10: Chapter 10 Hospitality in Hell's Kitchen

New York, Hells Kitchen.

The heavy rain poured down, washing over the tin roof of the abandoned meat processing warehouse, creating a dense, muffled sound.

The interior of the warehouse was filled with the pungent smell of rust mixed with fresh blood.

A male corpse with a gunshot wound in the chest lay in a puddle of sewage, and the rainwater falling through the leaky roof splashed against the body, creating dark red spray.

Five burly men wearing leather jackets and covered in tattoos stood around the corpse.

One bald man was tucking a smoking M1911 pistol into his waistband while bending down to pull a heavy kraft paper bag from the dead man's arms.

"This idiot actually wanted to keep this batch of payment behind the Boss's back."

The bald man weighed the paper bag, turned to his companion, and grinned viciously, "Cut him up and throw him into the sewer to feed the rats."

"Creak—"

The rusty iron door of the warehouse was suddenly pushed open.

The dull sound of friction interrupted the bald man's laughter.

The five gang members turned their heads simultaneously.

Lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating the silhouette standing at the doorway.

It was a man wearing a heavy military coat and a hood.

He walked into the warehouse step by step, hands in his pockets, stepping through the accumulated water.

"Get out, hobo!"

A gang member closest to the door drew a dagger, strode forward, and raised his hand to push Lynn's shoulder, "This isn't a place for you..."

"Snap!"

The gangster's words were cut short, his voice stopping abruptly.

Lynn's left hand, which had been in his pocket, lunged out suddenly, moving so fast that it left a trail of afterimage in the air.

He grabbed the wrist reaching toward him and pressed down and twisted it in one fluid motion.

A teeth-grinding sound of bone breaking rang out.

The gangster's right forearm bent outward at an eerie right angle, and the stark white ulna pierced through the skin.

"Ah—!"

Before the scream could even leave his throat, Lynn's right foot had already sprung out like a heavy hammer, striking precisely on the opponent's right knee.

"Bang!"

The knee joint shattered instantly, and the entire right leg bent backward.

Lynn let go, and the gangster collapsed to the ground like a pile of mud. The intense pain left him unable to even scream; he could only clutch his broken hand and convulse wildly in the sewage.

The entire process took less than a second.

The remaining four gang members froze for a moment before snapping back to reality.

"Fire! Kill him!"

The bald man roared and drew the pistol from his waistband.

The other three also pulled out their weapons.

A flash of violence flickered in Lynn's dark pupils beneath the hood.

The Bloodtrix was in its cooldown period; he could not transform right now.

But thanks to the nourishment from the previous few blood rage evolutions, his bone density, muscle fibers, and nerve reflex speed had long been enhanced to the absolute limit of carbon-based humans.

Even purer than that Captain America who was frozen at the bottom of the sea.

The moment the bald man raised his gun, Lynn's body moved.

He exerted force with his legs, and the concrete floor beneath his feet was visibly cracked.

He kept his body low to the ground and lunged into the crowd like a cheetah.

"Bang bang bang!"

Bullets grazed Lynn's afterimage and struck the wall, sending up a shower of debris.

Lynn closed the distance and slammed into the chest of an armed gangster.

Exerting force from his shoulder, he delivered a solid Iron Mountain Lean into the opponent's chest.

"Crack!"

The man's sternum instantly caved in over a large area, and several broken ribs pierced directly into his lungs.

He spat out a mouthful of blood and flew backward five or six meters, crashing into an abandoned iron rack.

But it wasn't over yet.

Lynn turned around, and his left hand precisely clamped onto the wrist of the third gangster holding a gun.

His five fingers tightened suddenly.

"Snap!"

The opponent's wrist was crushed, and the pistol dropped.

Lynn bent his right arm and delivered a sharp elbow strike to the opponent's chin.

The jawbone shattered, and the man passed out instantly.

Then Lynn raised his foot and crushed his knees.

"Monster... go to hell!"

The last armed gangster was terrified and closed his eyes, frantically pulling the trigger.

Lynn didn't dodge or evade; he swayed his body and grabbed the scorching hot gun barrel with one hand.

In the opponent's terrified gaze, Lynn relied on pure physical grip strength to crush the steel gun barrel flat!

"This is impossible..."

"Your bones are much more brittle than the gun barrel."

Lynn's tone was cold.

He grabbed both of the opponent's shoulders with his hands, exerted force from his waist, and pulled outward violently.

"Creak!"

The shoulder joints of both arms were forcibly dislocated.

Then, Lynn delivered a low sweep kick that shattered the opponent's ankles.

In just five seconds.

Five armed gangsters, four of them with all four limbs crippled, lay on the ground, turned into useless people with no ability to resist.

Only heavy breathing and the sound of rain outside remained in the warehouse.

"Don't... don't come over..."

The bald boss was trembling all over, the gun in his hand already dropped on the ground.

He looked at Lynn, who was approaching step by step, as if looking at an evil ghost crawling out of hell.

He is just a human! How could he have such terrifying speed and strength?!

Lynn walked up to the bald man and kicked the pistol on the ground away.

"I'm hungry."

Lynn looked down at him, "I need money. A lot of money. And I need some... special genes."

"Money... the money is all here!"

The bald man scrambled to push the blood-stained kraft paper bag to Lynn's feet, "There's two hundred thousand U.S. dollars inside! It's all yours! Please let me go..."

Lynn picked up the paper bag and glanced at the bundles of cash inside.

This little bit of money was enough for a few full meals and some clothes.

But for him and the Bloodtrix, it was far from enough.

"I'm looking for people with special abilities."

Lynn stepped on the bald man's right hand, "Mutants, monsters, super-powered people... where can I find them?"

The bald man was sweating profusely, stammering and not daring to speak.

Lynn remained expressionless, applying slight pressure with his foot.

"Crack, crack, crack..."

The bald man's finger bones began to shatter.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!!"

The bald man's face twisted in pain, and he screamed hysterically, "The underground fighting arena! The black market fight club under Fisk Tower! There are many monsters and mutants there who have been injected with serums! They fight underground matches there!"

"Fisk Tower?"

Lynn narrowed his eyes slightly.

Wilson Fisk. Kingpin.

The famous king of the New York underworld in the Marvel Universe.

"Yes... yes, it's Kingpin's place. There's a turnover of tens of millions every night... and those mutant monsters you're looking for are there too..."

The bald man wailed while begging for mercy, "I've told you everything, can you let me go now?"

"Did I ever say I would let you go?"

Lynn released his foot.

Before the bald man could breathe a sigh of relief, Lynn's right leg had turned into an afterimage, lashing out fiercely at the bald man's side of the face and collarbone.

"Bang!"

The cervical spine snapped, and the collarbone shattered.

The bald man rolled his eyes and collapsed to the ground like a broken sack. Although he wasn't dead, he would spend the rest of his life as a vegetable in a wheelchair.

Lynn picked up the kraft paper bag, ignored the limbless gangsters groaning in pain on the ground, and turned to walk into the rainy night.

He had no pity for this kind of bottom-feeding scum.

He didn't kill them simply because he couldn't be bothered to dirty his hands.

He had already experienced the hospitality of Hells Kitchen.

Now, it was his turn to pay a visit to the true Master of this city.

Lynn looked up into the depths of the rain curtain.

The towering Fisk Tower, symbolizing the power of the underworld, loomed in the flashes of lightning.

"Underground fighting, mutant genes, and tens of millions in U.S. dollars in turnover..."

Lynn touched the still-cooling Bloodtrix on his wrist, and a cruel sneer curled up at the corner of his mouth.

"Let's start this feast in New York with you, Kingpin."