The wind and snow raged through the freezing night as a crescent-shaped aircraft slowly descended before the factory gates, its engines humming with a low, steady growl.
Paul and another soldier stood numbly at their posts, their weary faces blurred by the snowstorm, yet their discipline held firm as they raised their rifles toward the landing craft.
A man wearing a purple helmet leapt down from the open hatch—Pietro. In a flash, he was standing right before the two soldiers.
A faint smile flickered beneath his helmet as he reached up and gently pressed down their raised barrels.
"It's me," Pietro's voice came through the helmet, light and confident.
The soldiers froze, startled by the man's sudden appearance and superhuman speed. They gaped at the superhero standing before them, their own movements clumsy and slow by comparison.
As before, Walter had made sure that every guard memorized the faces and features of the superheroes allied with White Night.
Recognizing him, the two soldiers immediately lowered their weapons and turned their gaze toward another figure stepping off the aircraft.
She was tall and slender, her golden hair gleaming as it swayed. Her every stride radiated poise and nobility, and the pure white mask upon her face stirred the imagination.
"Open the doors. I didn't travel all this way just to freeze to death," said the White Queen, arms crossed, flicking her head so that her hair rippled like a golden banner in the wind.
To the two soldiers, she was beauty incarnate—elegant, mesmerizing, and utterly untouchable.
Her tall frame stood graceful and proud; every step carried a regal rhythm. Her long, snow-white robe shimmered with silver filigree that caught the light like frost, deepening her aura of mystery and majesty. The hem of her robe swayed gently with her movement, like snowflakes dancing in the storm.
Under the falling snow, Emma's beauty shone brighter still—radiant, irresistible, like a beacon that drew the gaze and refused to let it go.
The two guards' hearts pounded wildly. They held their breath, their duty momentarily forgotten as they drowned in her charm.
In her presence, they felt utterly insignificant—mortals before a goddess—and for a fleeting instant, they would have gladly died for her.
"Hey, stop using your telepathy on them. They're just innocent civilians."
Pietro snapped his fingers several times before the dazed soldiers, then turned to sigh at the White Queen.
"Ah, my fault," Emma said lightly. "I haven't been out for so long I forgot where I was."
Her pale blue eyes glanced through the mask toward Paul and his companion. Instantly, the two men were released from their trance.
They gasped for breath, their chests heaving. When they looked at her again, the adoration in their eyes had been replaced by sheer terror. The memory of that enthrallment left a chilling shadow in its wake.
Cold sweat ran down their backs. The transition in their minds had been so seamless it left no trace. Had that woman told them to turn their guns on themselves, they would have done so without hesitation.
Shrugging apologetically, Emma followed Quicksilver through the rising factory doors.
She hadn't meant to do it. Back in the Mutant Exclusion Zone, she relied on that subtle charm to keep up the illusion of eternal youth. Stepping into Weapon X Factory, her instincts had simply… taken over.
Inside, Pietro blurred into motion, vanishing to scout ahead. A second later, he was back, leading Emma through a maze of corridors until they arrived at White Night's location.
The space was vast and bright, the lights casting pale shadows across the floor.
"Oh? You got here fast. Welcome, welcome."
White Night looked up from where he and Walter were examining a paralyzed thug on the floor. Grinning, he stood to greet them.
He wasn't worried that the White Queen might secretly meddle with his people's minds. For one, Emma was far too shrewd a woman—and an even shrewder businesswoman—to bother with such thankless tricks.
For another, Wanda still conducted regular psychic screenings on everyone in the factory. If the White Queen tried to slip something past them, she'd be caught in no time.
And third—well, Emma wasn't exactly in her prime anymore. Though not yet the husk she'd become in a decade or so, her long-range telepathic control days were clearly behind her.
"No need for pleasantries," she said, waving a hand as a technician brought her a chair. "Just tell me what you need me for. I've been carried halfway here by that kid and then had to fly—utterly exhausting."
She sank into the chair, rubbing her shoulders and grimacing.
White Night just pursed his lips, saying nothing.
After retrieving Venom, he had split from Pietro's group mid-journey—returning to the factory himself while the others went to the Himalayas to fetch trained monks for the next enhancement round at Weapon X.
But since this plan required the White Queen's talents, Pietro had to go fetch her personally.
"Symbiote? That's the Venom?"
Emma turned her head, catching sight of a black, pulsing liquid huddled within a glass containment cell. The sight made her frown in curiosity.
That thing had quite the reputation in the wastelands—a modern boogeyman used by parents to scare their children.
Things like: 'Go to sleep, or Venom will crawl out from under your bed and eat you,' or 'If you don't get up early, Venom will take you away forever.'
A true legend of post-apocalyptic childhood trauma.
And… was it smiling at her?
Emma's brow twitched as she saw the black mass press itself against the glass, forming a huge grin. The sight sent a chill down her spine.
"Yep, that's the one. I've successfully reformed it—with love," White Night said with a grin, flipping open his Anti-Hulk Armor helmet.
The White Queen waved her hands in dismissal. "Right, I'll just pretend I didn't hear that. Reformed it with love? Are you dreaming?"
Still, she couldn't deny it—the armor looked damn impressive. Wherever he'd gotten it from, it only reinforced that her betrayal of Doom had been the right call. Their odds of victory were rising.
Seeing her skeptical look, White Night rolled his eyes, dragged the unconscious thug over, and pointed to his head.
"Make him a good person. Completely. Can you do that?"
Emma lowered her gaze to the drooling, sleeping thug at her feet, then back at the smiling White Night, then down again—then up once more, eyes narrowing.
"What exactly are you planning?"
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