Chapter 37: The Hand and HYDRA
Hell's Kitchen — A secret gathering.
This was one of the Hand's safehouses in New York City. The organization traced its roots back centuries to feudal Japan, where oppressed civilians had fled to the Iga and Kōga regions, honed their skills — likely influenced by Sun Tzu's Art of War — and forged what became ninjutsu.
Over the following centuries, the Hand's members mastered unarmed combat, swordsmanship, disguise, concealment, and escape. They possessed willpower, endurance, and fighting ability far beyond ordinary humans. They were experts in espionage and assassination, offering their services to the wealthy and powerful.
The Hand also commanded dark mystical arts — including the ability to resurrect the dead.
What had begun as a band of survivors had grown into an infamous international syndicate.
A hand has five fingers, and the Hand had five leaders to match — one for each. They were Alexandra, Madame Gao, Bakuto, Sowande, and Murakami. All five were elders exiled from K'un-Lun after attempting to use dragon bone fossils to extend their lifespans.
At this moment, Madame Gao sat on the rooftop terrace of a high-rise, sipping tea in the afternoon light. She was a woman well past her prime — small, weathered, grandmotherly. If she'd been walking down any street in America, no one would have guessed that this kind-faced old woman led one of the most feared assassin networks on the planet.
Her phone rang. The caller was Tom Ralph.
Tom walked her through the video conference — the gang bosses' grievances, their fear of Ethan and Fisk, and their need for the Hand's intervention.
Madame Gao set down her teacup and answered coolly: "Very well. Ethan Cross has been a nuisance — I've lost a number of clients because of him. I'll send people. Don't worry."
"Attend the meeting first. See what Ethan and his people are planning."
She hung up, and the warmth drained from her face like water down a sink. The kindly grandmother vanished. What remained was something cold and reptilian.
Murakami, seated across from her, noticed the shift. "What happened? One phone call and your whole demeanor changes."
"Ungrateful dogs — all of them." Madame Gao's voice was clipped. "Fisk. This Irish gang leader. They haven't even dealt with Fisk yet and they're already making demands of me. As if they're in any position to negotiate."
Murakami gazed up at the sky. "We've both lived long enough to understand human nature by now, haven't we? Desire is bottomless. No one is ever satisfied — everyone wants more. Look at us. We're no different. We've spent centuries chasing immortality."
The observation landed. Madame Gao caught herself, and the serene grandmother mask slid back into place.
The truth was, she didn't particularly care who ruled Hell's Kitchen. When you'd lived as long as she had, money and power lost their luster. The only thing that still mattered was finding the legendary dragon bones and achieving true immortality.
But in the short term, Ethan and Fisk had to go. Ever since Ethan's return to Hell's Kitchen, Fisk had been leaning harder into retirement — loosening his grip on the neighborhood. That made it harder for the Hand to move product. That was unacceptable.
"Let me handle this one," Murakami said, a rare spark of interest in his voice. "I'm curious about this Ethan Cross and his abilities."
Madame Gao's eyes lit up. "How generous of you to volunteer. Then I'll send my people after Fisk. If I recall correctly, he's quite attached to his wife — I'll have her and the boy taken as well."
"My apprentice Nobu and I will handle it personally," Murakami added.
Madame Gao's mood lifted instantly. In her mind, Ethan and Fisk were already fish on a cutting board.
Two of the Hand's five fingers deploying in person, plus Murakami's apprentice Nobu, plus several hundred ninjas stationed across New York — that was an overwhelming force. Losing would be nearly impossible.
On another line, Gustavo — freshly relieved of his earlier frustrations — called the mayor.
He needed the big guns. Military support. Special forces.
The mayor was corrupt to the bone, but the man had professional standards when it came to corruption. He agreed immediately and set about arranging for "specialized personnel" to provide on-site assistance.
Gustavo sank deep into his leather couch, lit a cigar, and let the smoke curl upward. Music played softly in the background as he allowed himself to imagine the bright future ahead for his empire.
Meanwhile, the mayor was making a call of his own.
"Hail HYDRA!" The words left his mouth like a reflex.
"Hail HYDRA!" On the other end, Secretary Pierce glanced around his office — confirmed he was alone — and returned the salute.
Alexander Pierce was HYDRA's highest-ranking operative embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D. His position within the agency was equal to Nick Fury's own.
"You don't usually call unless it's urgent. Talk," Pierce said.
"There's a mutant causing problems in Hell's Kitchen. Word is there's going to be a major gang war in a few days. I need backup."
The mayor wasn't stupid enough to mention Gustavo's bribe. He framed it as a public safety concern — protecting New York City.
Pierce saw right through it. "Call the police. Small-time gang fights aren't our jurisdiction."
The mayor knew Pierce was brushing him off, but he also knew that if he couldn't deliver results, the money pipeline from Gustavo would dry up. He pressed harder.
"Think of it as an investment for the organization. If we eliminate Fisk and this mutant, my people can take control of Hell's Kitchen. That gives HYDRA a new foothold — in a neighborhood where bodies pile up and nobody asks questions."
Pierce's interest stirred, though his voice stayed flat. "We have footholds all over the world. One more in Hell's Kitchen doesn't move the needle. Unless..."
The mayor understood the unspoken demand. He gritted his teeth. "Fifty million. Wired to your personal account. And Hell's Kitchen is yours."
"Done." Pierce's tone snapped to attention. "I'll send Brock Rumlow and his team. All for HYDRA."
"All for HYDRA." The mayor hung up fast.
"Fuck. I'm hemorrhaging money." He cursed under his breath. 'All for HYDRA' — yeah, right. More like all for Pierce's retirement fund.
The truth was, barely anyone in HYDRA actually believed in HYDRA. The whole organization ran on self-interest with a salute slapped on top.
Gustavo was pacing when the mayor's callback finally came.
The mayor informed him that the job had been taken over by a "very specialized government division" — and that it would cost Gustavo an additional hundred million dollars as a deployment fee.
A hundred million. Gustavo winced. But if it meant putting Ethan Cross and Wilson Fisk in the ground, every dollar was worth it.
The mayor assured him this was an extremely secretive department. With them involved, Gustavo could sleep easy.
Gustavo hung up the phone, grinning. He had no idea he'd just bought himself a HYDRA strike team.
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