Meanwhile, in an apartment several kilometers away.
Hearing this promise, Sumire, who was controlling everything, stretched comfortably, revealing a section of her fair and soft belly.
Unlike Sumire, a top-tier lazy dog who would never sit if she could lie down, Makima displayed the despair-inducing stamina of the Control Devil.
For her, it was as if she didn't know the meaning of fatigue.
An ordinary person would have been exhausted and looking for a place to collapse after handling a gang purge, soloing The Hand, scaring Madame Gao into a frantic retreat, and conveniently setting a trap for HYDRA. But not Makima; she was like a precision-engineered machine.
After dealing with all these bloody affairs, she didn't go home immediately. Instead, she turned to do another task Sumire had instructed—
Find a new home.
This had been something of a nagging worry for Sumire.
Firstly, while that studio apartment in Queens was cozy, as Sumire's Incarnations grew in number, that poor double bed had long required them to sleep like a human pyramid. If they kept squeezing in like that, would she really have to make some Incarnations sleep on the floor?
Sumire couldn't bear to do that.
Secondly, and most importantly—privacy.
Even though that apartment was relatively high-end with decent soundproofing, it was far from enough when facing S.H.I.E.L.D.
Although that old Fury, Nick Fury, had solemnly promised that as long as Reze became a S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant, the agency would grant full trust and never send Agents to monitor them again... anyone who believed that was a total fool.
That old spy's words were like farts; you just listen and move on.
So, with the lease expiring, moving was imperative. Moreover, they had to move into a place where even S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't dare to easily stretch their claws.
Midtown Manhattan, the top floor of Fisk Tower.
This was the surprise Makima had prepared for Sumire.
Through Wesley's introduction, Makima had directly requisitioned the most luxurious safe house under Fisk's name.
It was a penthouse duplex apartment.
The security for the entire building was handled by Fisk's most core trusted aides.
Of course, they had all been conveniently controlled by Makima.
As long as S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't want to burn all bridges, no matter how powerful they were, they would still find it a bit of a headache to deal with a local power like Fisk, who was skilled at using the law.
Under the cover of night, Sumire stored all her Incarnations except Makima, along with Kumashi, into the "inventory" and got into a black sedan.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s current intel was actually quite limited—
Reze was the only known factor, a dangerous Bomb girl under heavy scrutiny.
Perona, much like her ability, was a translucent ghost. They only knew there was a ghost girl capable of making the Hulk depressed, but they didn't know her name, where she lived, or what kind of abilities she possessed, let alone her relationship with Reze and Sumire.
As for Makima, they hadn't even seen her... though they would likely find out soon.
She couldn't let S.H.I.E.L.D. know any more.
With these thoughts, Sumire grandly moved into this "gangster palace" above the clouds.
"Wow—!!"
When Sumire pushed open the heavy mahogany doors, she couldn't help but let out a gasp of awe like someone who had never seen the world.
Before her eyes was a minimalist yet luxurious interior, with vast expanses of white marble flooring reflecting the soft lighting.
The most stunning feature was the entire wall of massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Standing here, it felt as if the entire glittering night view of Hell's Kitchen, and even half of Manhattan, lay prostrate at her feet.
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