I'm Hungry

Chu Men walked out of the alley and onto a bustling street.

Opposite stood a glittering, magnificent building.

The Iceberg Lounge.

The territory of Penguin, a Gotham mob boss.

Chu Men touched his hollow stomach, strode across the street, and walked toward the entrance of the lounge.

Four bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses stood at the entrance, their waistlines bulging conspicuously.

Seeing Chu Men approach in an ill-fitting leather jacket with blood stains on his body, the four bodyguards reached out and pressed the sides of their waists.

"Stop! This isn't where you belong."

The lead bodyguard drew his pistol, aiming the muzzle straight at Chu Men.

Chu Men didn't stop, continuing to walk forward.

"I said, stop!"

The bodyguard clicked off the safety, his finger resting on the trigger.

Chu Men walked up to the bodyguard, less than ten centimeters away from the muzzle.

He tilted his head and looked into the bodyguard's eyes.

"I'm hungry, I just want to go inside and get something to eat."

The bodyguard felt his scalp tingle under Chu Men's gaze.

"You're asking for death!"

The bodyguard pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet left the chamber and struck Chu Men's forehead, stopping half a centimeter from his skin before losing its momentum and dropping to the ground.

The brass bullet head was completely deformed.

All four bodyguards widened their eyes in unison, staring at the bullet on the ground.

Passing pedestrians in the vicinity heard the gunshot and let out shrieks, scattering in all directions.

Chu Men raised his hand and grabbed the bodyguard's neck.

The sound of cervical vertebrae snapping was clearly audible.

The bodyguard's head went limp and slumped to one side before Chu Men casually tossed him onto the ground.

The remaining three bodyguards drew their guns and fired frantically at Chu Men.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!

Gunfire erupted.

Every single bullet was deflected by the bio-electric field, scattering all over the floor.

Chu Men's eye sockets turned red.

Heat Vision swept across.

The three bodyguards were sliced in half, their upper bodies crashing to the floor as their entrails spilled everywhere.

The lounge's revolving glass door was melted by the high heat.

Chu Men stepped over the shattered glass and severed limbs covering the floor, walking into Gotham's most luxurious lounge.

Inside, the lights were dazzling, and an artificial iceberg sculpture stood in the center of the vast main hall, casting a cold, faint blue fluorescent glow.

Below it, a few penguins strolled leisurely, the soft splashing of water mingling with the low melodies of jazz.

The hall was frighteningly quiet.

The dining dignitaries and mob bosses all froze in their tracks, turning to look with varying expressions at the god of slaughter standing at the entrance.

Chu Men walked up to a table, pulled out a chair, and sat down imposingly.

He picked up the napkin on the table and wiped his hands.

"Serve food."

The restaurant manager hid behind the bar, his legs turning to jelly as he found himself completely unable to stand.

The door to the second-floor office was pushed open.

A short, fat man wearing a tuxedo and holding a black umbrella walked out.

Penguin.

He looked at the tragic state of the first-floor hall, his face so gloomy water could practically drip from it.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Your Excellency, coming to my turf to cause trouble."

Penguin gripped the handle of his umbrella tightly, aiming its tip straight at Chu Men.

Surrounding mob gunmen hurriedly drew their weapons, dozens of guns pointing squarely at the booth where Chu Men sat.

Chu Men picked up the fork on the table, speared a piece of leftover steak left by someone else, and popped it into his mouth.

The taste wasn't bad.

As he chewed the steak, he looked up at Penguin on the second floor.

"Your turf? From now on, it's mine. Be smart and come down to lick my shoes."

Penguin laughed out of extreme anger.

"Kill him! Turn him into a sieve!"

Dada-da-da!

Dozens of submachine guns opened fire simultaneously, tongues of fire spitting out as a torrent of bullets poured onto Chu Men.

Guests in the hall screamed and cowered under their tables, covering their heads.

Chu Men didn't even budge; every bullet stopped half a meter in mid-air around him, reminiscent of Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, but with an even greater aura of swagger.

The bullet tips compressed, deformed, and finally clattered to the floor, piling up into a thick layer.

The gunfire ceased.

The smoke cleared.

Chu Men remained seated right where he was, picking up his napkin to wipe his mouth.

"Is that it? Not even enough to scratch an itch."

The fat on Penguin's face trembled, and his umbrella-holding palms were slick with cold sweat.

He realized that downstairs was yet another monster.

Chu Men stood up.

His feet left the ground, and his body slowly ascended into the air.

He flew up to a height level with the second floor, looking down at Penguin from across a distance of over a dozen meters.

"You... exactly who are you?" Penguin's voice trembled.

"I'm the daddy you can't afford to provoke."

Blinding red light flashed in Chu Men's eyes.

Penguin instinctively raised the bulletproof black umbrella in his hand.

Heat Vision fired.

The bulletproof canopy was burned right through, and the red light pierced straight through Penguin's shoulder, severing one of his arms clean off at the root.

"Ah!"

Clutching his severed arm, Penguin collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony.

"Kneel and welcome your king."

In mid-air, the red light in Chu Men's eye sockets faded.

The shrill shrieks echoed through the hall.

Dozens of surrounding gunmen all froze in place, their gun muzzles lowered, lacking even the courage to look the man in mid-air in the eye.

Chu Men descended, his feet landing on the bullet-shell-littered floor of the first floor.

He walked back to the booth from earlier, sat down, and picked up the napkin on the table to wipe his hands.

"My patience is limited."

On the second floor, Penguin spasmed all over from the pain, his fat cheeks as pale as a sheet of paper.

He glanced at his severed arm on the floor, then back at the man downstairs; fear ultimately overpowered his rage.

If he didn't bow his head, he likely wouldn't survive tonight.

"Help me down." He gritted his teeth, squeezing the words out from between them.

Two subordinates nervously hoisted Penguin up, navigating the spiral staircase down to the first floor.

"Thud."

Penguin pushed his subordinates away, his knees buckling as he dropped heavily onto his knees in front of Chu Men, his forehead pressing against the marble floor mixed with bullet casings and blood.

Large drops of cold sweat pelted the ground.

"Clear the scene... attend to the king's meal." Penguin lowered his head and issued the order.

The first-floor hall of the lounge sprang into rapid motion.

Guests were dispersed, corpses dragged away, and bloodstains cleaned up.

Dozens of waiters pushed dining carts into a single file, keeping their heads down with hands that couldn't stop shaking.

Tomahawk steak, deep-sea caviar, and French pan-seared foie gras filled the long table.

Chu Men picked up his knife and fork, sliced off a large chunk of beef glistening with blood, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed vigorously.

Meat juices dripped down his chin, and he casually grabbed a tablecloth to wipe it away.

"Wine." He swallowed the meat.

A nearby waiter scrambled to pour top-tier red wine with trembling hands.

The red wine spilled over the rim of the glass, dripping onto the white tablecloth.

The waiter's legs gave out, causing him to drop directly to his knees as he slammed his head against the floor with loud thuds.

Chu Men ignored the waiter on the floor, picked up his goblet, and drained it in one gulp.

In his past life, he had to calculate full-reduction discounts even for a fast-food meal, getting cursed out point-blank by his manager every day and facing a rent-hungry landlord back in his cramped rental.

Now, Gotham's wealthiest mob boss was kneeling at his feet, eating top-tier ingredients, and even the air he breathed carried the scent of money.

This kind of life was what you called living.

A bodyguard nearby had trembling hands, causing his service pistol to drop to the floor with a crisp clatter.

Chu Men turned his head, his eye sockets growing hot.

A beam of red light shot out, instantly slicing that bodyguard in half along with the gun on the floor.

Entrails spilled all over the ground.