Frank didn't bother turning his head as he spoke. "That building houses a major stronghold of The Hand."
"Really?"
"I saw their leader go in. He stayed for hours."
"Name?"
"Murakami."
Hong Fei's eyes brightened. "You've found the right man."
Frank continued, "It's a powder factory on the middle floors. They use anime merchandise as a front and ship goods weekly. Murakami's not the only big player there."
"Who else?"
"Nobu. Yoshioka Nobu."
Hong Fei nodded thoughtfully. Nobu wasn't one of the Five Fingers, but he was still a high-ranking member of The Hand. "You mentioned enemies of The Hand are after you. What's the story?"
Frank finally turned, his expression dripping with disdain. "Some old man claiming to be the leader of The Chaste. He wants to take Elektra Natchios away. I won't let her go, and she doesn't seem keen on leaving with him either."
"So what did you do?" Hong Fei asked, intrigued.
"I beat him up. And burned his house down for good measure."
"Did you win?"
Frank lifted his chin with a cold snort. "What do you think?"
Hong Fei gave him a thumbs-up. The Chaste were indeed The Hand's mortal enemies, though their founder had once been part of The Hand. Stick, the blind leader of The Chaste, was also the mentor of Matt Murdock and Elektra Natchios.
Hong Fei glanced toward the living room. "Did Elektra leave?"
"She didn't want to see that old man again, so she headed back to New York early."
Frank turned to his tablet, pulling up a map marked with two red dots. He pointed at each in turn. "We've got two targets. The first is the powder factory. The second is The Hand's stronghold in Koto Ward. Murakami's there."
Hong Fei studied the map. "Chiyoda to Koto—that's quite a distance. What's the plan?"
Frank didn't hesitate. "Three days. Day one, we hit the factory. That'll make The Hand scramble to find us. Day three, we strike their stronghold."
Hong Fei shook his head. "That's unnecessary."
"What do you mean?"
"One day. One night, to be precise."
Frank frowned.
Hong Fei held up a finger. "Same order of targets. Koto Ward's near the bay. You prep a boat. We hit them and vanish before they can react."
Frank's brow furrowed deeper. "You're sure we won't be spotted? If word gets out, we'll be walking into a trap."
Hong Fei gestured toward the building in the distance. "Do you have the blueprints?"
"Yes. But they could've changed the layout. We don't know what the factory looks like now."
"As long as we have the basics, that's enough. Speed is the key."
"How so?"
"If we kill fast enough, no one will live to pass on the message."
Frank's face twisted skeptically. "What about the gunfire?"
"That's the police's problem."
After a pause, Frank added, "Then let's plan how to infiltrate. Both places are heavily guarded."
Hong Fei shook his head again.
Frank's irritation flared. "What now?"
"Nothing. Just sharing some experience."
"Spit it out."
Hong Fei smirked. "If you kill everyone, it's the perfect stealth mission."
Frank stared at him, speechless.
The next day, Frank went out early to arrange the helicopter and boat for their escape. Hong Fei stayed behind to recover. When Frank returned that evening, he noticed the bruises on Hong Fei's legs hadn't faded, with ointment still applied. He frowned. "Should we wait a few more days?"
"No need."
Hong Fei pushed up from the couch and strode toward the black case in the living room. "Crack it open," he said, jerking his chin at the container. Frank moved forward to release the latches. The first two cases revealed identical sets of tactical gear—matte black fatigues, ballistic helmets, night vision goggles, balaclavas, armored vests, ammunition belts, drop holsters, and gloves.
"Damn," Hong Fei whistled, running a finger along the stitching of a vest. "You guys don't mess around."
The remaining cases disgorged an arsenal: RPG launcher, sniper systems, compact submachine guns, sidearms, and enough specialized ammunition to start a small war. But— "Where's my fucking cannon?" Hong Fei's head swiveled between the crates. Frank's expression soured. "Not happening. Timeline was too tight—this is what we got."
"You never even ordered it."
"Another month, minimum." Hong Fei waved him off, surveying the armory spread across the floor. "So what's the play here? Mob cleanup? Or are we storming Buckingham Palace?"
Frank's mouth quirked. "Say the word. I'll draw up the assault plan."
"Raincheck. But seriously—who's your arms guy?" The Middle East was predictable, but New York? Tokyo? This supplier moved hardware like pizza deliveries. That kind of reach impressed even him.
"Later," Frank said. "Guy's a resourceful bastard."
Night settled as they geared up. Frank walked him through the load-bearing harness, adjusting straps with practiced efficiency. When it came to weapons, Frank assembled his standard loadout—precision rifle, SMG, sidearm. Hong Fei strapped twin pistols to his thighs, then tucked a third against the small of his back. Six spare mags clicked into place along his belt.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "You sure about this math?"
"Three eighteen-rounders, six seventeens." Hong Fei tapped a magazine against his palm. "Hundred fifty-six rounds. You expecting more targets than that?"
"Every shot center mass?"
"Every one." The unspoken memory of desert operations hung between them. Frank said nothing.
Hong Fei added flashbangs and stun grenades to his kit, then retrieved his personal case. The Cross-blade slid into its sheath with a whisper of steel. He bounced on his toes, adrenaline humming. "We could hit something tonight. Right now."
Frank parroted his earlier dismissal: "Raincheck."
At 2000 sharp, they hauled the RPG cases out back to a modified off-roater. The chopper waited at a derelict factory—Frank's work. They boarded fast. Before ignition, Hong Fei leaned in: "Stick to the flight path. Five minutes, you circle back for extract."
"Absolutely sure?" Frank's knuckles whitened on the collective. He hated this lone-wolf bullshit.
"Relax. Crowded places draw eyes." The rotors whined to life. Hong Fei settled mid-cabin as the cityscape unfolded below, a constellation of artificial stars.
Frank's voice crackled through the headset: "Go position."
Hong Fei slid the door open. The anime girl's neon silhouette still gyrated across the building's facade. As the helo closed distance, his pupils dilated—the world sharpened into the hyper-clarity of the Eyes.
"Jump!"
Ten meters up, he stepped into empty air. To street-level observers, the passing helicopter cast no falling shadow.
The descent became extremely slow in the vision of the Eyes of Death. Hong Fei tucked into a ball before impact, rolling twice across concrete. He came up in a crouch. "Clean landing." Above, the helo continued its unremarkable transit. The city swallowed the sound of rotors.