Out of Place

"Stop screaming, wake up!"

Annoyed by the escalating noise, Heisenberg grabbed Barbara's wrist and shook her gently in midair.

Jolted by his interruption, Barbara finally snapped out of her terror.

The next instant, she glanced at their altitude and her eyes blurred…

"Am I… dead? I must be, right?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Uh…" Heisenberg was baffled.

"Why would you think that?"

"We're in space! I… I'm actually in space!" Barbara repeated incredulously, though her excitement was quickly cut short by Heisenberg.

"It's just 20,000 meters. Don't tell me you've never been this high. This isn't space!"

"I've been this high, but never like this—wearing a suit and sunbathing at 20,000 meters!" Barbara retorted, tugging Heisenberg's hand to pull herself into his arms.

She leaned in, pecking his jaw and cheek.

"I'm not holding back anymore. This is too romantic for any woman.

I'm flying! A man took me to the sky! I…!"

"Tell me where the nightclub is, or the man who brought you up here can just as easily throw you back down!" Heisenberg coldly interrupted.

Why do men generally dislike overly clever women, especially female agents?

Because you never know which words are genuine and which are lies.

So, faced with Barbara's ambiguous enthusiasm, Heisenberg remained calm.

Of course, it might also be because Barbara had transformed from a sporty hoodie Barbie into a…

In any case, Heisenberg wasn't impressed by Barbara's office-lady outfit.

Seeing no attraction in his expression, Barbara felt momentarily disappointed.

But she quickly pointed the way.

She glanced around, rolling her eyes.

"We're over 20,000 meters up, the clouds are ridiculously thick, and I can't even see New York clearly. How am I supposed to direct you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's all my fault for wanting to take you on a joyride, right?" Heisenberg muttered, pulling Barbara through the clouds.

He didn't fly as fast as before, giving her time to take in the view.

Just as Heisenberg predicted, Barbara reached out, trying to touch the wind and clouds.

"Every time I've been this high, I've been suited up like an astronaut. I love how carefree this feels!"

The warmth of the wind, the purity of the clouds, and Barbara's wild excitement blended perfectly.

Watching her scream like an excited puppy, Heisenberg smiled, then swiftly landed on New York's tallest building.

From here, they could see almost the entire city!

After Barbara steadied herself, Heisenberg pointed downward.

"Where's the nightclub you mentioned?"

"Uh, right there, there, and there," she gestured vaguely.

"Got it." Heisenberg nodded, scooped her up again, and flew off with a pat on her backside.

Forty seconds after they left, another figure in gold and red armor flew to the same spot.

The armor landed with a whoosh where Heisenberg had stood, and the visor lifted, revealing Tony Stark's annoyed face.

"Hitting on girls on my rooftop? Heisenberg, you alien, you've gone too far!"

Tony glared at the sky but couldn't spot Heisenberg.

He knew Heisenberg's speed was beyond anything Earth tech could match in the next twenty years.

Frustrated, Tony returned to his lab.

Sitting in his cluttered workspace, Tony felt irritated.

If only his armor's deployment time weren't so slow, he'd have blasted Heisenberg the moment he appeared.

The armor's deployment system seemed fine on normal days, but in critical moments, it was a huge delay.

Unacceptable!

He slammed the table, making a quick decision.

The Mark IV needed an overhaul. He'd design a faster deployment system.

And he'd develop a Mark V, prioritizing portability.

If he ever ran into Heisenberg on the street, he wouldn't be instantly outmatched!

But how portable could he make the armor with his current tech?

…

After three hours of calculations, Tony estimated he could shrink the armor to the size of a briefcase.

Weight? No more than thirty kilograms.

…

While Tony worked on his portable armor, Heisenberg had already arrived at his nightclub.

The Second Bazaar Nightclub was closer to Brooklyn, far from the Queens location Heisenberg had requested, but near Hell's Kitchen.

Heisenberg didn't dwell on Queens—he'd only mentioned it because of Spider-Man.

With a more suitable venue now, he didn't need to insist on Queens.

As Kingpin's top nightclub, the Second Bazaar occupied the top three floors of Brooklyn's most luxurious skyscraper.

Heisenberg didn't care about the building itself, only the nightclub.

He flew directly to the third floor—the skyscraper's rooftop.

Sure enough, the rooftop was lavish.

Kingpin had installed not just a helipad but also an ultra-modern swimming pool.

Heisenberg had seen many viral rooftop pools in his past life, and now they were his for the taking.

He walked past the pool and badminton court to the loft, forcing open the door to his future living quarters.

The loft villa was massive, about 800 square meters.

Heisenberg descended the spiral staircase to the top floor, his personal space for guests and workouts.

Game room, gym—everything he'd expected.

But the… adult room…

"Cough cough!"

Heisenberg cleared his throat, calmly leading Barbara past the room filled with ropes and "surprises."

"This house needs redecorating. Too much glass—not great for privacy!"

Heisenberg remarked, feigning nonchalance as they walked through the soundproof corridor and took the elevator to the nightclub.

As the elevator doors opened, he saw two men in the corridor.

The dark purple carpet and soft pink lighting made the burly men seem almost delicate.

The men approached respectfully as the doors opened.

"Bullseye called us. We're honored to work for you. I'm George Aldrich, and this is Billy Kahn. We're the nightclub's marketing assistants."

"Change the nightclub's name to 'The Academy,'" Heisenberg ordered coldly.

The assistants' minds instantly buzzed.

"The… Academy…?" Billy was clearly confused.

Heisenberg continued, "Is it hard to imagine? Organize an event themed 'Mars Exploration.' Replace all the girls' outfits with Mars designs. Is that difficult?"

"Uh…"

"Brilliant idea, sir!"

The assistants instantly turned sycophantic. Heisenberg brushed past them, heading backstage.

After he left, the assistants debated Mars-themed outfits.

"Mars designs for bras, but what about panties? The Mariana Trench?"

"Or the East African Rift Valley?"

…

Ignoring their dilemma, Heisenberg entered the nightclub's dressing room—or rather, the backstage area.

As the door opened, over forty women froze mid-action.

At least seven were caught mid-pant-pull…

"Uh…" Heisenberg felt like lighting a cigarette.

Is this a nightclub owner's life?

Does Kingpin live in this chaos daily?

Disgusting!

Heisenberg adjusted his expression, flashing a warm smile.

"Ladies, I'm your new boss. Call me Heisenberg."

"Woohoo!"

"The new boss is so handsome!"

"So buff, so strong!"

"Those pecs could crush my heart!"

"Need olive oil? I can help you rub it in!"

The women gushed endlessly, nearly making Heisenberg's heart flutter.

Control, control, control. His emotional management skills soared.

Moments later, he turned gentlemanly, gesturing for the women to finish dressing.

They giggled, quickly putting on their outfits.

The strippers took the longest, layering their clothes for a slower, more tantalizing reveal.

One bold woman even tried to cover Heisenberg's eyes from behind…

Cover your eyes, guess who I am by the size of my breasts pressed against your back…

Unfortunately, Barbara's presence—her beauty and dangerous aura—stopped the girl from acting.

Once the women were dressed, Heisenberg turned back, chatting warmly.

"I don't know Kingpin's rules, and I don't care.

Just follow my one rule: no buying or selling drugs in my club.

Otherwise, do as you please. Sleep with clients, do whatever you want.

As long as you don't use drugs or disrupt the club's vibe, you'll be America's freest midnight workers. Got it?"

"Yesss!"

"Long live Heisenberg!"

"Can I call you darling?"

"I love you, boss! Let me show you my skills!"

The women erupted in chaos.

They knew better than anyone that sleeping with excited clients was their biggest income source.

This nightclub attracted New York's middle class—not all rich, but well-off.

Heisenberg hadn't raised their salaries or discussed tips, but by allowing client interactions, they were confident their earnings would triple!

Amid their laughter, Heisenberg quietly left backstage, settling into a cozy booth.

Employees constantly approached, bowing or serving him drinks.

Yet he seemed detached, sitting there yet utterly out of place.