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Issue #4 by D. Golightly
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“Leaps & Bounds – Part One”
“I'm not convinced that this was a good idea, Danny.”
Luke Cage tried not to revisit what he had for breakfast that morning and gently placed a hand on his stomach. The proprioception didn't seem to help, and his insides continued to do back flips. Luke considered himself an urbanite, most recently of Chicago, and hated when he feet weren't planted on firm asphalt.
As the airship rocked from more turbulence, Luke once again battled down a bubble of hot bile. He glanced at his partner, Daniel Rand, otherwise known as Iron Fist, and shot daggers with his eyes.
“Relax, buddy,” Iron Fist replied. “This is a lucrative contract. We'll be back down on Terra Firma soon enough.”
“All the money in the world ain't enough for this crap,” Cage said. He would have continued, but he felt the need to slap his hand over his mouth to contain the threat of vomit.
Danny just shook his head, the thin strips of yellow fabric from his face mask slipping back over his shoulder from the motion. From the porthole he could see mostly farmland. The majority of their cross-country flight was taken up by the Midwest, which meant for poor sightseeing.
He had to admit that this wasn't the most glamorous job they had ever accepted. Akin to babysitting, they were hired by Tony Stark himself to escort a prototype airship on its maiden voyage from Los Angels to New York City. The armored Avenger had assured him that this was a serious mission, and that he really needed the Heroes For Hire to keep this investment safe.
Apparently, it wasn't important enough to warrant his own presence, or that of his fellow Avengers, but it was important nonetheless.
Danny hadn't bothered to tell him that they weren't the Heroes For Hire anymore. That moniker had dissolved when the last incarnation of the team had gone belly-up. With Deathlok in Madripor and the others spread throughout the hemisphere, Luke and Danny were all that was left of the H4H, so it seemed like they had come full circle once more. Still, money was money, and Stark was good people as far as Danny was concerned, so he accepted the assignment.
“Let's go topside and have a look around,” Iron Fist said. Luke reluctantly followed.
Breaching the cabin door and ascending the narrow stairwell, the pair found themselves on the main deck of the newly christened Insular, a play on words concerning the Latin heritage of the word. The massive luxury airship was a new venture to create stylistic transcontinental transportation, like a steamship liner cruise ship, only 20,000 feet above sea level.
It used repulsor technology to stay aloft, with huge rings of glowing coils lining the underbelly of the vessel. The elongated deck looked just like a vacation cruise ship, complete with shuffle board, a water slide feeding into a massive pool, and several tiki bars. The interior held quarters for around 1,100 guests, as well as a ballroom, a movie theater, restaurants, and several common areas.
It was a multibillion dollar project, to be sure, so it made sense for Stark to want a little extra protection on board during the test flight. The main deck was devoid of life, since only a skeleton crew was on board aside from Luke and Danny.
“I'm going to hurl,” Luke said.
“Oh for crying out loud...”
Iron Fist stopped short and Cage bumped into him as he turned around. Danny grabbed Luke's left wrist and tapped the dorsal branch of the ulnar nerve, just below the lunate. He paused a heartbeat, then tapped twice more. Upon the final gentle strike Cage stood upright, his eyes going wide.
“Christmas,” he muttered. “I...I feel a lot better. What did you just do?”
“Tapped a chakra point into submission. Your brain now thinks you're fine, which you are, by the way. It's all in your head, Luke. Honestly, how is it you can bench press a bus, but you get queasy because you're up in the air? It's not like we're flying in a prop plane, dancing through the clouds or something.”
“Danny, this crate is the very definition of a prop plane.”
Iron Fist smirked and then turned his attention to his surroundings. There was an eerie feeling that washed over him, mainly due to the empty yet fully automated luxuries around him. The water slide was splashing water into the vacant pool, the neon signs at the bars were lit and blinking, and music pulsed out of the dozens of speakers spread around the deck.
It was a cushy gig, but a little boring.
“Want to play some shuffle board?” Iron Fist asked.
That's when the gunfire started.
# # # # #
He didn't know what they wanted with him, but he was sure that if he didn't get away that he was a dead man.
Victor knew the streets of Hell's Kitchen better than most, having grown up there. As an Afro-Dominican he could fit into most neighborhoods with relative ease. There were few gangs, dealers, junkies, and hoods that didn't know him by name. Not that he had ever fallen in with that sort; his mom would have killed him.
But that was the last thing on his mind right now. After coming home from his job at the warehouse, loading produce and the like, Victor had been jumped by ninjas. Freakin' ninjas. His strength had been augmented right away, just as soon as he instinctively knew that he was in danger, and he had managed to get away. It was playing out like a video game, but he had knocked one ninja unconscious and then bolted down the street just as fast as his feet would take him.
He cut across the street without looking. This late at night the only people on the roadways were either johns looking for some company or wannabe gangstas looking for some trouble.
An old tenant building was being restored and the alley was filled with scaffolding. He ducked beneath the switchback railings and planks, hoping to find a suitable hiding place. He hadn't settled for more than a few seconds before the entire scaffolding rattled from something landing on the top rung.
He looked skyward, seeing the moon hanging just above the lip of the building, and saw shadows slide down the poles and railings. Their motions were fluid and looked rehearsed, like chasing a black teenager through the Kitchen was commonplace for them.
He was still riding high on the strength he had absorbed from their first attack, so Victor grabbed one of the support poles and ripped it out of the rest of the scaffolding. Metal shrieked as the entire structure began to collapse, not just from Victor pulling it apart, but from the now unsupported weight of the three ninjas that were working their way downward.
Without missing a beat, the three ninjas leaped from the deteriorating scaffolding and landed on the fire escape of the building across the alley. They had barely been slowed down, and Victor now had several hundred pounds of metal and planking falling on top of him.
He threw himself out onto the sidewalk, narrowly escaping the plunging bars. The noise was deafening and would surely wake people up. Witnesses would start arriving soon and Victor thought might end up being a better defense than trying to fight these weirdos off on his own. After all, what kind of ninjas pick a fight in public?
No sooner had the scaffolding settled and the scarping metal stopped assaulting his ears then he sat up and felt something hot wrap around his neck. He instinctively reached up and gripped the tether, which seems to be some kind of burning construct, but couldn't pull it off or gain any slack. He was being choked out.
The three ninjas from the alley cautiously stepped toward him and he heard a fourth come from behind, which undoubtedly was the one wielding this energy whip that was now cutting off his air supply. He felt his strength draining away and reached out again in a desperate attempt to absorb more from the oncoming ninjas.
The lead ninja from the alley slid out a blood-red energy dagger from his waist band, lurched forward, and stabbed it into Victor's forehead. Instead of cutting into his tissue and bone, however, it cut into his psyche.
The world went black.
# # # # #
“Come aboard, he says. It's a babysitting gig for Stark, he says. Imma kill you, Danny!”
Luke Cage ripped the top off of a tiki bar and tossed it at a grouping of gunmen. The fiberglass counter top sailed through the air, crashing into the deck just below where the gunmen had chosen to make their stand. The hardwood exploded at their feet, peppering them with splinters and chunks of building material.
Iron Fist was squatting down behind the tiki bar next to the standing Cage. He cracked his neck and waited. He wasn't going to bother responding to his partner's comments; he knew that Luke just needed to unload.
Instead, Danny was focused more on the biped hover bikes that were lashing cables to the front of the Insular. He had a perfect view of the crew that was trying to usurp steering control over the airship by tying off cables to the front bow.
“Screw this,” Cage said.
He hopped over what remained of the top of the tiki bar and just walked over to the gunmen. Their weapons, modified MP-5s, assaulted him relentlessly. They emptied out entire magazines within seconds of each other, drilling slugs against his diamond hard skin. His stroll was almost casual, alarming the gunmen and causing them to panic as he came closer and closer.
Two of the four gunmen finally gave up and ran the other way. A third, now completely out of ammunition, chose to throw his machine gun at Cage, which harmlessly bounced off his chest and bullet-riddled yellow shirt. Then he joined his fleeing partners.
One remained behind, who had just slammed a fresh clip home as Cage came within a foot of him. The gunman stuttered, then raised the muzzle of his weapon level with Cage's face, and pulled the trigger. Cage's head jutted back from the burst of gunfire, and he let out a low growl of aggravation.
He grabbed the shirt of the hijacker, lifted him off his feet, and pulled him close. “I might be bulletproof,” Cage said, “but it still hurts, jerk.”
Luke slapped the gunman, who let out a girlish squeal, and then let him fall to the floor unconscious.
Iron Fist waited for the men to finish attaching their cables and to remount their hover bikes. The bikes had two large turbines on either side, which must supply the lift they required. He couldn't imagine they would be powerful enough to pull the Insular where they wanted it to go, but it would likely be more than enough to steer the vessel.
When both their backs were turned he made his move. Iron Fist grabbed a pair of metal spatulas from beneath the grill on the tiki bar, twirling them like escrimi sticks. As he built momentum and speed, ducking beneath umbrellas near the pool, Iron Fist summoned the power of his namesake, causing his right hand and forearm to begin to glow.
There were two pilots for the hover bikes, and the first heard his approach just a moment too late. He turned halfway around when Iron Fist slapped the thin stainless steel of the spatula head against the open portion of his face, the part not covered by a helmet.
With the other spatula, Iron Fist flicked it upward, catching the pilot just under the chin and staggering him. Iron Fist spun fully around and drove his elbow into the man’s solar plexus, knocking him down.
By then the other pilot had turned, dismounted, and slung a machine gun off his shoulder. A spray of bullets punched through empty air, as Iron Fist has already slipped underneath his arc. By flawlessly spinning around as part of his crouch, he brought up his pair of spatulas to criss-cross against the underside of the machine gun’s barrel. With a flick of his wrists he disarmed the gunman.
Iron Fist lashed out with left snap kick, targeted behind the gunman’s right knee. His opponent’s leg gave out and he fell into a kneeling position, which was perfect for the energized right haymaker that Iron Fist tossed into his chin.
Both pilots were down, but as Iron Fist reached to dislodge the guiding cables, something slammed into the small of his back. He was nearly tossed over the lip of the airship, but he managed to grab one of the cables that was still connected to the Insular. He dangled precariously right on the edge, the majority of his body still balanced on the tip of the massive luxury vessel.
“We meet again, monsieur.”
Iron Fist managed to look up just enough to see the familiar purple and orange uniform of a French savate expert named Batroc the Leaper. His skills in the French kick-boxing style were unparallel, as was his international reputation for smuggling, larceny, and other mercenary exploits.
He was a brutal killer, a skilled tactician, and more importantly at the moment, a decision maker in whether or not Danny Rand continued to walk amongst the living.
“I always appreciate crossing swords with you Americans,” Batroc said as he fingered his mustache. “You’re always very good at handling what’s in front of you, but alas, you rarely watch your own backs.”
“I have someone to do that for me,” Iron Fist said.
…which Cage took as his signal to tackle Batroc around the waist. They fell to the deck in a tangle of arms and legs, with Batroc thrashing wildly while gripped by Cage’s strong upper body. Batroc tried to leverage himself free, but once Luke Cage had his grip set none fewer than the Juggernaut could break the hold.
“You okay, partner?” Cage asked.
Iron Fist pulled himself up and rolled back onto the deck beside the pair of men. “I’m better now,” Iron Fist replied. “The rest of his crew?”
“All down for the count. This nutcase sent—”
Batroc threw his head back and smashed Cage’s nose, snapping the cartilage out of place. Cage instinctively loosened his grip and Batroc, as slippery as an eel, fell out of this bear hug. With a swift kip up, the savate fighter was bouncing around on his feet instantly.
His practiced footwork created a framework of kicks that seemed to target Iron Fist from all sides. Despite himself, Danny was pushed back by the assault. It was like a blur of color was sweeping toward him, each kick more powerful than the next. It was all he could do to block all of them.
Until Batroc feinted to one side, and then blasted Iron Fist in the gut with a precision strike. Danny doubled over, positioning him perfectly for a killing blow. Batroc the Leaper angled back, falling into his fighter’s stance, and adjusted his weight to that it all fell onto his right leg. With a sneer, Batroc took advantage of his opponent’s disadvantaged and surprised state, and cocked back his leg that would be powerful enough to separate his brain stem.
At the last second Iron Fist lurched forward. The angle of Batroc’s kick was now all wrong, and he overshot. Danny ducked under Batroc’s foot and rose up so that Batroc’s leg was wrapped over his shoulder. Iron Fist latched onto Batroc’s thigh and then kicked out his feet from under him, dropping him to the deck on his back with his leg still extended and in Iron Fist’s control.
Iron Fist didn’t miss a beat; he choked Batroc’s ankle and twisted, snapping the bones within.
The mercenary cried out, issuing a string of profanities. They were all in French, however, and feel on deaf ears.
“Ouch,” Cage said as he approached, gripping his nose between his fingers. “That had to hurt.”
Danny nodded at Luke. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, just my dignity that’s in shambles. My nose might be broke. Not sure. Hurts.”
“Any idea who Batroc is working for?”
Cage shook his head, but stopped quickly as he winced from the discomfort. “Nope. Does it really matter? As far as we’re concerned we just earned our paycheck, bro. Let Stark figure it all out.”
“Bastards!” Batroc exclaimed. “Release me, you two—”
“Shut up,” Luke and Danny said in unison.
# # # # #
“So, who tried to hijack your dirigible?”
The image of Tony Stark raised his eyebrow. “It’s not a dirigible, Luke,” Tony’s electronic image replied. “It’s a highly sophisticated application of repulsor tech that the world’s elite will enjoy commercially.”
“You mean the two percent that can afford to use it,” Danny muttered.
“I thought all airships were called dirigibles,” Luke added.
“And the answer is no, I haven’t figured out who hired Batroc to kidnap my ship. I did backtrack his communications to the source, though. He was using one of my satellites to bounce the signal into Madripoor. I don’t suppose the two of you have any interest in pursuing this for me?”
“That depends,” said Luke. “You paying our way?”
“Of course. First class, all the way.”
Luke and Danny traded a quick glance. Then Danny said, “Alright, I think the Heroes For Hire can help you out on this one, Tony. Where do we begin?”
“Perfect. I’ll have my assistant book a flight for you right away and send you the details. I’ve already taken the liberty of having one of our locals get started on the investigation. An old friend of yours, as a matter of fact. He’s been heading up my research department in Madripoor.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “For real? Are you talking about—” he started to say.
“While my R&D team there would prefer to call him something other than Deathlok, he’s already up to speed and ready to give you whatever local support you’ll need to take this thing by the horns. Good luck, gentlemen, and enjoy the crime-ridden streets of Madripoor.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Luke Cage tried not to revisit what he had for breakfast that morning and gently placed a hand on his stomach. The proprioception didn't seem to help, and his insides continued to do back flips. Luke considered himself an urbanite, most recently of Chicago, and hated when he feet weren't planted on firm asphalt.
As the airship rocked from more turbulence, Luke once again battled down a bubble of hot bile. He glanced at his partner, Daniel Rand, otherwise known as Iron Fist, and shot daggers with his eyes.
“Relax, buddy,” Iron Fist replied. “This is a lucrative contract. We'll be back down on Terra Firma soon enough.”
“All the money in the world ain't enough for this crap,” Cage said. He would have continued, but he felt the need to slap his hand over his mouth to contain the threat of vomit.
Danny just shook his head, the thin strips of yellow fabric from his face mask slipping back over his shoulder from the motion. From the porthole he could see mostly farmland. The majority of their cross-country flight was taken up by the Midwest, which meant for poor sightseeing.
He had to admit that this wasn't the most glamorous job they had ever accepted. Akin to babysitting, they were hired by Tony Stark himself to escort a prototype airship on its maiden voyage from Los Angels to New York City. The armored Avenger had assured him that this was a serious mission, and that he really needed the Heroes For Hire to keep this investment safe.
Apparently, it wasn't important enough to warrant his own presence, or that of his fellow Avengers, but it was important nonetheless.
Danny hadn't bothered to tell him that they weren't the Heroes For Hire anymore. That moniker had dissolved when the last incarnation of the team had gone belly-up. With Deathlok in Madripor and the others spread throughout the hemisphere, Luke and Danny were all that was left of the H4H, so it seemed like they had come full circle once more. Still, money was money, and Stark was good people as far as Danny was concerned, so he accepted the assignment.
“Let's go topside and have a look around,” Iron Fist said. Luke reluctantly followed.
Breaching the cabin door and ascending the narrow stairwell, the pair found themselves on the main deck of the newly christened Insular, a play on words concerning the Latin heritage of the word. The massive luxury airship was a new venture to create stylistic transcontinental transportation, like a steamship liner cruise ship, only 20,000 feet above sea level.
It used repulsor technology to stay aloft, with huge rings of glowing coils lining the underbelly of the vessel. The elongated deck looked just like a vacation cruise ship, complete with shuffle board, a water slide feeding into a massive pool, and several tiki bars. The interior held quarters for around 1,100 guests, as well as a ballroom, a movie theater, restaurants, and several common areas.
It was a multibillion dollar project, to be sure, so it made sense for Stark to want a little extra protection on board during the test flight. The main deck was devoid of life, since only a skeleton crew was on board aside from Luke and Danny.
“I'm going to hurl,” Luke said.
“Oh for crying out loud...”
Iron Fist stopped short and Cage bumped into him as he turned around. Danny grabbed Luke's left wrist and tapped the dorsal branch of the ulnar nerve, just below the lunate. He paused a heartbeat, then tapped twice more. Upon the final gentle strike Cage stood upright, his eyes going wide.
“Christmas,” he muttered. “I...I feel a lot better. What did you just do?”
“Tapped a chakra point into submission. Your brain now thinks you're fine, which you are, by the way. It's all in your head, Luke. Honestly, how is it you can bench press a bus, but you get queasy because you're up in the air? It's not like we're flying in a prop plane, dancing through the clouds or something.”
“Danny, this crate is the very definition of a prop plane.”
Iron Fist smirked and then turned his attention to his surroundings. There was an eerie feeling that washed over him, mainly due to the empty yet fully automated luxuries around him. The water slide was splashing water into the vacant pool, the neon signs at the bars were lit and blinking, and music pulsed out of the dozens of speakers spread around the deck.
It was a cushy gig, but a little boring.
“Want to play some shuffle board?” Iron Fist asked.
That's when the gunfire started.
# # # # #
He didn't know what they wanted with him, but he was sure that if he didn't get away that he was a dead man.
Victor knew the streets of Hell's Kitchen better than most, having grown up there. As an Afro-Dominican he could fit into most neighborhoods with relative ease. There were few gangs, dealers, junkies, and hoods that didn't know him by name. Not that he had ever fallen in with that sort; his mom would have killed him.
But that was the last thing on his mind right now. After coming home from his job at the warehouse, loading produce and the like, Victor had been jumped by ninjas. Freakin' ninjas. His strength had been augmented right away, just as soon as he instinctively knew that he was in danger, and he had managed to get away. It was playing out like a video game, but he had knocked one ninja unconscious and then bolted down the street just as fast as his feet would take him.
He cut across the street without looking. This late at night the only people on the roadways were either johns looking for some company or wannabe gangstas looking for some trouble.
An old tenant building was being restored and the alley was filled with scaffolding. He ducked beneath the switchback railings and planks, hoping to find a suitable hiding place. He hadn't settled for more than a few seconds before the entire scaffolding rattled from something landing on the top rung.
He looked skyward, seeing the moon hanging just above the lip of the building, and saw shadows slide down the poles and railings. Their motions were fluid and looked rehearsed, like chasing a black teenager through the Kitchen was commonplace for them.
He was still riding high on the strength he had absorbed from their first attack, so Victor grabbed one of the support poles and ripped it out of the rest of the scaffolding. Metal shrieked as the entire structure began to collapse, not just from Victor pulling it apart, but from the now unsupported weight of the three ninjas that were working their way downward.
Without missing a beat, the three ninjas leaped from the deteriorating scaffolding and landed on the fire escape of the building across the alley. They had barely been slowed down, and Victor now had several hundred pounds of metal and planking falling on top of him.
He threw himself out onto the sidewalk, narrowly escaping the plunging bars. The noise was deafening and would surely wake people up. Witnesses would start arriving soon and Victor thought might end up being a better defense than trying to fight these weirdos off on his own. After all, what kind of ninjas pick a fight in public?
No sooner had the scaffolding settled and the scarping metal stopped assaulting his ears then he sat up and felt something hot wrap around his neck. He instinctively reached up and gripped the tether, which seems to be some kind of burning construct, but couldn't pull it off or gain any slack. He was being choked out.
The three ninjas from the alley cautiously stepped toward him and he heard a fourth come from behind, which undoubtedly was the one wielding this energy whip that was now cutting off his air supply. He felt his strength draining away and reached out again in a desperate attempt to absorb more from the oncoming ninjas.
The lead ninja from the alley slid out a blood-red energy dagger from his waist band, lurched forward, and stabbed it into Victor's forehead. Instead of cutting into his tissue and bone, however, it cut into his psyche.
The world went black.
# # # # #
“Come aboard, he says. It's a babysitting gig for Stark, he says. Imma kill you, Danny!”
Luke Cage ripped the top off of a tiki bar and tossed it at a grouping of gunmen. The fiberglass counter top sailed through the air, crashing into the deck just below where the gunmen had chosen to make their stand. The hardwood exploded at their feet, peppering them with splinters and chunks of building material.
Iron Fist was squatting down behind the tiki bar next to the standing Cage. He cracked his neck and waited. He wasn't going to bother responding to his partner's comments; he knew that Luke just needed to unload.
Instead, Danny was focused more on the biped hover bikes that were lashing cables to the front of the Insular. He had a perfect view of the crew that was trying to usurp steering control over the airship by tying off cables to the front bow.
“Screw this,” Cage said.
He hopped over what remained of the top of the tiki bar and just walked over to the gunmen. Their weapons, modified MP-5s, assaulted him relentlessly. They emptied out entire magazines within seconds of each other, drilling slugs against his diamond hard skin. His stroll was almost casual, alarming the gunmen and causing them to panic as he came closer and closer.
Two of the four gunmen finally gave up and ran the other way. A third, now completely out of ammunition, chose to throw his machine gun at Cage, which harmlessly bounced off his chest and bullet-riddled yellow shirt. Then he joined his fleeing partners.
One remained behind, who had just slammed a fresh clip home as Cage came within a foot of him. The gunman stuttered, then raised the muzzle of his weapon level with Cage's face, and pulled the trigger. Cage's head jutted back from the burst of gunfire, and he let out a low growl of aggravation.
He grabbed the shirt of the hijacker, lifted him off his feet, and pulled him close. “I might be bulletproof,” Cage said, “but it still hurts, jerk.”
Luke slapped the gunman, who let out a girlish squeal, and then let him fall to the floor unconscious.
Iron Fist waited for the men to finish attaching their cables and to remount their hover bikes. The bikes had two large turbines on either side, which must supply the lift they required. He couldn't imagine they would be powerful enough to pull the Insular where they wanted it to go, but it would likely be more than enough to steer the vessel.
When both their backs were turned he made his move. Iron Fist grabbed a pair of metal spatulas from beneath the grill on the tiki bar, twirling them like escrimi sticks. As he built momentum and speed, ducking beneath umbrellas near the pool, Iron Fist summoned the power of his namesake, causing his right hand and forearm to begin to glow.
There were two pilots for the hover bikes, and the first heard his approach just a moment too late. He turned halfway around when Iron Fist slapped the thin stainless steel of the spatula head against the open portion of his face, the part not covered by a helmet.
With the other spatula, Iron Fist flicked it upward, catching the pilot just under the chin and staggering him. Iron Fist spun fully around and drove his elbow into the man’s solar plexus, knocking him down.
By then the other pilot had turned, dismounted, and slung a machine gun off his shoulder. A spray of bullets punched through empty air, as Iron Fist has already slipped underneath his arc. By flawlessly spinning around as part of his crouch, he brought up his pair of spatulas to criss-cross against the underside of the machine gun’s barrel. With a flick of his wrists he disarmed the gunman.
Iron Fist lashed out with left snap kick, targeted behind the gunman’s right knee. His opponent’s leg gave out and he fell into a kneeling position, which was perfect for the energized right haymaker that Iron Fist tossed into his chin.
Both pilots were down, but as Iron Fist reached to dislodge the guiding cables, something slammed into the small of his back. He was nearly tossed over the lip of the airship, but he managed to grab one of the cables that was still connected to the Insular. He dangled precariously right on the edge, the majority of his body still balanced on the tip of the massive luxury vessel.
“We meet again, monsieur.”
Iron Fist managed to look up just enough to see the familiar purple and orange uniform of a French savate expert named Batroc the Leaper. His skills in the French kick-boxing style were unparallel, as was his international reputation for smuggling, larceny, and other mercenary exploits.
He was a brutal killer, a skilled tactician, and more importantly at the moment, a decision maker in whether or not Danny Rand continued to walk amongst the living.
“I always appreciate crossing swords with you Americans,” Batroc said as he fingered his mustache. “You’re always very good at handling what’s in front of you, but alas, you rarely watch your own backs.”
“I have someone to do that for me,” Iron Fist said.
…which Cage took as his signal to tackle Batroc around the waist. They fell to the deck in a tangle of arms and legs, with Batroc thrashing wildly while gripped by Cage’s strong upper body. Batroc tried to leverage himself free, but once Luke Cage had his grip set none fewer than the Juggernaut could break the hold.
“You okay, partner?” Cage asked.
Iron Fist pulled himself up and rolled back onto the deck beside the pair of men. “I’m better now,” Iron Fist replied. “The rest of his crew?”
“All down for the count. This nutcase sent—”
Batroc threw his head back and smashed Cage’s nose, snapping the cartilage out of place. Cage instinctively loosened his grip and Batroc, as slippery as an eel, fell out of this bear hug. With a swift kip up, the savate fighter was bouncing around on his feet instantly.
His practiced footwork created a framework of kicks that seemed to target Iron Fist from all sides. Despite himself, Danny was pushed back by the assault. It was like a blur of color was sweeping toward him, each kick more powerful than the next. It was all he could do to block all of them.
Until Batroc feinted to one side, and then blasted Iron Fist in the gut with a precision strike. Danny doubled over, positioning him perfectly for a killing blow. Batroc the Leaper angled back, falling into his fighter’s stance, and adjusted his weight to that it all fell onto his right leg. With a sneer, Batroc took advantage of his opponent’s disadvantaged and surprised state, and cocked back his leg that would be powerful enough to separate his brain stem.
At the last second Iron Fist lurched forward. The angle of Batroc’s kick was now all wrong, and he overshot. Danny ducked under Batroc’s foot and rose up so that Batroc’s leg was wrapped over his shoulder. Iron Fist latched onto Batroc’s thigh and then kicked out his feet from under him, dropping him to the deck on his back with his leg still extended and in Iron Fist’s control.
Iron Fist didn’t miss a beat; he choked Batroc’s ankle and twisted, snapping the bones within.
The mercenary cried out, issuing a string of profanities. They were all in French, however, and feel on deaf ears.
“Ouch,” Cage said as he approached, gripping his nose between his fingers. “That had to hurt.”
Danny nodded at Luke. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, just my dignity that’s in shambles. My nose might be broke. Not sure. Hurts.”
“Any idea who Batroc is working for?”
Cage shook his head, but stopped quickly as he winced from the discomfort. “Nope. Does it really matter? As far as we’re concerned we just earned our paycheck, bro. Let Stark figure it all out.”
“Bastards!” Batroc exclaimed. “Release me, you two—”
“Shut up,” Luke and Danny said in unison.
# # # # #
“So, who tried to hijack your dirigible?”
The image of Tony Stark raised his eyebrow. “It’s not a dirigible, Luke,” Tony’s electronic image replied. “It’s a highly sophisticated application of repulsor tech that the world’s elite will enjoy commercially.”
“You mean the two percent that can afford to use it,” Danny muttered.
“I thought all airships were called dirigibles,” Luke added.
“And the answer is no, I haven’t figured out who hired Batroc to kidnap my ship. I did backtrack his communications to the source, though. He was using one of my satellites to bounce the signal into Madripoor. I don’t suppose the two of you have any interest in pursuing this for me?”
“That depends,” said Luke. “You paying our way?”
“Of course. First class, all the way.”
Luke and Danny traded a quick glance. Then Danny said, “Alright, I think the Heroes For Hire can help you out on this one, Tony. Where do we begin?”
“Perfect. I’ll have my assistant book a flight for you right away and send you the details. I’ve already taken the liberty of having one of our locals get started on the investigation. An old friend of yours, as a matter of fact. He’s been heading up my research department in Madripoor.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “For real? Are you talking about—” he started to say.
“While my R&D team there would prefer to call him something other than Deathlok, he’s already up to speed and ready to give you whatever local support you’ll need to take this thing by the horns. Good luck, gentlemen, and enjoy the crime-ridden streets of Madripoor.”
TO BE CONTINUED