chapter 2

Link wasn't afraid of the chaos in Hell's Kitchen because he was strong enough. As a transmigrator, he had his own advantage—a Superman physique.

Just a year ago, the original Link had graduated from the police academy. He had gone out with his classmates to celebrate, but after drinking too much, he collapsed on the roadside on his way home. That night, another soul, also named Link, took over his body, consuming the original soul. From that moment on, Link was a different person.

When he finally regained consciousness, he relied on the original owner's memories to return home. His residence was a three-story townhouse built in the 1950s, with one apartment per floor. Link lived alone. The original owner's parents had died in a car accident a year ago, leaving behind the house and a considerable amount of savings, supplemented by a large insurance payout.

Adapting to his new identity quickly, Link soon discovered through the news that this world contained Stark Industries and Tony Stark himself. This revelation unsettled him. Tony Stark was a central figure in the Marvel Universe, a beacon in its high-profile, superhero-driven world. Link panicked, unable to sleep as he tossed and turned, contemplating what this meant for him. Eventually, he dozed off just before dawn.

When he awoke, the warm sunlight streaming into his bedroom enveloped him in a soothing embrace. He lay there for a while, enjoying the sensation. Soon, he noticed something peculiar—his body was undergoing a transformation. He felt stronger, more energized, and his senses sharpened. There was no system guiding him; he had to explore his newfound powers on his own.

In the days that followed, Link diligently completed his police internship while ensuring he absorbed as much sunlight as possible. Whether on patrol or resting at home, he maximized his sun exposure. Gradually, abilities such as X-ray vision and super hearing emerged, confirming his suspicions: he possessed Superman's physique.

Given this, he wasn't worried about venturing into Hell's Kitchen. Instead, it was the criminals who should be concerned.

Link had no intention of becoming a superhero. He wasn't one to seek out trouble unnecessarily. His plan was simple—find an opportunity to acquire an Infinity Stone and let the powerful entities of this world fight among themselves.

Upon arriving at the West Midtown Precinct, he checked in and was unexpectedly assigned to a solo patrol. This meant that as a newly promoted officer, he would be patrolling alone in a police car.

New York police salaries weren't particularly high. As a college graduate, Link's starting salary was just over $50,000 annually—a modest amount considering New York's high cost of living. Overtime pay was substantial, but that didn't make up for the job's inherent risks. Being a police officer in a city where firearms were commonplace meant constant exposure to danger.

The job was grueling, with twelve-hour shifts being the norm. The relentless pressure deterred many from joining the force, leading to perpetual understaffing. The situation was even worse in the West Midtown Precinct, which covered the infamous Hell's Kitchen. Officers frequently patrolled alone due to manpower shortages.

Rumors suggested that Link had offended a local prosecutor, which was why he had been assigned to patrol solo. Prosecutors played a crucial role in the justice system, reviewing police cases and deciding whether to proceed with charges. Offending one wasn't ideal, but Link didn't care.

He was issued a Glock 19 as his service weapon and purchased a Glock 26 as a backup, which he carried on his ankle while on duty.

The first few days of his day shifts were uneventful. The real test came when he was assigned to night shifts.

At precisely 8:00 PM, Link drove out of the precinct in his patrol car, heading toward his designated route. Hell's Kitchen at night was a dangerous place, with the occasional sound of distant gunfire echoing through the streets.

As he slowly cruised down the road, listening to the radio chatter, he scanned the surroundings. The streets were mostly deserted, except for a few parked vehicles. However, his enhanced vision allowed him to spot individuals lurking in the shadows. Judging by their attire and demeanor, they were street thugs.

Upon seeing a police car, they instinctively retreated into the darkness, only to reemerge once he had passed. It was a game of cat and mouse.

Suddenly, a call came over the radio.

"Attention all units, a gunfight has broken out on XXX block. All available officers, respond immediately."

Without hesitation, Link picked up the microphone and confirmed he was en route. Turning on the siren and flashing lights, he accelerated toward the location.

As he neared the scene, the sound of gunfire intensified. His super hearing helped him assess the situation ahead. It was a battle between the Russian and Irish gangs, both vying for dominance in the escort industry. High-end clientele paid well but had specific demands—sometimes even peculiar ones.

Interestingly, the information about the conflict didn't come from the gangs themselves but from other officers patrolling nearby. Rather than intervening, these officers kept their distance, letting the criminals deal with each other. Their sirens and lights created an illusion of police presence, but they avoided direct confrontation.

Link instinctively considered slamming on the brakes, but instead, his foot pressed down harder on the accelerator. He wasn't one to back down.

He knew why he had been sent to Hell's Kitchen. His conflict with the local prosecutor had placed him in a difficult position. Prosecutors held immense power, controlling which cases proceeded to trial. In essence, they had the police in a stranglehold.

Link needed the job, but he didn't necessarily need to work hard. With his superpowers, money was never going to be a concern. A short trip to Las Vegas would make him a millionaire, but that would attract unwanted attention.

For now, he needed something to keep him occupied. Being a police officer, particularly in America, intrigued him. The job had its dangers, but it also had its moments of excitement. If he ever tired of it, he could simply resign. But for now, it was an interesting challenge.

As he approached the firefight, he floored the accelerator, and the police car roared forward.

In front of a restaurant, a group of gangsters were using vehicles as cover while exchanging gunfire with those inside. The establishment belonged to the Russian gang. Although the Irish gang had superior firepower, they were still just criminals, not trained soldiers. They had yet to breach the restaurant.

Link steered his car toward the Irish gang, then quickly pushed open the door and stepped out. Raising his Glock, he aimed forward.

"NYPD! Drop your weapons!" he commanded.