The night after the third warehouse burned, Alexander Reid awoke with an unfamiliar sense of finality. His body still ached from the skirmish, the graze on his arm wrapped tightly beneath his shirt, but his mind was sharper than ever. He had struck three times—and he knew Fisk would not sit idle any longer. The faint glow of the city lights illuminated his penthouse bedroom as he stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like an invisible force.
[Task Completed: Disrupt Fisk's Operations.] [Reward Claimed: 600 Experience Points.]
[Level: 6] [Strength: 30] [Agility: 28] [Intelligence: 15] [Endurance: 25] [Stat Points Available: 5]
The notification had come in the night, but Alexander had not celebrated. This was only the beginning. He knew that power gained would be met with consequences. He sat up slowly, flexing his fingers. He could feel the strength within him, growing like a beast waiting to be unleashed. He allocated his stat points with precision: three to Strength, two to Agility.
[Strength: 33] [Agility: 30] [Intelligence: 15] [Endurance: 25]
The surge was immediate. His muscles tightened, his senses sharpened, and his reflexes felt more finely tuned. Yet, power was not a shield against Fisk's reach. He knew his actions had sent ripples through the underworld—but ripples were often met with waves.
By midday, those waves began.
News of the destroyed warehouses spread beyond hushed whispers; it hit the news cycle, disguised as gang violence. Buildings burned, casualties were suspected, but no arrests had been made. But the criminals of Hell's Kitchen knew better. The underbelly of New York buzzed with fear and anger. "The Kingpin is moving," was the phrase muttered in alleys and bars.
Alexander heard it himself that afternoon. He had returned to The Rusted Nail to observe. The bar was as dim and grimy as ever, but the tension was different. Men sat in tight groups, speaking in low voices, eyes shifting nervously to every newcomer. Marcus "Rat" Delgado was there, paler than before, his nervous ticks more pronounced. He whispered to another contact, voice trembling.
"Fisk put a bounty out. Fifty grand. For the guy who did it."
Alexander leaned back into the shadows of his booth, absorbing the information. Fifty thousand dollars meant the Kingpin was serious. Every low-level thug, desperate dealer, and seasoned killer in the city would be hunting him now.
That night, Alexander fortified his penthouse. Reinforced locks. Hidden weapons tucked into walls and drawers. Escape routes planned through neighboring rooftops. He welcomed the challenge but had no intention of dying because of arrogance. He tested his windows, ensuring they could withstand a forced entry. He rehearsed his exit strategies like a ritual, every motion becoming muscle memory.
The next day, the first assassin came.
Alexander returned from training with Marcus when he sensed it—a presence lurking near his building's entrance. A man in a leather jacket, sunglasses despite the overcast sky, with a bulge beneath his coat. He wasn't a common thug. He was a professional—the kind of killer who didn't hesitate to pull a trigger.
Alexander led him into an alley. He turned a corner, feigning distraction, then slowed his pace. The man followed. Alexander heard the faint click of a safety being disengaged.
The fight was brutal. The assassin drew a knife, fast and efficient. Alexander dodged, his agility allowing him to weave through the deadly arcs. His counterattacks were precise—a strike to the ribs, an elbow to the temple. The man fought with desperation, his blade slashing wildly, but Alexander's power overwhelmed him. A final blow to the jaw sent the assassin sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
Alexander knelt beside him, his breathing heavy but controlled. He searched the man, finding confirmation: a note with his address, his description, and the bounty amount.
This was the beginning.
As Alexander stood over his defeated foe, the weight of his actions settled fully upon him. He had earned the Kingpin's attention. The war had begun. The underworld had noticed him, and now they would come for him. One by one. Day after day.
But he was ready.
He glanced up at the sky, the clouds shifting above the city like an omen. His fists tightened.
Let them come.
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