka," Maxim said, taking a seat, "Stolichnaya. Neat."

The man poured without a word, sliding the glass across the bar.

Maxim took a sip, relishing the sharp burn down his throat. Then he set the glass down and leaned slightly forward, letting his voice drop to something almost casual.

"Скажи, как поживают мальчики в последнее время?" Maxim asked.

( Tell me, how are the boys doing these days? )

The bartender raised an eyebrow, wary, "Какие мальчики?"

( What boys? )

"Bratva. Petrov's men. Borisov's crew. All the usual scum." Maxim said, tapping the bar lightly

The bartender froze for a moment, then gave a soft, humorless laugh, "You a cop?" He asked, switching to rough English.

Maxim's golden eyes flared just slightly as he looked up, "Do I look like a cop?"

The man hesitated again, then something shifted. Subtle. Invisible. The Mind Stone activated within Maxim's consciousness, its energy flowing outward like a whisper in the dark.

The bartender blinked once, his posture softening as his resistance evaporated like mist. Maxim didn't need to speak. He simply nudged the man's mind open, letting trust flow in like warm alcohol.

"Who's really running the streets now?" he asked again.

The bartender answered before he even realized he was doing it.

"Petrov's dead. Overdose, least that's what they said. Everyone thinks Borisov had him poisoned. Now it's Borisov and his lieutenants running the outer districts. They're flooding the east side with synthetic drugs. Kids are dying."

"Where's he operating from?" Maxim asked.

"Old customs warehouse, near the edge of the city. No insignia on it. They've got tech now, drones, scanners. Bought it off some American black-market types. No idea how they afforded it."

Maxim's lip curled into a faint smile. "That won't help them."

He downed the rest of his vodka in one long drink, savoring the taste like a final act before violence. Then he stood and adjusted his coat, brushing snowmelt from the collar.

As he turned to leave, he spoke one last word—just a flicker of intent behind it.

"Forget me."

The bartender blinked. Confusion bloomed in his eyes. Then he looked down at the empty bar, puzzled, as if he'd just spaced out for a moment.

When he looked up, the man with white hair and gold eyes was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Outside, the cold bit harder than before.

Maxim pulled his coat tighter and turned east, his steps slow but sure. In the far distance, he could already feel the pulsing of minds clustered around that warehouse, angry, greedy, paranoid. Like insects clinging to a corpse they didn't realize had already been claimed.

He walked toward them, silent and unseen.

"Time to really test this Mind Stone!" Maxim cracked a smile as he said it.