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The Russian mob. Hell's Kitchen was carved up between ethnic gangs — Russian, Irish, Italian, Dominican — each one claiming territory by blood and heritage. The Russians were among the most feared.
Neither Kade nor Norman knew the details. Norman was a corporate titan — the internal politics of a slum's criminal underworld weren't exactly his area of expertise. And Kade's Marvel knowledge came from blockbuster films, not the street-level corners of the universe. He hadn't even recognized Matt Murdock as Daredevil until the dinner reveal.
But not knowing Matt's future didn't stop Kade from calling in a favor now.
"I have a friend who knows Hell's Kitchen's underground better than anyone," Kade told Norman. "If anyone can help us with the Russian angle, it's him."
He dialed Matt's number.
The line connected to the sound of heavy, ragged breathing.
"Uh... bad timing?" Kade said.
Night had fallen. Vigorous physical activity after dark was perfectly normal for a healthy young man. And for a blind man, darkness made no difference — though it probably mattered to whoever was on the other end of the exercise.
"Kade — whatever it is, make it fast. I'm busy."
Kade was about to suggest calling back in ten minutes, then realized that might sound insulting. He was revising the estimate to thirty when a burst of gunfire crackled through the phone.
"Matt, are you in trouble again?"
"Nothing I can't handle. What do you need?"
"What do you know about the Russian mob in Hell's Kitchen?"
A pause. Then a laugh that had no humor in it. "Your timing is incredible. I'm currently being chased by several Russians. I just caught them trafficking people at the docks."
"Can you take them alive? I need to ask them some questions."
"Right now I'd settle for not ending up in the morgue myself." More gunfire. The line went dead.
Kade turned to Norman, whose expression was equal parts desperation and barely controlled fury.
"My friend's already tangled up with the Russians. Norman — I need to get to Hell's Kitchen fast. And quietly. If there are more moles in your organization, we can't risk anyone knowing I've left this building."
What Kade actually meant was: Give me the Goblin Glider.
He'd been thinking about it since the moment he'd walked into Norman's lab. A personal flight platform, AllSpark-activated — it could be his most powerful Cybertronian unit yet. The thought of it made his pulse quicken. Even if the new robot turned out to be as eccentric as Blitz and Violet, Kade wouldn't care.
Norman considered for a moment, then said: "There's an underground tunnel system connecting this hospital to a secure facility. Follow me."
No glider. Underground tunnels instead. Kade swallowed his disappointment.
Norman ordered the doctors to sedate Pierre — enough to keep him under for hours — then led Kade through the hospital's service corridors while the staff were occupied. They reached an elevator. Norman punched in a sequence that used every button on the panel, and the car descended to a floor that didn't appear on any directory.
The tunnel below was well-lit — bright, clean, clearly maintained. This was an escape route, not a horror movie set. It was built for emergencies, and emergencies required visibility.
Norman looked like he belonged in a horror movie anyway. His face was gray, his jaw locked, his eyes hollow.
Kade put a hand on his shoulder. "Norman. Go back to Oscorp and wait for my call. You showing up in Hell's Kitchen personally is a liability — for you and for Harry."
This wasn't empty comfort. Kade fully intended to bring Harry home.
Not purely for the Oscorp nano-surgical equipment, though that mattered. And not purely because rescuing a billionaire's son created leverage. The real reason was simpler.
At a gaming convention that morning — a lifetime ago — a man with a sick pallor and a hyperactive son had sat on a bench and talked to Kade like a human being. No agenda, no status games, no posturing. Just two guys out of their element, making conversation.
Kade had been a soldier in two lifetimes. He'd learned something in both: the people worth fighting for weren't the ones who asked for it. They were the ones who treated you like a person before they knew what you could do.
He'd given his word to Norman. That was enough.
"I'm not coming with you to play hero," Norman said. "I know my limitations. But there's something down here you should see. An equipment vault — Oscorp prototypes. Some of them might help."
Kade's heart rate spiked. The glider. Please let it be the glider.
Norman led him around a corner and tapped a pattern on the wall. A section of concrete split apart, revealing a heavy metal door that slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
Behind it: a room the size of a small aircraft hangar, filled with the most advanced military hardware Kade had ever seen outside of Tony Stark's workshop.
Weapons — conventional and otherwise — lined the walls. But Kade's eyes went straight to the center of the room, where a single piece of equipment sat on a raised platform under dedicated lighting.
The Goblin Glider.
Black, not green. Matte carbon-fiber finish, angular and aggressive. It looked like something from a stealth fighter's nightmares.
But it was unfinished. Wiring hung exposed from the undercarriage. Panels were missing. Components that should have been sealed were open to the air.
Kade touched it. The AllSpark responded immediately.
[Single-operator combat flight platform. Structural completion: 33%. Damage threshold too severe for activation.]
Thirty-three percent. Barely a third complete. Useless.
The disappointment hit like a gut punch. But Kade let it go. This timeline's Oscorp simply hadn't finished the design yet. If he saved Harry tonight, there would be plenty of chances to get his hands on the completed version later.
"Sorry about that one," Norman said. "It's years from being operational. But these might help."