The early morning sun spilled across smooth, delicate skin, tracing the curves of an exquisite figure—from the slender neck and rounded shoulders down to the taut curve of her back and one pert buttock. The rest remained hidden beneath the quilt, a tantalizing mystery. They'd arrived at the room yesterday at noon. Inexperienced but eager. Dr. Helen Cho still slept soundly.
Hong Fei slipped out of bed without a sound, leaving her to rest. His mind wandered back to her words from the night before. "Mr. Hong, you're the real superhero." Being a superhero had its perks—more admirers, for one, and fans who'd bend logic to justify your actions.
Of course, losing yourself in the role came with risks. A gentleman could be undone by his own principles. Superheroes were gentlemen, in a way, and villains always found the cracks in their armor. If only every villain resisted the urge to monologue at critical moments—heroes might've gone extinct by now.
Being good was fine. Necessary, even. But treating everyone with the same mercy? That wasn't justice—it was disrespect. The law had gradations for a reason: probation, prison terms, life sentences, execution.
An individual wasn't the law, true. But showing blanket leniency cheated the victims. If you couldn't balance fairness with force, you might as well stay home and let the system handle it. Or join that system yourself, wield its authority to enforce your ideals. That was Hong Fei's blunt take on heroes and villains.
Still, he doubted he'd ever be seen as a superhero. Not getting branded a full-blown villain would be victory enough.
What hero bashed skulls without hesitation? Tony Stark certainly wouldn't approve. As for Dr. Cho… this time, he hadn't even needed his Deceive Time and Crowd skill. Just truths—selective, but truths nonetheless. She hadn't asked for the missing pieces. No harm done.
By noon, with Helen still asleep, Hong Fei lounged in the sun when his phone buzzed. Frank's video call request flashed on-screen. He answered without showing his face or speaking. Static crackled before Frank's grim visage filled the frame.
"Where are you?"
Hong Fei finally turned the camera on himself. "You took so long I thought you'd been caught."
Frank's grin was razor-edged. The camera tilted, revealing his hand clamped around a man's throat, lifting him clear off the ground. Blood masked the man's features beyond recognition.
A sickening snap. Frank tossed the corpse aside like trash. The camera panned out, exposing a warehouse littered with bodies. Frank stood draped in firearms, magazines strapped across his chest—a one-man army.
"How many?" Hong Fei asked.
"Thirty. Cleared 'em in one go." Frank stepped over the carnage. "Wait. Got something for you."
He strode down a corridor, stopping at a small cubicle. The camera focused on a woman bound to a chair, her face obscured by tangled hair.
The ropes binding her were thicker than a finger, coiled tight from neck to ankles, leaving only her head free to move. When the woman spotted Frank through her gag, she thrashed violently, muffled screams tearing from her throat as her eyes burned with rage. Hong Fei glanced at his phone, eyebrows lifting. "You know how to do this?"
"Do what?"
"The rope work."
"That's bullshit. I didn't tie her up." Hong Fei's frown deepened. "So this is your big surprise?"
"Wrong." Frank stepped past the struggling woman without a glance, positioning his camera over an open box. "These files detail The Hand's hierarchy," he said, flipping through documents. "Including one operative with a hidden identity. All hers."
Hong Fei connected the dots. "You're using this to track down The Hand's leader and wipe them out."
Frank nodded. "Exactly."
"My investigation's shown The Hand's more complex than they appear. Their leadership's buried deep—probably multiple layers."
"How many fingers you got?" Hong Fei asked abruptly.
"Five. Why?"
"Then you've got your answer about their leadership."
Frank's eyes narrowed. "Five leaders? That's why they're called The Hand?"
"Obviously." Hong Fei gestured toward the bound woman. "Push her hair back. Let me see."
Frank grabbed a fistful of dark strands, ignoring her futile resistance. When her face came into view, Hong Fei's lips curled. "Well, well. Elektra Natchios. You've seen better days."
The woman's screams intensified. Hong Fei motioned to Frank. "Take off the gag."
The moment the tape ripped free, Elektra spat, "Who the hell are you? How do you know my name?"
Frank crossed his arms. "Yeah, I'd like to know that too. Along with how you knew about The Hand's leadership structure."
Hong Fei ignored their questions. "Frank, have a chat with her. She's The Hand's worst nightmare—probably deep undercover with them right now." He tilted his head. "You just took out some Russian mobsters, didn't you?"
"Yeah." Frank's gaze sharpened on Elektra.
The woman went still. Hong Fei's assessment had struck true—she was undercover, a fact known only to herself and her master. She'd infiltrated The Hand mere days ago during their clashes with the Mafia. How could this stranger possibly know?
By the original timeline, Elektra should've been sent by Stick to seduce Matt Murdock. Her abrupt appearance here meant Frank's recent rampage had altered events. Timelines were unreliable—useful references, not gospel. Especially with Hong Fei running interference. He wasn't about to play by the script or pretend to be some righteous hero.
"Work together," Hong Fei told Frank. "Talk it out. I'll catch up with you later."
Frank's jaw tightened. "Stay out of my operations. We're done here."
Typical brute. But Hong Fei would involve himself regardless—he'd let Frank handle the foot soldiers and mid-level bosses, but the real prizes? Those were his. The skill cards alone made it worthwhile, not to mention the dragon bone techniques.
Frank moved like a force of nature against the underworld. For an organization as ancient as The Hand, his investigation progressed at terrifying speed.
As for Madame Gao, Bakuto, and Murakami? Facing Master Hong and The Punisher, they might as well sharpen their own execution blades.