"What do you want?" Ivan's voice was sharp, his foot still planted firmly on the AK that had just fallen. Hong Fei shook the water droplets from his overcoat and strolled through the room like he owned the place. His gaze lingered on the single bed for a moment before he shook his head, a faint hint of regret in his expression. "A genius scientist. What a waste." Ivan's eyes narrowed, recognizing the reference to his father.
Hong Fei moved on, circling the room with deliberate steps. He frowned slightly as he picked up a pile of musty, stained clothes, kicked the overflowing trash can, and finally stopped at the cluttered workbench.
Ivan's tension was palpable. Hong Fei picked up the design blueprints with one hand and the finished reactor with the other, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Impressive. I didn't expect you to pull this off in such a dump. Even Tony Stark had better resources when he made his." Hong Fei knew the comparison would sting. Tony had been handed missiles, bullets, and three square meals a day. Ivan, on the other hand, had been left to rot in squalor.
The thought hung in the air: a genius like Ivan, wasting his life in gangs and prisons, watching his father die helplessly. Maybe the illness had been incurable—maybe there was nothing Ivan could've done. But background mattered, education mattered, and choices mattered most. Ivan's face twitched at Hong Fei's words, especially when Tony's name came up. Murderous intent flashed in his eyes.
Hong Fei's back was turned, seemingly oblivious. He set down the reactor and picked up a long metal whip, running his fingers along its length. "This is impressive. Binding that much energy into a whip… the potential is staggering. I wonder if it could be modified to—"
The sound of rushing air cut him off. Hong Fei pivoted on his feet, his right leg snapping up in a fluid arc. With a dull thud, he blocked Ivan's shin strike with his foot. His torso remained perfectly upright as he glanced at the gun on the floor. "I thought you'd go for the gun."
Ivan staggered back, his hands trembling and bleeding. Hong Fei pressed forward with his foot, forcing Ivan against the wall. "If you want revenge, fine. But charging in blindly isn't the way."
"That's none of your damn business!" Ivan ripped two cards from the back of his hand, blood streaming down his arm.
Hong Fei flicked his wrist, and the metal whip snapped out, coiling around Ivan's neck. Ivan clawed at it, but Hong Fei already had the whip's interface pointed at the reactor. "Don't move. If I take your head off now, will you have to haunt Tony to get your revenge?"
Ivan froze. He knew the whip's power firsthand. Sometimes, force was the only way to get someone's attention.
Over the next hour, Hong Fei negotiated with the Russian scientist, promising not to interfere with his revenge plans—even offering assistance. Ivan was relentless, fixated on his goal.
Even though Hong Fei repeatedly analyzed and emphasized that Ivan would ultimately fail, the man refused to back down. Hong Fei had seen that same unshakable determination in Frank. Frank had never forgotten his mission to eradicate the gangs, even if he occasionally loosened up around Hong Fei. That was only because Hong Fei had earned his respect—first by blowing Kingpin away with three cannon blasts, and later with the strategic use of the "Deceive Time and Crowd" skill card.
To the world—and even to Hong Fei—Frank remained the same silent killer who'd draw steel at the slightest provocation. The Punisher hadn't changed. He'd just gained a friend.
Ivan's objective burned just as clear: humiliate Tony Stark personally, then put a bullet in his skull. No direct grudge existed between them, but both men carried their fathers' legacies like crowns of thorns. Wealth. Knowledge. And most of all, hatred. Good sons to the last, each certain their old man had been right all along.
Hong Fei decided they deserved this fight.
"Pack your things. You're coming with me."
Ivan yanked a dust-caked suitcase from beneath the bed. With one sweep of his arm, every tool and scrap on the workbench vanished into the bag. The zipper snarled shut. He straightened, rolling the suitcase behind him like a soldier reporting for deployment. A quick glance confirmed the room held nothing else worth taking. They caught a cab downstairs, detouring to a clinic to patch Ivan's wounds.
Back at the hotel, Hong Fei secured him a room before booting up Tony's reactor blueprints. "Stark's designs. Tell me if they're flawed."
Ivan's fingers flew across the keyboard. After a tense silence, he turned with a predator's grin. "Flaws? Plenty. But useful ones. I'll have notes by tomorrow."
"Take your time. Day after's fine." Hong Fei left him to it. The night passed without incident.
Morning found Ivan hunched over the laptop, eyes bloodshot but blazing. Hong Fei slipped out unnoticed.
Inside the warehouse, the M1 Abrams materialized with a metallic groan. Hong Fei slapped an envelope against its hull—no more emails. A handwritten letter paired with an American tank made for a far more persuasive inquiry. Last time, a mere email had probably gotten him laughed out of their servers.
If the Russians bit, he'd let them study the tank for... six weeks. Tops. Frank had promised to source a pilot if the deal went through. Maybe Hong Fei would even take the Battle Maiden for a spin himself. Though nothing beat S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Quinjets—VTOL, autopilot, sleek as hell. He'd buy a fleet someday, line them up like exotic cars just to admire.
The email to Moscow was brief: Come collect your sample.
Plans to return to New York stalled when Ivan, after dissecting Tony's blueprints, entered some manic engineer's nirvana. Hong Fei bought out the entire floor to preserve his focus. Room service handled meals. Seven days later, a door rattled under knuckles that sounded more like hammer strikes.
Looking into his eyes, Hong Fei felt as if he saw Ultraman in them. "This time," Ivan rasped, "I'll grind him into the dirt where the whole world can watch."