AN: Well, I'm back. Now, time to climb the rank again. So, give me those POWERSTONES.

  Today's goal: PS: 800> 2 bonus chapters. [Total 4 chs]

  ---

  [Titan HQ – Lobby | 2:40 PM]

  A few minutes ter, the elevator chimed and Max strutted out into the polished marble lobby, now fully dressed and emotionally recovered from her one-woman X-Men theater.

  Cire was already there, bouncing on her heels with the uncontainable energy of someone who just kissed destiny on the mouth. The moment she spotted Max, she let out a squeal, ran forward in heels that had no business running, and wrapped her in a hug like she was clinging to a life raft made of caffeine and adrenaline.

  "Oh my God, Max! It went amazingly awesome!" Cire blurted against her shoulder. "I crushed it. Like, people cpped. On set. Who cps during a perfume shoot? Rachel said, I'm officially hired. I even signed a big contract."

  Max stood there like someone being hugged by a radioactive blender. Her arms hung awkwardly at her sides as Cire squeezed tighter, rocking them both slightly off bance.

  "Okay. Okay. Personal space. Or my shirt will pop open in public," Max muttered, giving one stiff pat to Cire's back before slowly prying her off.

  Cire didn't even notice the awkwardness. Her eyes were shining like a kid on Christmas morning. "Thank you. Seriously. If you hadn't shown up today, I'd probably be hiding in a undry basket crying into a sample vial."

  Max smirked, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. "You did the work. I just brought the donuts and helped you dress up."

  Cire ughed. "Well, I owe you big."

  "You do. But we'll deal with that ter." Max looked around the lobby. "Now that you're officially a Titan model, want a tour of the fun part?"

  Cire blinked. "You mean like the photoshoot rooms? The executive offices?"

  Max raised one brow, smug. "No. I mean the real treasure. The third floor."

  Cire looked confused. "What's on the third floor?"

  Max lowered her voice dramatically. "The Comic Floor."

  Cire's mouth dropped open slightly. She heard someone talking about the third floor on her way to the lobby, about how a few celebrities visited that floor st week and bought a couple of signed merchandise. "The one that's restricted to VVIPs only?"

  Max gave her a slow nod, like a sorcerer about to part the veil. "Yes. All the original comics, signed concept art, never-released merch, and even prototype props from Titan films. You need at least five levels of clearance or to be me."

  Cire's eyes widened. "How are you allowed up there?"

  Max smirked.

  "Wait a minute! You weren't joking when you said you are dating Alex Wilson?"

  Cire spped a hand over her mouth, eyes so wide it looked like she'd just walked in on a Marvel board meeting during a pillow fight.

  Max just tilted her head, lips twitching. "I literally said I was dating the CEO of Titan. You thought I was what? Manifesting out loud?"

  Cire whispered, "I thought it was one of those Max jokes, like the time you told that guy at Whole Foods you were secretly Taylor Swift's body double."

  "That was a decoy move. He was trying to steal the st mango mochi."

  Cire stared like her soul was buffering. "You... you're actually dating Alex Wilson? As in, the Alex Wilson? The man behind Titan Studios, the Titan Tech fund, Titan Records, Titan Fashion, Titan Air..."

  "Yes. The man who basically owns half of Hollywood and might accidentally buy a country if he gets bored." Max checked her nails. "That's the one I let touch my boobs."

  Cire made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a dolphin hiccup. "This is huge. No, this is gactic. You've been sitting on the most powerful romantic grenade in existence!"

  Max blinked. "That's an aggressively dramatic metaphor."

  Cire grabbed both of Max's hands like a freshly anointed fangirl. "Max, this means you're, like, a walking scandal waiting to happen. Do you know how many actresses would kill to breathe in the same elevator as him?"

  "I do. I stepped over two this morning. Anyway, enough about my personal life. You want to go?" Max quickly shifted the conversation. Knowing Cire, she'll continue to pry more details out of her, and Alex was dating enough girls as it is to let another hot blond chick in his harem and reduce 'Max' time.

  ...

  [VVIP Floor]

  Max scanned her Titan ID at the security panel beside the titanium door. A green light blinked, followed by a soft mechanical click that sounded way too satisfying for a door.

  Cire stepped inside and gasped so hard Max thought she might pass out. "This is... this is holy ground."

  Max strolled in like she owned the pce. "Welcome to my vault of emotionally inappropriate gifts and capitalism-fueled cospy dreams. We are the only ones here today. So, let's enjoy."

  The room was lined with gss cases and custom lighting. Everything gleamed like it had been blessed by billionaire elves. One side held rare signed comics: Detective Comics #27, Uncanny X-Men #1, Avengers #4. The other? Dispyed outfits, full props, and memorabilia that could buy a medium-sized yacht.

  Cire ran her fingers along a case holding Captain America's shield and whispered, "I feel like if I sneeze, I'll owe Alex Wilson a kidney."

  They looked around for a few minutes. Then...

  Max wandered over to a mirrored cabinet in the corner and hit a hidden switch behind a framed sketch of Deadpool dancing with a taco. With a soft whir, the gss panel lifted to reveal the real treasure.

  Max's collection.

  Custom designer boxes with velvet linings. Bck diamonds. Signature fragrance bottles. Jewelry that could fund a small rebellion. Limited edition art. And front and center: a row of custom cospy costumes, all high-end, made from screen-accurate fabrics. These weren't party-store knockoffs. These were museum-level horny.

  Max turned to Cire, her smirk dialed up to eleven. "Alright. Since we are here, we are celebrating with cospy. Pick your poison. Emma Frost or Catwoman?"

  Cire's eyes gleamed. "Frost. Always. That ice queen energy? Iconic."

  Max reached for the hanger. "Just don't crack the corset. That one's from the Hellfire Ga Collection. It costs more than my apartment."

  Cire raised a brow. "And you keep it in a gss closet instead of wearing it to crush men's souls?"

  "I'd wear it more," Max said, pulling down another outfit, "but it makes me talk like I'm narrating a war against men with daddy issues. Oh, the changing room is on the right."

  A few minutes ter...

  Cire zipped into the Emma Frost outfit with minimal dignity and maximum cleavage. The costume hugged her like a jealous lover. All white fabric, thigh-high boots, a corset that could smuggle diamonds, and a cape that billowed even in zero wind.

  Max? She grabbed her Harley Quinn costume. The cssic red and bck. Not the new ones. No Daddy's Lil Monster here. She wanted the Harley. The one that could juggle mallets, a group of lunatics, and men named Mistah J.

  Five minutes ter, they were standing in front of a full-length mirror.

  Cire looked like a sexy dominatrix ice queen who'd charge 10k just to ghost someone.

  Max looked like she was ready to rob a bank with a mallet and give a TED Talk about dating a yandere.

  Cire smirked. "So, this is what power feels like."

  Max dropped the mallet on the floor and put her left leg on the head. "No. This is what power feels like."

  Cire struck a pose. "Should I say something dramatic?"

  Max nodded. "Harl's gonna smash you, diamond dy."

  Cire arched one perfect eyebrow. "Oh, I see. You want war. You sure you're ready for this ice-cold smoke, Harls?"

  Max twirled the mallet once, nearly knocking over a nearby bust of Iron Man. "You literally look like Elsa if she started an OnlyFans."

  "Good," Cire replied, tilting her chin up. "Because you look like you run a chaotic Etsy shop and charge people to cry on your couch."

  "Joke's on you, I do."

  Cire adjusted her cape and strutted to the center of the room like she was about to issue an executive order. "Alright, frostbite fantasy incoming, get the camera ready. We're doing a dramatic walk-through of the Marvel timeline."

  Max grabbed a Poroid from a nearby shelf. "Say less, Mutant Elsa."

  Cire walked past the Captain America shield. "This is the man who fought Hitler."

  She twirled. "And lost the fashion war to me."

  Click.

  Max followed behind. "This one's going in the 'thirst trap but with context' folder."

  Cire kept walking. "Here we have Mjolnir. A hammer so picky, it wouldn't let Thor's ex-girlfriend pick it up."

  She stopped, posed with one hand on her hip. "I'd use it to stir my coffee and spank my enemies."

  Max ughed so hard she snorted. "God, I want that on a T-shirt."

  Cire pointed to a nearby dispy with Loki's horns. "You know what I love? A man with commitment issues and an accessory budget."

  "Say less. That's my dating profile."

  They reached a small shrine of signed Deadpool memorabilia. Cire knelt beside it solemnly. "He died for our sass."

  Max pced a hand on her heart. "And our fourth-wall-breaking sins."

  Then Cire stood up, narrowed her eyes, and said in the most Emma Frost voice she could muster: "Humans. Always so loud when they should be worshiping."

  Max gave her a slow cp. "Okay, okay, we're dangerously close to you starting a cult."

  Cire lifted her cape and turned dramatically. "Too te. You're already my first follower."

  Max took another Poroid. "Great. Can we be a cupcake-themed cult? I want robes, but with sprinkles."

  Cire grinned. "Deal. Matching boots, too."

  Then, as if summoned by the very spirit of chaos, Cire's boot caught on the corner of a dispy rug.

  There was a filing. A high-pitched yelp. A moment of cape betrayal.

  And Cire nded ft on her ass with a loud thwump, legs in the air, cape over her face.

  Max didn't move.

  She just stood over her like a disappointed stage mom and said ftly, "Emma Frost has fallen. Alert the mutants."

  Cire sat up, hair in her mouth. "I'm fine. I'm fine! I nded on my ego."

  "You nded like a sexy sack of flour."

  Cire narrowed her eyes. "Help me up before I turn you into a popsicle."

  Max held out a hand. "Only if you admit I'm the hottest one here."

  Cire grabbed her hand. "Fine. You're hotter. But I'm frostier."

  Max yanked her up. "As God intended."

  They stood together in front of the mirror once more.

  Max posed with her mallet.

  Cire adjusted her cape.

  And then, in perfect unison, they both flipped off the reflection and said:

  "No more mutants."

  Click.

  Another Poroid.

  Another memory for the vault.

  ...

  [Meanwhile, in the security room]

  Inside a room filled with wall-to-wall monitors, Rachel stood with a coffee in one hand and a half-eaten KitKat bar in the other, watching two live feeds on separate screens.

  One screen showed Max twirling a replica Harley Quinn mallet like she was mid-audition for Gotham's Got Talent. The other showed Cire, mid-monologue, cape fred out like she'd just fired half her employees in slow motion.

  Behind Rachel, a young security tech stared in confused awe. "Are they supposed to be in there?" [He was new]

  Rachel didn't answer right away. She took a slow sip of coffee and kept her eyes locked on the screens like she was watching two mythical beasts discover rolepy.

  "Tell me that's not the best Emma Frost cospy performance you've ever seen," she said ftly.

  The tech blinked. "I mean… technically yes, but also, um, no, because those costumes are from the VIP vault and... Wait, did that bck head just dropkick the Iron Man bust?"

  Rachel squinted at the screen.

  Max had in fact, bumped into the Iron Man bust during a chaotic spin, but she saved it mid-air using what could only be described as "accidental gymnast energy" and nded with jazz hands.

  Rachel smiled like a proud aunt. "I think we just found our next two voice actresses. Oh, by the way. How was your training, newbie?"

  "It was great. I learned a lot... Kuggg!!!" The guard's eyes widened, and blood dripped out of his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears.

  "Had you taken the training, you should have known who that girl is," Rachel turned around with a cold gre. She set the coffee cup down on the table.

  "You bitch! When? Kuggg!" The guard fell to his knees. His eyes went toward the empty wrapper of a KitKat that he had eaten a few minutes ago.

  "You thought you came this far on your own? Ha! Kids these days," Rachel took out a blue vial from her pocket. "Antidote. If you don't take it in the next 60 seconds. You will die a painful death. You'll just bleed out till there's nothing left in your body. So, who?"

  "Bckstar," The guard answered before coughing out a mouthful of blood. [AN: I know it's Brightstar, but I think I wrote Bckstar before too, and no one noticed, so let's roll with that.]

  "Huh?! Those bastards alone?" She asked again.

  "Some Japanese guy put a bounty on his head," The guard coughed again. "Antidote..."

  "Oh, this?" Rachel said as she opened the vial and drank the liquid. "This is just a little energy drink. Thanks for the info." She walked behind him. "As a reward. I'll end you painlessly." She grabbed his head and gave a single twist, followed by a loud crack. The guard's body fell to the floor.

  Rachel then walked to the console and shifted the camera to the storage room. There y eight dead bodies.

  "It's time to end this shit once and for all," She said and took out her phone. She dialled a number. After a few rings, the other person took the call but didn't say anything. "I'm calling in that favor, John."

  "What do you want?"

  ---

  AN: You know the rest. John attacks the warehouse.

  ---

  [POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]

  Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster

  [8 advance chs] [All chs avaible for all tiers] [No double billing.]

  [Brooklyn 99> 13 chs] [Deadpool> 5 chs] > Early access.

  ---