Aftermath

The explosive news about billionaire Stark and Stark Industries.

Has finally been pushed off the front-page headlines by even more sensational reports.

Temporarily dying down.

An explosive story about a New York gang kidnapping eleven children.

Swept across the entire nation through newspapers, media television, and online networks.

Shocking countless ordinary bystanders.

Those everyday stories of murder, robbery, drug trafficking, and gang shootouts.

Were no longer enough to touch the numbed nerves of most lower-class people.

But children were one of their few remaining bottom lines.

After all, children are the future and hope of countless people.

In an instant, the phones at the NYPD and its precincts were blown up by furious citizens.

Even after a morning of brewing and fermenting.

Even the central nerve of the entire nation: the White House.

Had no choice but to step forward quickly and hold a press conference.

Trying to appease the large number of lower-class people who had taken to the streets in protest.

At one in the afternoon.

Countless men, women, and children, carrying families and shouting protest slogans, braved the gradually diminishing rain.

Like mindless wandering zombies, they completely surrounded the police headquarters on Packer Avenue.

The angry, swift-moving protestors.

Didn't even spare City Hall across the street.

They went all out and surrounded them all.

Allowing no one to enter, and no one to leave.

At the same time, inside the police headquarters, in the commissioner's office.

The brown-haired, disheveled white Mayor of New York City was raging.

He waved his arms and let out bursts of furious roars.

So loud that even the police officers passing by in the hallway outside could hear him clearly.

"I approved all that budget for you every year despite strong opposition from other departments... And you, as police commissioner, this is how you repay my goodwill?"

"John! Eighty billion! Your police budget is eighty billion a year! And it goes up every year!"

The once impeccably dressed and groomed New York mayor was now red-faced.

Like a redneck from rural Kansas, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth.

"Listen to me clearly! It's the White House! Even the White House called me! Mr. President asked me what the hell is going on in New York!"

"And I didn't know... I didn't know a goddamn thing!"

"Mr. President himself had to tell me that the New York gangs have grown so bold they're kidnapping children everywhere!"

"John! What the hell have you been doing all these years? What achievements have you made as NYPD commissioner? Sleepwalking on the job?"

"The most important thing... My re-election as mayor next year is completely screwed! Screwed! Do you understand?"

At this moment, the wide-eyed New York mayor trembled all over.

His inexhaustible anger, like the tides of the Hudson River.

Washed over the grim-faced Black Police Commissioner wave after wave.

Unable to get a word in, the Black Police Commissioner could only stand alone behind his desk, enduring the mad scolding.

"Ah, I'm exhausted..."

Finally, as if completely drained, the New York mayor stopped his roaring.

He reached up and tugged at his expensive luxury tie.

Staring with bloodshot eyes, he said coldly:

"Now, I can listen to your explanation... But, John, please keep it brief... A large crowd of people outside is still waiting for me to come out and calm them down."

The expressionless Black Police Commissioner was silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke:

"I have no excuses to make. For such a heinous child kidnapping case to occur in New York City, the primary responsibility must fall on the NYPD and myself as commissioner. There's no shirking it..."

"However, I want to reiterate some points..."

"The expansion of gangs and the rise in crime rates are not problems that can be solved simply by police working harder. This might be an economic issue, perhaps a racial and cultural issue, or even a systemic issue worth discussing at the White House..."

The Black Police Commissioner shifted his tone.

"But it is certainly not as simple a multiple-choice question as cops catching crooks!"

"John! What the fuck—"

The Mayor of New York City, his face suddenly flushed red, blurted out a curse without thinking.

But then, the brown-haired, disheveled mayor seemed to regain that aloof, strategizing arrogance.

With cold eyes and a flat tone, he said:

"For the sake of our years working together... John, get your resignation letter ready. I'll give you a decent pension and surface-level respect... John, you've really let me down."

As soon as the words fell, the expressionless mayor turned around without hesitation.

Without looking back, he left the office.

At the same time, the Black Police Commissioner, who had kept his face blank all along, suddenly reached out to steady himself on the desk.

He slowly sat back down in the chair that was still temporarily his.

And fell silent.

As the head of the NYPD, Black John knew a lot of things—even more than the mayor did.

He knew why humans killed and robbed.

He understood why humans murdered and trafficked drugs.

He had even stumbled upon the fact that gang kidnappings of children in New York were never some shocking national headline.

Kidnapping children was just a mature, stable criminal industry chain.

Even if it was only one link in the chain, the profits to be made were considerable.

Officer John had tried to solve such problems through the law.

But by the time Officer John became Police Commissioner, the entire industry chain had never disappeared—instead, it had grown even more prosperous.

Every year, hundreds or even thousands of children went missing in New York City alone.

If you tallied up the numbers nationwide, or across the whole of the Americas, it would be an astronomical figure...

Thinking of this, the Black Commissioner closed his eyes in pain.

He was powerless against it.

Knock knock knock—

Just then, a knock at the door interrupted the Commissioner's gloom.

He took a deep breath and said:

"Come in."

A moment later, a middle-aged police officer hurriedly pushed the door open.

A thick stack of case reports was tucked under his arm.

"Commissioner, the basic situation on the murder case and the child kidnapping case has been preliminarily completed."

The middle-aged officer stepped forward a few paces and spread the case reports out in front of the Black Commissioner.

"How are the kids?"

The Commissioner glanced at the reports and asked casually.

"Uh... they're in decent shape. No injuries. They're probably eating chocolate cake right now?"

The middle-aged officer forced a faint smile and said:

"But since the kids need to give testimony to help solidify the evidence for the murder and kidnapping cases, the FBI has been preventing their parents from taking them away..."

"Tell the FBI to get the hell out!"

The Commissioner frowned deeply, scanning the reports.

"Without an order from above, the investigation rights for these cases belong solely to the NYPD!"

Before his words had even faded, the Commissioner suddenly tossed the thick reports aside and looked up:

"Red Bandana Uncle? Green Face? Chocolate Cake Brother? This is the testimony the kids gave?"

"Ages? Appearances? Races? You've been at this for half the day, and you haven't even clarified the basic situation?"

"We did investigate! And the report has detailed explanations!"

The middle-aged officer quickly leaned forward, flipped through a few pages, and pointed at one section:

"Based on brief conversations between the psychologists and the kids, along with on-site forensic analysis, we've synthesized several characteristics matching the suspect's profile."

"Age twenty to forty, white or yellow race, military training background, mercenary or ex-military, proficient in melee weapons, and highly skilled in counter-surveillance—almost no useful clues left at the scene..."

"Hiss... Frank Castle?"

The Black Commissioner's eyes flew wide open as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"He's back?"

"Uh, maybe not him..."

The Middle-aged Police Officer gave a sympathetic, wry smile.

"According to information leaked by the FBI, Frank has been active near the border recently, exchanging fire with quite a few Mexican cartels. Word is the fighting there has been pretty brutal..."

"Then... what about Hell's Kitchen's 'Short-Horned Devil'?"

The Black Police Commissioner offered another guess, but then shook his head in denial.

"The 'Short-Horned Devil' usually only operates within Hell's Kitchen, his methods aren't that cruel, and most importantly, he doesn't kill!"

In that instant, the Black Police Commissioner and the Middle-aged Police Officer suddenly exchanged a knowing glance.

Yet, the look in each other's eyes was nothing but shock!

"Maybe, our New York City has a new..."

"Tough guy!"

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