[color=82ca9d][b]Maxwell Donovan[/b][/color]

One of his screen flickered for a moment, before showing a feed of someone, presumably someone really important in Phalanx. He puffed on his cigar, as the man... person, in it started talking. It was enlightening to say the least; he had a bit more of an idea of what these people were. From what the person said, there could even be more of those supers in their organization. At least they weren't out there posturing about, acting like they owned the world. For now.

Still, for them to ask him to come to a theater almost halfway around the world from where he was... . He had made sure his location was hidden, and any who tried to trace that connection to his monitor would get multiple pings from all over the world, so they had decided on that location blind. What if he had lived somewhere in Australia, or maybe Thailand? Of course, he had both the money and the tech to get there in any number of ways, but if he was some basement dweller in Africa? This felt like another test, both of his resolve and his assets. No one who lacked the will or means to get there from another country would be able to arrive on time after all.

Maxwell was loath to leave his lab, his house here in the cold Russian tundras. It had a possibility of being a trap, a plan designed to silence he who knows too much. He would send over Prototype, but she was hardly suited for diplomacy, or any other sort of interaction with others save for combat for that matter. There was the option of cloning someone else, but he could hardly get a clone ready in one day, not to mention all the training he would have to do to even get them to be competent enough to talk. A robot would be out of the question, considering his designs were hardly humanoid.

He would have to go himself. 

Maxwell puffed out another cloud of smoke, mulling over his options again. There was no other option. And if they even try something funny, they'd find out the hard way that old dogs like him die hard.