When Fisk's people delivered the identity documents to my apartment, they also passed along a brief handwritten note from the Kingpin himself.
S.H.I.E.L.D. has your face. There's a manhunt. Black hair, red eyes. Consider making adjustments.
I stared at the note for a while
Considering their resources, it was no surprise that they'd eventually gotten footage of my face. Thankfully, whatever footage they had probably wasn't in color seeing as they hadn't found out I had green eyes.
Well, I decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to change up my appearance as per Fisk's suggestion.
I looked in the mirror, unsure if blonde hair worked well on me.
Turning my Sharingan on, I felt like I was some sort of off-brand Gilgamesh.
"Eh, it'll do for now." It wasn't like I had to show off for anyone, so my appearance hardly mattered.
I sat down and went through the delivered documents, trying to memorise the identity Fisk had created for me. Now, I was legally one Marcus Alexander, twenty-three years of age, and employed by one of Fisk's logistics companies.
It was a solid identity. Clean and thorough, just as I had asked. The credentials looked genuinely aged rather than freshly manufactured, and the social security number traced back through a paper trail that Fisk's people had apparently spent considerable effort constructing.
'Not bad, Fisk.'
I was impressed by his work.
In addition to that, I received a salary. An actual, deposited salary sitting in a bank account under Marcus Alexander's name, which meant I now had a legitimate financial history as well. The salary wasn't anything crazy, roughly what someone in a mid-level logistics role would expect, but it was clean money that I was free to use.
Judging from all of his efforts, Fisk clearly wanted to stay on good terms even after the deal regarding Emma Frost. Since he had done his job so well, I wouldn't be opposed to that either.
I put the documents away and looked at my FP balance.
[Fear Point Balance: 13,401]
The passive generation of Fear had continued over the past few days, the legend of a crimson-eyed man continuing to spread amongst S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ranks, producing a slow but consistent trickle.
Of course, it wasn't a world-changing amount, but it was bringing me closer to a particular ability I planned to purchase in the not-so-distant future.
I had just under three weeks until the gala, which meant three weeks of laying low whilst watching my balance crawl upward at a pace that felt rather unsatisfying after the huge gains with Thor and Hawkeye.
'Good things come to those who wait, right?' I coped.
I wasn't really good at patience to begin with.
---
Three weeks passed quietly.
I stayed out of trouble for the most part, having moved into a new, larger and more luxurious apartment which Fisk had set up for me.
I wondered at first if he had planned to spy on me or something, but after meticulously checking every corner of the place with my Sharingan, I found no traces of foul play.
Maybe he really just wanted to be friends?
How odd. My first... kind of friend was Thor, and my second would be the Kingpin?
I chuckled at the thought.
The trickle of FP had slowed down now, as I had only gotten a few thousand more over the past three weeks.
I guessed that the S.H.I.E.L.D. grunts had gotten over their fear of me now, although they were definitely still searching for me relentlessly, at least according to the updates Fisk gave me.
Anyway, in those three weeks, I had pretty much exclusively practised using Dead Bone Pulse in the new apartment. Naturally, such a short period of time was nowhere near enough for me to reach Kimimaro's level of mastery, but I now felt as if I had a grip on using the ability.
The most notable improvement was in my control.
Early on, using Dead Bone Pulse had been a conscious and somewhat uncomfortable process. Extending, shaping, and retracting, each step required deliberate focus. Now it was considerably more instinctive, the ability responding to intent rather than instruction.
I had spent the better part of the first week simply extending and retracting repeatedly. Both hands simultaneously, then both arms, then the full upper body.
The goal wasn't power, it was speed and precision. Kimimaro's most dangerous quality in canon wasn't the raw strength of his bones; it was the fact that he could produce them faster than people could react and in configurations nobody anticipated.
I was nowhere near his level, but I was improving.
The bone mask had also come a long way. What had started as a rough, uncomfortable approximation had gradually refined itself into something I was rather satisfied with. Smoother, better contoured, extending and retracting in under two seconds with considerably less of the... organic crackling sound that had accompanied it initially.
I checked it in the mirror one final time.
Smooth white bone, blond hair above it, green eyes visible through the sockets.
"Not bad."
The night of the gala arrived quietly, as significant nights tended to do.
The car Fisk sent was pretty much exactly as I expected. A black, expensive car being driven by someone who had no interest in speaking.
I got in whilst retracting my mask, an action that made Fisk slightly uncomfortable.
He was already inside the car, filling the opposite seat with his large physical presence. He was dressed in his characteristic Kingpin white, and he looked me over as if evaluating my slightly altered appearance.
"Hair and contacts?" He said.
"Yeah."
I didn't bother explaining that green was my natural eye colour.
"Tonight is simple," he said, after a moment. "You're attending as my associate. Don't introduce yourself to anyone, don't draw attention, and give yourself time to read the room before you do anything."
"And Frost?"
"Well, I can't claim to really understand how you telepaths work, so I'll just tell you this; when she comes to you, and she will, give her a little surprise, why don't you?" He said, handing authority of the task to me.
I pondered on what I'd do for a while.
"Fine, let's go."
We began our drive.