Evening, New York, Hell's Kitchen.
"Ding—"
As the doors of the private elevator slid open slowly, Makima stepped out in high heels with elegant strides.
Fisk and Wesley, who had been waiting on both sides of the elevator, immediately bowed deeply in unison.
Only after Makima walked past them did the two dare to straighten their backs and respectfully follow behind her.
"Miss Makima."
Fisk's voice was kept very low.
Makima didn't look back; unbuttoning her suit jacket, she walked toward the door at the end of the corridor leading to the penthouse duplex, her voice flat: "How is the situation?"
Following behind, Wesley adjusted his glasses and looked at the back ahead, reporting quickly: "Thanks to your planning, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s cleanup of the underground network was very thorough. Most of The Hand's forces are working hard to withdraw from New York."
"However... according to intelligence, they haven't given up and will likely stage a comeback for the Dragon Bone once the heat dies down."
"Additionally, regarding the Purification Enterprise."
Fisk added immediately, his massive frame trying to lighten his footsteps, "I have completely banned the powder and human trafficking business in all territories under my name. Although profits have been cut in half, it has greatly improved my image in the public eye."
At this point, Fisk's footsteps paused slightly, his tone becoming a bit dry: "As for the mayoral election... although the polls are rising, the media and opponents have seized some of my past dirt..."
Makima, walking ahead, suddenly stopped.
She didn't turn around, nor did she speak, but in that instant, the air in the corridor seemed to freeze.
A suffocating and terrifying sense of pressure emanated from that slender back, enveloping the two men behind her.
Fisk and Wesley felt as if their throats were being gripped by an invisible giant hand, cold sweat instantly soaking their backs.
That feeling was like being prey targeted by a predator at the top of the food chain, where even breathing became a luxury.
Just as Fisk desperately thought he was about to face Makima's wrath, the pressure suddenly receded like a tide.
"It doesn't matter."
Makima started walking again, her voice still without a ripple, as if the terror just now was merely an illusion shared by the two.
"This is just a small attempt at transformation. Continue to maintain your persona as a philanthropist and wash the mud off yourself even cleaner."
"I think you have a very good chance of winning."
This wasn't Makima feeding him empty encouragement; Fisk, this 'Big Stomach,' was indeed very capable. Even without her help, he would have become the mayor of New York City in a few years. Makima was merely accelerating and stabilizing the process.
"Yes... yes! Thank you for your mercy!" Fisk panted heavily, as if having survived a disaster.
Walking to the heavy mahogany door, Makima waved her hand: "Dismissed."
Only after the two retreated into the elevator in fear and trepidation did Makima's hand rest on the doorknob.
At this moment, the inhuman indifference on her beautiful face softened slightly.
Just as she pushed the door open a crack, she heard the blushing and heart-thumping noises from inside.
"Hey~ Sumire-chan, come look at my little kitty~"
"Is... is this really okay? The shape is so hard to make..."
It was Sumire's voice, sounding a bit soft and strained, even carrying a hint of shame.
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