— A truce?! Charles, this isn't a truce—it's betrayal! And it's coming from our side—your side!
The imposing fist of the Master of Magnetism slammed into the table, leaving a deep dent in the metal surface. The enraged leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants began to collapse onto the lacquered wooden floor.
— Dad! Enough already! — Polarizing her father, who had lost his strength, Polaris helped the elderly Jew reach the leather sofa nearby. She grabbed the first-aid kit she had brought and began dripping a calming solution into a glass of water. — This is your fourth attack today! Do you remember what Dr. McCoy said?! Your heart suffered a massive electric shock—you can't strain yourself! Stop acting like a spoiled child!
— Sorry, dear, but one malicious bald brain-eater is determined to send me to my grave. — Accepting the glass of medicine from his daughter with a grateful nod, Lensherr drained it in a few gulps and exhaled hoarsely. — Otherwise, I don't understand why he's trying to flush everything we've worked so hard for down the toilet!
Although the main striking force of the rebels, Magneto, was taken out almost at the beginning of the battle, the mutants thirsting for justice did not lose heart. After several hours of bloody clashes, government forces were driven out of central New York.
However, by the time they seized City Hall, the U.S. leadership had regained its composure. Military units were hastily redeployed to the city from other regions. But instead of stabilizing the situation, this only increased tensions elsewhere. Soon after the city center was captured, journalists bribed by Magneto's supporters began publishing files sent to Erik. Despite the authorities' furious attempts to remove the compromising material from the internet, the information still gained wide publicity. Shocked by the footage, people rose up against the current government across the country.
The scale of the protest movement grew at such a terrifying speed that it inevitably drew the attention of other countries. Their leaders watched the chaos unfolding in the "world's policeman" with genuine interest and prepared to lend the mutants a helping hand—not out of love for X-gene carriers, but to seize the hegemonic banner slipping from America's weakened grip.
Unwilling to yield its global position, the hastily assembled Congress acted preemptively. It withdrew the military units surrounding New York and proposed that the entrenched mutants resolve the conflict not on the battlefield, but at the negotiating table. Xavier, who had replaced his fallen friend, agreed, driving the recovered leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants into a near-combat frenzy.
— Charles, you'd better explain yourself.
— Erik, can you at least once rein in your famous stubbornness and think with your head? — Lifting his head, Professor X, sitting at the table, looked at his old friend with a weary gaze. — Several regiments of the National Guard have been deployed to New York, and two carrier strike groups are waiting for orders at sea, with four more approaching the eastern coast. And that's not even counting S.H.I.E.L.D., which is mobilizing all its forces, or the Avengers, who are either neutral or siding with the authorities. If we continue, the city will drown in blood—and possibly not just the city.
— We've dealt with worse enemies before... — Groaning, the elderly Jew stood up from the sofa, approached the sideboard in the corner, and, under Polaris's disapproving gaze, pulled out a bottle of whiskey. — And you know as well as I do the price of deals with corrupt politicians.
— Yes, but the mutants are not at their best right now, and the cost of victory could be too high. — Guiltily smiling at Magneto's daughter, who sighed sorrowfully, the bald telepath took a couple of glasses from the table and placed them in front of the Master of Magnetism. — I understand your concerns about the upcoming negotiations, but you must also understand—right now, the U.S. government is in an extremely vulnerable position. It will make any concessions to preserve the integrity of the state. At this moment, through diplomacy, we can achieve much more than by brute force—and not a single drop of mutant blood will be spilled.
Filling both glasses with amber liquid, the towering leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants downed the contents of one in a single gulp. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the man in the wheelchair with a calm, composed gaze.
— What's stopping the Washington freaks from making us a mountain of promises, only to forget all about them when the time comes? Right now, they're in deep trouble, but it won't last forever—sooner or later, people will calm down, and then...
— And then, the mutants will be ready to defend their right to exist with weapons in hand. But for now, we must be guided by cold reason and squeeze the maximum benefit out of the situation.
Interrupting Professor X's speech, the doors to his office opened with a quiet hiss, admitting a red-haired, blue-skinned woman in a seductively revealing white suit.
— I see the discussion of the mutant revolution has smoothly transitioned into friendly drinks... — Surveying the gathering, Darkholme comfortably settled on the sofa next to Polaris. — Aren't you celebrating victory a bit early? I've got nothing against two old men having a drink, but I don't see any snacks on the table, and the first round of negotiations with the authorities is scheduled for tomorrow. If you get drunk, I won't cover for you.
— Calm down, Raven. We're not twenty anymore—just having a drink to relax. — Dismissing the shape-shifter's objections, Magneto sat down in the chair across from Xavier's table. — Better yet, tell us what you found about that "benefactor" who leaked us the information from Weapon X's lab. Did you manage to identify the sender?
— The trail ends with an eighty-year-old Asian woman who came to the United States fifteen years ago. The message with the compromising material was sent from her old laptop via an internet café in Chinatown, whose cameras were conveniently disabled during Electro's recent scuffle with Thor. — Frowning, the blue-skinned spy pulled out a portable communicator and, with a few keystrokes, created a hologram of the caller in the air. — The only lead is a photo of the maniac who attacked the military lab, from which we can only determine height, weight, and gender. And even that's not certain.
— Um... — Raising her hand like a schoolgirl in class, Polaris, who had been silent until now, suddenly asked the shape-shifter. — Miss Darkholme, why do you assume this person is necessarily a maniac? They helped us.
— Because I was at the Weapon X base and saw the slaughter he arranged there. Not only did this psycho spill the guts of an entire squad and hang them on the walls like Christmas garlands, but he also arranged the severed heads like bowling pins. — Seeing the girl's face pale sharply, Mystique smirked smugly and continued as if nothing had happened. — Unfortunately, the criminal world has plenty of fans of such creativity, and it wasn't possible to identify the caller by his "signature"—in New York alone, there are more than three dozen lone psychopaths like that, not to mention the fighters of large organizations...
— So we'll narrow the list down to those who benefit from dragging mutants into a war with the U.S. government. — Summarizing, the director of the School for Gifted Youngsters folded his hands into a steeple. — Raven, you've been in this mess longer and understand the criminal underworld of New York better than Erik and I. Which forces have gained the most from the chaos in the city?
— Although you tactfully hinted at my age, I doubt I can help much here. Chaos in a major metropolis and the undermining of central authority will benefit any organized crime, and I can simply point to the three most obvious options: Maggia, Fisk, and the Syndicate. The first has weakened significantly in recent months and wants to regain its lost positions; the power-hungry fat man has no intention of yielding the criminal throne, which is shaking under his weight, and will go to any lengths to maintain his influence; and the accomplices of one arrogant and deservedly punished bastard basically live in a state of siege, and the chaos of war is manna from heaven for them. — Thoughtfully tapping her nail against her chin, the shape-shifter pondered for several long minutes and finally shrugged vaguely. — Although, mercenaries from this list can be crossed out. If the diversion at the lab had been arranged by one of the accomplices of the late Walrus, we would have found Laura packaged in very small bags.
— Since you mentioned Kinney Jr... — At the mention of Wolverine's clone, the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants smirked mockingly. — Did the girl manage to say anything before her mother-hen dragged the child back to her lair?
— It's hard to get anything out of our silent one, but if we simplify... The situation is the same as with Frost: before the X-Predator appeared, she saw nothing, and after she regained consciousness, the monster's face was smeared in crimson across the nearest walls. And no traces of who did it. Whoever our Robin Hood with a machine gun works for, after eliminating the monster, he vanished without a trace into the night... Should I keep digging?
The two leaders of the mutant communities exchanged glances, and the bald telepath sitting at the table shook his head negatively.
— No, there are more important matters now. Let's focus all our efforts on the upcoming negotiations, and if our secret helper is indeed a friend to mutants—we'll hear from him again...
Seventeen.
The cyber-eye visor carefully examines the parts laid out on the homemade table, and the fingers begin to swiftly assemble a monstrous revolver from the pile of metal fragments. Grip. Frame. Cylinder. A thick gray-steel barrel with electromagnetic coils hidden in the metal, accelerating the solid-cast tungsten-tipped bullet inside to absolutely insane speeds... Yes, the Argument will be just the thing for a heart-to-heart chat with the freaks. Even Hellboy would choke with envy at his overgrown gun.
And yet... Seventeen f*cking corpses!
The half-assembled pistol is set aside, and a bottle of expensive five-star cognac takes its place, from which a generous swig is taken.
We were ready. We knew that someone from the superhero scum might rush to defend the gold transport, and yet the Syndicate lost almost ten percent of its personnel! And if Kiwi hadn't decided to test the rockets based on the "Holy Grenade" in action, that black-ased bstard would have taken out most of our squad!
Stark's buddy died too quickly... We should have soaked that explosive thermos in turpentine and shoved the roofing felt deep into his black a*se! So that the radiation sign stuck out of his mouth!
— I see someone's in a really bad mood... — The entrance door opens quietly, and Crossbones enters the room, with the figure of a tall, bald Asian in red rags looming behind him. — Should we come back later?
— Don't talk nonsense! — Taking out a couple of glasses, I fill them with fragrant cognac and, gesturing for the guests to sit, return to assembling the Argument. — I wouldn't have sent for you two without good reason. But before we get down to business, let's first deal with our guest from the East... Han, you've had enough time to familiarize yourself with the information received, and I expect an answer.
— I must admit that the betrayal of the Beast's Fist clarified many unclear points, even though it was an extremely unpleasant surprise for me. — Sipping from the glass with the air of a true Japanese aristocrat, the ninja nods solemnly. — I am grateful to you for this knowledge... However, before giving a final answer, I would like to clarify the terms under which we will join your cause.
The face of the ninja-warlock commander remains absolutely impartial, but my intuition tells me that this stern Japanese swordsman cannot be deceived. The disgraced leader of the Hand has already agreed to my proposal, and by feigning hesitation, he is simply driving up the price for himself and his people.
— Breaking your cult into separate squads is a bad idea, so you'll operate as a separate auxiliary unit with you in command. In other words, you'll work under the same rules as the other mercenaries, and either I or my direct deputy will be above you. And you'll have to swap those red kimonos for something more suitable for mercenary work. — The Syndicate isn't a religious cult, and we don't give a damn about those flashy rags, so let the sword-wielding enthusiasts change into proper armored suits. Magic or not, a couple of extra layers of protection for the body won't hurt. Especially for those who like to gut their enemies with sharply honed metal. — You'll do what I say, when I say, and in return, you'll get a tasty carrot in the form of decent pay, interesting work, and protection from your former bosses.
— In that case, we agree, Mr. Walrus.
At the last part of the phrase, Rumbelow begins to choke on cognac, but Han, sitting opposite with the same stony face, makes an elaborate bow, and it doesn't seem like the narrow-eyed giant is trying to joke... I've never understood Asian fatalism.
— In that case, let's get down to business. — Assembling the Argument, I click the empty revolver a couple of times and, setting it aside, turn to the fighters sitting opposite. — Despite some losses, our last job turned out to be quite profitable, and now the Syndicate is not only financially secure for many years to come but has also gained influential friends among the powerful of this world.
— By the way, you still haven't said who you fenced the gold stolen from America to. — Somehow coughing, Brock swallows the remains of the cognac in one gulp and, approaching the mini-bar in the corner, takes out a new bottle. — Don't you want to lift the veil of secrecy?
— I'll give you a little hint: This is an extremely influential person from a small but very proud country in Eastern Europe, whose ruler is known throughout the world for his good nature, hospitality, and love for his neighbor. And he also loves the color green.
— Wait a minute... — Pushing the bottle away so as not to choke on the drink again, the big man cautiously clarifies. — You didn't fence the gold stolen from the States to Doom, did you? The most wanted criminal on planet Earth?
— First of all, not Doom, but Doctor Doom. Don't forget that this autocrat has a thing for his doctoral degree. — And the whole planet knows perfectly well where "criminal number one" is hiding. But since any country that dares to poke its nose into Latveria risks getting a very real thrashing first from the army of Doombots, and then from their creator, everyone is diligently looking for Doctor Doom elsewhere. — And I didn't fence the gold; I provided financial assistance to a young, developing power out of purely altruistic considerations. And in return, they shared a certain amount of money with us on a completely gratuitous basis and, as a gesture of goodwill, provided some samples of weapons and production equipment.
— So that's where our second cyborg disappeared to...
Yeah. Thanks to the cloaking system of the quinjets, we easily smuggled the goods received from the Latverian monarch into chaotic New York, and since then, Cable has settled in a converted scientific and technical laboratory on a permanent basis. He sits at the other end of the city, studying the arc reactor looted from the Warrior, and is trying, together with Kiwi, who has attached himself to him, to either copy Stark's technology or build his own version of the Iron Man armor.
I'll have to send the guys the recipe for adamantium—maybe together they'll come up with something useful.
— In short. Right now, the city is in chaos, and the Syndicate is on the rise, and we need to take advantage of this because time is pressing. You two probably already know that the mutant uprising is nearing its logical conclusion, and soon the authorities of our beloved United States will begin to restore order.
— Mr. Walrus... — Ignoring Brock's choking laughter, Han raised an eyebrow questioningly. — Do you want to hear our thoughts, or do you already have a specific plan?
— While everyone is distracted by the mutants, we'll finish off the remnants of Maggia. — Taking out a map folded in four, I spread it out on the table and begin marking the locations of the enemy bases. — Thanks to a cunning individual, we know the whereabouts of all their leaders, and if we take them out all at once, the headless group will simply scatter. And then nothing will stop us from taking over the city's shadow side. Drug trafficking, smuggling, prostitution... If we impose a "tribute" on the small gangs, we'll be raking in huge money without doing anything!
The announcement of Napoleonic plans is interrupted by the skeptical snort of Crossbones.
— Mish, you haven't forgotten about Fisk, have you? This fatso may have lost some power, but he's still the unofficial king of New York. And the Big Guy is quite capable of arranging a golden shower for us, but we definitely won't be thrilled about it.
— Oh, I always remember those who once betrayed me—and not just me. Want to see a trick? — Under Brock's skeptical gaze, I take the remote control for the TV hanging on the wall and make a few waves in the air like a magic wand. — Sim-salabim! Ahala-Mahala! The power of snitching—solve the problem!
With the press of the red button, the dark screen comes to life and begins broadcasting an image of a curvaceous newscaster standing in front of a burning building, from which special forces soldiers are dragging out a large fat man in a stained white suit.
— Guess who was arrested a couple of hours ago for collaborating with Von Strucker and who will spend the next decade in a high-security prison for supervillains?
— You leaked info about Kingpin to that one-eyed bastard?! — Bug-eyed, Rumbelow begins to laugh convulsively. — And Fury believed it?!
— And Fury checked...