"In breaking news, the government has officially cleared the Fantastic Four of all recent criminal charges. You know, the robberies, explosions, and midair stunts that had half the city calling them villains and the other half calling for autographs."
"According to officials, it was all a 'case of mistaken identity caused by highly sophisticated impostors.' Which is government-speak for: something happened, we aren't telling you what, but we're definitely not admitting it."
"Apparently, the impostors have been 'taken care of,' which is comforting and vague in equal measure. When asked for more details, the press secretary smiled, said 'national security,' and left. Always a crowd pleaser."
"So, to recap—some people somehow copied four superheroes we can't name, using tech we can't explain, for reasons we're not allowed to know. But hey, everyone's innocent now, so stop thinking and go back to your regularly scheduled traffic jams."
"The Fantastic Four were seen waving outside their building, all smiles, no lawsuits, no hard feelings. Which is amazing, considering they almost got branded public enemy number one just a couple of days ago. Must be nice having PR strong enough to bend reality."
"This is Jenna Volt, Channel 7 and a Half—reminding you: when the government says 'everything's fine,' that's just the sound of a broom sweeping secrets under the rug."
Damn.
So, the Fantastic Four found the Skrulls. That meant those should now be ignorantly grazing on grass in a pasture.
Of course, the government wouldn't announce the existence of aliens so soon. So, for now, those who disguised themselves as the Fantastic Four were some delusional fools who impersonated the first superhero team of the country using some unknown tech for shits and giggles.
Let's see whether the government could still deny the existence of aliens during the Kree-Skrull War.
I changed the radio channel to listen to some music for the rest of the way.
After some time, I arrived back at the ramen shop. The shop was already closed by then. I went inside, and the old man was wiping the tables.
I took another rag and helped him in wiping the remaining tables and the counter.
While wiping, I remembered something and asked, "Hey, old man, do you have the Lion's Roar martial art manual?"
I didn't know if this martial art existed in Marvel, but it was reasonably popular and appeared in many wuxia movies and novels. It might exist here, too.
The old man pulled his head up from the table and stopped wiping the table.
"I have it, you can take it tomorrow," the old man said. "But it doesn't suit you."
"Great, thanks," I said with a smile and added, "I know. It's for a friend."
—
Saturday Evening, New York:
While Kevin was busy dealing with the Iron Serpents, Frances left for a job.
She arrived in the city's industrial district — a rough zone, but one with less gang activity and no major crime lords breathing down everyone's necks.
Frances entered The Drainpipe. A local bar frequented by both the locals and the gang members from nearby territories. It was owned by a larger gang and considered neutral territory. The gang was big enough to keep order most nights, but not big enough to stop trouble when it wanted to start.
As Frances stepped inside, she was assaulted by the smell of cheap beer and nicotine. The ceiling was low, stained yellow by nicotine and water leaks. Exposed wires dangled overhead. A tired ceiling fan turned slower than a dying turtle. The floor was sticky underfoot.
A dozen round tables were scattered across the dim room, and behind the bar, a mahogany counter had been darkened by decades of spilled liquor. An old jukebox filled the surroundings with bad music.
The patrons were a mixed bunch. There were nearby factory workers who came to end their day with a cheap drink, then went home. A few small-time gangsters were also drinking while sitting at different tables. Some eyes on Frances were interested, some lecherous, some actually showed a faint fear.
"The usual," Frances said to the bartender as she came up to the counter and sat on one of the chairs in front of it.
The bartender gave a curt nod, poured a glass of whisky, and slid it toward her.
She'd taken only a few sips when the door creaked open again — footsteps, several of them, heading her way.
Frances glanced at the bartender. He met her gaze, nodded once, and said quietly, "It's them."
Frances smiled faintly, hearing that.
The one in front among them whistled as he put an arm around Frances's waist and asked, laughing, "Old Gus, since when did such hot chicks start visiting this piss hole?" The four who followed behind him laughed together with him.
Gus didn't bother replying to them; instead, he gave them a pitiable look, which they missed.
"Hey, sweetheart. Wanna roll with us?" The thug with the arm around Frances's waist asked with what he thought was a ladykiller smile.
Frances gave him a disinterested look and said in a flat voice, "Remove your hand." She didn't even feel anger, just annoyance.
The guy looked honestly taken aback by Frances's reaction. He couldn't believe a girl in this part could refuse him.
He didn't remove his hand and instead said with a smirk, "Baby, I think you don't know me. I am Mike, and my crew had just taken over a nearby street after defeating the previous gang who owned it."
Mike continued in an arrogant tone, "Girls are now already throwing themselves at me. But I don't think they're beautiful enough to be my girlfriend, given my status. But I can make you my girlfriend."
Mike looked at Frances with a look as if saying, "Come on, I have already said so much, throw yourself in my arms."
Frances finished the drink and put the glass on the counter. Then she held Mike's hand on her waist. Mike smiled arrogantly as he thought she was impressed with him, but his smile froze when she yanked his hand away from her waist.
Mike felt a pang of pain in his arm. "Let go," he hissed, trying to pull back his hand, but it felt as if it were gripped in a vice.
But Frances wasn't done. She got off the chair while still holding Mike's hand and then twisted it.
Mike screamed in pain, but couldn't pull back his arm. His crew members stepped forward to deal with her. But she calmly said, "Take another step, and I will break his arm." As a warning, she twisted the arm further.
Mike screamed again. "Stay back," he somehow said while still gasping in pain.
Frances put a few bills on the counter and nodded to Gus, who nodded back.
"Walk," Frances said to Mike's crewmen while gesturing towards the door. They looked at each other and at Mike. Frances twisted Mike's arm a bit, and they immediately started walking after listening to his scream.
Behind them, Frances walked calmly, pulling Mike by the arm. Outside, she released his arm. Mike started rubbing his arm as he glared hatefully at her.
"Do you want revenge?" Frances asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, she continued, "Then let's take this somewhere quiet."
Mike sneered. He and his crew exchanged glances and nodded. The others walked in front, while Mike walked behind Frances so she wouldn't have a chance to run away.
They stopped and surrounded her in an alley. They pulled out a knife.
"Take that, you bitch!" Mike roared, lunging from behind with a knife.
Frances calmly twisted her body to the side and easily dodged the attack. Another one attacked from the front. His knife aimed at her chest, but once again, she easily dodged that attack too. Then, she screamed in front, and the thugs were knocked back. The scream wasn't loud, so they didn't suffer many injuries and only fell.
"Shit, she's a mutie," one of the thugs who was still standing spoke with fear.
Frances ignored the insult and calmly pulled out two sticks from her waist and took a stance.
Then, a one-sided beatdown began. The thugs weren't some hardened criminals, and absolutely not skilled. They knew only how to raise their voices and swing their knives to intimidate others. But that didn't work on Frances.
Frances was above them in skills and absolutely above them in stats. All of them were mere F1s and nowhere near her match. Moreover, after reaching the novice stage in the Kami-e skill, she was now able to dodge attacks more effectively. At the novice stage, she couldn't dodge and move her body like paper, but it still improved her dodging ability, more than enough to dodge the thugs' unskilled attacks.
After receiving a beating for ten minutes, the thugs finally broke down.
"Please, I am sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Mike apologized. "Please let us go."
"We're sorry!" another whimpered.
"Don't hit us anymore!"
The others pleaded too. But Frances didn't listen and continued the beating. Whenever anyone tried to run, she would quickly hold him and yank him towards the ground.
After another five minutes, the thugs were now close to crying. They bullied the honest folk every day, but they never thought someone would bully them so ruthlessly.
"Sis, big sis. You are my elder sister. I am sorry I shouldn't have disrespected you. Please stop hitting," Mike pleaded again with tears in his eyes.
The others joined in immediately, voices trembling.
"I'm sorry, sis!"
"Please, big sis!"
"Don't hit us, elder sister!"
Frances continued beating for another minute, then finally stopped.
The alley fell quiet except for groans and sniffles. The thugs staggered up, their bodies screaming in pain. They wanted to run away, but the fear of being beaten again rooted them in place.
"Since you already called me elder sister," Frances said coldly, "that makes this easier."
The other thugs didn't understand what Frances meant by that, but Mike suddenly had a bad feeling.
"I'm taking over your gang," Frances said simply. "From now on, I'm the leader."
The thugs' eyes widened. They couldn't believe their ears. Mike wanted to protest immediately, but the words remained stuck in his throat. He didn't have the guts to oppose her after the beating.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Frances asked as she spun the sticks in her hands.
"Absolutely not," Mike said immediately. He continued with a smile that looked worse than crying, "Sis, I fully support you. With you, our gang will definitely reach new heights."
The others chimed in like trained parrots.
"I support you, big sis!"
"Best leader ever, sis!"
"We'll follow all your orders!"
Mike cursed his shameless former crewmates for immediately agreeing to change the leader.
Mike was bitter about losing his position, yet he felt it was an opportunity. He had seen news stories about those superpowered individuals and had even read about the X-Men, a group of mutants who fought other evil mutants. He thought that if a mutant led their group, they might reach even bigger heights than he ever thought of.
"Good," Frances nodded. Then she turned to Mike and said, "You will be my first lieutenant."
Mike immediately straightened up, hearing that. He felt his decision was correct and felt grateful to her. "It is an honor, sis," he shouted.
"Since you are now part of my gang, you will need to follow some rules," Frances said seriously.
"Absolutely, sis," Mike immediately agreed.
Kevin had given Frances a bunch of rules and told her they should be followed to the last letter.
"Obey without hesitation."
The gang members must obey rules like soldiers.
"Respect the chain of command."
Hierarchy is essential for order.
"No independent deals or hustles."
The gang members can't have independent side hustles, at least at first. Later, they can, but only after informing the gang, receiving its approval, and providing the appropriate periodic tribute.
"Do not steal from the gang."
Theft is treason.
"Do not attack children, schools, or hospitals."
They attract too much unnecessary attention.
"No dealing with costumed vigilantes unless ordered."
Heroism is not needed when following orders.
"Never, ever brag about our activities outside, and especially no posting about it on social media."
Too many criminals are caught just because they couldn't keep quiet about their achievements and bragged about them to the wrong person —or, worse, on social media.
"And last," Frances smiled. But Mike and the others felt goosebumps at the sight of that smile.
With a sweet smile, she continued, "Betrayal means death."
They immediately felt a chill run up their spines, nodded together, and agreed to all the rules.
"Show me your territory," Frances said coldly.
"Please follow me, sis," Mike respectfully said and led the way. The other thugs followed behind.
After a few blocks, they stopped at a street barely alive — a bodega, a pawn shop, a laundromat, a couple of food stalls, and some run-down apartments.
Frances turned to face Mike, looking at him intently. Her gaze seemed to be saying, "That's it?"
Mike felt embarrassed under the stare and nervously rubbed his neck.
The laundromat, as it turned out, belonged to Mike. The street was too small for any major gang to care about, but a few months ago, someone did — and made everyone pay for it.
"They came demanding protection money," Mike explained. "A few of us resisted at first, but they kept coming back. Eventually, even I had to pay."
Frances sat on the boss's chair in the laundromat's cramped back office, the gang standing like children in attention in front of her as she listened to Mike's story.
"I used to run with a crew," Mike said, rubbing his bruised arm.
He continued, "Back when I was seventeen. It was just small jobs — lifting, smuggling, stupid stuff. I went straight after my old man died and left me the shop, and following me, them too. But when those bastards started shaking us down, I called the guys back. We jumped a few of them, made them run."
"And then you stayed," Frances finished for him.
Mike hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Guess we missed the rush. We were getting bored with the honest life. It started to feel grating. So I… uh, took the chance and formed a proper gang with them."
Frances leaned back on the chair, crossing one leg over the other.
"And took over from what the old gang left behind," Mike finished.
That's how Mike formed his gang. He did the hard work but ended up helping Frances. She was looking for a new gang that had recently taken over a territory and decided to seize it outright. So, in the end, he became Frances's little brother.
"This laundromat will be our base for the time being," Frances stated after listening to Mike's backstory.
"No problem, sis," Mike agreed immediately.
"Now, tell me about your current gang activities," Frances asked.
Mike and the others felt like little kids in school, being asked by their teacher whether they did anything meaningful during the summer break.
"Sis, we are charging protection fees to all businesses on the street," Mike started nervously.
"Oh?" Frances raised a brow. She asked calmly, "And are they all giving it?"
Now, Mike felt even more nervous. "They all are b-but."
"But what?" Frances asked, her tone a bit sharper than before.
"But Old Trent is still refusing," Mike answered with hesitation.
Seeing the question in Frances's eyes, another gang member said, "He is the bodega owner and is the only one who refused to give in to the previous gang till the end, until we took over."
"Sis, he is too headstrong and always shuts us down whenever we try to reason with him," another gang member spoke with some resentment.
Frances raised an eyebrow. Her eyes shone with interest.
"Interesting, then let's go and meet this Old Trent," Frances said, getting up. "Can't have the neighbors thinking we're weak."
She headed for the door. The men looked at one another, uneasy, then hurried to follow.
Frances entered the bodega with the gang in tow. Old Trent sat behind the counter. His head was covered with white hair, wrinkles filled his face, and a permanent scowl was etched on his face. The scowl only deepened further when he saw Mike and his buddies.
"Speak with respect, Trent," Mike barked, stepping forward. "She is—" he hesitated, realizing too late he didn't know his new elder sister's name.
"Frances," she said simply.
"Right. She's Frances—our new boss," Mike said, trying to sound proud.
Trent gave a dry laugh. "Mikey boy, I didn't realize you were taking orders from a skirt now. What's next—she feeds you treats when you roll over?"
Mike became angry when he heard Trent say that. He felt slight humiliation as he clenched his fist, but it was drowned by the fear of what if Frances decided to beat him together with Trent due to Trent's words.
Mike shuddered and grabbed Trent's collar and threatened, "You wanna die, old man?"
'Even if you wanna die, don't pull me down with you,' Mike added internally.
Mike started feeling angrier toward Trent. Not just from fear, but when the fear erased the humiliation, he felt angrier because Trent had just disrespected his new boss.
"Sis, say the word," one of them said. "We'll break every bone in this fossil's body."
The rest all looked ready; the moment Frances gave the order, they would teach the senile old man that there are some people in the world you should never offend.
Instead, Frances remained calm and ordered, "Mike, let him go."
Mike froze, confused, but obeyed immediately.
Trent stumbled back, rubbing his throat.
Initially, Trent was feeling fear. He had behaved so fearlessly before that, because even when threatened, he had never been attacked. Even if his shop was roughed up a bit to scare him, he was never harmed physically. It was the same for both the previous gang and Mike's gang. This fueled his hard-headedness.
But when he saw Mike and his buddies ready to beat him up, he was afraid and was even prepared to give the protection money, but before he could agree to that, Frances ordered Mike to let him go, and unexpectedly, he did
Trent looked confused at first, but when he understood what had happened, he actually smiled mockingly at them.
"Heh, women—always running on feelings," Trent sneered, then looked at Mike. "That's what you get for letting one play boss over you."
Frances didn't react. She just watched him, silent and expressionless.
The other gang members looked pissed, but hesitation crept in. A thought flickered behind their anger—did Frances let Trent walk because she went soft?
On the other hand, Mike refused to believe that Frances had gone soft on Trent. Instead, he showed a look of pity to Trent. Coincidentally, it was the same look that bartender Old Gus gave him and his crew when they met Frances in the bar.
"I heard you refused to pay the street tax," Frances said calmly.
"What street tax? I don't owe any tax to anyone," Trent snapped. The earlier exchange increased his guts. "None of you are welcome in my shop. Fuck off."
"Do you wanna die, you senile fool?" Mike roared.
But Trent ignored Mike's threats and pointed to the exit as if saying, "That's the way out, you can fuck off from there."
Mike was beyond pissed. He was ready to ask Frances to let them teach the stubborn clown a lesson, but noticed that Frances had taken a step towards the counter. Whatever he was about to say was stuck in his throat as he looked towards Frances in anticipation. He knew she had decided to deal with the senile old man her way.
But before Frances could do anything, they heard a voice from the entrance.
"Boss, it's them. They ambushed our brothers," a thug said to another tattooed thug beside him.
Both of them entered the building, followed by another six thugs. The shop suddenly became too crowded.
"How dare you touch my men?" The tattooed thug asked Mike.
Mike looked at the tattooed thug, then at the thug beside him, who was grinning viciously at him. That thug and two of the six thugs standing behind were part of the gang that had owned this street previously, and it looked like they had found a new master in the meantime.
"What are you looking at him for?" The tattooed thug snarled. "They are now my men, and as my men, their territory is mine too."
The thug finally said what he really wanted. Taking revenge for the new subordinates was merely an extra reward; his main objective from the beginning was the territory.
The thug continued, "But I am a magnanimous person. I will give you a chance. Surrender with your gang, hand over that hot piece of ass to me, and I will forget your transgressions."
Before Mike could say anything, Frances started.
"Why is everyone so adamant in pissing me off tonight?" Frances sighed and pulled out her sticks.
"Who is pissing you, baby? Come to me, and I will make all your frustrations disappear," the tattooed thug said with a lecherous expression.
But Mike and his buddies felt a chill when they saw those sticks. Mike never believed that France had gone soft, and after seeing those sticks, the others berated themselves for even thinking it.
Frances didn't bother replying and struck the tattooed thug's knee. The sound of the knee cracking was especially deafening.
"Aah—"
The thug's scream was interrupted as Frances disabled his other knee. Two more strikes and his elbows were gone, and the final strike on his groin, cracking his nuts. Five strikes and the thug became a whimpering mess.
While Mike and his buddies felt both fear for remembering their own beating and relief that Frances wasn't that ruthless with them, the other gang members were too shocked even to react. One moment, they thought they were about to get another territory; the next, their boss was down, moaning in pain.
Frances didn't stop there. Next, she turned on the rest of the gang. Before they could react, the wolf had already entered the sheep flock. Mike and the others no longer stood still; they joined the fight. The fight ended in an overwhelming victory for Frances and her gang. Unfortunately, two gang members near the exit had run off when they saw how hard Frances was hitting their buddies.
There were six thugs sprawled on the floor. Another thug, the one who shouted earlier, also ended up disabled with his new boss. The other four only got beaten up.
After Frances had had enough of hitting those four, she came back to Trent, whose face was now covered with cold sweat.
Frances stopped in front of him, her one foot pressing on the tattooed thug's neck, which increased his whimpers even more.
"I think I heard that you don't owe anyone any tax," Frances asked slowly. Then she dug her boot deeper into the thug's neck, who let out a choked scream. She asked, looking directly in Trent's eyes, "Is that right?"
Trent wetted his pants when Frances gave him that look. Fortunately for him, since he was on the other side of the counter, no one noticed that.
Trent's lips trembled. "Wh-what? N-no! I meant the amount was too little for the good you do on the street. I should—double it. Double tax."
Trent immediately regretted saying that, but he didn't have the guts to take it back.
Frances held his gaze for one long second, then stepped off the thug's neck and turned to leave.
"You heard him, boys," she said. "He'll pay twice from now on."
The situation was reversed this time, as Mike and his buddies gave Trent a mocking look. Finally, they also left the shop, taking the downed gang members with them.
Behind the counter, Trent stared at the door, his heart pounding. He looked down at his wet pants and cursed under his breath.