Chapter 63:
[Matt Murdock POV]
[The Old Movie Theater, New York City]
After the long, awkward silence has passed, the team goes back to the main topic of the conversation. The HAND. As Colleen begins to explain the history and significance of this mysterious organization, I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. The name is unfamiliar to me, and yet there's something about it that sets my nerves on edge. It's as if I've stumbled upon a hidden truth, a dark secret lurking just beneath the surface of the city I've sworn to protect. The HAND, it seems, is no ordinary criminal syndicate. They're something far more sinister, something ancient and powerful, with roots that stretch back through the annals of history. It's a chilling revelation, one that raises more questions than it answers. Who are they? What do they want? And perhaps most importantly, how do we stop them? I hang on to Colleen's every word, desperate for any clue that might shed light on this shadowy organization. And yet, the more she reveals, the more I realize just how little we truly know.
Admittedly, a small part of me is distracted, still reeling at the revelation I learned moments ago. Did Stick set this all up? Make Elektra manipulate me to become one of his soldiers? The thought gnaws at the back of my mind like a persistent itch, refusing to be ignored. Stick has always been a master manipulator, a puppeteer pulling the strings from the shadows. And now, faced with this new information, I can't help but wonder if I've been nothing more than a pawn all along. The idea is infuriating, maddening even, and yet there's a sickening logic to it that I can't ignore.
Stick has always seen me as a means to an end, a weapon to be wielded in service of his own agenda. And Elektra... What role does she play in all of this? Is she a willing accomplice or just another victim of Stick's machinations? The more I think about it, the more it all starts to make sense. The way Elektra always seemed to be one step ahead, anticipating my every move with an unnerving precision. The way Stick always seemed to know exactly where to find me, as if he were orchestrating the entire affair from behind the scenes. It's all too convenient, too perfect to be a mere coincidence. But even as anger and suspicion bubble up inside me, I can't shake the nagging doubt that lingers in the back of my mind. What if I'm wrong? What if Stick and Elektra are telling the truth, and there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this? The uncertainty gnaws at me, eating away at my resolve like cancer until I can barely think straight.
Elektra strides over to my side of the theater, her presence like a storm cloud rolling in on a summer day, dark and brooding. "Matthew," she calls out my name in a small voice, her tone carrying a weight of sorrow and regret. My heart clenches at the sound of her voice, torn between anger and compassion. "Before you start saying anything, how long have you been associated with Stick and the Ryoshi clan?" I question, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. She sighs a weary sound that seems to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Since I was a child," she admits. The confession hits me like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me gasping for breath. How could I have been so blind, so oblivious to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface all this time? "When we first met, was that by chance or design?" I press. Elektra's head slumps, her posture crumbling like a sandcastle swept away by the tide. "A little of both," she confesses, her words heavy with regret and remorse. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that our entire relationship may have been nothing more than a carefully orchestrated facade. Anger bubbles up within me like a volcano on the brink of eruption, but I keep my emotions in check. I circle around to face Elektra. The weight of her gaze follows me, heavy and accusing, as if daring me to speak the words I know she dreads to hear. "When this is all over," I begin, my voice cold and devoid of emotion, "I want you out of my city." The words hang in the air between us like a death sentence, final and irrevocable. There's no room for negotiation, no possibility of compromise. Elektra's eyes widen in shock, a flicker of hurt and betrayal flashing across her features before she quickly masks it with a facade of indifference. But I see through the charade, see the pain lurking beneath the surface like a wound that refuses to heal. "Is that really what you want?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. I meet her gaze with a steely resolve, my jaw clenched in determination. "It's what's best for both of us," I reply, my tone unwavering. Elektra turns away, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
[Spartan POV]
From the side, I watch the interaction between Daredevil and Elektra, my arms folded across my chest as I lean against a dusty wall, like a spectator at a drama unfolding on stage. The air around them crackles with tension, each word spoken like a dagger aimed at the heart. A part of me hesitates to intervene. After all, what right do I have to insert myself into their private affairs?
Karai is positioned next to me, checking her gear. "Your girlfriend is an interesting character," I say casually, glancing over at Colleen, who's engrossed in conversation with Luke and Jones. Karai straightens up sharply, her face flushing with a shade of red reminiscent of a ripe tomato. I can't help but smirk at her reaction, knowing full well that I've hit a nerve. My best friend shoots me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "She's not my girlfriend," Karai responds quickly, her voice a little too forceful, a little too defensive. "I don't know what we are. It's too early to tell." Her words hang in the air between us, pregnant with unspoken implications. There's a tension there, a sense of uncertainty that neither of us is willing to acknowledge. But beneath the surface, I can sense the turmoil brewing within Karai, the conflict between her head and her heart. Colleen may not be her girlfriend, at least not yet, but there's a connection between them that's impossible to ignore. As I watch Karai, lost in her own thoughts, I can't help but wonder what the future holds for her and Colleen.
Going back to my own thoughts, I ponder what Nobu's and the HAND's end goal is. It's clear that they're not simply content with exerting their influence over the criminal underworld of New York City. No, their ambitions stretch far beyond the confines of a single city or even a single country. They're playing a much larger game, one with stakes so high that it's hard to comprehend the full extent of their plans. But what exactly are they after? Power? Wealth? Control? Or is there something more sinister at play here, something that goes beyond mere mortal desires? As I mull over these questions, my mind keeps circling back to that infernal contraption we encountered earlier. What was housed inside it that required blood as a fuel source? It's a chilling reminder of just how little we truly understand about the forces we're up against. Whatever it is, it can't be good. That much is clear. But without more information, without a clearer picture of what we're dealing with, it's impossible to form a plan of action. All we can do is stay vigilant. And yet, even as I steel myself for the challenges ahead, a part of me can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping in. Because if Nobu and the HAND are capable of something like this, then there's no telling what other horrors they might unleash.
"Okay, standing here twiddling our thumbs isn't helping to come up with a plan to stop the HAND," I call out to everyone, my voice echoing in the cavernous space of the old movie theater. The urgency in my tone is unmistakable, a reminder that time is of the essence and we can't afford to waste a single moment. "We can't act without intelligence," Daredevil comments, his voice a somber reminder of our current predicament, "And we don't have a single clue to work on." His words hang in the air like a heavy fog. As much as I hate to admit it, Daredevil has a point. We're essentially shooting blind, grasping at straws in the dark in the hope of stumbling upon some shred of information that might lead us closer to our goal. I focus over to Stick, the enigmatic figure who has been on an endless crusade against the HAND, "You got a clue of what HAND are planning?" Stick's eyes narrow, his expression inscrutable as he considers my question. For a moment, there's nothing but silence, the weight of his gaze bearing down on me like a lead weight. And then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. "I have my suspicions," he admits cryptically, "But nothing concrete." It's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's better than nothing. At least now we have something to go on, however vague it may be.
"Alright. Show your cards. Elaborate," I say to the old man, my tone firm and unwavering. Stick takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before delving into the murky depths of the past. "This is before my time," he begins, "So take the information with a grain of salt." His words carry the weight of centuries-old secrets, each syllable laden with the weight of history. "The elders of the Ryoshi clan told a tale," Stick continues, his voice taking on a somber tone as he recounts the ancient legend. "Long ago, in a distant land, a demon rained down chaos and destruction. Desperate to save his kingdom, the emperor summoned five warriors." The image of a distant land shrouded in darkness and despair fills my mind, a world on the brink of annihilation. "The demon and warriors battled in mortal combat," Stick states, his words painting a vivid picture of the epic struggle that ensued. "In the end, the five warriors managed to put down the demon. At least the physical form, but not the soul. In a last-ditch effort of survival, the demon implanted a piece of its soul in each of the five warriors," Stick reveals, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth, "These five warriors would become the five generals of the HAND." The revelation is staggering. We're not just dealing with mere mortals here but with beings imbued with the essence of mysticism. "Are you trying to tell us that the HAND are trying to resurrect their demon master?" I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief, needing confirmation of the ominous revelation. Stick meets my gaze with a steady intensity as if weighing his words carefully before responding. "More like make whole, but yeah," he confirms with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.
[Zemo POV]
[New York City]
[Rooftop.] Flanked by my elite enforcers, I stride toward Nobu, who stands at the edge of the roof, his figure outlined against the city lights like a dark sentinel surveying his domain. The city stretches out before us like a vast tapestry of lights and shadows, each building a testament to the power and influence wielded by those who call it home. "I wouldn't linger too long on a fantasy of conquest. Especially in a city under my rule," I remark, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Nobu turns to face me, his expression a mask of defiance and disdain. "If you are here to discuss a proposal for an alliance, save your breath," he retorts, his tone dripping with venom. "The HAND do not need any assistance." I chuckle darkly at his words, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings like a sinister symphony. "And yet, you laid on your knees and ate out of Kingpin's hand like a desperate dog for his resources and money," I reply, my voice laced with mockery. It's a low blow but one that strikes true nonetheless. Nobu's alliance with Kingpin may have granted him temporary advantages, but in the end, it only served to expose his weakness and dependence on others. As the implications of my words sink in, I can see the fury burning in Nobu's eyes.
The man goes for his sword, but I beat him to the draw. "Careful, hybrid. My patience is not infinite," I growl, the words dripping with warning as I press the cold steel of my sword against Nobu's throat. There's a tense silence that descends upon us, broken only by the faint sound of the city below. Nobu's eyes narrow, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that borders on defiance. But beneath the veneer of bravado, I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes, the realization that he's no match for me in his current state. "You think you can intimidate me, Zemo?" Nobu retorts, his voice low and gravelly, "I've faced far worse than you in my time." I grin, the satisfaction of having the upper hand evident in the curve of my lips. "You never faced anything like me," I taunt, my voice carrying a note of superiority, "I'm the future. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a relic of a dead era." My words hang in the air like a challenge, a declaration of my dominance over Nobu and everything he represents. I can see the doubt creeping into Nobu's expression, the realization that he's been outmatched and outplayed.
Withdrawing my sword, I toss a small piece of paper with an address on it to Nobu's feet. "Unlike you, I have a massive network of eyes and ears," I remark, my voice laced with a thinly veiled threat, "Consider this tip my one and only contribution. Next time we cross paths, it'll be for each other's blood." Nobu's eyes narrow as he takes in the address, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there's nothing but silence between us, the weight of our unspoken animosity filling the space like a fog. And then, with a flicker of movement, Nobu reaches down and retrieves the paper. "Now go fetch, dog," I state, disappearing into the shadows. Nobu's gaze burns into my back, a silent vow of vengeance. The man believes I see him as a rival. An equal. The notion is laughable, for Nobu is nothing more than another obstacle in my path, another pawn to be manipulated and discarded at my whim. He may fancy himself a formidable opponent, but in truth, he's little more than a nuisance, a thorn in my side that must be dealt with swiftly and decisively.
[Spartan POV]
[The Old Movie Theater, New York City]
"Shouldn't we call the AVENGERS? This is the type of shit they're suited to deal with," Jones states out loud. The suggestion hangs in the air, a tempting solution to our current predicament. But before anyone can respond, I step forward, my expression grave. "The AVENGERS are stretched thin dealing with another matter," I say to the PI. It's a bitter truth that I'm forced to acknowledge, for even the mightiest heroes have their limits. And with the AVENGERS preoccupied with their own battles, it falls to us to handle the threat that looms over New York City. As I speak, I can see the frustration etched on Jones's face, the realization that we're on our own in this fight. "Great," Jones states, disappointed, her voice heavy with frustration. I can see the weariness etched into her features, the lines of exhaustion deepening around her eyes. It's a feeling I know all too well, the weight of responsibility pressing down on us like a burden too heavy to bear.
Luke chimes in, his voice carrying a note of concern. "It might be best to get our friends and loved ones out of the city until this blows over," he suggests, his words echoing the unease that lingers in the air. It's a practical suggestion, one born out of a desire to keep those we care about safe from harm. But even as he speaks, I can see the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty that clouds his expression. It's a sentiment I understand all too well, for the thought of leaving behind everything we hold dear is a daunting prospect. And yet, in the face of the looming threat posed by the HAND, it may be our only option. As I glance around at my comrades, I can see the weight of Luke's words settling over us like a heavy shroud. The thought of parting ways with our loved ones is a bitter pill to swallow, but it's a sacrifice we must be willing to make if we're to stand any chance of defeating our enemies.
Just as we're about to make preparations, EPYON flags multiple vehicles converging on our location, its warning blaring through the silent theater like a siren in the night. Being the only ones with the EPYON system, Karai and I go on high alert, our senses heightened as we prepare for the impending threat. Pistol in hand, I move toward the entrance door to check for threats. Beyond the lobby, I spot a convoy of five vehicles, their headlights piercing through the darkness like beacons of danger. One of the vehicles stands out—a large van, its imposing silhouette casting a shadow over the desolate street. Multiple armed goons exit each vehicle. "Inbound hostiles!" I call out, moving swiftly to barricade the door, grabbing a large, broken piece of furniture and heaving it into place. The makeshift barrier rattles against the frame as I push it into position, the sound echoing through the empty halls like a warning bell. Beside me, Karai mirrors my actions and reinforces the barricade on her end. Outside, the sound of approaching footsteps grows louder.
Karai and I quickly move back to the others on the theater's stage. The whole team forms a tight circle, our backs pressed together as we stand shoulder to shoulder. With every muscle poised for action and every sense finely attuned to our surroundings, we brace ourselves for the imminent threat that lurks just beyond the theater's walls. Suddenly, without warning, the entrance door leading into the theater gets blown open with a deafening roar, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the air like a gunshot. A wave of HAND ninjas storms in through the gaping hole. In the midst of the chaos that ensues, the theater is transformed into a battleground, the air thick with the crackle of gunfire. We're forced to break formation and jump for cover. Bullets fly past us like angry hornets, the staccato rhythm of gunfire a relentless onslaught that threatens to overwhelm us at every turn. Despite the chaos unfolding around us, Karai, me, and the others stand our ground. The shooting finally stops, and the abrupt silence that follows rings in my ears like a deafening cacophony. Peeking out from behind the cover, I cautiously survey the scene unfolding before me. Through the haze of smoke and the lingering scent of gunpowder, I catch sight of a woman in her mid-30s striding purposefully over to the line of heisman. "WE NEED THE TARGET ALIVE, FOOLS!" she yells, her voice cutting through the air like a whip crack. The woman's wording grabs my attention. She said, "target." Singular. The implications of her words sink in. The HAND wants someone within our group, but who? I shake the subject out of my mind, forcibly banishing the troubling thoughts that threaten to consume my focus. This isn't the time to dwell on it, I remind myself sternly, my mind snapping back to the present as I refocus my attention on the immediate task at hand. With bullets still ringing in my ears and the scent of gun smoke hanging heavy in the air, there's no room for distractions. Every second counts in this deadly game, and I can't afford to let my mind wander down the rabbit hole of speculation and doubt.
Karai grins darkly, her eyes gleaming. "Thanks for giving us an edge, bitch," she declares, her voice carrying a hint of grim satisfaction. With practiced ease, she unclips a grenade from her belt, primes the explosive device, and tosses it. "Frag out!" she shouts, her voice cutting through the chaos with the force of a thunderclap as the grenade explodes in a deafening blast of sound and fury. The force of the explosion rips through the air like a shockwave, sending shards of debris flying in every direction as our enemies are caught off guard by the sudden onslaught. In the chaos that follows, I can hear the panicked shouts of the HAND operatives as they scramble for cover, their carefully laid plans thrown into disarray by Karai's decisive action. Using the chaos to our advantage, Karai and I jump into action. With precision and speed, I execute a flawless jump-guard-sweep maneuver on a HAND ninja. As we crash to the ground, I maintain my position on top of the goon, using leverage to keep him pinned. Two adversaries close in on our position, their weapons raised and ready. I double-tap each of them. Luke uses himself as a protective barrier, allowing Karai to unleash a torrent of bullets around the bulletproof hero, cutting down the enemy forces with ruthless efficiency.
A handful of HAND ninjas manage to breach our defensive line. In the blink of an eye, they materialize from the darkness, their forms coalescing into a whirlwind of lethal intent. Daredevil, Jones, Colleen, Stick, and Elektra, our stalwart defenders, meet the incoming threat head-on. Daredevil, the fearless guardian of Hell's Kitchen, meets the first wave of attackers with unmatched agility and finesse. His heightened senses guide his every move, allowing him to anticipate their strikes with uncanny accuracy. With a flurry of punches and kicks, he dispatches his adversaries with swift, decisive strikes. Jones, fueled by righteous fury and unbridled determination, meets the HAND ninjas with brute force. Her punches land with bone-crushing impact, each blow a testament to her formidable strength. Colleen engages the enemy with calculated efficiency. Her movements are fluid and precise. With each strike, she disarms her adversaries with surgical precision. Her blade flashes in the light as she cuts through their ranks. Stick moves with the wisdom and experience of a seasoned warrior. His movements are economical yet devastating, each strike delivered with ruthless efficiency. With a steely glare, he faces down his opponents with unwavering focus, his sward a blur of motion as he fends off the attackers with expert precision. Elektra, the assassin whose skills are matched only by her ruthlessness, dispatches her foes with little difficulty. Her movements are a deadly dance of death that leaves no room for mercy. Together, Daredevil, Jones, Colleen, Stick, and Elektra form an unstoppable force, their individual strengths combining to create a formidable wall of defense against the relentless onslaught of the HAND ninjas.
Thinking I'm distracted, a ninja dashes towards me with lethal intent, his sword poised to strike. As he closes in, I pivot on my heel and intercept his blade. Seizing the initiative, I trap his attacking arm in a vice-like grip. With a swift twist of my body, I leverage his momentum against him, using his own force to unbalance him and send him hurtling towards the ground, turn him over onto his stomach, place my knee onto his shoulder, then in one forceful yank, I break his arm. The ninja cries out in pain, rolling away from me. As he writhes in agony, I spare a fleeting moment to survey the battlefield. "We can't keep this up forever! We need a way out of here!" Luke shouts out to everyone. The man is right. We can only keep fighting for so long until we get overwhelmed. Daredevil, his senses keenly attuned to the shifting tide of battle, nods in solemn agreement. His lips set in a determined line, he surveys the battlefield with a calculating gaze, searching for any sign of weakness in the enemy's defenses. But the odds are stacked against us, and the realization weighs heavily on our shoulders. Jones's expression flashes in agreement with Luke's assessment. Her fists clenched in frustration, she scans the perimeter for any sign of escape. Colleen offers a suggestion. "We need to find a way to break through their lines," she declares, "If we can create a path we can make our escape and regroup to fight another day."
Through the HUD, the theater's layout is displayed in vivid detail, a digital blueprint of our surroundings mapping out every nook and cranny of the theater's space. A digital arrow materializes on the display; its fluorescent glow traces a path to an exit at the back of the theater. "Karai, cover the front position! I'm on rear," I call out to my partner. With a firm nod, Karai acknowledges my command. Her weapon ready, she moves out, leading the team. I take up position at the rear, my pistol aimed. As we press forward to our escape, the enemy is never far behind. In a desperate bid to buy us precious moments of respite, I fling a handful of smoke grenades and flash grenades behind us, their deafening explosions and blinding flashes disorienting the HAND goons in hot pursuit.
[Outside.] "Last one out," I say, exiting the theater. Jones, ever resourceful in the face of danger, springs into action. With a grunt of effort, she pushes a large, heavy dumpster onto the theater's entrance, barricading it shut with a makeshift barrier. It becomes painfully clear that moving on foot is not an option. The narrow alleyways and congested thoroughfares offer little in the way of cover or escape routes, leaving us vulnerable to ambush at every turn. With the enemy hot on our heels, we are forced to think quickly and adapt to our ever-changing circumstances if we are to have any hope of making it out of this alive. Via the rooftop might have been the best course of action. But the reality is far from ideal. Three members of our group have no experience with rooftop traversal, and their unfamiliarity with such terrain poses a significant risk to their safety and our chances of survival. Stick's keen senses spot a glimmer of hope—a manhole cover, a potential gateway to freedom hidden in plain sight. He calls our attention to the underground passage. Luke, the powerhouse of the group, steps forward, his muscles rippling with strength as he effortlessly peels the heavy cover clean off, revealing the dark abyss below. Everyone plunges into the depths below, each member of our team disappearing into the darkness one by one.
[Chikara Dojo, New York City]
The whole team regroups at Colleen's dojo. But even as we catch our breath and assess our next move, there is a palpable tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that still looms just beyond the dojo's walls. I stride to the window, my footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor as I peer out into the night. With a furrowed brow, I scan the horizon for any sign of movement. So far, there's no sign of the HAND. The absence of their presence is both a relief and a cause for concern, for it means that we may have eluded their grasp for the time being, but it also suggests that they may be regrouping for another assault. "We're clear," Daredevil states confidently, breathing a sigh of relief that washes over the group like a cool breeze on a hot day. "Don't get used to it, kid. The HAND are relentless hunters," Stick interjects, his tone gruff and pragmatic, "No place we bunker down in will be safe for long." "We can't keep running forever," Colleen says, her voice tinged with a hint of urgency as she adds her perspective to the conversation, "We need to find a secure place and plan our next course of action." Her words hang in the air like a solemn vow, a call to arms for the team to stand united in the face of adversity. "I'm not running, period! We don't need another hideout. We just need this shit show to be over," Jones snaps in frustration, her voice laced with raw emotion as she vents her frustration at the seemingly endless cycle of danger. Her words resonate with the weariness of someone who has faced too many battles and seen too much loss. But Colleen refuses to back down, her resolve unwavering in the face of Jones's frustration. "It isn't that easy, you can't just walk away from this because it's too hard," she counters, her voice firm but compassionate, "Once you got yourself involved in the HAND's business, you made yourself a target. A loose ender that needs to be cut out." Her words carry the weight of bitter experience.
Karai and I exchange a knowing glance, our eyes locking in silent communication as a shared understanding passes between us. In that brief moment of connection, it becomes abundantly clear that we are both thinking the same thing, our minds synchronized in their assessment of the situation and the path forward. "If you guys need a place to bunker down, we have one in mind," I say to them, my voice steady and resolute as I offer a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that surrounds us, "And it's a lot more secure than a dojo." The words hang in the air like a promise. The team looks at us with curiosity. Together, we set out on our journey, our destination clear in our minds as we navigate the treacherous streets of the city.