Peter tuned out the room. He slid the processed blood samples from the centrifuge under the lens of the lab's electron microscope, his fingers flying across the Rand Medical terminal keyboard. The monitor flared to life, rendering a highly magnified, three-dimensional digital model of the human and non-human genome sequences. Because the Super Soldier Serum fundamentally rewrote the recipient's genetic code, tracing the anomaly was basically just looking for a massive, glowing neon sign in the DNA strand.
"If we cross-reference the mutated gene targets," Peter muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, "we can isolate exactly which of Mr. Cage's genes successfully bonded with the Erskine formula."
Jessica leaned against a stainless steel counter, crossing her arms. "Speak English, kid."
"Okay, so the original Super Soldier Serum works by activating reverse transcriptase in the body," Peter explained, not looking up. "When bombarded with Vita Rays, the serum acts like a retrovirus. It flips the protein components into an RNA or DNA sequence that forcibly adapts to the subject's existing genetic code. That triggers the cellular division and replication."
He tapped the monitor. "Hydra knows why Luke and Captain America survived the process. There's a specific, ultra-rare genetic marker required to make the Erskine serum stabilize. If we extract the DNA fragments from these samples that don't match a baseline human genome, we can isolate the exact marker Hydra is looking for. Then..."
Jessica stared flatly at the glowing monitor. She blinked once, then slowly turned her head toward Daredevil. "I understood the word serum. The rest of that was just white noise."
"Just stick to the plan," Daredevil said smoothly. He adjusted his grip on his cane. Stepping out into the middle of the day felt entirely wrong against his usual nocturnal rhythm, but the timeline was critical. Even Peter had skipped school for this. Daredevil turned his head toward the heavy man standing quietly by the door. "Are you ready, Cage? We need to move."
Luke couldn't help with the molecular biology. His part of the operation was loud, public, and designed specifically to kick the hornet's nest. He gave a single, heavy nod.
As Luke and Matt left, Peter pulled a bulky, heavy-duty satellite phone from his backpack. It operated on a dedicated, encrypted frequency routed directly through a Baxter Building satellite. He'd borrowed it from the Fantastic Four's network—the communication channel of the smartest people on the planet. If anything could dodge Hydra's digital surveillance net, it was Reed Richards' tech.
The line clicked. "Got anything?" Peter asked.
"Obviously." Felicia's voice purred through the speaker. Miles away, inside a supposedly secure church hospital, the Black Cat sat cross-legged in a stolen desk chair, twirling the matching sat-phone in one hand while her other hand danced across a keyboard. "Detective Jones was right. The clinic Tandy Bowen frequented is absolutely a front. Every blood sample drawn from the patients here gets routed to a single, off-the-books laboratory. The manifest lists the purpose as 'undisclosed testing.'"
She hit the enter key. The hospital's archaic firewall hadn't even slowed her down. "I'm running the filters now. Locking the search parameters to patients under forty. No hereditary diseases, zero history of substance abuse, no physical disabilities. The system is spitting back quite a few hits."
The American healthcare system made it incredibly easy. Family doctors kept exhaustive, centralized medical histories.
"Did you run the script I sent you?" Peter asked, typing furiously on his own end to prepare for the data dump. "The one that scrapes local social media for missing persons reports and cross-references the names?"
"Please," Felicia scoffed, the sound sharp and amused. "I joined the investigation business a lot earlier than you did, boy detective. I know how to run a trace."
A beat of silence.
"Three matches," she announced. "Tandy Bowen is one. I'm sending you the other two now."
Peter's screen pinged. He quickly jotted the two names and their last known addresses onto a notepad, ripped the sheet off, and handed it to Jessica. Handing target profiles to an actual private investigator was the smartest play. Peter could handle the genome sequencing, but he couldn't exactly hack the hospital's central database without leaving a massive digital footprint that pointed straight back to Spider-Man.
The table was set. Now, they just needed to make some noise.
The noise was Luke Cage.
Initially, Luke had suggested simply walking into a federal courthouse and suing the United States government to draw Hydra's attention. Matt had vetoed it immediately. A random ex-con suing the military was a buried headline. But a superhero suing the military after surviving their black-site torture camp? That was a crusade. It would dominate the news cycle, improve his public perception, and put a massive, impenetrable public spotlight on Luke.
To get the spotlight, he needed to do some hero work. With Kingpin locked up, a massive power vacuum had ripped through New York's underworld. Gang turf wars were spilling into the streets.
In the heart of Manhattan, an apartment complex was currently being torn apart by automatic gunfire. Two rival factions were destroying the lobby, fighting for territorial control.
Outside, police cruisers formed a loose perimeter. The precinct captain leaned against the hood of his squad car, casually sipping from a styrofoam coffee cup. He listened to the deafening crack of assault rifles echoing from the brick building with total apathy. This wasn't Fisk's crew. It was a localized gang war. Let them thin each other out, then send the uniforms in to bag the bodies.
A woman broke through the police line, her clothes disheveled, tears streaming down her face. She threw herself at the captain, grabbing his uniform sleeve. "Please! My little boy is still in there! You have to go in!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the captain said, pulling his arm away and taking a slow sip of his coffee. "But I have to prioritize the safety of my officers. If you wanted a safe environment for your kid, you shouldn't have rented an apartment with these gangsters."
The mother sobbed, collapsing against the hood of the cruiser.
Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the apartment building shattered outward.
The gunfire inside abruptly ceased.
A massive, broad-shouldered man walked out of the smoke. His yellow t-shirt was riddled with bullet holes, the fabric scorched and torn, revealing unbroken, completely unscarred skin beneath. He carried a small, terrified boy in one arm, having shielded the child entirely with his own body.
Luke walked straight past the stunned police captain and gently set the boy down on his feet.
The mother scrambled forward, pulling her son into a desperate embrace. She looked up at the giant of a man, her eyes wide with shock and profound gratitude. "Thank you... oh my god, thank you. What... what's your name?"
Luke hesitated. He looked at the police captain, then back to the mother. He didn't give his real name. He didn't give the fake alias he'd been using since his escape.
He squared his shoulders.
"My name is Power Man, ma'am."
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