Many people suspected that Madame Natalie had approached Ockley with her eyes firmly set on his vast fortune. Reiss was no exception. It didn't bother him. In fact, he admired it. Roses with thorns only hurt the weak, and a man destined to reshape the world preferred his women dangerous. Her status as a widow only sharpened the appeal.
More importantly, she now controlled the raw materials he desperately needed.
If Sandell Reiss wanted to mass-produce cloned mutants and build an army capable of conquering the world, he had to convince this woman to continue supplying him, just as her late husband had.
"Mr. Reiss," Natalie said lightly, stepping closer and tapping a finger against his chest, tracing a slow circle before brushing past him, "flattery is charming. But if your project doesn't impress me, I won't be offering materials at the prices my husband did."
"Then allow me to impress you," Reiss replied quickly, suppressing his rising excitement. "Come. Let me show you."
As they walked, he spoke enthusiastically about his vision. Natalie listened, her expression calm, her eyes alert.
"Cloned mutants," she said casually, "completely loyal to you. That's a bold claim. I'll need to see real results."
Inside, her pulse quickened.
Natalie Vostokova was a lie. Her real identity was Natasha Romanoff, senior S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. She was here to confirm whether Reiss was truly experimenting with mutant genetics and, if possible, copy his research before disappearing into the night.
Half an hour later, at the heart of the facility, Reiss gestured grandly toward a chamber filled with nutrient pods. Inside them floated a hundred cloned mutants.
"Look at them," he said, voice trembling with pride. "Once-famous mutants, reborn as the most valuable weapons on Earth. Nations will beg to buy them. I'll surpass every arms dealer who ever lived. Even Stark Industries will be left in the dust."
Selling them had once been his plan. Conquest was his new ambition. But he kept that part to himself. For now, Natalie only needed to see profit.
"If she refuses," he thought, "I can always rewrite her mind."
He'd planned that from the start. Lure her in. Break her will. But her presence made him hesitate. He wanted to win her willingly.
"How impressive," Natasha said, turning toward him with a slow smile. "I do admire talented men."
Reiss straightened instinctively. "So, Madame. Will you cooperate?"
She produced a lighter, igniting a slim cigarette. "My husband was like this," she said softly. "Easy to light. Easier to put out."
Reiss laughed, heat flooding his veins. "I burn hotter than that. Much hotter."
"Then perhaps," she said, her tone cool, "we can work together. But first, lunch. I'm starving."
Daylight wasn't ideal for extraction. Night would give her privacy. By then, she would have everything she needed.
The afternoon passed with guided tours and careful conversation. Natasha mapped escape routes, gathered intelligence, and confirmed rumors. Reiss had once used surrogate mothers to produce mutant children. The project collapsed. Some escaped. They were still at large.
As their tour neared its end, an invisible aircraft slipped silently above the facility.
"That's the place," Rowan Mercer said, ending the tracking spell as he stared at the sign below: Leukemia Research and Treatment Center.
"Caliban," he said, "how many mutants inside?"
"One hundred and one."
Rowan exhaled slowly. "He's been busy."
Even imperfect clones were dangerous in those numbers. Waiting any longer would have meant facing thousands.
"Execute the plan," Rowan ordered.
The X-jet's hatch opened.
Logan leapt first, adamantium claws extended, slamming down at the front gate.
"Sandell Reiss!" he roared. "Come out and die!"
Alarms screamed. Guards swarmed.
The assault had begun.