Chapter 72: The Feast

The Assassin's League.

Smith Doyle stepped into Bulma's lab, only to find her still hard at work, hands never stopping.

"Smith, what's up?"

Smith scratched his nose, feeling a bit guilty—was he overworking a child genius? Still, he asked:

"How's the combat power detector coming along?"

"I want to test it out."

At his words, Bulma finally paused and looked up. On the workbench, one device was fully intact while the rest appeared to be dismantled materials—clearly components for a replica.

She put on the original detector and glanced at Smith.

"190. That's pretty high."

"Most people in this castle average around five or six. Only those three guys hit 8 when they're in their special state."

Smith knew he'd improved a bit lately—thanks to training. Those "three guys" probably referred to Mr. X and the Crossfather and son. The "special state" must've meant bullet time activation.

Bulma removed the scouter and casually tossed it to Smith. "I took it apart. The concept is pretty solid."

"I've got the blueprint in mind, but we're limited by materials and the need to keep it compact. The numbers probably won't go over 300."

Smith was impressed by her efficiency—no surprise for someone who would one day build a time machine from scratch.

"Cut the max output in half. 150 is good enough for a first-gen model."

"Also, make it tamper-proof. If anyone tries to break it open—it explodes."

Smith wasn't about to underestimate Earth's reverse-engineering capabilities. If they didn't add security, others would clone the tech in no time.

Bulma squinted playfully and grinned. "So you're thinking: release one, store one, research one?"

"That's exactly how our Capsule Corporation works."

Just then, someone knocked at the lab door. Fox stepped in, looking stunning in a sharp office-lady outfit.

"Boss," she reported, "our people stationed outside Midland Central Financial Tower say the Hand's leader left in an armored convoy—possibly heading toward the flour mill."

Smith's eyes lit up at her outfit—not because it was formal, but because this was the first time he'd seen Fox in such a uniform. With her curves, the buttons looked like they were about to pop.

"So all five Fingers are in motion? Interesting… I want to see what they're up to."

He waved to Bulma as he turned to leave. "Take care of things while I'm out. Thanks for your hard work."

Just before exiting, he stopped and turned to Fox. "That outfit—bulletproof too?"

Fox paused, kissed his cheek, and smiled. "Like it?"

Smith wrapped an arm around her waist and returned the kiss. "Wait for me at home. Once I'm done with the Hand bastards, we're celebrating—and you're wearing this."

Fox drew two Kimber .45 pistols from her hips and asked, "You're not taking me with you?"

Smith shook his head, eyeing her sleek uniform and armed pose. "Would be a shame if that outfit got dirty or torn."

"The Hand's taking a heavy hit, but that means we might face some heat too."

"Hold the fort. Expand surveillance. Who knows what those guys are planning next?"

Seeing he was serious, Fox didn't argue. She simply watched him go.

As night fell, Smith Doyle soared toward Hell's Kitchen.

---

Elsewhere…

Just after leaving the flour mill, John Wick was ambushed by the Hand. If not for his bulletproof suit, he'd be dead.

RAT-TAT-TAT!

Using a car for cover, John returned fire with his assault rifle.

But this wasn't a random hit squad. The Hand had sent in elite units—gunmen with high-grade weapons and deadly ninjas with blades.

Pinned down, John couldn't lift his head. The noose was tightening.

He tried to break out multiple times, but each attempt failed. His rifle finally clicked empty, and he switched to dual pistols. Still, he managed to take out three with well-placed shots.

But the ninjas were closing in. One was already near the car.

John took a deep breath, ready for a final stand—when a massive iron hammer came crashing down, sending the ninja flying.

BOOM!

The huge hammer spun through the air, smashing through the Hand's forces.

They reacted fast—gunfire erupting as others slashed at the hammer with short swords. Even faced with the bizarre weapon, they attacked without hesitation.

RAT-TAT-TAT!

Sparks flew as bullets hit the hammer. Deadpool — yes, Deadpool— shrugged off the shots and yelled:

"OW-OW-OW! That hurts, you know!"

John, hearing the voice, rolled out from under the car and rejoined the fight. Dual pistols blazing, he aimed low.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three soldiers dropped, clutching their legs. John moved in, finishing them with point-blank headshots.

CRACK! SPLAT!

Another soldier opened fire, but John reacted fast. He raised his jacket, shielded his head, rolled forward, yanked the enemy's rifle up, and popped three shots straight into his face.

Then he switched targets again, choking out a ninja and finishing him with a pistol round.

With Deadpool's brutal hammer strikes and John's precision, the tide turned. The Hand's elite started to fall.

Eventually, only three ninjas remained. John and Deadpool were about to finish them off—when several vehicles pulled into the area.

With a cold snort, Madam Gao raised a hand—and an invisible force slammed both John and Deadpool away, disrupting Deadpool's morphing powers and returning him to normal form.

—End of chapter—

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