The system was fucked up. Detective Misty Knight had always been critical of the American judicial and prison systems. Hell, being a black meant that you couldn't go five seconds without hearing how someone downtown got shot up. It was a fact of life down in Harlem. People distrusted cops. Black people especially. Which was why she joined up.
If there was corruption happening on the streets, and in the police stations Misty wanted to be the one to take it out. Simple as that. But after meeting Luke Cage, watching an innocent person go to jail because a bunch of cops were too spooked to deal with a bulletproof black man, and dealing with Mariah Dillard, a known politician who murdered her cousin, framed Luke Cage and walked free, it made Misty trust the system less and less. What good was a judicial system that only punished innocent people, while the criminals got to walk away free? What good was law enforcement when all it ever did was shoot black people, bury the bodies, and then act like it was doing the world a favor?
She was still on the Harlem police force, someone had to keep an eye on things there. But she trusted less, and started questioning more. She spent most of her free time hunting down leads on Luke Cage's case, looking for Cottonmouth's old gun running gang, and hunting for any thing that could help her nail Mariah Dillard's ass to the wall.
And Claire Temple, a locale nurse from Hell's Kitchen, was more than willing to help. Especially if it meant getting Luke Cage out of Seagate prison. He didn't deserve to be there. On that, they both agreed. The two formed a partnership, rented a little office a few blocks down from Pop's old barbershop, right in the heart of Harlem. The rat infested walls weren't exactly charming, but it provided privacy and enough space for Misty to work without interruption.
That day, Misty Knight sat at her desk in her private apartment, going over the recent turn of events. Harlem's Paradise, the club owned by the Cornell "Cottonmouth" Stokes, had been undergoing some renovations. It was closed for three days straight, and access to it was denied to everyone. Misty didn't trust that place when Cottonmouth ran it, and she sure as hell didn't trust it now that Mariah Dillard was in charge. At least with Cottonmouth, people knew he was a gangster. Mariah kept her cards close to her, she never revealed too much about how she felt, and always knew how to turn a conversation in her favor. Well, she was a politician after all.
"What the hell could Mariah be hiding in there?" Misty asked as she leaned into her chair. It just didn't make sense. It was clear Dillard was involved with the gun runners in Harlem, but to what extent? And what was she getting out of it?
"Talking to yourself again?" Claire Temple asked as she walked into the office. She held two mugs of coffee, and a smug smile.
"Yeah," Misty said, "Someone's gotta figure this mess out while you're out-"
"Setting up my clinic?" Claire asked. "Listen, we've got an agreement." She handed Misty a mug of coffee and continued, "I do the medical shit and you do the detective shit. If you're planning on going out there to get shot up at, you'll need someone to stitch you back together."
Claire Temple had had quite a career in New York. When she left college with a degree in nursing, she had assumed she'd just be helping doctors diagnose illnesses and watching over patients as they healed. She never thought she'd run into a blind man dressed up like red devil and beat people to a pulp. She never thought she'd meet up with a bulletproof black man in a hoodie. She never thought she'd encounter a woman who could bench press trucks over her head, or a rich martial artist who fists glowed in the dark. No matter where Claire went, it seemed like people with abilities were always finding her...and getting themselves beaten to a pulp.
"Yeah," Misty said, "I remember our arrangement. Just make sure that when I do get my ass shot at, you're there when I need ya', 'kay?"
Claire smiled, "I always am, aren't I?" She sipped her mug, "So what have you gotten so far?"
"Well, Mariah is definitely hiding something in Harlem's Paradise, but no one can get near it to scope it out. And I-"
The sound of knuckles pounding against the door frame rammed through the air, cutting Misty off mid-sentence. Someone wanted their attention. Badly.
"I swear," Claire said with a growl, "If it's one of those people trying to get us to subscribe to that paper again…" Claire rolled her eyes and headed towards the door. She didn't understand why newspaper publishers had to be so pushy. She opened the door, and in front of her stood a black woman whose hair was as white as summer clouds. "H-hello?" Clair asked.
"Hello," the woman said. Her words came in a clipped burst, like thunder rolling through the sky, warning those below of a coming shower. And her accent was deep and alluring, but Claire couldn't quite place its origin. "I'm here to see Detective Misty Knight."
"And...you are…"
"Ororo Munroe," the woman said. "May I come in?" And without waiting for an answer, Ororo stepped beyond the threshold and into the room.
Ororo glanced at the carpeting, stained with what looked like old coffee spills. And took note of the cracked walls, and the listened to the scurry of little rat feet in the walls. This place was charming. "Misty Knight?" Ororo asked as she approached.
Misty placed her coffee mug down. "And you are?"
"Ororo Munroe, and I require your assistance."
Misty raised her eyebrow. She wasn't really in the mood to deal with bullshit right now. She still had Mariah to deal with, and Misty had never seen (or heard of) this Ororo chick. A good detective always makes it a point to know the major people on her beat, and Ororo Munroe wasn't any name Misty could place. "Really?" Misty asked, "So you just roll up in here, acting like you the Queen of Wakanda, and I'm supposed to drop what I'm doing?"
"I need your help. I'm looking for a missing girl." Claire walked up behind her "Her name's Kayla Pearson. She's a young black girl who-"
"Why come to me?" Misty Knight asked, "I think you'd have better luck down at the station. Kids go missing all the time, we've even got specialists for that kind of thing." It's not that Misty did not care about the missing girl, it's just that she did not have time. Yes, Kayla-whoever she was-probably had a family that missed her. But with working to prove Luke's innocence, and keeping tabs on Mariah, Detective Knight wasn't able to take on another case, especially one that could be better left to people who specialize in missing persons cases.
Still, even with the gentle rejection, Ororo would not yield. "And under normal circumstance, I would have taken this to the police. But you misunderstand the urgency. Kayla is not just a girl who went missing. She's a black girl." A girl with dark skin and tightly coiled hair that people pawed at when they believed she couldn't notice. "And I don't think I need to tell you of all people how little our system cares when black kids go missing."
Those words hit Misty like a stray bullet. Sharp, tense, and easily identifiable. This Ororo woman had a point. If Misty had dime for every case involving a missing black kid that got tossed to the side, she'd be able to buy Harlem's Paradise and half of Lenox Avenue. But there was one thing that didn't check out. Who was this Ororo woman?
"Alright," Misty said, "You've gotta point there. But here's my next question, who exactly are you? Were you this girl's mother? Her sister? A friend of the family's?"
Ororo just shrugged, "I just want to see her safely returned home."
"Oh," Misty said with mock shock, "So you're just a good samaritan trying to do the right thing?" Just like Mariah Dillard tried to "do the right thing" by shaking down half of Harlem's businesses so they could pay for renovation projects. Or how Mariah tried to "do the right thing" by providing the cops with specialized bullets that could kill Luke Cage? No, there was no such thing as someone who wanted to do the right thing for the hell of it. Ororo was working an angle on this. But for what purpose?
And out of the corner of window, the sky lit up from above. Half the block was alight with reds and greens and blues and yellows. Different shades that permeated all throughout Harlem.
"Holy shit," Claire said as she looked outside, "Are you seeing this Misty?"
Misty nodded. She fingered the old curtains that hung from the window seals. "I've never seen anything that like before."
"I have," Ororo said. "When the Asgardian first appeared back in New Mexico." Ororo, and the rest of the Xmen made it a point to know the goings on of every supernatural and genetically enhanced person that made the news. For all they knew, it could be more mutants. But, this was not the case.
"You think whatever that is, it's from Asgard?" Claire asked.
Misty Knight grabbed her gun and holstered it. "Whatever it is, we need to investigate it."
There was already enough going on in Harlem, the last thing the city needed was some space case blowing holes up and down Malcolm X street. With Luke Cage out of the picture, Harlem needed a hero.
And Misty Knight was just the woman for the job.