[center][img]http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/ironfist02_zps70jajrxi.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][b][color=forestgreen]HEROES FOR HIRE
in
A SNAKE IN THE GRASS[/color][/b][/center]

[b]Danny Rand’s Apartment[/b]

I wake up after a long, uninterrupted sleep, feeling like a new man. I’m still a bit sluggish, but I don’t feel like I’m going to keel over dead any time soon. Misty isn’t next to me when I wake up, unfortunately, so all the things I wanted to say remain unsaid, but that’s nothing new. I’m the king of unsaid things. 

My feet swing over a bed and I take a few tentative steps out of the bedroom and move towards the kitchen. My feet wobble a bit before I regain my balance, finding my footing. 

The cobwebs now begin to shake form brain as I walk gingerly through the large hallways of the penthouse apartment I live in. Three bedrooms, a full bar, a formal dining room, and a kitchen fill my place. It’s probably the one thing I should get rid of, but I’ll be damned if I don’t love waking up and having a view of the entire city from way up here. 

I saunter on over to the fridge and swing it open, sighing as I realize that I really don’t want to cook anything. I can cook, but I want to be babied, damn it. I almost died! Can’t someone make me some french toast or something?

“Bout time you got up,” Luke’s voice startles me. I spring up from inside the fridge, smacking my head on one of the shelves. “Good one.”

Wincing, I rub my head, “You could have given me some more warning. A ‘Hey, what’s up’ or a ‘Well I’m glad you’re still alive, Danny’. But no, instead you make me give myself a concussion.”

Luke looks at me incredulously, “You’re kidding right?”

“Yes! Maybe! I dunno! What did you learn at the crime scene?” I grumble and pour myself some coffee that Luke had clearly made. I take a long sip, savoring the bitter, hot liquid. It runs through me, seemingly back to life.

“We never got there,” Cage responds, taking a sip of his own. “Jess ran into Copperhead. While she was in pursuit she called us in for backup.”

“Did you get her?” I ask.

“Hell no, man,” he shakes his head. “Bitch is slippery as hell. Disappeared down an alley and didn’t come out the other side.”

“God damn, man,” my head rolls around and I sigh deeply. “Sewers?”

“Best we can figure, yea. You find out anything about her?”

“Yup,” I say after another sip. “Part of some secret society. Sowing chaos throughout, well, time. Show up throughout history up until the second world war. Still, it seems erratic, like there’s no rhyme or reason behind it.”

“So we’re at another dead end?” he asks.

“No, we still need to look at that crime scene,” I respond. “If there’s anything there, we’ll find it. The least we can do is finish the case we were hired to take. We’ll worry about Copperhead after that.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

[center]**********[/center]

[b]New York City Docks[/b]

The docks smell of oil, dead fish, and rotted wood, and the ground is slick form an evening shower that started as Luke and I headed out for our investigation. Somehow things always come back to the docks. It seems like a stereotype. The detectives have to go to the docks to find the bad guys, but every stereotype comes from a kernel of truth. Most illicit products come in here, meaning at some point you’re gonna end up here.

“So anything happen between Misty and you?” Luke asks as we approach the warehouse the officers were investigating before the assassination. “I heard she stayed the night last night. Getting back together?”

My shoulders shrug weakly, “I dunno. I mean, nothing happened. We didn’t really even talk about our situation. Just about Copperhead and all that stuff before I passed the hell out from exhaustion.”

“Well, at least she stayed with you,” Luke adds in. He’s not wrong. She could have left right away. “Jess thinks y’all will be back together in no time.”

“Do you think the Justice League talks about their love lives as they walk into what could be certain death?”

“I certainly hope so,” Cage chuckles. “I’m sure they put their super suits on the same as we do.”

“I mean, Captain America probably always wears his,” I respond as I break the chained lock off the massive wooden warehouse door. “It’s probably in his contract.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I hope he has a zipper-Sweet Christmas!”

As Luke swings the door open, we’re greeted by the sight of dozens of soldiers garbed in dark-orange combat suits. Machine guns are slung over their shoulders, and each of their faces is masked by snake-like balaclavas. They turn to us and begin yelling in a language I’m not familiar with.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” I look over at Luke and nod. The two of us then jump into action.