The golden embers still lingered on Qin's fingertips as she shifted her gaze from Russell to the densely packed streets of Downtown Manhattan.
Within a five-kilometer radius, and even in most of the city, countless Soul Stone —breathing, crying, laughing—flashed by in her platinum-colored vision, like a film rewinding rapidly.
She was looking for contestants who caught her eye, and then she saw a non-mainstream girl who looked to be around eighteen years old.
In Qin's perception, the girl was like a faint candle flame that could be extinguished at any moment; her life force was being consumed by something.
It wasn't disease, it wasn't hunger, it was some kind of toxic substance eroding her body from the inside out.
Qin drew a circle in the air with her finger, and the chosen girl disappeared from beside a trash can in a dark alley in the Downtown.
The next instant, she appeared above Manhattan Island, staring blankly at the surging seawater not far below her, trembling like a rabbit pulled from its burrow.
"What's going on? Where did that damn bitch go?"
"Fuck, she has the goods the boss wants inside her. We have to find her."
"Ah... my body."
Several menacing-looking, sunglasses-wearing burly men cursed and swore before their bodies vanished into nothingness amidst screams of agony.
Qin, who had killed several people, felt no emotion whatsoever, as if she had crushed a few insignificant ants.
Her gaze fell on the girl.
The girl wore smoky eye makeup, with heavy eyeliner, dark circles, and dark purple lipstick.
Her face was covered in sweat, mixed with eyeshadow and foundation, leaving dirty streaks. She was wearing a black tight-fitting tank top and ripped jeans with the cuffs rolled up to her calves.
Her belly bulged unnaturally, like she was pregnant, but Russell could see that there was a small opening sewn into her lower abdomen, inside which was a package wrapped in several layers of plastic film.
He could guess what was inside the plastic film even without using X-ray vision.
Poison.
By reading the fragments of emotion emanating from the girl, it is learned that she was smuggled from the Mexico border, and the drugs were hidden in her stomach. The person behind the scenes took her alone through three states and then delivered her to a rendezvous point in Manhattan.
The stomach harbors poison; that's interesting, but not much.
The girl had been walking for two days without eating or drinking anything except a little water. The package inside her was causing her great discomfort, especially after the long journey; it felt like a living worm gnawing at her insides.
The girl looked at the sea beneath her feet, then at the sky above her head, and then at the two figures in front of her, their feet dangling in the air like Gods.
One was handsome with black hair and blue eyes, his black hair still shimmering with blue light; the other had red hair, wore a long golden robe, and sparks were still dripping from his fingertips.
"Where... is this?" Her voice trembled, her lips trembled, and even the false eyelashes on her eyelids trembled.
"Manhattan," Qin said coldly.
The girl turned her head and looked at the skyscrapers in the distance, the Nippon of Times Square, and the torch of the Statue of Liberty.
Her tears welled up from beneath her smoky makeup, leaving two deep streaks on her face.
"I wasn't being chased, so how... how did I get here?"
"I brought you here." Qin's gaze met the girl's, her green eyes looking into the black eyes filled with fear. She reached out and placed her hand on the girl's lower abdomen.
The girl's body stiffened abruptly. She felt that the hand was very hot, not the kind of heat that comes with a fever, but a deeper kind of heat, like sunlight shining on the skin.
Then she felt something disappearing inside her lower abdomen. The packet of drugs sewn into her body, under Qin's Phoenix Force, changed from a solid state to a gaseous state, and from a gaseous state to nothingness.
It wasn't removed at all, but erased, like a piece of ice melting in the sunlight, like a drop of water evaporating in the air, like something that never existed, transforming from existence to non-existence.
The girl looked down at her lower abdomen; the bulge had disappeared, leaving it flat and smooth, as if nothing had ever happened, and the pain was gone.
"You..." Her lips trembled, and she stammered.
"I've chosen you." Qin stood up, brushing non-existent dust off her knees. "Be my player."
The girl looked bewildered. A contestant? What contestant? She was just one of countless girls on the run in Downtown Manhattan.
She came from Mexico, having traveled for a day in a truck and two days by bus, before being crammed into a sealed container at the border, where she remained in darkness for an unknown amount of time.
Her mother died in a gang fight, and her father left when she was three years old.
She had no home, no money, no identity, no future; she was merely prey to be hunted, a tool to be used and discarded by drug dealers, someone below the kill line in this world.
And now, the red-haired woman before him, with green eyes and golden fingertips, said, "I choose you."
"The competition." Jean didn't turn to look at her, her words cold. "I will grant you superpowers. Three days from now, you will participate in the competition at the White House."
"Granted superpowers, the White House...?" Her jaw nearly dropped.
"The White House where the US president lives." Qin blew the golden flame out from her fingertips.
"You represent me, you only need to fight one match, but you have to win. If you lose, you have no reason to exist."
The girl stared blankly at the piano, then at Russell. Her face, covered in smoky makeup, was filled with bewilderment.
"I... I can't fight."
"You will," Qin tilted her head to look at her, "Because you don't want to die."
Russell watched this scene silently without saying a word.
But why did he feel that it was a mistake for Dark Phoenix to teach a disciple, or that the chosen girl was not a disciple at all, but a tool?
His gaze moved from the girl to Qin's face, and from Qin's face to the still-flickering Nippon of Downtown Manhattan.
On the street, the police officers and mercenaries who had later chased the girl stood still, looking at the empty trash can in front of them, exchanging bewildered glances.
Where are the people in front?
"Have no idea."
"Search."
Before they could disperse, a golden light descended from the sky. Their bodies vanished from existence to non-existence within the golden light, returning to dust.
Qin's lips curled up slightly.
"The gap between ordinary people and us is too big. Since we're going to have a competition, we should let the dust settle and let more people with special abilities know about it. Otherwise, it'll be too monotonous if it's just us."
As soon as he finished speaking, Russell took a deep breath, then stretched out his hand with his five fingers spread.
All the screens in New York City flickered at the same instant; it wasn't a signal interruption or a system malfunction, it was being controlled.
Russell's Subatomic Manipulation made controlling electronics effortless, and with his increased proficiency in Psychic Telekinesis, he instantly covered all the electronic devices in the city.
Whether it's the giant screens in Times Square, the electronic displays in subway stations, the flight information boards in airports, the TVs in hotel lobbies, the projectors in restaurant private rooms, or even everyone's mobile phones.
The same image lit up across the entire screen: Russell's suspended figure against the backdrop of the Manhattan sky and the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty.
His voice came through every speaker, as clear as if someone were standing right in front of you speaking.
"My name is Russell. I apologize, but I need to take up a little of your time to say something."
Three days later, the White House will host a competition with very simple rules—no rules.
Anyone confident in their abilities, whether you are Mutants, Mage, alien, Heroes, or supervillain, is welcome to participate.
The winner will not only receive a billion-dollar prize, but also an extra hundred years of life, or if you're still not satisfied, you can also receive a promise from me."
In Times Square, hundreds of people simultaneously looked up at the world's largest screen, at that young face, and at that calm voice.
No one spoke, no one moved, not even blinked, because the news they had just heard was even more shocking than seeing two dragons fighting overhead.
"A hundred years?" a man in a suit muttered to himself. "Did he mean a lifespan of a hundred years?"
"Yes," the person next to him murmured as well.
"That's impossible."
"If he can turn the Statue of Liberty into diamonds today, what else is impossible?"
In Downtown Manhattan, in the dark alleyway where the hunted girl once lay, several homeless men, still asleep, were awakened by the sound of a screen.
They looked up at the television screen of the grocery store on the street corner, at that young face. Some began to weep, some knelt down, and some clasped their hands in prayer.
"Om Messiah." An old man knelt on the ground, his hands clasped together, tears streaming down his cloudy face.
"He truly is Om Messiah; only Om Messiah, comparable to God, can grant life."
Washington, D. C., Underground Research Institute.
General Darian stood in front of a screen that covered an entire wall, looking at the young face on the screen, and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.
"The White House," he repeated the word. "He's talking about the White House? The White House where the president works?"
The assistant nodded. "General, yes, I think we didn't mishear. This person is called Russell the Mutants, and he's talking about a competition being held at the White House."
"And you need to see the data our people are sending back." Dario frowned, his gaze falling on the assistant's lit tablet.
"Just now, an electronic signal covered the entire city of New York, controlling all communication-related electronic products, and this powerful signal is still spreading outwards."
So this Mutants controls not just the screen, but all electronic devices. This means he can manipulate electronic signals, that he can interfere with our communication systems, that he can—"
"What does it mean?" Darian didn't turn around.
"That means he could black out the entire East China Sea, taking us back to the Stone Age."
Darian's fingers paused on the table, and he hesitated for a moment. "Notify the President, tell him Russell is going to fight outside his office, and ask him what to do."
"General—" the assistant's voice was soft, "If the president asks us if we can deal with Russell ..."
"Then tell him he doesn't know." Darian's voice was calm. "Hound No. 1, 2, and 3 all have defects; we need time."
The assistant opened his mouth but didn't say anything. He lowered his head, opened the data sheet, and looked at the constantly changing numbers. It was as if a voice was saying something to him.
You're never ready, because you never know what that person will do next.
S.H.I.E.L.D.., Helicarrier.
Nick Fury stood in the command center, with Russell's face on the screen in front of him.
His one eye stared at the face, his expression unchanged, but his fingers tapped lightly on the table, a slow rhythm, like someone waiting for a phone call that would never come.
Hill stood behind him, holding a tablet. "Sir, our communication system was just hijacked too. The AI is trying to fix it, but the signal interference is too strong, and it's not regular electromagnetic interference."
What is that?
"It's a conscious, top-tier artificial intelligence that can block the world's best hacker firewalls; they're completely useless against it."
"Holy crap, is this guy even human?"
Fury rubbed his temples.
"Contact all the Avengers and tell them they must be at the White House in three days. Professor X has failed; only we can take matters into our own hands."
Hill paused for a moment, then said, "Sir, the Avengers are currently... Iron Man is staying home, Hawkeye is blind, and Captain America has resigned. The only ones we can deploy are..."
She paused. "Only Black Widow and War Machine."
"Huh? Where did the Hulk go?"
"Dr. Bruce said he didn't want to be stared at naked, so he decided to shut himself away in the Laboratory and create a suitable pair of underwear."
Fury closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Fine, let him be. Looks like I'll have to use my ultimate secret weapon."
"The ultimate secret weapon?" Hill looked puzzled.
Fisk Tower, Manhattan.
Kingpin sat in his specially made, enormous office chair, in front of a screen made of straw mat, on which was prominently displayed Russell's face.
Bullseye stood behind him, hands in his pockets, looking as casual as if he were waiting for a bus.
"A lifespan of one hundred years, do you believe it?"
Kingpin didn't answer; he stared at the young face on the screen for a long time.
"Believe," he finally spoke. "Anyone who doesn't believe is a fool. He has already demonstrated to the world power comparable to that of Gods; extending one's lifespan might not be difficult for him."
Are you planning to participate?
Kingpin's fingers stopped on the armrest.
"I'm not going to the White House to die. Those who go there are just cannon fodder. Russell is inviting them to participate in the competition, and at the same time, he's demonstrating his power and letting the world know his strength."
A hundred years of lifespan is the bait, catching those with power who are nearing the end of their lives. Once they get to the White House, who knows what will happen.
"Then what do we do?"
Kingpin stood up and walked to the Floor-to-Ceiling Window. The Manhattan skyline unfolded beneath his feet like a three-dimensional map made of gold and glass.
His gaze fell on the brightly lit hotel in Midtown.
"Get the car ready, I'm going to see Russell."
Bullseye's brow twitched. "Now?"
"Now, I have a really good project to discuss with him."
"Wouldn't that be too dangerous? Russell, he..."
Kingpin turned around and looked at Bullseye, his gray eyes devoid of any emotion.
"Danger? Everything in this world is dangerous. You can fall and die while walking, choke to death while eating, or die suddenly while sleeping."
"If we don't see Russell, it will be even more dangerous when he comes looking for us."
Bullseye didn't say anything more, turned around and walked out of the office, his footsteps fading away down the corridor.
Kingpin stood alone in front of the Floor-to-Ceiling Window, looking at the brightly lit hotel in Midtown, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"I don't care about a hundred years of lifespan. If I can become president and build a dark empire... I will stop at nothing."