The solid wood desk—five hundred kilograms of imported mahogany—flipped through the air and crashed onto the floor with bone-rattling force.
The impact sent spiderweb cracks spreading across the black marble beneath. Precious antiques that had been carefully arranged on the desk's surface scattered across the room like shrapnel. Computer files fluttered down like wounded birds. A Ming dynasty vase shattered against the wall.
Ting, ting, ting.
An ancient Asian coin bounced across the floor, its metallic ring echoing in the sudden silence. It rolled lazily to a stop at someone's feet.
Bullseye Lester's expression remained perfectly neutral, as if the destruction before him was merely background noise. He stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the storm to pass.
A few meters away, a massive figure rose from his chair. Even while seated, he'd towered over Bullseye. Now standing, he seemed to fill the entire room.
"I will not permit anything beyond my control to exist in this city."
The voice emerged low and measured. Wilson Fisk's face remained impassive, but his eyes burned with barely suppressed rage. Veins pulsed at his temples.
Then, like a switch flipping, the anger settled. Smoothed over. Disappeared beneath an ocean of forced calm.
Wilson Fisk—all two meters and one hundred sixty kilograms of him—lowered his gaze and adjusted his white suit. The fabric strained against his frame, seams threatening to burst under the pressure of muscle that had nothing to do with fat.
He studied Bullseye for a long moment before speaking again.
"Lester. What's your assessment of this situation?"
The blonde man standing before Wilson shook his head slowly, almost lazily. His fingers toyed with a metal ring, spinning it around and around one finger. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Boss, I'll be frank. This doesn't warrant your anger."
Lester's tone carried practiced ease, each word carefully chosen.
"I've said it before—the Triads were always going to be a problem. Especially after you established rules, imposed order, and cut into their revenue streams. Betrayal was inevitable. It was never a question of if, only when. And let's be honest, boss... those people aren't like us."
The words dripped with subtle venom. Lester spoke like a courtier whispering poison into a king's ear, his lazy drawl hiding barbs beneath each syllable.
"Oh? You said that before?" Wilson looked down at Lester, his expression flat. "Strange. I don't recall you mentioning it."
His gaze swept across Lester's skull, back and forth, as if he could peel back bone and examine what lay beneath through sheer force of will.
Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
Finally, Wilson's voice rumbled through the room once more.
"Lester. What would be your price? Or have you already betrayed me?"
"Boss, how could you even—"
Lester's composure cracked. He bowed quickly, deeply, his voice taking on a tone of wounded sincerity.
"You saved my life. You're the only person who understands my... particular needs. Who tolerates what I am. I would never—"
He lowered his head in a show of submission, face hidden from view.
But in that concealment, deep within his cold, remorseless eyes, a flicker of sickly green light pulsed once and vanished.
Wilson seemed satisfied with the display. He turned his massive frame away from Lester, presenting his back—a gesture of either trust or contempt.
He gazed out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at New York sprawling below, lights glittering like scattered diamonds.
"Go. Gather everyone loyal to me. Everyone who will answer when called."
His voice dropped lower, taking on a quality like grinding stone.
"Perhaps only death and blood can forge a true empire. This is merely a small ripple for someone who has already conquered the West Coast. Tomorrow, there will be no police presence in the streets surrounding Fisk Tower. A foreign gang with no roots in this city wants to challenge me? Let them witness my true power."
Wilson's back seemed to expand, his shoulders broadening impossibly. The expensive white suit strained, then tore with a sharp ripping sound as his muscles flexed beneath the fabric.
"Long live the Kingpin!"
Lester raised his head suddenly, his voice ringing with fanatical devotion.
But his lips twisted in the slightest hint of mockery.
Long live my lord.
Manhattan. Chinatown
Within an ancient garden that seemed transplanted from another era, koi swam lazily through a pond. Paper lanterns swayed in the evening breeze.
Madam Gao knelt in meditation inside an octagonal pavilion, her dark red cheongsam immaculate, her white hair pinned in an elaborate style. Her eyes were closed, her breathing measured and calm.
Then her eyelids trembled. Her eyes snapped open.
A figure rose from the shadows cast by nearby buildings—not walking, but emerging, as if the darkness itself had taken form. The ninja materialized before Madam Gao, every inch of him covered in black fabric.
Before Madam Gao could speak, the ninja's expressionless face turned toward her. His voice emerged cold and mechanical.
"Murakami sent me. He wants to know why you're initiating conflict with Kingpin at this time. Why you're jeopardizing our excavation of the dragon bones beneath the city."
The words were barely out of his mouth when Madam Gao rose smoothly from her kneeling position. She moved to a nearby tea table with unhurried grace, her movements fluid despite her apparent age.
Her slender fingers selected several incense sticks from a carved wooden box. She didn't bother looking up as she spoke.
"Kingpin's need for control is suffocating. He'll never permit us to complete the excavation. And let's not pretend the other four fingers have been contributing."
Her tone carried quiet contempt.
"The Triads have done all the real work while you've sat back and waited to reap the benefits. Don't lecture me about jeopardizing our operation when it's been my operation all along."
The ninja's hand snapped to the weapon at his waist. His entire body tensed with barely restrained violence.
He took a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
"Without support from the other four fingers, do you truly believe you can survive Kingpin's retaliation? Or have you abandoned immortality? How much longer can that body of yours endure?"
Madam Gao raised her head slowly. Her eyes locked onto the ninja with uncomfortable intensity.
A sardonic smile ghosted across her aged features.
"If you want the dragon bones so badly, excavate them yourselves. My faction has one priority now, and one priority only—total war with Kingpin. Even if we suffer heavy casualties, we will prosecute this war to its conclusion. We will win."
Faced with such unwavering determination, the ninja ceased his arguments. His voice dropped into pure ice.
"I will inform Lord Murakami. You will receive no assistance from the Hand in this conflict."
His hands blurred through a series of mudras, fingers forming complex seals with practiced speed.
In the space of a heartbeat, his entire form dissolved like sewage draining away, merging with the shadows pooled on the ground. He vanished completely, as if he'd never existed at all.
Madam Gao barely reacted to the supernatural display. She'd witnessed such techniques for centuries.
She tossed the incense sticks aside carelessly and walked out of the pavilion without a backward glance.
Her expression remained carefully blank as she passed through the garden. She didn't spare even a moment for the flowers and carefully manicured plants she'd once tended with obsessive attention.
When Madam Gao reached the open courtyard beyond, she found dozens of her people preparing for war. Gang members checked weapons, loaded magazines, adjusted body armor. The air smelled of gun oil and nervous sweat.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Madam Gao's sharp handclaps cut through the ambient noise. Heads turned. Conversations died.
Once she had their attention, she spoke with deliberate slowness.
"Brothers and sisters. The Triads' war with our enemies has begun."
Her voice remained level, conversational. She employed no rhetorical flourishes, no emotional manipulation. Just simple statements of fact.
"Show no mercy. Take no prisoners. Fight to the death. Anyone serving under Kingpin is an obstacle to our advancement. This is a war for survival between organizations. The strong devour the weak. This is the only truth that matters."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Go now. Fight for the future you deserve."
Despite the plain delivery, not a single person retreated. No one questioned the orders.
Instead, the courtyard erupted with the sound of weapons being charged, slides racking, safeties clicking off. The sound of an army preparing for battle.
In that moment, a flicker of green light pulsed in the depths of Madam Gao's eyes.
Her lips moved, forming words too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"For... my lord."