Sudden Attack

Treading through the deep night, Sean quietly climbed back through the window into his apartment. He took off the hooded sweatshirt he used to conceal his appearance, removed his bulletproof vest and tactical dagger, and lay on his bed, thinking. Tonight, he had visited James Wesley, Kingpin's personal assistant and one of the crime lord's most trusted confidants.

He had deliberately cultivated an image of being mysterious and unpredictable, precisely to make Wesley unable to figure out his background, thus creating a sense of unfathomability. Generally, intelligent people overthink things, which was exactly what Sean wanted. He intended to use this sense of mystery to neutralize the deterrence and awe inspired by Kingpin.

Sean had no interest in becoming the crime lord of New York. He only wanted to use Kingpin's wealth to take the first step toward his grand goals. Ruling Hell's Kitchen? That was something to consider later. To make an intelligent person betray his boss, one must first ignite the desires deep within their heart.

Ambition was an instinct inherent in everyone, though most people disguised it as glorious ideals or firm beliefs.

Wesley was a capable and intelligent man. Such people were rarely satisfied with what they possessed because they felt they deserved more, a higher status, greater wealth, and more power… Human desire was endless, like a bottomless abyss, impossible to fill.

Could a guy who appeared out of nowhere, spouting arrogant nonsense, really make Wesley suddenly switch sides and betray his boss, that notorious crime lord?

Even with the strongest plot armor, it was impossible to reach that level. All Sean needed to do was plant a seed of ambition in Wesley's heart. If Kingpin truly fell, who should inherit the vast fortune left behind by the crime lord?

Sean never believed in absolute loyalty between people in this world. As long as the price was right, anyone could betray you, provided you could afford the chips.

Kingpin disguised himself as a philanthropist and socialite, often sponsoring young people from Hell's Kitchen and helping them complete their studies. Those who received his favor often joined companies under Kingpin's name, becoming members of New York's largest criminal organization.

Wesley was one such person, and the most successful at that. A young law student who graduated from a prestigious university, he transformed into the legal advisor of a mob boss, and eventually became Kingpin's personal assistant, managing all sorts of businesses in Hell's Kitchen for him. It had to be said, such a life was quite legendary.

Perhaps, in Kingpin's eyes, he had given Wesley enough. But Wesley might not think so. Who didn't want to climb higher, to occupy a more elevated position?

"That lawyer who likes to go out at night should thank me, as I'm about to solve a big problem for him," Sean said, resting his hands behind his head and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he felt like a stranger. Since arriving in this world, he had gained powers beyond human comprehension, slowly growing stronger bit by bit. He could kill gangsters who threatened him without batting an eye. To achieve his goals, he could appropriately employ underhanded tactics, such as spreading news about Osborn Industries and the Green Goblin, or using Dr. Connors to perfect the algorithm for decay rate evolution.

Sean couldn't say whether this change was good or bad. In any case, he had chosen this path, and he had to walk it without hesitation. Any stumbling blocks in his path would be ruthlessly crushed or kicked aside.

Gradually, the young man's eyes regained their determination. This was not a world where normal people or good people could survive. When villains destroyed the world, when aliens attacked, no one would spare you just because your morals were higher than average.

"The world isn't beautiful after all; it's both dangerous and cruel," Sean muttered to himself before falling into a deep sleep.

The next day.

As night fell.

A massive, sturdy figure stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. He had a shiny, bald head, wore a well-tailored suit, and always wore a sincere smile. He exuded no terrifying aura, making it hard to imagine that this seemingly amiable, bald fat man was actually Kingpin, feared throughout the underworld.

"Bullseye, do you know, my father was an annoying drunkard. He'd come home drunk every day and take his anger out on my mother and me. Once, I was bullied by a schoolyard bully, and when my father found out, he took me to find that guy. He grabbed the bully and told me to beat him up hard, saying, 'Only when your fists are strong enough will others fear you and not dare to bully you.' So I beat that bully terribly. When that blood splattered on my face, I finally understood that violence was like fine wine, intoxicating."

"This was the only thing that drunkard taught me," Kingpin said, rubbing the cuff of his sleeve. The smile on his face gradually faded, and the ruthless aura of the crime lord erupted. "Money and power can make people bow and surrender their dignity, but only fists can make others fear you from the bottom of their hearts!"

"So, when I grew up, I joined the mob, determined to become the one with the hardest fists."

"Boss, you rule the entire underworld of New York. Who doesn't fear your authority and power? Even those ungrateful Irishmen and the Russian mafia, didn't they all obediently hand over their territories?"

A lean man in a black trench coat and tight leather pants said flatteringly. He was known as "Bullseye," one of Kingpin's few confidants, serving as an enforcer and bodyguard. A target symbol was painted on his forehead, and his eyes exuded a fierce, evil glint.

Many mob bosses who disobeyed Kingpin's rule had died at this man's hands. Bullseye was once a notorious professional killer, later hired by Kingpin to become his chief assassin. He possessed an innate talent for throwing, able to hurl any object with incredible accuracy at his target. Playing cards, toothpicks, darts… in his hands, they all became deadly weapons.

"Why didn't you take care of Daredevil last time?" Kingpin asked Bullseye, knowing his subordinate rarely failed.

"Someone wearing a skull on his clothes saved him," Bullseye said fiercely.

"The Punisher… Hell's Kitchen is getting more and more interesting."

Daredevil was a recently emerged street hero, wearing a strange costume resembling a red devil, fighting criminals everywhere. Last month, he had disrupted several of Kingpin's operations. While he didn't care about the financial losses, the crime lord couldn't tolerate anyone daring to challenge him.

As for the Punisher, he was an even more brutal figure than Daredevil. Any criminal caught by him rarely survived. The man was skilled with all sorts of firearms, likely a mercenary or a rigorously trained retired special forces soldier. The New York Police Department already considered him a top-priority threat and was actively pursuing him.

"Bullseye, find a way to investigate Daredevil's identity. I want to play with him slowly." A cruel smile crept onto Kingpin's lips. He hadn't encountered such an interesting character in a long time.

Kingpin had met many self-righteous individuals who thought they were the protagonists of comic books, capable of saving the world. They all ended up kneeling at his feet, begging for mercy, completely abandoning their former beliefs.

Money could make people bend, power could make them bow, and violence could instill fear in those who possessed money and power.

Kingpin gazed contentedly at Hell's Kitchen, this once chaotic slum that now bowed at his feet. The casinos, nightclubs, hotels… all were his enterprises; the thugs, mob enforcers, drug dealers… all knelt before him. He was the hidden ruler behind this city, on par with the big players.

Just as the crime lord was indulging in his success, outside the floor-to-ceiling window, a tiny spark flickered, then grew larger, rushing towards the luxurious apartment he occupied.

"Boss, watch out!"

Bullseye sensed something was wrong immediately and quickly issued a warning.

Kingpin's eyes widened, his muscles tensing. Despite his massive frame weighing 450 pounds, his movements were swift. He agilely dodged to the side, and then the bulletproof floor-to-ceiling window shattered with a roar. Glass fragments flew everywhere, and the blast wave swept in all directions, tearing apart everything in the room – the expensive carpet, the oil paintings on the wall, the dazzling display of high-end wine cabinets… The scorching flames licked at the leather sofas and wooden floors like a gaping maw.

A rocket with astonishing power had kicked off the prelude to this attack.

ps: I have a cold, so only one update today...

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