Max moved through the corridor like a shadow, his breathing calm but focused. Behind him, Yelena helped Natasha limp through the compound's underbelly — or at least, who he thought was Natasha.
But as they rounded the next corner and entered a control room, Max noticed something off.
She walked differently. Her posture too poised. Her movements too rehearsed.
He narrowed his eyes.
"You're not her," he said, voice low.
Yelena paused. The woman in question turned to face him. Her green eyes studied him for a long moment, like a scientist observing a creature in a tank.
Then, with a small sigh, she peeled off the digital disguise. The red-haired illusion shimmered and collapsed in on itself.
Melina Vostokoff. Natasha and Yelena's so-called "mother."
"Very good," she said. "You're sharper than you look."
Max exhaled sharply. "Why pretend to be Natasha?"
"Because Dreykov is watching. Always. I needed access to his systems. Wearing her face gave me clearance."
Max turned to Yelena, who shrugged. "Welcome to our charming family reunion."
The three of them stood in silence for a moment — the gravity of the Red Room pressing down around them.
"Where's the real Natasha?" Max asked.
Melina nodded toward a different wing of the facility. "She's hunting the server core. Trying to destroy the entire Red Room records system. If she's not dead already."
"Then let's get your other family member first," Max said. "The big one."
Yelena grinned. "Papa bear."
Prison Block Omega
The holding cell wasn't far.
Max and the others moved quickly through the red-lit hallways, ducking security patrols. When they reached the high-security wing, Max spotted the oversized reinforced door and muttered, "This has to be him."
He slammed the control panel. Sparks flew. The door slowly groaned open.
Inside was Alexei Shostakov — the Red Guardian — slumped on a metal bench. His massive arms crossed, his beard even wilder than before. His suit was gone; he wore only an undershirt and sweat-stained pants.
He looked up, squinting. Then, blinking, he burst out in laughter.
"Yelena! Melina! And… why's Max looking more scrawny than before ?"
"Not scrawny," Max muttered.
"Come, come! You've come to rescue me, da? Excellent! I was about to tunnel my way out, like in old war stories."
"Sure," Yelena muttered, unlocking his restraints.
As they stepped out into the corridor, the ground shook. Boots thundered. A half-dozen Widows turned the corner.
Max didn't hesitate.
He moved before the others could speak. A green blur smashed into the first Widow, sending her flying back. He grabbed the next, spinning her into her partner and slamming them into the wall. His hands moved faster than the eye could follow — strikes, feints, joint locks. By the time Melina reached for her taser, they were all unconscious.
Alexei blinked, genuinely impressed.
"Who is this boy?"
Max wiped blood from his nose and straightened his shoulders.
"Someone who hates cages."
Yelena stared at him for a second longer than necessary, her gaze unreadable. Then she turned to Melina.
"We'll carry the Widows. He carried the mission."
Melina nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Come on. Natasha will be waiting. And the sky is about to fall."
As the group moved toward the hangar bay, Melina broke off briefly to set the charges on the Red Room's engines. The floating fortress began to tremble under their feet. Explosions rumbled through the walls.
They entered the launch hangar just as Natasha regrouped with them, dragging another set of files and wounded memories behind her.
She paused when she saw Max, her eyes narrowing. Recognition flickered — but not quite.
"What do gain by helping us green Tights?" she asked.
"doesn't matter cause He's the one who saved our asses," Yelena said, eyes still fixed on him. "And he's fast. Really fast."
Max gave Yelena a slight nod and said in a joking tone. "can everyone stop bullying me."
No one — not Melina, not Yelena, not even Natasha — suspected the truth.
That beneath the home made Kick ass costume
behind the repaired muscles and haunted eyes, stood someone the world had forgotten.
Someone once called Pietro Maximoff.
He didn't tell them. Not yet. Not while he still didn't fully know himself.
The fires above them roared as the Red Room's engines failed. Wind tore through the hangar. Helicopters shattered. Metal groaned.
And Max ran toward the edge of the collapsing platform, the others behind him — a makeshift family, crumbling loyalties, and questions he still didn't have answers to.
But one thing was certain:
This wasn't the end.
Just the start.