Chapter Text
Silence fell across the room in wake of the Black Sky's passage. There was no doubt that the three knew where she was going. Either to clean her blades or to ensure that the Iron Fist did not escape their custody once more. Murakami suspected both if she was anything but a dedicated warrior like himself. He pursed his lips and stared at the pool of blood and trail that used to be Alexandra's. He had not been surprised that Alexandra had died. What surprised him was that Elektra had known to ensure that Alexandra stayed dead by chopping her head off. He had originally thought her as nothing more than an animal and she had proven how cunning she was. However, Gao had a point – they had operated in the shadows and secrecy as well as alliance and money were their allies. With Alexandra's death, they could not readily explain away her sudden disappearance.
“You are thinking, my old friend,” Gao suddenly spoke up in wake of the silence and Murakami looked at her.
He did not need to extend his heightened senses out to know that she was staring at him with her snake-like eyes, more than likely evaluating him as she had done all of the lifetimes he had known her. Of all of the fingers of The Hand, he had long considered Gao the most dangerous. Alexandra was dangerous – she had initiated the most assassination attempts on him – but Gao was the most dangerous. She was the only one of the five of them to blatantly consider removing Alexandra from power and did so with a boldness that belied her insipid and treacherous nature.
“I am always thinking,” he replied in Japanese. He had no reason to speak the language of commerce, English, among the three of them that remained. He could speak it, he just chose not to because it was not necessary. He still did not understand why Gao did it when her own Cantonese was perfectly understandable to him and to Bakuto.
“But not to dispose our new...leader,” Gao tilted her head in a different way and Murakami felt Bakuto shift.
He could almost imagine the other man's smile – one that never reached his eyes – a pleasant congenial one that his followers always adored and made them feel a sense of belonging in return. He had deliberately turned his back on Bakuto, but knew that the other man would not strike at the moment. It was he who had fished Bakuto to safety and revived him as he had been the closest to where the warrior had fallen. Bakuto had said nothing, but Murakami knew that Bakuto was currently feeling a bit grateful for his revival. And so he knew that the good will would last for a little longer, if not for the next few days. It usually took about a month or so for the good feeling to vanish from Bakuto. Then he would have to watch his back.
“She is the one who was able to capture the Iron Fist-” Gao started.
“Your point?” he raised an eyebrow at Gao.
“We should at least consider her plans-”
“You are a snake Gao,” Murakami interrupted with a look at the relatively old woman. “And you do not easily submit. I know for a fact that you are already making your own plans, your own contingencies should the Black Sky fail in her mission or even allow the Iron Fist to escape.”
Gao said nothing.
“Perhaps we should consider her plan at the moment. If and when she does get the Iron Fist to open the door, and we receive the substance to prolong our lives, she has certainly outlived her usefulness,” Bakuto spoke up, his voice calm, pleasant, always making promises.
“I will kill her myself,” Murakami glanced at Bakuto as he moved from behind him to join their conversation.
“I have no doubt about that friend,” Bakuto knew better than to place a hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “But let us consider alternatives at the moment.”
“Alternatives,” he stated flatly.
“The Black Sky may wish to operate in the open, but since we are leaderless,” Bakuto gestured to the pool of blood that had been Alexandra's. He flashed an affable smile, “it may be the best time to discuss what we can do to mitigate this light that has now shined upon us. We know that the Unyielding Woman, the Man With the Unbreakable Skin, and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen are all after us as we have shown them our faces.
“Murakami, your subordinate Nobu, he was able to nearly beat the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, was he not?” Bakuto asked.
“He was an idiot for allowing his own desires to compromise his mission of obtaining the Black Sky,” Murakami replied. He had been disappointed, severely disappointed in his apprentice. He had given life back to his subordinate with the promise that it would be his last unless he had finished what he had been tasked to do to what was now Midland Circle.
In the aftermath of the debacle with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Black Sky, he had found his apprentice's severed head. Nobu had served him for a very long time and one would have thought that there was some affection, some kind of reciprocal respect, but all Murakami had felt was an empty disappointment.
“Yes, but you must admit, his skill in luring the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Black Sky to him was incredible,” Bakuto clasped his hands together, “perhaps there is a lesson in that.”
“Working from the shadows,” Gao spoke up, her voice measured and calm.
“No, my dear Madame,” Bakuto bowed his head a little, “we strike first. As we had always. We do not need to wait for these three who have dedicated themselves to their companion the Iron Fist. We can strike first and thus, leave them with nothing but the ashes of their defeat. We know that they will come for the Iron Fist, but we, pardon, I also know that they have taken it upon themselves to try to protect the ones they love.”
“How?” Murakami was intrigued.
“I was accused of not obtaining the Iron Fist when I paid a visit to Colleen,” Bakuto smiled.
“So you do admit that you were not there for the Iron Fist,” Murakami could feel the cold annoyance roll off of him. Bakuto was foolish as ever to think that he could bring back an apprentice who had clearly renounce her ways to The Hand itself.
“Yes,” the other man did not even seemed bothered by the accusation. “Like I said, perhaps we should strike at their loved ones. That way, we do not have the distraction that they may provide by going after the Iron Fist.”
“They will be protected now,” Gao cautioned, “perhaps even by the police.”
“Yes, they will,” the other man replied, “but it is nothing we have not faced before, my dear Madame.”
“This will spend a lot of our resources-”
“Resources we can easily cultivate when we have the substance again,” Murakami nodded in agreement to the idea. He liked being pro-active, being able to stalk and hunt his prey in the lair instead of letting it think that it was hunting him. He looked at Gao who had pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with his agreement to Bakuto's suggestion.
“Very well,” Gao finally tilted her head in agreement, “what do you suggest?”
“Nobu's subordinates are my own,” Murakami replied, “Tyler-san will handle the arrangements.” The red-headed gaijin woman had her uses, but he did not doubt her loyalty to Nobu or to The Hand itself. He had released her from her prison sentence only a few months after Nobu's death and the woman had pledged herself to him. It was she who had also explained Nobu's plans to him, allowing him to figure out how it had gone awry.
“Divide and conquer, my friend? My, I thought you were a lone wolf,” Bakuto turned his smile towards him and Murakami only stared at him.
“Sowande's subordinates are loyal to you,” he stated and Bakuto nodded.
“The man and I share many similar tastes,” Bakuto shrugged and Murakami only huffed a breath of annoyance. He knew that it was not the only thing that the two had shared over the hundreds of lifetimes and years that they had been alive. Bakuto lusted and killed those he favored and disliked with a passion that was only rivaled by Sowande. The black man had a gift and way with words – and guns – that seemed tempered by the sword that Bakuto wielded.
“I will see to the arrangements here then,” Gao tilted her head at them. An unspoken understanding pass through the three of them. Of all of them, Gao had the power to potentially take down the Black Sky. And if the idiot Iron Fist had any sense, he would ally himself with Gao to take down the Black Sky before the two would then finish each other off.
“Dispose of her as soon as the Iron Fist opens the door,” Murakami called to Gao as they made to leave.
“Come my friend, let us enjoy this solitary hunt,” Bakuto clapped his hand on Murakami's shoulder and just this once, he allowed the affable man to do so. It would be the first and last time he would allow someone to touch him like that.