John Wick's expression remained carefully neutral as he continued his report. "Daredevil's combat skills and reflexes are exceptional. He managed to disrupt several elimination attempts before the other assassins drove him off."
"If he hadn't retreated when he did, they would have beaten him into the pavement."
The registered assassins weren't brawlers, they were shooters, snipers, professionals who engaged targets from distance with precision. Daredevil had only survived because he wasn't officially listed as a Hand member, which meant the long-range specialists held their fire. And because he'd been smart enough to recognize when he was overwhelmingly outnumbered.
Last night's hunting grounds had been crowded with contractors, especially after word spread that the wax bath treatments were legitimate. The promise of accelerated healing had turned cautious professionals into aggressive competitors.
Smith considered the situation, weighing options. "Issue a warning. Make it clear through appropriate channels."
"I don't object to him playing vigilante hero. Hell's Kitchen needs all the help it can get. But if he interferes with Hand eliminations again, he goes on the bounty list. Same compensation tier as the Five Fingers."
His voice hardened. "Hiding evil is equivalent to being evil. He makes his choice."
John nodded crisply. "Understood. I'll distribute your position through the assassin network and dark web forums immediately."
He consulted his tablet, scrolling to the next item. "One additional matter, Chief. Stark Industries delivered a substantial equipment shipment, one million dollars in research materials and laboratory equipment, plus complete tactical gear for one hundred operatives."
John read from the manifest: "Protective equipment includes multi-function tactical helmets, body armor, tactical vests, and reinforced gloves. Weapons package covers automatic rifles, sniper rifles, light machine guns, grenade launchers, sidearms, and explosive ordnance disposal robots with detection equipment. "
"Communication suite provides tactical watches and encrypted radio systems. Reconnaissance gear includes night vision, laser rangefinders, and thermal imaging. Survival and medical supplies include gas masks, chemical protective suits, and comprehensive first aid kits. Special operations equipment covers arrest nets, tactical batons, stun devices, and breaching tools."
Smith's eyebrows rose steadily throughout the list. Pepper Potts had been extraordinarily thorough. While the shipment contained no heavy weapons, the light weapons package was comprehensive enough to outfit an elite special operations team.
"Route the scientific equipment and materials to Bulma's laboratory," Smith instructed. "Store the tactical gear in the armory. Have the Gunsmith inventory everything and integrate it into our equipment rotation."
Tony Stark arrived at Edwards Air Force Base in his favorite Audi R8, the convertible drawing admiring glances from enlisted personnel as he navigated to the command building. He found Colonel James Rhodes reviewing deployment schedules with several junior officers.
"Rhodey!" Tony called out, his voice carrying that particular brand of cheerful arrogance that had annoyed Rhodes for decades.
Rhodes glanced up, his expression shifting through surprise, resignation, and reluctant affection in rapid succession. He dismissed his subordinates with a gesture, waiting until they were alone before approaching Tony.
"I'm surprised," Rhodes said, genuine warmth coloring his tone despite his words.
Tony spread his hands innocently. "Surprised about what?"
"That you're already out socializing. Most people who get kidnapped by terrorists take more recovery time."
Tony shrugged. "I can't just sit around the mansion feeling sorry for myself."
Rhodes crossed his arms, his posture shifting to something more guarded. "Right."
Tony's expression turned serious, genuinely serious, without his usual deflective humor. "Rhodey, I'm working on something important. A major project. I came here to discuss it with you because I want you involved."
Rhodes pursed his lips, glancing around the office to ensure privacy. "Then you need to smooth things over with a lot of important people. What you said at that press conference created substantial complications."
"This isn't for the military," Tony interrupted. "I'm not developing weapons, "
"Why, you become a humanitarian overnight?" Rhodes' tone carried skepticism born from decades of friendship.
"I need you to listen, "
"No, Tony, you need to calm down." Rhodes' voice rose slightly. "If you stop weapons development, you lose your primary value to the military industrial complex. You understand what that means for Stark Industries? For your position? For everything your father built?"
Tony laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound that held no real humor.
Rhodes' expression hardened. "I'm serious."
Tony's smile faded completely. "Okay."
Rhodes clasped Tony's shoulder briefly, his grip conveying affection despite his frustration. "It's good to see you, Tony. Really. But think about what you're doing."
He turned and walked away, leaving Tony standing alone in the office. Rhodes had no way of knowing what opportunity he'd just walked away from, what future he'd declined without understanding the offer.
Tony returned to his Malibu workshop, rejection still stinging despite his attempts to rationalize Rhodes' position. He understood his friend's concerns. From Rhodes' perspective, Tony was having a crisis-driven breakdown, making impulsive decisions that would harm everyone around him.
But Rhodes hadn't been in that cave. Hadn't watched his weapons kill American soldiers. Hadn't built survival technology with a car battery and spare parts while terrorists demanded he construct instruments of mass murder.
"JARVIS, you there?"
"At your service, sir."
Tony gestured at the holographic interface, pulling up clean workspace. "I'm creating a new project folder. Designation: Mark II."
"Shall these files be stored on the Stark Industries central database?"
Tony loaded the Mark I schematics into the virtual space, the crude armor rotating slowly in three dimensions. "Honestly, I don't know who to trust anymore. Save everything to my private server. Don't upload to company systems unless I explicitly authorize it."
"So this is a classified project, sir?"
Tony studied the Mark I design, already seeing the improvements, lighter alloys, more efficient power distribution, actual flight capability instead of controlled falling. "I don't want this technology falling into the wrong hands."
His mind flashed to the Ten Rings militants, all armed with Stark Industries weapons that had somehow ended up in terrorist hands despite supposed safeguards. Then to Smith Doyle, superhuman capabilities, clear moral code, someone who'd already proven trustworthy twice over.
Once he completed the Mark II, he'd invite Smith to observe the test flight. Demonstrate what the technology could accomplish. Then they could discuss potential adjustments to their arrangement, maybe even collaboration on future projects.
Raza had fled the cave complex after Smith's devastating assault, escaping with his life but little else. Xu Wenwu, his organization's enigmatic leader, had been consumed by grief over his wife's death, obsessed with finding resurrection methods and uninterested in revenge operations.
But Raza had secured enough support to return with a recovery team.
The cave where Tony Stark had been imprisoned was partially collapsed, rubble blocking several passages. But the central chamber remained structurally sound, and more importantly, the surveillance equipment had survived intact. The only issue was power.
His technicians spent hours restoring electrical systems, splicing cables and bypassing damaged sections. Finally, monitors flickered to life, displaying static-filled footage from the days before the rescue.
Raza scrolled through the recordings systematically, and his patience was rewarded.
The footage showed Tony Stark assembling something, not a missile, but armor. Piece by piece, component by component, the billionaire had constructed a mechanical suit. Later footage captured the armor in action, crude but functional, flames erupting from palm-mounted weapons.
And then another figure appeared in the recording, the blue creature that had transformed into a massive hammer, demolishing walls and soldiers with equal ease.
Raza's expression shifted from curiosity to predatory excitement.
He ordered his men to search the cave thoroughly, and within an hour they'd located partially burned schematics, technical drawings showing the armor's internal structure and assembly sequence.
Back in the monitoring room, Raza compared the drawings to the surveillance footage, cross-referencing component placement and connection points. After careful analysis, he managed to reconstruct the complete Mark I specifications on clean paper.
He couldn't manufacture this himself, lacked both the technical expertise and industrial resources. But he knew someone who could.
Obadiah Stane had the capability, the motivation, and the ruthlessness to weaponize this technology. And Raza had the blueprints Stane would pay handsomely to obtain.
A week passed since Coulson's visit to the Fraternity headquarters.
The Hand organization ceased to exist as a functional entity. The few surviving members had abandoned their affiliation entirely, disappearing into civilian life under new identities. Without leadership, without dragon bone reserves, without the mystique of immortality, they were just scattered individuals with martial arts training.
The wax bath's reputation spread exponentially throughout that week. Assassins who'd experienced treatment provided testimonials that bordered on religious fervor, broken bones healed overnight, gunshot wounds sealed completely within twenty-four hours, chronic injuries from years of combat reversed entirely.
SHIELD maintained their hundred-slot reservation as emergency medical reserve, with standing orders to replenish whenever their supply dropped below that threshold.
The intelligence SHIELD provided had been distributed through the Assassin's Brotherhood's network, creating missions for registered contractors worldwide. Smith had been clear about boundaries: Fraternity members wouldn't execute SHIELD's assignments directly. But the broader assassin community had no such restrictions, and they were hungry for work that came with gold coin compensation.
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