Misty Knight was tired and angry and pissed off.
She stalked the halls of the New York City Police Department's Harlem Precinct grumbling and swearing to herself. The city had actually managed to go a few months without any crazy superpowered bullshit, turns out it had been saving itself for the second she got back from vacation.
Of course it was.
She had a stack of documents held tight in her real hand. She had them memorized by now of course, but the paper trail was a neat source of intimidation. You got to slap it down on the table and show the poor saps just how screwed they actually were.
"Ridley," Misty greeted her superior officer as she approached.
"Knight," she greeted back. "You've got your work cut out for you today."
"Don't I know it." She sighed. "So, where's my studio today?"
"The three we bagged last night are in 3, 4, and 5. Got 'em lined up in a row just for you."
"Must be my birthday. Who should I start with?"
"Well there's the one who won't talk, the one who really won't talk, and the one who won't stop talking."
Misty massaged her temple. "I'll just hit 'em one by one then. Who's in 3?"
"That would be the one who really won't talk. Has the," she gestured to her face.
"Right. Well, wish me luck."
"You're gonna need it."
Three attacks from three 'enhanced' individuals in a single night. All of them were claiming coincidence. It was Misty's job to try and force a connection.
As Ridley moved to the room just beyond the one-way mirror, Misty shrugged herself loose. She needed to adopt a certain air for the interrogation, an air like she had nothing better to do the rest of the day than sit around and give you shit. The opposite of how she felt right now, so it took more than a little effort to shift her body language.
When she was ready, she barged into the interrogation room.
The man sitting at the table looked up as she entered. That is, he looked towards her, it was hard to tell if he was looking at her. His skin was pale, unnaturally so, and his short, curly hair was paler. He wore a baggy brown coat and a red flannel shirt, but most of that was hard to pay attention to with the big, black circle plastered directly onto and covering his face.
Misty took her seat across from him and fixed him with nothing more than a look.
"You know we don't allow suspects to cover their faces, right?"
The man, with his hands folded on the table in front of him, gave a small shrug. "You're free to try and take it off."
Misty looked at him skeptically. He didn't make any moves.
Tentatively, she reached forward with her robotic arm. The fingers pressed against his cheek, but as she tried to grip whatever it was covering his face with her thumb, it… sank in. As she pushed it farther in, she noticed that same thumb poking its way out of a similar circle of black along the side of his hand.
Misty quickly pulled the hand back, gave it a grimace and shake.
"Weird, right?" It was unnerving, trying to figure out where his voice was coming from when nothing on his face moved.
"I've seen weirder."
"Have you now?"
"I was there for the 2012 attack. The attack that, according to this, you helped cause. In a way."
"Ah." The man nodded slightly. "We're getting into the interrogation properly now, are we?"
"You've still got some fingers left for us to print, Johnathon Ohnn. Let me ask you, how does a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist end up breaking and entering into a civilian's home in Hell's Kitchen?"
"Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. After the accident I was discharged, in a sense. Officially, I'm supposed to be dead. If details about the Tesseract ever got out, which of course, they did, they at least wanted to look competent in how they handled it. On top of things. Bury all the leads to avoid a scandal of any prior issues getting it under control."
"And you worked on that thing yourself."
"I think it would be more apt to say the Tesseract worked on me."
"You still haven't answered my question John. What were you doing in Hell's Kitchen?"
"Yes, yes, I was getting to that." Ohnn rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index while absentmindedly twirling his opposite hand in a circle. A black spot appeared in the air as he did so. Ohnn looked up in surprise at it, then grabbed it, and it disappeared in his grasp. "Sorry about that. Where was I, yes, okay.
"Officially I'm supposed to be dead. S.H.I.E.L.D. set me up with a cozy little cabin out in the woods in Germany. I was supposed to spend the rest of my life there, keep my head down, avoid causing trouble, but I just got the urge to, you know, stretch my legs a little bit."
"I hear mountain hiking does wonder for the lungs."
"No, not like that." He scratched at his head. "I feel like, these past couple years, I've been just sitting. Just sitting and maybe allowed to roll around in a wheelchair, but never standing. I want to stand, detective, I want to stand and walk and run and race with others to see just how fast I can go."
Misty knew exactly what he was getting to, but she wasn't planning to play along with his line of conversation. She shot him a scowl.
"The Tesseract opened up a whole new world before my very eyes. I want to explore it, I want to see what I can do with it."
"How about you get to the point, Spot. Why the breaking and entering?"
"Oh, that. It's simple really. I was trying to find Daredevil."
That got a reaction out of Misty. An eyebrow shot up as she shot him the most incredulous look she could muster. "In a blind lawyer's apartment?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
Matt Murdock shot up in bed. There was somebody in his apartment.
He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, stood next to the doorway of his room.
"Hey. Is someone there?" he called out in his best Matt Murdock voice. He knew that someone was there of course, it was hard to get an exact bead on whoever it was, but if it was just a crook looking to nab some stuff while he was sleeping, then just the owner waking up should be enough to scare them off. If they put up a fight instead, Matt shouldn't have any problem knocking the guy out, he'd just have to do it quickly and quietly.
And if it wasn't a crook, Matt might be in trouble.
The person stood, stock still, in the middle of the living room. They hadn't budged an inch since arriving. Nerves started building in Matt's chest.
"I'm serious," Matt continued. "I'll call the police."
"Come on, Murdock," came a voice. Masculine, average pitch, not particularly shaky. There was an odd timbre to his voice though. It took Matt a second to recognize it, but his lips weren't moving when he spoke. "I know you're on your feet by now. Just come out already."
Matt took a careful step forward and moved through the door.
The man standing there was wearing a loose coat and denim jeans, gloves and a wide hat. Matt was having trouble getting a read on his face.
"Who are you?" Matt asked.
"Uh, eh," the stranger made a non-committal sound. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Still John, probably. Sure. John."
Matt swallowed. "Alright, John. What are you doing in my apartment?"
John took his hat off and placed it on the coffee table. Matt could hear the air currents passing through his curly hair, but the face was still off. Every one of Matt's senses was telling him that John's face was the kitchen.
"I'm trying to find someone. A mutual friend." As John spoke, he casually a spun a hand through the air on his right. The space shifted, the air passed through it wrong. He leaned forward and did it again in front of him, and suddenly across the room standing next to John was Matt himself. Matt turned his head to hear better, the Matt across the room did the same.
"I'm – I'm afraid I don't -"
John sighed. "Daredevil. I'm trying to find Daredevil. That's the code, right, mutual friend, for when you're talking about Daredevil?"
Matt's eyebrows furrowed.
"Look, I think you've got this all wrong. I- I've only run into the guy every now and again. I don't really know anything that you don't."
John softly chuckled. "Give me some credit here, Murdock."
John reached up, Matt thought he was scratching his face, but fingernail never met skin. In the kitchen, someone grabbed a knife, but no one was there.
"Look," Matt said, stepping forward. "I don't know what you're talking about, and if you don't get out of my apartment right now-"
Things happened very fast and very confusingly. John pulled his hand back and was now holding one of Matt's kitchen knives. He threw it towards the Matt next to him. And from near where the Matt next to him was, was a second John who threw a knife at Matt and there was a knife flying straight towards Matt.
Matt dove to the ground, hit the floorboards with a somersault and came back up in a crouch. John was tracing more circles in the air.
"You're not very good at lying, are you?" he said.
Matt was trying to get a read on the room, but it was becoming harder as John moved about. Walls started taking bizarre sharp turns, briefly turning into other walls or windows or ceilings. The entire apartment was transformed into the kaleidoscope version of itself and just trying to imagine navigating it was giving him a headache.
That wasn't even mentioning the 10 identical Johns and 15 Matt Murdocks scattered about the place.
Matt darted towards the closest John and threw out a wild haymaker. John jumped back, barely skirting along the edge of the hit, then took a few steps back and tossed a punch to his left. As he did this, another John stepped out from behind nothing and launched a simultaneous mirror punch right into Matt's face.
Matt stumbled to the side, trying to clear his head. Shake out the rest of the sleep that was lingering in his brain, slowing his reactions.
Focus, Matt!
His hands went back up as he approached one of the Johns again, a little more thoughtfully this time. Let the weird home invader come to him instead.
John's head turned, examining the funhouse apartment and the various different Matts. Eventually, however, he made his decision, darted to the side and swung a clothesline at one of the Matts' head, as one of the Johns made the same swing at Matt.
Matt ducked, bobbing underneath the strike, then countered with an experimental jab. John stumbled back. Matt's chairs were a little bit of everywhere at the same time, but he managed to find one close by, gave it a running start, and jumped off the armrest. He came down with a powerful punch to the side of John's head.
Not willing to let John create distance again, Matt immediately followed up with an underhanded swing to John's gut. Matt's fist tore through the fabric of John's shirt and kept flying as Matt's fist shot from John's face and slammed Matt in the chin.
With the fabric out of the way, Matt could sense his way into John's chest, where he could make out Matt Murdock looking lost and confused.
Matt stepped forward with a hook, opting to stick to the head for now. John stepped back and drew a quick, small circle with his finger. As Matt's fist was about to smash into his hand, it instead crashed into a brick wall.
Matt managed to pull his hand back without yelling, though he could already feel the blood trickling down his knuckles. A John flew in from the side and slammed into Matt from the side with an amateurish dropkick. Doesn't take a martial artist to tell you that slamming into a person with all your weight is going to do some damage though, and Matt was sent sprawling through one of the legs on his coffee table, snapping it off.
With John recovering, Matt grabbed the leg, bolted to his feet and sent it flying with a flick of his wrist.
It was supposed to hit the far wall and bounce back in time to hit John in the head. Instead it kept flying and didn't stop, zipping around through the apartment from every angle imaginable and several that weren't. It flew from ground to ceiling and window to window without ever once hitting a single solid object.
Matt hit the deck, crawling underneath the coffee table and keeping his head low. John was finally showing a bit of panic, head darting from side to side as he tried to keep track of where the table leg was.
It flew in from the window without breaking it and darted straight towards John's face and through it, but then kept going straight to the back of another John's head.
It struck. John was knocked off his feet and hit the ground. In an instant, Matt's apartment returned to normal. The leg ricocheted, flew to a wall and embedded into the plaster.
Matt was breathing heavily. Slowly he made his way from under the table. He went ahead and gave John's body a once over to make sure he was out. He was.
Matt moved on over to the door. Grabbing his keys from the side table, he walked outside of the apartment, locked the door behind him, then broke the door open with a kick.
Next, he grabbed his phone and dialed for the police.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" came the chipper voice on the other end.
"H- Hi, yeah, someone's broken into my house, I don't- I don't really know what's happened there was a lot of crashing and loud noises and the guy who did it is out cold now I think, but he's- he's still here."
"Can you tell me your address, sir?"
"S- Sure. 370 Sutton Place. Apartment 1628."
"We'll have officers there as soon as possible, thank you sir."
"Yeah, thank you."
Matt could hear the police sirens arrive minutes later. Then there was the clattering of shoes as they ran up the stairs. Two officers, full gear. Finally, they burst into Matt's apartment, announcing their presence with expected loudness.
One of the officers went over to inspect John, curiously poking at his face with their hand. The other moved towards Matt to get a statement.
"Thank God you're here," Matt said. "I was worried he might wake up before you could take him away."
"Can you describe what happened here?"
"Um, I mean, I can try."
The officer looked up, noticed Matt's unfocused eyes, and scribbled something down on a notepad. "Alright, go ahead."
"Uh, well, about ten minutes ago I thought I heard someone moving about the apartment, I live alone, I called out, hoping to scare him off, but then he started- he started talking to me. He told me that he was here because he wanted to meet Daredevil or something, I don't know. I told him I didn't know him, I don't know what any of that was about, and then he- he attacked me. I thought I was done for, but then I heard the door break open and past that I have no idea. There was the sounds of fighting, I couldn't really follow what happened, and then when everything got quiet, that's when I called you."
The other officer moved over to look at the table leg still embedded in the wall.
"Definitely looks like Daredevil was here," he said.
"How'd you know the second guy was still here after everything went quiet?" the first officer asked.
"I tripped over him." Pause. "No, seriously, after it went quiet, I was moving around the apartment to see if anyone was still here, and he was just lying on the ground where he is now, and I tripped over him."
"Any idea how he got into the apartment?"
"No, none. Like I said, I only heard him moving around, I didn't hear the door open or the windows or anything."
"And is, uh, that from when he attacked you?" the officer said, pointing to Matt's hand. "I'm pointing to your hand."
"Oh. This. Well, yeah, I thought I was about to die anyways, I kind of panicked and took a swing. Didn't do me much good."
"Alright." The officer stowed his notepad back away. "We're going to need to ask you a few more questions at the station."
"That's perfectly understandable, I'd be happy to cooperate." Matt gave his best innocent smile and tried to shove down how shaken that crazy funhouse experience had made him.
"Why Daredevil?" Misty asked.
"What's that?"
"You wanted to race someone. Why Daredevil?"
"Who better in the city of New York to give me a challenge?"
"Don't give me that shit, Doctor Strange lives three blocks down."
"Oh. Well, I may be good, but I'm not sure if I'm Avengers good. That's a big gamble to take isn't it?"
"Pretty sure most of the Avengers don't hang around this planet much anymore."
"I don't want to fight Doctor Strange, alright?"
Misty leaned in. "But you did want to fight Daredevil. Why?"
"He strikes a good balance. Big enough that I could become a legend for beating him, weak enough that he won't splatter me in a single punch, small enough that I won't break national news for picking a fight. There, my cowardice has been exposed for the world to see."
"It's just you and me here."
"It's exposed enough."
Misty leaned back and huffed.
"I'll give it to you straight, Ohnn. Breaking and entering onto private property and assault. Compared to your two friends that's basically nothing."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about detective. I've spent the last decade alone in a forest. I don't have much in the way of friends."
"I could put you away for twenty years on this, plus whatever the lawyer is gonna sue out of you when this is all settled. Or, I can push it down to five, maybe lower, if you cooperate and help us out. Who's sending out the freaks?"
"I assure you detective, I don't know anything."
"Absolutely nothing, huh?"
"I know no thing."
"Alright. We'll see what the other two have to say. Between you and me, I think the crackhead's gonna spill first. Can never trust those types."
"Are you asking me if I'm afraid that a drug abuser I've never met is going to talk about a person he doesn't know exists with powers he can't comprehend?"
Misty shrugged. "Are you?"
"Uh," Ohnn gave it some thought. "No, not really."
Misty stood up and left the room.
"Notice anything?" Ridley asked. "Cause all I'm getting is the guy's a wackjob with a backstory."
"Yeah, he's full of shit."
"I know that, Knight. But you're going to need some evidence."
"He specifically said Daredevil is the best person he could find in New York. He chose to go after him after choosing to come here."
Ridley gave her a second. "Is that it?"
Misty sighed. "It's not much but it's a start. Enough to know there's something actually going on here. Let me at least talk to the other two before we call this a loss."
"Alright. You want the junkie next?"
"Yeah, let's go ahead and get him out of the way."
They moved into position again as Misty entered interrogation room #4. The second enhanced at least had a face.
His shiny black hair was stringy and tied back and came down to his shoulder blades. It looked like it hadn't been washed in a couple of weeks.
The man also looked like he hadn't been washed in a couple of weeks. His skin was yellowing and waxy, and he had a lot of wrinkles around his face for someone so young. He wore a ratty t-shirt promoting a band Misty had never heard of, a pair of black sweatpants, and white sneakers with slowly detaching soles.
He was also very – twitchy.
Really there was no two ways about it, he was tweeking like a motherfucker.
Misty sat down across from him, wrinkled her nose a bit at the smell, then began.
"Joss Shappe."
"Speedfreak!" he corrected her. "The name's Speedfreak, with two e's."
Misty cocked an eyebrow.
"Joss Shappe," she repeated. "Multiple counts of drug use, some minor assault charges, a few cases of public indecency, tell me, how do we jump from there to attempted murder with a deadly weapon?"
Shappe leaned back, like it was the most casual thing in the world to say, "I'm trying to break into the superpowered mercenary business."
"Do you actually have superpowers?"
"No, but I got them boots."
"Yes, the boots. Where did you get those boots anyways?"
"Found 'em."
"You found them."
"Ah." He waved a dismissive hand. "Some engineering grad student made them for a project. Just took 'em off his hands."
"By killing him?"
Shappe gave an exaggerated gasp. "Little ol' me? Kill someone? Why I would never."
"You cut off a man's arm and near fatally wounded a dozen people."
"Didn't kill anyone though."
"You said 10 seconds ago that you were a mercenary."
"I said I was trying to be a mercenary. Besides, mercenaries don't have to kill people. Assassins kill people, mercenaries do all kinds of things."
Misty stood up and slammed her hands on the desk. "Mercenaries also have bosses, Shappe. Someone's paying you, and unless you want the harshest rehab experience of your life, you're going to tell me who wants Luke Cage dead."
Shappe gave a sharp, short laugh at the question. "Who doesn't?"
Luke Cage sat at his throne, looking over Harlem's Paradise. Tonight's entertainment was a smooth R&B singer backed by a small three-piece, giving the whole building a relaxed atmosphere. A relaxing night at the tail end of an uninteresting week. Down below, the mass of people didn't so much dance as ride the groove. Vibed out across the dance floor. Enjoyed the drinks and enjoyed the company.
And Luke Cage immediately noticed the odd one out when he walked in the door.
It wasn't that he was a white guy. That put him a minority to be sure, but something like that, that's not gonna make people stop and stare.
The bigger clue in would be the flagrant breaking of dress code. Either that or the smell.
His long, greasy black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, poking out from under a silver bike helmet. Not a motorcycle helmet, a bike helmet. A bike helmet and a pair of tinted goggles. Driving the look home, he wore elbow and kneepads over a black t-shirt and ratty sweats, with a crackhead's smile plastered across his face like a sticker.
The one thing that didn't fit were his shoes. Great big silver boots, twice as big as what his actual shoe size should've been. They hummed and hissed even as the guy stood still in Paradise's front entrance. All eyes were already on him, wondering who this guy was, marching in here looking like that, smelling like that, but if that wasn't enough he made sure everyone knew he was here.
"The name's Speedfreak, with two e's." Spedfreak? "I'm a super fucking mercenary, tell all your friends, and I'm here to kill Luke Cage, so where he at?"
There was a short pause. And then everyone started to laugh. The performers certainly weren't going to stop for this guy. One of the bouncers, a big guy named Brady, put a hand on his shoulder. Luke almost moved away from his balcony. He probably didn't need to intervene with this.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Brady said.
"That's very brave of you, saying that to someone with knives for hands."
There was a brief moment of confusion. Everyone looked down in that moment to see that the man's hands were not knives, and were, in fact, regular human hands.
"Tha-"
Then there was a loud burst of air and a flash of movement. Speedfreak wasn't near Brady anymore, and Brady was now clutching his left arm, his hand cut straight off at the wrist, blood gushing from the stump. Luke was at attention now. He followed a line of red cut through the sides of the crowd, no one injured quite as badly as Brady had been, but most had been cut somewhere nonetheless. In a conga line of brutality, each one hit fell to the ground one after the other.
Nobody was laughing now, screams rang out, the performers stopped playing and were now ducking offstage and away from the commotion. Luke finally found Speedfreak, pulling himself off of the far wall, peeling away dented and cratered plaster as he brushed himself off and shook his head clear. He still didn't have knives for hands, but that didn't make the two meat cleavers he was holding onto any less dangerous.
"Hey, nah, fuck it. Luke Cage can stay gone for all I care, I wanna do that again!"
That was definitely Luke's cue to get involved. With a running start, he vaulted over the second floor railing and landed with a heavy impact in the middle of the dance floor. The crowd was swarming towards whatever exits they could find, leaving a big spot in the center that was growing larger by the moment.
Speedfreak gave a big sigh. "Fine. Guess I'll do what I came here for."
Luke didn't have time to respond before he was met with a blast of air and a blur of movement and the sharp clang of metal. Speedfreak was inches in front of him now, pulling a dented knife from Luke's throat. He looked it over, bemused. "Huh." Luke also needed a second to catch up on what had just happened.
And once he was, he threw out a haymaker to Speedfreak's head. Speedfreak ducked the swing and started slashing, his blades scraping across Luke Cage's forearms, sending sparks flying into the air. He wasn't doing much to actually hurt Luke, but this was an expensive suit, and one he didn't want to see get ruined.
He reached out and gripped one of Speedfreak's blades in his palm. With a squeeze, the metal shattered and crumbled out of his hand. Speedfreak just looked confused again. Luke went ahead and threw a cross to his head. He was sent flying back, landing some dozen feet away, but staying steady on his feet. His boots did well to keep him balanced. Made him very bottom heavy, hard to knock over.
Speedfreak looked down at his one warped knife and his one blunt handle, sputtered in disappointment, and tossed them both.
"Give up?" Luke asked.
"I give up trying to cut a guy made of titanium, yeah. Like what's the fuckin' point-"
Speedfreak was cut off by a blast of air. Before Luke could blink, he slammed into his chest, full speed, forcing the both of them to stagger back. Speedfreak gave Luke no time to recover though. Another blast of air, and he rammed into him again. And again. And again and again and again, rapid firing body tackles. Luke lost his balance entirely, tumbling off his feet and falling back. Speedfreak gave him no time though. One last burst of air and the both of them shot off. Speedfreak grabbed Luke under the arms and held him out front. A pillar collapsed over Luke's head, then a wall, then brickwork, and Luke Cage was then tossed forward rolling across the ground into the street.
Cars honked at him to get out of the way. The streets outside Harlem's Paradise were clogged. The rush to get away had hit a chokepoint and traffic was already bumper to bumper as is.
Speedfreak didn't care. A blast of air and he rammed headlong into Luke Cage again. But Luke was prepared for it this time. As Speedfreak bounced off Luke's chest, he reached forward and grabbed him by the skull. He lifted up, and the crackhead's feet left the ground.
He looked panicked. He looked like he was about to try something.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I guarantee I'm a lot stronger than whatever those boots of yours can do. Or your neck for that matter."
"M- Mister Cage," he choked out. "Can I call you Luke? I have to say, I'm a really big fan, huge really. Can I try an experiment, while I've got your time?"
"Wh-"
Speedfreak reached up and jabbed two fingers into Luke's eyes. Three Stooges style. Luke flinched back and, in frustration, slammed his forehead down, sending a hefty crack running through Speedfreak's helmet. But that was certainly enough time not having his brain rattled for Speedfreak to pull a new knife from his belt, and Luke had a strong idea of where it would be aimed next.
With a flick of his wrist, Luke hurled the man away, towards valet parking where he crashed into the front windshield of a parked car. Glass sprayed and metal crumpled underneath him. For a second it looked like he would be content to just lay there till the cops showed up, but eventually Speedfreak shakily pushed himself to his feet, knife still in hand.
Things weren't over yet, and now there were more bystanders to take care of, so Luke sighed and approached. Speedfreak was already shaking his head clear, so as soon as Luke was in swinging distance, he took his shot. A wild haymaker that should've floored him, but Speedfreak managed to duck at the last second and his fist instead added a new dent to the already wrecked car. Luke kept his back hand up, ready to intercept any attempts to stab at his face, and with his forehand he tossed out quick jabs, swipes attempting to just get Speedfreak off his feet and out of the fight.
Obviously Speedfreak was feeling confident though. After Luke whiffed a hook, he hurled the knife forward, and Luke watched as it whizzed past his face and buried itself into the brick wall across the street. There was a fresh bout of screams that erupted from those still trying to run away and doubled efforts to do so. Some of the ladies of the club were having trouble making distance in tight dresses and high heels. Something Speedfreak took notice of.
"Hey hey hey! Don't get goin' just yet! Party's just getting started."
Speedfreak leaned forward and Luke had just a split second to prepare. There was another burst of air and a flash of movement. With no other recourse, Luke shoved his arm straight out to the side, right in his path.
Ping.
The next thing Luke knew, Speedfreak was flipping wildly through the air, limbs flopping about in every direction. He flew for about 20 feet, shooting clear past the ladies he'd meant to chase, and when he landed he tumbled forward for another 15. He sure as hell didn't get back up from that.
Sirens, and they were close by. A couple of police cruisers swerved around the corner and had to maneuver onto the sidewalks to get around the panicked gridlock. Two officers burst from each one, all immediately drawing their weapons, all pointed directly at-
"Luke Cage! Put your hands on your head!"
Luke blinked. "Come on."
"There were reports of a violent enhanced individual in this area," another one said.
Luke gestured towards Speedfreak, still writhing and groaning on the ground. "Yeah. You're welcome."
"You should've seen – the look on his face!" Shappe cackled.
Misty quietly wondered how he saw the look on his face, being face down and passed out on the pavement.
"And then-" Shappe continued. "And then they put me in the back of the cop car, but with the boots still on. Hands were cuffed behind my back, but I still let out a boost from the boots, slammed into the top of the car and probably dented the roof with my helmet, cops in front were so scared they swerved onto the sidewalk, nearly hit a fucking pedestrian!"
"Shappe!" Misty slammed her hand onto the table, if anything just to get him to stop.
"What? I was telling the fucking story, like you wanted."
"What were you doing at Harlem's Paradise?"
"I told you, I was there to kill Luke Cage."
"Why?"
"Cause that's what I'm getting paid to do."
"You have no idea what your benefactor's goal was in killing Cage?"
"I don't like asking questions that are bound to get me killed. It's called proper business etiquette."
"And you're willing to go to jail for life for this guy?"
"As long as I get paid, I'll do whatever man."
Misty hmphed. "Noted." She began to gather her things back up. "Some other people will come through later and really rake you through the coals. I'm the nice cop, believe it or not. Not that it'll matter, cause the best lawyer in New York couldn't get you off these charges, but is there anything you'd like to get off your chest before I leave?"
Shappe thought about it for a second. "Am I gonna get any of my shit back?"
Misty smiled and shook her head. "No."
"Aw come on. I got medication I gotta take, you know."
"I know exactly what kind of medication you take, Shappe. Trust me, you'll do just fine without it."
Misty was partway out the door when she paused and turned back.
"Actually, one last question."
"Sure."
"…Speedfreak? With two e's?"
Shappe paused for a moment, count with his fingers, then started talking again. "Four e's. Four! It's like a double, double e, like s-p-e-e-"
Misty left and the door shut behind her.
"That's two down," she said as Ridley approached.
"And not an inch closer. You didn't want to ask about the…"
"Guy like that's going to clam up if he thinks we actually know something. We play our cards close to our chest and he'll keep rambling, and he'll keep giving things away."
"Such as?"
"He hasn't gotten paid yet. And he's still planning to. It sounds like the guy behind the guy's plans didn't end at Luke Cage being alive and his merc getting arrested. Could be a fall guy, they could all be fall guys, for something way bigger than three superpowered small time crooks."
"How comforting. Would help if you could get me any idea on what that plan is."
"I'm working on it, okay? Don't suppose we could spring to get them all put in The Raft, just in case."
"You think the Department of Justice is going to let a waste of space junkie use up tax dollars just cause he stole some superpowered shoes?"
"Worth a shot. I don't like them sitting around in a state pen, something's not right about all of this."
"I'll see what I can do. At the least, go for supermax, though with the severity of the crimes, it won't be an easy sell. These aren't exactly serial killers here."
"Whatever works. I just need to keep whatever this is locked down until we can figure out what's going on here."
"Get it done, Knight. You still want to talk to the last guy?"
"Well, I've come this far. Might as well, right?"
Misty smiled. Ridley didn't smile back.
"Yeah, alright."
Room #5, in it was Misty's third and final freak of the night. His blond hair was cropped short with a few scars across his face. He wore a worn out, brown, sleeveless jacket and a scuffed pair of jeans. His legs were cuffed together with a set of manacles. He didn't have a pair of arms to attach the top half to. The skin just stopped at the shoulders. The aforementioned sleeveless jacket meant Misty could see the smooth nubs clear as day. Misty almost subconsciously reached over to touch her own fake arm.
"You know, we usually allow suspects with prosthetics to at least keep them until their hearing, so thanks for that."
The man just nodded. "Officer."
"Detective, actually."
"Detective."
"Very formal. Maybe that's to be expected." She took a seat. "Carl Burbank. Straight from high school to the military to the CIA. Half your docket is black marker, but I can fill in some gaps. Mission goes bad, critical injuries, mysterious experiments, hospice care gratis. I'm sure those arms of yours were great for operative work. Wonder whose idea it was to let you keep them."
"That's simple, Detective. It was mine. I stole them when I cut and ran."
"And what's the story been since then? Mercenary work? Guys like you always end up doing gun for hire stuff when the military checks stop."
"Serial killing actually."
Misty blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's all quite simple, Detective. You see, I'm sick, twisted, and deranged." He said all this like he was describing a boring day job. "In the CIA I learned that I had a lust for killing. I seek to turn murder into an art form. My work is very… pretty."
To say Misty was skeptical would probably be insulting. It was blatant falsehood to the point where Misty didn't even have to guess what he was getting at. So long as he stuck to his 'official story' he wouldn't have to spill any of the truth.
She sighed. "Look. You're staring down numerous attempted assaults with a deadly weapon. You're looking at life, maybe multiple, what have you got to lose at this point?"
"It is unfortunate, but it was only a matter of time before I was caught."
"Cut the shit, Burbank. I know what game you're playing at, and I know exactly who you were targeting."
"Like a hurricane targets a single house."
"Like a mercenary targets one of New York's most notable enhanced while she's out shopping."
Colleen Wing was in a rush. There was an outdoor market farther uptown that closed in an hour, and she really wanted to do her grocery shopping there and not have to settle for Wal Mart veggies for tonight.
And to emphasize, it was a rush, Colleen darted through people meandering on the sidewalks, skid on the soles of her shoes to take every turn on a dime, and even vaulted over a few cars to get safely over crosswalks. Her sheathed blade bumped her back every other step. Given how she took this thing with her everywhere nowadays, it was a sensation she barely even noticed.
She came charging in through the gates, rounded the corner without losing any speed, and promptly sent a man to the ground.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Immediately Colleen was offering a hand down to help the guy. Looking at him now though, it was surprising she'd manage to knock him down. Guy was probably a foot taller than her, and by the nature of his open, sleeveless jacket, she could see he was ripped to hell and back. Colleen wondered to herself what this guy was even doing here, didn't most of these guys subsist on protein powder and motivational one-liners?
He accepted her hand and pulled himself back up. The hand was smooth. Hard. Cold. A prosthetic? Poor guy. Guess at least he doesn't have to worry about working his arms anymore. The dexterity seemed advanced too, Colleen could easily mistake it for a real hand.
And then he was on his feet, and with a nod he was on his way. Colleen pushed the question of what he was doing here out of her mind and replaced it with the question of what all of these people were doing here. Wasn't this place about to close?
She fished her phone out of her pocket. She still had 50 minutes.
Well, she supposed that's what a rush will get you.
With time to spare, Colleen explored what the market had to offer a little more leisurely. She wandered from stall to stall. An older lady from upstate had some watermelons, probably a little old considering they were half off, but they still looked edible. That was definitely something that she wanted a part of, but it was also something to get on the way out.
One of the stalls was manned by a kid selling boba. Anything to get the millennial crowd in here, she supposed. And she did want some boba… Might as well, right?
Sure. Might as well. Colleen went up and got herself a cup, one of those with the shrink wrap top that you got to stab through with the big pokey straws.
As she was paying, she noticed a brown leather wallet on the table.
"Is that yours?"
The kid looked down, and gave a face like he just noticed it was there. "Oh, no, someone must've left it."
Colleen picked up the wallet and spun, holding it up.
"Hey did anyone, uh-"
For a second she saw him, the big guy with the prosthetics, looking straight at her.
His gaze slid, like it had just been passing over her, before settling on a flower cart. He rubbed his chin in quiet thought. Colleen stared, curious.
Eventually she took her eyes back off of him and went back to the boba stand.
"Something the matter, weird sword lady?" the kid asked.
"No. Nothing. Here, it's better you hold onto this, in case they come back for it. Just, if they don't, return it to the cops or something for me, alright?"
He shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."
Colleen paid for her tea and moved on while she drank. She was scanning the market now. Prosthetics guy had all but disappeared. That sure as hell wasn't suspicious.
Colleen moved further into the market, past the touristy pleasantries that draw people in and towards the real meat and potatoes, so to speak. No meat vendors, most of that went to actual supermarkets, but there were certainly potatoes. The tables started to grow in length, devoted almost entirely now to buckets with the meager remnants of what had once been great stacks of produce. That's what you get for saving your shopping till the end of the day Colleen, the last slim pickings. She couldn't really complain.
She got a serve-yourself bag and started filling it with the best of what was left for her. She felt twitchy though. That prosthetics guy had her feeling on edge, she kept looking over her shoulder expecting to catch him watching her again.
It might've been nothing? It was probably nothing. Guy was just looking at her and then wandered off, that was all it was, yeah? Maybe it was a little creepy, but there was no need to be weird about it.
She glanced up. There was one of those domed security mirrors hanging from the pop-up canopy. It wasn't pointed in the most convenient position for her, it was to help the guys behind the counter after all. But she was able to see herself along the edge, and her blood turned to ice when she saw him standing behind her.
She paused for a split second, but quickly went back to trying to look busy. Trying to look busy was so much harder than actually being busy.
Her eyes didn't leave that mirror, they were glued on the stretched out image of that guy in the brown sleeveless jacket.
From the distance, she watched as his left hand went to his right elbow and he pressed into it. His arm then, like, flipped. Or, no, it spun, it spun around a pivot in his elbow, with a chunk of space coming out of his bicep to make both ends equally as long. It clicked back into place, but facing backwards now. His hand was now pressed up against the top of his arm, making it whole and seamless once again, and where his hand used to be was now something else. It looked like, at the end of his arm was a flesh colored pistol, pointed straight at the back of Colleen's head.
That was it. That was as far as Colleen was willing to sit and watch. She dropped her bag of produce. Dropped her cup of boba. Grabbed her blade. Drew it from its sheath. Spun around.
BANG
And she pushed the chi from her heart and into the fist that gripped the blade. She saw everything move in slow motion, saw the bullet hang in the air for just a moment, saw the white glow light up her katana.
The guy looked at her, confounded. She was breathing heavily, unable to look away from where the bullet had just been.
There were two light, metallic clinks behind her.
The scene sat in utter silence. That gunshot had rung out across the entire market, and everyone had stopped talking, stopped milling about, stopped everything to make sure that they heard what they thought they heard.
It was probably best if Colleen just confirmed their suspicions.
"Run!"
Panic and screams of fear and stampeding footsteps flooded in from every direction. And they faded into the distance. That was good. Colleen could handle this, at least until the police arrived, but it would be way easier without other people to worry about.
That was definitely a pistol at the end of the man's arm. Smoke drifted coolly from the dark barrel. It looked like a revolver, but the cylinder was a solid, round hunk of flesh-colored plastic. It didn't look like it could spin, but Colleen definitely heard some machinery move in there.
She ducked to the side and there was another BANG as a bullet kicked up some dirt. If those prosthetics were going to be the problem, then the solution was obviously to get rid of them. She darted in, swung with her blade,
and saw the metal barely dig a nick into the plastic.
He pushed against her, moving the gun hand up to meet her face. She pushed back, bracing the katana with her off hand. The gun's barrel came to a stop just past her cheek. She jerked her head to the side as another bullet whizzed past her ear. There was ringing, ringing and not much else coming from that side now, and it hurt like a bitch too.
With a grunt of exertion that she only half heard herself give, Colleen shoved back against the guy's gun arm, pushing it to the ground, moved into the motion and pivoted on her foot to swing around and launch a reverse roundhouse into the guy's face. It impacted, his cheek crunching under the heel of her shoe, and he was sent staggering back.
Colleen moved in again, feeling pretty good about being trained in as many weapons as she was, and used her katana like a bo staff. She shoved it into the crook of his gun arm, twisting it, wrapping around it, and locking it behind his back. He took a step back and stomped, attempting to catch some of her toes and throw her off balance. She moved her foot out of the way easily, and instead jammed it into the back of his knee.
She noticed then his opposite arm moving around his front and pressing a small button in his elbow. The arm flipped and spun again, moving back at an impossible angle to slot easily back into his bicep. The five-digit hand that now sat at the end of his arm clicked into place well outside of Colleen's lock, and easily batted her sword aside.
He spun with a hook. Colleen's brain rattled inside her skull. He hit way harder than she was expecting.
Hands gripped at the front of her shirt, and all at once her body was jerked off the ground and hurled backwards. She rolled to a stop in the grass and just managed to finally get her thoughts in order and look back up.
The guy reached over to his left arm and pushed a similar button on the elbow. Just like before, the arm spun around a pivot in the elbow, the hand disappearing into the upper arm and a weapon barrel replacing it at the end. This one though, that wasn't no pistol.
Colleen grabbed her sword, pushed herself off the ground, and booked it. Behind her the rapid-fire brakabrakabraka of a machine gun rang out as the guy let loose with a stream of lead chasing right behind her. A few errant bullets left the line of fire and shot towards her, and she was forced to swat those out of the air as soon as she could.
There wasn't much space for Colleen to maneuver or kite here. The market was designed as a series of paths, not so much wide open fields to run through. A turn taken too sharply would probably get Colleen ventilated, and she was very quickly running out of space, but the crowdedness did have some advantages to it.
With a flick of her blade she sent a small plastic chair flying at him. He redirected his aim, the flying bullets tearing the chair to splinters in a second which wasn't doing wonders for Colleen's confidence. But she didn't stop, darting up and jumping off a table. Flipping in the air over the stream, then hitting the grass with a roll, she bridged the gap between them almost instantly.
Colleen locked her blade into the crook of the offending arm once again, twisted and pulled it up, putting the hand in a hold above his head. She slammed his face with an open palm, swatted his free hand away as it tried to snake back over, and caught a headbutt to the nose for her troubles. The guy swiped for her head again, but she was ready now and ducked the swing.
He was starting to run out of options. Colleen was very easily avoiding his counterattacks while keeping his arm locked up. She was starting to feel better about how this was going. But something about that 'cornered animal' look in his eyes was throwing her off.
He took a couple quick breaths, and then his face screwed up in exertion. Colleen put both hands against her katana to try and keep his arm in place.
But even when Colleen refused to buckle, her blade eventually did. The metal creaked and bent and folded as the guy slowly freed his machine gun arm. Colleen had a single moment of her gut falling from her chest, before the blunt end of the gun struck her across the face, sending her back and fully freeing the guy.
Colleen staggered back. Her weapon now looked like a metal party streamer. She felt the skin of her forehead crack open from that hit. Things suddenly weren't looking so good after all.
The guy pressed the barrel of the machine gun into the button on his other arm, and it flipped to reveal the pistol as well. Both gun arms were lifted directly up to match her line of sight.
As much as she was, quite literally, staring down the barrel here, Colleen forced herself to not panic. Panicking now would be the absolute worst move and she knew that, but saying was easier than believing.
A weird smile creeped across the guy's lips. A smile so unnerving and out of place that for a brief moment it took Colleen out of the emotion of the situation, pulled her into an out of body experience that quelled the panic rising in her chest and focused her attention fully on what she had to do.
And her fist became iron.
Glowing with chi, the inner strength flowed from her chest down to her hand and into her blade. The metal pushed itself straight again. The steel gave sharp clangs as the sheer force rushing from Colleen's fist pushed it back to shape.
The guy's smile dipped for a second as he regarded the scene curiously. And then he decided, f it, and opened fire with both hands.
The bullets rushed to Colleen, screaming for her blood. In that split second, she raised the blade over her head and swung it down.
Blinding white energy shot from the tip of the blade like a torrential wave. It rushed forward, slicing through the ground and melting the bullets to slag. The guy raised his hands, crossed them over his head in an instinctual defense. The wave hit and instantly he was shoved off his feet and sent flying back, cratering into the stand behind him.
Colleen let the energy fade from her fist and sheathed the katana back across her back.
He looked pretty well passed out from that. His head lolled and what she could see of his eyes were rolled back in his head.
His prosthetic arms were a mangled mess. The flesh-toned plastic torn and melted open, revealing sparking wiring and shredded machinery inside. Sirens were yelling out in the distance, getting closer.
Colleen sighed. She was never gonna get that watermelon on sale now.
At the very least, she picked up her bag of bruised produce and slapped the money down for it on what was left of the counter.
"Because the woman made a commotion, and distracted me for so long, every other civilian in the area got away. I thought I could make something pleasing to the eye from her, but the power she had in her hands… well let's say it was a lot more impressive than what I had in mine."
"Your reverence is duly noted. Now how about you cut the bullshit and tell me who hired you."
His response was immediate and firm. "I don't have an employer, detective."
Misty raised an eyebrow at him and said nothing.
"At most I have a… a muse."
"A muse?"
"Yes, a… process that guides my hand. Inspiration you could call it."
"Well what was your muse telling you then? What about the market was attractive, tell me that."
"It felt like an opportunity for social commentary."
Misty almost laughed. "How do you figure?"
"All these young people today, they want to 'save the world' but they don't want to sacrifice for it. The only people who buy local are those that can afford it. And those who can afford it will ignore the inhumane practices when they don't come from big business because it boosts their public image."
"So what, you're a vegetarian serial killer?"
He shrugged as best he could. "It's just an observation."
"What was the plan if the Iron Fist hadn't been there?"
Burbank gave it some thought. His eyes moving with the question as it mulled in his brain.
"I'm not sure," he eventually said. "I'm usually very spontaneous about these things."
"No thoughts? No ideas going in?"
"A blank canvas is better than a color by the numbers detective."
"Most artists make a draft before moving on to the final product."
"Are you insinuating something?"
Misty smiled. "It's nothing. That's all the questions for now. Another detective will come in to grill you more in a bit. You might want to consider who you plan on remaining loyal to, especially when a life sentence is involved."
"Ah, yes, about my sentence, I did have another idea."
Misty, who had been getting ready to stand from the table and leave, paused for a second and gave him a look.
"I could help you out."
"With what?" Misty asked as she settled back into her seat.
"I have a package that I'm expecting."
"…A package."
"Yes ma'am, a package. Fresh shipment of spare prosthetics. If I'm not there to pick them up, who knows what'll happen to them."
Misty huffed. "You cooperate or you get life, Burbank. That's the deal. You're not gonna get very far threatening the NYPD."
"I understand and that was not my intention."
"That's all. Be sure to give the guy who comes in next a little less of the runaround for me, 'kay?" Misty got up, for real this time, and left the room.
"Is that the best you can get me, Knight?"
Misty had a huff for Ridley too.
"Relax, would you? This is a full operation they're pulling here, I'd be surprised if they crack under this kind of opening pressure. Just keep 'em all here for the day, have a couple people cycle interrogations, give me a couple more cracks at 'em, and we'll start making some real progress."
"Some idea of what to do now would be appreciated. What he just said isn't something we can just wait and see what happens with."
"I'm working on it."
"Work faster."
"Alright. Obviously three super attacks in one night isn't a coincidence. Ohnn came to NYC for a reason and picked a fight second. Burbank didn't have much of a plan for if Wing hadn't been there so it's almost certain he was targeting her specifically. Shappe admits to being on a payroll, but also hasn't been payed yet. We apply these things out to the three of them and we can start figuring out motivation. I don't think the intention was to kill any of the victims. With a single benefactor they could've ganged up on them one at a time and used the night to take all three of them out. Instead they split up, each had a scrap, and all three got caught."
"You think losing was part of the plan?"
"If they ain't got payed yet, the job ain't done yet."
"But what would be the point of that, Knight?"
Misty chewed her lip. "Not sure. Maybe, making an announcement, sending a message? They don't want to pick a fight with the Avengers, that's for sure. Daredevil and Wing and Cage have their connections, but the easiest association your average joe is gonna jump to is the Midland Circle incident. When the 'Defenders' beat up an evil clan of ninjas and-… shit."
Ridley stared as Misty suddenly went quiet.
She just pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Has anyone been in contact with Jessica Jones since last night?"
A sharp banging at the door dragged Jessica Jones from the pleasant jaws of unconsciousness and into the excruciating existence of a bad hangover.
"Answer it," she half-mumbled half-yelled.
…
Shit. Gillian had the day off, didn't she. Fine. Whatever. Time for work.
Jessica pushed herself out of bed and was decent enough to pull some pants on before trudging into the office.
The sharp knock rang out again. Jessica winced. Too loud. Too early.
"Coming," she sharply yelled back.
To the door. More knocks. Come on. Jessica was already getting ready to send whoever this was packing. If not with some strong words then with a toss that'll get them to the elevator.
She undid the half dozen locks left over from the Sallinger case and nearly tore the door open as the knocking started for a fourth time in the last 30 seconds.
"What."
Standing on the other side of her door, one fist still raised limply in the air, was a teenage girl. Looked about 16. Slightly tan. Curly black hair just past the shoulders. Wardrobe straight out of the 80s, what the hell kid. Purple shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder with a black tank top underneath. Tight pink pants with a white belt. Big hoop earrings. It was almost a surprise she wasn't blowing an obnoxious bubblegum bubble.
"Jessica Jones?"
She groaned internally. "The one and only."
"I need your help."
"Sorry kid, I only do business with grown-ups."
Jess went to close the door. The kid shoved her foot in between it and the frame.
"Please, just a moment?"
"You know most people who come looking for me are scared that I'd cut their foot off if they did something like that."
"It's my dad."
"He's cheating on your mom." That was probably harsh. "Sorry."
"No, it's not that."
"I know it's tough, okay. Parents suck. But if you wanna know where your dad ran off to, statistically he's out cheating. And I'd rather save the 2 days of stalking it's gonna take to get you the photographic evidence."
"That's not it, I'm telling you-"
"Look, even if you think he's 'not the type' or whatever, trust me, he's exactly the type, you just don't want him to be."
"No, I-"
"Welcome to life, kid. People are always going to disappoint you. Especially the people you trust the most."
"Would you just let me in so I can explain!?"
The thought crossed Jessica's mind for just a moment, and without a second's hesitation she acted on it. All desire to keep this kid out of her office and send her running home was sapped from her in an instant. She stepped back and opened the door wide to let the kid in. And the kid in turn entered without a second thought.
"Sorry I had to do that, but I really need to talk to you, and-"
Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as Jessica took her by the throat, lifted her off the ground with one hand, and slammed her against the wall hard enough to rattle her brain. Keep her off balance. Don't let her collect her thoughts.
"You're either going to explain who the hell you are," she growled. "Or you're going to kill me now, cause the second I feel that tingle in my brain again I'm tossing you out the goddamn window."
The kid was finding it hard to speak. Jessica was making sure to keep it that way. She clawed at Jessica's hand, fruitlessly attempting to pry apart her iron fingers.
"I – I told you… it's about my dad."
Realization began to dawn on Jessica. Horrific, terrible, painful realization.
"My name is-" cough "-my name is Kara… Kara Kilgrave."