A full hour passed in suffocating silence after the Amon and his enforcer had vanished as unnervingly as they had appeared.
Wilson Fisk stood like a statue carved from granite and rage, processing the totality of his defeat and the brutal terms of his survival.
The private elevator chimed softly. The doors slid open and James Wesley stepped out. He had clearly been waiting, tormented by the unknown and his face was a mask of anxiety. He saw Fisk standing alone, unharmed and a wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by confusion.
"Sir," Wesley said, his voice hesitant as he stepped fully into the room. "I... the building's security shows no breach. No unauthorized entry or exit. I don't understand what happened. Your orders?"
Fisk turned and the man Wesley saw was different from the one he had left an hour ago. The uncontrolled rage was replaced by something far more dangerous like a clear eyed purpose. His eyes held a new fire of a predator who had been caged and was now learning the shape of his new reality.
If he was to be a puppet, he would be the most effective, most dangerous puppet imaginable. He would learn the ways of his new masters.
"The old ways are dead, James," Fisk stated, his voice a low rumble that seemed to come from the depths of the earth.
He walked past Wesley, his presence as immense and undeniable as ever. "The families, the street crews, the petty loyalties and rivalries... they are inefficient. Full of ego and tradition. As of this moment, we are restructuring."
"Restructuring how?" Wesley asked, his mind racing to catch up. He followed Fisk toward a large digital map of his corporate and criminal holdings.
Wesley hesitated, the question that had been tormenting him finally breaking free. "Sir... the name I heard from Manfredi's son... AMON. Are we... have we joined him?" He asked the question in a near whisper, as if saying it too loudly would make the terrifying reality more solid.
Fisk stopped, his back to Wesley. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, he answered, his voice devoid of any emotion. "We have not 'joined' anyone, James. An old business has been liquidated and a new one has begun under new management. I am still the head of this organization. You will still answer to me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir. Of course," Wesley said immediately. The hierarchy he understood was still in place. That was all that mattered.
"Good," Fisk said, turning back to the map. "Because we are no longer in the business of crime," he announced, his voice regaining its familiar tone of absolute authority. "We are in the business of control. Every street level operation will be consolidated under a corporate style management structure. No more bosses. No more capos. Only regional managers. Their performance will be judged on two metrics only: profit and stability. Nothing else. Failure to meet quotas will be treated as a resignation."
Wesley understood the unspoken finality of that word. "And the... more aggressive elements? The ones who won't fall in line?"
A mirthless smile touched Fisk's lips. "Our new partners have provided a solution for that." He turned to face Wesley, his eyes glinting with a dark light. "The man they call 'The Masked Man,' he will handle them." The name left a bitter taste in his mouth, the name of the weapon that had been so effectively used against him. "He is now our... head of human resources."
Wesley's blood ran cold. He had seen the reports from the Hand warehouse. He knew what that 'arbitration' would look like.
"Inform the new regional managers," Fisk continued, his voice a low command. "Any internal disputes, any territory squabbles, any challenges to the new structure... are to be submitted to him for arbitration."
He was turning his chaotic underworld into a brutally disciplined corporation. He was taking the ruthless logic of Amon and applying it with his own intimate knowledge of the city's dark heart.
This was his new purpose. It was a bitter pill, the taste of servitude in a world where he had once been the sole master. But it was a purpose nonetheless.
And as he looked at the map of his city, his city, he knew he would would excel. He would become the most valuable asset his invisible masters had ever acquired.
…
Amon stood in his sterile bunker, observing the flurry of activity within Fisk's network on his screens. Fisk was moving efficiently.
The holographic form of the Red Queen shimmered into view, munching on a bag of holographic potato chips. "Well, look at him go. Mr. Potato Head is already reorganizing the toy box. He's actually quite good at this when he's properly motivated."
"He is a man who understands systems," Amon stated, "He has simply been given a new system to manage."
"Speaking of systems," Red Queen said, swallowing a chip with a synthesized crunch. "While you've been playing gangster, I've been doing some routine spring cleaning on the global corporate networks. You know, checking for dust bunnies, industrial spies, the usual." She adopted a conspiratorial whisper. "And I found a big, ugly, oily one."
She waved her hand and a new window opened on the main screen. It was filled with the logo of Roxxon Oil Corporation.
"Roxxon," Amon said, his tone flat. He knew the name. An old world energy giant, infamous for its corruption and ruthless business practices.
"The very same," Red Queen confirmed. "Apparently, they're not very happy that Umbrella and Stark Industries are making their fossil fuels obsolete. Their profits are in the toilet, their stock is tanking and their board of directors is getting grumpy." She popped another chip in her mouth. "So, they've decided to go the old fashioned route."
She pulled up a series of encrypted files, effortlessly decrypting them in real time. They showed financial transfers to shell corporations, which in turn were hiring decommissioned special forces soldiers and industrial saboteurs.
"They're preparing a series of physical attacks," Red Queen explained, her tone light and conversational despite the subject matter. "They plan to hit three of Umbrella's primary data centers. Old school, messy and designed to cripple our global network by taking out the physical servers."
"Unacceptable," Amon stated.
"I know, right?" Red Queen said, rolling her holographic eyes. "So primitive. I could stop them easily, of course. A few anonymous tips to the Federation, rerouting their travel plans into a black hole... But where's the fun in that? The original you has this whole 'never show our hand' policy."
"The policy is strategically sound," Amon said.
"Fine, fine, Mr. Roboto," she sighed. "So, no overt action from Umbrella. Which means..." She grinned, a mischievous light in her eyes. "You get to use your new toy."
Amon looked from the Roxxon files back to the map of Fisk's now reorganizing empire. The pieces clicked into place. This was a chance to test his new asset.
"Fisk will handle it," Amon declared.
"Ooh, this is gonna be fun!" Red Queen said, rubbing her hands together. "What's the plan? Have Fisk sent his goons to break some kneecaps? Rough up their CEO?"
"Inefficient," Amon replied. "Roxxon is a public entity. We will attack their stock price. We will attack their reputation. We will gut them from the inside out, using Fisk as our scalpel."
…
The first directive from Amon arrived on Fisk's secure server as a business proposal. It was a list of thirty seven names.
They were janitors, security guards, data clerks and truck drivers. All of them worked for Roxxon Oil. Beside each name was a meticulously detailed file containing every dirty secret, every vulnerability, every desperate need of their lives.
Fisk stared at the list, a slow understanding dawning on him. Amon was planning a hostile takeover of the company's very soul, starting from the unseen foundation. This was a level of systemic infiltration he had never conceived of. It was insidious and it was brilliant.
"James," Fisk's voice boomed through the penthouse intercom. "Get the regional managers on a conference line. Now."
This was the first true test of his corporate style underworld. The orders that flowed from Fisk were precise directives, disseminated down a clear chain of command.
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