The high-ranking numbered agents of the Black Hand fluidly retreated across the cracked concrete floor, coalescing into a tight, protective phalanx directly by Commander Blark's side. As Dud and his eccentric coalition looked across the space at them, the scene was a jarring portrait of contrast—a bizarre mismatch of deadly archetypes. Yet, a quick glance at their own ragtag assembly of billionaires, muscle monsters, and prison escapees revealed they were mirrors of the exact same phenomenon.
