Police Commissioner George Stacy's face was dark as he surveyed the scene.
Even for a veteran cop, the sight was breathtakingly horrifying.
Three city blocks of Hell's Kitchen were frozen solid. Hundreds of gang mbers stood like statues on the street, their last monts of terror preserved in perfect, crystalline detail. It looked less like a cri scene and more like Pompeii, but with ice instead of ash.
"Commissioner," Captain Mark of the Organized Cri and Narcotics Division walked over, his expression grim. "Every Triad stronghold in the Kitchen was hit tonight. The 'Ice Demon' ended his spree here at the China Garden."
"Also," Mark lowered his voice, "the suits are here. FBI, NSA, Holand Security. They're swarming."
Over a thousand dead. Even if they were criminals, a massacre of this scale couldn't be swept under the rug. By tomorrow morning, New York would be the center of the world's attention again.
"Damn mutants," George Stacy thought angrily.
Compared to Magneto attacking the White House or the Brotherhood hitting military bases, a gang war in Hell's Kitchen usually didn't rate this high. But this... this was a statent.
Stacy felt a deep sense of territorial indignation. New York was his city. He hated it when super-powered freaks turned his streets into their personal battlegrounds. If these unchecked powers weren't reined in, ordinary families—like his own, like Gwen—would eventually be caught in the crossfire.
"Commissioner, Holand is walking over," Mark whispered.
Stacy looked up. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a disarming smile was approaching, flanked by a team of agents in identical black suits.
"Commissioner Stacy. Hello. I'm Agent Phil Coulson."
Coulson flashed a badge that didn't belong to the FBI or NSA.
"This is now under our jurisdiction per White House directive. Please have your officers establish a periter and coordinate with my team."
Captain Mark wanted to tell this suit to shove his directive, but one look at the clearance level on the badge made him swallow his words.
"We'll handle the drugs," Coulson continued smoothly, his tone polite but leaving no room for argunt. "And we'll handle the... statues. Your team can process the non-frozen bodies."
Coulson knew how to handle local law enforcent. Nick Fury had pulled him off the Tony Stark detail specifically for this. An Ice-user wiping out a cri syndicate was a Level 8 event.
"This is Captain Mark. He'll assist you," Stacy said stiffly, shaking Coulson's hand briefly before turning away. He had press conferences to prepare for. And a headache to nurse.
Coulson walked through the frozen street, his breath misting in the air. Even in his suit, the supernatural chill bit into his bones.
"Is it a mutant?" he asked quietly.
"Scanning now, sir," an agent replied, holding a tricorder-like device. "Negative. No X-Gene energy signature detected."
SHIELD had tech that could sniff out mutants. If there was no X-Gene, then Iceman (Bobby Drake) was cleared.
"So, an Enhance," Coulson mused.
In his experience, Enhances—people who gained powers through accidents, serums, or artifacts—were the most volatile. They didn't have the community of the X-n to guide them. They were usually lone wolves with god complexes.
"This level of cryokinesis represents an Oga-level threat," Coulson noted. "He targeted the Triad specifically. Find Mada Gao. She survived. She's our only lead."
"Sir, what about the press?"
"Lock it down," Coulson ordered. "Confiscate all caras. The official story is a chemical leak followed by a gang war. We need to buy ti before the public panics about an 'Ice Demon'."
Suddenly, a voice echoed inside Coulson's head. Calm, fatherly, and undeniable.
"Agent Coulson. Thank you."
Coulson didn't flinch. He just sighed.
"Professor Xavier. You really need to stop entering people's minds without knocking. It's rude."
"I will locate Mada Gao for you," Professor X's telepathic voice continued. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill."
"Much obliged," Coulson thought back.
"Please inform Director Fury that anti-mutant sentint is rising. If this 'Ice Demon' is blad on us, it could trigger the war we are all trying to avoid."
"We're not enemies, Charles," Coulson replied. "We'll keep the heat off the X-n. Just find the target."
The presence faded from his mind.
Coulson rubbed his temples. "I hate telepaths."
Fisk Tower. The Penthouse.
Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Cri, stood before a massive window, overlooking his city. His sheer bulk filled the fra, a mountain of muscle in a white suit.
Behind him stood a man with a target tattooed on his forehead, casually chewing a toothpick. Bullseye.
"I don't doubt your skills, Lester," Fisk said, his voice a low rumble.
He turned slowly.
"But the Ice Demon has destabilized the Kitchen. The Triad's collapse leaves a vacuum. Chaos is bad for business."
Fisk had other concerns. His wife, Vanessa, had left him, taking their son. But worse, he was funding a secret project underneath the city. A Collider. He intended to breach the multiverse to find a reality where his family hadn't left.
He couldn't afford SHIELD sniffing around Hell's Kitchen right now.
"Mr. Fisk," Bullseye said, his tone serious. "I put a bullet through his brain. It turned to powder. Gao's n emptied hundreds of clips into him. Nothing works. He's not human."
"Everything has a weakness," Fisk snarled, his composure cracking for a split second. "Find it. Find who he is under that mask."
"No one threatens my city. Not even a demon."
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