Irish Mob

Seeing the future Punisher in his home was nothing more than a minor interlude for Noah.

He spent the following days immersed in research.

With the company's equipment, his research progress accelerated considerably.

Moreover, on his system interface, T-Virus analysis had already reached 18%.

When he opened it, it was filled with densely packed information on the T-Virus.

Noah had never overestimated what something like the T-Virus could do.

Perhaps in a world like Resident Evil, the T-Virus was enough to destroy the world, but this was Marvel.

Setting aside the countless superheroes who would emerge in the future, black technology was everywhere.

His T-Virus would probably be defeated by this world's black technology before it could even spread.

Still, analyzing the virus was naturally useful.

As more progress was unlocked, Noah had already found several directions for biological modification within it.

It simply was not the right time to reveal them.

Noah had also not given up on extracting genes from other worlds, though the results remained as poor as ever.

He was not disappointed. If it had been so easy, he would not have drawn only the T-Virus after all this time.

Even the corpse-eating insects had genes from insects of this world as their primary genetic material.

On the top floor of a certain building.

Fisk held a cane in his hand, lightly tapping it against the desk from time to time.

His massive body looked incomparably bloated.

But only those who truly knew him understood that it was not fat.

It was one of the reasons Fisk's reputation had steadily grown in Hell's Kitchen.

"Still haven't found the one disrupting Hell's Kitchen's order?"

One of his subordinates, a young man, wiped the sweat from his forehead before speaking.

"Sorry. Every clue we found at the scene points to this being the work of something inhuman.

Other than the insects' corpses, there were no unusual traces at the scene."

The movement of Fisk's hand stopped.

"So you're telling me those gangs provoked a demon from Hell, or some mysterious wizard?"

He leaned forward, his gaze growing sharper.

The young man gritted his teeth, then said, "Please give me more time. I'll definitely get to the bottom of this!"

The spacious office fell silent. After several seconds, Fisk spoke.

"Go. I don't believe this was the work of demons or wizards, so find the person responsible.

This is Hell's Kitchen. I don't want to hear news of another gang being wiped out just as I'm about to reach the top."

As he spoke, Fisk walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the luxurious cityscape at night.

This was Hell's Kitchen, the territory of Wilson Grant Fisk.

No one could run wild here.

He was the king of Hell's Kitchen!

His name was Kingpin!

Mar Company, a biotech company on the verge of bankruptcy, had become a source of worry for many people.

Its recent investment had also stirred the thoughts of quite a few shareholders.

"Everyone, now that the company has received new funding, do you think it still has a chance to turn things around?"

One shareholder smiled as he looked around at the others.

At this shareholders' meeting, everyone except the new shareholder had arrived.

"Turn things around? I think that'll be difficult.

There are reasons Mar has ended up where it is today. It has no outstanding talent, no well-known products. Aside from that fool, I don't think anyone would be optimistic about this company."

Another shareholder spoke indifferently.

To most of the shareholders present, this company was the kind that was tasteless to keep but a pity to discard.

No one put all their eggs in one basket. This was far from their only business.

"It seems everyone shares the same view. In that case, I think our current priority should be figuring out how to minimize our losses."

"..."

"Exactly. Some idiot just gave Mar a fresh infusion of cash, so it should fetch a decent price."

"..."

"That's right. This company has already reached the end of the road."

"..."

The shareholders all chimed in one after another.

After listening for a while, the shareholder who had spoken first finally said, "Now that we have a consensus, things will be easier. But the problem is that our new shareholder probably won't be willing to do this."

"Then... what if we sell our shares to him?"

One shareholder spoke after hesitating for a moment.

A sale was a sale, no matter who the buyer was.

Now that the company had been given a new lease on life, the value of their shares had risen somewhat. As long as the new shareholder was willing to pay, he naturally had no objections.

But his words immediately drew everyone else's attention.

"Old Rell, are you stupid or something? If you sell to the new shareholder, what price do you think you can sell at?"

"Of course, the current stock price."

Old Rell replied.

The moment he finished speaking, he wanted to slap himself.

How could the new shareholder possibly agree?

Before the new shareholder injected capital, the company's stock price had been less than half of what it was now.

The price had only reached its current level because the new shareholder had saved the company. Why would he spend a fortune buying the remaining shares from them?

If he had wanted to do that, he would not have bought only 28% of the shares in the first place.

He believed that everyone present at the time would have been willing to sell the shares in their hands.

Having figured it out, he looked toward the burly-faced man seated at the head of the table. He had been the largest shareholder before, but was now the second-largest.

"I think that sometimes, we can use some less conventional methods. What do you all think?"

His name was Toran. Most of those present knew that besides being a shareholder of Marr, Toran had another identity: he was a senior member of the Irish Mob.

What "less conventional methods" meant was obvious.

No one objected.

This concerned everyone's interests.

Seeing this, Toran laughed heartily, a glint of viciousness flashing through his eyes.

"Of course, we're all civilized people. I suggest we communicate with the new shareholder at the next shareholders' meeting.

It'll also be a good chance to find out what kind of person this new shareholder is.

Perhaps the new shareholder really can lead the company's development."

Toran said with interest, twirling a small knife between his fingertips.

He said this not because he truly thought so. The only reason was that he needed to learn the other party's background.

Even the Irish Mob had plenty of people they could not afford to provoke.

Naturally, Noah had no idea what Marr's other shareholders were thinking.

Now that he was the largest shareholder, he had decision-making power over many of the company's affairs.

Aside from his research, he also took some time to learn about the company's operations.

Orlando, the company's president, went over the difficulties the company was facing.

He had feelings for this company.

He had been there since its founding and had stayed with it all the way to this day. Perhaps he was the one who least wanted to see the company go bankrupt.

After listening to Orlando, Noah gained an understanding of the situation.

"It seems the company's situation is even worse than I imagined. Under normal circumstances, shouldn't it have declared bankruptcy already?"

Noah asked in confusion.

When Orlando heard this, a helpless expression appeared on his face.

"In fact, if not for you, the shareholders' meeting would already have passed a resolution to file for bankruptcy next month."

Noah's face darkened.

So he had become the one left holding the bag.