The slums of Lowtown buzzed with an uneasy rhythm, a continuous flow of voices and distant gunfire blended in with the faint echoes of the bustling Lowtown nightclubs, were persons filtering in and out to experience the lovely night-life.
Amidst this vibrant night-life and the shadows cast by the flickering neon lights of parties, Wanda Maximoff moved through the city like a ghost. Her Chaos Magic cloaking her body, stopping others from noticing her as she strolled through a dimly lit alley.
Her steps were slow and steady as she prepared for what she was about to do. Soon, she stopped her movements outside a decrepit warehouse. It looked normal on the surface, but anyone with a little street knowledge knew this place belonged to the Dragon Fang Syndicate.
Tiny wisps of Chaos Magic spiraled from Wanda's hands, weaving themselves into the surrounding shadows and expanding Wanda's senses far beyond the limits of human perception.
The muffled sounds of the city faded into the background, replaced by the vibrations emanating from within the warehouse. A dozen voices or more, speaking in hurried tones, some gruff, others sharp.
The harsh metallic clink of gun parts being assembled punctuated the conversation, followed by the distinct sound of magazines being loaded.
"Shipment's coming in tomorrow night," One voice said, his tone laced with authority. "We've got word the Yashida Clan's making a move on our territory in Hightown. Boss wants a message sent loud and clear, no mercy."
Another voice, this one younger and more nervous, piped up, "We sure it's them? Last time it was some nobodies trying to climb the ladder, and we wasted half our supply on those amateurs."
A loud, derisive laugh cut through the murmurs,"You questionin' the boss? Shut your mouth and load the gear. If Yashida's dogs show up, they won't live to see sunrise."
Wanda tilted her head, her eyes still closed, as the tendrils of her magic latched onto the swirling emotions inside. Greed. Fear. Hatred. A perfect storm of chaos she could exploit.
"Move faster!" another voice barked, its irritation clear. "We've got RPGs in the back and crates of ammo still to unload. If the Yashida hit us tonight, I want this place locked down like Fort Knox."
The faint scrape of boots against the concrete floor and the distant hum of an engine signaled reinforcements arriving. Wanda's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly red. A small, wry smile tugged at her lips.
She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pulsing energy of her magic. "Perfect. Let's add a little fuel to the fire." With a flick of her fingers, her energy swirled into the building like a mist, slithering into the minds of the Syndicate members.
Fear was her weapon tonight, and she wielded it with precision.
"You hear that?" one of the men whispered, his hand going to the pistol at his waist as his eyes darted around the room.
The others in the room froze, glancing around nervously.
"Shut up," growled a scar-faced thug, "There's nothing,"
But Wanda twisted reality just enough to make the scarred man's voice morph into a growl, as if something inhuman had spoken. The others recoiled.
"It's him," someone hissed,"The Yashida Clan has hired killers. They're already here."
Panic spread like wildfire. Wanda watched as the men turned on each other, paranoia turning their words into accusations, then shouts, and finally drawn weapons. Within minutes, the warehouse erupted into chaos, the sound of gunfire ringing out.
Satisfied, Wanda stepped away from the scene. Her next stop was a Yashida Clan meeting on the other side of Lowtown.
Using her Chaos Magic, she would weave the same kind of illusion there, planting more and more seeds of doubt and chaos across Madripoor to pit the two syndicates against each-other.
As she walked through the shadowed streets, she allowed herself a small smile. This was just the beginning.
***************
On the edge of Lowtown, a convoy of unmarked trucks rumbled down a poorly lit road, carrying crates of weapons and drugs bound for Hightown. The convoy moved with caution, flanked by armed escorts on motorbikes.
However, before any of those gang members could react, a blur of blue and silver had appeared. Before they could understand what was happening, their tires were slashed, engines destroyed, and they were disarmed.
"Hey, what the—" One of the bikers began, but Pietro was already gone, reappearing on the truck ahead of him.
"Nice bike," Pietro quipped, a cocky smirk on his lips as he delivering a swift kick that sent the man flying into the dirt.
He zipped to the back of the leading truck, his hands glowing faintly as he attached small magnetic charges to the lock. With a flick of his wrist, the door exploded open, revealing crates packed with contraband.
"Seriously? This much coke? You guys need better hobbies," Pietro muttered, expecting at least a couple of guns.
In less than a second, he was inside the truck, grabbing crates and tossing them out onto the road, where they shattered spectacularly.
By the time the remaining guards realized what was happening, Pietro was already dismantling the second truck, leaving a trail of destruction behind him.
As the convoy came to a grinding halt, Pietro stood atop the last truck, a cocky grin on his face, "Tell your bosses: Madripoor's supply lines are under new management."
With that, he was gone, leaving only the wreckage of the convoy and a trail of blue light in his wake.
************
Yelena was crouched on the rooftop of a luxury building in Hightown, her dark tactical suit blending into the night. Below her, a sprawling high-rise housed the Yashida Clan's main financial operations.
Her team of Widows was already in position, each one outfitted with advanced HeadHunter pistols and NanoTech suits. Yelena's earpiece crackled as one of them whispered, "Ready when you are, boss."
"On my mark," Yelena replied, her voice steady as she scouted the surrounding area. Once she was ready, Yelena raised her pistol, taking aim at a guard stationed on the balcony below them.
The silent round struck its target, and the man crumpled without a sound.
"Go," Yelena commanded.
The Widows instantly sprung into action, moving like shadows as they infiltrated the building with practiced precision and teamwork.
Yelena led the charge, taking down the guards relatively effortlessly. Each Widow targeted a different but specific room, disabling security systems and neutralizing personal easily.
Soon, Yelena arrived in the main server room, and she placed a device on the central console. A.N.G.E.L.'s voice came through her comms, "Uploading now. Estimated time to completion: two minutes."
"Okay" Yelena muttered, covering the doorway as more guards approached.
The Widows held their ground, their new suits were bulletproof, and their advanced weaponry made it extremely easy for them to take down the oncoming enemies.
When the upload finished, Yelena activated the device, wiping the clan's financial records clean and transferring all of their key assets to untraceable accounts controlled by Maxim & A.N.G.E.L.
"Mission accomplished," Yelena said, signaling her team to retreat. As they disappeared into the night, the Yashida Clan's financial empire crumbled behind them.
*************
The marketplace in Lowtown bustled with life, even in the late hours, deals never stop. Vendors lined both sides of the cramped alleys, their stalls an eclectic mix of patched-up wood, dented metal, and colorful fabrics.
The air carried a medley of scents: sizzling meat skewers, pungent spices, and the salty tang of the nearby sea.
Crowds ebbed and flowed like a tide, people bartering fiercely or simply lingering to enjoy the vibrant scene.
A group of children darted between the legs of shoppers, their laughter momentarily drowning out the occasional grumble of an old generator struggling to keep the lights alive.
However, this peace soon shattered like glass!
An angry roar echoed from the southern entrance of the market. The crowd stilled, heads snapping toward the sound as if a predator had entered the fold.
Moments later, a group of gang members stormed in, their heavy boots pounding against the cobblestones. Clad in leather jackets emblazoned with the insignia of the Dragon Fang Syndicate, they exuded menace.
Each carried a weapon, a mix of handguns, shotguns, and even a few baseball bats wrapped in barbed wire.
~BANG~
The leader, a towering man with a shaved head and a dragon tattoo curling up his neck, fired a shot into the air.
The deafening crack of the gunshot silenced the market. Vendors froze in place, their hands gripping whatever they were holding, fish knives, spatulas, or packets of rice.
"Listen up, you miserable rats!" the leader bellowed, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, "It's time to pay up protection fees."
A chorus of murmurs rippled through the crowd, vendors exchanging fearful glances. One brave man, an elderly fishmonger with a weathered face and shaking hands, stepped forward, "We paid you last week," he protested weakly. "We barely make enough to—"
The leader didn't let him finish. With a cruel smirk, he strode over and kicked the man's wooden crate of fish, sending its contents splattering across the cobblestones. "That was last week's fee. This is this week. And if you don't have it…" He raised his gun and aimed it at the old man's head, "I'll take your shop as payment."
A woman screamed, clutching her child tightly. Vendors began scrambling to gather whatever money or goods they could offer, shoving it toward the gang in desperate hopes of appeasing them.
The gang members moved through the stalls like wolves in a sheepfold, overturning tables, looting cash boxes, and shoving aside anyone too slow or annoying.
A woman clutching a basket of fruit tried to slip away unnoticed, only to have her path blocked by a burly thug with a sneer.
The burly thug sneered down at the terrified woman clutching her basket of fruit. "Going somewhere, lady?" he growled, reaching out to grab her arm.
The woman flinched, her basket tumbling to the ground, sending apples rolling across the cobblestones.
Suddenly, a sharp crack split the air.
The thug's body went rigid, his sneer frozen on his face as a neat red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, his weapon clattering beside him. For a moment, the entire marketplace seemed to hold its breath.
Then chaos erupted.
The gang members spun toward the direction of the shot, shouting and scrambling for cover, but they didn't get the chance. A second shot rang out, then a third, each one striking with deadly precision.
Another gang member dropped, his shotgun slipping from his hands, while a third collapsed into a stall, overturning a table of jewelry.
From the shadows at the southern entrance, figures emerged, clad in tactical black gear and moving with fluid precision. At the forefront was a woman with sharp, calculating eyes and a steely demeanor, Oksana.
She raised her silenced HeadHunter and fired again, taking down a thug who was attempting to flee.Flanking her were a small team of equally deadly Black Widows' their weapons trained on the panicked gang members.
"Take them out," Oksana ordered, her voice calm yet commanding.
The operatives spread out, cutting off the gang's escape routes. One by one, the Dragon Fang enforcers were eliminated.Vendors watched from behind overturned stalls and makeshift cover, their fear gradually replaced by awe.
As the last body hit the ground, Oksana holstered her weapon and scanned the marketplace. The operatives regrouped, forming a protective perimeter around her. The crowd, still stunned, began to emerge cautiously from their hiding places.
Oksana stepped into the center of the market, her voice cutting through the lingering silence. "The Dragon Fang Syndicate is no more," she declared, her words crisp and deliberate. "They will never harm this place again."
She gestured to her team, who began collecting the gang's weapons and securing the area. Turning back to the crowd, she added, "We are from the High Table. These streets are now under our protection. Pay what you owe, to no one."
The crowd exchanged uncertain glances, murmurs rippling through them. One by one, vendors began nodding, relief replacing their fear.
Oksana's gaze swept over the marketplace one final time. Satisfied, she gave a curt nod to her team. "Clean it up. We move out in ten."
*************
Back at the safe-house, Maxim stood before a holographic map of Madripoor, receiving info about how the various gangs reacted to his actions. As the leader, although he could've done all this by himself, he needed to allow his subordinates more chances to shine.
Plus, it would be better for his public image, at least at the moment, if he was just known as the mysterious leader of the High Table. Once the time was right, he'd reveal himself.
"The people are starting to believe," Wanda said, stepping beside him after returning from her mission.
Maxim's gaze was steady, his voice unwavering, "Good. This is only the beginning. Madripoor will be ours, and when it is, the world will know what it means to challenge The High Table."