Professor Philip's encryption was deceptively simple on the surface—Japanese katakana, English letters, and Arabic numerals, woven together like a tangled knot. It was just complex enough to keep the Hand's lower ranks confused while still being something he could decode himself if necessary.
This trick was also what allowed Elektra to track him down so quickly. For someone like Daniel—unfamiliar with Japanese script—cracking this kind of hybrid cipher wasn't straightforward. But for Elektra, who grew up steeped in Japanese culture and training, it was a puzzle she could untangle with time.
The final page of the ledger was what mattered most. Unlike the outdated shipments listed earlier, this one was fresh—actionable. The record revealed the next shipment would be at 11:— p.m. tonight, at the Bay Ridge Railway Center. If they found the freight car numbers, they'd find the cargo.
What was on that train? Only the Hand knew, and Philip—though their code man—was never allowed to see the true prize.
New York's rail network was a web of high-speed lines, commuter routes, and hidden freight corridors. Bay Ridge was one of the forgotten places, a skeletal station with rusting steel and cracked concrete. Though freight trains lined the siding, the place looked abandoned, shadows clinging to every corner.
Standing on a platform littered with old paper and iron dust, Elektra glanced at Daniel's impassive face. The silence between them stretched until she said, with a smirk meant to cut the tension, "Take a guess. What do you think the Hand is smuggling? I'll put a hundred on exotic animals or counterfeit luxury bags."
Daniel's gaze swept across the train yard like a scanner, each motion deliberate. "Too small-time. Those things wouldn't interest them. If I had to guess… a full train of narcotics. More plausible."
Elektra blinked. "A whole train of drugs? That's insane. Even Kingpin isn't that bold, and he owns half the city's officials."
Daniel didn't bother replying. He knew what she was thinking—New York's law enforcement web was a hydra: the NYPD, the FBI, the National Guard, federal agencies, even the Navy's investigators. Too many eyes, too many hands. A train full of drugs would be like painting a target on their backs.
But the truth would reveal itself soon enough.
Elektra approached one of the freight cars, scanning for any traps. She tugged at the latch. The door groaned open with a metallic shriek, and what spilled out wasn't contraband.
Soil.
Clumps of dry, dark earth tumbled to the ground, scattering across her boots.
"What the—?" Elektra hissed, half-angry, half-bewildered. "Did they know we were coming? Is this a decoy?"
She'd expected drugs, weapons, or high-value black-market goods. But dirt? Dirt was worthless. Unless…
Daniel's expression shifted slightly. He crouched, running a gloved hand through the soil. His mind ticked with memories, fragments of knowledge too dangerous to voice yet.
"What is it?" Elektra asked, sensing his pause.
"They're not bringing things in," Daniel murmured. "They're taking things out."
Her brows knitted. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't random soil. It's excavation spoil." His gaze sharpened. "They're digging under New York. Something deep. Something they don't want anyone to know about."
Before Elektra could respond, Daniel's eyes flicked to the station's periphery. He felt them before he saw them.
"They're here," he said flatly.
Through the broken glass windows and yawning entryways, Hand ninjas poured in like shadows, flanked by squads of gunmen wielding submachine guns.
"They came prepared," Elektra muttered, crouching low behind the train car. "Two ninja squads, three gun teams…"
"Protecting the dirt," Daniel said. "Which means it's important. More important than either of us realized."
Elektra grinned. "So, what's the plan? We slip out quietly… or make them regret showing up?"
"Kill them."
"Fine. You don't have to tell me twice." She crept up onto the roof of the nearest train, body low, movements silent. Years of ninja training whispered through her veins. She slipped from shadow to shadow like a wraith, her blade flashing once—twice—
Throats cut, bodies falling soundlessly.
A dozen ninjas didn't even see death coming.
But luck never holds forever. A stronger ninja intercepted her, blocking her strike with a sharp clang that echoed in the station.
The sound shattered the stealth.
Within seconds, all guns and eyes locked on Elektra.
"Damn it!" She dove for cover behind a steel column as gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through metal, sparks showering her face. The Hand didn't care about stealth now—bullets sprayed with reckless abandon.
Then, something strange happened.
The barrage… shifted. Bullets weren't all aimed at her. Instead, the gunmen started shooting each other.
Confused, Elektra peeked out—and froze.
The ground was littered with bodies, their own weapons turned against them. Ninjas and gunmen alike collapsed, riddled with their own bullets.
Daniel.
The realization hit her like ice water. The "humanoid master," the puppeteer. He wasn't fighting them—he was controlling them.
A shiver raced down her spine.
"How is it? You alright?" Daniel's voice came from behind her.
Elektra forced a smile, though her body was tense. "Yeah. All taken care of?"
"Not all. A few slipped away. Want to hunt them down yourself?" His tone was casual, but his eyes studied her with unnerving calm.
She glanced around, scanning the deep shadows where the survivors hid, but even with her skills, she couldn't spot them. "No. Forget it. Let's just get out of here before the cops show up."
Daniel nodded, shrugging.
Then, with a subtle motion of his hand, he did something. Elektra couldn't see it, but she felt it—like a giant invisible hand had reached into her chest, gripping her heart.
Her breath caught.
Damn him.
Now she knew exactly how those Hand ninjas had died.