It didn't take long before Nolan received a call from Wilson Fisk, the man who had quietly arranged the backdoor channels to secure him a weapons trading license.
On the other end of the line, Fisk's deep, grating voice carried both mockery and authority.
"Nolan Locke, I've just received confirmation. Your Locke Technologies has passed the review. Within a few days, you should be officially notified."
Hearing this, Nolan's expression shifted with surprise and restrained delight.
So it worked after all. Connections always mattered more than empty promises. With the right channels, even the most impossible obstacles crumbled.
"That is excellent news. I truly appreciate your assistance," Nolan replied, his tone polite yet cool.
Fisk gave a low chuckle, one that never reached his eyes.
"Don't thank me just yet. This is only business. As businessmen, we solve each other's needs. I trust you've prepared for the equity transaction."
Nolan's smile turned sharp.
"Equity transaction? I thought we agreed on ten million. If that's what you require, I can have it transferred within a month at most."
Fisk's voice instantly hardened.
"You're playing games with me."
Nolan's reply came calm and cold.
"No, you are the one breaking the rules. I did my homework. Ten million is the market price. You, however, demanded three percent of my company's shares. If anyone is violating the rules of the game, it's you."
There was silence, then an audible growl from Fisk before his composure returned.
"Nolan Locke, let me remind you. Rules are written for the weak. They exist to protect the weak. If you refuse to follow New York's rules, then New York's rules will not protect you. And here in this city, no one survives by ignoring them."
A soft laugh slipped from Nolan's lips.
"In that case, allow me to be the first."
He ended the call without hesitation.
The words had been burning in his chest for too long, and it felt exhilarating to finally throw them out. Yet exhilaration alone did not mean recklessness. Nolan had already lived through two near-death encounters. He was not about to gamble that Fisk would simply let things go.
That was why he had already set the stage. A miniature surveillance bot had been secretly installed inside Fisk's vehicle. If Fisk attempted to make a move against him, one command would trigger a violent explosion.
And if Fisk tried to take him down through legitimate means, then Nolan was equally ready for a corporate war.
The police weren't fools, and even S.H.I.E.L.D. had their eyes on him. He couldn't afford to play the role of a villain in the shadows. His public image as a legitimate entrepreneur had to remain intact. Image was everything, and so were the means he used to defend it.
Just as Nolan was reassuring himself with these thoughts, the sensor clipped to his waist began to emit a sharp beeping sound.
His face froze.
"Damn it… already?"
That sensor was linked to the surveillance bot. If the bot detected sensitive information or was about to be compromised, it would self-destruct, sending a final warning signal to him first.
Across town, the wailing sirens of fire trucks screamed along Manhattan's Ninth Avenue. A vehicle had erupted into flames, the explosion leaving behind a charred wreck and a scene of carnage. Passersby whispered condolences for the unknown victim.
To them, it was just a tragic accident. A car spontaneously combusting, snuffing out a life without warning.
But to Nolan, the truth was obvious. The trap had been sprung far earlier than expected.
Meanwhile, high atop a skyscraper, a massive figure stood in the shadows of his office. Wilson Fisk frowned as he stared at the silent phone in his hand.
The line had gone dead, preceded by a sound disturbingly similar to an explosion. His expression darkened. Could Nolan have been the cause? Or had someone else struck first?
He replayed the possibilities. Recently, only one man had dared to oppose him so directly. Nolan Locke. The thought lingered like smoke, unpleasant and stubborn.
"Find that boy," Fisk ordered coldly. "Roskine may be dead, but our payment must still be collected."
From the shadows of the office, a lean man stepped forward, casually spinning a throwing knife between his fingers. He was not as physically imposing as Fisk, but his presence radiated lethal intent.
Bullseye.
One of Fisk's most dangerous enforcers. His skill with blades was unparalleled, and in Fisk's empire, even among killers, he was considered a master.
"Yes, boss," Bullseye said with a faint smirk. Then, with a flicker of movement, he melted back into the darkness, the faint target scar etched on his forehead glinting for an instant before vanishing from sight.
That night, Nolan reclined alone on the couch of his suburban villa. Jessica Jones rarely stayed over; she had her own life and her own demons to wrestle with. Nolan didn't mind. Solitude often came as a relief.
On the television, news anchors replayed the footage of Fisk's "accidental" car explosion. The flames, the twisted metal, the horror in the bystanders' eyes it was almost theatrical in its brutality. Nolan exhaled slowly, realizing he might have underestimated the destructive capability of the surveillance bot. After all, it had cost him three hundred and fifty thousand system points.
He reached for the remote, ready to flip to a lighter channel, when a low, mocking voice slithered out from the darkness of his living room.
"You seem awfully interested in that report."
Nolan nearly leapt out of his seat. He turned, heart pounding, to see a stranger standing inside his home, silent as a ghost. The intruder had bypassed Stark Industries' top-grade security system without triggering a single alarm.
Cold sweat prickled his skin. If this had been an assassination attempt, he would already be a corpse.
So much for cutting-edge defense. Stark's technology was trash compared to his own.
Nolan forced a thin smile.
"Interested or not, what does it matter to you?"
Even as he spoke, he quietly activated a standby Killbot hidden nearby. He never carried them openly anymore; one unit had already drawn too much attention from S.H.I.E.L.D. Still, he always kept a failsafe within reach.
Bullseye's lips curled upward. He toyed with a blade, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"You're right. It doesn't matter to me at all. But the next part very much does. You made a deal with Fisk. Now Fisk is dead. Which means Kingpin has sent me to continue that transaction."
Nolan's eyelids twitched. So it was Kingpin after all. The man was as dangerous as he was elusive. Surrounded by decoys and body doubles, no one could ever be certain where the real Kingpin was. He was cunning, untouchable, and terrifyingly patient. The worst kind of enemy.
Feigning calm, Nolan asked,
"Transaction? The only deal I made was with Fisk. And Fisk is gone. If you want to continue, then where's your proof?"
Bullseye licked his lips, amusement twisting his features.
"As expected. The boss said you might resist. Do you know what I usually do when someone refuses me?"
Nolan's smile sharpened.
"Kill them with that little knife in your hand? Or maybe a toothpick, if you're feeling dramatic?"
Bullseye's expression faltered, his amusement slipping into surprise.
"You… know me?"
"Of course," Nolan answered.
The next instant, he moved. His body blurred as the Killbot lunged from its hiding place, targeting Bullseye with deadly precision.
If Kingpin wanted war, then Nolan would not retreat. He would make his declaration loud and clear.
And he would do it with Bullseye's corpse.
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