MCU: Skull and Bones

Chapter 63: Gifts

2013

Hell's Kitchen, New York City

Warehouse District

Next Day

(Omniscient POV)

After the defeat of Salvatore and the other members of the Carbone Family, Zeru spent the rest of the night interrogating those who lived through the attack mercilessly. At the same time, little silver Nodes moved throughout the warehouse district cleaning up the mess left behind during the fight.

By morning, all of the surviving members of the Carbone had been executed without mercy; their bodies thrown into the furnace beneath the warehouse building as all their weapons and what was left of their vehicles were dismantled for parts.

All evidence linking Brock's group to the massacre vanished overnight thanks to his efforts.

Zeru took great pleasure in watching his mechanical minions work tirelessly to complete his orders even as he lounged comfortably in a beach chair sipping coffee leisurely atop the roof, overlooking Hell's Kitchen.

A laptop lays across his lap as he scrolls idly through numerous police documents detailing the identities of the various criminal organization operating within New York City. He compiled extensive files containing information regarding the organized gangs currently residing there, which included: names, aliases, locations, photos, family histories...anything useful that might come in handy for Brock should he ever decide to take action against them personally.

As he worked, Zeru glanced at the watch on his wrist lazily before letting out an amused snort.

"It should only be another few minutes or so..." He muttered to himself as he picked up a pair of hi-tech-looking binoculars from beside him and trained them to the east side of town.

A playful and mischievous grin spread across his lips as he waited patiently for his gift to arrive.

*************

Manhattan, New York

East Harlem

The Red Fish Blue Restaurant

Rosalie Carbone paced back and forth impatiently inside her office, waiting anxiously for word on her son and the crew he went out with.

"He should have reported in hours ago," she grumbles irritably, glaring daggers angrily at the men who stood silently around the room, none of them willing to speak lest they incur further wrath from the distressed mother.

Rosalie glares harder at each man standing before her, seething mad at being kept hanging as every cell in her body was screaming at the top of its lungs that something bad has gone wrong. Her anger boils dangerously close to erupting as she clenches her fists tight, holding herself back just barely from lashing out violently at whoever dared keep her ignorant of Salvatore's fate.

Finally deciding to give everyone present a break from enduring her wrath, she turns abruptly and storms outside into the restaurant proper instead.

Opening the doors leading directly into the kitchen area, she strides purposefully inside

"Where is Julius?" She demands sharply to the cooks working diligently among piles of freshly baked bread dough and simmering pots bubbling vigorously on several stoves scattered about the kitchen. Several chefs glance nervously upward when confronted by the furious woman storming into their midst but manage not to react too much despite feeling compelled otherwise.

"He went to the back for a smoke, Ma'am," one cook replies hesitantly.

Rosalie nods absently in acknowledgment and moves to turn towards the back door when a man with a thick mustache step swiftly through the back doors carrying a large box in his hands.

Panic and fear were etched into the man's face as a light sweat begins forming along his forehead.

"Julius?" Rosalie calls out to the panicked man, who turns toward her with wide fearful eyes.

"Ma'am..." He starts tentatively, then stops dead cold mid-sentence as he looks down at the box in his hands.

"What's wrong? What happened?!" Rosalie shouts shrilly.

Her sudden outburst causes dozens of heads to pop up from different areas of the busy kitchen all turning curiously toward the source of such extreme agitation coming from someone usually known for keeping calm under pressure.

"Some kind of weird-looking drone dropped this off out back..." Julius says quietly, trying desperately to ignore how frightened he felt. "I think you need to see..this, Ma'am."

His words send shivers of terror coursing through Rosalie's veins and cause goosebumps to rise all over her fleshy arms and neck. Fearful anticipation builds relentlessly inside her chest as she cautiously approaches the trembling man, who places the box gently down on a nearby table and backs away hastily.

As she reaches down carefully to open the large package, her heart leaps painfully hard into her throat as she sees exactly what the delivery contained.

A neatly wrapped severed head was laid carefully out atop stacks of bloody butcher paper sheets that were stained red liberally.

Rosalie stands frozen motionless as reality finally sinks in deep enough for her comprehension. Forcing herself to swallow in order to regain control over breathing properly, she closes her eyes and takes a calming breath deeply through parted nostrils.

"My boy...my baby... No no NO!!" Tears fill her eyes anew as fresh grief wells up unexpectedly. "Oh god please don't let this be true..."

She lets loose a piercing shriek of anguish beyond description as tears pour freely from her soul in torrential streams. With shaking fingers she picks up the badly beaten head gingerly by both sides of his scalp and lifts it tenderly out of the box. Carefully lifting it high overhead so everybody could get an unobstructed view of it, Rosaline stares blankly at it intensely and whispers softly. "...not yet....please..."

Several people gasped aloud in unison as they uncomfortably witnessed such a gruesome sight firsthand.

Shaking visibly, Rosalie drops heavily to her knees sobbing as she holds the severed head close to her chest.

*Click.*

An electronic chime suddenly sounds out from inside the box, making those closest to it look over confused.

*Booom!!*

A huge thundering explosion echoes powerfully throughout the entire building, sending the members of the Carbone Family, the hardworking cooks, and innocent diners alike scattering bloodily everywhere amid screams of fright and confusion. Glassware shattered and tables overturned are strewn about haphazardly amidst widespread destruction caused by the blast wave sweeping through the establishment.

Smoke billows ominously from multiple points of origin spreading outward until visibility becomes impossible due to dense black clouds filling the air. Those caught unaware by the unexpected detonation scramble blindly away from danger as fast as possible, some falling victim to unseen dangers lurking amongst the debris littering the streets below.

The Red Fish Blue Restaurant was reduced to rubble. Within moments, everything belonging to anyone connected with the Carbone Family was utterly destroyed. All that remained afterward was smoldering wreckage littered with burning scraps of metal and charred human corpses.

Sirens wail incessantly from down the street as fire trucks roar into the scene accompanied closely by ambulances rushing frantically to aid victims trapped underneath fallen beams and collapsed walls of brickwork and stone construction material. Other rescue workers hurry urgently past, heading straight into the burning rubble themselves to search for any survivors buried beneath tons of collapsed masonry.

Panic spreads quickly throughout the neighborhood as a large crowd of terrified citizens begins to form near the site of the devastation.

"What happened?"

"Isn't that the Carbone's spot? "

"Are we safe here?"

"Who could have done this?"

Frightened voices echo hollowly through the empty husk of the once vibrant street as witnesses begin streaming en masse toward the disaster zone. Bystanders huddle together uncertainly as questions fly wildly between concerned parties seeking answers on how things unfolded as they did.

Grim-faced fire investigators rush inside the ruins, searching endlessly for signs of life amidst the smoking pile of bricks and wood slabs still ablaze after nearly one hour since the initial bombing occurred.

They discovered nothing save scorch marks where a small explosive device must have been detonated remotely, causing massive damage to the people and the property.

One of the firemen lifts up a section of the demolished wall and sees the burnt corpse of a woman lying lifelessly in the fetal position on the floor, a round charred-up mass of meat and bone held tightly to her chest.

"How could somebody do THIS?! How can anybody possibly justify destroying their own city like this!?" One firefighter growls furiously, enraged beyond belief at having witnessed such atrocity.

Another shakes his bald head sadly as he gazes solemnly downward at the remains of two young children whose dead bodies lay crushed beneath chunks of concrete blocks that fell, crushing them instantly upon impact. Their parents died alongside them, unable to escape their doom.

"This city is going to hell..." The old bald firefighter mutters darkly as he glances up at the setting sky despondently. "And I have a feeling that this is only just the beginning."

************

Seoul, South Korea

U-GIN Research Lab

(Dr. Helen Cho POV)

Nervousness filled me as I sat alone in front of a computer monitor, staring intently at the screen as if hypnotized by the numerous complicated calculations scrolling rapidly across my display window.

My hands tremble slightly as anxiety grips hold of me tighter than ever before as time continues ticking inexorably onward, leaving precious little opportunity remaining for success to slip through our grasp.

With the clock winding down steadily, panic began setting in more strongly for Dr. Chang and myself as we hurried feverishly to finish testing U-8700 ourselves in preparation for submitting final data reports for review.

We needed results now! If we didn't submit soon, we would lose valuable research funding, money that could help us speed up development considerably.

There simply weren't sufficient funds available to continue conducting tests indefinitely without additional financial support. That meant we had to show progress ASAP or else risk losing significant amounts of grant money to other competing projects.

"We're almost finished!" Doctor Chang shouted excitedly from somewhere behind me while simultaneously checking his workstation screens for updates on current status readings.

Turning slowly in place, I peer suspiciously at him curiously. His expression seemed unusually happy today compared to usual, which struck me odd considering we were dealing with potentially disastrous consequences if these experiments failed.

That was very unlike him; however, given the circumstances surrounding this particular project, perhaps it made sense why he might be acting differently. After all, this experiment involved playing God by using technology far ahead of anything mankind currently possessed. It required tremendous courage and conviction even daring to attempt such a risky endeavor.

Few scientists took risks worth taking anymore because there weren't many rewards left to enjoy afterward either way. In fact, most researchers nowadays preferred safety above all others, avoiding challenges altogether unless absolutely necessary. They wanted security instead of uncertainty, stability rather than change comfort over curiosity and excitement. There was less reward in pushing boundaries and exploring unknown territory, especially when doing so came with great personal sacrifice attached.

"Done! Let's go check your samples right away," Chang blurts eagerly in response to my questioning gaze.

"Let's hope they've reacted well to the treatment," I reply worriedly. Both of us shared similar concerns regarding potential side effects as neither really knew what kind of effect U-8700 would produce on human cells anyway.

All previous attempts utilizing synthetic DNA-based drugs showed early promise but produced unpredictable adverse reactions in test subjects during later stages of clinical trials. This led to frequent failures resulting in the complete abandonment of further experimentation, effectively ending any hopes of developing new pharmaceuticals capable of treating previously untreatable conditions.

Even worse, failure begets greater levels of ignorance concerning basic biological principles underlying disease processes, thereby preventing future medical breakthrough discoveries. Ultimately, humanity lost ground in terms of understanding its own biology and natural healing capabilities thanks to the reckless abandon brought about by greed-driven profit motives.

But I'm hoping against reason and logic that U-8700 will prove successful regardless. Not merely beneficial in itself, but also useful in helping develop better treatments for diseases affecting millions worldwide. Such strides forward may lead someday to even curing death itself.

But alas, none of that mattered to greedy corporations looking solely for monetary gain, thus ensuring that cures never arrived anywhere within reach for average everyday folks suffering horribly every day from illnesses long thought to be hopeless cases. Some companies cared primarily about profits, not patients needing assistance.

"Everything looks good so far." Dr. Chang states confidently as he checks another readout. "The samples have responded positively overall."

Relief floods over me as I exhale loudly, knowing it worked despite fears otherwise.

"All we can do now is check back in several days and observe whether the changes persist over time," Chang adds calmly as he walks around restlessly beside me, nervously watching the monitors displaying various stats related to the ongoing lab activities.

"Let's hope this one will be more effective than the previous iterations," I respond enthusiastically, nodding as I share in his enthusiasm...at least momentarily.

Our combined efforts paid off big time again as we beat the odds and kept everyone guessing as to what happens next. Now we wait patiently to find out if this latest effort proves effective in achieving desired goals or fails miserably.

Either outcome promises great dividends eventually providing benefits to humankind, although the latter option carries much higher stakes personally for both of us.

"I think I'll go take a break for lunch. Would you care to join me?" He asks hopefully, trying once again to woo me into joining him outside for food and conversation.

As always though, I declined politely once more saying: "No thank you, doctor, I should really be getting back home. The kids will be getting back from school any minute."

He smiles dejectedly in return. "Okay then, maybe some other time then?"

His hopeful offer makes me smile a little in turn. Although he knows perfectly well that won't happen anytime soon. Life has become increasingly difficult for me, in spite of recent successes, as the trauma of my missing husband lingered painfully strong in my heart reminding me daily that I was truly in this alone now.

"Have a good night, Doctor," I say quietly, turning sharply towards the door leading out of the laboratory area and taking the elevator down to the underground parking garage level immediately thereafter.

A lonely walk awaits me along the vacant rows of empty spaces illuminated by the long fluorescent lighting fixtures located intermittently throughout the facility. A few cars sit parked neatly lined up waiting silently awaiting occupants who don't seem interested in returning tonight.

Walking briskly, I move through the parking garage as an eerie quiet settles in the space, only the occasional car passing by briefly disturbs the silence.

My mind wanders aimlessly as thoughts of exhaustion, loneliness, fear, regret, and despair fill my consciousness yet no longer overwhelm me entirely. Instead, they remain subdued enough to allow room for rational thinking to resume, gradually replacing irrational emotions in favor of focusing on immediate needs.

I come upon the space reserved specifically for my vehicle and step swiftly toward it, automatically reaching into my pocket to retrieve my keys. With my key firmly in hand, I move to unlock the doors and get in, when I notice a small folded-up note resting atop the dashboard.

Puzzled by the notes' placement, I unfold the piece of paper and carefully read each neatly written word:

'If you would like to find out what really happened to your husband... Call the number listed.'

*********

A/n: Hey guys, I hope you are enjoying the story so far, and as always, thanks for reading!

If you like my work and want to support it, check out /Swarthy, where you can read early chapters or go to Paypal.me/xSwarthyx Every bit helps and is appreciated.