11:47 PM.
A narrow alley on the edge of San Francisco’s Japantown.
Elektra Natchios pressed her back against the brick wall, her breathing steady but rapid.
On the outside of her left arm was a three-inch gash.
It wasn’t bleeding heavily, but the skin around the edges had turned an unhealthy greenish-black.
The dart had been poisoned—not fatal, but enough to numb the muscles.
Two opponents remained in front of her, with no telling how many more hid in the shadows.
Both wore dark ninja garb and masks, gripping short blades.
Two others already lay motionless on the ground, their throats pierced by her twin sai.
“The Hand,” Elektra said in Japanese.
“You have a branch in San Francisco too?” Neither ninja answered.
They lunged forward simultaneously with disciplined precision and seamless coordination—a textbook ambush tactic.
Elektra side-stepped, parrying the first blade with her sai while kicking the second man in the knee.
But the numbness in her left arm weakened her leverage; the block slipped half an inch, allowing a blade to graze her shoulder.
Frowning, she retreated and rapidly calculated an escape route.
Both ends of the alley were blocked, but a fire escape hung on the right wall.
If she could reach it— A third ninja dropped from the rooftop, sending a hail of shuriken downward.
Elektra rolled across the pavement to dodge.
A single shuriken scraped across her thigh, leaving a bloody streak.
Four.
The intel was wrong.
This wasn’t a standard underground clinic; it was a safehouse for The Hand.
She tightened her grip on her sai, preparing to fight for her life.
Suddenly, bright headlights illuminated the alley.
A grey sedan swung around the corner, its beams shining straight down the passage.
The ninjas paused, instinctively raising their arms to shield their eyes.
In the distance, police sirens wailed, growing louder by the second.
The lead ninja gave a swift hand sign.
The four figures grabbed their dead comrades, retreated into the darkness, scaled the wall, and vanished.
The headlights cut out.
The driver’s door swung open, and an Asian man stepped down carrying a medical kit.
“Need some help?” he asked.
“I was just driving by and saw what looked like a fight.” Elektra watched him warily.
He appeared to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, dressed in a plain shirt and trousers, looking like an ordinary office worker.
The medical kit bore the inscription *Renxin Hall*.
“Who are you?” “A doctor.” The man stepped closer, glancing at her wounds.
“Dart injury?
Needs debridement, and likely carries toxins.
My clinic is three blocks away, or I can patch you up roughly right here.” Elektra hesitated for a second.
The numbness in her left arm was spreading, and the wound on her thigh was still bleeding.
She nodded.
The man opened his kit, retrieving antiseptic cotton and bandages.
“Let me stop the bleeding first.
Can you walk?” “Yes.” “Get in.” *** Renxin Hall, Examination Room.
Matthew Vance turned on the surgical lamp and had Elektra sit in the chair.
He treated the wound on her left arm first, cleansing it and checking for toxins.
“It’s not lethal,” he noted, using tweezers to pull out residual fragments of the dart.
“A local anesthetic mixed with a neurotoxin.
Needs an antidote injection.
I have a standard antitoxin here that should work.” “You have antitoxins?” “San Francisco has everything.” Matthew picked up a syringe.
“Intramuscular injection.
It might sting a bit.” Elektra said nothing, letting him administer the shot.
Next came the thigh wound—cleansing, suturing, and bandaging.
The entire process took twenty minutes, performed with practiced efficiency.
“Thank you.” Elektra flexed her left arm; the numbness was already beginning to fade.
“Don’t mention it.” Matthew packed away his instruments.
“San Francisco hasn’t been peaceful lately.
How did you cross paths with The Hand?” Elektra’s eyes narrowed.
“You know about The Hand?” “I’ve heard of them.” Matthew washed his hands at the sink.
“I’m a doctor.
My patients come from all walks of life.
Once, an injured thug came in seeking treatment with similar wounds.
He claimed he was attacked by ‘ninjas who worship the Beast.'” “‘The Beast’?” Elektra sat up straight.
“That’s what he called it.” Matthew dried his hands.
“Appears to be an ancient organization backed by some entity known as the ‘Beast.’ They seem more active in New York, with San Francisco being just a branch.
What, do you have a personal vendetta against them?” Elektra studied Matthew for a few silent seconds.
“Are you fishing for information?” “Just curious,” Matthew replied with a faint smile.
“A woman with skills like yours, hunted at midnight by ninjas, carrying poisoned wounds, attacked with standard-issue Hand weaponry—that plot line would make a decent movie.” “You aren’t an ordinary doctor.” “I practice traditional Chinese medicine, and I’ve studied Western medicine too,” Matthew said.
“Though true, ordinary doctors don’t make house calls at midnight, nor do they stock specialized antitoxins for The Hand.” He opened a medicine cabinet and retrieved a small vial.
“Is this what you were looking for?” Elektra took the vial.
The label read *Neurotoxin Antidote*, manufactured by a New York biotech firm, dated 1996.
“Where did you get this?” “Left behind by that same thug,” Matthew said.
“He told me if anyone ever needed it in the future, to pass it along.
Looking at your situation tonight, I figured you could use it.” Elektra gripped the vial tightly.
“What else did he tell you?” “He mentioned that the head of The Hand in San Francisco goes by the codename ‘Shadow Fox,’ often operating around Japantown.
They don’t get along with the local Foot Clan; the two factions clash frequently.
Apparently, they’re searching for something, or guarding something.” “What something?” “He wasn’t clear.” Matthew shook his head.
“He just mentioned an ‘ancient object’—could be an antique, could be something else.
Oh, he also mentioned recent Hand activity down at the docks regarding a shipment codenamed ‘K-Series.'” Elektra stood up.
Pain spiked from her sutures, but she showed no expression.
“Why are you telling me all this?” “Three reasons,” Matthew said.
“First, I’m a doctor.
Saving lives is my job.
Second, I don’t care for The Hand—they hurt one of my patients.
Third…” He paused.
“Third, I can tell the person you’re looking for is no longer in San Francisco.” Elektra’s pupils contracted slightly.
“You know who I’m looking for?” “No,” Matthew said.
“But when a top-tier assassin from New York spends over a month investigating San Francisco, the target must be someone significant.
If the person were still here, someone of your caliber would have found them by now.
Since you haven’t, it means they’re either dead or gone.” Elektra fell silent.
She had indeed begun to suspect that Martin Li was no longer in the city.
The conflicting intel and dead-end leads all pointed to that conclusion.
And right now, clues regarding The Hand and the Beast took priority for her.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Matthew said.
“The information is free.
The antidote is free.
You can leave right now, return to New York, and pursue whatever you need to pursue.
San Francisco’s muddy waters aren’t worth wading through.” “You seem very eager to see me leave.” “I just prefer it when everyone stays safe and sound,” Matthew replied with a slight smile.
“Though, if you insist on returning the favor…” He pulled a business card from his desk drawer and wrote an encrypted email address on the back.
“Here is my contact info.
If the day comes when I need help, and it doesn’t violate your principles, consider giving me a hand.” Elektra took the card, glanced at it, and slipped it into her pocket.
“I’m Elektra.” “Matthew Vance.” “Dr.
Vance.” Elektra walked to the door, then paused.
“One last question.
Are you really just a doctor?” “I really am just a doctor,” Matthew said.
“It’s just that a few of my patients happen to talk too much.” Elektra gave him a final look, then vanished into the night.
*** Matthew locked the front door and returned to the examination room.
He packed away his medical kit, gathered all used instruments, gauze, and cotton balls into a biohazard bag, and meticulously wiped down the chair Elektra had occupied with disinfectant.
He cleaned every trace of blood from the floor.
Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“She’s gone,” Matthew said.
“Did it go smoothly?” came Remy’s voice.
“Smoothly,” Matthew replied.
“Did you clean up on The Hand’s end?” “Four ninjas, all taken care of,” Remy said.
“We staged the scene to look like a gang feud, leaving a few traces pointing to the Italian mob.
The Hand will assume Elektra was hired by the Italians.” “Very good,” Matthew said.
“Now, shift your focus to investigating the ‘K-Series’ shipment.” “Understood.”