Chapter 3: Adding Money!

"What a reckless madman! But I like opponents like you. Jin Bing offered me twenty million to take you out!" 

The opulent venue glimmered with silver light, illuminating the entire hall. Jin Bing sat at the center of a round table, savoring the beef before him. To his side, a man with a conspicuous bullseye scar on his forehead wore a sinister, almost manic grin. Jin Bing shook his head, indicating that he had no need for such violence. As a decent citizen, he wouldn't engage in murder without cause; self-defense was the only justification he recognized.

"I already have a plan; I don't need you meddling. You still haven't learned your lesson from the last time. That idiot called Daredevil—are you really waiting to celebrate a birthday with him? Don't let me see you fail again!"

"That was an accident! That damn bastard, I will definitely kill him—I swear I will!"

Lester, known as Bullseye, was a long-established assassin with considerable fame in North America. His notoriety stemmed from his cruelty, ferocity, and an unpredictable madness. After being recruited by Jin Bing as a henchman, he had been helping Jin Bing deal with troublesome individuals and protect valuable assets.

Bullseye shouted at Jin Bing, trying to justify himself. Even though Jin Bing was his boss, Bullseye viewed authority as something to be challenged at any moment. For him, the boss was merely a target to eliminate if displeased, a representation of the vice of indulgence in life balanced precariously between pleasure and death.

"Here he comes!"

Jin Bing paid little attention to the madman. Understanding how to manage Bullseye, he knew that sometimes it was best to ignore him. The door opened, and a masked Asian man stepped inside. Jin Bing smiled and gestured to his subordinate beside him.

"Two million is here. Help me solve this problem. Ideally, don't kill him; just break one of his hands."

A black briefcase was presented and placed before Peter. Bullseye looked on, puzzled, and somewhat dissatisfied with Jin Bing's decision to outsource this task.

"Who is he?!"

"K."

"K?!"

It was a rather uninspired codename; Peter had encountered at least ten individuals with that alias in the past year. The number thirteen, deemed unlucky, derives from Norse mythology and is corroborated in the Christian narrative of Jesus, where the Last Supper included thirteen participants. While many might feel the name "K" or the number thirteen is cool, it's ultimately meaningless—death knows no favorites.

"Need to see the hands?"

Two million could not only temporarily resolve little Ed's heart condition but could also address the issues of other children in the orphanage. It could even fund renovations, purchase better beds and linens, and improve their meals. Just thinking about it felt good. His mindset had recently shifted; though dirty money could not earn him skill points, it could improve the material lives of himself and those around him. He realized he needed to operate in both the light and dark, as that was the only way to help more people or change their fates.

Peter wasn't naïve enough to think he was a superhero clad in a red costume. With great power came great responsibility; he was merely a man, distinguished by his ordinary life while others lived theirs based on survival.

"Oh… Forget that. I don't want to imagine the miserable state of my target."

Bang…

After inquiring, Peter lifted the case and started to leave. As he turned, he felt the fabric of his shoulder get torn, a toothpick rolling at his feet. He looked back at Bullseye, then at the smiling Jin Bing. This felt like a test. Bullseye continued to provoke him, standing up with his hands in his pockets, proudly declaring, "Kid, I've heard of you. You seem pretty formidable!"

"You should consider yourself lucky that no one has put a bounty on your head!"

"You can always try."

Intimidation was the least effective approach with a madman like Bullseye. After another glance at Jin Bing—after all, one must consider the master behind the dog—Peter decided to restrain his actions. Jin Bing's expression suggested that Peter need not worry about restraint. Given that, he grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it at Bullseye.

Two specially designed playing cards flew from Bullseye's pocket, slicing through the chair with razor-sharp precision. The assassin quickly closed the distance, his eyes wide in disbelief as Peter's speed surpassed his expectations. Anyone who knew Bullseye's name was aware of his strength and accuracy; no one would dare approach him so boldly, as it would only hasten their demise.

Taking a step back, Bullseye drew more of his unique cards. But before he could launch them, Peter flung the remnants of the chair at Bullseye with the force of a cannon, catching him off guard. 

In that instant, Bullseye's mind went blank. While he was still processing Peter's speed, Peter was already upon him, seizing Bullseye by the throat without restricting his airflow. With a powerful toss, he hurled Bullseye to the side, then reached for a knife and fork from the table, turning his gaze back to Jin Bing, who maintained a consistent smile.

"I want both of his hands!"

"Increase the payment!"

"How much?"

"Ten million!"

"Too much. The most I can offer is an extra million!"

"Deal!"

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In the Hell's Kitchen area, heading northwest, lay a private shipping dock. This location accounted for nearly 40% of smuggling and 50% of drugs flowing through New York, as well as over 30% of human trafficking. It could be considered one of Jin Bing's vaults, raking in money on a daily basis. However, things had not been going smoothly lately; over three docks had been destroyed, four warehouses set ablaze. A man wearing a skull-print shirt wielded two submachine guns, systematically advancing from east to west without respite.

Lighting a cigarette, he stepped out of the shadows, the Punisher fully armed, eyeing his target. He had been harassing Jin Bing for four days, yet Jin Bing refused to engage. The man had killed his love; that gang of bastards had opened fire in the restaurant where he and his wife dined, resulting in the deaths of his wife and children. The searing pain of loss transformed Frank Castle from a gentleman into a vengeful demon. 

"Today, I will destroy everything here!"

Bang…

As he stepped onto the street, a bullet landed precisely at his feet. Looking down at the bullet crater barely inches away, he followed the trajectory and spotted a man, seemingly frail, yet the faint light revealed a well-defined muscular outline. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled smoke from his nostrils, swiftly drawing his twin guns. The assailant calmly turned, ducking into an alleyway just as the Punisher pulled the trigger.

"Jin Bing's goons, prepare to die!"

Rat-a-tat-tat…

The powerful gunfire pierced the walls, but instead of a familiar bloody scene, the Punisher found his target missing. Acting quickly, he charged forward, his mind alert to the impending danger. He executed a roll on the ground just as a bullet grazed his head, the shooter perched atop a three-meter-high railing. The machine gun aimed again, but the attacker leapt backward into the cover of a warehouse.

Despite being at the peak of human ability, the Punisher was still just a man. Unable to leap over the three-meter wall, he opted to take a careful detour, remaining vigilant against potential attacks from the earlier assailant. Suddenly, a hand emerged from the shadows of the corner, and as the Punisher raised his firearm to fire, he was shot in the arm, bullets ricocheting off the walls around him.

Abandoning the machine gun, he prepared for hand-to-hand combat. The attacker aimed a high kick at him, and the Punisher, intending to counter with a wrestling move, found that his hands met the opponent's leg, sending him flying backward as if struck by a heavy truck.

"Hello! Saint Sica Hospital? This is Calzado Dock. There's been an injury at Dock Three; it appears two hands were severed by some sharp object, and there's excessive bleeding. Please hurry… yes, Dock Three."

The sound of bones shattering resonated in his ears as the Punisher tumbled through the air. Peter, who had entered the scene, swiftly approached him, applying pressure to staunch the bleeding. He worked quickly to wrap the wounds, ensuring at least that the Punisher wouldn't bleed out in the next half hour. Then, he placed the severed hands into the briefcase, maintaining his professional demeanor as a killer; these were things that needed to be shown to his employer.

Pulling out his phone, Peter took pictures of the Punisher lying there, then set the briefcase down and prepared to leave. A red laser crossed his face, illuminating his features—a figure clad in red hair and a tight black suit, exuding an aura of professionalism. If he remembered correctly, this was the Black Widow, Scarlett Johansson's character, whose name was far more renowned in the previous world.

"Hey, handsome, take off the mask. Let's take it slow…"

Armed with a submachine gun, the Black Widow sternly ordered Peter to comply. Placing the briefcase down, Peter observed that she made no further moves. A bullet struck the ground just before him, a clear warning—likely the final warning. If he didn't comply, the next bullet would not be so casually fired.

With sudden agility, Peter propelled himself forward just as she pulled the trigger. His swift sidestep allowed him to evade the shot, and despite the short distance of only ten meters, the Black Widow's reaction time was evidently slower than Peter's. The bullets followed Peter, ricocheting off the trash can as he pulled a handgun from the bin, aiming not at her but rather at the Punisher lying between them.

"K! Get out of here before I see you again!"

The Black Widow dropped her machine gun to the ground, and her actions seemed to indicate Peter had won this round. As he rose from behind the trash can, gun still trained on the Punisher, he moved toward the briefcase, prepared to retreat cautiously while remaining vigilant against any other potential threats lurking in the shadows. Once he disappeared into the darkness, he finally exhaled, bolting away at full speed.