Hell's Kitchen had become an arena for all kinds of factions to battle it out.
On the surface, the streets were flooded with police cars, racing in and out with sirens blaring.
If you dared to walk the streets at night, you could bet there was a police car lurking in some shadowy corner, ready to strike.
In a short time, Hell's Kitchen's law and order had surpassed even the wealthy Upper East Side, becoming a model neighborhood for New York City's security.
The residents here had never seen anything like this before, and some even found themselves secretly grateful to the Punisher.
Behind the scenes, gangsters' hired gunmen and assassins hid in every corner.
They stayed awake all night, waiting to capture the criminals on the wanted list, hoping to gain fame and huge bounties in one strike.
Even agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. had moved in.
But they used high-tech methods — special bird-like drones were scattered across Hell's Kitchen's streets, silently waiting for their prey to appear.
In the dead of night, Coulson suddenly jolted awake from a nap, staring at the crowded surveillance screens.
"Any sign of him?" he asked.
"No. He hasn't shown up," came the reply.
"And Daredevil? Still on the rooftops keeping watch?"
The tech specialist switched to a new angle. Right in the center of the screen, Daredevil sat quietly at the edge of a skyscraper rooftop like a calm old monk.
That spot was the highest point in Hell's Kitchen, allowing a quick view of any movement across the entire area.
Coulson sighed deeply. He had tried to talk to Daredevil many times, but no matter what he tried, as soon as he came within fifty meters, the man would immediately leave.
He never gave him a chance to speak.
"Sir, Devil Face hasn't appeared for three days. Do you think he… has left Hell's Kitchen?"
Coulson hesitated. "It's possible. Let's wait a little longer. If he keeps disappearing, then this mission might have to end here."
The man everyone was hunting — Cohen — was not at Emma's Church at this moment.
He had secretly slipped into an upscale neighborhood in Brooklyn.
This was the home of Carson Wolfe, a senior agent with Homeland Security.
Cohen approached the front door of the villa, pulled out a key, and quietly unlocked it.
David had been surveilling Wolfe for over a month, even hacking into his home security cameras.
The footage showed multiple close-ups of Wolfe's keys, which David compared and replicated successfully.
Carson Wolfe, deep asleep, suddenly felt a chill.
Groggy, he opened his eyes and saw a figure standing by his bed under the cold moonlight!
"Who's there?!"
Before he could react, a fist crashed into his face — and then everything went black.
Outside the city, in an abandoned construction site.
Wolfe was dragged awake by a splash of ice-cold water.
Immediately, he realized his hands were bound and suspended, his shoes and socks taken off, standing barefoot on a cold steel plate.
He struggled violently.
"Enough struggling," said the young Asian man in front of him, smiling calmly.
Beside him, a man wearing a puppet mask carried a brazier and crouched before Wolfe.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Wolfe demanded.
The man in the puppet mask placed the brazier beneath the steel plate, his voice low and chilling.
"Agent Wolfe, do you like teppanyaki?"
"I bet after today, you won't."
Feeling the steel plate gradually heating up beneath him, a wave of fear surged in Wolfe's heart.
"Who exactly are you?"
The masked man met his gaze. "If I told you I'm a soldier, would you be afraid?"
Wolfe gritted his teeth. "You're no soldier. You don't have the spirit of the American military!"
"Heh, what spirit?"
"Being hollowed out, stuffed with heroin, shipped to America, and helping you all make a fortune—is that the spirit you mean?"
Wolfe's face instantly drained of color.
The masked man chuckled darkly. "See? You know I'm right."
"I can pay you. One million, no—ten million. Just let me go, I'll pay you..."
The steel plate hissed as the lingering water began to evaporate.
Wolfe lifted his feet off the hot surface, holding a strained position.
The masked man shook his head. "Today isn't about money. It's about revenge."
Looking at the slightly hunched figure, a flash of recognition struck Wolfe's mind.
"You're… impossible. You're dead!"
David pulled off the puppet mask, his face twisted with hatred.
"If I'm dead, how come I'm standing here?"
Wolfe stared in disbelief. "That can't be. I shot you straight in the heart!"
David didn't answer. Instead, he roared fiercely.
"Today, I'm not only avenging myself but also all the soldiers you desecrated, all those you betrayed, deceived, and killed!"
"You will die today!"
Wolfe's strength gave out as his feet touched the glowing hot steel plate.
A terrible scream echoed through the construction site.
Pain surged adrenaline through his veins, and he lifted his feet again.
But eventually, he couldn't hold on any longer.
"I was wrong, I'm sorry. Please, spare me. I'll give you all my money. Just let me go..."
But no matter how much he pleaded, Cohen and David turned their backs and walked away without a word.
"I've actually got my eye on his money."
David shrugged. "Who said I can't get the cash without him?"
"What?"
Cohen blinked in surprise. "You mean you can hack straight into the bank?"
"Of course not."
"But you think I only copied his key by controlling his home cameras?"
"One time, when he logged into his account, I caught a reflection of his username and password on the glass behind him."
"Damn, nice work! How much?"
"Sixteen million. He has three secret accounts. Unfortunately, I only got access to one during surveillance."
"Wish we'd killed him a bit later then."
David shot him a look full of mock resentment.
The two sat inside an old pickup truck, the screams echoing faintly in the distance.
After about half an hour, Cohen checked his watch. "The poison should be kicking in now."
Not long after, the system beeped a notification: Bronze-level mission progress: 1/3.
The way back was tricky. They had to avoid all the factions, so under David's guidance, they took a long detour.
From afar, Cohen spotted Daredevil's silhouette and spat in disdain.
"Damn bastard… I really want to shoot him in the back!"
David kept fiddling with his phone, which was connected to the church's devices for remote control.
"Hey, good news—I found evidence of those two dirty cops' crimes."
"Also," he added, "I stumbled on some info about their boss, that guy named Wilson."
"Wilson? What's he up to?"
"He's been acting fancy lately, always hanging around an art gallery."
"An art gallery? What's it called?"
"Vanessa."
"Hey, has the big bald guy finally found true love?"
"What?" David gave him a puzzled look
"Keep an eye on that gallery for me."
"Why?"
Cohen chuckled. "Just came into a lot of money—I want to support the arts a bit."
"Who knows, maybe I'll even win a beauty there!"
.
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