The Next Day
Triskelion – SHIELD Headquarters
Phil Coulson's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he approached Director Fury's office, a classified folder tucked under his arm. The latest intelligence summary on Smith Doyle, the Fraternity, and the High Table had crossed his desk that morning, and the implications required immediate discussion.
The door hissed open. Coulson stepped inside and positioned himself before Fury's desk.
"Director, this is the latest intelligence compiled from our surveillance of Smith Doyle, the Fraternity, and the High Table." He extended the folder.
Nick Fury didn't reach for it. Instead, his single eye fixed on Coulson with the intensity of a man who preferred verbal briefings to written reports.
"Give me the highlights."
Coulson's posture straightened slightly. "So far, the Fraternity and the High Table have engaged in three separate conflicts. The High Table initiated two attacks; the Fraternity launched one counteroffensive."
"Both sides suffered casualties, but the numbers aren't comparable. The High Table has lost approximately one quarter of its operational strength, a devastating blow to their infrastructure. The Fraternity's losses have been minimal by comparison."
He paused, letting the weight of that disparity sink in.
"Based on our projections, without external intervention, the High Table faces organizational collapse within weeks. Possibly days, depending on how aggressively the Fraternity presses their advantage."
Fury's fingers drummed once against his desk. "Threat assessment?"
"Regarding the High Table, they're conventional. No enhanced technology, no exotic weapons, nothing that falls under our jurisdiction. Their power structure is crumbling, but they pose no threat to national security or SHIELD operations."
Coulson flipped open his own copy of the report, though he didn't need to reference it.
"The Fraternity presents a more complex picture. Our initial theory about super soldier serum production is looking increasingly unlikely. Smith Doyle remains the only individual displaying enhanced abilities. No other members have demonstrated anything beyond peak human capability."
Fury leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "So we're looking at an isolated mutation rather than a reproducible enhancement."
"That's our working hypothesis," Coulson confirmed. "If the Fraternity possessed a functional super soldier serum, the strategic logic doesn't support elevating Smith Doyle to leadership. Why make your test subject the public face of your organization?"
"Even accounting for a low success rate, you don't promote experimental assets to positions of authority. The risk-reward calculation doesn't make sense from an operational standpoint."
Coulson closed the folder. "Our analysis strongly suggests individual mutation as the primary explanation."
"However," he added carefully, "we can't completely rule out serum development. Our embedded assets within the High Table are still attempting to eliminate Smith Doyle. If he falls to conventional tactics, that effectively disproves the serum theory."
Fury's eye narrowed. "You're using the High Table as field testers."
"A convenient arrangement," Coulson said without inflection. "They want him dead. We want confirmation of his capabilities and vulnerabilities. Our interests temporarily align."
Fury considered this for a long moment. "Threat level assessment for Smith Doyle. And when do you plan to make contact?"
"I recommend waiting until the conflict resolves," Coulson said. "Let the Fraternity and the High Table finish their war. Once we have a clear victor, and Smith Doyle has demonstrated the full extent of his capabilities under sustained pressure, we'll initiate contact from a position of complete intelligence superiority."
"Approaching him now, while he's actively engaged in combat operations, would be strategically premature. We'd be negotiating with incomplete information."
Nick Fury absorbed this, then gave a slight nod. "Proceed as planned. Keep me updated on any significant developments."
"Yes, sir."
Coulson turned toward the door. As his hand touched the handle, Fury's voice stopped him.
"Coulson."
"Sir?"
"Make sure our embedded assets understand, observe and report. If Smith Doyle demonstrates capabilities beyond what we've already documented, I want to know immediately."
"Understood, Director."
The door closed behind him with a soft pneumatic hiss.
Alone in his office, Nick Fury tapped his fingers against the desk in a rhythmic pattern. Privately, he'd hoped the super soldier serum theory would pan out. A reproducible enhancement process would have been invaluable, even if acquiring it meant delicate negotiations with an assassin organization.
But isolated mutation? That was less useful. You couldn't bottle lightning.
Still, the Fraternity's operational discipline intrigued him. Their code of conduct, their loyalty structure, their ability to maintain operational security in the digital age, all of it suggested an organization worth cultivating as an asset rather than dismantling as a threat.
Fury made a notation in Smith Doyle's file, then pushed it aside. Coulson would handle the approach when the timing was right. For now, SHIELD would watch and wait.
Brooklyn – Fraternity Headquarters
Akira stepped out of the taxi and stared at the address written on the piece of paper in her hand. The textile factory loomed before her, its industrial facade marked by obvious recent damage. Workers replaced the main gate while others patched bullet holes in the surrounding walls.
She checked the address again. This was definitely the place her father had sent her.
As she approached the entrance, heads turned. Assassins paused their work, tracking her movement with the casual alertness of predators noting an unfamiliar presence in their territory.
She reached the castle entrance just as a young man with dark hair stepped forward, blocking her path with polite but firm body language.
"This is private property," Wesley said. "You'll need to turn around."
Akira reached into her jacket and produced the marker John Wick had given her, a specially crafted three-stage bullet designed for ultra-long-range precision work.
"I was told to come here with this."
Wesley's eyes sharpened with recognition. He took the bullet, examining the distinctive craftsmanship. After a moment's consideration, he pocketed it.
"Follow me."
They entered the castle together. Akira's gaze swept across the interior as Wesley led her deeper into the building. The evidence of battle was impossible to miss, grenade scorch marks blackened the walls, bullet holes pockmarked every surface, and entire sections of masonry had been chewed up by sustained automatic fire.
A war happened here, she realized. Recently.
This was New York City, not some lawless war zone. Yet someone had launched a full-scale assault on this fortress, and from the evidence around her, the defenders had decisively repelled the attack.
Wesley guided her through corridors and up a staircase until they reached a heavy wooden door. He knocked three times.
"Enter," came a voice from within.
Wesley pushed the door open and gestured for Akira to precede him. The office beyond was surprisingly modest, functional rather than ostentatious.
"Chief, this is the individual carrying John Wick's marker."
The man behind the desk looked up. Smith Doyle was younger than Akira had expected, but something in his eyes suggested depths of experience that contradicted his apparent age.
Smith Doyle nodded dismissively at Wesley, who withdrew and closed the door behind him.
"Please, sit."
Akira crossed to the chair facing his desk and settled into it, placing the bullet marker on the polished wood surface between them.
Smith Doyle glanced at it, then raised his eyes to meet hers. "Did Shimazu Koji and John Wick provide you with any specific instructions?"
Surprise flickered across Akira's features. "You know who I am?"
A slight smile touched Smith Doyle's lips. He nodded.
Akira recovered quickly. "No special instructions. Only that I should follow directions once I arrived, and that my safety would be guaranteed here."
Smith Doyle studied her for a moment, noting the intelligence behind her curiosity. "You came bearing a valid marker. That places you under our protection automatically."
"I'll arrange accommodations for you, but understand, the situation remains volatile. The conflict isn't over. Stay within the compound until further notice."
"I understand," Akira said.
Smith Doyle pressed a button on his desk. Within moments, the door opened and a woman with striking features entered.
"Chief?"
"Fox, this is Akira. She's sought asylum with us through John Wick's marker. Get her situated in the guest quarters."
Fox's expression remained neutral, professional. She turned to Akira. "Come with me."
Akira rose and followed Fox out of the office, the door closing softly behind them.
Smith Doyle waited until their footsteps faded before turning his attention to the tactical map spread across his desk. The High Table had thrown everything they had at his fortress and failed. Now came the counteroffensive.
He studied the intelligence reports, considering asset allocation. The Italian Mafia held significant influence in New York, a tough nut to crack, requiring his personal attention. He'd lead that operation himself.
Mr. X would take the Repairman and the Gunsmith to handle the Russian elder, Pyotr. The old man had survived decades in the criminal underworld by being paranoid and well-protected, but everyone made mistakes eventually.
Wesley, the Exterminator, and the Butcher would head to Germany to dismantle the another Elder operation cell. That cell had been providing financial backing to the High Table's assault, time to dry up their funding at the source.
Cross and the Pharmacist would maintain headquarters security. Someone needed to hold the fortress.
Eliminate three more elders, and the High Table would fracture completely. They'd never been a unified organization, just a coalition of criminal powers bound by mutual interest and tradition. Remove enough pillars, and the entire structure would collapse under its own weight.
Smith Doyle began drafting deployment orders. The teams could begin preparations immediately and deploy by nightfall.
The war was entering its final phase.