Chapter 46:
[Ava Starr POV]
[1 Day Later, Fisk Tower, New York City]
[Office.] I stand in the office, my gaze fixed on Mr. Fisk. Even on his calmest days, he's a formidable figure. But today, calm is nowhere in sight. His anger radiates like heat waves on a scorching summer day, on full display for everyone fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be in his presence. The room is thick with tension, suffocating us all. Mr. Fisk's face, typically composed and inscrutable, contorts into a mask of fury. His clenched jaw practically grinds his teeth, and his once-steady hands tremble with rage. His gaze could cut through steel. The source of his anger is crystal clear. Just last night, the DEMONS, an enigmatic and notorious group, ruthlessly crippled two of his well-planned operations. They strike with precision, leaving chaos and devastation in their wake. The loss of valuable weapon caches from the first operation is a significant blow to Fisk's criminal empire. Those stockpiles are his lifeblood, the source of his power and influence. I can't help but wonder about the faceless culprits behind the DEMONS, their motives, and their methods. They're a force to be reckoned with, and Mr. Fisk has learned that the hard way.
The one glimmer of hope amid the chaos is that one weapon cache is currently in police custody. In organized crime, this presents an opportunity for Mr. Fisk to mitigate some of his losses. He has an extensive influence network within the city's law enforcement agencies. It's an open secret that his web of corruption extends deep into the police force. Key officers, detectives, and officials are more loyal to him than to the oath of upholding the law. Retrieving the cache from police custody requires a few well-placed phone calls and substantial bribes. His influence machine is set in motion, ensuring the evidence disappears mysteriously. It's a dangerous game of manipulation and deceit, one Mr. Fisk has perfected over the years. This incident is a stark reminder of his insidious grip on the city's institutions, a testament to his power and cunning. This ability to bend the rules has allowed him to ascend to the pinnacle of the criminal underworld. But even with the cache potentially retrievable, Mr. Fisk knows he can't let this affront from the DEMONS go unanswered. His pride and reputation are at stake, and he'll stop at nothing to track down those responsible.
The clash between his iron-fisted control and the enigmatic force of the DEMONS promises to shake the criminal world's very foundations. My attention shifts to the other office occupants, a group called CERBERUS. They're not an ordinary gang but skilled mercenaries renowned for their lethal efficiency in the criminal underworld. Mr. Fisk had warned me about these enigmatic figures, advising me to keep my distance. In my line of work, I've encountered my fair share of hardened individuals, bearing the physical and emotional scars of a life steeped in crime. They often project toughness, but CERBERUS members are different. They stand at the apex of this brutal hierarchy. They exude an aura of toughness and ruthlessness that commands respect and fear. Their self-assuredness is palpable, an unspoken declaration of their unrivaled skills and capabilities.
They don't need to boast; their prowess is woven into their being. Their actions are calculated and purposeful, their sharp, watchful eyes assessing the room with predatory intensity. These mercenaries are apex predators in a world where power and danger constantly intertwine. Even Mr. Fisk, who commands vast resources and wields immense influence, regards them respectfully and cautiously. It's rare to see someone like Mr. Fisk exercising prudence. As I observe them, unease settles within me. CERBERUS adds complexity in a room where lines between friend and foe blur. I wonder about their role in the drama between Mr. Fisk and the DEMONS. Their involvement will have profound consequences for all of us.
After a tense moment stretching endlessly, Mr. Fisk regains control of his anger. His face, once a mask of fury, softens into composure. The room, once charged with tension, eases. Mr. Fisk's ability to rein in his emotions speaks to his years of experience in organized crime. It's a skill that has kept him alive and in power. With a voice still tinged with anger, he issues a command to his right-hand man, a trusted confidant who understands his wishes implicitly. "Beef up security on all operations," Mr. Fisk orders, his authority unmistakable. The recent setback inflicted by the DEMONS has left him feeling vulnerable, a sensation he despises. "Contact Norman Osborne. It's time for him to pay his debt," Mr. Fisk concludes. His right-hand man acknowledges the orders and begins to set them in motion.
[Spartan POV]
[The Bunker, New York City]
I find myself seated at my workstation, engrossed in a relentless quest for information regarding the enigmatic group known as the DEMONS. Recently, their activities have sent shockwaves through the criminal underworld, leaving law enforcement agencies and citizens in fear. I sift through a labyrinth of data, articles, and surveillance reports, and the one discernible pattern that emerges is the DEMONS' relentless focus on one particular target: the operations of a powerful figure in the criminal world, the Kingpin AKA Wilson Fisk.
The DEMONS had achieved a significant feat by disrupting several key operations belonging to the formidable criminal figure, the Kingpin. Although the damage inflicted may not have been catastrophic, it was substantial enough to raise eyebrows and ignite a spark of concern within Fisk's sprawling criminal empire. These calculated strikes were more than nuisances; they were a bold statement, a gauntlet thrown squarely at the Kingpin's feet. The audacity of these attacks did more than just create chaos within Fisk's organization; it was a direct challenge to his authority. The DEMONS aimed to undermine his reputation and credibility by targeting Fisk's operations. They sought to portray him as vulnerable, susceptible to disruption by an upstart gang, and ultimately, they aimed to tarnish the aura of invincibility that had long surrounded the Kingpin. This was a calculated move that could not be taken lightly in the ruthless realm of organized crime, where reputation and fear often wield as much power as wealth and influence. The message was clear: the DEMONS were not content to merely exist in the shadows. They craved the attention of both their criminal peers and law enforcement. They intended to rewrite the narrative of power within the city and were willing to challenge the most entrenched figures to do so.
For the Kingpin, this presented a dilemma. Responding too aggressively risked escalating the conflict and exposing vulnerabilities while ignoring the challenge could further embolden the DEMONS and weaken his grip on the criminal empire he had painstakingly built. It was a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, where every move was analyzed and scrutinized and where the balance of power hung in the balance. As I continued my research, it became increasingly evident that the battle between the DEMONS and the Kingpin was not just about criminal dominance; it was a struggle for supremacy that had the entire city watching with bated breath, uncertain of what the next move might be and who would ultimately emerge victorious in this daring showdown.
With her caring demeanor, Wanda approaches me and gently sets a plate of steaming food before me. Her words carry both concern and a motherly tone as she remarks, "Eat up. You haven't eaten anything all day," a simple statement with a wealth of meaning. The aroma wafting from the plate fills the room, and it's as though the tantalizing scent can momentarily lift the weight of my pressing tasks. Wanda's actions are a poignant reminder of her thoughtfulness and understanding of my dedication to my work. Amid my preoccupation with the DEMONS and the city's criminal intrigue, it's easy to overlook basic necessities like nourishment. Her gesture isn't just about providing sustenance; it's an act of care and love. It's as if she sees beyond the screen and the documents, recognizing that I have neglected my well-being in my relentless pursuit of answers. Her plate of food is a plea to pause for a moment, recharge, and appreciate the simple joys of life that often get overshadowed by the world's demands.
I look down at the delicious meal before me, my gratitude swelling. It's a symbol of her support, a silent assurance that no matter the challenges or obsessions that consume me, I have someone who cares about my welfare. It's a reminder that even in the darkest and most intense moments of our lives, there are people who bring light and sustenance to our bodies and spirits. I nod appreciatively at Wanda, my words momentarily failing to capture the depth of my gratitude. With a heartfelt smile, I pick up my fork, ready to savor not only the nourishing food she has prepared but also the warmth of her presence and the reassurance that, no matter how tangled the web of my investigations becomes, there is a haven of comfort and care in her company.
At that exact moment, EPYON, our highly advanced crime and emergency alert system, sprang into action, tagging an operation right in the heart of Midtown. I shot Wanda, my ever-supportive partner, an apologetic gaze. It was a look laden with regret, an unspoken acknowledgment of the sudden disruption to our plans. The notification flashed across my screen, its urgency undeniable. Duty called, and it demanded my immediate attention. I knew I had to shift gears, leaving behind the warmth of Wanda's presence for a mission that couldn't wait. She understood, as she always did. She knew the demands of my profession, the unpredictability of it all. EPYON's activation was a stark reminder of the ever-present need to respond swiftly to emerging situations, even if it meant temporarily leaving behind the simple joys of life. With a sense of responsibility and commitment, I steeled myself for what lay ahead, ready to tackle the operation in Midtown head-on.
[Construction Site, New York City]
Arriving at the construction site, EPYON alerts me to the unmistakable sound of gunfire echoing within the area. I quickly assess the situation and pinpoint the gunfire's origin on the top floors of the building. Utilizing the grappler, I swiftly ascend towards the source. From my vantage point, perched high above the construction site, I spot multiple DEMONS ruthlessly executing staff workers below. The grim tableau unfolding before my eyes sends a shiver down my spine. It doesn't take me long to piece together that this site must be one of Kingpin's operations. Why else would the DEMONS be moving with such calculated aggression against it? The signs are all there. The precision of their attacks, the way they seem to know the layout of the site, and the ruthless efficiency with which they eliminate any opposition – it all points to a well-researched and coordinated assault. The Kingpin's operations are known for their secrecy and complexity, making them a prime target for a group like the DEMONS, who have shown a knack for disrupting Fisk's criminal enterprise.
Continuing to observe the chaos unfolding below. This isn't just another skirmish in the ongoing battle between the DEMONS and the Kingpin. This is a direct assault on the Kingpin's stronghold, a bold move aimed at crippling his criminal empire. The implications of this attack are far-reaching, not just for the criminal underworld but for the entire city. I know I can't stay hidden in the shadows any longer. It's my duty to intervene and put a stop to this violence, to protect the innocent workers caught in the crossfire. With resolve, I activate my grappler and descend toward the heart of the chaos.
As I descend closer to the chaotic scene. The DEMONS towers over a worker on his knees, desperately begging for his life. He pleads with them, insisting he knows nothing beyond Wilson Fisk's legitimate business operations. A revelation to be true. Fisk, the Kingpin, is renowned for his cunning; he's adept at concealing his criminal dealings behind a veneer of legitimate enterprises. The worker's words highlight the complexity of this operation. Fisk's criminal empire is like an intricate puzzle, with its criminal activities well hidden beneath layers of seemingly legal businesses. It's a testament to the Kingpin's intelligence and shrewdness that even those who work closely with him on his legitimate ventures are left unaware of the darker underbelly of his operations. But the DEMONS are relentless in their pursuit, and their desire to unravel the Kingpin's criminal network is unwavering. They don't seem satisfied with the worker's plea of ignorance, and their actions become increasingly violent. I know I can't stand idly by and let this brutal interrogation continue.
In a swift and calculated move, I leap down from my vantage point behind one of the DEMONS, catching him by surprise. With precision, I deliver a forceful kick to the back of his knee, causing him to crumple to the ground. In one fluid motion, I seize him, using his body as a human shield to protect myself. The other three DEMONS, momentarily stunned by my sudden appearance and swift actions, react too slowly. Taking advantage of their hesitation, I unleash a double tap, firing my weapon with precision. Two shots ring out, striking down the remaining assailants before they can react effectively. The gunfire echoes resound in the construction site, and silence reigns briefly. Still on his knees and trembling with fear, the worker looks up at me with relief and awe.
The tense atmosphere is shattered by the unmistakable sound of a buzzing phone. It's coming from the worker, the same man who had just moments ago been begging for his life. He answers the phone, and a hushed conversation ensues. Suddenly, he extends the phone toward me, a puzzled look on his face. "My boss wants to talk to you?" he says, his voice trembling. I take the phone, my curiosity piqued, and I exchange a glance with the worker, who appears just as bewildered as I am. With a mix of caution and intrigue, I peer at the phone's screen as the call transitions into a video call. And there, on the small screen, is the visage of none other than Wilson Fisk, the infamous Kingpin of crime. Even through the digital medium, his presence carries an air of authority and menace. I tilt my head, my mind racing with questions. Why would the Kingpin want to speak with me, of all people, amid this chaotic situation? Is this an opportunity or a trap? I prepare to engage in a high-stakes conversation with one of the city's most powerful and enigmatic figures. Fisk's voice booms through the phone's speaker, and his words carry the weight of his authority. "This ongoing fuse has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it," he barks, his tone commanding. I hold my ground, my determination unwavering. "Well, that's where you're wrong," I growl in response, my voice firm and resolute, "When innocent people start getting caught in the crossfire of your ongoing war, it becomes my business."
Fisk's expression remains inscrutable, but I can sense that my defiance has struck a chord. "Well, it seems we have a common enemy," he states, his tone shifting slightly, "I propose that we have a momentary alliance. Despite my methods, I do care for the city." I can't help but roll my eyes at his claim. "You care about power, not the city," I retort, my skepticism evident. Fisk smirks, a hint of amusement flickering across his features. "Do you really want to waste time having this debate?" he questions, his words carrying a veiled challenge. As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I don't have the luxury of time for philosophical discussions, not when the DEMONS are still active and posing a threat to innocent lives. "Who's the DEMONS leader?" I cut to the chase, my voice firm and direct. Fisk's smirk fades, replaced by a more serious expression. "If I knew the answer to that question, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he responds cryptically. "But my sources report he might be on site. Keep my staff alive," he adds, his words carrying an edge of urgency. The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. The DEMONS leader's identity remains a critical piece of the puzzle, and Fisk's information could prove invaluable. Despite the mistrust between us, our objectives momentarily align. I acknowledge his words with a curt nod, understanding that the safety of innocent lives hangs in the balance. With that, the video call ends, leaving me to address the immediate threat and unravel the mysteries that have plunged the city into turmoil.
With a sense of urgency, I instruct the staff worker to use the emergency exit and find safety. He informs me that he needs to rescue other staff workers locked in a room. After a quick scan of our immediate surroundings, the area appears clear of immediate threats. I give him a firm nod, granting him permission to proceed with his rescue mission. As he moves swiftly to carry out his task, I shift my focus to the upper levels of the construction site. Time is of the essence, and I know that I must move quickly to confront the DEMONS. As I ascend to the upper levels of the construction site, my senses alert me to the presence of a helicopter circling the building. The rhythmic thumping of the rotor blades reverberates through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Suddenly, the side door of the helicopter swings open, and a hulking DEMON foot soldier leaps out, landing with a thunderous impact just in front of me. The soldier wastes no time, immediately assuming a combat stance, ready to engage in a fierce confrontation. The sheer size and imposing demeanor of this DEMON soldier make it clear that this will be no ordinary skirmish.
I tighten my grip on my weapon, my instincts sharpening as I prepare for the impending battle. The DEMON foot soldier charges toward me; I'm momentarily taken aback by the incredible speed displayed by a man of his imposing size. The ground beneath him seems to tremble with each thunderous step. Swiftly regaining my composure, I react with a blend of agility and precision as I sidestep his initial assault, narrowly avoiding his powerful charge. It's clear that this adversary is no ordinary opponent, and I can't afford to underestimate him. He fired a blast of electricity from his hands. 'Oh shit, he's a META!' I think to myself, jumping out of the line of fire. Amidst the adrenaline-fueled battle, I can't help but consider the broader implications of this encounter. The presence of a META among the DEMONS adds a complex layer to an already intricate situation. In a city where public relations with META individuals are already a delicate matter, this development only exacerbates the challenges. The delicate balance between the superhuman community and the rest of society is a fragile one, and this encounter could further strain the relations. For now, my primary focus remains on the here and now – facing off against a powerful META adversary and emerging victorious. But I can't ignore the fact that this encounter will have far-reaching consequences.
Zig-zagging from side to side, I close the distance between myself and the formidable DEMON foot soldier. As I near him, I seize the opportunity to grab hold of his leg, leveraging my combat skills to my advantage. In one fluid motion, I slam a powerful elbow strike to the joint of his knee, aiming to destabilize him. The unexpected attack causes the soldier to stagger, and in that critical moment, I execute a back-suplex, using all my strength to lift and slam him forcefully to the ground. The construction site momentarily trembles with the impact as the DEMON soldier crashes to the ground, his electric powers momentarily subdued. Once the immediate threat is down, I move on to the helicopter. It's clear that the helicopter played a pivotal role in this operation.
Reaching the rooftop, my attention immediately fixates on a figure that unmistakably stands out amidst the sea of DEMONS. Our eyes lock, and for a brief, tantalizing moment, a singular question haunts my thoughts: Could this be the enigmatic leader of the DEMONS? This figure's bearing radiates an aura of authority and command, a stark juxtaposition to the chaotic whirlwind of activity that envelops the DEMONS below. They don't appear to partake in the frenzied violence that's playing out beneath them. Instead, their posture hints at a grander purpose, suggesting that they might be the strategic mastermind orchestrating this operation from the shadows. Their movements' calculated precision and poised demeanor set them apart as a leader, far beyond the rank of a mere foot soldier. The figure ascends onto a waiting helicopter, its engines humming with life. As he boards the aircraft, I swiftly deploy the grapple line toward the escaping DEMON. The line streaks across the rooftop with unerring accuracy, finding its mark as it securely attaches itself to the DEMON's leg. With a forceful pull, I yank the DEMON out of the helicopter. The unexpected disruption catches him off guard, causing him to tumble out of the aircraft and onto the rooftop.
Aiming the pistol, I take a calculated shot, directing a round toward the helicopter's engine. The gunshot resonates through the air, and the bullet finds its target, causing significant damage to the engine. It's a precise shot, engineered to disable the aircraft without causing catastrophic destruction. As a result of the damage, the helicopter's engine sputters and falters, struggling to maintain its function. The pilot wrestles with the controls, attempting to regain control of the faltering craft. The helicopter descends rapidly, no longer under the pilot's command, and lands forcefully on the rooftop. The impact reverberates through the structure, and the helicopter shudders as it skids to a halt. Thanks to the damaged engine, it was a controlled crash, preventing a catastrophic disaster. Though likely shaken, the rooftop is now enveloped in dust and debris, and the pilot survives the landing. This strategic move has not only prevented the escaping DEMON from making a clean getaway but has also neutralized the immediate threat posed by the helicopter.
Enraged, the restrained DEMON summons a surge of adrenaline. With a burst of raw strength, he frees himself from the binds that held him in place. The wire snaps under the force of his struggle. His sudden liberation catches me off guard for a split second, but I quickly regain my composure, realizing that the battle on the rooftop is far from over. As he rises to his feet, his face contorted with anger, it's clear that this DEMON won't go down without a fight.
The DEMON's hands crackle with dark, ominous electricity as he sprints towards me with formidable speed. He launches a relentless series of punches, each strike aimed with deadly precision. I swiftly sway out of his reach, my movements fluid and graceful, dodging his onslaught with a dancer's grace. In response, I launch a counterattack, exploiting the brief opening he's created. My fists blur as I deliver a rapid and powerful combination of strikes, targeting his body and face with precision and speed. Each blow lands with the impact of a sledgehammer, forcing him to stagger back, his guard momentarily broken.
Not wanting to drag this fight on, I swiftly shift my tactics. As the DEMON momentarily recoils from the barrage of strikes, I seize the opportunity to transition into a control submission hold. In one fluid motion, I wrap my arm around his neck and the other around his arm, creating a tight, vice-like grip. The submission hold exerts immense pressure, and I apply it precisely, making it clear that I have the upper hand. The DEMON's movements become restricted, and the air supply to his lungs is gradually cut off. He struggles and writhes to break free, but my hold remains unyielding. The seconds tick by, and the pressure of the submission hold takes its toll on the DEMON. His struggles weaken, and his movements become sluggish until he finally succumbs to the relentless pressure. His body goes limp, and he passes out, the darkness of unconsciousness enveloping him. Though he is unconscious, it's evident that he's still alive, his shallow breaths a testament to his continued existence. I release the hold gently, ensuring he can breathe freely again. The rooftop, once a battleground of fierce combat, now becomes a temporary sanctuary of stillness, broken only by the sound of the city below. With the subdued DEMON lying unconscious before me, I tap my comlink, initiating a call to Detective Knight, a trusted ally in my ongoing mission. "Hey, it's me," I begin, keeping my voice low but resolute, "I've got a few goons here who need to be picked up."
