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Chapter 115 Skeleton Gang And Hydra
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 11:32:07 +0000 UTCIn Hell’s Kitchen, New York, everything was business as usual.
The underworld emperor, Wilson Fisk—known across the city as Kingpin—had recently issued several new decrees. One of them was a sweeping purge and reorganization of New York’s criminal underworld.
Several small and weak gangs were quickly crushed by Fisk’s empire. Within days, fear and chaos spread through the entire underworld.
Even the Skeleton Gang, one of the fastest-growing organizations, found itself under assault. For reasons unknown, Fisk seemed to have taken a special interest in destroying them—within just a few days, he had nearly reduced the gang to ashes.
As the leader of the Skeleton Gang, Hood Kane felt like an ant on a hot stove. The pressure from Kingpin was suffocating, and the sense of doom left him no choice. He finally made up his mind—to contact his superiors.
Washington, D.C. — Security Council Headquarters
On the top floor of the towering Security Council Office Building, the phone rang sharply on Alexander Pierce’s desk. The former S.H.I.E.L.D. director—now a senior member of the World Security Council—frowned slightly.
“Agent Sitwell, how serious is it?” Pierce asked coldly, activating the security lock on his office. With a click, the entire room sealed itself off from outside communication.
“Sir, our underground proxy—the Skeleton Gang—has sent a distress signal,” came Agent Jasper Sitwell’s calm voice through the line.
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Building, the bald agent adjusted his glasses and continued, “They’re requesting immediate support.”
“Damn it,” Pierce growled. “The Skeleton Gang is just one of HYDRA’s disposable fronts. You broke protocol contacting me directly over something that trivial.”
His voice carried clear irritation, and Sitwell could almost feel his superior’s anger from miles away. Pierce clearly didn’t care about a street gang.
“Sir,” Sitwell pressed, “Hood Kane—the Skeleton Gang’s leader—claims to have discovered traces of Persuader Allens.”
Pierce froze for a moment. “Persuader Allens? The one rumored to have psychic powers… the ability to control people’s minds?”
A glint of excitement flashed in Pierce’s eyes.
That ability—the power to influence others at will—was more terrifying than HYDRA’s own brainwashing technology. It was faster, more subtle, and far more effective.
To HYDRA, such a man was priceless.
Pierce immediately understood why Sitwell had taken the risk to contact him. “Very well. Tell the Skeleton Gang to continue searching for this Allens. HYDRA will provide some support… but Sitwell, make sure Nick Fury doesn’t catch wind of this.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pierce hung up quickly. The call could not exceed one minute—any longer, and the Security Council’s monitoring system might flag his communication.
He exhaled slowly, deactivated the room’s lockdown, and returned to his usual calm demeanor.
At the Triskelion, Agent Sitwell ended the call and left his office with a faint smile.
The building was buzzing with activity—S.H.I.E.L.D. agents came and went in a constant flow. Most were below Level 5 clearance; only the upper-tier agents were considered true elites.
As Sitwell walked down the corridor, he ran into Maria Hill, the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
“Sitwell,” Hill said, handing him a document. “There’s a Level-047 file here that needs your review.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sitwell replied politely, taking the file and continuing toward the archives.
As he passed a group of Level-4 agents, Sitwell gave a discreet nod. Without a word, orders from Pierce were silently relayed.
At this point, S.H.I.E.L.D. was deeply infiltrated—nearly two-thirds of its agents secretly answered to HYDRA. The organization was often mockingly referred to as the “Snake Shield Bureau.”
Within hours, Pierce’s orders were set in motion.
An unmarked van rolled out of a warehouse on the outskirts of New York, loaded with weapons and ammunition. Its destination—Hell’s Kitchen.
Hell’s Kitchen — Fisk Building
Inside Fisk’s luxurious office, Allens sat casually on the massive leather chair once belonging to Kingpin himself.
Beside him stood Wilson Fisk and Bullseye, their expressions blank and emotionless—perfect replicas, crafted through Allens’ control.
A holographic projection on the table displayed live surveillance of the Skeleton Gang’s hideout.
“The message has been sent,” Allens said with a faint smirk. “Next, HYDRA will come knocking.”
On the projection, Hood Kane sat on a worn-out leather sofa, a half-burned cigar dangling from his mouth. His face was grim.
“Damn that Fisk!” he snarled, slamming his fist onto the coffee table. “Why did he issue that order?”
A few days ago, with Allens’ help, the Skeleton Gang had risen rapidly in power. But now, under Fisk’s assault, even their newfound strength was crumbling.
Desperate to survive, Hood Kane had reached out to his HYDRA handlers. But he knew the truth—HYDRA didn’t help people. They controlled them.
If they agreed to “assist,” it only meant one thing: they’d soon replace him.
Still, Hood Kane had no choice. He couldn’t resist Fisk. He couldn’t resist HYDRA. All he could do was hope to survive a little longer.
After a long wait, the call came. His superiors ordered him to locate Persuader Allens and deliver him to the Siberian Base.
Hood Kane exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what that meant. He was nothing more than a puppet HYDRA used to handle their dirty work.
As he hung up the phone, a van pulled into his territory. The doors swung open, revealing crates of firearms and ammunition.
Hood Kane’s eyes lit up.
“Hahaha! With these weapons, I can finally take the fight back to Kingpin’s gang!” he shouted, his face twisting with excitement and rage.
Just days ago, he’d been crushed under Fisk’s thumb. Now, with HYDRA’s weapons, he thought he might finally stand a chance.
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