At the end of the underground passage, footsteps drew closer and closer.
George Stacy walked at the head of the team.
His badge reflected a faint glimmer in the dim light. His dark blue uniform had seen years of wear, the threads around its collar frayed white, but he still kept it crisply pressed.
Leading the way, he kept one hand on the holster at his waist. His fingers trembled slightly, but no one noticed. Everyone's attention was fixed on the passage ahead.
Twelve fully armed SWAT officers followed him.
Their steps were synchronized and disciplined. Black masks covered every face, leaving only pairs of cold, hard eyes exposed.
George knew where these men came from. They were Kingpin's personal troops, elite officers handpicked from the New York police force, reorganized and retrained after the establishment of the "Mutant Sanctuary."
They were absolutely loyal to Kingpin and absolutely obedient to Russell.
They never hesitated during a mission, never questioned an order, never asked "why" before pulling the trigger.
But George was different.
He had served in the New York police force for twenty-seven years.
He had seen this city's darkest nights and its brightest dawns.
He had seen gang wars, mutant riots, and alien invasions. He had also seen those "heroes" in their outlandish costumes saving lives amid the rubble.
Back when Kingpin was still an underworld boss, the man known by that name had ruled the criminal world with an iron fist, controlling the lifeblood of half of New York from the shadows.
George had hated him then, hated how he remained beyond the reach of the law.
And now Kingpin was president.
When George first heard the news, he had been changing in the locker room in the police station's basement.
He sat on the worn bench, clutching