Raindrops fell relentlessly from the gloomy sky, washing over the steel and concrete jungle of New York.
Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, stood like a monolith in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office. He looked down at everything within his line of sight, his expression shifting between cloudy contemplation and stormy rage.
It was early morning, but there was no warm sun to greet the city. On the contrary, the sky was choked with dense, dark clouds.
"Boss," a subordinate said timidly, his voice trembling as he bowed his head. "There has been no news from the police station. It seems that a federal agency has intervened. Our people on the inside have been warned to stay away."
Fisk remained silent, but the air around him grew heavy with menace.
Bullseye, his chief assassin, had died inexplicably. One moment he was a living weapon, and the next, he had been crushed against a wall as if hit by a high-speed train, his body embedded directly into the concrete.
"In other words, you found nothing?" Fisk's voice was a low growl.
The surveillance cameras had been destroyed instantly, as if struck by an invisible force or a precision laser. Fisk had hoped the police station would provide answers, but they were useless, and now his contacts there had been scared off.
Fisk gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white. This was a sudden, violent slash at his authority. The incident had taken place in Hell's Kitchen, right under his nose, and yet no one knew who the murderer was.
He didn't know what department was intervening. He had exhausted all his avenues—money, contacts, threats. The answers were silence. It wasn't just the FBI or the CIA; it felt like a massive spider web waiting for him to step in. He was the Emperor of the Underworld, yet he was being provoked, and he couldn't see his enemy.
The key point was that as the largest criminal mastermind in the United States, Fisk managed his territory with an iron fist. He didn't believe for a second that someone wasn't watching him right now. But now that the enemy was unknown, he was forced into a passive position.
The subordinate didn't dare say a word. He swallowed the blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue in fear, making only a small squeak.
"This is absurd," Fisk muttered. "What organization is this?"
Used to being the predator, Fisk began to feel the strain on his nerves. He hadn't slept well since the incident. His men were beaten for no reason, disabled on the spot. The only thing he could be sure of was that Bullseye was gone.
Ring.
The phone on his desk rang. At this moment, Fisk hesitated. He didn't know who the other party was. Was it an individual? Or was it the entity that threatened to dismantle his empire?
Fisk, who rarely smiled, was actually a capricious, cold-blooded, and cruel emperor. But he answered the phone with a tone that suggested he was dealing with a troublesome equal.
"Oh, it's you," Fisk said, his tone changing to a professional greeting, masking his earlier rage. "No problem. I'm just running a small business here."
It was a long phone call. He gestured for his subordinate to leave, and then continued the conversation.
"I haven't contacted him for a long time," Fisk mused into the receiver.
It was an ally. Not a gang ally, but a legitimate business partner. His underworld empire controlled both black and white sectors, and there were rules that even the Kingpin had to respect.
After Fisk hung up the phone, he walked to the glass table and smashed a tumbler against it, no longer pretending to be calm.
This ally was a major media conglomerate. They paid a significant share of protection fees every year in exchange for backing. In the eyes of these companies, going to the police when an accident occurred was useless; using the Kingpin as a backer was far more efficient. But even they couldn't help him now.
Fisk lifted the heavy glass table and threw it across the room in a fit of rage.
Surveillance Safe House
Just around the building where Fisk was located, there were people wandering the streets. Their disguises were professional—blending in perfectly as tourists or workers—though their behavior was so calculated that the local gangsters sensed something was off.
In a low-ceilinged room in a nearby alley, agents knocked on the door with a specific rhythmic code. Inside, a man sitting in a chair tapped his headset to communicate with his superior. Suddenly, his expression changed, and he signaled to the others.
After a while, the door opened. Phil Coulson walked in. His face was indifferent as he straightened his suit and addressed the agents.
"Report," Coulson said efficiently.
There were seven or eight agents like him here. No one spoke unnecessarily. The agents had maintained strict discipline for days, waiting for the plan to conclude or change.
"Nothing has happened since we found the clues last time," an agent reported. "We've had a massive monitoring net focused here for days, and no suspicious individuals have been found. Fisk's security is tight."
Coulson didn't doubt it. He had sent people to watch, hoping to see if there were any signs of the "unknown entity" returning to the scene.
Fisk had guessed correctly; he was being watched by S.H.I.E.L.D.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had also collected information on everyone in Hell's Kitchen, but they did not expect to connect the dots to Fisk so easily.
After Coulson finished receiving the report, he left quickly. He walked to a bookstore on the way, intending to buy the latest issue of Shonen Jump, acting as naturally as possible to blend in.
Inside the store, he bumped into a blind man.
"Excuse me," Coulson said politely.
The clerk had mentioned this was Matt Murdock, a local lawyer. Matt looked a little dazed and frowned, his head tilting as if listening to something specific—like a heartbeat.
Coulson quickly hid the comic magazine from view, using sleight of hand to conceal it within his jacket, and hurried back to the bus stop to return to headquarters.
Nelson & Murdock Law Office
Inside the law firm, Matt Murdock sat on the worn sofa.
"Frank, you can come in."
The Punisher, Frank Castle, climbed in through the window, silent as a ghost.
"The man who killed Bullseye," Frank said, his voice like gravel grinding together.
Daredevil paused. Because he couldn't see, he relied on his other senses. "I would have missed it if I looked at him like an ordinary person. But my senses have been hypersensitive lately. I picked up something on him."
"Should we share this with the authorities?" Frank asked, checking his weapon.
Matt shook his head. "That is impossible."
"If the target started a company, he's a public figure, and there are witnesses," Frank argued. "But those witnesses wouldn't be credible in court."
Matt perceived the vibrations in the air and the heartbeat of the city. He tossed the magazine he had bought onto the table in front of Frank and took a beer from the refrigerator.
"This is the comic he draws," Matt said. "You and I know about the incident. But the suspect is a celebrity now."
"You want to find him?" Frank asked, fingering the comic.
Matt ran his fingers over the paper. The printing on the page had a slight texture, allowing him to use "touch reading" to analyze the ink quality.
"It's a pity that right now, he only tells stories," Matt mused. "We need to figure out whose side he's really on."
...
"AHHH!! YOU PERVERT!!!"
A scream that could rival a sonic weapon resounded throughout the building, shattering the morning calm.
Early in the morning, Light Inksworth, who was still groggy from sleep and with a huge noticeable hard-on, was jolted awake by the deafening noise. His sleepy eyes were heavy, but the sound snapped them open instantly.
Light's eyes widened in shock, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Boom!
Without thinking, he used a Shunpo (Flash Step). He retreated backward two steps instantly and slammed the bathroom door shut.
The renovations on the building were nice, but the layout had one flaw; the bathroom on the second floor was shared.
After Light calmed his racing heart, he coughed dryly through the door. "Lorna, that wasn't... I only saw a little! I swear!"
Inside, Lorna sat on the toilet, completely compromised. Her face was pale with shock. If one didn't know the context of her scream, they might think she was being murdered.
However, shame and anger were written all over her face.
Upon hearing Light's polite nonsense, she shouted angrily, "You pervert! This is a shared bathroom! Learn to knock on the door!"
Outside the door, Light felt a pang of guilt.
The image of Lorna's legs flashed through his mind. He was still startled, and his breathing was ragged.
He knew her face must be flushed crimson, her expression one of pure rage.
"And the color of her hair changed when her powers flared up," Light noted internally.
"That image is burned into my brain now," Light muttered to himself, regretting his intrusion. "She's furious. I need to handle this carefully."
Regarding Lorna's accusation, Light felt embarrassed. He stammered, "Lorna, listen. I was up late drawing last night. I rushed out four new chapters, and I was basically sleepwalking. There was that earthquake last night, and I didn't sleep well."
He paused, then added, digging his own grave, "Actually, I really didn't see anything! You don't need to be so... I mean, I just saw you sitting on the toilet, and it's quite dark, and your face is really red, you know?"
"Just shut up, Light!" Lorna screamed.
"Okay! Okay,I was just... working on the comics... I'm exhausted..." Light tried to explain, but it came out as gibberish.
Light realized he couldn't talk his way out of this.
He scratched his head, depressed, and moved quickly away from the door. "Fine, my bad! I'm going downstairs to shit!"
"GET LOST!"
It didn't take long for Lorna's heartbeat to slow down. But then, her ears perked up. She heard footsteps coming back.
Her heart started beating wildly again. She became angry and yelled frantically inside her mind.
'Is that pervert coming back? What does he want? Does he want to force the door open?'
Light, however, just walked past to go to the downstairs bathroom.
'Oh my god, how much did he see... did he see me down there...?' Lorna thought, mortified.
No matter how Lorna analyzed it, the fact remained: she hadn't locked the door because she forgot.
Light had walked in by accident.
'But if he thinks that was on purpose... then he really is a pervert.'
Fortunately, Gali's voice came from outside the door.
"It's me, Lorna," Gali said. "I... uh, I didn't hear everything. Did he really see you?"
Gali said this with an excited, gossipy tone.
Her ear was pressed against the door, and she secretly thought, Humans make such loud breathing sounds when they panic.
"No," Lorna's voice came out, surprisingly calm.
This made Gali pause, a little confused.
Lorna looked up at the ceiling, muttering an "Oh" to herself.
She tried to pretend she was detached from the incident, while Gali floated back, shaking her head.
Inside, Lorna used her abilities to punish Light in her imagination.
She twitched her mouth.
The angle of the door opening meant he had definitely seen everything.
Gritting her teeth, she directed her power into the air. She pulled on the steel bars inside the walls, twisting the metal until it groaned under the stress.
"It's over, my life is over," she moaned.
She didn't know why she hadn't attacked him immediately. She hadn't been thinking; she reacted like a normal, embarrassed girl.
'What is wrong with me?'
She just wanted to skin him alive now. This wasn't her usual cold character at all.
Gali, as if reading her mind, asked quietly through the door, "Lorna, do you like Light?"
The question was like an arrow piercing through the silence.
It stabbed Lorna's heart fiercely. Her hair began to float, defying gravity. Dark green energy surged, replacing the dyed black of her hair.
She shouted furiously, "GALI!"
At this moment downstairs, Gali got scared and zipped down to stand near Light, who was about to make breakfast.
When Light looked back, he saw Gali's purple hair flash by as she ran for cover.
Then, a furious Lorna, controlling the pots and pans of the kitchen like floating weapons, chased past him.
A murderous aura trailed behind her.
"Oh god," Light shivered.
...
Rand Enterprises Helipad
A helicopter banked sharply, descending toward the top of the skyscraper. As the door opened, a figure stepped out, his chest suddenly emitting a soft golden light. The power was palpable even from this height.
A young man with curly blonde hair walked onto the helipad.
"Danny, don't be impulsive," a woman's voice warned from inside the chopper. "According to last night's news, Hell's Kitchen had a seismic event. The situation is volatile."
"New York," Danny Rand interrupted, taking a deep breath of the city air. "I, Danny Rand, am finally back."
"Danny," the Asian woman, Colleen Wing, said seriously as she stepped out.
Danny clenched his fist, causing it to glow brighter. "I'm just waiting for them to make a move."
"I know, Colleen," Danny added, his tone softening but his confidence remaining unshaken.
Danny was not emboldened by arrogance, but by purpose.
Colleen walked up beside him. "Let's find some allies first. The vigilantes in Hell's Kitchen are a good choice. It will be more effective to deal with the threats if we aren't alone. Now, New York is laid out before us."
Colleen and Danny left the helipad. One went to investigate the streets, and the other entered the Chairman's office on the top floor to reclaim his family's legacy.
_______________________________
Word count: 2353
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