The city had turned against him, but Alexander Reid thrived in the pressure. Each passing day, his enemies grew bolder, yet his resolve only hardened. Fisk's bounty had turned every alley and rooftop into a potential ambush, but Alexander had adapted. He moved like a ghost, his instincts sharper, his reactions quicker. He was no longer simply surviving; he was hunting.
The sniper's failed assassination attempt had made one thing clear: Fisk was escalating. Alexander could feel the weight of the bounty increasing, the way eyes lingered on him just a little too long, the murmurs in the streets whenever he passed. He had become more than just a target; he was a challenge. And he intended to win.
After dispatching the sniper, Alexander spent the following days tracking the source of his hunters. Each assassin had been a pawn, but they all led back to the same place—a safehouse nestled in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, one of Fisk's information hubs. It was unassuming from the outside, a worn brick building with boarded windows and graffiti-stained walls. But the activity around it was anything but ordinary.
He watched from the shadows, observing shifts, noting the patterns of those coming and going. Cars with tinted windows made brief stops. Men with hardened expressions entered and left at irregular intervals. This was not a warehouse or a stash house. This was a nerve center, a place where Fisk's men coordinated surveillance and bounty hunters. Taking it down would send a clear message.
Under the cover of night, Alexander struck.
The first guard never saw him coming. A swift chokehold, and he was out. Alexander dragged him into an alley, ensuring no sound escaped. The man's body slumped silently onto the concrete, and Alexander pressed two fingers to his neck—still alive. He was brutal, but he was not needlessly lethal.
He moved with practiced precision, each step calculated. His senses heightened by his growing strength and agility, he slipped through the shadows like a wraith. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing controlled. This was his element.
Inside the building, three more men worked around a table cluttered with photographs, maps, and names—his name at the top of the list. The bounty had increased again. Seventy-five thousand dollars. Fisk was growing desperate. The faces of other targets were scattered across the table, but Alexander's photo had been circled in red ink.
Alexander didn't hesitate. He burst through the door like a storm, the splintering wood masking the sound of his footsteps. The first man reached for a gun, but Alexander was faster, disarming him with a swift strike to his wrist and driving an elbow into his temple. The guard's body collapsed against the table, sending papers flying.
The second lunged with a knife, his eyes wide with adrenaline. Alexander sidestepped, his enhanced agility making the attack seem slow. He grabbed the man's arm, twisting it behind his back before sweeping his legs. The guard hit the ground face-first, the knife skidding across the floor.
The third tried to flee, his fear overpowering his loyalty. Alexander caught him by the collar before he reached the door. With a powerful shove, he slammed the man onto the table, scattering documents and cracking the wood beneath his weight. The man groaned, his struggle futile under Alexander's grip.
The fight was over in seconds. The room was silent save for the heavy breathing of the incapacitated men. Alexander stood over them like a predator surveying his conquest. His eyes flicked to the documents. He gathered the papers, memorizing every detail—names, locations, shipment routes. Each piece was another weapon against Fisk.
But he needed more than information. He needed to send a message.
Before he vanished into the night, he left a message scrawled across the wall in black marker:
"I AM COMING."
The letters were bold, deliberate. A declaration of war.
When Fisk's men found the scene, they would know—the hunter was no longer running. He was advancing. This was not a man hiding from a bounty; this was a predator marking his territory.
Alexander stepped back into the shadows, his heart steady, his mind clear. The city belonged to the shadows. And Alexander Reid was their master.
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