Inside the system's practice space, Shiranui Hayate was busy testing his newly fortified physical defense and striking power. He was completely unaware that a new guest had just arrived at the agency.
A woman with a fiery figure, dressed in a striking crimson outfit, pushed open the agency doors. This was Elektra Natchios. Her movements were fluid and dangerous, her eyes scanning every inch of the office with the practiced ease of a predator.
Umino Iruka, standing behind the service counter, looked up. "Welcome, ma'am. Do you have a case you'd like to commission?"
Elektra flashed a sweet, disarming smile. "I've lost something. I was wondering if I could hire your agency to find it."
Iruka felt a small pang of disappointment—this sounded like a simple D-rank retrieval mission. Still, as a ninja from the Hidden Leaf, he treated every client with respect. "We do take retrieval requests, Ms...?"
"Elektra."
"Ms. Elektra. I must inform you that our rates are not low. If the item is of little sentimental or monetary value, it might not be worth the fee."
"Money is no object," Elektra said firmly. "This item is very important to me."
"Very well. Please follow me." Iruka led her to a private meeting room.
Over the next few minutes, Elektra laid out a commission for $100,000 to find a specific "unique watch." As they finalized the contract, she leaned back and asked politely, "Would you mind showing me where the restroom is?"
Iruka pointed the way and waited in the lobby.
Once inside the restroom, Elektra's "sweet" demeanor vanished. She locked the door, mapped the ceiling's ventilation shafts, and flushed the toilet to mask any noise. In seconds, she had unscrewed the vent cover and slipped inside.
Moving silently through the ductwork, she mapped the internal structure of the Shiranui Agency—locating the sleeping quarters, the office of the "Boss," and the various exit points. Once she had what she needed, she slipped back into the restroom, tidied her hair, and walked back out.
"Can I pay by card?" she asked, sliding a black bank card across the counter.
Iruka processed the down payment, and Elektra left the agency with her receipt. Outside, she paused and looked back at the sign. She planned to return at 1:00 AM—when sleep is deepest—to avenge her master.
Night in New York was usually quiet, especially on 71st Avenue in Forest Hills. It wasn't the lawless war zone of Hell's Kitchen, but it wasn't a gated community for the ultra-rich either. Tonight, however, the silence was unnatural. By 11:30 PM, the streets were completely deserted.
At a temporary Hand hideout, the final assignments were given: Alexandra and Murakami would handle the Shiranui Agency; Bakuto and Sowande would storm the New York Continental.
As the clock struck midnight, Alexandra gave the order: "Move out!"
The Bowery King, who controlled the city's network of beggars and vagrants, received word of the 71st Avenue lockdown immediately. At first, he didn't worry—government street closures were common. But when his scouts reported a simultaneous lockdown of the street housing the Continental, he realized something was terribly wrong. But by then, the clock had already passed twelve.
At the agency, everyone was asleep. Even the diligent Hayate had finished his chakra refinement at 11:00 PM and turned in.
A thousand meters away, atop a neighboring building, a sniper adjusted the sights of a Croatian RT-20 anti-materiel cannon, aiming directly at the agency's front doors.
Suddenly, an armored vehicle followed by three transport buses screeched to a halt in front of the Shiranui Agency.
The armored vehicle's roof hatch slid open, and an M134 Minigun rose, its barrels pointing toward the building. Alexandra stepped off the first bus, followed by thirty elite mercenaries in full tactical gear—night vision, ballistic helmets, and high-powered assault rifles.
From the second bus, Murakami led thirty of the Hand's most lethal ninjas. These were masters of close-quarters assassination, armed with kusarigama, katanas, and poisoned shuriken.
The third bus emptied a crowd of standard Hand footmen—less specialized, but heavily armed with tactical vests and automatic weapons.
Alexandra raised her hand and gestured toward the building. A member of the Hand stepped forward with an RPG launcher, shouldered it, and took aim.
Whoosh!
The rocket streaked across the street, leaving a trail of white smoke.
BOOM!
A massive explosion rocked the entire block, shattering windows for streets around. Car alarms began to wail in a chaotic symphony. The blast tore through the agency's grand entrance, shredding the facade. The building groaned but held its structure—now a hollowed-out, smoking ruin.
The assault had begun.