Rudy crouched over her workbench at the Lau Chinatown headquarters. On her brawny back, a bold black tattoo of a fearsome three-headed dog peered over the edges of her tank top as she worked. Nestled by her feet was a Dobermann, sound asleep.

“Rudy, I just got confirmation from your father that he and Wu lóuh báan* have landed in New York City. They’re at the safehouse in Queens,” said Koeng.

“Oh, finally,” breathed Rudy, her hands covered in grease.

Rudy dropped the freshly lubed bolt carrier group back into the upper receiver before aligning it with the lower. She snapped the retaining pins back into place, then yanked the charging handle back and forth several times, listening to the bolt slide smoothly against the inside. She then pointed her rifle at the concrete wall next to her and pulled the trigger—thunk.

The Dobermann’s ears perked up at the sound as he looked up at Rudy.

“Watcha think, Cerberus?” said Rudy, holding the rifle up to the dog.

“Woof!” he replied.

With a satisfied look on her face, Rudy set down her rifle before wiping her hands with a rag.

“Deoi zoeng, the Hong Kong branch double checked the shipment order,” chimed in Wolf 2 from the doorway. He stood about 5'9, lanky, but tough. His face told the same story while his eyes looked like they had seen enough of this world. “They said they only sent 5.56 this round.”

“Huh? Something's off. Did anyone crack that crate open yet?” asked Rudy.

“Nope, I’m going to the store room to do that now.”

“I’ll go with you Ming Suk,” Rudy said as she pulled a sweater over herself.

The young captain joined Ming at the doorway before marching towards the store room.

"Happy to see your father and uncle again?" prodded Ming. "It's been ten years since you last saw them in person."

"Hah? Just so my dad can beat my ass in the dojo again, and I have to listen to Wu Suk's awful singing? Hell nah, they should've died in a ditch a long time ago for dumping me here."

"It's not like they avoided seeing you in person because they wanted to, Rudy. It's just that things in the Underworld took a while to calm down... after your mother died."

"Yeah, yeah," bitterly waved Rudy.

"Besides, you're not the same little girl Lang could throw around, though he still is tough as nails for his age."

Ming heard Rudy crack her nails in menace.

"... but so are you deoi zoeng! And maybe you can finally beat Wu lóuh báan for once in chess! You've got quite the reputation playing in Washington Square Park!"

"I'll show these old dogs what I've been up to for the past ten years."

Ming looked down and saw a slight grin cracking under Rudy's face before they entered the store room.

Sitting amongst the crates of 5.56 sat the ever-so-divergent box of 7.62.

As Rudy and Ming cracked open the crate of 7.62, a putrid smell entered their noses.

“Jesus, did someone die in there?!” yelled Rudy.

When she saw the contents, her eyes went wide.

The bloodied body of a large man was stuffed inside. His face was pale and rugged, looking to be in his 70s with Slavic features. His hair and beard were a dark brown peppered with silver streaks. Maggots were already infesting the bloated remains of his body. He wore an old soviet military jacket, patches ripped off, and its left sleeve bloodied over the rotting stump that should’ve been his left thumb.

“Rudy, is this...?” Ming trailed off.

“Mikhail fucking Turgenev,” responded Rudy. “The head of the Rostov Bears, the First Finger of the Devil’s Hand, and the one responsible for the death of my mother.”

Rudy held an icy glare at the gruesome remains when she noticed a knife, wedged in the body’s throat.

She yanked it out and inspected the blade. It was a tantō-style blade with an ornate handguard resembling the leaves of a tree. The handle was covered in the skin of a ray and wrapped in a deep blue cord. In the middle, a menuki* that resembled a bear.

“While me and everyone else in this triad wanted this bastard’s head on a silver platter, what the fuck is this?! How did this get in our shipment?! Who put him there?!” roared Rudy as she ferociously clenched the handle of the blade.

“I don’t know, Rudy. And I don’t know if I should be grateful or pissed that someone was able to put his lights out before we did. I’ll contact the Hong Kong branch and see if they know anything about this,” pondered Ming.

“No one else knows about this?! The Devil’s Hand is the top dog of the Underworld. If they knew about us having the body of one of their Fingers, they’d probably think we offed him, and send a Tooth to return the favor.” Rudy suddenly paused. “Shit! Dad! Wu Suk!”

Rudy started to sprint towards the armory while yelling at the rest of the Wolves. “Wu Suk and my dad are in danger! Meet me at the safehouse in Queens! I'll go on ahead first by bike!"

“Wait for us Rudy! It’s too dangerous to go alone!” cried Ming, but Rudy wasn’t stopping.

Rudy bursts into the armory, with Koeng and Cerebus shooting her a concerned look.

“What’s wrong Rudy? You look like someone’s about to die.”

“That's because someone is going to!” barked Rudy as she frantically grabbed a slicked-down ballistic plate carrier and her USPC. “The First Finger is dead, and they're gonna send a Tooth after Wu Suk!”

“The what?!” exclaimed Koeng.

"Koeng Suk! Contact Dad and Wu Suk right now! Let them know they're not safe!" ordered Rudy.

Koeng hurriedly grabbed the radio and spoke, "This is Wolf Den, a Tooth is en route to your location, be prepared, backup is on the way, do you copy?!"

Koeng felt Rudy's eyes anxiously weigh on him as only static replied in the radio headset.

"No response deoi zoeng!"

“Verdammnt*! Stay here, Cerberus! Guard the den!” yelled Rudy.

“Woof!” went Cerberus, assuming a defensive stance, tall and ready.

As Rudy concealed her plate carrier under her leather jacket, she noticed the tanto blade she had left on the table next to her. She wedged it behind her on her belt before she sprinted out of the armory.

“I'm taking my bike first, meet me at Queens Koeng Suk!”

"Rudy wait!" yelled Koeng

Rudy darted into the garage and crashed into her motorcycle, a Raven Yamaha XSR900. She jammed her keys into the motorcycle’s ignition before revving up the 890cc engine, which roared to a full throttle. Its tires screeched as the bike bolted out of the driveway as a streak of black and gold, onto the Manhattan streets, towards Queens.