Deep inside the passage, the high-explosive warhead reached the crowd.
The air expanded violently, and flames engulfed more than thirty armed thugs. The intense heat scorched the tiles on either side of the passage into blackened, glasslike material. Severed limbs and melted gun parts littered the floor, and the air reeked of carbonized flesh and burning gunpowder.
Yang Ming put away the launcher. He walked across the scorching floor, stepping over lifeless bodies as he headed toward the end of the passage.
At the end stood a bulletproof glass door with a viewing window. Behind it, Oswald Cobblepot-the man who controlled the underground organ market in Gotham's East End-was raging.
Cobblepot was extremely short and obese, dressed in an exquisitely tailored tailcoat soaked through with sweat. He clutched a black umbrella, jabbing its tip hard against the floor.
"Madman! You're a complete and utter madman!" Cobblepot shouted through the bulletproof glass, spittle spraying onto its surface.
"You came onto my turf, killed my men, and blew up my basement with an antitank weapon! Do you really think the Falcone Family will let you get away with this?"
Yang Ming said nothing. He took a Miniature Magnetic Tracking High-Explosive Charge made by Stark Industries from his trench coat pocket. His thumb pressed the activation button, and he attached the coin-sized metal disc to the lock on the bulletproof glass door.
He stepped back five paces.
The shock wave from the directional blast punched through the bulletproof glass's structural weak point. Spiderweb cracks spread across the entire pane of reinforced glass before it collapsed inward.
Yang Ming stepped over the shattered glass and entered the office.
Terrified, Cobblepot staggered backward until his back struck the desk. He tried to raise his black umbrella. A deadly poison-gas needle was concealed inside its handle.
Yang Ming never gave him the chance. He strode forward, caught Cobblepot's wrist with his left hand, and pressed his thumb precisely against the radial nerve.
The sharp pain forced Cobblepot's fingers open, and the black umbrella fell onto the carpet.
"Sit down." Yang Ming pushed Cobblepot into the broad leather executive chair.
Cobblepot panted, his small eyes fixed on Yang Ming. He was a smart man, and he understood that resisting now would only get him killed.
"What exactly do you want?" Cobblepot straightened his crooked bow tie, forcing himself to calm down. "Money? Territory? The Rat Gang's little slice isn't worth making this much noise over."
Yang Ming pulled over a chair and sat across the desk. He swept his right hand across its surface.
An FGM-148 launcher and two boxes of NATO-standard 5.56 mm Armor-Piercing Incendiary Rounds appeared out of thin air on the mahogany desktop.
Cobblepot's pupils contracted sharply. He had spent years in the black market, and countless weapons had passed through his hands.
He had never even seen weapons like these. The optical sight and infrared seeker on the launcher were manufactured with extraordinary precision.
The coating on the armor plating was certainly beyond the capabilities of any existing arms factory in Gotham.
"What is this?" Cobblepot reached toward the box of Armor-Piercing Rounds.
"A foot in the door to a new market." Yang Ming leaned back in his chair, his tone calm.
"You don't need to worry about where it comes from. You only need to know that once these weapons enter Gotham's black market, the Maloney Family's antiquated Thompson submachine guns won't even be worth using as pokers."
Cobblepot picked up an Armor-Piercing Round, running his fingertips over its brass casing and tungsten-steel bullet. He was a shrewd businessman with a discerning eye.
A bullet that combined armor penetration with incendiary effects could change the balance of Gotham's gang wars.
"You want to sell weapons?" Cobblepot set down the bullet, putting aside his earlier fury and adopting a businessman's demeanor.
"Merchandise of this caliber will definitely draw the attention of the GCPD and that bat monster. The risk is too high."
"I only supply the goods." Yang Ming interlaced his fingers over his abdomen.
"I need large quantities of restricted medical equipment. Hyperbaric Chambers, portable CPR machines, dialysis equipment, and specialized cell-targeting drugs unavailable on the open market. Take my weapons and trade them for the medical supplies I need."
Cobblepot fell into thought. His short, thick fingers tapped against the desk.
The potential profit from this deal was staggering. If the Falcone Family secured exclusive access to these advanced weapons, completely suppressing the other Mafia families would only be a matter of time.
Yet the destructive power and methods displayed by the Asian doctor before him also sent chills down his spine.
"Dr. Yang." Cobblepot changed how he addressed him, a probing note entering his voice.
"You're asking for too much. Much of the medical equipment you want is strictly controlled by Wayne Enterprises or the military. I'm just a middleman handling frozen meat and organs in the East End. I can't authorize a deal this big."
Yang Ming looked at him.
"So you need to consult your boss?" Yang Ming finished for him.
Cobblepot nodded.
"Make the call." Yang Ming raised a hand, gesturing for him to proceed.
"I'll wait right here. You'd better make the value of this shipment clear, or your boss will think you're making a fool of him."
Cobblepot picked up the telephone on the desk and dialed an encrypted number.
The instant the call connected, all the shrewdness and cunning vanished from Cobblepot's face. He bent slightly at the waist. Even though the person on the other end could not see him, his posture became utterly subservient.
"Mr. Falcone, I'm sorry to disturb your rest." Cobblepot's voice was soft, even carrying a faint, ingratiating tremor.
Yang Ming watched coldly. Gotham's underworld order rested on a rigid hierarchy. Someone like Cobblepot, who wielded immense power in the East End, was nothing more than a disposable dog before a true Mafia godfather.
Covering the mouthpiece and lowering his voice, Cobblepot reported everything that had happened, emphasizing the construction details of the portable antitank launcher and the Armor-Piercing Rounds.
The man on the other end rarely spoke. Occasionally, a low cough or two came through.
The report lasted five minutes. Cobblepot kept nodding and murmuring agreement, sweat dripping from his hooked nose onto the mahogany desk.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
Cobblepot hung up and let out a long breath. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. When he looked at Yang Ming again, a trace of awe had entered his eyes.
"The boss has agreed to the deal." Cobblepot cleared his throat.
"He's willing to provide every piece of medical equipment on your list. And as a gesture of the Falcone Family's sincerity, he's decided to give you an additional five hundred thousand dollars as compensation for the offense caused by those idiots working for me."
Yang Ming showed no emotional reaction. Five hundred thousand dollars and a full set of top-tier medical equipment. Falcone certainly knew how to make a generous offer. But there was no such thing as a free lunch, especially one provided by the Mafia.
"What are the conditions?" Yang Ming went straight to the point.
Cobblepot gave two dry chuckles and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.
"The boss would like to meet you." Cobblepot braced both hands on the desk. "He's a nostalgic man, and it's been a long time since he's met a young man with your courage. He invites you to his manor for morning tea."
Entering the headquarters of Gotham's underworld emperor would have struck any gang boss as walking straight into a trap.
Yang Ming glanced at the wall clock. Six in the morning.
"Now, or another day?" Yang Ming stood.
His decisiveness caught Cobblepot off guard. He had expected Yang Ming to refuse or insist on bringing bodyguards.
"Now." Cobblepot pointed outside. "The car sent to collect you is already waiting outside the processing plant."
Yang Ming returned the Armor-Piercing Rounds and launcher on the desk to his Storage Ring. The sight of him making things disappear into thin air sent Cobblepot's eyelids twitching again.
"Lead the way." Yang Ming straightened the collar of his trench coat.
They left the devastated second basement level and took the freight elevator back to the surface.
Outside the abandoned meat-processing plant stood a black stretch Lincoln, its paint gleaming coldly beneath the gloomy sky.
Four bodyguards wearing black trench coats and sunglasses stood beside the car. Their posture was impeccable, their suit hems utterly uncreased. They were worlds apart from Cobblepot's street thugs.
Seeing Cobblepot and Yang Ming emerge, one of the bodyguards stepped forward and opened the rear door.
"Mr. Yang, please get in." The bodyguard's tone was respectful and mechanical.
Ignoring Cobblepot, Yang Ming climbed straight into the car.
The door closed, and the soundproofing completely shut out the wind and distant police sirens.
Thick, handmade wool carpeting lined the interior, and the air carried the mingled scents of expensive cigars and leather. The onboard liquor cabinet held well-aged whiskey.
Yang Ming leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.
He began planning the confrontation ahead. Falcone was not Kingpin.
Kingpin was a tyrant who ruled Hell's Kitchen through absolute violence and fear. Falcone, on the other hand, was a traditional Mafia godfather who valued rules, a balance of interests, and bloodlines.
Dealing with Falcone required more than killing. Binding their interests together would offer the strongest protection.
The car traveled smoothly through Gotham's streets.
About half an hour later, the sound of tires rolling over gravel reached him, and the car slowed.
Yang Ming opened his eyes and looked out the window.
An enormous estate came into view. Towering wrought-iron gates swung open to either side, with fully armed family guards stationed beside them.
Inside the grounds stretched immaculately trimmed lawns and ancient oak trees. The main building was a three-story Italian-Style Villa, its exterior walls covered in ivy, exuding a solemn, oppressive sense of history.
Yang Ming studied the property.
I wonder how this place compares to Wayne Manor. Come to think of it, why haven't I heard anything about Bruce these past few days?
The car stopped beside the fountain outside the villa's main entrance.