Originally, after wiping out the two major families, Chen Mo had intended to eliminate every single criminal outfit in Brooklyn.
But even if he cleared out Brooklyn's underworld entirely, new forces would sprout up sooner or later, grow, fight, and eventually produce a new leader — nothing would fundamentally change. Brooklyn would still be the same city of chaos, crime, and vice.
So Chen Mo decided it was simpler to take control himself: to rule the city's underworld and solve the problem once and for all.
It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but who could say what consequences it might bring to this world later?
The meeting soon wound down. After Albert finished explaining the rules and the plan Chen Mo had set, he stepped back and resumed his place.
Chen Mo on the chair slowly opened his eyes. He was too lazy to haggle with these people; fortunately Albert had handled most of it for him.
Having experienced the shocks of the evening, the assembled leaders had their minds in order now, watching Chen Mo with awe and waiting for him to speak.
"I won't waste words," Chen Mo said. "From this point on there will be only one family in Brooklyn — the Seven-Precept Gang."
He remembered a group called the Ten-Ring Gang (used later by Obadiah to kidnap Tony Stark). Too lazy to invent a long name, Chen Mo decided to call this new organization the Seven-Precept Gang — a name meant to remind everyone to strictly follow the seven family precepts.
"Yes! Godfather!" the assembled men answered in one voice.
Chen Mo nodded slightly, rose, and walked to the wall of the meeting room. Hung there was a heavy medieval tower shield nearly head-high.
"I won't be staying here long," he said. "To prevent you — or your successors — from forgetting the rules I set, I'll leave you a gift."
Then, suddenly, he struck the tower shield with his fist. His punching speed was astonishing; the series of blows blurred before their eyes.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Seven rapid, nearly continuous thuds rang out, making their eardrums ache and seeming to shake the entire room.
Chen Mo turned and left the meeting room with Albert, leaving behind a housefull of stunned new leaders of the Seven-Precept Gang, staring at one another.
The heavy steel tower shield now bore seven deep, distinct fist marks — the shape of fists clearly imprinted.
After witnessing Chen Mo dodge a bullet earlier, those present had already begun to accept that his power was beyond human. Moments of shock passed, and they stepped forward to examine the shield more closely.
But just as the first few approached, the wall holding the shield began to tremble and crack all around it. The men nearest hurried backward; before they'd gone far, the wall itself collapsed with a roar, leaving a hole more than two meters across.
Dust and debris filled the meeting room. When the dust settled they saw the fallen rubble piled beneath the ruined wall — not a single brick intact; Chen Mo's force had shattered them into fragments.
On the rubble lay the tower shield, its silvery surface scarred deeply with the seven fist imprints.
"The Seven-Precept Gang…"
Thus the Brooklyn underworld was unified. A new, powerful organization — the Seven-Precept Gang — had been born. In the days to come it would firmly control Brooklyn's underworld, and even large parts of New York. Their emblem — a medieval tower shield stamped with seven fist marks — would be enshrined in the gang's core council chamber.
Late 1943, Brooklyn Martial Hall.
Chen Mo sat comfortably on the living room sofa holding a cup of coffee. He took a sip of the rich brew — that familiar taste — and felt utterly satisfied. After half a year away, he was finally drinking the coffee Albert had brewed with his own hands.
Across from him, Howard rolled his eyes. "I seriously suspect the real reason you rushed back was for this cup of coffee."
"You guessed it," Chen Mo said without looking up, sinking deeper into the sofa.
"It is pretty good. I approve of your decision," Howard added, leaning back and taking a sip of his own cup.
Albert shook his head with a helpless smile at the two sprawled-out men.
Since Chen Mo's return they'd been nonstop — the dock rescue, cleaning up the two families, consolidating control of the underworld — and everyone was exhausted. Now that things had finally settled, they could rest.
Peaceful moments pass quickly. The coffee pot was emptied and both men sat up.
"You've handled things here — shall we get down to business?" Howard asked seriously.
There were two important matters Chen Mo and Howard needed to address on this trip besides dealing with the mafia threat.
One was to invite Dr. Myron McClane, the maker of the vibranium-like shield, to join S.H.I.E.L.D. and conduct research into superalloys.
Chen Mo was very interested in the legendary alloy (Eitman? or Edman? — the text suggests an original, stronger alloy). He guessed the material used for his vibrating shield must be a primordial form of that alloy — the strongest of its kind, produced by a once-in-an-experiment accident, thus unique.
Wolverine's adamantium claws and skeletal bonding in the X-Men universe, the text mused, were attempts to replicate that original alloy but were imperfect; the manufactured adamantium is slightly inferior but can be made on a small scale.
Although Chen Mo's current bulletproof armor used the best special ballistic alloys then available, it no longer met his defensive needs. His strength made weight less of an issue, but increasing thickness reduced mobility. The current materials could stop pistols, rifles, even some machine guns, but against heavy machine guns and anti-aircraft fire they would be insufficient.
He urgently needed a stronger material to craft a new body armor that would provide the level of protection he wanted.
Chen Mo nodded at Howard's reminder.
"We depart tomorrow morning."