Marvel: Familia System

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It is I, Anthony. I bet you didn't expect me, hahahaha! Here I am again, caught in the mirror, having a full-blown conversation with myself like a madman. I should stop talking to myself! But then, how can a person stop the chatterbox in their minds? It's urgent, I need responses—please send them and tag me!

I straightened my tie, watching the reflection mimic my movements. Focus, Anthony. No time for nonsense. The job comes first, always. I'm not just a guard; I'm the protector, the watcher in the shadows, the one who keeps everyone safe. It's my duty to stay sharp, vigilant. But damn, these thoughts just keep spinning in my head.

The footsteps drew me back to the present. My mind, once spiraling in endless loops, snapped back into focus. Sofia emerged from the bathroom, her hair still damp, and started to comb it in front of the vanity.

I stood there, just watching her, and damn, I still couldn't believe how lucky I was. Sofia's presence was like a muse I never knew I needed, and before I could stop myself, words started forming, desperate to be turned into poetry.

"Her hair, like midnight silk, sways in the—" Ugh, no. Cringe. Too soft.

"She moves with the grace of a—" God, I sound like a bad romance novel.

"The light catches her—" No, no, no. It's too vague, too cliché. I remember reading something like this in high school, and it was just as unbearable then as it is now.

I was getting frustrated, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. It's like the words were right there, but they wouldn't come out right. Every time I tried, it just sounded wrong.

Then, without warning, Sofia caught my eye in the mirror. She grinned, her reflection meeting mine, and that smile… it did something to me.

"Lost in your thoughts again, babe?" she asked, her tone playful.

I cleared my throat, straightening up as if that would help clear my mind. "You know me too well," I replied, shaking my head with a small laugh. "I really need to stop talking to myself."

She chuckled, her grin widening. "Do you want me to write you a code? It can help you with words and rhymes."

"No thanks!" I muttered, tugging at my tie to make sure it was straight. "It's a work in progress. I will get there on my own."

"You better not be late because of it though," Sofia teased, still focused on her hair. "Wouldn't want the big, bad protector of us all to get distracted by a few rhymes."

"Not a chance," I said, giving her a wink. "Duty calls."

I had to go, but I couldn't resist taking one last look at her before heading out the door. Sofia was still wrapped in that towel, hair damp, skin glowing, and it hit me all over again how damn lucky I was. I should've walked out—duty and all that—but there she was, looking like a work of art in soft lighting. And here I was, a man with his priorities all mixed up.

Donald could wait. Five more minutes wouldn't kill anyone, right? Hell, who was I kidding? Even my quickies weren't quick. But this was one of those moments where you know you're making a bad call, but you make it anyway because, damn, some things are just worth it.

Grinning like a wolf on the prowl, I moved toward Sofia, her eyes widening just a bit as she caught the look in mine. "Anthony," she warned, but there was a playful edge to her voice, a challenge.

"Well, duty calls," I muttered, more to myself than anything, as I closed the distance, already imagining the excuses I'd need to come up with later. But that was for future Anthony to worry about. Right now? Different kind of duty.

Twenty minutes later, I was frantically pulling my pants on, my mind racing faster than my hands. "Shit, shit, shit," I muttered under my breath. How did time slip away so fast? Sofia's laughter echoed from the other room, light and teasing, as she called out, "Still think you're the master of time management, babe?"

"Not helping, Sof!" I barked back, yanking on my shirt and buttoning it at lightning speed. I didn't even check if the buttons were lined up right. I could fix that in the elevator.

"Relax, Anthony," she said, leaning against the doorway with that damn towel still wrapped around her, all calm and composed while I was on the verge of a breakdown. "Donald will understand."

"Yeah, because he's the king of patience," I grumbled, throwing on my jacket. I knew I looked like I'd been through a whirlwind—because I had—but there was no time to fix that now.

Sofia strolled over, still annoyingly relaxed, and adjusted my tie. "There, now you look like you've got it all together," she teased, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're good at this, you know. Keeping up appearances."

"Not sure how much longer I can keep this up," I muttered, but I gave her a quick smile. She was right—half the job was about looking like you had everything under control, even when you didn't.

"Go get 'em, tiger," she said, giving me a light slap on the buttock as I bolted for the door.

I made it to the elevator in record time, mashing the button like my life depended on it. As the doors slid shut, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. My hair was a mess, my tie was still crooked, and I looked like I'd just come out of a very enjoyable brawl.

"Get it together, Anthony," I whispered to myself, trying to straighten out what I could in the few seconds I had. The doors dinged open, and I stepped out, forcing my mind to shift gears. Focus.

I marched out of the building, mind already running through the list of things I had to deal with. Donald was probably pacing by now. And if Donald was pacing, then it meant trouble. I turned the corner where we were supposed to meet, and sure enough, there he was, leaning on his cane, waiting with that look that said he'd been there for longer than he wanted to be.

He gave me a quick once-over, taking in the rumpled clothes, the slightly askew tie, and probably the fact that I still looked like I'd been in a rush to escape a certain someone's embrace.

"At least it's understandable," he muttered with a grin, pushing off the wall and starting to walk away without another word.

Well, consider me dumbfounded. I blinked, then quickly followed after him, trying to figure out how I got away with being late without a lecture. "You're in a good mood," I noted, falling into step beside him. Donald wasn't usually the type to let things slide, especially when it involved time management.

He glanced at me sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk. "Let's just say I've got bigger things to worry about than your love life, Anthony."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the slight grin that tugged at my lips. "Must be something serious if you're not lecturing me."

He chuckled, a low sound that was more thoughtful than amused. "We've got a bit of a situation brewing in Hell's Kitchen. Sakura's asked for some backup, and you know she's not the type to call for help unless it's something outside her usual expertise."

I frowned, the playful mood quickly evaporating. Sakura was as capable as they came, so if she was reaching out, it wasn't for something small. "What's going on?"

"Drugs," Donald said flatly. "Heroin, from what we can tell. The kind that's been hitting the streets hard. And apparently, it's got some sort of twist that's throwing even her off."

I nodded, absorbing the information. Drugs weren't exactly my field of expertise, either, but if Sakura needed us, we'd figure it out together. "What's the plan?"

Donald's expression darkened slightly as we crossed the street, moving deeper into the city. "First, we meet up with her and assess the situation. I've got a few ideas, but I need to see what we're dealing with firsthand."

I kept pace with him, my mind already shifting gears. "And you think it's something we haven't seen before?"

"Could be," Donald replied, his tone cautious. "Hell's Kitchen has always been a breeding ground for all kinds of trouble, but this feels different. The way it's spreading, the kind of people it's affecting… something's off."

I didn't like the sound of that. Hell's Kitchen was bad enough on a good day, and if there was something new in the mix, it could get ugly fast. "Do we have any intel on where this stuff is coming from?"

Donald's voice was steady, but what he said next made me nearly trip over my own feet. "The suspect is the Hand. I checked with the boss, and he said it's probably them. We should look for Dragon bone in the drug."

I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at Donald like he'd just told me we were fighting a literal dragon. "Fucking what now?" I managed to sputter, trying to wrap my head around the idea.

Donald didn't even blink, just kept walking like he hadn't dropped a bomb on me. "Yeah, you heard me. Dragon bone. Don't ask me how it works, but apparently, these guys have figured out a way to mix it into heroin."

"Hold up," I said, catching up to him, my mind spinning. "We're talking about the same Hand that's been running around for centuries, right? The ninja clan with ties to all sorts of mystical shit? And now they're dealing drugs with dragon bone in it? Am I getting this right?"

Donald gave me a sideways glance, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "That's the gist of it, yeah. Welcome to Hell's Kitchen."

I let out a low whistle, trying to process what this meant. "And here I was, thinking we'd just be busting some low-level thugs today."

"No such luck," Donald replied dryly. "This isn't your average drug deal gone wrong. If the Hand's involved, you can bet there's more to this than meets the eye."

I rubbed a hand over my face, already feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "So what's the plan, then? We go in, guns blazing, or are we playing this smart?"

"We're not idiots," Donald shot back, his tone making it clear he wasn't in the mood for jokes. "We meet up with Sakura, assess the situation, and figure out what we're dealing with. Then, we take it from there."

"Right, right," I muttered, trying to get my head in the game. The thought of going up against the Hand—especially if they were messing around with something as dangerous as dragon bone—had my nerves on edge. But this was the job, and I wasn't about to back down now.

We walked in silence for a bit, the city's noise filling the space between us. I could tell Donald was thinking, probably running through every scenario in his head. That was one of the things I respected about the guy—he always had a plan, always knew what to do next. Me? I was more of a "hit it until it stops moving" kind of guy, but even I knew when to listen and follow his lead.

As we turned another corner, I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief. "Dragon bone in heroin... What the hell's next, unicorn dust in meth?"

Donald actually chuckled at that, a rare sound that caught me off guard. "Wouldn't surprise me. This city's full of surprises."

I snorted. "Yeah, well, here's hoping this is the last one for the day."

Me and my cursed tongue. The second I said, "Last one for the day," I should've known better. It's like waving a red flag at the universe, daring it to mess with you. Sure enough, as we rounded the next corner, a guy in a hoodie stepped out in front of us. Blonde, lean, and way too calm for someone who just popped out of nowhere.

"Were you talking about a dragon?" he asked, his voice as casual as if he'd asked for the time.

Donald and I shared a quick look, both of us immediately on edge. We hadn't been loud—hell, we were barely above a whisper. And this guy hadn't been anywhere near us to overhear. The fact that he could meant he wasn't just some random dude.

I gave the guy my best awkward grin, trying to play it off. "Yeah, you know, from the show Merlin. My buddy and I were just chatting about it. You've seen it, right? Pretty cool stuff."

But the guy didn't look convinced. His frown deepened, and he pressed on, "But you also mentioned the Hand?"

Donald's expression darkened, and he took a step forward, his body language all business. "Who are you?"

The guy smiled, and then, to my surprise, he gave us an awkward little bow. "Sorry for my poor manners. I am the Immortal Iron Fist."

I blinked, then blinked again. Did this guy just introduce himself like he was a character out of some kung fu flick? "Iron Fist, huh?" I said, trying to keep my tone casual. "Can't say I've heard of you."

The guy straightened up, still all calm and collected. "It's understandable. My name's Danny Rand. I've been away from New York for a long time, but now that I'm back, I've got some unfinished business with the Hand."

"Is that so?" Donald's voice was steady, but I could tell he was already assessing this Danny guy, trying to figure out if he was friend or foe. "And you just happened to overhear us talking about dragons and the Hand?"

Danny nodded, completely unfazed by our skepticism. "Yes. I have heightened senses as a result of my training in K'un-Lun. It allows me to pick up on things most people can't."

"Training in where now?" I couldn't help but ask, still trying to wrap my head around this guy's whole deal.

"K'un-Lun," he repeated, as if that explained everything. "It's a mystical city that appears on Earth only once every fifteen years. That's where I learned to harness the power of the Iron Fist, which is how I fight the Hand."

Donald and I exchanged another glance. This was getting more bizarre by the second, but if this guy really had a bone to pick with the Hand, he might actually be useful. Still, I wasn't about to take him at face value just yet.

"So, you're telling us you're some kind of dragon-punching ninja who wants to take down the Hand?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Danny's expression remained serious. "I was chosen to be the Iron Fist, the sworn enemy of the Hand. And I think our paths might be crossing for a reason."

"Right," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Well, that's great and all, but how do we know you're not just some guy with a wild imagination?"

As I watched this Danny guy light his fist like he had hidden a cheap lightbulb inside his palm, I noticed Donald was busy texting someone. A few seconds later, his phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. I saw his frown relax before he turned the screen toward me.

It was a text from Nero, and as I read it, things started to make a lot more sense: "Danny Rand, Iron Fist, blonde guy, strangely open with his identity, and has a glowing fist. He's the enemy of the Hand, and you can trust him on that one."

I looked back at Danny, ticking off the items on Nero's list in my mind. Danny Rand, check. Iron Fist, check. Blonde guy, check. Strangely open with his identity, check. I glanced down at his still-glowing fist. Well, that definitely got the final check. I gave him a thumbs up, feeling a lot more at ease now.

"Come with us," I said with a grin. Honestly, this straightforward guy with a name like Fist? Yeah, he seemed like my kind of person.

Danny looked a little confused by the sudden shift in tone, but he nodded, the light in his fist fading as he relaxed. "Glad to know we're on the same side."

Donald put his phone away and motioned for us to move. "We've got a meeting with someone who'll want to hear what you know about the Hand's activities. We're heading to Hell's Kitchen."

Danny fell into step beside us, his demeanor still calm, but there was a sense of urgency in his movements. "I've been tracking their activities for a while. They've been quiet lately, which usually means they're planning something big."

"We've heard," I said, keeping my tone light despite the heavy topic. "Dragon bone in heroin, right? What's their play?"

"Exactly. They've been experimenting with it, trying to create a new kind of super-soldier, from what I can gather. The effects on the street level are just the beginning."

Donald frowned as we walked, his tone skeptical. "I thought Dragon Bone was something they used to increase the potency of the drug. Super soldiers?"

Danny turned to him, giving him a look like he'd just asked if the sky was purple. "Do you know how rare Dragons are? Even as bones?" His voice was calm but carried a sharp edge. "Who would waste something that powerful on street drugs that people overdose on nine times out of ten? The Hand is testing on innocent people to see the effects, to refine their methods before they use it on their own."

I let out a low whistle, thinking this through. "So, they're basically using Harlem as a testing ground? That's some messed up shit."

Danny nodded, his expression darkening. "Exactly. They've been manipulating the Dragon Bone, seeing how it affects the human body. But it's not about getting people hooked—it's about figuring out how to use it to create something stronger. The people on the streets? They're just collateral damage."

Donald's frown deepened, his mind likely racing through all the implications. We all knew the Hand wasn't exactly known for playing fair, but this? This was a whole new level of twisted. "And you're sure about this?" he asked, his voice cautious but serious.

Danny looked him dead in the eye. "I've been tracking their activities for years. They're not just experimenting with drugs—they're trying to create an army. The effects of the Dragon Bone can strengthen the body, increase durability, even grant a kind of superhuman endurance. But it's unstable, unpredictable. That's why they're testing it here—because no one cares if a few people die on the streets of Harlem."

A chill ran down my spine. This was bigger than we'd thought. We weren't just dealing with a drug problem; we were looking at a potential army of super soldiers, and the Hand was using Harlem as their testing ground.

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