“As for the Hand, all the intelligence I could gather has already been handed over to Griffin and Cecilia.”
He paused, directing his sightless eyes in Ross Vance’s direction.
“I’m only here to leech some heat and coffee.
Don’t read too much into it.”
Ross Vance stared at him for two seconds before his lips slowly curved into a grin.
He understood instantly.
Leeching heat?
The heating from that second-hand air conditioner in the base’s parlor was mediocre at best.
Murdock’s own law firm was far warmer than this place.
Leeching coffee?
Instant coffee, three dollars a box to brew a whole pot.
It was the cheap stuff Griffin usually bought from the supermarket.
This guy had squatted here all afternoon, drinking three or four cups of awful instant coffee, just to wait for him to wake up.
And then he tells him, “I’m fine, just hanging out.”
If this wasn’t worrying about him, what was?
Worried that something might have happened to him, yet too embarrassed to ask directly, he had made up an excuse to sit and wait.
Once he saw Ross was fine, he’d casually drop a “don’t read too much into it.”
Ross leaned back against the sofa, looking at Murdock’s expressionless face, and silently mocked him in his mind.
*My god, what a total tsundere.*
He didn’t plan on exposing Murdock.
With these kinds of paranoid, sharp-tongued, soft-hearted folks, the more you call them out, the more awkward they get.
Best to let him keep playing his part; as long as they both understood, that was enough.
“Sure.”
Ross leaned back, resting his hands behind his head, smiling as if nothing had happened.
“Then take your time leeching.
If the heating isn’t enough, I’ll have Griffin bring in another heater.
And there’s plenty of coffee—instant, of course.”
Murdock’s lip twitched slightly.
It was a miniscule movement, almost imperceptible, but Ross caught it.
“I’ve already given them the intelligence.
I won’t repeat myself.”
Murdock stood up, buttoning his suit jacket and picking up his briefcase from the arm of the sofa.
“The Hand isn’t easy to deal with.
Watch your back.
Don’t think they’re push-overs just because you took down four low-level ninjas last night.”
Ross also stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding with a smile.
“I know, I know.
You too.
When you go out for your ‘nightly workouts,’ watch yourself.
Don’t get your ribs broken again.”
Murdock didn’t reply, carrying his briefcase toward the door.
As he reached the door, he paused and turned his head slightly.
“Next time you aren’t feeling well, let me know in advance.”
Then he pushed open the door and walked out.
The sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor, soon disappearing down the stairwell.
Ross stood in place, staring at the closed door, and couldn’t help but chuckle.
“This guy is actually quite amusing.”
He shook his head, walked back to the sofa, sat down, and picked up the coffee cup Murdock had been using.
There was still a sip left at the bottom, completely cold.
“Griffin!” he called out toward the door.
Griffin poked his head in from the corridor.
“My Lord?”
“Buy a decent coffee maker.
Let’s stop drinking instant.
Next time Murdock comes by, let’s serve him something good.”
Griffin paused, and then the scar on the corner of his mouth twitched—it was hard to tell if it was meant to be a smile.
“Understood, My Lord.”
“Also, get me something to eat.
Then bring me the intel Matt brought.
After that, we’ll go together to meet our new brothers.”
Ross instructed Griffin.
“Yes, My Lord.”
Griffin, ever the obedient tool, showed no emotional fluctuation as he turned and left.
Ten minutes later, Griffin walked in carrying a tray, followed by Cecilia.
On the tray lay a fried egg, two slices of toast, a small plate of bacon, and a steaming cup of black tea.
Ross took it and began to eat, accepting the tablet Cecilia handed him.
“My Lord, this is the compilation of the intelligence Mr.
Murdock brought.”
Ross chewed his toast, his eyes scanning the screen.
Cecilia had organized it clearly, with absolutely no fluff.
Murdock had definitely put in some serious effort this time.
The Hand.
This group of ninjas had never been an ordinary gang from the very beginning.
Their history dated back to sixteenth-century Japan.
Originally a secret society of samurai, they were later co-opted by an ancient ninja clan called the Snakeroot.
The Snakeroot worshipped a primordial demon known as the Beast, transforming the Hand into a cult.
Later on, they established roots in Japan and slowly developed into an international criminal network involved in assassination, drug trafficking, money laundering—you name it.
But the branch in Hell’s Kitchen had a slightly different origin.
At least, that was what Murdock’s intelligence suggested.
Several leaders of this Hand faction were said to not be Japanese, but rather elders who had been banished from a mystical city called Kunlun.
Having lived for countless centuries by stealing fossilized Dragon Bone to sustain their lives, they had eventually drifted to New York.
No matter what their origins actually were, the work they did was equally filthy.
As for their bases, Murdock hadn’t been able to pinpoint every single location.
The Hand’s buildings utilized a kind of sensory-obscuring ward; even if ordinary people walked right past them, they wouldn’t notice.
The three bases he could confirm were:
Beneath the Black Bamboo, a Japanese-style club on the East Side; a subterranean transit station under an abandoned warehouse district at the docks; and a crypt under an old abandoned church on the border of Clinton.
In terms of personnel, the Hand’s ninjas were divided into three ranks.
At the bottom were the genin.
The four whose heads Cecilia had twisted off last night belonged to this rank, responsible for chores like scouting, running errands, and collecting protection money.
Above them were the chunin, the true backbone of their fighting force.
Their physical capabilities far exceeded ordinary humans, they specialized in cold weapons, and they numbered around eighty to a hundred.
At the very top were the jonin, the elite executives of the Hand.
Their numbers were extremely few, each could be resurrected using an altar, and their combat strength was far beyond that of a chunin.
Murdock had clashed with one of these jonin once; his ribs had been broken in their very first exchange, leaving him bedridden for three weeks.
As for the specific leaders of the Hell’s Kitchen branch, Murdock’s intel mentioned a few names.
A woman named Alexandra, supposedly the supreme leader of the Hand’s five fingers, who had lived for an unknown number of centuries.
She put on the air of an elegant, aristocratic old lady, but in truth, she was utterly ruthless.
A Chinese old lady named Madame Gao, who looked fragile and in her seventies or eighties, but could actually send a man flying with a single slap.
Under the cover of Rand Enterprises, she controlled most of the heroin trade in Hell’s Kitchen.
And a Japanese man named Nobu, Daredevil’s old adversary, whom Murdock had previously assumed was the highest-ranking Hand leader in New York.
Which of them were jonin and who managed which operation, Murdock couldn’t say for sure.
Even more troublesome than this was their resurrection ability.
The Hand’s core members, from chunin on up, could be resurrected at an altar through the sacrifice of living people.
There was more than one altar; Murdock only knew of the one beneath the Black Bamboo, while the locations of the others remained a complete mystery.
Resurrection required a massive number of sacrifices, which explained why the Mad Dog Gang had been constantly supplying them with people, corpses, and blood.
It also explained why missing person cases in Hell’s Kitchen had doubled over the past three months compared to the same period last year.
At the very end of the intelligence report, Murdock had written one last sentence in red ink:
“The strength of these individuals is unfathomable.
Do not go seeking your own death.
Alexandra has lived for at least four hundred years, and Madame Gao can slap you straight into a wall.
Wait until I’ve cleared up the details before you make a move.”
Ross swallowed his last bite of toast, took a sip of tea, and set the tablet on the table.
“One hundred to two hundred people, three bases, resurrection capabilities, and elite jonin.”
He leaned back against the sofa.
“They’re definitely a much tougher nut to crack than the Mad Dog Gang.”
Cecilia stepped forward.
“My Lord, resurrection is merely a stalling tactic.
As long as we destroy the altars, they are nothing more than ordinary mortals.”
“The problem is that we don’t know all the altar locations,” Ross said.
“Keep investigating.
Focus on the transit station at the docks and that church.
Don’t startle the snake.
Also, we need to conduct our own thorough investigation into the intelligence regarding Alexandra, Madame Gao, and the others.”
“Understood.”
Ross stood up, brushing the crumbs off his pants.
“Let’s go.
First, we’ll meet our new brothers.
Griffin, bring the scientists along as well.
I have some questions for them.”
“Yes, My Lord.”