Dr. Helen Cho wasted no time. In just a few days, she convinced over ninety percent of the researchers to accept the relocation plan. Frank returned from Sokovia shortly after, bringing a team to assist with transporting the equipment. To streamline the process, Hong Fei personally arranged for a large aircraft charter.
"You're just letting him go like that?" Frank asked, watching the Abomination's retreating figure.
Hong Fei shrugged. "I can beat him, and I can kill him. Keeping him locked up is a waste of resources."
"So he's your accomplice now?"
"More like a lifelong partner for mutual benefit, progress, and growth. But sure, 'accomplices' works too," Hong Fei replied with a grin, slinging an arm around Frank's shoulder. "Aren't you one as well?"
Frank pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
"Let's go," Hong Fei continued. "We'll leave Big Head to oversee things here. I'll take you to meet Ivan. You haven't seen him yet, have you? He's a brilliant mechanic, though stubborn and blunt as hell."
The underground room that once housed Bullseye had become Ivan's new residence. From honored guest to prisoner, his fall from grace had been swift and brutal. Few would believe that one of the key figures behind the Liberty Island incident—the only person besides Tony Stark to construct an Iron Man suit—was now languishing in Hong Fei's dark confines.
The iron door clanged open, and the lights flickered on. Ivan sat on the bed, a parrot perched on his shoulder. His long hair now reached his chest, and a thick beard obscured most of his face. The moment Hong Fei stepped inside, his cheerful demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, piercing gaze. Ivan remained motionless, oblivious to the intrusion, like a statue carved from wood.
Frank had expected someone suave and polished, another Tony Stark. Instead, he found a disheveled, hobo-like figure. But one glance at Hong Fei, and it all made sense. Falling into this man's hands didn't leave much room for elegance.
Hong Fei had anticipated Ivan's strategy of stonewalling. He wasn't in any hurry to ask if Ivan had come around. Instead, he paced the room, observing silently. After a moment, he shook his head and clicked his tongue. Then, with deliberate calm, he drew a pistol, chambered a round, and leveled the gun at Ivan.
Ivan's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the dark muzzle. Hong Fei's finger rested lightly on the trigger, unwavering. Ivan's eyes widened, and he blurted out, "I've figured it out!"
Bang! The parrot screeched and flapped wildly, startled by the gunshot. Ivan clutched his ears, grimacing in pain.
"Then why didn't you say so earlier?" Hong Fei remarked coolly. "If I hadn't reacted quickly, you'd be gone by now."
Beside him, Frank rolled his eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into his skull.
Holstering the gun, Hong Fei fixed Ivan with a stern look. "Tell me, how clearly have you figured things out?"
"I... You didn't stop me from taking revenge," Ivan stammered, still clutching his ears. "So I should keep my end of the bargain and follow your orders."
"Good. Let's go."
Hong Fei turned and led Ivan back to the surface. "I don't tolerate hobos among my subordinates. Cut your hair shorter—slick it back. Keep the beard, but trim it to frame your face properly." He paused, considering. "Wear leather boots, dress pants, a white shirt, and a vest. Hold a glass of wine in one hand, a cigar in the other. Now that's a mechanic who can stand toe-to-toe with Tony Stark."
Ivan nodded mechanically. "Yes, Boss."
Hong Fei frowned. "And fix that accent. Your speech isn't standard. How can you be my subordinate?"
There was no helping it—the Russian flavor was just too strong.
One wrong move, one careless word, and his cover would be blown. As Ivan was escorted away for his makeover, Frank couldn't suppress a dry remark. "You even micromanage your men's hairstyles now?"
Hong Fei ran a hand over his own buzz cut, his expression dead serious. "That mop of his was driving me crazy. A man ought to look sharp and put-together."
Hong Fei's lab relocation hadn't exactly been subtle. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew all about it.
But the agency had bigger fish to fry. Their investigation into The Hand was heating up, yielding both promising leads and unsettling revelations. Director Fury barely had time to breathe. Murakami's unnaturally extended lifespan had tipped Fury off to The Hand's own longevity secrets. He had his own methods, of course—more advanced ones, given his access to extraterrestrial materials.
What he hadn't anticipated was that The Hand had developed an entirely different path to immortality. If their longevity techniques had piqued his interest, their apparent mastery of resurrection sealed the deal. Fury was determined to dismantle The Hand piece by piece, leaving no stone unturned. The organization's secrets were no longer safe.
Take Sowande, one of The Hand's five fingers. Natasha and Hawkeye had already killed him once—a clean headshot. By all rights, he should have stayed dead. Yet here he was, alive and kicking... until recently, anyway. Now his corpse lay before Fury once more. The autopsy revealed over a dozen bullet wounds, each fatal in its own right. But Fury's attention was drawn to the man's forehead.
A faded scar, nearly invisible against his dark skin, marked the spot. Hawkeye Barton frowned as he confirmed it. "That's the spot, Director. I never miss. And his behavior this time matched our previous encounter perfectly."
Natasha nodded in agreement. "Same skills, same tactics. We almost lost him twice."
Fury took a long moment to process this. Finally, he looked up, his voice steely. "Keep tracking them. Deploy more agents. I want them cornered, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide."
"Yes, sir!"
"And I want one of the 'fingers' alive."
"Understood."
While S.H.I.E.L.D. waged war against The Hand, the criminal underworld was in chaos. Hong Fei, meanwhile, was far from idle.
First, he devoted himself daily to cultivating his 'Qi'. Nights were for meditation, while his days were filled with sparring sessions against the Abomination. Both methods boosted his Qi reserves, but the latter had the added benefit of sharpening his combat skills and enhancing his control over his enhanced physique.
Second, he kept close tabs on the S.H.I.E.L.D.-Hand conflict. Big Head, his newly recruited hacker, proved remarkably adept at gathering intel.
Finally, he poured his energy into building his team—or rather, his gang. "Ivan, the flight speed needs work. Faster!" Ivan gave a silent nod. He'd taken Hong Fei's offhand suggestion about his appearance to heart, transforming himself into the very image of a corporate mogul.
"Abomination, a spiked club is exactly what it sounds like—a damn club! You can bash with it, you can stab with it. Hell, I could hand it to a monkey, and it'd figure it out faster than you!" The Abomination hung his head in shame.
"Big Head, where'd all that money go? Ten billion! You couldn't burn through ten billion leaves that fast! If you don't start producing results soon, I'm cracking open that Big Head of yours to see if there's an ocean sloshing around in there!" Big Head kept his eyes glued to the floor, too intimidated to respond.
Finally, Hong Fei turned to Frank. "Ah, my dear comrade-in-arms, why are you standing? Your legs must be killing you."
"Come over here and sit down for a rest."
Pfft! The sharp snicker caught the attention of the five men. Dr. Helen Cho, passing through the area, flushed crimson and quickened her pace, nearly breaking into a run to escape the scene.
Hong Fei wasn't just focused on self-improvement—he was also diligently training his Four Great Guardians, honing them into formidable protectors.