Bullets rip through the air as I scramble for cover behind a row of shipping containers inside the warehouse. The machine gun fires ricochets off the cement, shooting fragments and dust into the air. Windows shatter as errant shots blast their aging glass. Being in a firefight is never fun, especially when all you’re wearing is something that looks like it came out of an old Jackie Chan movie.

Luke, being the lucky bastard with unbreakable skin, just laughs and rushes the armed men. Power Man lives up to the name, that much is certain. Luke is strong, nearly invincible, and can rip through thugs like a tiger through tissue paper. Higher caliber bullets would be able to put him out for a while, but thankfully these guys are packing some smaller arms.

Either way, I’m not bulletproof. My course of action in situations like this is usually to allow Luke to draw the attention while I circle around and find my own opening.

Luckily, it doesn’t take me long to spot one. A container looms over the gang of thugs firing at Luke. I take a moment and focus my chi, allowing it to flow through me. When I’m centered and ready, I spring like a rocket off the warehouse floor and at the shipping container. My foot begins to glow with the power of the Iron Fist as I soar through the air. As it connects with the metal, the sound of a crack of thunder ripples through the building. The container springs off its moorings and comes crashing down towards the aggressors. They scramble out of the way, but the damage is done. They’ve been scattered.

Luke and I waste no time in taking advantage of that fact. I slide towards the nearest gunman and cut through his weapon with the Iron Fist. He’s surprised as the weapon shatters in his hands is palpable. I give him a small smirk before grabbing him by the shoulders and tossing him at one of his compatriots. The two men slam together with a dull thud before falling to the ground.

“You know,” Luke grumbles as he slams two of the men together, “you’d think they’d learn they can’t shoot me.”

“I’ve never found the criminal element of New York to be particularly bright, so let’s not expect too much of them!”

I flip out of the way of a spray of bullets from one of them, roundhouse kicking another across the chin in the process. I disarm the now unconscious one, and fire a shot that knocks the first man’s weapon to the floor. He turns and flees, which I now notice a lot of his compatriots are doing as well.

“Uh, maybe we want to go follow them?” I motion to Luke, who’s already in pursuit. I take off to follow him, but as soon as he passes through the warehouse door, it comes crashing down behind him. Now cut off from Luke, I spin around to find Copperhead standing in the middle of the warehouse behind me.

“Miss me, Iron FIst?” she smiles deviously. “I must say I’m surprised to see my poison didn’t kill you. At least not the first time.”

“It’s not going to happen the second time either,” I smirk at the assassin. She returns the smile and falls into her offensive stance. Taking a deep breath, I decide to push the offense this time. I move in, making sure to keep my eyes focused on her hands. As long as I can stay away from them, I should be good. She swipes at me once I’m in range, but I expect that. She thinks that I’m scared of the toxin. That’ll be her undoing.

Her first slash comes at me, and I flow like water underneath it. The Thunderer had always said that once you know your enemy’s strategies you’d be the air rushing through their fingers. You’d never be able to be caught, and you would whip them off their feet.

So far, that’s working well. Each attack seems to miss only by inches, but to me it might as well be miles. I flow underneath a swipe, sensing my opportunity to strike. I drive a palm into her side, sending her spiraling off her feet. She lands hard on one knee, and sneers at me, “Well, you do learn fast.”

“You don’t become the Iron Fist overnight,” I shrug at her.

That just makes her mad. Good. An angry opponent is an easy opponent to beat. She comes at me with ferocity. She slashes at me, but I manage to grab her hand. I manage to grab it and pull the claws off, tossing them across the warehouse. The other hand swings around to try and catch me off guard, but Copperhead fails at that too. Now completely disarmed, she kicks off me to make space between the two of us.

“Impressive, Iron Fist,” she smiles a wicked smile. “My master was right about you. Surviving the cobra venom is amazing. But to defeat the Copperhead afterwards? Impressive indeed. When you meet your end by my master’s hand, I await you in the space between.”

“What the hell are you-Oh SHIT!” I yell as she pulls a detonator I failed to notice off her belt.

As I run towards the closest exit, I hear her yell, “Praise be to Kobra!”

Copperhead explodes, along with the majority of the warehouse. I’m flung through the exit, splashing down in the river hard. The fire from the explosion throws heat over the river, and its light illuminates it in a glowing red burn.

As I tread water, I see the silhouette of Luke standing in front of the fire. I swim over. When I’m close enough he jumps with surprise, “Damn man! I thought you were in there!”

“Nope,” I sigh as I climb out of the water, “but hell did that hurt. You get the others?”

“Negative,” Luke grumbles. “Got away in a speedboat. Copperhead?”

“Blew herself up. Religious fanatic is what we got on our hands,” I confirm what we had thought. “Said something about ‘Cobra’ being her master. Whatever that means.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Luke responds. “Come on man, let’s go get a drink.”

“Yea...yea...I could use that.”

Pain racked Slade Wilson's body as he forced himself to stay conscious. "Knew I should've worn the armor. I'm such a dumbass." Deathstroke groaned. Whilst preparing for the climatic battle between himself and the Bat, Slade had chosen to abandon the Nth metal armored suit in favor of his lighter, more stealth-orientated costume. He had once again underestimated the vigilante's tenacity and it had cost him a vital contract. Slade's reputation likely wouldn't suffer; every mercenary has lost to the Dark Knight at least once. But his pride was slighted again. Funny thing, that. The only human being to ever give Deathstroke pause, led alone defeat him, was a nut dressed as a flying rodent. The entire fight was a blur in the mercenary's mind. The only thing he could remember in any vivid detail after being struck in the skull was the deafening explosion that had beaten him. Bats had hit Slade with a series of moves that only served to stun Wilson before finishing him off with...what? His tank? Where the hell does a guy like that get all of his gear?

Focus. The sound of sirens pierced the fog. Boots thumped against concrete; they were getting closer with each passing second. Slade could make out maybe two dozen silhouettes through the smoke left behind by his target. Twenty four men. All armed. Looks like I'm in the middle of the court yard, which means no cover...this should be easy enough.

The first police officer stepped through the shroud of smoke and dust particles, sidearm raised and at the ready. The man took a kunai through the left eye before he could so much as blink. Deathstroke shoved off the ground and leaned against a nearby light pole. Two of his ribs were fractured and his spine hurt like all hell. Not to mention the lack of feeling in his right leg, or the blood soaking his socks. "Freeze!" Slade turned toward the voice. Two more cops, each with their weapons trained on him. Slade planted his right foot on the ground and spun, kicking the light pole with enough force to send it flying right at them. The pair went flying backwards maybe ten feet before sliding to a halt in a pool of their combined blood. Deathstroke started to limp toward what appeared to be the exit. He couldn't be too sure through all the smog. "Over here! I found Barnes. He's dead, sir." Someone shouted from behind Slade. "Tt." The mercenary whipped out one of his pistols and fired in the direction of the sound; satisfied by the splat and thump that followed.

"Shots fired from the south side of the courtyard! All units, converge!" An entourage of four more assailants appeared from the rapidly thinning mist. Without warning or command, they opened fire. Slade ducked, dodged and weaved through the barrage until he was too close to one of them for the rest to safely shoot. They're not civilians, Slade. These guys are enemy combatants. Soldiers. They signed up for this. Don't hold back. Kill 'em all. The man's head left his shoulders after a single flying spin kick to the cheek. The decapitated cranium slammed right into a female officer's face with enough force to obliterate the front portion of her skull. Only one of the remaining targets had the stomach to keep shooting, despite the carnage. Hmph. Aren't you a brave one? Slade mused as he closed the distance in an instant and shoved off the ground, pushing his knee into the cop's stomach. His rib cage would be glass, but he'd survive. In one smooth motion, Deathstroke performed a fronthand spring off the guy's shoulders and wrapped his left leg around the second's throat, snapping his neck as he stuck the landing. Now you're just showing off.

The fog cleared as Slade caught sight of the entrance. The way was barred by a large metal gate and ten more members of the Gotham City PD. The small army opened fire the moment they spotted the oncoming mercenary. "Ah, fuck." Slade willed his wounded leg to move as he rolled forward to avoid the first couple of volleys. He leapt forward perhaps fifteen feet, removing one of his blades from its scabbard in the process. He swiped through one of the closer knitted firing squads before charging toward the next and slicing all their throats in a single spin. Slade somersaulted his way at yet another grouping, jumping up off the floor and kicking an officer with enough force to send him skidding across the courtyard. Just as he landed, Deathstroke sliced a second man in half and stabbed a third and a fourth who were standing just a little too close through the heart. Slade ripped the weapon out of the pair and chucked it into another's skull. The final cop actually managed to graze a very wounded Deathstroke's shoulder with his erratic fire. Slade spun and back-fisted him in the chest, ragdolling the guy into the wall with enough power to crack the concrete.

Slade slowly made his way toward the prison's gate. He wrapped a pair of bloody hands around the bars and began to tug. However, before he could make any progress, a bullet pierced his lower abdomen. "Son of a-" Another wave of rounds flew toward the injured mercenary, causing him to dive to the floor to avoid being turned to Swiss Cheese. "I don't have time for this." Slade pulled out his pistol and put a bullet between each police officers' eyes before they realized he was even moving. The Terminator stood. He placed his feet through the concrete floor and his palms on the center of the gate. He pushed with all of his might. After a moment's struggle the fruits of his labor bared themselves, and the metal structure toppled over with a crash.

The wounded Soldier for Hire stepped out into the dark and gloomy Gotham night. He turned his eye toward the parking lot, wondering if he could hot wire one of the cars and get out of there. A light beep in his ear gave Slade pause. Very few people had access to his private communications channel; and they all knew to only use it if it was of the utmost importance. The merc tapped a specific part of his helmet. "Go." He said simply. "Your son is alive." Slade's muscles locked up in an instant. His mouth was dryer than a desert. He tried to speak, but all that came out were stammers. "We've tracked down your son's last known location to somewhere in New York. We want you to help us find him, Slade."

"Who are you?"

"We are HIVE."