NOW

The warehouse looked dark and run down, just like in the movies. If the punk hadn’t been lying this is where Cage and Iron Fist would find not only Kevin Jacobs but also the man responsible for trying to start a new drug operation in Chicago. They had left as soon as the police had arrived to cart off all of the teenagers, keeping their end of the bargain by putting in a good word for the one who had pointed them at the warehouse.

“Why is it every major city has an abundance of old warehouses?” Iron Fist asked. “Every time you go to take down a bad guy it seems like they’re holed up in an old, abandoned warehouse. You would think the city would catch on eventually and wipe them all out or something.”

“Money makes the world go ‘round,” Cage replied. “No money in tearing down an empty building. Especially in this neighborhood where the only developing that’s going to happen is frowned upon. You want to ring the bell or should I?” The black hero smiled deviously as he cracked his knuckles.

“Maybe we should check out the inside first, just to make sure we weren’t sent on a wild goose chase. The last thing we need is for that building to be legally owned by a person just itching to sue us. We didn’t exactly make a lot of friends after Gog destroyed a good chunk of the city.”

“Ungrateful…” Cage mumbled to himself.

The pair slipped through the back alleyway and clung to the shadows to avoid detection. Iron Fist, once close enough, bounded up onto a closed garbage dumpster so that he could peer in through the dirty window and get an idea of what they were walking into. The sight he saw was definitely not what he expected. Across the expansive room, which was mainly filled with cases marked as volatile, sat one of the more laughable villains Iron Fist had ever run across.

“You’re not going to believe this, Luke,” he whispered to his partner. “It looks like the Trapster is our criminal mastermind. I can see him sitting at some kind of computer terminal.”

“You’re kidding,” scoffed Cage from beside the dumpster. “Paste-Pot Pete? The guy with the glue gun? That explains why the new drug is called paste. This is going to be easier than I thought.”

“He’s a master chemist,” Iron Fist explained after he slid down from this perch. “If anyone could develop a way to make crystal meth more addictive it’s him. The question is why, though.”

“Maybe he got bored with getting his butt kicked by anyone wearing long johns. Who cares? Let’s charge in and --”

Bright lights suddenly flashed on and filled the alley, ensuring that no darkness remained. Iron Fist and Cage pressed their backs together and swept their eyes across the alley, prepared for whatever was thrown at them.

{{ I have to say, I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually show up here, }} spoke an electronic voice being pumped out from speakers above the heroes’ heads. {{ Nice to know I’ll actually get a chance to use this little trap I cobbled together. }}

“Trapster,” Iron Fist said into the open air. “What’s going on? Where’s Kevin Jacobs?”

The voice laughed. {{ You mean my delivery boy? He’s fine. He’s inside with me. You should concern yourself with the gauntlet of dastardly traps I’ve set up for you instead of worrying about a little nothing of a gang member. }}

“Dastardly? Who talks like that?” commented Luke Cage.

{{ Once I heard you little heroes were moving into Chicago I decided to set up defenses around my building just in case you ever wandered too close. I hope you enjoy your deaths! }} The voice echoed off with bouts of insane laughter, a sure sign of mental instability. Things had just gone from bad to worse.

“Since when do you go to trouble like this?” asked Iron Fist as he cautiously surveyed his surroundings, something he wished he had taken the time to do before walking into the alley. “You’re a two-bit, bank-robbing, petty crook, Trapster. When did you get so elaborate?”

{{ I’m tired of being a joke in the underworld! }} he answered, sounding as if he was on the verge of madness. {{ I’m capable of destroying those who stand in my way and now I shall prove it. Goodbye, you pitiful heroes. }}

Two loud, reverberating, metallic noises erupted from both ends of the alley, slightly startling the two Heroes For Hire. Squinting his eyes to try and see passed the intense and disorienting lights Iron Fist saw that where the alley had once opened onto the street was now closed off by a solid steel wall.

Two more slightly quieter noises abruptly sounded from the outside walls of the warehouse, a sudden rush of liquid splashing against Cage’s leg. “Christmas! What in – is this glue? What the hell?”

{{ My special glue! Soon the alley will fill with my special glue and you both shall become permanent residents! }}

“Okay, this guy’s lost it,” Cage said, turning to Iron Fist. “He’s acting like we’re still in 1985, Danny. This glue crap he’s pumping out of those nozzles in the wall is starting to harden and once it does we won’t be going anywhere.”

“Not a problem,” Iron Fist replied as he jumped back up onto the dumpster. The martial artist concentrated and focused his chi, the very essence of his soul, forcing it to condense into a wavy yellow energy in his right hand. Within a moment his hand had changed and become unto like a thing of iron. “I can’t believe the Trapster is still out running around loose.”

With a single sweep of his balled up fist, Iron Fist destroyed both of the nozzles that had extended from the wall, crushing them under his power. The coagulant being piped through started to back up the tubes once the outlet was blocked off and sharp, twisting noise rocked some of the mortar loose in the wall. Cage, not missing a beat, ripped his leg out of the small amount of glue that had already grasped his leg and charged the wall, smashing through it easily.

“Hiya, Paste-Pot!” Cage cried out over the noise of his entrance. “I thought you would have given up this gig by now. Sorry we busted up your little toys out there but stuff like that went out of style years ago. No one makes deathtraps like that anymore.”

“Maybe not but I won’t let you stop me from becoming this city’s next big drug trafficker!” Trapster roared back. He had jumped back from his computer terminal with his eyes bulging in pure fury. His usual purple costume was studded with gold plates, which in turn fed his personal chemical compounds through a hose and into his signature gun. The weapon, which he had rebuilt and refined several times over the years, was now pointed at Iron Fist’s head.

Iron Fist, one of the world’s foremost martial artists, quickly dove for the ground and rolled forward, narrowly escaping a stream of hot liquid shooting out from Trapster’s gun. Springing up from the cold floor, Iron Fist kicked the end of a screwdriver that was lying on the edge of a nearby table, launching it into the air. The tool spun in the air for a moment before Iron Fist leapt straight up, spinning around and kicking it again, this time sending it straight for Trapster. The tip of the screwdriver soared through the warehouse and imbedded itself into the thin end of his weapon, effectively clogging it and rendering the gun useless.

“Blast!” Trapster cried, almost literally. “No matter! I won’t be stoppe--ACK!”

Cage’s punch knocked Trapster up and over his computer terminal, shutting his mouth in the process. The insane villain landed flat on his back, the force of the impact snapping the hose connected to his gun in half. His body was covered from the resulting spray of liquid, the glue solidifying on contact and fastening him to the warehouse floor. Trapster squirmed but soon all movement ceased once the glue had seeped into the folds of his costume. His rage intensified when he realized he had been caught by his own weapons, his eyes threatening to pop out of his skull.

“I think maybe you’ve been sniffing too much of your own product,” Cage commented at the defeated criminal. “I’ve never heard of you being this crazy, Paste-Pot.”

“Release me this instant!” Trapster ordered the duo. “I won’t go back to prison! I’m smarter than the rest of those primates. This is cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Definitely unusual,” Iron Fist said as he approached his partner. “Just relax, Pete. We’ll have the police’s lab boys down here soon enough to cut you out of that mess. Monica is going to love th--”

Ch-Click!

Iron Fist froze in place at the familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back on a revolver. There was someone behind them aiming a loaded gun at their backs. Since they hadn’t reconnoitered Trapster’s building they had no idea if he been alone or not. There could be any number of henchmen lined up behind them or perched atop the warehouse’s infrastructure.

“G-get away from the boss,” a young voice ordered from behind the shaking revolver in his hand.

Luke Cage turned around, unafraid of anything a simple handgun could do to his diamond-hard skin. Stepping in between Iron Fist and the shooter, Cage leveled his gaze to match that of the young man aiming a weapon at them as best he could. His entire body was shaking slightly but it looked like a lot more than his nerves were bothering him. Cage had seen that same look a thousand times over in the youth of New York City.

“Relax, kid,” the original hired hero said. “Just put the gun down. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Shut up!” he commanded, trying to find strength in his voice. “That guy is the only one who can hook me up! So just get away from him so he can give me what I need!”

“You don’t need what this man has to offer,” Iron Fist said, stepping out from behind Cage. “This man has only poisoned your body and mind. You’re better than that.” Iron Fist removed his yellow mask and took a step closer to the young man. “You’re better than him, Kevin.”

Kevin Jacobs’ eyes grew wider at the mention of his name. He was surprised that these supposed heroes he had seen on television knew who he was. He wasn’t expecting anything other than dropping off the paste and maybe getting a little back as a reward. He wasn’t sure he could handle all of this, not without a little paste to get him by.

“N-no…” Kevin muttered. “You’re wrong. I don’t care what you say! I only took a hit to help me fit in with the guys last night. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen! J-just get away from him and get out of here!”

It was Iron Fist’s turn to be surprised. If Kevin was telling the truth in that he had only had his first taste of the new drug the night before and was already going through withdrawal, then he had underestimated Trapster’s abilities greatly.

“Shoot them and I’ll give you what you need!” Trapster hollered out from underneath the crust holding him securely to the floor.

“Your momma is worried about you, Kevin,” Cage said as he put his foot on Trapster’s face to silence him. “Put down the gun and let us take you home to her.”

“No, you’re lying!” Kevin waved the gun back and forth between the two Heroes For Hire, now shaking even worse than before. “I…I just need a quick hit and I’ll be fine.”

“You’re wrong,” Iron Fist said. He continued walking forward slowly, his palms open and facing Kevin. The gun was pointed at the center of Iron Fist’s torso but he didn’t let that stop him from walking up to it so that the barrel now touched the black dragon tattoo emblazoned on his chest. “You won’t be fine. Not unless you let us help you.”

Kevin’s face contorted as if he was trying to muster as much strength as he could in order to pull the trigger and blow away the martial artist. Whatever Trapster’s drug had done to his psyche it had been intense. Inner demons, both old and new, wrestled inside of Kevin’s mind. Sweat dripped down from Kevin’s cheeks and his palms had become wet while tightly wrapped around the handle of the revolver.

“It’s okay; you can do it. We’re here to help you.” Iron Fist slowly reached up and grabbed the gun from Kevin’s hands, gently tugging it away from him. Once the cold metal of the weapon left his finger Kevin fell forward, exhausted. Iron Fist caught him in his free arm and tried to help him to the floor.

“Shit,” Cage said, his foot still on top of Trapster’s face despite the villain’s muffled protests. “I hate this garbage. Everywhere you go there’s kids getting taken advantage of. I just…I’m not sure if I’m pissed as hell or just disappointed. I’ll call this in so we can get the police down here.” Cage sighed and raised a cell phone to his head after pushing the speed dial. He thought that after all the times he had seen kids abuse drugs that he would have gotten used to it by now. He was wrong.

Iron Fist simply stared at the youth still shaking at his feet. Being raised outside of normal society, Danny Rand had never grown up near the type of life Kevin Jacobs led. He had never understood the concepts so many of them fell victim to every year, the statistics higher than ever. He doubted he ever would understand.

It saddened Iron Fist to think that for every person saved from drugs, two more took his place every day.