Noah approached the sulfuric acid, steeling himself for the painful task. Determined, he plunged his hands into the corrosive liquid, feeling his skin dry and blacken as the acid started to eat away at his fingerprint ridges and outer skin layers. His resolve didn't waver.
He knew his unique resilience would eventually heal the wounds, but he needed the disguise to hold up just long enough. Noah rubbed his hands to speed up the acid's effect, noticing with faint surprise how much his pain threshold had grown. What would once be unbearable agony was now only a distant sting.
After a few minutes, he withdrew his hands, the acid's work visible as fresh blood trickled from his palms. Moments after leaving the acid, the cuts and burns had already begun to close, his body's healing kicking in quickly. But he knew the next step wouldn't be as quick.
Taking a steadying breath, Noah plunged his head directly into the acid.
The sharp burn across his face was immediate and searing. But Noah remained focused, feeling the acid corrode and distort the surface of his skin, every nerve firing in protest. Minutes ticked by, but he stayed steady until he could finally feel the acid's effect lessening, his skin damaged enough to mask his identity. He pulled his head from the liquid, his face marred with scars and burns.
The healing began almost immediately, numbing the pain to a dull throb. Noah's body started repairing itself, but the scarred and altered texture of his skin remained—exactly what he needed. Taking a quick look at his reflection, he barely recognized the burned visage staring back at him.
Noah grabbed his cloak, slipped into the shadows, and headed toward Manhattan.
As he moved through the side streets of East Harlem, Noah's disfigured appearance turned more than a few heads. His burned face and determined stride sent bystanders scrambling, but he didn't care about their stares. He was on a mission.
Meanwhile, inside a dimly lit office in East Harlem, a man known as Uncle James was lounging in a leather chair, casually tossing a pair of walnuts between his hands. A young man, Juan, stood beside him, head bowed.
"Hey, Juan, I heard some street rats got jumped in the slums." Uncle James's voice was bored, but his eyes glinted with interest.
"Yes, Uncle James. The police say it was some kind of disfigured guy. They think it might be mutant-related revenge," Juan answered deferentially.
Uncle James chuckled. "New York's crawling with big fish. Gotta be careful where we tread—some folks take offense at our methods," he smirked.
Juan hesitated, then ventured, "Uncle, do you think Noah will give up the 30 million?"
"Of course, he's a practical guy. He won't risk everything over a little money. We'll have him under our thumb forever," Uncle James declared with a smug grin.
Outside, Noah moved through the narrow alleyways until he arrived in the heart of East Harlem, his destination in sight. A police officer noticing his unsettling appearance approached cautiously.
"Hey! What's going on here?" The officer demanded, attempting to block his path.
Noah didn't waste words. In a single, swift motion, he incapacitated the officer, stepping over him without a second glance. Onlookers gasped, some backing away in fear. Noah strode forward with purpose until he stopped before the looming mahogany doors of Uncle James's mansion—a place he knew all too well from the past.
Without hesitation, Noah raised his foot and kicked the doors, sending them flying off their hinges. The heavy wooden panels cracked mid-air and crashed to the floor, splitting in half. The resounding boom shook the house, alerting everyone inside. Noah's figure stood framed in the doorway, casting an ominous shadow.
Two gangsters stationed at the entrance froze, wide-eyed. "W-who are you?" one stammered, reaching for his weapon.
In a blur, Noah was on them, gripping each of their necks like a vice. With a sharp twist, he heard the sickening snap of bones as both men slumped to the floor. He looked down at their unconscious forms and muttered, "Cleaning up the filth."
Noah stepped over the bodies and entered the grand foyer. Several more guards hurried to confront him, guns drawn. But before any of them could fire, Noah was already upon them, fists blazing. His hands crashed down on their heads like hammers, each blow a precision strike that left an indented handprint on their foreheads. They fell one by one, necks twisted, broken.
Amid the chaos, the door to the inner room burst open, and Juan stormed out, anger flaring. "What's going on? Who dares disturb Uncle—"
His words died on his lips as Noah's fist connected with his chest, sending him crashing into the opposite wall. Juan's shoulder split open, blood splattering across the room in an instant.
Inside, Uncle James sat in stunned silence, staring at the crimson stains now decorating his office walls. He looked at Noah, his mouth gaping as fear gripped him.
"Noah?" Uncle James choked out, struggling to piece together what was happening.
Noah took a step forward, his scarred face contorted into a grim smile. He had endured agony, risked his life, all for this moment. Uncle James's web of deceit and blackmail was about to end.
With a slow, deliberate move, Noah closed the door behind him, locking out the world. The muffled screams from inside were heard only by those unfortunate enough to be nearby, and then silence filled the mansion once more.
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Alright, so my potato PC just imploded. And I don't have mobile or anything like that. This is a scheduled chapter, and this is my message to you via my friend's phone. Don't worry, I'll figure something out. Being poor sucks.
So, this is my first time doing this. I hope you guys can help me improve by providing your feedback. Some stones would be nice. (づ ◕_◕ )づ