Chapter 254: Hobbs? The Rock? Dwayne Johnson?
"Want wealth? Want power? Come and take it! The First Annual Hell's Kitchen Grand Prix, sponsored by Stark Industries and Hell's Kitchen, kicks off in five days!
The race will be held right here in Hell's Kitchen.
First place walks away with one million dollars AND a personal promise from the Lord of Hell's Kitchen himself! Second and third place get some pretty sweet consolation prizes too. All comers welcome — bring your best!
Entry fee's not $999. Not even close. Just $99.99 gets you in. This is basically a steal!"
Pierce shut off the screen, expression grim, and slapped a palm flat on the table as he swept his gaze across the room full of HYDRA agents.
"So what's this Ethan character actually playing at? Someone talk to me. Do we take the opportunity and sabotage this race, or not?" Pierce's voice was clipped, serious.
He couldn't parse what Ethan's real angle was with this tournament. Did he need a fast driver for some upcoming operation? But what use would a race car driver actually be? Or maybe the race itself was just a cover — a signal, a way to quietly rally the underworld toward some other goal. Or maybe he was searching for a specific person, and that person just happened to be a racer.
Pierce refused to believe Ethan would go to this much trouble for nothing. Every move the man had made up to this point had been sharp, deliberate, purposeful.
Was it possible this whole tournament was actually aimed at S.H.I.E.L.D.? At HYDRA itself?
Pierce's gaze slid to his two most trusted assets — Tsukasa Kadoya and Reed.
Tsukasa had already proven his worth in his last duel against Ethan — the only man on the roster who could actually go toe-to-toe with him and walk away even. Which meant Pierce was willing to give Tsukasa basically anything he wanted, whether out of genuine strategy or just for show.
Tsukasa sat with one leg crossed over the other, thinking privately, A car race, huh? Boring. I've done more motorcycle races than I can count at this point. Speed's not really my thing, but I do happen to be pretty good at killing monsters. Shame Ethan doesn't sound like he's entering.
Noticing Tsukasa's silence, Pierce turned his attention instead to Reed, standing quietly off to the side.
Reed had already anticipated the question. He answered calmly: "Sir, Ethan's motives here are unknowable to us — and frankly, we don't need to know them.
What I'd suggest is this: rather than sabotage, we lean in. We should be the ones helping him publicize this race as loudly as possible."
Pierce's brow lifted slightly at that, though he said nothing yet, waiting for Reed to finish.
Reed continued. "Ethan has publicly stated he'll grant a promise to whoever takes first place. That's our opening.
We put forward a request — either he joins the Illuminati, or he introduces us to whatever backer's funding him behind the scenes. Whichever way this goes, we come out ahead."
Pierce found himself genuinely swayed by the logic. He was interested, no question — but a note of caution crept into his voice. "And what if Ethan doesn't honor the terms? What if he backs out?"
Pierce had absolute confidence in his own ability — if he decided to win, he'd win. But he also knew better than to underestimate someone like Ethan.
Reed smiled, cold and calculating. "Which is exactly why we publicize this as widely as we can. Make sure the whole world knows about it. That way, if Ethan reneges, we simply leak it.
Not just the Big Apple turning on him — even his own people in Hell's Kitchen would start seeing him as a man who doesn't keep his word.
Either way this plays out, sir, it's a win for us."
Pierce liked the shape of that plan. He turned to face the room, eyes hard, and asked one of the HYDRA agents standing by, "Do we have anyone with racing experience?"
The agent snapped to attention and started pulling up records, fingers flying across the keyboard, data scrolling past on the screen.
A minute or two later, the agent looked up and reported: "Our best racing asset used to be the Winter Soldier, sir — but he's dead. That said, I did find a highly experienced racer in the FBI's database."
Pierce wasn't surprised. HYDRA's people specialized in combat and assassination — driving skill was never a priority in training.
He gave a small nod, gesturing for the agent to keep going.
"Agent's name is Hobbs. They call him 'the Rock' — big guy, built like a tank. He's got field experience chasing down street racing rings and knows the racing scene inside and out." The agent pulled up a photo and held it up for Pierce.
Pierce studied the photo of the bald, hulking man, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.
He was confident this "Rock" character would perform well — after all, they were both bald men, and bald men had never once been short on luck or raw capability.
"Then he's our man," Pierce said decisively. "And have Crossbones enter a few people as well. Belt and suspenders."
He understood the risks and variables of a race like this all too well, and had no intention of leaving the championship to chance.
"One more thing," Pierce added. "I want eyes on Hell's Kitchen around the clock. The second we spot anyone who looks like a serious contender, take them out — quietly, or haul them in on a 48-hour hold. Whatever it takes, make sure they're not a threat."
Pierce knew full well that anyone signing up for a race like this was unlikely to be squeaky clean to begin with — and even if they were, on his turf, slapping a traffic violation or resisting-arrest charge on someone was trivially easy. Wouldn't be the first time they'd played that card.
"Remember this," Pierce finished, voice hard as iron. "First place goes to one of ours. Whatever the cost. No exceptions."
His tone left no room for argument.
"Yes, sir!"
"Hail HYDRA! For HYDRA, always!" Pierce called out.
The room echoed it back — Reed included. "Hail HYDRA!"
Only one man stayed silent: Tsukasa.
Watching the room chant in unison, Tsukasa thought to himself with faint amusement, HYDRA, huh. Guessing this world's version of Shocker. Interesting.
Of course, S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't the only power taking notice of the Hell's Kitchen Grand Prix. Word had already reached every other faction in the city — and they, too, were starting to move.
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