Chapter 33:
[Drake POV]
[Police Precinct, New York City]
I walk the street of Hell's Kitchen right into a police precinct. [Lobby.] Venturing the lobby, I cross straight toward the sergeant's desk. The man raises his head at my approach. His eyes go wide when he sees a pistol trained on his head. A near-silent pop escapes the weapon, painting the wall behind the sergeant in red. Behind me, a squad of CERBERUS commandos storms in and commences their mission. Hunt and exterminate every badge-carrying police officer in the building. We cut off their means of communication. Bar every exit. In three minutes, the whole building transformed into a kill box.
[Spartan POV]
[Bunker, New York City]
The sensation of something wet and firm slapping against my face wakes me from my sleep. Surprised, I jerk into a sitting position to find a wolf-dog standing over me in bed. It takes me a moment to realize it's Wanda's dog Ahab. The dog lowers himself, pushing my hands with his snout. A sign to signal me that he wants to be petted. I comply with his request. "Good boy," I say, playfully massaging his smooth dark fur. 'Huh, the wolf-dog has gotten much bigger since the last time I saw him.' At that moment, Wanda appears by the doorway, "Ahab! I'm so sorry he disturbed you." I wave it off, "It's fine. At least I woke up to a gorgeous view." The woman's cheeks flush crimson, then she glances at herself from the mirror nearby, "W-what? I'm a mess in the morning."
I leap off the bed, striding toward Wanda, then pull her in my arms, placing a kiss on her cheek, moving down to her neck, "Well, you're one hot mess of a morning person." She gasps a light breath and smacks my chest, "Don't tease me." Feeling the mood to mess with her a little, I hoist her up by the thighs, pinning her to the wall by the door. Ahab gets the idea we want some private time and walks out of the room.
Wanda lets out a small yelp of surprise. I kiss her deeply and with passion. She returns the gesture in kind. I smoothly trace my kiss onto her chest. Knowing my intentions, Wanda pushes her shirt up and guides me exaggeratedly onto her breast, allowing me to take it into my mouth. The fire builds up in both of us. The scent of her body fills the small space. I draw in a deep breath and feel the chemical triggers go off like plucked strings in the pit of my stomach.
Internally I laugh at the situation; this teasing session completely flips on me. Now I want more, need more. Before I know it, Wanda slips a hand down over my slide and zips me open. My eyes gape, staying focused on her green orbs. She moves her pantie to the side and replaces its spot with my member. Slowly I slide into her. Above me, I feel her mouth gasp open. I know as well that she would be beginning to taste the flesh of her breast in my mouth. Wanda is beginning to moan as we sink to the bed, and I move back and forth between her breasts, rubbing their springy resistance over my face. Her hands turn hungry. We scrabble feverishly at each other's clothing, mouths trembling with the need to fill themselves with the heat on our skin. Later, we lay in bed side by side, hands milking each other afterglow. "That one hell of a way to start the morning," Wanda says, snuggling her warm-soft body closer to me. I shoot her a smile, "Happy you enjoyed it."
[Kitchen.] Finally, fully up and clothed. Wanda and I eat breakfast together. "So what are your plans for the day?" I ask, taking a bite of the bagel. "Sister Maggie has some errands for me to run at the shelter," Wanda tells me. She has been putting in a lot of work time at the shelter lately. A thought hits me. I consider not pressing the subject, but my curiosity is at its peak. "Are ducking mage training?" I ask carefully. Wanda pauses sharply, then down casts her eyes, "No. Well, maybe a little but not really. I just want a break for a while. The whole supernatural thing was slapped on me so abruptly. It was too much. Worst of all, I nearly lost everyone. Do not get me wrong, I am not giving up, only taking a small break from the action. Mainly supernatural-related ops. Everything else I am still prime for." I nod, placing my hand over hers, "I get it. Everyone needs a break once in a while." Cock my head, "Prime?" Wanda cracks up slightly, "Sorry. Lingo I picked from the teens at the shelter."
[Karai POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[R&D-lab.] I march down the hallway, noting how quiet the place is when it's empty. As far as I'm aware, the team is all out on an op. I stop at R the door is partly open with a view inside. Spot Tony passed out over his workstation, an empty whiskey bottle still semi-clasp in his hand. The smell of alcohol radiates off of him in waves. Strong stuff too. Can already tell he's going to have a really bad hangover. I'm surprised to see him here. The man is supposedly retired. Well, retirement is probably not the right word. He mostly operates on an on-and-off basis now.
I grab a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of aspirin from a nearby table and set them close to him. My gaze shifts around the space. A mechanical frame gravitates my awareness. At first, I thought it was one of Tony's suits. Getting a better look, it's a new advanced drone. The outward design resembles the Iron Man suit with a different color scheme. Metallic silver. The headpiece is the real eye-catcher. Not sure what it is, but there's something uneasy about it. Despite appearing inactive, it feels like it's watching me. Studying me.
Tony starts to wake up from his drunken slumber. He groans in discomfort when the light hits his eyes. Quickly places on the sunglasses after he finds them. "Aspirin bottle is on your left," I say over my shoulder. Tony jumps in surprise when he hears my voice. Uncapping the bottle, the man takes two pills, swallowing them down with water. "Party a little too hard last night, huh," I comment, expecting Tony to shoot back with a witty retort. But he waves it off. Maybe it's the cause of the hangover, but Tony didn't behave like his usual self. Thinking about it now, he appears like he's low energy and struggling. "You alright?" I ask. "Hungover with a blistering headache," Tony remarks, rubbing his temple, "I'm just peachy." I consider calling Pepper so she can deal with this; I don't have enough indulgence to play babysitter. Stark regards me with a considering gaze, "Never thought I see the day, you of all people helping me out. And here I was under the impression you hate me." I roll my eyes, "I can still walk out but won't. Plus, I don't hate you. Only dislike you. Big difference."
"Still haven't earned that redemption, huh?" Tony states, smirking a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I shake my head and tell him bluntly, "No. You've done a lot of morally questionable things, Stark. Directly or indirectly, you've caused a lot of pain. Putting on an armored suit, playing hero, and saving a few lives doesn't mean your past actions are erased. The road to redemption is a lifelong one." "Speaking from experience?" he asks back, not as a jab but as a place of sincerity. I nod, looking away, "What are you doing here?" Tony points a thumb towards the armored drone, "Working on Ultron." "Ultron?" I voice, tilting my head. The tech billionaire elaborates, "It's a side project I've been working on for a while now. A defense system to better safeguard the world."
[Spartan POV]
[1 day later, Bunker, New York City]
I stand alongside Karai and Wanda, gazing at the large television monitor broadcasting a breaking news report. The news hits hard as we learn about the devastating attack on a police precinct that occurred last night. My heart sinks as the reporter reveals that over 40 police officers lost their lives in the brutal assault. The weapons stash has been completely emptied, and the surveillance footage shows a merciless kill squad methodically clearing out the entire station. It was a kill box, a trap from which there was no escape and no means of calling for help. The officers of the 10th precinct never stood a chance against their well-equipped adversaries.
Although my feelings towards the police may be complicated, I cannot help but feel a sense of anger and injustice. Not all of them deserved to be slaughtered like animals. Karai breaks the silence, voicing what we're all thinking, "Well, shit." The images on the monitor display the carnage vividly, including a heartbreaking moment where a cop is gunned down by a firing squad. I reach out and switch off the monitor, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Things just escalated to drastic levels," I mutter, my voice filled with concern. Karai turns to me, her eyes searching for a plan. "Should we call the others in?" she suggests. I shake my head, knowing that Cap and the rest of the team are already engaged in a mission on the other side of the world. "No," I reply, "Cap made the call to leave us behind for a reason. He didn't want NYC to be defenseless." Karai expresses her frustration, still salty about being left out.
I cross my arms, my mind focused on the bigger picture. "Besides, Daredevil is holding down the fort," Karai scoffs at my statement, clearly not convinced. "DD has it covered? One man can only do so much, and he's used to working alone," I argue. Wanda interjects, her curiosity piqued. "Are you considering having Daredevil join the Avengers?" she asks. Karai shrugs, contemplating the idea. "I don't see why not," she replies, "He's driven, and he's already taken on the role of a defender." I let out a sigh, realizing the validity of her point. Regardless of whether he becomes an official Avenger or not, Daredevil will continue his crusade to protect the city and its people. That much is certain. "We'll propose it to Cap when he returns," I decide, knowing that his leadership and insight will guide us in making the right decision. Just as the conversation reaches a tentative conclusion, EYPON alerts us to a new operation. Duty calls, and I know I have to respond. "I'll take the op," I declare, my resolve firm. "The two of you handle your own affairs. I'll call for backup if I need it." With those words, I stride out of the bunker.
[OSCORP Research Facility, New York City]
[On-site.] Prowling the lobby, I spot the dead body of a security guard with a gaping bullet hole in his head. 'Damn.' I turn my gaze toward the line of elevators behind the reception table. Only one of them is located on the 50th floor. Doing a quick gear check, I make my way back outside and parkour toward the roof of the neighboring building. [Rooftop.] Via HUD, I spot a myriad of armed mercenaries. All of them are high-grade tactical gear. They move methodically, AR at the ready. The point-man gestures to a vault door. A guy at the rear advances forward. He pulls out a device from a duffle bag and places the contraption on the door frame. 'It's a heist,' I thought to myself. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what these guys are after. OSCORP is the leading company in defense contracts for the US military after STARK INDUSTRIES. The array of advanced tech OSCORP produced is some heavy-duty shit. Not particularly Stark's Iron Man armor level, but it's something close. It'll be a bloodbath if any of these high-end military weapons hit the streets.
A building like OSCORP can't be secured by a small squad. It's too big, too open. Whoever these men are, they're not very smart. Competent but not the sharpest tool in the toolbox. Thankfully it's after office hours. Don't need to worry about innocent civilians getting caught in the mayhem. After coming up with a plan of attack, I move in to strike. [Inside.] The mercenaries aim their focus on trying to pry the vault door open. Taking the opportunity, I jump on the isolated merc patrolling near the elevators. Nobody notices a thing. Under stealth-camo, I trek in closer to the gang. To separate them, toss a noisemaker in a random direction. "The hell was that?" a merc demands, swirling around, weapon aimed. Merc-2 points in the general direction of the source, "Go check it out. It came from over there." Merc-3 goes to investigate. Once the goon is out of sight of the others, I fire a grapple line and drag him off into the darkness.
After a few seconds pass, merc-2 calls out to merc-3, insisting on a status report. No response. Their grip on their weapon tightens. Invoking some psychological warfare, I trigger my visor to flash a faint glow around the eye area while in stealth-camo. The gang freaks out almost immediately. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" one of them yells in fear. "Doesn't fucking matter, just kill it!" merc-4 scouts. They open fire on me. I zig-zag side to side, dodging the incoming bullets. Even though my combat-suit is bulletproof, it still hurts when it hits. The merc in the middle draws a set of technological gauntlets and punches his fists together. Going in close, I slam a palm strike at the merc's face with enough force that the hard mask shatters under the impact. Still on the move, I dash over to merc-2, grab hold of him, and back-suplex him to the ground. Merc-4 tries to rush me. In one smooth motion, I quick-draw my pistol and double-tap him.
From behind, merc-5 comes at me with a buzzsaw. Turning, I clock the man across the face with a hard right-hook, then push-kick him into the vault. The buzzsaw drops from his hand. He tries to go for it, but I drop him with a few stun-bolts. Suddenly something rushes past me. Scanning the area, I spot a woman in an odd gray getup, complete with a hood. I rush in to grab her, only for my hand to phase right through her. "What the fuck?" I say, eyes gaped. The woman hits me with a jump-spin-kick, sending me flying out of the vault. Placing something in her pocket, she sprints toward the nearest exit, phasing through the wall. I give chase after her.
[Roof.] The two of us burst out the roof exit door. I leap at the thief from behind just to crash to the ground. The woman barks out a laugh, "You can't touch me, hero." I get to my feet and hold up the loot, "Maybe not, but I can still touch the loot you tried to steal." She glares furiously, "Hand it over." "Not going to happen," I say. Out of nowhere, a gun is fired. A sharp stab hit me in the shoulder from behind. Whatever hit me shreds through the suit. I peer over to where the shot originated. A SWAT team stands at the roof entrance, guns aimed. Taking full advantage of my distraction, the woman dashes over, sucker punches me in the face, grabs the loot, and jumps off the roof. I gaze over the edge, but she's nowhere in sight. The SWAT team advances forward, yelling for me to drop to my knees and place my hands over my head. If I don't comply with their demands, they will shoot me. Toss a flash-bang to blind them and jump off the edge.
[Bunker, New York City]
By the time I clear the OSCORP facility and return to the bunker, my wounded shoulder has completely regenerated, and the suit closed the gaping hole with its self-repair feature. Got to love nanotech. It saves on cleaning bills. Well, mostly. The blood is still present. I make my way straight to the bathroom to clean myself up. Once done, I peer at the spot where the SWAT guy had shot me. The suit may not be made from vibranium, but it's still extremely tough armor. A shot from an AR shouldn't have been able to pierce it. Unless they weren't using standard-issue police ammunition. Fuckers are using military hardware. Shits that are overkill outside a warzone.
Great, now we have to worry about a bunch of trigger-happy cops. Should've known this is going to be the outcome after the attack on the precinct. Fuck. I reach for my comlink to call Wanda and Karai to warn them to be careful. The real issue that's bothering me is the appearance of the mysterious ghost person. I've seen my fair share of advanced tech before, but what she displayed is something else entirely. Hell, I don't even think what she was doing is tech-based. More frustratingly, I couldn't fight her. No matter what I did, my attacks wouldn't hit. Just keep phasing right through her intangible form. I need to find a countermeasure. Opening the holo-computer, I create a profile on the mystery ghost woman.
[Wilson Fisk POV]
[Years earlier, New York City]
"You have to make people respect you, Tony," Rigoletto sat at a table in a private room at the back of his favorite restaurant, sipping his drink. The man was passing on his wisdom to his nephew and second in command. Tony Piccolo. Piccolo is pushing 40 now and being prime to take over the business should Rigoletto ever retire. Something I'm too aware he will not do. The old man will head up the business till the day he dies. The young man his mentoring thinks of him as an OLD SCHOOL gangster. That Rigoletto's name should be under the same breath as Al Capone's. Personally, I think the old man is a joke. The man loves those mob shows on cable. Always goes on about how true it is. How it's so hard to balance family, the capital F family. Rigoletto likes to think he looks like the actor too. Hell, I once caught the old man practicing the snake eye stare in a mirror the actor does in the show.
I sit there internally laughing at Rigoletto as he goes on matters his no fucking clue about. Occasionally nodding when Rigoletto addresses me, "Am I right, Fisk." I fake a smile, "That you are." Rigoletto was old school, old-fashioned from a bygone era that never existed outside the old man's delusional fantasy. The honorable gangster that would help little old ladies cross the street or protect the neighborhood from real criminals never happened. The mob has operated the exact same way for years, through fear, intimidation, bribery, and blood. Rigoletto is either going senile or doesn't want to admit the cold hard brutal facts.
It's always been about power. Do crime to gain money and gain power. Simple equation. That's all it comes down to in the end. Everything comes down to power. Love, life, marriage, jobs, divorce. It all comes down to the shifting dynamic of power. Who has the most, and how are you going to get more? A knock echoes through the room. I lift my large frame from the table and make my way over and open it. The bosses of the other families stroll in. Each takes a seat at the large table, circling the don.
I stand by the window, staring out at the city as the bosses go about the meeting. By the frustrated shouts, it isn't going well. "Time changing, Rigoletto. There are street gangs out there who are competing with us. It's embarrassing." "Competing?" Marcel barks, "We're not competing. Those punks are leaving us in the dust because they're providing goods we aren't selling!" I smirk, 'Designer drugs, among other things.' I watch Rigoletto's face, see the anger twisting his old tired features. Marcel presses on, "We have our family to think of, our employees. We need to move with the times. Protection rackets, smuggling black market cigarettes. It's not cutting it anymore!"
Rigoletto slams a hand down, "Enough! I'll hear no more of this!" Spelotro leans forward on the table, "Why the sudden morality? Money is there to be made. We're talking hundreds of millions here. Why let the small-time pimps or pushers clean up when we have the infrastructure to do it ourselves?" Murmurs from the other bosses are in agreement. I note where they are, 'Perfect.' Spelotro takes strength from this and opens his mouth to speak again but doesn't get the chance. "All of you shut your mouths. We will not murder children, understand. We will not cater to perversions. I mean you're talking about human trafficking, yes? Sex slaves! What the hell is wrong with you?! And you infect our neighborhood crake? No, we'll stick with the old rackets. We may be criminals but we're not monsters. Now get out. All of you!" Rigoletto yells.
The other bosses exchange glances. I watch them leave keenly, engaging the mood. Rigoletto slumps into his chair, "Why must the time change? Why can't things just stay the same? Those bastards would give away our old tradition. Our honor, and for what? A quick buck. Our own family lives in this city. Our children go to the schools." He takes a sip of his whisky, "They would have us turn the city into hell on Earth. Child prostitution, designer drugs, slavery." I step up behind Rigoletto, grabbing his head in my massive hands. "What are you doing!" Rigoletto tries to break out of the hold, but he's too old and weak. "Prostitution, designer drugs, and slavery. These things are the way of the future," I say in a calm, firm voice, then grin. I snap the old man's neck under my grip and stare at the lifeless body. I've waited years for this, and now I sit on the king's throne.
[Present time, Fisk Tower, New York City]
[Office.] I slowly open my eyes, returning to the present from reminiscing on my rise to power to becoming the Kingpin. It happened very quickly, like a dam burst. With a warlord's strategy and the precision of an accountant, my criminal empire reshaped the city's underworld. And the profits rolled in by the billions. Anyone within my ranks who lack the stomach to fall in line is swiftly eliminated.
Via a surveillance feed installed in the suit, I watch Ava Starr work and allow myself to smile. She is a tool, of course, like the rest. I will use her as best suited for my purposes, yet take particular pleasure in Ava Starr. She was nothing when I found her, a wild, brutal, undisciplined victim, lost in the city's useless system. I made her into a formidable weapon and certainly a very interesting one. It was Ava's ability that grabbed my attention. She has the power to render her body completely intangible. A byproduct of a freak accident at OSCORP. It didn't take much convincing for the orphanage to surrender the girl. Everyone has a price.