Smith's Tavern, Queens.
One of the most luxurious bars in all of New York City.
It wasn't just popular among young socialites, even high-ranking business elites would drop by to sip fine liquor and unwind after a long day.
The bar's reputation had grown steadily over the years, and every evening, the place filled up long before sunset.
In fact, many staff believed that if the owner ever agreed to franchise it, Smith's Tavern could expand nationwide with ease.
But that very popularity… had caught the attention of a certain criminal emperor.
Kingpin.
Tonight, in a dim corner of the bar, three round tables were occupied by more than a dozen men in identical black suits and dark sunglasses. At a glance, it was clear, these weren't ordinary customers.
Seated at the center of the group was a bald man in a leather jacket, with a distinctive, sinister mark tattooed on his forehead, a perfect bullseye.
His name was Lester, but to most of the underworld, he was known as Bullseye, a cold-blooded supervillain, and one of Kingpin's most ruthless enforcers.
Bullseye was born with an uncanny gift: perfect aim.
It didn't matter what he threw, coins, pencils, playing cards, even his own teeth, once it left his hand, it never missed.
He could turn anything into a lethal weapon.
On top of that, he was a master of hand-to-hand combat, a weapons expert, and a deadshot marksman.
In a twisted sense, he was like the dark mirror of Hawkeye, except without morals.
His past was colorful, to say the least: former mercenary, ex-professional baseball player, seasoned contract killer.
Now, he was Kingpin's loyal dog.
And tonight, he'd been dispatched to Smith's Tavern on a simple assignment:
Get familiar with the territory.
Because in just two days, this bar would belong to Kingpin.
At least, that was the plan.
After all, Kingpin had made a generous offer.
Even Bullseye and his crew didn't think the owner would refuse.
Still, Bullseye couldn't hide his irritation.
For someone like him, babysitting a turf transfer felt like a colossal waste of time.
Hell, there was a point in his career when he'd even been hired to kill Kingpin.
But after getting a better paycheck?
He switched sides.
That was just the kind of man Bullseye was.
Tonight's mission, scouting a bar, was beneath him.
But the money was good, so he put up with it.
"Tch… what a drag," he muttered, slamming back a drink. "Any lowlife could've done this."
His eyes drifted lazily toward the dance floor.
"Might as well find some fun while I'm here."
He wandered casually through the bar, scanning the crowd.
Eventually, his gaze landed on a stunning brunette.
Without hesitation, he strolled over to her, ready to charm.
But to his dismay, she wasn't alone, her date, a tall, blond, muscular man, stood by her side, practically oozing bravado.
The man looked Bullseye up and down with contempt.
Clearly, he wanted to show off for the woman.
With a mocking smirk, he shoved Bullseye aside.
"Fuck off, freak. Didn't you see the birthmark on your forehead?"
The girl laughed. "Nice one, William!"
William grinned, chest puffed out.
Scored big tonight.
But the grin didn't last.
He never saw the smile that crept across Bullseye's face, the kind that meant someone was about to die.
"Well, someone's feeling tough," Bullseye said darkly.
Then, in a blur of motion, he drew a knife and flicked his wrist.
The blade flashed through the air, and drove straight into William's palm.
"AAAAARGHH!!"
William let out a blood-curdling scream as he fell to one knee.
His hand was skewered.
Blood gushed from the wound.
Desperately, he tried to pull the knife free, but the pain was overwhelming.
Gasps and shouts erupted around them.
Several guests turned to see what had happened.
William's date stared in horror, frozen in place.
But before anyone could act,
The world shifted.
A blink.
A flash.
In an instant, the bald man and the injured William vanished.
A dark alley behind Smith's Tavern.
The once-empty alley suddenly filled with four figures.
William stumbled, still clutching his wounded hand.
Bullseye narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Even Skye was there, stunned, confused.
Carl's calm voice cut through the silence.
He glanced at William and said evenly, "Your hand's hurt. There's a hospital just a few blocks south."
"H-Huh? Oh… okay…"
William nodded, dazed.
He looked at his palm.
The blade was gone, but the injury remained.
Still, he didn't care how it happened.
He just wanted to get the hell away from the psychopath in the alley.
Casting one last terrified glance at Bullseye, William turned and bolted.
"Thank you, thank you both!" he shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared down the street.
In his mind, Carl and Skye were the good Samaritans who'd saved him.
Carl turned his attention to Bullseye.
The man now stood holding the very knife he had thrown, blood still clinging to the blade.
Carl's expression remained unreadable as he studied him.
The moment he'd entered his bar earlier, he'd heard the scream.
[Supervision] activated.
In less than a second, he found the source.
To avoid panic inside, he'd teleported everyone involved, Skye included, out of the bar.
After all, this was his turf.
No one caused a scene in Smith's Tavern.
And the bald man… looked familiar.
Isn't he one of Kingpin's lackeys?
What's he doing in my bar?
"Carl… what the hell just happened?" Skye finally spoke, her voice shaken.
Everything had moved so fast, one blink, and suddenly she was in a back alley with blood on the pavement.
Carl smiled gently.
"Well… I guess you could say I've awakened some powers."
"You know Superman, right? My abilities are kind of like his."
In this Marvel-based world, Superman only existed in comic books and movies.
But what Carl said… was true.
Skye's eyes widened.
"No way. Are you serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking? Didn't you feel it earlier?"
"You know… when the bed broke?"
"Huh? ...OH!!"
Realization struck like lightning.
Her cheeks flushed crimson.
Clearly, she understood what he meant by "feeling it."
Suddenly, two black blades flew through the air, one aimed at Carl, the other at Skye.
Whoosh!
Carl caught them without even looking.
His face darkened as he stared Bullseye down.
"You seriously just tried to attack us?"
"You trying to die?"
Bullseye was stunned.
Carl had caught his throwing knives… like it was nothing.
Those blades had taken down dozens of enemies.
What the hell was this guy?
"You're Carl Smith, huh?" Bullseye sneered, trying to play it cool. "You rich kids love to act tough."
"But don't mistake wealth for power."
"Guess Kingpin won't have to buy your bar anymore."
He knew a lot about Carl.
But none of that mattered now.
Bullseye reached into his coat for more blades, only to suddenly freeze.
Sharp pain.
He gasped, staring at his hands.
His own knives, and two throwing stars, were embedded in his palms.
The same weapons he had just thrown… were now stuck in him.
Blood trickled between his fingers.
His face contorted in agony.
Cold sweat poured down his back.
He clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.
Wide-eyed, he looked up at Carl in disbelief.
"You…"
But before he could say more, Carl was already in front of him.
"I told you," Carl said coldly. "You're the one looking for death."
His eyes glowed red.
Twin beams of pure energy shot out.
Zzzzzzzzt!!
Bullseye's right hand, vaporized in an instant.