Brooklyn, New York — August 1943
Maxwell returned to American soil under the guise of a diplomatic visit, but his true purpose was clear. Elijah Gray—Patient Zero—had not only survived but flourished in the shadows. Known now as Black Zero, he had built a sprawling web of influence that no one in the government dared speak of directly. Those who whispered his name did so with a strange mix of fear and reverence.
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Whispers in the Underground
He started with the press. Underground journalists who refused to print anything directly but left clues in language—"phantom justice," "violent philanthropy," "corporate specter."
Through contacts in Harlem, he found a reporter named Eloise Franklin, the only one who claimed to have seen Black Zero and lived to talk about it.
"He's not a ghost, Marvelo," she said over coffee in a dim-lit café. "He's a man who built an empire in silence. Real estate. Nightclubs. Imports. Donations to orphanages. Hospitals. Crime prevention that actually works. And if you cross him?"
"What happens?"
"You disappear."
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The Towers
Elijah's headquarters was a gothic high-rise on the edge of Manhattan's skyline. No name. No flag. Just a symbol on the elevator doors—a red thread.
Maxwell entered alone.
The lobby was quiet. Too quiet.
At the top floor, a massive chamber awaited him—dark walls, glowing lamps, no guards. And at the far end stood Elijah.
He was taller now, leaner, more composed. The black mask still covered his face, but his mouth and jaw were exposed—tight, unreadable.
"Elijah," Maxwell said, stepping forward.
"Maxwell."
"I know who you are now. What you've become."
Elijah's voice was smooth, sharp. "You mean what they let me become."
"You're killing people."
"I'm correcting them."
"You were given a second chance. Just like me."
Elijah turned. "And I used it. I've created a world where the strong hold the line—where the monsters answer to someone worse."
Maxwell stepped closer. "You're not worse. You're just lost."
Silence hung between them.
"I don't want to fight you," Maxwell added.
"But you will," Elijah replied. "Because deep down, you still believe justice is polite."
Their eyes locked. Not a punch was thrown. Not yet. But the air between them crackled with a tension that had been building since the Liberty Project.
One fought for the light. The other for control in the dark.
And the reckoning had begun.