Rescue Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver?
Richard's fingers paused lightly on the poker chips as the system panel faded from view. He had always known Wanda and Pietro existed somewhere in this world. The pieces were inevitable. But he hadn't expected them to surface like this—imprisoned by the Hellfire Club.
His first instinct was simple.
Leverage.
Was the Hellfire Club planning to threaten Magneto?
The thought surfaced immediately—and just as quickly, he dismissed it.
Magneto didn't even know he had twins. If their own father was unaware of their existence, the Hellfire Club was even less likely to connect the bloodline. And even if they somehow knew, threatening Magneto was a foolish strategy. He was not a man easily coerced.
Gambit couldn't see the mission panel floating before Richard, but he noticed the subtle shift in his expression.
"Am I not welcome at this table?" Gambit asked lightly.
Richard closed the mission interface in his mind and looked at him. "Has anyone ever told you your smile is a little greasy?"
Gambit blinked.
"Greasy? That's a new one," he replied with theatrical disbelief. "Plenty of women appreciate this smile."
He raised an eyebrow toward the dealer.
She ignored him.
She simply asked whether the players would continue.
Richard nodded.
The other gambler did the same.
Gambit shrugged, tossed in chips, and joined.
The game resumed.
Richard still didn't cheat. Whether Gambit was subtly nudging probability or not, he didn't bother checking. This wasn't worth bending reality over.
Less than twenty minutes later, the third player busted out. Only Richard and Gambit remained.
Gambit studied him carefully.
"Did you receive an invitation too?" he asked.
Invitation?
Richard's mind connected the dots immediately.
Hellfire Club.
The system mission had mentioned them. And if memory served correctly, the Hellfire Club in certain continuities maintained operations in Las Vegas.
If Gambit didn't possess mental shielding, Richard would have simply skimmed his surface thoughts.
But Gambit's mind was sealed.
"I don't see why I need to answer that," Richard replied calmly.
Gambit's expression cooled slightly.
"Kid, I don't think I've offended you. No need to act arrogant."
"You're only young once," Richard replied. "Might as well enjoy it."
He folded the hand and pushed his cards toward the dealer.
Gambit leaned back. "If you're as confident as you seem, how about taking off the hat and sunglasses?"
On the surface, it sounded like provocation.
In reality, it was confirmation.
Gambit recognized him.
"You're not important enough to ask me to do that," Richard said evenly.
Gambit rolled a chip across his fingers. "Important or not, I could say a name right now that would make things very inconvenient for you."
"If you want to say it, say it," Richard replied without hesitation. "But I promise you, if anyone ends up in trouble afterward, it won't be me."
Silence lingered between them.
Gambit had seen the footage.
The meteor.
The Hulk.
The lightning strike that turned a jet into fireworks.
He wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could win that fight.
After a few seconds, he let the chip stop rolling.
"Seems today isn't the right day for a big gamble," he said lightly. "Enjoy your winnings."
He gathered his chips and stood.
Richard didn't watch where he went.
He waited a few minutes. No one volunteered to sit opposite him. His presence at the table had become intimidating.
With a faint sigh, he collected his chips and cashed out.
Over one hundred thousand dollars in profit.
Caesars Palace.
He checked into a business suite without issue.
Being an S-level wanted figure made paperwork inconvenient, but telepathy simplified administrative friction. The blonde receptionist used her own ID to process the room under subtle suggestion.
When she handed him the keycard, she also slipped him her business card.
"I get off at six," she whispered softly. "I can take leave tomorrow. And the next two days."
She was attractive—solidly above average.
But Richard wasn't interested.
This was the Marvel Universe.
If he was going to engage in "cross-cultural biological research," it would be with women whose names carried weight. Heroes. Villains. Figures who shaped timelines.
He had no desire to imitate a small-town romantic subplot.
He entered the suite, closed the door, and sat on the living room sofa.
Now he thought seriously about the mission.
Scarlet Witch.
Quicksilver.
Held by the Hellfire Club.
And Gambit had mentioned an invitation.
Two pieces of information.
Nothing else.
No location.
No timeline.
No context.
Which meant one thing.
The invitation was bait.
.....
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