The sun sank in the west, and dusk gave way to darkness.
Wilson liked to stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows of Fisk Tower at sunset, watching Hell's Kitchen transition from dusk into night.
Because once the sun went down, Hell's Kitchen showed its true face.
Filthy, chaotic, murderous. A kingdom belonging to the Kingpin of the underworld. It obeyed no laws or rules; it bowed only to him—Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin!
Wilson was in the habit of lighting a Cohiba cigar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, then settling into his soft chair to quietly admire his kingdom.
This time, however, things seemed a little different.
Wilson gazed at Hell's Kitchen as it sank into darkness. Bathed in the fading light of the setting sun, it looked desolate and bleak. Even the few people on the streets gave him a sudden chill.
"B-Boss, we've got trouble!"
Just then, one of his men burst through the door, his face full of panic.
Normally, anyone who dared disturb him at this hour would be rewarded with a bullet.
But perhaps the chill he'd just felt had stirred up a foreboding, because Wilson turned, his eyes vicious and cruel, and glared at the man who'd barged in. "What happened?"
"J-Just now... Hell's Kitchen was completely sealed off!"
The subordinate wiped the cold sweat pouring down his face, trembling with fear as he said, "The men downstairs say they saw a lot of military armored vehicles, and even... even tanks!"
Armored vehicles? Tanks?
At first, Wilson wondered if his subordinate was high.
"Are you sure you saw that right?" It wasn't that he didn't believe him. It was just so absurd. The military had nothing to do with them, so why would they go to the trouble of sealing off Hell's Kitchen?
It wasn't