The Red Hood was dragging someone by the collar, the rough concrete tearing against his clothes. The man he dragged was unconscious, unaware of the situation. When the Red Hood got to his motorcycle, he put the gangster into the sidecar.
Spraying the man with some sort of concoction that knocked him out again, just to make sure, he drove away into the night. Behind him, all that was left was a scattering of fallen men. Every major gang leader in Hell's Kitchen had been dealt with. The Red Hood was now the king of Hell's Kitchen.
The police would hunt him. This gave him more reputation. The criminals needed to fear him, and sometimes what criminals fear the most are other criminals.
This is the part of his plan that he had the greatest challenge with; he was a man of justice. Cyrus believed in a strong society which rested upon strong criminal laws.
The problem: there was so much corruption in parts of New York that it was impossible for his several-decade-long plan to work. He needed to civilise the dark alleys of New York, but hanging around Hell's Kitchen was a waste of his time.
He needed a proxy, someone who could give orders and be obeyed. He considered using a Terminator unit, but that went against his principle of doing everything as a human. Were his almost ten thousand years of skills and experience for nothing?
He had run assassin organisations and underworld organisations, or at least, one of the Immortals he had killed had. In fact, a few of them had. He was not without experience; he understood how to control a thug like the one he had with him. A man with great ambition but lacking ability was exactly what he could use.
Cyrus set up a base for himself inside an old building. He bought the building, but used the rundown nature of the building as a false exterior. It hid a secret lair.
It was a temporary measure. He was thinking about finding a more permanent location or letting this knucklehead make something for him. He picked the man up, carried him to a table, and strapped him in.
The table swung up slightly until the man was at a forty-five-degree angle from the floor, allowing Cyrus to look him in the eyes.
Taking out another mysterious concoction, he sprayed it across the man's face. The man awoke.
"Where… where am I?" the man wondered aloud.
"Everyone who came to the meeting to deal with me is now out of the picture. You're the last one, the only one still standing. Tell me, would you like to continue living?"
"Yes, sir," the man said.
"Good. I may have a use for you in my new organisation. I need a right-hand man, someone who can take care of things for me while I'm away. Someone I know won't betray me because they understand the consequences of doing so. Are you a man who has ambition and would like to be the king of Hell's Kitchen, under me?" the Red Hood asked.
"I would like that very much, sir," the man said. "I am a man of ambition, but I'm only as ambitious as you'll let me be." The man had strong character when dealing with the weak, but when dealing with someone as strong as Cyrus, he knew his place.
"Good. But let's have an understanding of exactly the kind of person I am. I'm a man who believes in justice. But you criminals run rampant. No one exposes you or puts a stop to you. The police are in your pocket, and frankly, the idea of trying to root you out completely is impossible.
There are many things I have to take care of. I'm a very busy man, so I've had to settle for a compromise. I'm going to civilise the criminal underworld in Hell's Kitchen. Consider it a test, proof of concept, if you will. My proxy."
"I'm also a man of justice," the man began, but then he saw the glowing whites in the helmet of the Red Hood. He stopped talking.
"I know exactly what you are. If I hadn't investigated you and come to the conclusion that you could be useful, you'd be one of the many bodies behind us. The war is over. It's a time of peace. People need to be able to live their lives.
At the same time, crime happens. People have vices. If they didn't, there would be no need for the police or for someone like me. Therefore, we're going to manage the vice here. I'll help you put together a gang of loyal subordinates, give you a new identity, something that will strike fear in the hearts of others. You'll have your own protection, too. What do you think of this?" Cyrus asked as he pointed to a small table nearby.
Next to the table hung an extremely expensive white suit. On the table itself was a big black gun, and next to the gun was a helmet, black like obsidian. But instead of slits for eyes—or even the white emptiness of the Red Hood's helmet—it looked like empty eye sockets.
"It's actually pretty clever, if I say so myself. You'll be able to see out of it, see other people, protect your head from unexpected bullets, and it will alert you to danger. A lot of benefits. And that gun, that's just for you. I even picked out a name for you. Would you like to know what it is?"
"Yes, sir," the man confirmed.
"We'll call you Black Mask. It's only fitting that you work for the Red Hood. Sort of a theme, I suppose. Give your subordinates masks of their own, perhaps, I don't know, I'll let you play around with it. But nobody will have a helmet as you do.
And this helmet isn't just there to protect your head, it's also there to let me monitor what you're doing. I am watching you at all times. When you step out of line, when you make a deal that causes more people to suffer than I've allowed for, I'll come for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," the man said.
"Good. Over the next few weeks, I'll help you put together a crew, establish yourself as my right-hand man, and get things set up. When I'm done, I'll have other places to go, but I'll be stopping in from time to time. I expect you to set up a base for me. And don't worry, I'll check."
"As for protection, well, obviously the helmet, but also the suit. Bulletproof. Isn't that nice? Your black gloves, the right one will allow you to administer an electrical discharge, stunning your opponent. If somebody is particularly tough, you can raise the amount and knock them out, or kill them. On the other hand, literally, your left hand has an electromagnetic magnet in it. It'll allow you to attract small objects in case you lose your gun or need something nearby. It's strong enough to attract metallic objects within about a twenty-foot radius. Your shoes are inspired by a story of a British story. They have springs in them, Spring-Heeled Jack. Ever heard of him?"
The man shook his head. "No."
"Well, it's a nice gimmick. If you release them, they'll allow you to spring over someone's head. They can also be used to increase your running speed. It's all controlled by your helmet. Your helmet's pretty advanced, but the moment you get caught, I'll melt it down.
It has a self-destruct in it. Don't worry, if you're wearing it when it self-destructs, it won't hurt you. It'll just melt the internal circuitry."
"One more thing." The Red Hood took out a syringe and injected the man's arm. "This is a tracking device. Even if you ditch the helmet, I can always find you. I don't think you'll be able to find the device, and there's no way for you to dig it out. And if you try, well, let's hope you won't try."
"Very good. Go ahead and get dressed, and I'll take you to a place I've picked out for your first headquarters. Small, but usable."
Elsewhere, in the JSA's secret base, the Howling Commandos sat at a table. They couldn't believe that Bucky, before he died, and he had prepared all this for them and recruited them. But having come back from the war, they honestly didn't know what else to do with themselves. They'd spent years fighting. That was all they knew. Fitting back into civilian life wasn't working for them.
Sure, a couple of them had married the girls they left behind, but due to their inability to find work and the war traumas they experienced, they just couldn't settle in. But this, this was something they could understand. This was something that put them back in that mode of I'm doing something important. I'm fighting for my country.
The best part was that it was being led by Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, Howard, the best friend of Bucky and Steve, and Peggy, the girlfriend of Captain America.
"So let me get this straight," Dum Dum said. He was typically the one who spoke for the rest of the group. "We can pick out gear we want, you'll make it for us, and we run around like some sort of secret heroes like Captain America?"
"That's correct," Howard said.
"But we don't have, like, a super soldier, right?"
"That's true. But you'll have other weapons available. This is all very early on, you understand. For now, we're just going to deploy ourselves for missions where America needs our help. Things that others can't do or won't do, that's our niche.
I'll pay you a nice living, and if anything happens to any of you, if you should die in the field, don't worry. I'll take care of your family. That includes parents, siblings, wives, children, whatever. Just make out a will, and I'll make sure they're taken care of."
Gabe Jones spoke up, "Whoa… is that dangerous?"
"Well, I don't know," Howard admitted, "but it's better to be prepared, right? It'd be a tragedy if something did happen and there was no clear idea of who you wanted me to take care of."
"Stark, you're the nicest rich man I've ever met," Jim Morita opened a bottle of beer.
"I hate to break it to you, but I'm just as conniving and selfish as all the other rich men out there. But Bucky provided for you all financially."
"Bucky?" Dum Dum asked. "That guy was rich?"
"Well, he wasn't during the war, but you understand, he was pretty sharp. The whole GI robot was designed by him, along with a lot of innovative technologies. He entrusted them to me. So I made him a partner, and he said he wanted the money donated to the JSA, and he wanted to make sure you guys were well paid."
The room was silent for a while. The men were clearly affected. They missed their friend from the war, someone they never expected to outlive, but they did. The same went for Captain America. These men had lost a lot of friends in the war, so they sucked it up and felt a slight hint of gratitude.
"Well, I'm in," Dum Dum said. "Let's take a look at what you've got, Stark."
In Washington, Colonel Phillips and Peggy Carter met with some senators concerning their idea of changing and expanding the nature of the SSR. Peggy had already started calling the organisation SHIELD. This was its early introduction. It wasn't meant to come around for years later, but every time she remembered that Howard said this was a memorial, an organisation that stood for Captain America, a shield against the ills of this war-torn world, she was determined to make it happen.
The senators sat drinking whiskey and smoking cigars while Colonel Phillips introduced the organisation to them. As far as they were concerned, Peggy was probably there as a secretary. They weren't particularly interested in her, although a couple of them admitted she was quite the looker. But they also knew she was Captain America's girl. He might be dead, but he wasn't forgotten, and they wouldn't dare make a move on her.
Colonel Phillips closed the file and looked at the senators. "All right, gentlemen. I suppose the question right now is, are you on board?"