December 20th, 2018 | 11:53pm | Harold Meachem's Penthouse
Snow billowed before the picturesque floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of the New York City Skyline shifting in and out as it cascaded upon the Persian rug beneath Harold's feet. On the left arm of his reclined chair was a cup holder with a glass of Scotch resting comfortably inside. Harold's glasses were perched at the tip of his nose as his eyes scanned the book before him: a copy of Macbeth. Harold was one who still found joy in the arts and in literature, and Shakespeare was no exception. He hummed slightly as he picked up the glass to take a sip. He relished in this small, private moment.
It wouldn't last.
Harold missed the brief thuds that came in that private moment. He did hear the crash from behind him, forcing Harold to drop his glass and turn around abruptly as he stood. Standing in the doorway to this private lounge in Harold's penthouse was a man wearing a mask. It covered his nose upward, made of a yellow fabric. The eyes of the intruder were visible and present, and the anger behind them was apparent. On the intruder's chest was the black outline of a dragon, and he wore only pants and a belt made of similar material but green and yellow in color (respectively). Harold stood speechless for a moment, taking in the carnage visible beyond his lounge. The security team, all six of them, lay unconscious on the ground in the living room. Some of his priceless vases had been shattered.
The eyes... they were what was most striking. They seemed familiar... and full of rage. Righteous anger. For the first time in his entire life, Harold felt true fear. So he ran to his left, towards an open set of doors and towards his bedroom. He slammed the doors shut as he entered, locking them and rushing towards his nightstand. He pressed a small button on the underside, and a panel in the wall opened up to reveal a small metal room. Meachem managed to rush inside and press the button for the door to close just as the intruder kicked the bedroom door in. The panel in the wall slid shut just as the intruder's feet had nearly reached the panic room. Harold was shut off and safe, for the time being.
Daniel Rand took a deep breath. He wasn't sure how much longer he had before the authorities arrived. He had been home 2 months, but was still getting used to living with technology. He still wasn't entirely sure how his new phone worked, since the last phone he had was a flip-phone. Regardless, Danny did know a panic room when he saw one, as his family home was installed with one. And this room wouldn't save Harold for long. With another deep breath, Daniel's clenched fist began to glow from the inside. With a swift jab forward, the wall dented. With another, the wall seemed to be caving inward. With a final jab, the panel in the wall flew against the other wall.
The Iron Fist turned his gaze towards the terrified Harold Meachem, who was pissing himself in the corner.
"Harold Meachem... your power lies atop the grave of Wendell Rand... My father! Blood will have Blood!" His voice carried weight and anger, and he was practically shouting.
Harold Meachem pleaded for his life, sitting upon his knees before the son of the only man he'd killed. But Daniel's ears were deaf to those pleas, as his clenched fist was raised into the air, ready to strike downward. But the punch wasn't delivered. For but a moment, Danny flinched.
The hesitation wasn't out of pity. There was someone else present now. Daniel heard something being unsheathed and spun around in a defensive stance. A dagger was thrown... but not at The Iron Fist. Instead, the dagger found its sheath in the throat of Harold Meachem. Daniel only caught a glimpse of this figure, an individual in all black with black wrappings covering everything but the eyes.
A Ninja? Seriously?The mysterious assassin dashed away almost immediately, and Danny began his pursuit. The individual was particularly fast, darting into the hallway outside of the apartment just as Danny reached the living room. By the time Danny reached the hallway, there were no signs of anyone else for a moment. The first sound to pierce the air was the "ding" of the elevator at the end of the empty hallway with no doors.
Joy Meachem's father rarely ever wanted to spend time with her before. But ever since Danny came home, he would come see her at least once a day. And of course he wanted to spend time today as well. She was busy dealing with the paperwork regarding Danny's humanitarian efforts. Her heels clopped against the tile hallway leading to her father's penthouse, and Joy was busy reading a text she had just received. It was her assistant asking her yet another question she had answered a million times before. So the response was short, and Joy placed her phone back into her purse to see a horrid sight. She quickly fished into her purse, pulling out a sidearm and kicking off her heels quickly.
Joy knew that the alarm had to have gone off. The guards were all unconscious. There were no sounds audible yet. She kept her gun pointed ahead of her as she made her way to her father's lounge. The Scotch on the ground was a terrifying sight... but the first sounds coming from the bedroom were more terrifying. Joy quickly made her way into the bedroom, and then the saferoom. The gasps for breath were getting louder. There in the saferoom was Harold Meachem, covered in blood and reclining with his back to the wall. Joy rushed in to embrace her father, covering herself in his blood now too. Harold wasn't able to get out any words, but tears fell from his cheeks as he reached his hands to hold her daughter's head still as he gave a dying kiss. His body went limp, and Joy sobbed, barely able to see.
She did see something... strange, on the wall next to her father. Blood in a pattern that was unnatural. A name. And when Joy managed to bat away the tears enough so that she could see... it was clear what was written on the wall. Something she smeared away with her hand in disbelief. Supposedly, the name of who committed the act, in Harold's own handwriting.
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