The gate of the building looked like it had rotted away years ago. Judging by its condition, no one had lived there in a long time. When Sanjid gave it a gentle push, it groaned with a sharp, unpleasant creak, and a cloud of dust fell.
Inside, the ten-story structure was utterly abandoned—vast, empty, and lifeless, with only cold, square support beams stretching through the gloom. The air was thick with decay. It was nearly pitch-black, and Sanjid's footsteps echoed ominously on the silent, dust-covered floor.
As he reached the building's center, he tilted his head slightly and muttered coldly, "Filthy breath."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than shadows shifted—figures appeared from the void. A dozen men surrounded him, seemingly out of nowhere. They wore black ninja uniforms and hoods that obscured their faces. The air around them carried a bloody chill.
Ninjas?
Sanjid blinked in surprise. He had only seen such figures in movies—never in real life. But these were different—sharper, colder, far deadlier than fiction.
Night was the perfect stage for them. In a pitch-black ruin like this, facing armed, trained killers? For most, it would be a certain death sentence. These ninjas were deceitful, silent, and merciless.
Unfortunately for them, they had encountered Sanjid.
He no longer feared the dark. His senses were sharper than any normal human's—honed by a ruthless mentor who once forced him to fight blindfolded. He had developed a terrifying combat intuition.
Even standing still, he could probably let them stab him for a year and still not break his defense.
"Who are you~?"
A distorted voice broke the silence from one of the ninjas. The odd pitch grated on Sanjid's ears.
It disgusted him.
Just then, a voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Sanjid, I've detected unusual network signals at your location. I'm tracking them now," said Skye.
Sanjid said nothing.
But his ears twitched—he heard something.
A faint smirk curved on his lips.
"Found you."
BOOM—
With a sudden burst of force, the floor beneath him cracked violently. His figure vanished in an instant.
"Baka! Be careful!"
The sudden disappearance sent a wave of panic through the ninjas.
BANG—
"Ahhh!"
A scream ripped through the air.
The ninjas snapped their heads toward the sound. Their eyes widened.
Sanjid stood beside a support beam, his hand wrapped tightly around one ninja's neck like a vice. The man's head lolled limply—already unconscious or dead.
Moonlight spilled in from the window, casting a glow over the red hem of Sanjid's coat—it shimmered like fresh blood.
His ice-blue eyes turned slowly toward the rest. Cold. Merciless.
"Kill him!"
---
Elsewhere, in Hell's Kitchen...
A towering skyscraper blazed with lights, its sleek modern exterior a stark contrast to the crumbling buildings and hungry homeless huddled in nearby alleys.
At the very top floor, a lavishly decorated lounge exuded opulence—red velvet carpets, gold-framed murals, and gleaming crystal chandeliers.
"Madam Gao, to our partnership!"
On a plush leather sofa sat a grotesquely large man—bald, dressed in a spotless white suit, glittering rings on thick fingers. He raised his glass in a toast, smiling with a fleshy, sinister face.
Wilson Fisk.
The Kingpin.
Underground emperor of New York's criminal world.
Across from him sat an elderly Asian woman, frail in appearance, but sharp-eyed and poised. In one hand, she held a black cane. In the other, a wine glass. Her smile sent a chill through the air.
"It is an honor to cooperate with the king of America's underworld," Madam Gao said coolly.
"Hahaha! Those self-righteous superheroes should've died long ago. With your support, Madam Gao, we'll crush every last one of them."
Fisk chuckled darkly, taking a sip of wine. But behind that laughter hid a flash of murderous resolve.
Until recently, he'd avoided dealings with the Hand. But the rise of superheroes and the government's crackdown on crime had cut deep into Hell's Kitchen's underworld. Both his organization and the Hand had suffered massive losses.
It was time to fight back.
He and Madam Gao were in full agreement: the heroes must be eliminated.
And the partnership had practical benefits, too. Gao specialized in the D trade—illicit drugs. With Fisk's logistics, they could expand distribution, establish a system, and dominate the black market. Gao would supply. Fisk would move it.
A perfect business deal.
But then—the doors burst open.
Two of Fisk's men entered, escorting one of Madam Gao's subordinates. The man leaned in and whispered urgently in her ear.
Madam Gao's expression darkened instantly.
A suffocating pressure filled the room—an aura of fury erupting from her tiny frame.
Even Fisk furrowed his brow.
So... she wasn't just a frail old woman after all.
Still, it only made him more eager to work with her.
"Is something wrong, Madam Gao? Need assistance?" he asked politely.
She stared at him for a beat, then nodded solemnly.
"I do, Wilson. One of my factories in Hell's Kitchen is under attack. By someone... extraordinary. A superhuman. I lack sufficient manpower there right now."
Fisk understood immediately.
He didn't hesitate.
"Send Bullseye. Assemble a team."
His voice was calm, but laced with deadly intent.
"Let's send this super freak a message... and toast with his severed head."