In the western district of Hell’s Kitchen, at Fisk Tower…
The building had originally been a library in the 1980s.
After changing hands several times, it was purchased by Wesker Fisk, converted into apartments, and further renovated into a hotel, becoming his personal little kingdom.
Right now, this little kingdom was under total lock and key because of a top-tier hunter with a zero-failure record since his debut.
The streets were blockaded.
Every jewelry shop, pawnshop, Whole Foods, and surveillance camera within a one-kilometer radius had become Kingpin’s eyes and ears.
On a street corner, a beggar wrapped in a tattered down jacket curled up beside a pillar.
A tin can in front of him bubbled with boiling instant pasta.
Reflections flickered in puddles on the pavement, shattered again and again by cars roaring past.
In the back of a pickup truck, gang members raised their AKs and howled, unable to contain their excitement.
Kingpin was offering a massive bounty this time.
To merely guard a location and keep a lookout for someone felt like free money to them.
“It’s currently 10:24 a.m.,” the beggar murmured, raising his left wrist.
His sleeve slipped down to reveal a precision mechanical watch, its second hand ticking steadily as the gears interlocked.
“Time elapsed since the directive was issued…
two hours, forty minutes, and twenty-three seconds.” “Heheh…
I wonder when that ‘Owl’ is going to show up.
Intel on him is in high demand.” He lowered his wrist without a sound, continuing to hum a vague tune as he leisurely stirred the noodles in the tin can.
At his waist, a dark lining accidentally showed, barely concealing the compact grip of a gun beneath.
A single-shot pocket pistol with a twenty-five-round magazine and a suppressor.
Its effective range was only twenty meters—useless on a battlefield, but in point-blank assassination…
Who would pay attention to a foul-smelling beggar?
Besides, he was far from the only one with his eyes on this place.
Numerous factions had already caught wind of the situation through their own intel networks.
They held their breath and waited, wanting to see how much flesh that “Owl” could tear off Kingpin—and how much of a slice they could snatch for themselves in the chaos.
Outside the hotel’s main entrance, a burly man with an unusually broad forehead paced restlessly.
He wore an ill-fitting blue suit draped over his shoulders.
His brows were deeply knit, muscles bunched on his forehead, radiating an unsuppressible violence.
“Hey, Harrow.
Got a light?” A voice suddenly chimed in.
A blonde man walking out from inside the hotel pulled a cigarette from a metal case.
“James, what does the Boss actually say?
I could go out right now and twist Green’s head off, instead of standing here waiting like a damn fool!” Harrow had a loud voice as he pulled out a lighter to spark the cigarette.
‘Aren’t you one?’ thought James Wesley, Kingpin’s personal assistant and fixer, leaning in to catch the flame while rubbing his ringing ear.
Anyone with eyes could see that going head-to-head with a prepared Green was pure suicide.
Even the boss’s monstrous physique had its muscle torn open by a single slash, requiring a custom staple gun to temporarily stitch him up and barely stop the bleeding.
“You only had a titanium alloy skeleton implanted in your skull, not your neck or heart.
Having a hard head won’t save your life,” James said, taking a drag.
“With Green’s style, you’d probably be blown into a scrap metal plate before you even catch sight of him.” “I only know how to fight,” Harrow grunted.
“Which is why Kingpin has you doing what you’re good at.
Green’s target isn’t you—or rather, he wouldn’t even bother killing you, as long as you’re not unlucky enough to bump into him at the same intersection.” James flicked his ash.
“Now go beat back the Judas Gang who are trying to hijack our turf.
Dammit, those treacherous bastards act all pious praising God, but they’re the ones stealing the most silverware from the church!” Even James couldn’t help cursing.
“Then who’s watching this place?” “Thompson will take your place.” James was referring to Tombstone, another turf boss in Kingpin’s criminal empire.
Having gained superhuman physicality and near-impervious skin through an experiment, he was cold and ruthless, overseeing Kingpin’s narcotics and arms trade.
“What?!” “James, you know he—” “Shut up!” James cut Harrow off in a low voice, taking a sudden step forward and grabbing Harrow’s tie to jerk him close.
“Do you think the Boss doesn’t know Thompson has ambitions?
That’s precisely why he has to be kept under our noses.
Do you really think all these firing positions around here are just to guard against Green?” Hearing this, Harrow instinctively glanced up at the surrounding buildings.
The subdued morning light spread softly.
The wind rustled a few curtains.
Behind them, the faint outlines of gun barrels were visible, while higher up on the rooftop edges lay tactical sniper teams brought in by Kingpin from Transigen.
He pulled back his gaze and fell silent.
James jabbed a finger hard against his chest.
“In other words, the Boss trusts you.
That’s why you’re his fist on the outside.” James let go and adjusted the crooked tie.
“Don’t go losing and make us come rescue you, got it?” “…Got it.” “Get moving.” Harrow blew out a heavy breath, turned around, gathered his men, and drove off.
“Phew…” James let out a sigh of relief, straightening his suit jacket that had wrinkled from the strain.
In truth, there was half a truth he hadn’t spoken aloud: Kingpin didn’t actually care if Harrow died out there.
Faced with an open challenge to his turf, he had to respond.
The moment he was perceived as weak, more gangs would pounce to suck his blood dry.
“Everything good?
Harrow looked like hell, though it’s not like he ever looks much better.” A coarse voice echoed from inside the hotel entrance.
The Eastern European man approaching was dressed like a biker.
His exposed skin had an unhealthy pinkish-white tint, his hair was sparse, and a worn red scarf hung loosely around his neck.
“Everything’s fine,” James said smoothly, walking past him.
“Tch.
Pretentious prick.” Thompson rubbed the oil off his nose and walked toward the entrance with a sneer.
He jerked his head at a subordinate, who immediately brought over a folding chair and a large tub of buttered popcorn.
He sat down brazenly, grabbed a huge handful, shoved it into his mouth, and crunched away loudly.
With so many people, he couldn’t understand how they could lose.
In his eyes, Kingpin had simply been beaten shitless into cowardice.
On the fourth floor, inside one of the suites: “Do you like these, son?
There’s plenty more.” Kingpin knelt on one knee, smiling tenderly at the boy in front of him—a far cry from the fierce underworld emperor outside.
Right now, he was just a father trying to win his son’s heart.
Piled in front of them were all kinds of electronics, replica firearms, and limited-edition figures of The Seven—gifts no boy his age could resist.
The replica guns were the hardest to get.
God only knew how those roughnecks who usually held real weapons managed to hunt them down.
“Umm…
actually, you already got me a full set two years ago,” the boy said, looking up hesitantly.
“Besides, how am I supposed to play with all this by myself?” “Uh…” Kingpin was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Richard, you know your father is very busy.” The beautiful dark-haired woman beside them chimed in at the right moment.
A prominent streak of white ran through her long hair, and her voice was gentle.
“Though I remember that girl you mentioned a few days ago—her name is Lucy, right?
You could ask her.” “Hey, Mom!
That was our secret!” the boy shouted, his face instantly flushing red with embarrassment.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she smiled teasingly with suppressed laughter, pressing a hand on his shoulder.
“Hmm~ Richard,” Kingpin raised an eyebrow with a knowing look.
“Looks like you and I need to find some time for a talk between men.” “Stop!
We’re just normal friends!” Richard yelled as he scurried back into his bedroom.
The two watched their son flee, exchanging a smile.
But soon, the smile faded from Vanessa’s face.
Kingpin noticed immediately, his own smile drooping alongside hers.
“Wilson, I told you not to involve our home in these matters, especially Richard.” Kingpin opened his mouth, but ultimately just sighed.
“I know.” “It’s really serious this time, isn’t it?” Vanessa asked softly.
She could smell the lingering scent of blood on him and could tell that one of his eyes, though looking normal, was hollow and lifeless—a glass eye.
In her memory, Kingpin had never been injured this severely.
“Of course not,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Just a localized passing storm.
I can handle it.” “Don’t forget, I still have to go to your art exhibition, my dear Vanessa.” He patted her back gently and turned toward the door.
Vanessa watched his retreating back, a faint glint flickering beneath the anxiety on her face.
He didn’t turn back and naturally didn’t see the strange look on his beloved’s face.
Just then, the boy couldn’t help running back out.
Vanessa lowered her eyelids and gently pulled him to her side.
“Say goodbye to Daddy.” “Goodbye, Daddy.” “Mm.” He turned at the sound, nodded with a smile, and then bent down to hold the doorframe, carefully squeezing through a doorway that was far too narrow for his frame.
Outside, a pair of superhuman twins from Transigen stood guard.
Strictly speaking, they had originally been triplets.
The youngest had encountered Green during a mission last year and was literally burned to death by capsaicin.
Yes, burned to death by spice.
The man’s ability had given him a sense of smell and taste far beyond ordinary humans, capable of identifying and recording pheromones unnoticeable to others, but making him severely allergic to irritants as a result.
Green had force-fed him around five hundred Carolina Reapers back then, so one could imagine how painfully he died.
So the twins standing here were also seeking revenge.
“Watch them,” Kingpin ordered in a low voice, turning his head.
“We have rotating four-man patrols twenty-four hours a day, with guards posted in the rooms above and below.
The sniper on the opposite rooftop is ranked ninth in the world, and as for me—” the older-looking twin said solemnly, “—I have X-ray vision and can check the room’s interior at any time.
I understand your concerns.
Rest assured, the mission comes first.” “No need for ‘at any time,’ and don’t ‘look’ too deeply.” Kingpin’s fist clenched slightly.
Facing a superhuman who could easily spy on his wife’s privacy, his voice carried a sharp warning.
“I respect my employer’s privacy, but I will make necessary observations based on professional instinct.” “You’d better.” Kingpin felt it would be necessary to thoroughly review the man’s file afterward.
He turned and left.
“Phew…
That guy is even scarier than expected,” the other twin finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Shut up, he hasn’t gone far,” the older brother snapped in a low voice.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” “Don’t forget how Blake died.
That Owl might already be here.” “Got it~ I’m not afraid of chili peppers.” Looking at the hatred hidden behind his younger brother’s stubborn eyes, a wave of helplessness washed over the older brother.
Years ago, when the three brothers set out into the world, they didn’t join Vought International, but mistakenly stumbled into a cult instead.
Later, they ran into Green, who held complete intelligence.
The entire cult was annihilated overnight, and they only survived by luck because they had been dispatched on an off-site assignment.
Truth be told, he didn’t hate Green all that much.
He hated himself more for failing to guide his younger brothers onto the right path back then.
“Focus on the job.” “I know.” The older brother turned and gripped the doorknob.
His eyes shifted, instinctively wanting to scan the room, but he checked himself.
He nodded to Vanessa, who was leaning against the wall; her lips pulled into a strained smile.
He opened the door and stepped out sideways.
In that final instant as the door swung shut and his line of sight was about to be completely cut off, he failed to see Vanessa’s relaxed posture suddenly stiffen, uncontrollable shock flooding her eyes.
As the gap in the doorway narrowed, shadows peeled away inch by inch.
A tall figure was gradually revealed in the light.
A stern, cold face slowly emerged where light met darkness, his eyes staring straight at the frozen Vanessa and her boy.
He blinked, put his index finger to his lips, and raised a tranquilizer gun with his other hand.
“Shh—”