S.H.I.E.L.D.
The largest violent "machine" on the real side of Earth.
Perhaps in some major events, it seems weak, insignificant, or almost ineffective.
But to 99.9999% of people or organizations?
S.H.I.E.L.D. is like a terrifying beast—armed to the teeth, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression, ready to open its bloody jaws at any moment.
And when it decides to focus its full strength on something, its efficiency is terrifying.
Queens, New York.
In a luxury apartment.
A burly man, built like a small giant, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The living room was dark. There was no sound from the servants.
He frowned slightly, his expression darkening as a sense of danger immediately filled his heart.
Then, from near the window, a chair slowly rotated, and a woman's voice rang out:
"Wilson Grant Fisk."
Kingpin narrowed his eyes slightly. In the city's faint glow, he saw a woman with burgundy hair.
He recognized her immediately.
"Black Widow."
Kingpin's pupils contracted. His voice turned cautious as he said:
"I'm a good citizen. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to arrest me, it's illegal. I'll hire the best lawyers to defend myself."
Even as he spoke, his hand subtly moved toward his waist.
His body was strong, but a gun was still a useful thing.
Black Widow chuckled softly.
"Relax. You should leave your 'lady's gun' to someone else."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't here to arrest you."
Kingpin silently let out a breath. If S.H.I.E.L.D. really wanted to arrest him, they wouldn't need to lie about it.
Besides, he'd been cooperating with certain congressmen, staying relatively clean.
If they were coming for him, they would've done it long ago.
He asked, puzzled:
"So, what's important enough to bring the famous Black Widow to my doorstep?"
"But you know… I don't do anything illegal. I'm even planning to run for mayor next term."
Black Widow spoke calmly:
"It's nothing much."
"We're just here to completely eliminate the Hand."
Kingpin instinctively nodded—but froze in the next second.
His voice jumped nearly an octave:
"What the hell did you just say!?"
"Eliminate the Hand!?"
Black Widow remained calm.
"Why? Is it not possible?"
"I recall you've had conflicts with them yourself."
Kingpin abruptly stood up, stunned.
"Sure, I've had conflicts… but that's minor stuff. No, wait—that's not the point!"
"What the hell did they do to make S.H.I.E.L.D. want to wipe them out completely?"
This wasn't some street gang. The Hand was a powerful organization with supernatural abilities and an army of deadly ninjas.
After a long silence, Black Widow's voice turned cold.
"They provoked the wrong person."
"Here's some advice: remember, I'm not here to negotiate."
"When it's time to cooperate, don't try to be clever."
"The Hand is dead. Even if the President himself stands in front of them, they'll still die."
With that, she turned, leapt out the window, and disappeared into the night wind.
Only then did the lights of the apartment flicker back on.
Kingpin didn't feel relief. Instead, cold sweat trickled down his back.
He'd thought maybe the Hand had done something unforgivable—trafficking nuclear materials or something equally disastrous.
But no.
They'd simply offended the wrong person.
That sounded simple… but when it was S.H.I.E.L.D. saying it, it was far from simple.
He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of person could make S.H.I.E.L.D. unleash its full power like this.
And Black Widow's last words were clear as crystal.
If his organization didn't cooperate, they'd meet the same fate as the Hand.
At the same time...
Similar conversations played out elsewhere.
At Xavier's School.
In hidden societies.
At circuses… and more.
3 AM.
When most of the city slept, in a quiet part of Brooklyn, a massacre silently began.
There was no fairness. No mercy.
No chance to defend.
The Hand's members barely resisted before being assassinated, sniped, blown up, or hunted down by superhumans.
At the same time, those members outside New York weren't spared either.
S.H.I.E.L.D. could reach any corner of the Earth within two hours.
And only twenty minutes had passed.
At the entrance of Shuhe Hall, Madam Gao—once a feared and powerful figure—lay collapsed in a pool of her own blood.
A massive hole had been blown through her abdomen, her organs scattered across the ground.
Her left eye was blinded, her entire right arm severed, and below both knees, only bone stumps remained.
She was barely alive, gasping for her final breaths.
At that moment, heavy footsteps echoed.
A black man in a long windbreaker strode in, his coat fluttering slightly as he moved.
He glanced down at Madam Gao, then nodded calmly.
"Confirmed."
"Tell the others—they can call it a day."
Madam Gao, her voice faint, forced herself to look at the man, her eyes filled with unwillingness as she rasped:
"Nick Fury... Why...?"
"When did the Hand ever offend you? I've always worked with those big shots…"
Nick Fury glanced down at her, his voice cold:
"You'd be better off if you'd offended me directly. At least then, the Hand might've survived."
"But unfortunately… you pissed off someone far worse."
"Not just you. Even those big shots behind you are going to have to apologize this time."
"Believe me—consider yourself lucky to die this easily."
Madam Gao's gaze flickered with confusion.
She wasn't stupid—far from it.
She knew how to pick her battles, when to fight, when to yield.
Otherwise, the Hand would never have lasted so long in New York, much less thrived.
But now… she couldn't understand.
Who had she offended?
Nick Fury sneered.
"Go to hell and figure it out."
Then he turned and walked away.
Madam Gao's vision darkened.
Her life was slipping away.
She desperately tried to recall everything—the events of the past day, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s overwhelming assault.
If the Hand had made some mistake earlier, surely her 'big shots' would have tipped her off—or sacrificed her to save themselves.
But no.
That left only one possibility: this had happened suddenly.
Her mind struggled to focus… until, at last, a single memory surfaced.
Three hours ago.
Her ninjas had tried to kill a random passerby.
But they'd been incinerated instantly, their ashes scattering on the wind.
She remembered now.
"…tes…"
"…tens…"
Madam Gao could no longer see, yet her lips moved endlessly, repeating the same fragmented word.
Her voice was full of confusion.
Full of regret.
Full of unwillingness.
That night, before dawn came, across the entire planet—
The Hand had been erased from existence.
In his apartment, Kingpin collapsed onto his sofa, his massive frame heaving.
It was too much.
Far too much.
He'd thought his own forces were powerful.
He'd even seen Mutants and a few Avengers in action.
But tonight…
He saw agents clad in golden energy armor, their bodies crackling with power as they slaughtered the Hand's ninjas like livestock.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had crushed the Hand in less than thirty minutes.
What terrified him most wasn't just the destruction itself.
It was that the Hand hadn't even known who they had offended.
Kingpin shuddered.
Who… who was this mysterious person that could make S.H.I.E.L.D. move like this?
He silently made a decision.
From now on—not just him, but his entire organization—had to keep their heads down.
Otherwise, he'd die one day without even knowing why.
The next night.
Daredevil regrouped.
He thought the Hand must be plotting something big.
He'd discovered one of their drug storage sites and planned to strike.
But when he arrived…
The warehouse was empty.
No people.
No drugs.
Gone.
He checked several other locations. All were deserted.
Confused and alarmed, he made his way to the Hand's headquarters itself.
But all he found was silence.
No guards.
No signs of life.
Only the lingering stench of blood in the air.
A chill ran down his spine.
The Hand—the organization he'd believed he could never defeat in his lifetime—had vanished.
Gone in a single night.
So easily.
So quietly.
Just like those six ninjas from the night before.
Because a giant had passed by.
And they'd been crushed like insects.
Standing there in the cold night wind, Daredevil shuddered.
Then he turned and fled.
Maybe… being a lawyer wasn't so bad after all.
Meanwhile.
Russell let out a satisfied burp as he strolled leisurely out of the steakhouse.
The meal had been so good he'd returned again tonight.
And unlike yesterday, there weren't any annoying pests on the street.
The night was long.
He was in a good mood.
Maybe he'd go mess with a certain horse-faced man next, just for fun.
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