The Butcher Knife

Sing Sing's eyes lit up.

Wasn't this a walking firefighting ace and industrial-grade blender all in one?

He could fly low straight to fires deep in the mountains, where fire engines couldn't reach, and use a reverse cyclone to cut off the oxygen and smother the flames.

He could also use a cyclone to spray fire retardant over a fire, far more efficiently than firefighting aircraft!

In just a few minutes, he could carve out a firebreak several kilometers wide, completely halting the spread of a fire and solving the problem of fighting major and exceptionally major forest fires at its source.

He was suited to tunneling through ultra-hard rock and underground construction too!

He could even solve the wind power industry's biggest pain point: its dependence on the weather!

Wherever there wasn't enough wind, he could spin!

Sing Sing stopped thinking, pushed open the door and went outside.

Before leaving, he gestured to the slug under the table behind him, meaning they should meet at the usual place.

The street had descended into chaos.

Pedestrians fled in all directions, and Riptide had been driven into a dead-end alley.

There were two bullet holes in the back of his trench coat, with blood seeping through them.

His hands were still spinning, but the cyclone had weakened considerably. It could only block gravel and shrapnel now.

A black SUV stopped at the mouth of the alley, and five men got out. They wore tactical vests and carried assault rifles.

Their bald leader held his gun ready as he cautiously entered the alley. His English carried a South African accent. "Don't bother, Riptide! Delivering you alive gets us an extra hundred thousand dollars, but we don't mind earning a little less."

"One last chance! Get down, hands on your head."

The bald man raised his gun and took aim.

A voice floated over from the mouth of the alley, Chinese mixed with broken English.

"Hello~ everybody!"

"Excuse me, coming through."

The five mercenaries turned around at once.

Sing Sing stood at the mouth of the alley with his right hand in his pocket, striking a pose.

"Get lost! Mind your own business!"

"Whoa, whoa, gentlemen, relax! I'm not here to buy groceries. There, that guy over there."

The bald man didn't want to waste words and gestured to the man beside him.

The nearest mercenary immediately aimed his gun at Sing Sing and put his index finger on the trigger.

In a flash, a blade gleamed.

No one saw Sing Sing make his move.

They only saw the Pig Butchering Knife spin one and a half times through the air before slicing straight through the man's gun barrel.

The barrel had been severed at the base, leaving a smooth metal cross-section.

Before the severed barrel hit the ground, Sing Sing had already vanished.

When he reappeared, the back of his knife struck the second man's wrist. There was a sharp crack as the bone shattered.

A third man lunged at him from the side.

The Pig Butchering Knife swept horizontally past the man's tactical vest, slicing through every strap.

The vest fell apart and dropped to the ground, and the grenades hidden inside it rolled out.

The man stared at his bare torso, momentarily stunned.

Sing Sing paid no attention to that and kicked him in the chest.

In less than six seconds, three men were down.

The bald man and the other remaining mercenary stood back to back, their gun barrels sweeping wildly in every direction.

But Sing Sing had already crouched down and pulled something from his trouser pocket with his left hand.

A fruit knife.

The kind used to peel apples at a supermarket, with a plastic handle and a short blade.

He flicked his wrist.

The fruit knife flew out at a tricky angle.

It bounced off the ground, then off a wall, before ricocheting off the wall a second time and burying itself in the bald man's chest.

The bald man screamed and fell, his gun going off.

The last mercenary turned to run, but Sing Sing was already behind him.

He laid the back of the Pig Butchering Knife across the man's nape and gave it a light sweep.

The entire alley fell silent.

Riptide leaned against the wall, somewhat stunned.

Is he an ally?

I can't see what ability he has.

One hundred percent accuracy with thrown weapons?

Sing Sing wiped the Pig Butchering Knife clean and tucked it back behind his waist.

Only then did he walk over to Riptide. Examining his wound, he said, "The bullet didn't go in. It's a graze from a fragment. You won't die."

Sing Sing dug a packet of adhesive bandages out of his pocket and, ignoring Riptide's grimace of pain, slapped one onto the bleeding wound.

"Make do with that for now. Stopping the bleeding is what matters. I bought several cases of these wholesale, so there's plenty."

Riptide stared at him. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Ah Qi, Stephen Chow."

Sing Sing stood up and clapped his hands. "Your former colleague Mortimer Toynbee sent me. Oh, you call him Toad."

"Mortimer? He's still alive?"

"Alive, and living quite well."

"He's putting bolts into cliffs in Guizhou now. Four thousand five hundred a month, with food and lodging included, plus five insurances and one housing fund."

"Last week he even saved a worker's life. The whole construction site respectfully calls him Master Mo."

Riptide was silent for a while.

Riptide hadn't been close to Mortimer when they were in the Brotherhood, but they weren't enemies.

Toad had been a low-ranking member of the Brotherhood, and Magneto usually couldn't be bothered to give him a second glance.

"You want me to go to China?"

"Right. We can pay you a high salary, get you legal status, and let you walk openly down the street and live a normal life."

"You won't have to eat out of trash cans anymore."

Riptide looked up at Sing Sing.

His face was gaunt, with high cheekbones and sunken eyes, bearing all the signs of long-term malnutrition and a life spent in hiding.

"I can't leave."

"Why?"

"I have a grudge I haven't settled."

Riptide looked down at his scarred palms, his voice low. "Those small fry aren't the only ones hunting me. The man paying for it is William Stryker."

"He captured my younger brother and locked him in an underground lab, where he's conducting human modification experiments on him."

"My brother isn't a Mutant. He's just an ordinary person, a librarian who loves to draw!"

"They took him to threaten me, to make me become his test subject!"

Sing Sing held a cigarette between his lips and tilted his head, thinking for a moment.

"Where's your brother being held?"

"Underground on Brooklyn Seventh Avenue, in a lab converted from an abandoned subway station."

"I checked it out once. There are at least twenty armed men there, guards every few steps, plus surveillance and electronic locks."

"I can't... fight my way in alone."

Riptide's meaning was clear.

He could go to China, but Sing Sing had to rescue his brother first.

"All right, I'll help you get him out."

Sing Sing rolled his neck. "But there's one more condition. After we get him out, both of you have to come with me. You'll sign labor contracts, with Six Insurances and Two Housing Funds."

"I can arrange an office job for your brother. He can handle logistics or manage a warehouse."

"If he doesn't want to, the state will pay to send him to school."

Riptide opened his mouth, but swallowed whatever he'd wanted to say.

"One more thing."

Sing Sing held up a finger. "Once you're in China, no causing trouble and no ripping the roofs off other people's houses. In the United States you're a wanted man; in China you'll be a legal worker. There's a difference."

Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer.

Sing Sing grabbed Riptide by the arm. "Let's get out of here first. Tell me all the details about that underground lab of yours."

The two disappeared at the other end of the alley.

The bald man lying on the ground suddenly opened his eyes and sat bolt upright, gasping for breath as he struggled to pull the fruit knife from his chest.

Two Chinese characters were printed on its plastic handle: two yuan.