Gotham East District, an abandoned underground garage.
A strong smell of engine oil mixed with the pungent scent of blood; overhead, an incandescent lamp covered in insect carcasses swayed back and forth, casting long, distorted shadows on the ground.
“Bang!”
A dull gunshot echoed through the enclosed Underground Room.
The thug whose jaw William had smashed with his umbrella handle had his head shattered instantly.
Red and white viscous matter splattered onto the oil-stained load-bearing pillar, slowly sliding down the peeling wall.
Rat Gang boss Fith holstered his smoking M1911 pistol and casually wiped a bloodstain off the back of his hand onto a nearby lackey’s clothes.
He was a bald, burly man nearly two meters tall, with a rat totem on his neck extending to the corner of his eye, splitting a hideous scar in two.
Fith spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, not even glancing at the headless corpse on the ground.
“So damn noisy.”
He turned his head to stare at the other two cripples kneeling and trembling on the ground.
One had nine tendons in his wrist precisely severed by a scalpel, while the other had a comminuted fracture of the radius.
Fith’s eyes twitched violently, the flesh on his face bunching together.
“An Asian black-market Doctor with an umbrella?
And he took Selina and her sickly sister away?”
The thug with the severed wrist banged his head into a puddle of oil, his voice trembling.
“Y-Yes, boss.
That guy is weird…
He knows every bone in the human body.
One cut and I was finished…”
“Fuck your bones!”
Fith kicked the thug in the ribs.
A crackling sound followed, and the thug rolled away screaming, hitting a pile of abandoned tires and falling silent.
Fith’s chest heaved.
Although his Rat Gang wasn’t the top name in the Gotham East District, he was given some respect even by low-level cadres of the Maroni Family because he supplied live subjects to the underground organ black market.
Now, some barefoot Doctor with a scalpel who appeared out of nowhere had not only snatched the woman he wanted but also crippled three of his men.
Most importantly, if he couldn’t hand over the Selina sisters tonight, the middleman from the organ black market would definitely not let him off.
Fith grinned, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth, and walked to the back of the garage, kicking open several wooden crates covered in tarps.
“A monster with a scalpel?”
A crowbar pried open a rusted metal lid.
Inside were over twenty gleaming thompson submachine guns neatly lined up, along with five or six old-fashioned Remington military shotguns scrounged from the black market, brass bullets reflecting the light.
Fith roared at the top of his lungs, the veins on his forehead bulging.
“Distribute the hardware to everyone!”
“Over twenty long guns!
I want to see if his scalpel can cut through bullets!
Tonight, I’m going to tear 22 Lake Street apart and pull that black-market Doctor’s guts out to hang them on a streetlight for three days!”
Over twenty vicious outlaws swarmed forward, the clicking sound of bolts being pulled echoing in unison.
New York, Hells Kitchen.
“Click.”
A very faint sound of metal snapping.
Jessica Jones stared intently at the bloody piece of pork in the stainless steel tray.
The steel curved suturing needle at the tip of the needle holder in her hand had snapped in two again.
This was already the fifth needle to break tonight.
William took off his blood-stained white coat, threw it into the medical waste bin, and walked to the sink to squeeze out a large glob of iodophor hand sanitizer.
“Subcutaneous fat suturing needs to be tightened, but not so much that you’re strangling it.”
Jessica irritably ran a hand through her messy short hair, the red veins in her eyes more prominent than yesterday.
William turned on the faucet, cold water rinsing between his fingers.
“Stark Industries medical department exclusive high-carbon steel suturing needles.
They cost forty-five dollars each.”
“I’ll check on your progress at eight tomorrow morning.
If you haven’t finished sewing this meat or if you break another needle, I’ll dock you a hundred dollars.”
The curse words at the tip of Jessica’s tongue were forced back down.
She glared at the pork, replaced the needle, took a deep breath, and forcibly suppressed the strength in her fingertips that was enough to crush bricks.
William dried his hands and ignored Jessica, walking to the pharmaceutical warehouse door and pressing down the handle.
A deep blue vortex spun silently.
He took a step through.
A slight sensation of weightlessness swept through his semicircular canals.
The sour smell of beer from Hells Kitchen vanished, replaced by the lingering cold and dampness of Gotham City.
The underground clinic was shrouded in darkness.
Only the Stark Industries portable hyperbaric oxygen chamber emitted a faint blue glow in the dark, its pressure relief valve making a very slight hissing sound as it maintained the air pressure balance inside.
William walked up to the chamber.
Data pulsed steadily on the holographic projection panel: blood oxygen saturation 98%, heart rate 75, respiratory rate 18 breaths per minute.
Perfect data.
Behind the explosion-proof glass, Maggie had woken up.
The cyanosis on the little girl’s face had completely faded, replaced by a hint of pink on her cheeks as she looked at William standing outside.
Maggie struggled to raise her hand, her lips moving silently behind the thick glass.
Her lip movements were clear.
“T-Thank you.”
William’s eyes remained emotionless as he took the medical chart and quickly made a notation.
Then, he raised his right hand, tapped the glass, and pointed to the red forced-sleep indicator light inside the chamber.
An emotionless command.
Maggie obediently closed her eyes, and the trace sedative in the medicine soon lulled her back into a deep sleep.
“Clang!”
A violent impact suddenly came from the bottom of the rolling shutter door.
Then, the door was forced open from the outside, leaving a half-meter gap, and a black figure rolled in across the muddy concrete floor.
Selina.
She was soaked to the bone, her black form-fitting leather suit clinging to her body.
Rain dripped from her hair, forming puddles on the floor.
She gasped for air, her chest heaving violently, and her left leg twitched slightly from prolonged high-intensity running and the aftereffects of a nerve block.
“They’re here.”
Selina’s voice was raspy and hurried, laced with panic.
She pushed herself up with one hand and rushed to William.
Selina spoke rapidly.
“The Rat Gang!
That lunatic Fith has brought out all his hidden firearms!”
“Over twenty people!
All armed with thompson submachine guns and Remington shotguns.
They’ve split into three groups and blocked both ends of Lake Street.
Selina drew a short dagger hidden in her leather boot, the blade reflecting the dim wall light.
Selina stared intently at William, her gaze resolute.
“There’s no back door to this Underground Room!
If we get trapped here, it’s a dead end!”
“I’ll climb out through the ventilation duct.
I know the rooftops of the East District.
I can lure them toward the docks.
You take Maggie and leave during the chaos—go to the Upper East Side or anywhere else!”
After speaking, she turned to climb toward the vent in the corner.
“Smack.”
A dry towel smelling of disinfectant was accurately thrown onto Selina’s face.
Selina was stunned and instinctively pulled the towel off.
William’s voice was flat.
“Dry your face, then go mop up the water on the floor.”
Selina froze, staring at William with wide eyes.
“Don’t you understand?!” Selina lowered her voice.
“There are over twenty automatic firearms!
They could turn this crappy rolling shutter door into a sieve in a single volley!
No matter how well you fight, can you move faster than a bullet?!
Boss, listen to me.
You can’t die.
Take Maggie and go first; I’ll hold them off!”
William didn’t answer.
He opened a drawer in the triage desk, pulled out a pair of black Kevlar cut-resistant gloves, and put them on his left hand.
The dark silver storage ring at the base of his right index finger flashed slightly.
Three oddly shaped scalpels appeared out of thin air in his palm.
These weren’t ordinary medical instruments, but high-carbon titanium alloy blades used by the Osborn Group laboratory to cut through the bones of mutated creatures.
The blades were dark gray and non-reflective, yet exceptionally sharp.
William casually tucked the blades into his trench coat pocket.
He walked behind the door and picked up the solid black long-handled umbrella.
William turned to look at Selina, his gaze unquestionable.
“I am the boss.”
“My rule is: if rats enter my territory, they die.”
Selina opened her mouth, but the oppressive aura choked her.
William walked to the door and placed his palm against the cold metal shutter.
“Lock the rolling door.
No matter what you hear outside, don’t look out and don’t make a sound.
If you disturb Maggie’s sleep, I’ll dock your pay.”
“Rattle~”
The rolling door was raised halfway.
The sound of heavy rain and cold wind instantly flooded into the clinic.
William ducked out.
The door slammed down behind him, followed immediately by the sound of the internal bolt locking.
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