As Gojo and Spider-Man stepped inside, the remaining guard reacted instantly, drawing his gun and opening fire without hesitation. The sharp bang bang bang of gunshots echoed through the room.
For a moment, it looked like the bullets would tear through them—
But then they stopped.
Every single bullet came to a dead halt a few inches in front of Gojo and Spider-Man, hanging motionless in midair. The room was silent except for the sound of a metallic click—the empty magazine.
Gojo tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Trigger-happy much? I mean, I get it, but at least pace yourself, buddy."
With a simple gesture, the bullets clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Spider-Man wasted no time. "Alright, that's enough outta you!" He shot a web at the guard, yanking the gun away before webbing him to the wall and knocking him out with a swift punch.
Wilson Fisk remained calm, his massive frame relaxed as he took in the scene. His mind, however, was already working.
'Mutant.'
That was his first thought when he looked at Gojo. He was already well aware of Spider-Man's capabilities, but this one… this was new.
Before he could speak, Gojo was suddenly standing much closer.
Fisk didn't flinch. "To whom do I owe this visit?" His voice remained steady, but his eyes flickered briefly to Spider-Man. "And you—why are you here, Spider-Man? What do you want?"
Spider-Man crossed his arms. "Oh, you've done a lot, Fisk, but we're here about your recent interest in illegal high-tech weaponry."
Gojo, meanwhile, glanced at Bullseye, who had subtly placed his hand on a holstered gun. Their eyes met, and Gojo shook his head as if to say, Don't bother.
Bullseye didn't listen.
In an instant, he moved—lightning-fast, drawing and firing multiple shots with deadly precision. Each bullet aimed for a vital spot—head, neck, heart, liver…
Gojo's lips curled slightly as the bullets froze mid-air.
'Quick. Deadly.'
His gaze flicked over each suspended round, noting the exact placements.
'And precise… So he's Bullseye.'
The next moment, with a casual flick of his hand, Gojo sent the bullets flying back.
Bullseye barely had time to react before
searing pain erupted through his joints. A strangled scream tore from his throat as he collapsed, bullets lodged in his shoulders, elbows, and knees—strategic hits that left him writhing on the floor in agony.
Spider-Man flinched. "Hey! You're gonna kill him!"
Gojo waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, he'll live. Probably. Maybe. Depends on how good your doctors are."
Spider-Man hesitated but said nothing.
Fisk, still composed, spoke in an eerily calm tone. "How did you get up here?" His mind raced. There had been no alarm, no commotion, not a single gunshot or struggle from his men downstairs.
Gojo, reading his thoughts, smirked. "Oh, about that? Yeah, I put them to sleep and sent them to their new host."
Spider-Man raised a brow. "…Host?"
"Lord Morpheus," Gojo clarified with a dramatic flourish. "Figured they could use some quality nap time."
Spider-Man sighed. "You do realize, you telepathically forced them to sleep by controlling their minds without permission?."
Gojo groaned. "Oh, come on, Spidey. Would you have preferred a whole scene with bullets flying everywhere? Then I'd have to start crippling people, and that's just messy."
They went back and forth, Spider-Man debating the ethics while Gojo shrugged off his concerns.
Meanwhile, Fisk remained still, his eyes locked on Gojo. 'He can read minds.'
This was dangerous.
"You didn't have to go through such lengths to get my attention," Fisk finally said, his tone measured.
Gojo ignored Spider-Man entirely and turned to Fisk, his expression shifting from playful to unreadable.
After a long pause, he spoke.
"Do you think you're important enough for me to bother with your attention, Mr. Wilson?"
The room grew heavy.
Even Fisk, for the first time in a long while, felt something stir at the back of his mind.
Something close to unease
Wilson Fisk's deep, assured voice filled the room. "Then why have you made the effort to come meet me this way?"
His tone was arrogant, self-assured—like a man who believed himself untouchable.
Gojo tilted his head slightly, his piercing blue eyes scanning Fisk's massive form. "You think you're free to ask questions?" he muttered.
Fisk was about to respond when suddenly, a voice—not spoken but felt—echoed through his mind.
KNEEL.
An unimaginable force descended upon him, crushing, unrelenting. His towering figure buckled, his knees slamming into the cold floor with a thud.
A rare flicker of shock crossed Fisk's features. He hadn't moved—he had been forced.
Gojo, standing effortlessly with both hands in his pockets, shifted his gaze to Bullseye, who was still writhing in pain.
Quiet.
A single telepathic command, and Bullseye fell into eerie silence. The pained groans ceased instantly.
Gojo turned to Spider-Man. "Take them out of here. I need to speak to him privately."
Spider-Man hesitated, eyeing Gojo carefully before nodding. "Fine."
He moved swiftly, webbing up the unconscious guards and dragging Bullseye along as they exited. Just before leaving the office, Spider-Man cast one last glance at Gojo—something about this felt... dangerous.
The door shut behind them.
Silence.
Gojo took a slow step forward. "Do you know what I hate most in this world, Mr. Wilson?"
Fisk, still kneeling, opened his mouth, but before he could speak—
"Oppressors."
Gojo's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Those who think that just because they have a minuscule amount of power, they can do anything to those who do not."
Fisk, struggling against the invisible force holding him down, gritted his teeth. "That's the way the world works," he growled. "The strong take from the weak. Only those in power matter."
Gojo laughed. A dangerous laugh.His blue eyes glowed with a chilling light.
"So you think that just because you have the power to tower over the innocent, you get to do whatever you want to them?"
Fisk remained silent.
Gojo's smirk faded.
SPEAK.
Fisk's throat tightened as the word was forced from his lips. "Y—yes…"
Gojo's head tilted, eyes narrowing as he studied the kneeling man. "Then, according to your beliefs, this position we're in right now should be appropriate, don't you think?"
He glanced down at Fisk—the supposed "Kingpin" of crime—now reduced to kneeling like a peasant.
'Why do all these isekai idiots think partnering up with this filth would be a good idea?'
Gojo's smirk returned. "Then why do I still see defiance in your eyes, Mr. Wilson?" His voice was playful, amused. "Do you think you have what it takes to go against me? Hmm?"
Fisk's breathing was heavy, but his voice was steady. "I take from those who can't keep what they have," he said slowly. "The weak disgust me."
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
Fisk continued, voice growing more confident. "They grovel, they beg, they break under pressure. The strong must rule, and the weak must serve. This city is weak—it grovels under illusions of law and morality. But I will shape it. I will take control. I will make it MINE."
Gojo let him finish.
Then, softly, he said—
"Is that so?"
The temperature in the room skyrocketed.
A suffocating heat wave surged from Gojo's body, warping the air itself. His brilliant blue eyes bled into a deep, molten red.
Fisk's breath hitched. Sweat poured down his face as the oppressive heat bore down on him.
The leather of his chair cracked. The polished floor darkened. The air shimmered, distorting reality itself as waves of heat radiated from Gojo.
"In that case,"Gojo said, his voice carrying a dangerous finality. "If the weak should do as the strong suggest…"
He smirked.
"Why don't you be a good doggy and lick the floor clean?"
Fisk's massive frame shuddered.His mind screamed at him to resist, but his body refused to move against the sheer pressure bearing down on him.
Gojo tilted his head.
"No?"
A thin, glowing needle of fire materialized at his fingertip. Without hesitation, he fired it straight into Fisk's shoulder.
Ssszzzt—!
The wound instantly cauterized, preventing any bleeding—but the searing pain was immediate.
Fisk's jaw clenched tight,biting back a scream. His entire body trembled, muscles straining as he fought against the agony.
Gojo watched him curiously. "Your tolerance is commendable," he mused.
He crouched slightly, tilting his head at Fisk with a chilling smile.
"But do you think my tolerance toward you will be as commendable?"