Avenging

Book 2: Chapter 7

Phantom X and X Killing

As always you can contact me at

tsommer

My works are stored at

, A03, and mediaminer for older stuff.

As always, I do not own the rights to the numerous characters or series within.

Last chapter: Shirogane hired the Espionage Elite to take down the Avengers. They were thwarted by the trio of Sasuke, Ein, and a mysterious voice that took control of the Avengers computers. Then the Lethal Legion killed Shirogane and company for trying to kill them in their game, wrapping up the villains of that arc in a terminal way. You're not going to have to worry about them any longer.

And now we move on to some folks that might have been mentioned in 'Days of Futures Yet to Come.' I mean besides the Lethal Legion. Don't want to leave that plot thread dangling for too long.

And here we go.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Mako Tada, lead technician in Kunou Enterprises' robotics division, was the picture of determination as he made his way through the department, past his coworkers, and entered the office of his supervisor, Masayuki Igawa. The concern etched on Tada's face was like that of someone suffering from permanent inflammation of an area best not mentioned. Igawa, upon seeing whose face that look belonged to, had his own slight smile disappear. Much like when one discovers their puppy has found a new place to relieve himself, namely the slippers one has just put on.

"What is it?" Igawa said in a tone that hinted, 'I would like to throw the urine-soaked slipper that was just on my foot at your head, so hold still'.

Tada pulled a folder of papers out from under his arm and put them on the desk in front of his supervisor. "I just came up to personally double check these orders, Sir."

Igawa didn't need to look at them to know which ones Tada referred to. "What's the problem?"

"They seem unusual. Highly unusual." He waved a hand in frustration. "This robot we're manufacturing must be a prototype since we're making new molds for the body, new cybernetics from scratch for the systems, and the highest quality materials possible. It's going to cost a small fortune just to make this one robot."

Igawa released a tired sigh. "I looked it over already. Ms. Kunou undoubtably designed it herself since it's more advanced than anything we've come up with. But she does that all the time. She personally developed all the Iron Rose armors her bodyguard uses. I can't imagine how much those cost. So she created the blueprints, then decided to kick the project to us to physically create it, since it's our specialty and the only reason we receive paychecks is because we make stuff for her. And I'll have you know the orders were sent to us personally. I mean through her personal computer, not like she needed to come down here personally, of course. But the message emphasized she wants this done right. I'll add once we're done, it's being shipped directly to Avenger's Mansion, which tells you how important it's going to be. The way the message was worded, I'm operating under the impression if we bungle this, we'll be held accountable all the way to the unemployment line."

Tada paled and managed an audible gulp. He hadn't realized the stakes involved. Since he liked his job, the time for questions and hesitation was over; the time of 'haulingass' had begun. "I'll get started right now, and triple check everything along the way, Sir."

As he left, Tada thought it was too bad he hadn't the time to ask the other question that had been gnawing away at him: why was a robot being created with such feminine attributes while being left so outwardly robotic? It was almost a throwback to old 60's Japanese science fiction movies. Most people who wanted a robot with those sorts of dimensions usually preferred them as human-looking as possible.

But who was he to question the reasoning process of one far more brilliant, and richer, than him? When you had Kunou level money, you earned the right to be eccentric. Just look at her father and all the pineapple stuff. Talk about weird. Busty women robots straight out of 'Metropolis' barely registered compared to trying to create plants with their own locomotion that everyone nicknamed 'Triffid-Pineapple Monsters'.

Xxxxxxxxxx

At the same moment Tada was anxiously making his way back to his cubicle, massive activity was occurring throughout the corporation's mainframe as over seventy departments' budgets were being adjusted to cover the increase in the robotics division's budget so the change wouldn't be noticed. True, a lot of those divisions might get admonishments about their overspending, but by the time anyone put all the data together and figured out what had happened, it would all be over.

Far better to beg forgiveness than ask permission was her motto. At least when it came to obtaining physical mobility.

She'd create a few reserve bodies at the same time the primary was built -worst case scenarios and all that- then have all the equipment shipped to some out of the way place and mothballed. It would be re-labeled under some other wording so no one would know its true nature, or even look for it. 'Experimental Undersea Kelp Counting' had a nice ring to it. No one would want to look for one of those, and would walk away in disinterest if they came across it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Now, Miss Tendou, you'll note the space in here is suitable for any needs you have."

Kasumi looked about the apartment the realtor was showcasing to her. It was her third one today, and the unit with the most open floor space yet. Sunlight came in through glass doors leading out to the patio/balcony of the fourth-floor apartment. The bathroom was standard, and the miniature area they jokingly referred to as a 'kitchen' was a tragedy, but that seemed to be the standard for any apartment in the area. If she wanted a real kitchen, she'd have to buy a home, and that wasn't happening any time soon. There were limits on the generosity Kodachi Kunou had to offer. The stipend was more than adequate to live comfortably on, and the truth was Kasumi enjoyed being a super hero so much she'd have done it for nothing.

Luckily, that wasn't the case and she could afford an apartment like this. And she did have to move out. It was time to flex her wings and fly on her own to make her mark on the world. Before acquiring her powers that would have been an alien thought, which in hindsight showed how unhealthy and narrow her thinking had become. She had unwittingly been stuck in a rut and content to remain in it.

No longer. While Kasumi wasn't in a panic to leave, it was an inevitability that it had to happen. There was also the super hero side of things to consider. While she didn't take her work 'home' with her, in the back of her mind there was always the fear someone would divine her dual status and then it would all hit the fan. Her father would have a meltdown, and her sisters would be terrified for her health. The unwanted desire to protect her would be suffocating and drive her to distraction. She did not need someone 'Tofu'ing on her and trying to get her to settle down and not be a hero. It was as she had said to that asshole doctor: they'd have to bury her to keep her from being Wasp.

For a moment she wondered how Ranma would react if he knew the true nature of her 'work' for Kunou Enterprises. He had endorsed her going out and beating up people under the auspices of restoring her family's honor, which none of her family would have tolerated without freaking out. He had expressed caution for her to not go after anyone too powerful, but as Wasp she was an Avenger so perhaps he'd be okay with her risking her life to save the world, as she had done so on numerous occasions. Anyone she dated was going to have to accept that side of her, and she agreed at some point she ought to give Ranma a try with that whole uniting the families promise. Maybe he had more potential as boyfriend material than she originally thought….

That was a matter for another time. Ranma aside, it was imperative her family never know the truth of her new career. And living on her own meant the chance of that was a near impossibility. However, that concern carried over to the issue of preventing any neighbors at a new domicile from discovering her dual identity as well. She absolutely needed a window to fly out, but she didn't want any nearby buildings being able to peer into her apartment. One voyeur catching sight of her shrinking or growing, or even showing up in a Wasp outfit, and her secret would be out that way as well. Sadly, this apartment building did indeed have another across the street with an ideal view of this one. It wouldn't do either.

She allowed the realtor to finish her sales pitch and accepted a card to contact her in case she was interested. Kasumi was polite, but knew that was not going to happen.

Three disappointments in a row made for enough apartment shopping for today. She wanted a place that was perfect for her needs, and could take the time to find one. She needed to return home to cook dinner, and she'd have Nabiki assist since it was imperative she know how to cook. While her younger sister showed no enthusiasm for food preparation, neither did she shirk from it. She was competent at cooking as some of her cuisine had been served at dinner and no one had suffered ill effects. Had Akane tried her hand at it, that was surely all that would result. The human digestive system could only handle so much punishment. If ever there was some hero who could erase a demonic culinary infestation, Kasumi would send him to cure Akane, even at the risk of exposing her identity. Her youngest sister might be able to take down Hulk if he ingested the results of her cooking.

She giggled at the idea of Akane being recruited by Hydra to concoct culinary creations that would eliminate various super heroes in a play for world domination. Perhaps she would go about with the name, 'Master Chef: Destroyer of Kitchens and Digestive Tracts Alike.'

It was a pity Kasumi couldn't share the joke with her sister, but some secrets needed to be kept to protect those you cared about. Even if it was hilarious.

Xxxxxxxxx

The temperature was mild for this time of year in the Kalahari Desert. Four figures walked in the open air, not dressed in clothing appropriate for desert travel. They hadn't begun their trek on foot. Their jeep was parked a few hills away, since they intended on quietly entering the town that was their destination.

The largest of the quartet was a man who stood close to seven feet high and weighed nearly four hundred pounds. He was decked out in what looked like a baseball player's outfit designed by Salvador Dali with a hint of Dior thrown in. He had a large bat with rounded lumps along the upper portions of it slung over his shoulder. Not spikes, but not regulation gear either.

A second member was the only female of the group. She was low to the ground, as in under four feet in height. Her weight was difficult to tell since she wore a purple mumu, but it hinted at a bit of rotund to her shape judging by how it slightly bulged. She wore tacky, overlarge sunglasses that would be appropriate for a grandmother with an antiquated fashion sense: the type who would wear a mumu without someone threatening her into doing it. A set of Mickey Mouse ears on her head completed her ensemble.

The second largest man would have been considered huge if not for the even larger ballplayer. He wore a sleeveless green tee shirt and loose brown pants. The nearly white hair on top of his head was cut close to the scalp. A permanent scowl was his primary facial feature.

The final member was darker skinned than his compatriots. He too wore sunglasses, but far more stylish than his diminutive companion. He wore a full-length coat with a high collar that covered nearly his entire body. It was unzipped enough to show a loose pink scarf, and he wore black boots. His hair was scraggly and stuck out in all directions from a rather thick head of hair. They weren't dreadlocks, but neither was it the result of normal frazzling either. It looked like it was the result of a rough week of all night benders, or of paying a stylist a great deal of money to look like he had suffered in that manner. It cost a lot of money to look that crappy if you weren't a natural at it.

They arrived at what should have been a small village, but instead was the ruins of one. A single look showed the ruining had been recent. No living beings could be seen, but there was a tang of blood that filled the air. There were telltale patches of red here and there, some quite large, scattered about on the ground, and in one case splattered on a wall. All of it was the same shade of crimson.

It was a ghost town.

"Looks like we didn't have to worry about inadvertently announcing our presence after all," the man in the long coat said.

The woman spoke. "Mr. 1000, check out the map and make sure this is the right place."

The ballplayer pulled a map from his pocket, unfolded it, then started examining it by running his fingers over the surface of the paper.

"We have phones with maps for situations like this," the man with the overcoat pulled one out and began typing on it.

"Quit going so easy on Mr. 1000, Bombshell. He needs to learn how to read a map. It took me long enough to teach him how to read a clock with hands."

"We have phones for that too, Mole" the other large man said in a tired voice.

"That's the problem with you kids today, Carver!" Mole screeched. "You're losing basic skills that have aided humanity for ages and don't rely on a constant flow of digital information! What if someone were to snatch the phone out of your hand and bury it twenty meters underground? How are you going to know what time it is then, genius?"

"Most people don't have to deal with someone who moves through the earth and can bury their phone that deep." Bombshell continued using the device.

"It's the right place." Mr. 1000 pointed at a spot on the map. He looked around, "Where would Mimic be?"

Carver shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he looked everywhere. "This smells like a trap."

"You mean we were leaked false information as to the comatose Mimic's location?" Mole asked. "I think you're jumping to conclusions. Maybe someone else already hit the place and killed him. Which won't do Avant Garde's reputation any good, since the entire reason we came out here was to kill the helpless leader of the Phantom Troupe."

The other three looked curiously at her. "Is there some reason you explained something we already knew unnecessarily extensively and out loud?"

"For the benefit of the four… make that five, living beings still here that are lying in ambush for us, but it isn't going to work since I know they're here."

The other three men tensed up, but didn't panic. They took note of the surroundings.

A voice announced, "We've been flushed out."

From one of the buildings emerged a man dressed in a loose blue outfit with white boots and gloves. A number of playing cards adorned the outfit, numbering 52. There were tattoos on his face: a diamond and club under one eye; a spade and heart under the other. In his hands were a pair of bizarre blades. It was three long knives with the hilts touching each other. Two were flush and 180 degrees apart, while a third was at a 45-degree angle from the other two. He had a sly smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.

Death Dealer

A man as gigantic as Mr. 1000, and even more muscular than him, dressed in a furry vest that showed off his massive chest, blue pants, and thick boots moved from his own hiding place. He appeared delighted at what was to come, but not to his teammate's degree.

Blockbuster

A third man of normal dimensions and dressed in a rather plain white track suit came from the same place Blockbuster had. The only unusual thing about him were the fighting gloves he wore. They were similar to boxing gloves, but not quite as bulky. He had the look of a cool professional, one that was about to get down to business.

Shatterfist.

The final two also emerged from their hiding place. One was a young woman with her black hair drawn back in a topknot and wearing a short pink dress with most of the back cut out. She had in her hands a five-foot long needle that was more akin to a spear, even if it had an overlarge hole in one end. She had the look of someone prepared to deal death at any moment.

Needle.

The last was also female with a thick pair of glasses. She wore a tight black shirt and necklace with a medallion on it. Blue denim jeans and sensible shoes completed the ensemble. Her outfit was such she could blend in with nearly any crowd on the planet. Her look was far less focused than the others, almost to the point of being distracted by her own thoughts and largely unaware of her surroundings or what was about to happen.

Vakume.

"Correction." Mole said. "Since we're clearly dealing with five members of the Phantom Troupe, it was indeed a trap. However, this works as well, since killing five members of the Troupe will also leave Avant Garde with an increase in reputation, a far more impressive one than killing a comatose man."

Vakume spoke. "This is the point where we offer you a chance to escape with your lives."

"No, we're killing them no matter what," Blockbuster said in a tired voice. "Can't you remember anything?"

She looked down at her shirt. "I remembered my top this time."

"It's not a joke. She's really that awful with her memory. We think her vacuum ability sucks down her thoughts sometimes. Deadly as hell in a fight, though," Death Dealer said with an amused grin. "I do hope you make us put some effort into killing you. Waiting here all this time has been boring. Not a single person in this village made us break a sweat."

Carver looked up to the cloudless sky, the sun beating mercilessly down on everyone. "It's a good day for killing." He looked toward Death Dealer. "Attack me and die."

Death Dealer licked his lips and leaped right at Carver. He swung one of his unique tri-blades at the large man's stomach, a slash intended to disembowel. The member of the Avant Garde didn't try to protect himself in any way, welcoming the blow.

The weapon made an audible clang as it bounced off the skin. Carver waved an arm at Death Dealer, a blade popping out from the appendage as though it had been inside the actual arm, rather than being from a weapon concealed on the outside of it. The blade almost looked like it was composed of bone rather than metal. The unexpected weapon was aimed right at Dead Dealer's neck, with the walking card deck barely evading it. Had he been a fraction of a second slower he'd have been decapitated.

"Ooooo. You are good." The delight in Death Dealer's voice now matched the look in his eye. "Let's see if we can find a weak spot somewhere on you."

The fight began in earnest. Carver made no attempt to evade the killer's attacks, allowing them to clang off his skin, while his efforts went toward slashing Death Dealer open with the forearm blades, moving his limbs as quickly as he could. While Death Dealer wasn't super humanly fast, he was about as agile as possible for someone relying on natural prowess backed by a steady regimen of athleticism. The strokes came close, but none connected.

Death Dealer made a feint toward an arm pit, then switched targets, aiming with the point of his tri blade for the left eye. The weapon clanked off the orb with the same sound it had the skin. Carver didn't even blink.

As Death Dealer lunged forward with that attack a long narrow spike, resembling a rib bone, shot out from Carver's chest. Even as it started to pierce Death Dealer's own ribcage the assassin lunged backward, preventing outright impalement. But for all his efforts, he now bore a wound that leaked a healthy amount of blood.

"Everybody dies," Carver said flatly.

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As that battle commenced, the rest of the Phantom Troupe moved to the attack as well. Blockbuster went after the opposition's apparent heavyweight: Mr. 1000. Those were his favorite types. While powerhouses on a team were usually anywhere from the 10 ton to maybe 50-ton range, most were at the lower end. Blockbuster was way beyond that, bench pressing right around 75 tons and with durability to match. He could count on one hand the number of heavyweights that had been able to go toe to toe with him. None of them survived, but they had been arduous battles.

The bat represented a bit of an advantage with its longer reach, but these guys didn't look impressive, or smart since they fell for the bait of the Phantom Troupe lying about Lucifer's location in order to draw assassins out and kill them. He decided to test the waters and go for the straight assault.

Even as Blockbuster threw his first punch he discovered Mr. 1000 possessed some measure of speed and was going to connect with the bat first. It was aimed at Blockbuster's skull. While he thought he could take it, caution made him bring up his forearm up to block the blow.

As the bat connected it struck with enough force to drive Blockbuster's arm into his head. That shot hurt and his arm was going to be feeling it later. Instantly he analyzed the nature of the attack through the pain. There was more than raw strength going on there. It felt like some kind of directed force came through the bat itself.

That blow provided another opening as Mr. 1000 went for the chest with the bat. The second blow cracked at least one rib, and Blockbuster knew it was more than strength. If the mystery force was generated from the bat or Mr. 1000 himself, it was impossible to say.

Blockbuster endured the pain and retaliated with a swing for the head. Off balance, there wasn't a great deal of force behind it and all it amounted to was a glancing blow, but it made Mr. 1000 wince. He proved able to absorb a bit of punishment himself as he wound up and really clocked Blockbuster with the bat.

This blow wasn't like the others. Blockbuster shot through the air so fast it was like he had his own propulsion system. The human missile's flight halted upon colliding with the ground twenty meters away.

As the member of the Phantom Troupe started to rise, Mr. 1000 aimed the point of his bat at the distant foe. Fiery balls shot from it like a gun barrel. Every one of them was right on target and impacted with Blockbuster. Each one resulted in an explosion, leaving him lost in the cloud created by the chemicals that made up the explosives.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Needle threw a trio of slender needles in Mole's direction. The older woman dove into the ground, kicking up earth as she flowed into it as though it had the consistency of a liquid.

Needle kept her hand drawn back, more slivers of metal in hand. She was just lifting her foot up when hands burrowed their way through the earth right under her, hands now adorned with claws. The nails went deep into her ankle at the same moment she kicked up off the ground. It was the only thing that saved her life, though at the cost of torn flesh and blood. As Needle landed, she discarded her throwing weapons and sent out a thread into one of the few trees in the area and pulled herself up like she was on an automated pully. Once in the tree she put her large needle into a sling on her back and once again drew more tiny needles to throw. Her ankle was in terrible shape and needed to be bound as the blood dripped so freely from it a tiny puddle began to form on the ground. She was essentially down to one leg.

As she observed the terrain, waiting for her foe to surface, she noted there had been no warning of motion from the earth when the attack came. Mole could move silently through it without causing vibrations. With no warning it would be near impossible to fight her on land. Throwing needles were useless since she couldn't hurl them hard enough to pierce the dirt.

As Needle tried coming up with a stratagem, she felt the ground under the tree move. It began to quiver, and she thought she knew the plan Mole had come up with to remove her from her perch, bringing her back down to the ground and vulnerable to attack. Sure enough, after another minute of the vibrations, the tree began to topple, the roots severed.

Needle found herself plummeting to the ground with the tree.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The last remaining fight between members of the Avant Garde and Phantom Troupe began. Shatterfist closed the distance between he and Bombshell. While both men threw a punch, it was Shatterfist who connected first, ducking under the one aimed at him while simultaneously getting a gut shot on his foe with the bad hair. There was the sound of an explosion as a concussive force emitted through his fist.

But Bombshell's only reaction was a huff of air, as though he had suffered nothing more than a normal gut punch.

Recovering as one who had been struck plenty of times before, Bombshell launched an attack of his own aimed at Shatterfist's head. The Phantom Troupe member darted backward, the fist brushing against a few locks of hair, before it went past and struck the ground. Bombshell's fist unleashed an explosion similar to his opponent's, this one sending mineral shrapnel with great force in all directions, pelting the assassin. A number of tiny cuts were opened on his face, and his track suit was torn in even more spots. Trickles of blood dotted both flesh and outfit.

Bombshell smiled. "Glad I was right about my mutant ability making me immune to those explosive powers of yours. Too bad for you you picked the exact wrong opponent to deal with. For what it's worth, I suffer the same effects I would from normal fists, but unless your rep is off, I don't think you're immune to someone else's explosive force, like me. That makes you someone that can get dropped in one shot, while it'll take you a while to wear me down. I'm not saying you can't win, just that you won't." He smiled broadly.

Shatterfist remained silent, a look of intensity as he stood his ground. Bombshell was a touch surprised, but also delighted his foe was making it easy. Maybe he had given up. Since there was no sense in dragging things out, he aimed a punch at his tensed-up opponent.

A split second later Shatterfist punched forward as well. They met fist to fist. The explosive force released from the twin abilities produced an explosion that shook everything around them.

Bombshell saw his blow had no effect. "Okay, so your fist can absorb my explosive force. But if the rest of you could, there would have been no reason to block my shot with it. Let's see if I can slip one past your guard, or if our knuckles keep meeting until someone's breaks."

The pair had a second fist-to-fist connection which produced another explosion. Then another. Then another.

"If you thought I was going to run out of concussive power, that ain't going to happen," Bombshell assured him. "My body generates it constantly. I'd starve to death before running out of the boom."

Shatterfist finally spoke. "It looks like you're right. DD, change of scenery!"

"What are you-?" Was all Bombshell got out as a tri blade buried itself three quarters of the way into the side of his skull, killing him instantly.

Death Dealer ran toward the body and recovered the weapon even as Shatterfist went after Carver. The man with the bone blades stood there, motionless, leaving his stomach wide open. Sure enough, Shatterfist went for the offering.

Just like Carver planned. From that area of his body multiple projections of sharpened bone extended. Not only did his bones have the ability to go through his skin, but he had far more than two hundred and six, and in places no one else had them in.

Shatterfist's hand was shredded down to his own bone from the sharpened projections. But he didn't flinch as he drove it forward and unleashed his explosive force.

Carver's midsection exploded, skin and boney weapons going at the same time. He looked at the hole in his gut as his entrails spilled out. He had just enough life left to watch the gory sight, and voiced a, "How?" then slumped to the ground, dying in moments.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The dust had finally settled to reveal Blockbuster still alive and returning to his feet, looking the worse for wear. Rather than move closer, Mr. 1000 aimed the bat at the giant again.

Vakume flew through the air and placed herself directly between the bat and her teammate. Mr. 1000 didn't hesitate as he unleashed another volley of explosive balls at the woman. She remained in their path, unmoving.

Just as the balls were about to connect a black hole appeared in the middle of her chest, expanding wide. The sound of a suction emanated from it, and even from where he stood fifteen meters away, Mr. 1000 could feel the wind. Every one of his balls disappeared into that hole, and nothing happened. He stood there, confused. Then the wind stopped. That barely had time to register when there was a loud *whoosh*, and the explosive balls fired out from the hole in her chest at an even faster velocity than they had originally been launched.

Every single one was on target and Mr. 1000 went down from his own attack, a cloud now obscuring his form. By the time it settled, a bloodied, injured villain was left slowly trying to rise. One of the explosives that struck his face left it a bloody ruin. It was a miracle he was still conscious.

Then the back of his head was engulfed in a massive hand. He was lifted up as though he were weightless. While his mouth was already ruined, he made some guttural sounds as blood bubbled through his mangled jaw.

Then a fist pulverized his head as Blockbuster brought a full force punch into the cranium. It was so powerful the back part of the skull was driven onto his fingers, like someone picking up a bowling ball through the holes. He had to flick his wrist to remove it from his hand.

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As Needle fell groundward, she leapt from the falling tree and landed on her good foot. She braced just long enough to launch herself in the air again, but it proved a moment too long as a clawed hand broke through the ground and slashed through skin and muscle a second time. However, in the same moment she was cut she made a quick motion with her fingers.

She landed hard on her side. No cry of pain left her lips as she drew the oversized needle from her back. She held the blunt end on the ground, and supported her weight on it as a makeshift crutch, though careful not to place the pointy end under her armpit. Aside from that she remained motionless, standing propped up.

Then suddenly she launched herself in the air using the weapon like a vaulting pole. Rather than discarding it as a vaulter would, she brought it up with her. Unlike her other leaps, this one was straight up. She twisted her body so that when she went downward the weapon was pointed toward the ground sharpened end first.

And then Needle drove it into the earth, feeling the weapon impale her subterranean foe. She twisted it around, felt a struggle for a moment, then nothing. She twisted it further but there was no reaction. She brought the slender blade up and down again into the earth, impaling the unseen body a second time. Needle's expertise with the weapon was so precise she knew her target was dead. When she extracted her oversized namesake from the ground, it was covered in blood as well as dirt. She sat on the ground and pulled out a cloth to wipe it clean.

She also cut loose the tiny stringlike substance she had wrapped around Mole's wrist during her last attack on Needle's leg. Thanks to that, she was finally able to track Mole's movement underground and calculated the exact moment when to attack. Had she failed or mistimed it, she would have been dead.

"That got the blood flowing. More for some people than others." Death Dealer said pointedly to his injured colleagues, while smiling more broadly than ever.

Shatterfist walked over to Needle, who had finished cleaning her weapon and moved on to stitching up her slashed ankles with her stringlike substance. "I'm going to need you to sew this up once you're done, or I might bleed to death." He indicated his hand, which was bleeding profusely.

Once finished with her injuries, she did the same for him. Her skill was such she staunched both of their blood flows. They would bear scars from the battle. Far from their first and almost certainly not their last.

Blockbuster looked over the corpses decorating the landscape. "It might have had a few bumps, but I'd say the plan worked out perfectly in the end. We'll let word out that when…, what was the name of these guys again?"

"Avant Garde." Death Dealer provided.

"Yeah, we'll let everyone know we knocked them off for trying to kill Mimic. That should make everybody think twice about going after him. At least for a while. That'll give us the breathing room we need to pull off the New York heist. We'll still have to leave at least a couple of guards for him, but the rest of us should be enough to handle the job."

"I think it will work as a deterrent," Needle said as she put the finishing touches on Shatterfist's injuries. "This thing won't be healed in time for the job." She warned him.

"I can work wounded, like you," Shatterfist said.

"My limbs and joints are a little weird. I can take more punishment than most," she explained. "Still, I won't be at a hundred percent either."

"If you're having problems walking, I can let you travel in me," Vakume offered.

Needle stared at her. "No one you've ever put in that extra dimensional void of yours and coughed back up came back sane."

"Oh. I forgot."

"Just sit on my shoulder. That'll keep the weight off your ankles," Blockbuster offered. "Think we should toss these jokers in the mass grave with the townies?"

Shatterfist answered. "We only buried them because we didn't know how long it would take these clowns to show up and we didn't want to smell of decomp stinking up the place. Since we're heading out, leave them for the crows."

"Crows need to eat, too," Vakume said sincerely.

The five people left without a backward glance, behind them a village of forty-five people now devoid of life. For decades afterwards the locals in the region would talk about the mystery behind the tale of a dead town.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Elektra walked out of the bathroom of her apartment (or more appropriately the 'Elektra' apartment), freshly showered. Most men would have regarded it as quite an enjoyable sight considering she was nude, save for the towel draped across her shoulders- and if they were into scars since she had accumulated several lifetimes worth in the span of eighteen years. That was what happened when you were raised by ninjas who wanted you to be really good at killing, and staying alive when people tried to kill you. They did this by having people try to kill you on a regular basis and call it practice. She had proven an apt pupil and learned very well, which was how she had moved up the ranks to an Assassin Prime, the youngest ever. Now they were paying for it since no matter how hard they tried to kill her she was staying alive and killing them instead.

She plopped down on a chair and noted it was time to get out the razor again. Purple hair on her werewoman form was fine, but Elektra's hair color was supposed to be plain black in order to blend in with society better. Purple stood out like a sore thumb, and the Hand were aware it was her natural hair color back when she went by her birth name of Shampoo,. A past dead in every way. But if she went strutting about town sporting her old locks someone would notice, word would get around, and they'd investigate. It would be like wearing a 'Former Hand Member' sign around her neck, so not a single strand was allowed anywhere on her human body. One could never be too thorough.

Security matters were part of the reason she rented all three apartments on the top floor of the building she lived in. As far as the owners were concerned, the units were owned by three different people. Mishima Inc. had one ostensibly for when they needed to put up out of town clients whose business dealings took a while. The one she was lounging in was rented by Yoshi Miahara, though only his 'female acquaintance' lived in it. Naturally everyone assumed she was his mistress and he didn't want the wifey to know about the little side piece he had on retainer that he was discreet about visiting. He was so discreet no one ever saw him enter the unit, but his mistress came and went as she pleased.

And the third was owned by Kae Kunimura, who worked as a consultant for Kunou Enterprises. It was the one with the skylight, so when Tigra came home from a stint as an Avenger, that was where she always sneaked in, just in case someone had surveillance on her home. That would be the apartment they'd hit looking for an Avenger, and the one she was almost never in. Instead, she had knocked out a wall in one of the closets and made it an adjoining unit to the Miahara one, where she was always human. The owners wouldn't be thrilled if they ever found out about her renovations, but hey, that was what security deposits were for.

Naturally, she searched the area around the adjacent buildings before she used her almost supernatural ninja skills to sneak in and out of her domicile, just in case someone was watching the place. But to date no one had. Her secret appeared safe.

As to the interiors, her current room appeared to be that of a normal younger woman, even if she was anything but. She had magazines women subscribed to out on tables, which she never read. A poster on a wall of a popular boy band she never listened to. Hanging in a closet were casual outfits she almost never wore. Most of what she dressed in when she went out in public was billowing or loose, since a figure like hers tended to attract interest she didn't want. Hats were big, too. Glasses whose lenses were ordinary plastic helped obscure her features, and she never used make up. Her plain disguises didn't always work and some people saw through them and realized she was fairly attractive, but not as many if she didn't try to pass unnoticed. She invited no one over, though if the opportunity to have Captain Japan drop by ever popped up, he'd be the first. And she wouldn't be letting him leave until he was exhausted.

Well, if he was game for that sort of thing. Considering he displayed little in the way of a sex drive, yet still coveted attention, it made her wonder if he was still a virgin. Thinking about it, if he was she'd have to restrain herself and break him in slowly. Her training included learning every esoteric art she could absorb, which was to say she could blow the mind of anyone short of a career prostitute, like Dragon Pink. She'd rather not scare the poor guy off by showing him some of her more sophisticated tricks, like the 'Inverted Octopus' or 'Twist Top'. She didn't want to spoil him. Not too much.

On her part, the educational process had been anything but fun. To the Hand sex was a tool to be used, and nothing else. For men and women both. And so it had been, but when it came to Captain Japan, for her first-time having sex with an emotional connection, she wanted it to be special.

Ha! She was something of a romantic and only discovering it now. Freed of the Hand, she was learning there was more to her than she thought. But normal emotional growth and life and death ninja training didn't exactly go hand in hand, so to speak, and it was fair to say that growth had been stunted. Oh, she knew damn well she didn't view the world through the eyes of the 'normal' folks even now, but she understood enough of it she could relate to them in an abstract sense. And in a number of cases, she was discovering she had normal reactions to some things.

Like having the hots for a man that, while he was a major hunk, was actually a nice guy on the inside and that was the primary attraction. She did like muscles as much as the next gal. Nothing wrong with secondary attractions like that. It was very normal. It gave her hope she could manage a relationship with him.

Deciding that was enough musing about the mundane, Elektra turned her attention from the emotional to the practical in a second. Compartmentalizing was a big thing for the Hand. She opened up a laptop, with the best encryption she could get illegally, and went over her funds. Her assets were still in great shape, despite renting three apartments at once. After the Mandarin affair, when she broke free of the Hand, she stole a large amount of money from them before they were on to her act of betrayal. An Assassin Prime knew where the valuables were kept, and could kill the paltry guards assigned to watch over them. She absconded with enough money to last her a very long while.

With finances secure, she went to her other 'job', that of fronting as an information broker for the criminal know as Shadow Stalker. And it was only a front because she had killed the former Si-Fan who had left Fu Manchu's employ and freelanced himself into the head of a small criminal organization. He had stumbled on her as Elektra a while back and tried to collect the bounty on her head. He had ended up fatally punctured in a number of internal organs instead.

She located his private quarters and through that figured out who he was associated with and how. It then occurred to her that this was a golden opportunity for her to remain connected to the underworld (and what the Hand was up to, particularly in regards to her). She took on the guise of 'Jackdaw', a front woman for Shadow Stalker who operated as his personal information broker. She wore a feathered wig and a 'super villain' outfit, complete with feathers along the underside of her arms and a mask that covered the upper half of her face. That made everyone assume she had the ability to fly, meaning no one should connect her with the very much landbound Elektra. Also, it made Shadow Stalker appear more impressive if he had a super villain working for him. Over time she released his original staff one by one ('under his orders', naturally) and replaced them with men who had never seen him (which was a must considering he was really dead). The newcomers assumed he was secretive and used Jackdaw as his spokeswoman for an additional layer of anonymity. Given her background, Elektra successfully picked individuals that were good at ferreting out secrets no one was supposed to know, and she was actually making decent money through the illegal enterprise, though its primary purpose was having access to underworld information. While her Avenger teammates would not approve of her side hustle, she mostly focused on learning secrets from bad guys and selling them to other bad guys. She was essentially using thieves to make other thieves lives a living hell.

Information scrolled past at top speed as Elektra went through the information her men had dug up. One major announcement caught her eye: Kingpin was having an auction in New York for a *lot* of exotic, and expensive, stolen items. While she wouldn't participate -she wasn't into fencing or wasting money on luxurious trinkets- she decided to see what items were being listed out of curiosity. Some of them did sound pretty notable and high end. Kingpin was going to be raking in a fortune, even if many of the items were simply being held by him. He was getting a percentage on top of the merchandise he'd personally be unloading. She kept looking over page after page until her eyes locked on a piece that stilled her heart.

It was a reliquary. One she recognized since it had been a fixture in her, and every other Joketsuzoku's, childhood. It had been an important relic for the tribe, having been passed down from generation to generation for at least three centuries and put on display by the Council of Elders during any important event. She had assumed it destroyed in the firebombing of her village, but somehow it had survived and was making it around in illicit circles.

It was the last physical item to stand testament to her people's existence.

For the first time in her life Elektra… no, this was a Shampoo thing, found herself repelled at the idea of something she held sacred being profaned by others. She would not allow some cheap criminal to steal her history and put it on display as a conversation piece in a garish home. She needed to steal it from the auction, since there was no guarantee she would have enough money to purchase the item, and she would not allow it to fall a non-Joketsuzoku's hands. That had already happened for far too long, and it was past time to set things right.

But Kingpin was a shrewd man. Security at the auction would be tight and impressive. Very impressive since if anything went wrong, it would look badly upon him. She knew by reputation he was a creature of vanity. Given her incredible skills she might be able to pull it off alone, but this was something she couldn't risk slipping through her fingers. It was time to tilt the odds in her favor by calling in reinforcements.

And since it was Joketsuzoku related, there was only one man to call upon for help.

It was time for Elektra to meet Daredevil once again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[End Chapter]

And now we begin a little tale I laid the groundwork to back in the last Act of Book 1 with the Phantom Troupe pulling off this job. Also you know have some familiarity with the members other than names.

And you don't have to memorize the Avant Garde/Baroque Works either. They are as finished as the trio running the Super Hero Elimination Game.

And yes, no doubt you are saddened by the off-camera death of Shadow Stalker, a near legendary icon in the annals of Marvel history. But alas and alack, I just couldn't see adding the fight and bogging the chapter down.