Wraith Beer and Blood Whiskey

Wraith Beer and Blood Whiskey

Three days passed in the blink of an eye. The vampires in Hell's Kitchen were slaughtered clean by the pumped-up gangs.

By the end of it, fighting vampires had become a pretty entertaining gang activity. They could take a beating, they could run, and they fought back fiercely. The enforcers under the gang bosses loved it and found it thrilling.

The three demon wolves—Athens, Rome, and Sparta—helped them dig up every vampire hideout in Hell's Kitchen. Aside from the first few locations, the gang enforcers brandished silver weapons scavenged from everywhere, dragged the vampires out of houses and basements, and watched the sunlight burn them to ash.

Afterward, they discovered just how fun and exciting vampire hunting could be. The remaining dozen or so marked locations were kept intact, waiting for everyone to get ready for an exhilarating hunting competition.

One guy who ran a casino even opened betting odds for the participants. That was Hell's Kitchen gang culture: they lived without restraint and feared nothing!

In the end, quite a few people supposedly died. The champion was Kingpin's sexy beauty, blind Matt's dream girl, Elektra. That fool Bullseye had the bad luck to catch two bullets. Those brainless gangsters always thought vampires fought with claws and teeth, never realizing vampires had brains too. They could use guns as well.

Alvin leaned his upper body against the bar, watching the television hanging from the ceiling. It was airing Stark's press conference revealing the existence of vampires. The conference had been packaged as a ridiculous performance meant to draw attention—another prank by the playboy Tony Stark.

Every television channel was reporting on Stark and the vampires. But most of them were making fun of Stark's damn personality and speculating about when he would enter the entertainment industry. In nearly every talk show, Stark had become the newest source of jokes.

A vampire crisis had been effortlessly defused by an invisible hand. There wasn't even a trace of smoke, only Stark's fury.

Still, it wasn't entirely useless. The angry Stark had apparently uploaded some vampire videos online. Then the people of Hell's Kitchen eagerly uploaded photos and videos of themselves hunting vampires to their social media platforms. Yes, gangsters had social media too.

Though they were quickly deleted, that only made some people start believing the vampires in those videos were real. Those willing to believe accepted the existence of vampires and formed discussion groups and forums to exchange ways of dealing with them.

At that point, the people of Hell's Kitchen finally had a chance to shine. Called bosses and heroes online, they spilled every vampire weakness they knew.

Unfortunately, this was Hell's Kitchen, a place that was rejected. The people and events here always seemed to be separated from the real world by an invisible wall. People instinctively distrusted anything and anyone from Hell's Kitchen. If the vampire-hunting events had happened in Manhattan, things might have turned out differently.

They had just finished dinner, and nobody was in a particularly good mood. The adults were all cursing those damned television stations in their hearts.

Meanwhile, young Nick had been complaining since the meal began. "Seriously, Alvin, I hate the smell of garlic. It makes my mouth stink every day. I haven't even talked to any girls for three days. Please, change the menu!"

Ginny, on the other hand, was delighted. Peeling garlic with her dad every day was a lot of fun, and the garlic seafood her dad made was really delicious.

Alvin ignored Nick's complaints and said, "Nick, buddy, even without garlic, you wouldn't dare talk to girls. Your teachers can testify to that." He cleared his throat and imitated a teacher. "Principal, I think Nick may have some psychological issues. Whenever he talks to girls, he gets nervous. Sometimes I'm even worried he might faint~~"

Alvin burst into laughter, fending off Nick's furious, embarrassed attacks. Then the phone rang!

"This is Alvin! Who's this?"

"Oh, Mr. Stark, I watched your talk show performance on television. It was hilarious. You'd make a promising talk show host!"

"Hey, you should be nicer to your fans. I'm not joking. You really are hilarious."

"Fine, fine, I apologize. But you really handled this terribly. You screwed everything up."

"No need. There's no need to come talk to me. The last vampire in Hell's Kitchen was taken out this morning. I'm from here, and I only care about this place. Let other people worry about everywhere else!"

"Taking some time away is a good choice, but isn't Afghanistan a little too remote? I think Miami suits your style better. Ha ha!"

"Seriously, buddy, I don't blame you. You did what you could. Leave the rest to the people who should be responsible. Remember, buddy, if there's a problem, give me a call. I still don't think Afghanistan is a good choice."

Alvin hung up, because a bald, one-eyed Black man at the door had ignored Thor and Dom's threats, pushed the door open, and walked in. Behind him was Phil Coulson, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, wearing an awkward expression.

Alvin gave Coulson an amused smile and said, "I thought we had an agreement, Agent Coulson. You should know that agreements are meant to be honored."

The ugly-looking, one-eyed Black man stopped Coulson before he could speak. He greeted Frank first. "Hey, buddy. I heard you've been doing pretty well lately."

Frank's expression was complicated. His mouth opened several times, but in the end, he simply downed a glass of whiskey, slammed the glass heavily onto the table, and gave no response to the Black man's greeting.

The Black man showed no embarrassment at Frank's reaction. He sat down boldly at the bar and tapped the counter with his right hand. "I was just passing by for a drink. What, am I not welcome?" He completely ignored the extremely awkward Agent Coulson, whom JJ was holding back with one hand to keep him from coming closer.

Alvin gestured for Jessica to take Nick and Ginny back to his room to play for a while.

Alvin walked over to the bar himself. Of course, he knew who this man was: the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a top military expert, an extraordinary leader—Nick Fury. He had some idea why Fury had come.

Alvin smiled, took out two empty glasses, and placed them in front of Fury. "Today, we only serve two kinds of alcohol: Wraith Beer and Blood Whiskey. Which would you like? Maybe you'd like to try both."

I sent the wrong version. I revised it and sent it again because there was plot that needed to connect.