United States - New York - Manhattan, a city called Hell's Kitchen!
The night in Manhattan had only just begun to reveal its energy. White-collar workers shed their suits, street thugs with nothing to do roamed aimlessly, and scantily clad girls unleashed their passions without restraint. Yet, no matter how prosperous the city, there were always dark corners, and no matter how wealthy the place, there were always those left behind by society.
In a dark alley leading to the back door of a bar, a homeless man, dressed in filthy and tattered clothes, lay limply beside a rusty trash can, slowly writhing.
"Hungry..."
The figure groaned in pain, struggling to rise, and began waving his arms, searching the trash can for anything edible.
"Ah!"
Dirty hands pulled out a leftover hot dog. This unexpected find drove him wild with hunger. He stuffed the hot dog into his mouth and devoured it in seconds. But after that, he found nothing else to eat, and his frail body collapsed into the dirty sewage, half of his face illuminated by the dim streetlight.
God, what a horrifying sight it was. Under the streetlamp's light, the man's exposed skin hung like the loose hide of a mangy dog. No, it was even more grotesque, like a patient post-liposuction with nowhere for the excess skin to go, leaving it to hang layer by layer, nauseating and pitiful.
Andy looked desperately at the blurry world before him. His weakness made it hard to move, but the intense hunger in his stomach felt like burning magma, driving him to the brink of madness.
It had been a month. A month since Andy arrived in this strange yet familiar world. After the initial shock, the harsh reality of this Marvel Universe had driven him into despair.
Yes, Andy had transmigrated. A month ago, he inexplicably crossed over from his world into this one, a world that should have only existed in movies.
When he saw Tony Stark's cocky smile on TV, the shock he felt was overwhelming. From that moment, Andy knew he had time-traveled to the Marvel Universe, the world of superheroes that had captivated him in his previous life. At first, despite his confusion, Andy was filled with excitement. After all, something so fantastical had happened to him, giving him a strange and wonderful feeling.
But before Andy could adapt to life in this new world, he was kicked out of the orphanage that had sheltered him. He was an adult now, and the orphanage was no longer his place.
It was then that Andy discovered another layer of his identity: he was a mutant.
The moment he stepped out of the orphanage, he was ambushed by several of the orphans he had grown up with. From their merciless beating and hateful words, Andy learned why they despised him so much. Just because he was a mutant.
The sound of "freak" echoed in his ears, and Andy passed out from the pain. When he woke up, the others were gone, but to his shock, his injuries had healed. However, his body had lost a significant amount of weight.
Over the next month of struggling to survive in this new world, Andy gradually figured out his mutant ability.
His ability was to consume food and absorb its energy, making him stronger and more powerful. While not a mind-blowing power like mind control or the Phoenix Force, it set him apart from ordinary people and allowed him to excel at labor jobs. He had heard that manual labor was well-paid abroad, and he figured he could survive by working hard.
But reality crushed Andy's hopes. The world's fear and discrimination against mutants were far more deeply ingrained and extreme than what was shown in the movies. Whenever Andy found a job, his mutant identity would be revealed, and the workers would turn on him, forcing the boss to fire him without hesitation.
He tried hiding his mutant identity, but as he went longer without proper meals, his fat disappeared rapidly, as if consumed by his own body, leaving him looking hideous. His skin loosened and sagged, making it impossible to hide his mutant identity. Even in a country like the United States, where some aid was available, his appearance and mutant status almost got him killed by other homeless people who were also trying to survive.
Now, lying next to the trash can in despair, Andy felt his life slipping away. Despite being nearly six feet tall, he weighed less than 80 pounds.
Was this how his transmigration would end?
The sound of high heels clicking on the ground echoed through the alley, and Andy looked up with difficulty. He saw two women, dressed flamboyantly and wearing heavy makeup, hurrying through the alley.
Desperate to survive, Andy gave up his last shred of dignity. As they passed by, he reached out and grabbed one of their shoes, his voice hoarse, "Can you spare some food?"
"Ahhh!!!"
The terrified scream echoed in the alley as the woman yanked her foot free and jumped back. It took her a moment to calm down and realize Andy posed no threat.
"FUCK, you filthy creep! You ruined my shoes!"
She screamed in disgust, spitting at Andy. He didn't have the strength to dodge, and the foul-smelling saliva landed in one of his eyes. He could only vaguely make out her green hair, a mole under her left eye, and the contemptuous look on her face.
Andy didn't beg anymore. He just watched as they left, knowing he'd lost even the last shred of his dignity.
"Bam!"
The sound of a door slamming open echoed in the alley. Andy wiped the spit from his eye and saw a door had opened nearby.
It was the back door of an underground casino. Andy, who had been lying here for two days, knew this was a place where low-level gangsters often gathered to gamble.
But instead of gangsters, a well-dressed Caucasian man with glasses and a black suit stepped out. This wasn't a place for someone like him, where the danger of unexpected attacks was real.
Just like the danger Andy posed at that moment. Having lost his last shred of dignity, the violence within him could no longer be contained.
He wanted to live.
----
Andy's right hand slowly touched the edge of the garbage bin against the wall, where he found a bloody ten-centimeter-long knife. He had discovered it while rummaging through the trash yesterday. Without a doubt, it must have been tossed away by some panicked gangster after a stabbing. But this is Hell's Kitchen—where things like this are just another day.
This is the heart of New York's crime scene. The Irish, Russians, Chinese, Japanese, and various biker gangs—every kind of powerful mobster—battle it out on these blood-soaked streets, fighting for territory and profit.
A bloody knife? That's nothing.
At the time, Andy didn't know why he kept it, but now, with anger boiling inside him, he was ready to put it to use.
Trembling, Andy pulled up his hood, steadied himself on the trash can, and cautiously approached a white man who was about to leave. With his voice trembling but attempting to sound menacing, Andy demanded, "Hand over all the money you've got!"
The man looked confused and even asked, "Are you serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious. Give me all the money!" Andy insisted, nervously pointing the knife at the man. This was his first time trying to rob someone in both of his lifetimes. He had no idea what he was doing but tried to act fierce.
"Okay, here you go!"
Surprisingly, the man didn't hesitate, perhaps actually scared by Andy's forced ferocity. He quickly pulled out a wallet and tossed it to Andy.
Honestly, the man could have easily fought back. Andy was weak, his frail body barely holding him up for this desperate act.
Andy hastily grabbed the black wallet, not caring about the knife in his hand. He opened it with both hands and saw a thick stack of cash. Swallowing nervously, Andy pulled out a handful of bills, then threw the wallet back to the man, muttering, "I'll give this back to you."
Then he turned and bolted from the alley.
But the man in the suit didn't leave. He calmly pushed up his glasses, slowly pulled a pistol from inside his suit, and aimed it at Andy's back.
But in the end, he didn't pull the trigger.
He simply watched as the trembling Andy walked out of the alley, step by step, until he disappeared from view. Only then did he lower his raised hand.
Just then, the door behind him opened again, and a bald man with short blond hair came out, cursing under his breath—clearly upset about losing money.
But when he saw the man in the suit, he immediately approached nervously, glanced around, and asked in a hushed tone, "Mr. Wesley, what happened?"
Wesley holstered his gun, pulled out a cloth, and began to clean his glasses. In a flat tone, he replied, "Healy, I was just robbed."
"What?!"
Healy's eyes widened in disbelief. Once he realized Mr. Wesley wasn't joking, he exploded with rage, "That bastard! I'm going to kill him!"
He quickly pulled out his phone, frantically dialing numbers.
"Calm down, Healy," Wesley ordered.
"My apologies, Mr. Wesley. I never thought anyone in Hell's Kitchen would dare mess with you. I'll find that bastard, or Mr. Fisk will have my head!"
The mention of Fisk seemed to strike terror into Healy, making him visibly shake.
Wesley waved him off, indicating that Healy was starting to irritate him.
Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the alley as dozens of rough-looking gangsters appeared.
Healy, trying to make amends, asked eagerly, "Mr. Wesley, what did the guy look like?"
Wesley replied casually, "A mutant with a hood, dirty clothes, and sagging skin."
Healy was startled, clearly not expecting the thief to be a mutant, but that wouldn't stop him. He quickly turned to the group of thugs and shouted, "You heard him! Tear Hell's Kitchen apart if you have to, but find that damned, filthy mutant!"
"Yes, sir!"
A gang of burly men scattered into the night, combing through Hell's Kitchen.
Meanwhile, Andy, who reeked of sweat and grime, walked into a fast-food joint. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, wearing a yellow uniform, scrunched her nose and asked, "What can I get you?"
"Bang!"
Andy slammed a fistful of hundred-dollar bills onto the counter with his dirty hand and croaked, "I want all the food you've got!"
Seeing the cash, the woman froze in shock, but Andy, crazed with hunger, screamed, "Food! Now!"
Money talks.
Without wasting a second, the woman snatched up the cash and rushed to grab whatever food was ready. She handed Andy a stack of cheeseburgers.
Andy's ravenous hunger made quick work of the food, shoveling burgers into his mouth so fast that it left everyone around him stunned.
Whether it was a Mexican chicken wrap or a huge slice of walnut pie, it all disappeared into Andy's stomach as if he were a starving animal.
Even the freshly grilled rib-eye steaks, bones and all, were devoured in seconds. Andy crunched through them as if they were mere snacks, washing it all down with gulps of black coffee.
"Bang!"
Suddenly, the glass door of the fast-food place flew open, and a tattooed gangster swaggered in. He stared in shock at Andy's feeding frenzy.
Just as he was about to ask the waiter something, he noticed something odd about Andy's face—it seemed that the sagging skin was tightening up, filling in as if he were being rejuvenated from the inside out!
The weak man, who had looked so emaciated before, was visibly growing stronger, filling out right before the thug's eyes!
"I found him!"
The gangster shouted, drawing the attention of his accomplices. He charged forward and landed a hard punch on Andy's head, knocking him to the ground and sending his steak crashing to the floor.
But as Andy hit the floor, his eyes darkened. He grabbed the fallen steak, shoving it into his mouth. The gangster, unphased, moved in to deliver another blow.
"Bang!"
But Andy caught the man's boot in mid-kick. The gangster froze in shock as Andy, with a sudden burst of strength, hurled him through the air. The thug crashed into the bar, shattering it and leaving him writhing on the ground in pain.
Andy's power was overwhelming, the food he consumed rapidly transforming into energy. Ordinary humans didn't stand a chance against him.
Andy stood up, reached for another hamburger, but a dozen more thugs stormed into the restaurant, raining down punches on him.
------
With screams and blood splattering, even though Andy was a mutant with strength beyond that of an ordinary person, he was no match for these ruthless street thugs. He barely had time to react before he was knocked to the ground, helplessly absorbing a relentless barrage of punches. These gangsters knew no restraint, and they showed no mercy as they continued their assault.
By now, all the customers in the fast food restaurant had fled in terror, and the waitstaff hid in the kitchen, covering their ears and shivering with fear as they listened to the violence unfolding outside.
"That's enough, stop!"
A calm voice suddenly broke through the chaos. It was Wesley, the man Andy had robbed earlier, walking slowly into the shattered restaurant. The gangsters gradually backed off, giving him space.
Only one man, Healy, continued to pummel Andy's face mercilessly. Blood pooled on the floor, soaking into the tiles.
"I said, enough!" Wesley repeated, his voice more commanding this time. Healy finally stopped, panting heavily as he stood upright, leaving Andy lying in a pool of his own blood, his body resembling a battered, lifeless heap.
Wesley frowned, shaking his head as though disappointed, and turned to leave.
"Uh~~~"
A faint groan escaped from the bloody figure on the floor. Wesley turned back, surprised to see Andy, the mutant he thought had been beaten beyond recognition, slowly moving. Andy struggled, inching his way toward a blood-soaked hamburger on the floor, and with the last of his strength, shoved it into his mouth.
Despite the grotesque scene, Andy's expression softened, a faint smile forming on his torn lips as he ate, as if he had just tasted the most delicious meal in the world.
"Interesting. Bring him over here," Wesley ordered.
His men lifted Andy and threw him onto a relatively clean table opposite Wesley. Andy was barely conscious, his face swollen and covered in blood, too weak to even sit upright. Wesley studied him with interest.
"It's been a long night," Wesley remarked, his tone filled with curiosity.
Andy, his eyes swollen to mere slits, stared at Wesley. Blood oozed from a gash near his eye, but he remained silent, his mind seemingly unable to process the situation.
Wesley noticed that Andy's appearance had changed significantly since the earlier robbery. Beyond the blood and bruises, his once emaciated, mangy look was gone. As Andy consumed more food, his body seemed to absorb the energy rapidly, his emaciated frame filling out.
Wesley observed the transformation with fascination. What kind of mutant ability did Andy possess? Before he could ponder further, Wesley noticed something even more remarkable—Andy's wounds were healing at an accelerated pace. The grotesque gash near his eye was closing, the swelling around his eyes rapidly diminishing.
"Damn, disgusting mutants!" Healy snarled, eager to continue the beating when he saw this, but Wesley waved him away.
Wesley called to the terrified waiter still cowering in the kitchen, "Bring me a cup of black coffee!"
The waiter, trembling, complied and quickly retreated after serving Wesley.
As Wesley sipped his coffee, he studied Andy, his eyes glinting with intrigue. "You're a mutant, aren't you?"
Andy said nothing, his vacant stare betraying his shock. He was clearly overwhelmed by the situation, his mind reeling from the trauma.
Andy's face had almost fully healed, but as his body mended, his skin began to sag once more, drained of energy.
"Guru~~~"
A loud growl erupted from Andy's stomach. Wesley ordered flatly, "Bring him more food."
One of Wesley's men placed the blood-stained hamburger in front of Andy, who hesitated before succumbing to his hunger and eating ravenously again.
"What's your name?" Wesley asked.
"Andy," he mumbled between bites.
"Andy? What's your last name?"
"Ebenezer."
"Snap!"
A black pistol suddenly appeared on the table in front of Andy, causing him to freeze, his eyes wide with fear. The realization that his life hung in the balance made the food taste like ashes in his mouth.
"Do something for me," Wesley said, his voice cold. "And you'll never have to go hungry again. But you need to give me your loyalty—your life."
Andy looked at the pistol, then at Wesley, and finally at the food in his hand. The memories of the miserable, painful life he had endured since arriving in this new world flooded his mind. He had no other choice.
"Okay, I'll work for you," he said, his voice trembling with resignation.
Late at night, in the desolate streets of Hell's Kitchen, Andy found himself standing before a bar with its entrance tightly shut. The area was littered with parked Harley motorcycles, and two burly, middle-aged men with thick beards stood guard, boredom etched on their faces.
This wasn't just any bar—it was the headquarters of the Hellhounds, a notorious gang. Recently, their actions had disrupted the operations of Wesley's boss, Mr. Fisk, particularly affecting the distribution of a certain white powder. The Hellhounds had brazenly hijacked a delivery route belonging to Fisk and his allies.
Furious, Fisk had ordered a brutal lesson to be taught to these brainless muscleheads, reminding them who truly ruled the underworld of Hell's Kitchen.
Andy, now a reluctant member of the underworld, approached the Hellhound Bar, his heart pounding in his chest. He nervously touched the pistol at his waist, but it offered little comfort. He had never fired a gun before, and the fear gripped him like a vice.
Andy, who had been an ordinary person not long ago, could never have imagined that his journey to this new world would force him to commit such acts, all for the sake of survival.
He steeled himself.
By now, his hesitation had drawn the attention of the two guards. One of them barked, "Hey, get lost!"
Andy ignored the command, his trembling hands pulling out a lighter and a Molotov cocktail from his sleeve.
"Boom!"
A violent flame erupted, igniting the night.
"FUCK!"
When the Molotov cocktail was thrown onto the motorcycle and ignited, the two gatekeepers reacted instantly, cursing loudly as they rushed toward Andy.
Two typical white men with red necks and tattoos, large and intimidating, charged at him aggressively. Their massive size added immense pressure on Andy.
Instinctively, Andy reached for the gun at his waist, but in that moment, he realized he still wasn't prepared for this kind of situation. He was so terrified that his trembling hands couldn't even draw the gun from its holster!
"Bang, bang!"
Two gunshots suddenly rang out from above, and the two burly men collapsed. Blood splattered across Andy's face, freezing him in place.
"Run, idiot!" Healy's voice cursed through the quiet night.
At the same time, the door of the Hellhound Bar burst open, and a swarm of burly men clad in leather, armed with iron bars, machetes, and even meat hooks, stormed out with menacing fury.
Seeing the burning motorcycle and their fallen comrades nearby, they hesitated for a moment, then spotted Andy standing there, frozen in fear.
"There he is!"
With loud shouts, the Hellhound gang charged at Andy with ferocious intensity.
"Ahhh!"
At that moment, Andy snapped out of his stupor. Screaming, he pulled the pistol from his waist and fired wildly in their direction, the bullets hitting nothing but air.
Panicked, Andy followed Wesley's earlier instructions and fled toward the old apartment building across the street. It held a nasty surprise for these Hellhound thugs.
Andy sprinted across the street and dashed into the apartment building. During this time, there were no more gunshots, as they were carefully ensuring Andy led these mindless goons into the trap.
"Boom!"
The apartment door slammed open as Andy, in a frenzy, barged inside. No sooner had he run a short distance when a group of furious, strong men rushed in after him.
Seeing the panicked kid ahead of them, one of the thugs hurled an iron rod at Andy with malicious intent. Seeing this, his companions followed suit, flinging their weapons at Andy.
By cruel coincidence, a solid black iron rod struck Andy's leg, sending a sharp pain through him and causing his right leg to buckle, making him crash to the ground.
"No, no, help, help!"
Andy screamed in terror, but the apartment corridor echoed only with the angry shouts of the thugs behind him—no sign of the agreed-upon backup.
"Pfft!"
Suddenly, a pitch-black iron hook tore through Andy's back, its force so strong it easily punctured his shoulder blade.
"Ahhh!"
The excruciating pain made Andy scream in agony, but his tormentors showed no mercy. The bald man wielding the hook yanked it upwards, lifting Andy's upper body off the ground as if he were nothing more than a struggling piglet.
Blood gushed from Andy's shoulder, leaving a trail on the floor as the bald man dragged him into the stairwell.
"Who sent you here?"
Thrown into the stairwell, the Hellhound thugs didn't give Andy any chance to answer. The hook in his shoulder blade was twisted cruelly, sending shockwaves of pain through Andy's body.
"Ahhhhh!"
Andy, terrified and overwhelmed by pain, could do nothing but scream. His desperate cries echoed throughout the apartment building.
But that wasn't the answer the bald man wanted. He straddled Andy, his massive fists pounding down on Andy's head like a storm of brutal blows.
"Talk! Who sent you here? Speak!"
"Da-da-da-da-da!"
Suddenly, rapid gunfire erupted from behind, startling the group. A thug with a gunshot wound to his shoulder burst into the stairwell, shouting, "We're under attack! It's Fisk's people!"
The panicked voice jolted the thugs out of their frenzy. One of them turned to the bald man, Schmidt, who was covered in Andy's blood, and asked, "What do we do now, boss?"
"FUCK! Anyone who messes with the Hellhounds dies!" Schmidt roared.
Hearing their boss's words, the thugs stopped hesitating and rushed out of the stairwell to join their comrades in fighting Healy's team.
Schmidt glared down at Andy with murderous intent. "So, you're one of Fisk's. He used you as bait. Now, you're gonna die."
Schmidt yanked the hook out of Andy's shoulder, the gruesome wound leaving the bone exposed. He swung the blood-soaked hook at Andy's face, the sharp edge tearing into Andy's cheek.
"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die!"
In that moment, Andy, bloody and broken, could sense death closing in on him. The terror of impending death shattered his sanity.
"Ahhh!"
With a primal scream, Andy, driven by sheer desperation, shoved Schmidt off him with a surge of mutant strength.
"Boom!"
Andy's push sent Schmidt flying into the wall behind him, the impact splintering the plaster. The force was astounding, a testament to Andy's newfound power.
Before Schmidt could recover, Andy staggered to his feet and pounced, straddling the thug and raining down punches on his face with all the strength he could muster.
"Bang, bang, crunch~~~"
The sickening sounds of bone and flesh being pummeled filled the stairwell. Andy's fists were relentless, pounding Schmidt's head into a grotesque mess of blood and gore.
By the time he was done, the bloody pulp that had once been Schmidt's head was barely recognizable.
The gunfire outside had ceased. Healy cautiously stepped into the stairwell, drawn by the sounds of the brutal beating. Seeing Andy, his face and hands smeared with blood as he continued to pummel the lifeless Schmidt, Healy hesitated before approaching.
Healy placed a hand on Andy's shoulder. "Hey, kid, that's enough."
Andy turned to face him, his expression a twisted mask of blood and rage, his eyes wild with madness.
Healy recoiled slightly, wisely deciding to give Andy some space.
A minute later, the adrenaline began to wear off, and the exhaustion from the intense fight overwhelmed Andy. He collapsed onto the corpse beneath him.
Healy ordered his men to drag Andy away. As they did, he looked down at the mangled body of Schmidt and remarked, "This was Schmidt, the boss of the Hellhounds, and you beat him to death just like that."
Andy, regaining some semblance of sanity, stared up at the stairwell ceiling, breathing heavily. "Did I… did I kill someone?" he murmured.
Two young black men were walking nervously down the streets of Hell's Kitchen. Despite the clear sky, both wore hoods and seemed to be in a hurry.
"Jamie, if we can sell this batch of goods, we won't have to rely on those people anymore!" The boy with dreadlocks said to his companion, excitement in his voice.
"Yeah, Tom, but we've got to keep it under wraps. We can't let those guys find out about us..."
Suddenly, a pair of hands shot out from a nearby alley, grabbing the collars of the two men and dragging them into the empty alleyway.
Bang! Bang!
There were two dull thuds as the young men were roughly pressed against the wall. When Jamie saw the stern face of the man in front of him, he stammered, "Enforcer... Enforcer!"
Tom, recognizing Healy standing nearby, panicked, "Mr. Healy, please, please give us a chance. I—"
Healy cut him off, uninterested in hearing their excuses. He turned to Andy and simply said, "Hit them."
Without a moment's hesitation, Andy's fist lashed out at the two of them. With just one punch, the two boys, though physically strong, had their eyes bulging, their bodies writhing in pain. Their cries of agony echoed in the alley, but before anyone could intervene, the alley's entrance was blocked by some tough-looking men who quickly drove the onlookers away.
Andy's fists kept pounding relentlessly, and blood splattered onto the dirty walls. The two young men had no chance of defending themselves against Andy's brutal onslaught.
Amid the chaos, a phone rang. Healy answered it, nodded a few times, and then hung up. He walked over to Andy, who was still in a frenzy, and patted him on the shoulder with a smirk. "Alright, stop. If you keep going, they won't have anything left to pay us."
Andy's bloodshot eyes glanced back, and for a moment, Healy felt a chill run down his spine. But finally, Andy exhaled heavily and stopped his assault.
Healy looked down at the two young men, now lying on the ground, bloodied and barely conscious. "This is just a warning. You've got one week to pay up. If you don't, I'll send you to meet your maker."
The two men could only moan weakly, unable to move. Andy's terrifying strength was more than they could handle. If Healy hadn't stopped him, they might have been beaten to death.
"Alright, Andy, let's go. Mr. Wesley just called. The big boss wants to see us."
"Who?"
Andy's eyes widened in surprise. The big boss? Could it be Mr. Fisk, "Kingpin"?
Over the past few weeks, Andy had learned a lot about the organization he'd fallen into. Wesley, the man he had robbed that first night, was merely an assistant to the real boss—Wilson Fisk, also known as "Kingpin," the underground ruler of Hell's Kitchen.
Andy couldn't fathom why Fisk would want to see him, a lowly enforcer.
"Don't overthink it," Healy advised. "Mr. Fisk's thoughts are not for us to question. Let's go."
Not long after, Healy led Andy to an office building—the headquarters of their gang. Hanging over the entrance were large letters spelling out: "United Construction Company."
Hell's Kitchen's underground kingpin wasn't just a shadowy gang leader; he was the chairman of a well-known construction company, with business ventures spanning across the city. His wealth and influence were immense.
Healy took Andy into a spacious office. Inside, Wesley stood to the side, while a bald, imposing man sat behind a large desk—Wilson Fisk.
"Mr. Fisk," Healy greeted him first, and Andy quickly followed suit. This was the first time Andy had seen his boss in person.
Fisk's cold eyes scrutinized them, making Andy nervous. He stood up straight, wiping away the blood from his earlier beating with a shaky hand.
Noticing Andy's tense posture, Fisk smirked. "I've heard of you. They're calling you 'The Enforcer' in Hell's Kitchen now, aren't they?"
Andy was startled. "That's just what they say..."
Ever since Andy had killed Schmidt, the leader of the Hellhound gang, he had fully embraced his role in the criminal underworld. His mutant abilities, which enhanced his strength and allowed him to heal quickly after eating, made him a formidable fighter. His ferocity in combat had earned him a fearsome reputation.
The nickname "The Enforcer" had begun to spread through the underworld, and Andy didn't mind it one bit.
"Relax," Fisk said, his voice softening slightly.
Andy took a deep breath, though he still remained cautious. Fisk wasn't just any mob boss; he was a man whose power and wealth extended across all of Hell's Kitchen.
"I called you here today to formally meet you, my newest 'Enforcer.' I want you to know that as long as you continue to work hard for me, I'll protect you, no matter what your status is."
"Thank you, boss," Andy replied, grateful for Fisk's assurance. As a mutant, Andy knew how valuable this kind of protection was. Many people in this world feared and despised mutants, but Fisk didn't seem to care about that.
"Good," Fisk said. "Now, Wesley will brief you and Healy on your next task. I want to make sure everyone knows who really runs Hell's Kitchen."
Andy and Healy quickly agreed, following Wesley out of Fisk's office.
After today, Andy had officially caught the attention of the Kingpin.
----
After leaving Kingpin's office, Andy Ebenezer and Healy were escorted by Wesley to another office within the same building—Wesley's very own CEO office. It was evident that Kingpin had successfully transitioned into a more legitimate role, considering the ten-story office building labeled "United Construction Company" in Manhattan, and the "CEO" sign hanging on Wesley's office door. Even his subordinates were benefiting from the perks of his somewhat sanitized image.
But underneath this veneer of legitimacy, the dark underworld Kingpin ruled was a completely different beast.
"Alright," Wesley began, his tone grave. "The boss called you in to gauge the loyalty of his subordinates. Now, pay close attention to the mission briefing—this is crucial."
Seeing Wesley's serious expression, Andy and Healy took a deep breath, setting aside all distractions to focus on the task at hand.
"Tomorrow, in Central Park, there will be a gathering of New York City's underground factions. In addition to our group, the attendees will include the Hand, the Russian Mob, the Irish Mob, and the Harlem crew."
Wesley continued, "The primary purpose of this meeting is to discuss the division of the drug trade in New York's underground world, especially due to the emergence of a new player."
"Sigh~~~"
Healy's eyes widened in shock. "Mr. Wesley, who would dare to challenge our operations? What's their deal?"
Wesley frowned. "Details are scarce, but what we know is that he goes by the alias 'Blacksmith' and has been supplying large quantities of high-purity drugs. Hellmaid and the Irish have already abandoned our alliance and no longer get their supply from Madame Gao of the Hand. The conflict with Hellmaid occurred because they tried to seize our distribution routes along with the Russians. All of this ties back to the Blacksmith."
"Which means," Wesley emphasized, "our mission tomorrow is vital—we need to uncover the source of this upheaval."
Healy nodded, his expression fierce. "Don't worry, Mr. Wesley. Leave it to me. I'll make sure they know who runs this city!"
But Wesley shook his head. "Healy, it's not just you. Andy will also be assisting me tomorrow."
Andy, who had been silent until now, was surprised. It was unusual for someone of his lower rank to be entrusted with such a high-stakes mission. But his relentless efforts on the streets, where he had spilled blood like a mad dog, had finally paid off.
Healy, however, was unsettled. Andy had always been his subordinate, a reliable enforcer. But now, suddenly, Andy was being elevated to the role of Wesley's assistant. It was a clear sign that Andy was no longer just a pawn.
Seeing Healy's displeasure, Wesley cut off any protest. "This was arranged personally by Mr. Fisk."
Healy said nothing more, and Andy, hiding his excitement, kept his composure.
"Remember, tomorrow's mission is critical. My safety is your responsibility, and if the situation demands it, you must act decisively. Understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Wesley!" both men responded.
As they left Wesley's office, Healy silently followed Andy. The words from Kingpin and Wesley's orders had made it clear to him that the once lowly "enforcer" of Hell's Kitchen had risen to a level where he was now a significant player in their world.
Once outside, Healy forced a smile and offered, "Andy, let me give you a ride home."
Andy accepted, getting into the car just as he had when they arrived at the office. But the atmosphere inside was entirely different now.
After a few moments of silence, Healy, trying to appear magnanimous, said, "Andy, you've caught the boss's eye. Keep it up."
Andy, still riding the wave of excitement, managed to keep his face expressionless, feigning modesty.
Soon, they arrived at Andy's old apartment building. As Healy's car drove away, Andy let out a deep breath.
Turning to the old building, which was still owned by the "United Construction Company," Andy reflected on how deeply he was entangled in this world.
He took the elevator to the third floor, where his apartment was located. As he walked down the long hallway, a woman emerged from a door at the far end.
"Hey, Andy!"
"Hi, Jessica!"
Andy greeted Jessica Jones with a friendly smile, though his eyes held a different sort of admiration. Jessica was a fellow tenant and a private detective who handled small cases like finding missing children and gathering evidence of cheating spouses.
But Andy's interest in her was deeper—if his memories from his previous life were correct, this woman, who loved leather jackets and heavy drinking, was also a superhero.
"Andy, you seem pretty happy today," Jessica noted with a smile.
Andy nodded. "Yeah, things are looking up at work."
Jessica paused, contemplating his words. As a private detective, she knew exactly who her neighbor was—a notorious enforcer in Hell's Kitchen.
But Jessica wisely refrained from asking further. Who knew what kind of illegal activities had brightened Andy's day?
The awkwardness between them was broken when an elderly woman emerged from the elevator. It was their neighbor, Elena, whose refusal to move had prevented the building from being demolished.
She smiled warmly at the pair. "Andy, Jessica, I'm baking some cookies today. I'll bring some over later."
"Thanks, Elena," Andy replied. He didn't involve himself in the company's property disputes, so he didn't mind that Elena was a holdout. If she left, he might not even have a place to live.
At that moment, another tenant stepped out, a young black man with an afro who looked like he was down on his luck. Anyone with experience could tell he was a drug addict.
"Hi, Jessica," the man greeted, his voice tinged with nervousness.
But when he noticed Andy, standing sternly by Jessica's side, he stiffened in fear. "Hello, Mr. Andy," he mumbled, shrinking into himself.
Malcolm had once bought drugs from Andy but had been beaten up when he failed to pay. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance.
"Move along," Andy ordered curtly.
Malcolm quickly obeyed, hugging the wall as he hurried past them.
Jessica sighed. "Andy, I know you've made a name for yourself here, and it's not my place to judge. But I hope you can go easy on Malcolm. He wasn't like this when he first came to New York."
Andy shook his head, his voice cold. "People like him are beyond saving."
With that, he entered his apartment, leaving Jessica to shake her head in resignation as she returned to her own work.