113
New York, USA
Chinatown, Manhattan
District of the Hand
4:49 p.m.
New York City was ripe with warlords of every kind. From the fearsome Dogs of Hell gang, to the vicious Irish mafia, and even to the minimal but powerful Watchdogs, several districts in the once sprawling city were reduced to police-sanctioned ghettos. The law hardly held any power when armed militia took to the streets, hid in the sewers, and fired upon resource caravans just to acquire a morsel. The warlords controlled small pockets of Manhattan. Small… but powerful.
But none as powerful as the Hand.
Since their “collapse” after losing many of the original founders years prior, it took several years to regather what they once held and rebuild their once flourishing underground empire. With the right leadership, the Hand found that strategic regathering and reformed their assassin organization. They swept through the streets, killing any opposition to their goal and targeting rival warlords when the resource caravans came strolling in to the city. Most notably, the drug trafficking business grew especially profitable for the Hand. As it did once before.
Within Chinatown, unofficially renamed to the “District of the Hand”, a hidden compound disguised as a storage warehouse maintained the lead operations of the Hand and its vicious warriors. Ninjas, assassins, armed guards and militia strolled about and watched as the lower slaving force amongst them toiled away and created entire supply lines of heroin. Not exactly Steel Serpent, but strong and profitable nonetheless. So many poor and easily-manipulated people out there in New York needing some form of comfort for the loss of their loved ones following the Decimation. So much profit.
In the heart of the Hand’s main operations, a long, dark table sat in the center of the board room. It could hardly be called such, merely one of the various basement-level areas beneath the hidden compound in Chinatown. Cold, concrete walls surrounded the board room, various lamps high overhead and flickering every few seconds. The room was dark in its corners, but well-lit where it mattered: amongst the new leaders of the Hand, their armed guard… and their savior. Their unifier.
The Black Sky stood at the head of the table, watching behind a balaclava-cladded face and eyes flickering back and forth as the various members and leaders of the Hand discussed their current operations and recent raids. Even with what was to come.
“Resource caravans travel through the district at approximately 12:15 p.m. and are led and followed immediately by police escorts,” a higher-ranking member of the Hand explained, drawing his finger across a large map of Manhattan displayed upon the table. “We were successful in attaining today’s deployment and acquired a helping of stored food packets and waters. They should last us a couple of weeks… if we plan to cut back on the slaves’ shares?”
“They will earn nothing,” a Hand leader responded in thick Japanese. The table turned to him, saw as he crossed his arms and glared hatefully to the map. “Their efforts as of recent have been most… disappointing.”
Another leader nodded, the man covered in heavy tattoos from his face all the way down to his legs. “Agreed. The drug trade is entering an all-time low, and that doesn’t even account for the raids we’ve had on our supply chains throughout the city.”
“Dogs of Hell?” a Hand member asked, turning to him.
“Irish mafia this time,” the Hand leader responded. He crossed his burly arms much like the Japanese man, his shiny, bald head glimmering under the lamplight as he leaned forward on the table. He pointed to the District of the Irish Mob, tapping twice with his fat finger. “We’ll hit ‘em back. All on your word, Black Sky.”
The entire table shifted over to the head of it, every single eye latched with the dark red and black figure practically standing in the shadows, only emphasizing the dark and brooding shape stirring within it. Like a lurking predator, eyes on the ultimate prize but simply waiting, stalking, analyzing the situation and the best play intended. The best kill imaginable. With the likes of the Ultimate Weapon of the Hand returned to them, the reborn organization could rest easy knowing they had assured victory on the Black Sky’s word. They just needed to wait.
They held their breath. The Black Sky raised a head in order to speak. Everyone fell silent…
Then stood together in perpetual darkness as every light went out.
It wasn’t just in the board room. Lights went out in the entire compound, from the basement levels to the entire warehouse on ground-level. A collective set of shouts and or screams filled the darkness, various different languages ranging from Japanese, African, and even Greek crying out for the light to come back. Questioning what was happening. Looking for something or someone to grab onto. The armed guards proceeded to whip their assault rifles forward and activate the flashlights on their underbarrels, jamming the lights in every direction possible to catch a glimpse of the surrounding area. One after the other, the flashlights would die out. The assault rifles would be yanked from their arms and destroyed.
Followed shortly by the agonized squeals from the guards before they were silenced.
The board room fell silent, as well. Every leader of the Hand slowly turned in the direction of the exit doors, steadily unsheathing their blades, katanas, and pistols from their pockets or holsters. They listened, only the soft, shaking exhales of their own breaths being the sounds in the entire basements. Then they heard the bodies drop, prompting them to fully unveil their weapons and jam them in the direction of the exit doors. It was a waiting game from that moment on.
Waiting in the shadows. Seeing nothing in that black.
Just waiting… and breathing… until the lights came back.
First and foremost from the flaming skull standing amongst the broken and torn bodies of their guards.
Gunfire followed instantly, the screams from the Hand and its various members unloading entire magazines into the dancing flames encompassing the human skull. Flashes appeared every second, the streams of orange slicing through the being’s dark jacket and body from head to toe. The bullets impacted the wall behind the flaming skull, but other than that… it still stood. The Hand slowly dropped their empty weapons, lowered them just far enough so they could gaze fully—with as much fear riddled in their eyes—as the being slowly reached for its chest. They watched it grab something.
The Hellfire Chain ignited.
The Ghost Rider roared.
“Bring me the Black Sky!”
Whipping the burning chain back, the Rider struck the entire table and sliced it straight down the middle. The two ends of the table shot outwards and struck the two sides of the Hand’s leaders, perfectly knocking them all aside as to create an empty path for the Ghost Rider towards its desired target. The end of the Hellfire Chain would have easily sliced the Black Sky in half all the same, but the leader of the Hand was too quick. The Ultimate Weapon dodged backwards, flipped in the process, and landed gracefully on two feet, arms outstretched and wielding two weapons. A duplicate.
The Black Sky raised a pair of eyes, narrowed them both, and danced within the shadows. The darkness that encompassed the Black Sky’s body—from the cloak, the balaclava, and the ceremonial robes—all clung tightly to the Weapon, making the Black Sky more agile, fierce, and practically untouchable within the dark. The Spirit of Vengeance hardly cared, pushing forward despite the constant dodging, jumping, sliding, and striking from the Hand’s leader. The various other leaders proceeded to return to their feet, lifting their swords and blades and charging the Rider with its back turned.
Several fist-sized holes in their chests and heads stopped them from taking another step.
The Hand returned their attention to the exit doors once again, watching as the lights flickered back on to reveal the white skull painted on the black body armor. That attention eventually fell to the large Heckler & Koch MG4 LMG, the end of the barrel lighting up and blowing away any assassin caught within its sights. More and more bodies fell to the ground as their blood sprayed in the air, illuminated under the lamplight, and painted the walls.
What survived of the Hand’s leaders fell behind concrete pillars and returned fire, SMG’s fighting against the raw, animalistic power of the massive machine gun.
And the Punisher that wielded it.
While Frank dealt with the remainder of the Hand, all that left for the Rider was to finish off their hit, the leader of the most notorious warlords in all of New York. With the Hand finished off for good, that would leave none others left. The Irish Mob, the Watchdogs, and the Dogs of Hell had all been properly terminated, leaving Manhattan safe for the time being. All that was left… all that Frank Castle and Robbie Reyes had left to deal with… was the Ultimate Weapon of the Hand.
The Black Sky.
The Weapon drove a vicious front kick into the Rider’s sternum, merely staggering the Spirit of Vengeance for a second before the Ghost Rider proceeded onward, a roar joining it in relentless combat. It swung the Hellfire Chain forward, the Black Sky ducking and looking backwards as the chain easily sliced through the concrete pillar behind the Weapon. Fractures of rock and concrete flew into the Black Sky’s face, earning that short moment of hesitation from the Weapon to allow the Rider to finish it.
It drove its gloved-palm forward, wrapping the Black Sky’s throat in a tightened grip and slamming their hit into what remained of the pillar. While the Weapon struggled against the Rider’s far stronger grasp, the Black Sky opened a widened, adrenaline-fueled pair of eyes to meet that of the Ghost Rider’s. The flames flickered off the demon’s skull, spewing red-hot ash from its maw when it bellowed, “Did you think you could hide?!”
Its question went without an answer, a short, powerful grunt leaving the Black Sky as she drove her weapon into the bottom of its skull. A sai. One of a pair.
The Ghost Rider roared at that, flinging the Black Sky to the far left of the room. She bounced off the floor, impacting the hardened concrete wall with a solid crack and a painful cry. While the Rider proceeded to pull the sai from the bottom of its jaw slowly out, Frank Castle walked past the torn bodies of what remained of the Hand. That was all there was, just remains. Bullet holes pockmarked the bodies of the foolish that tried to fire back, some of their heads and faces completely missing and only a red splotch of blood and skull left as a horrific reminder of what was left in the Punisher’s wake.
He proceeded to the Black Sky’s prone position, LMG resting in his arms and hands as the last remaining member of the Hand tried to raise a pistol to Frank. The only other Hand left that wasn’t the Weapon. Frank merely raised his LMG and fired a single round into the Japanese man’s head, completely blowing it apart and spraying blood and brain matter across the floor and even onto the Black Sky’s black cloak. The crimson shimmered under the lamplight, the Black Sky flinching and shivering to see the second to last remaining finger of the Hand torn away from her. She gripped her sai in her left palm, hidden from the fearsome glare of the Punisher.
The second she charged him with a terrifying shriek was the same moment Frank drove the butt of his LMG into the side of her head. She collapsed almost instantly after that, a limp body lying amongst the death, blood, and remaining two lives within the board room. The Ghost Rider analyzed the sai she used earlier, orange, hellfire eyes narrowing on the weapon. The demon flinched its gaze towards the Weapon’s direction, gazing down to the Black Sky shakily rising to her knees.
Her balaclava was ripped away by the Black Sky herself, unveiling a long, dark blend of hair falling to her shoulders. With it removed, she took in several cautious breaths of air, some of her last as she felt the presence of both the Punisher and the Ghost Rider zeroing in behind her. Her time had come at last. After all the progress they had made, only for it to be taken away once again, perhaps her destiny truly lied in the dirt. Perhaps that was what fate and life had determined for her long ago, and she was far too stubborn to accept it. Slowly easing herself around, a small stream of blood fell from her right nostril as she glared her last into the Punisher’s eyes. Then flicked them over to the Rider’s, sending that last vicious, rebellious glance.
Frank Castle sneered her way, finger on the trigger as he aimed down the sights and locked her head in perfectly. If it hadn’t been for the Ghost Rider’s palm falling on his barrel and positioning it downwards, the Black Sky’s head would have resembled the rest of the Hand’s. Nothing but red.
“What the hell are you doing?” Castle growled, ripping his LMG away from the Rider’s palm, only to fail in that regard as the Spirit’s grip was practically unbreakable. From its eyes, Frank could only see the demon staring solely onto their target. Onto her. Into her eyes. Frank pointed right at her. “This is our hit, right? The leader of the Hand, the Black Sky?”
The Ghost Rider replied with a slow, controlled shake of its head. It was followed shortly be a statement that surprised the only two remaining heartbeats in the entire board room.
“It’s her. Elektra Natchios.”
Elektra took in a short gasp of air, her eyes widening and the blood continuously dripping from her nose, down her upper lip, and striking the solid concrete. It was the only sound in the entire underground facility. It was as if that name held meaning to her. Once before, perhaps, but strikingly powerful either way. Like it triggered a memory she thought she had lost, a life once forgotten and buried far below ground… like she was once before.
The name even caught Frank for a moment, causing him to furrow his brow and jam it in her direction. He didn’t point his weapon to her any longer, and instead jammed a solid finger right for her chest. She darted her gaze to Castle once more, holding her breath as he asked simply, “You?”
Almost wanting her to acknowledge and accept it on her own terms.
It was hardly an acceptance, but it wasn’t anywhere near a denial. She remained on her knees, chest heaving frantically and painfully as the two mercenaries only continued to glare at her, wait for her, listen steadily to her breaths and shaken heart. The name held meaning, certainly, and a part of Elektra knew what it was, what it held, and what life it had.
The life she had…
“What do you want with me?” she finally asked. Their response froze her heart.
It was Frank who smirked and shook his head. “Murdock could never shut up about you.”
Her eyes fluttered open fully, a gasp taken, her heart racing. Another name… one that somehow meant more to her than even her own. Then it clicked. Then she asked, “You know where Matthew is?”