Death of Kingpin

"Wilson Fisk. Kingpin. We finally met. Ever since you took what was mine, I'd been wanting to meet you face-to-face."

Harry crossed one leg over the other, looked at Kingpin seated across from him, and tapped the table.

"...Mr. Harry, I was born in Hell's Kitchen. When I was still young, my father died on the streets trying to hold onto his position as a small-time Gang boss."

"That's hilarious, you know? While our troops were fighting and bleeding overseas, little punks like you were busy tearing each other apart." Harry showed him no courtesy, choking the fat man with that remark.

Harry knew exactly what this guy wanted to say: nothing more than sophistry like, "You don't understand Hell's Kitchen," "You're too young," or "We're the same kind of people." The funny thing was, this fat man often told superheroes that they were the same kind of people, then said they didn't understand. By that logic, didn't it mean he didn't understand either?

Of course, what Harry said was hardly profound either. But by common standards, a battlefield was naturally on a far higher level than street brawls. He simply wanted to disgust the guy.

"...But you've never experienced a battlefield. I've experienced Gang bloodshed." Kingpin stared straight at Harry, his voice turning cold.

"Please, Kingpin. Do you think I'm you? I have connections and resources. I was born in Osborn's private hospital, while you were lying in a stinking gutter. Did you really expect me to roll around in the mud like you?"

Harry mocked Kingpin in the most venomous tone he could muster, trying to provoke him into a rage—and he succeeded. Kingpin was an ambitious man, and he had always harbored ill intent toward anyone standing above him.

He wanted to be the one at the very top.

So he had clawed his way up from a street thug fighting bloody turf wars to the pinnacle of New York's Gang world.

But then he discovered that this seemed to be the end of the road.

"Mr. Fisk, do you know? Although we're practically from two different worlds, although I'm stronger than you, although we're enemies, that doesn't mean I don't have even a shred of respect for your methods and perseverance."

Harry stood and walked over to Kingpin.

"But those things can't change anything. You understand that too, don't you? Think about your wife and daughter. How did they die...?"

Bang!

Kingpin flew into a furious rage. His thick arm shot toward Harry like a cannonball, but Harry's hand was as fierce and powerful as a hydraulic clamp, locking his arm firmly in place.

Who was the villain here? Anyone who saw this scene would have found it absurd.

After holding the deadlock for a while, Harry released Kingpin's hand.

"Harry Osborn, we both know you have a masked friend. Do you think he'll still be able to leave as if nothing happened after blowing this city to pieces?"

"Please, Kingpin. We both know you're the one blowing this city to pieces." Harry had guessed what he intended to do next and suppressed a laugh as he played along.

"But the city doesn't see it that way."

Kingpin turned on the television. It was reporting on the serial explosions in Hell's Kitchen. The news station seemed to be deliberately steering blame toward Daredevil. In fact, this was not the first time they had done so since Harry made his move.

Harry shrugged, signaling for Kingpin to keep watching.

"...Regarding these explosions, no individual or media outlet should make wild speculations before the investigation results are released! Evidence indicates that this was a desperate terrorist attack by the New York Gang, a provocation against the NYPD!" It was George Stacy.

In truth, Harry had not instructed the captain to do anything. But the captain was a serious and upright man who had always disliked media outlets making reckless speculation.

"Do you think you've won? Harry Osborn, do you think you can protect the witnesses just by putting them in a safe zone you designated?" Kingpin clenched his fists, his eyes seeming ready to spit fire.

"As a matter of fact, I can protect them." Harry spread his hands.

Kingpin sneered and continued playing the day's news.

Unfortunately, the scene Kingpin had anticipated never appeared. Instead, what the news was broadcasting left him speechless.

"Military suddenly enters temporary witness protection zone—situation in Hell's Kitchen escalates?"

"Today, explosions occurred in multiple blocks of Hell's Kitchen. At the same time, a military unit quietly entered the temporary witness protection zone. According to them, this was to protect a joint project between the Osborn Group and the military in the area..."

"Strangely, it appears that some Police officers at the scene have been detained by them..."

Harry tapped the table, reminding Kingpin to snap out of it.

"Mass explosions, terrorist attacks, then ruthlessly killing those people to continue your reign of terror. It's a useful trick. At the very least, all the fence-sitters who were considering approaching me have gone quiet. But once they realize your actions haven't affected me at all, what do you think they'll do?"

"Look, you only have a few tricks: kidnapping, murder, bribery. You say we're alike, but you're just a thug who crawled out of a gutter, using violence and lies to control this place. We're not the same."

Harry smiled and looked out the window.

"You'll never understand why people like that masked man keep such a tight grip on you, then label them hypocrites in your heart and tell yourself that you're the same kind of people."

Kingpin was so enraged that he laughed instead. "So what? Don't tell me you're going to lecture me about justice too?"

"Of course not. Have you ever played Pipe Mania? It's a video game," Harry said.

It was an old game where players connected differently shaped pipes into a complete pipeline system. Fisk had never played it, but he knew of it.

"If what we're doing were like Pipe Mania, then you'd be like an incredibly strong man who can bend the pipes into whatever shapes you want, then connect them all together."

"But there will always be a few stubborn ones. You'll never be able to turn them into what you want. And when the time runs out..."

"Bang! Game over."

With that, Harry headed straight for the door. But sirens suddenly blared throughout the building, and the steel blast door slowly descended...

"Hmph. You don't actually think you'll be leaving today, do you?" Kingpin stripped off his tailored suit and stepped toward Harry one pace at a time.

"An old-fashioned solution? See, this is exactly why I said we're not even on the same level."

Harry shook his head helplessly. Then, under Kingpin's watchful gaze, he thrust both hands toward the heavy blast door!

The immensely heavy blast door was forcibly halted by Harry, its transmission mechanism screeching as the sound of gears shattering even came from inside the walls—

Crack!

In the end, the blast door was forcibly lifted back up and wedged firmly in midair, no longer capable of stopping Harry from leaving.

Kingpin roared unwillingly and lunged at Harry, but Harry merely kicked backward.

Harry was far faster than Kingpin had imagined. He hurriedly raised both arms to block, only to be sent flying like a ball, both arms fractured.

In truth, if they had fought properly, Kingpin should not have lost so miserably even if he did lose. But he had already lost his mind. In a straightforward clash, he was only human. Having abandoned his fighting techniques, he did not stand the slightest chance.

Without looking back, Harry left the "arena" Kingpin had prepared. Kingpin did not pursue him. Instead, he crawled back to his chair and lit a cigar despondently.

He understood that this time, he was truly finished. Just like his father, he had provoked an opponent he could not handle and reached the end of the road.