Dum Dum Dugan!
Captain America's comrade, a founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a member of the Howling Commandos. A fiery veteran whose aging was slowed by the SSS serum, still at the peak of his combat prowess. This man was Rumlow's highest-ranking officer during training.
Even if Nick Fury still stood on the side of justice, his hands were no cleaner than Rumlow's. But Dugan was different. Having long left S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command structure, he was a warrior, not a spy, with no innocent blood staining his hands.
This old soldier was the strongest ally Rumlow could hope to find.
With his decision made, Rumlow slumped heavily onto the sofa, sinking into its softness as he closed his eyes.
A spy's life, summed up, was a grand tragedy. To outsiders, it might seem more like a comedy. But wasn't the core of comedy just tragedy? A crowd bullying some poor fool, laughing at their misfortune.
Now, Rumlow was the one on this stage. And he couldn't laugh.
He clenched his fists, but the hollow exhaustion of his recent recovery overwhelmed him.
…
"Damn it, I'm never making plans with you again!"
Luke Cage collapsed, panting, into a cramped room, facing a battered Daredevil.
An impulsive fight had left them both with injuries, some worse than others.
"Meet Daredevil, Matt Murdock."
The blind lawyer removed his mask, extending his right hand to Luke.
Luke saw Daredevil's face for the first time, yet it felt oddly familiar.
"Then call me Power Man. You know I'm Luke Cage, Murdock."
Luke gripped Matt's hand firmly.
He'd recognized Matt the moment the mask came off. This blind lawyer was an anomaly in Hell's Kitchen, tirelessly aiding the poor who couldn't afford legal help, sometimes even paying out of his own pocket. A rare soul in this gritty place.
Luke shook off his thoughts, his expression turning serious. "Where do you go to patch up? I think I cracked a rib."
Releasing Matt's hand, Luke eyed the cuts covering his ally. "Don't tell me you've got no medical backup. No way Daredevil operates in this hellhole without it."
"I usually handle it myself. Sometimes I hit a late-night clinic."
Matt's head dipped, a bitter smile crossing his face.
His powers weren't much. He'd known from the start that his vigilante life would leave him scarred, unable to bare his torso at the beach. Those marks weren't something a lawyer should carry.
"That's rough. I don't even have someone to patch me up."
Luke lay flat on the floor, hoping it'd ease his rib. The arm he'd used to block Madame Gao's cane was swollen, clearly worse off than he'd thought. That old woman, far too strong for him, had left a lasting impression.
"Now that you've pissed off the Hand, what's your plan?"
Matt spoke wearily to Luke.
Luke had made a scene with the Hand today. He'd be wise to lie low for a while.
"I was hooded. They only saw half my face. Comics work like that, right?"
Matt sighed. Superhero comics, like Captain America's, didn't hide identities. Others? Just a convenient trope to spotlight the hero.
"Besides, only that creepy old lady saw me clearly. She's Asian. Like I can't tell them apart, they can't tell us apart. And I'm not as handsome as you."
Luke knew it was wishful thinking but said it anyway, shrugging.
"Still, cool it for a bit. You showed your face when you fought those ninjas."
Matt, exasperated, pulled a medical kit from the room's closet, tending to his wounds. Unlike Luke, who hadn't bled a drop, Matt's cuts needed immediate attention, or he wouldn't be able to show his face tomorrow.
"Oh, I've got a… reliable elder we could turn to for help."
Luke hesitated but finished his thought, touching the axe at his waist.
…
"So, you came to me?"
Bul-Kathos shut the basement door, eyeing the two battered men.
He unhooked his flask and took a long swig, unconcerned. To a barbarian, Matt's scars and dripping blood were trivial—except for the cleanup.
"Your problem doesn't sound as simple as you claimed."
Bul-Kathos studied Luke thoughtfully. In his view, no ordinary person could withstand Luke wielding his forged weapons, yet here he was, injured, suggesting their foe was no mere gang.
"Follow me. Keep it quiet."
Expressionless, Bul-Kathos headed deeper into the basement. Upstairs, Gil was sleeping soundly, likely for hours after drinking that strange milk.
"Is this elder of yours… legit?"
Matt's ears caught the thunderous pulse and tidal rush of blood in Bul-Kathos's body—a sound unlike any he'd heard from an ordinary person.
He whispered to Luke, though his blind eyes revealed nothing.
What could you see in a blind man's eyes? Sleep crust?
Luke didn't catch Matt's unease but trusted Bul-Kathos completely. A craftsman with a basement full of divine weapons, tossed about like scrap metal, was no ordinary man.
"More reliable than you can imagine."
Luke nodded solemnly, recalling the arsenal below, unsure if Matt could sense his conviction.
They followed Bul-Kathos, softening their steps, into the basement.
Luke closed the door behind them, turning to face Bul-Kathos, waiting for what came next.
(End of Chapter)
---------------------------------------------------------
🚀 Want more?
📖 Unlock 10+ early chapters on my Patreon!
💖 Support me here: patreon.com/DaoistRoeoNQ
🔓 Get ahead of the story today!