Two Weeks Later
Elektra Natchios opened her eyes for the first time in two months.
I was sitting across from her in the SHIELD medical facility, my mind carefully touching hers, reversing the damage I'd done. It was delicate work—like repairing a shattered mirror while wearing boxing gloves. One wrong move and I could destroy what was left of her consciousness.
But slowly, piece by piece, I put her back together.
When she finally focused on me, there was murder in her eyes.
"You," she hissed, her hand moving toward a weapon that wasn't there. SHIELD had her in restraints.
"Me," I agreed calmly. "I'm the one who broke you. And I'm the one putting you back together."
"Why?" The word was venomous.
"Because I need you. And because you need me."
She laughed—a harsh, broken sound. "I need you? I need the man who showed me every person I've killed, made me relive their deaths, drove me to the edge of madness?"
"No. You need the man who can teach you to never be vulnerable like that again. Who can help you find purpose beyond being the Hand's weapon." I leaned forward. "Elektra, I saw inside your mind. I know what drives you. The guilt, the desire for redemption, the need to prove you're more than a killer. I can help you achieve that."
"By mind-controlling me?"
"No. By training with me." I gestured to her restraints. "SHIELD wants to keep you locked up indefinitely. They see you as a terrorist, an assassin, a threat. But I see potential. Join my team. Train me in everything you know. And in exchange, I'll help you become something more than what the Hand made you."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you rot in a SHIELD cell for the rest of your life. Or escape and return to the Hand, where you'll always be their tool." I met her eyes. "Or you can choose something different. Something better."
She was quiet for a long time, her mind churning with conflicting emotions. I didn't push, didn't manipulate. This had to be her choice.
Finally: "What exactly are you offering?"
"A place in my team. Purpose. Training—both giving and receiving. And protection from the Hand, from SHIELD, from anyone who wants to use you."
"You want me to teach you to fight."
"Yes. I have a skill transfer ability—I can absorb knowledge and skills from others. But I need time to integrate them, practice them. You're one of the best fighters alive. With your training, I could become formidable enough to handle threats like Kingpin's enhanced soldiers."
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't. But consider this—I had you completely at my mercy. I could have left you broken, or rewritten you into a loyal slave. Instead, I'm restoring you and offering partnership. That should tell you something about my intentions."
She studied me for another long moment. Then: "I want guarantees. Real ones, not mind control."
"Name them."
"First: you never use your powers on me again without permission. Ever."
"Agreed."
"Second: if I train you, you use those skills to help people. Not just for your own gain."
"I can live with that."
"Third: you help me take down the Hand. Permanently."
I smiled. "That one I can definitely do."
Elektra's training was brutal.
Unlike Maya's patient, systematic approach, Elektra believed in learning through pain. Every mistake I made earned me a bruise. Every hesitation earned me a strike. She pushed me harder than I'd ever been pushed, demanding perfection from someone who'd only been seriously training for a few months.
"You're telegraphing your punches," she said, easily dodging my strike and countering with an elbow to my ribs. "Your weight distribution is wrong. Your breathing is off. Again."
We'd been at it for four hours. I was exhausted, bruised, and bleeding from a split lip. But I was also learning faster than humanly possible thanks to my skill transfer.
Each session, I absorbed more from her. Not just techniques, but the instincts that came with decades of combat experience. The way she read opponents, anticipated their moves, exploited weaknesses.
But absorption was only the first step. Integration took weeks. And my body still needed to build the muscle memory, the reflexes, the conditioning.
"How long until I can fight at your level?" I asked during a water break.
"Years," she said bluntly. "Even with your abilities. I started training when I was five. You're twenty-five and soft from a life of luxury."
"Encouraging."
"I'm being honest. You'll never be me, Marcus. But with enough work, you might become someone who can hold their own against enhanced threats." She studied me. "The real question is whether you have the discipline to see it through. Power is easy. Skill takes dedication."
"I'll do whatever it takes."
"We'll see."
Meanwhile, I was expanding my skills in other areas.
Through careful use of my powers and Felicia's connections, I'd been collecting knowledge from various sources:
**From a corporate hacker** (who didn't remember our meeting): Advanced computer skills, network security, data analysis. This took three sessions and left me with a working knowledge of systems I could now navigate.
**From a SHIELD linguist** (through Jessica's arrangement): Fluency in Russian, Mandarin, and Arabic. The languages rattled around in my head for weeks before settling in properly.
**From a former Marine** (convinced he was teaching a private security client): Military tactics, weapons maintenance, squad leadership. This one was particularly useful—it changed how I thought about combat, making me see battles as systems rather than just fights.
Each skill transfer was exhausting. Each one required weeks of practice and integration. And I could only do about one major transfer per week without risking neurological damage.
But slowly, I was becoming more than just a telepath. I was becoming a trained operative.
Six weeks after the Hand attack, we got our first solid lead on Kingpin.
"He's moving a major shipment tomorrow night," Felicia said, spreading intel across the conference table. "Weapons, drugs, maybe something more. The kind of shipment he only handles personally."
"Source?" I asked.
"Maya's been doing surveillance. She tracked three of his lieutenants to a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen. They're organizing something big."
Maya signed: "Dozens of guards. Enhanced security. Kingpin will be there."
"This is our shot," Jessica said. "We can prove he's behind the attacks, get SHIELD to move against him."
"Or we could handle it ourselves," Elektra suggested. She'd been with us for a month now, and while she hadn't fully integrated into the team's more intimate aspects, she was proving her worth operationally. "Take him down, send a message that his attacks have consequences."
"No," I said firmly. "We're not murderers. We do this smart—gather evidence, let SHIELD make the arrest, but ensure Kingpin knows we're the reason he's going down."
"Too risky," Elektra countered. "Kingpin has connections everywhere. He'll slip away."
"Not if we do this right." I looked at my team. "Here's the plan…"