Chapter Fifty-Five: Is Kingpin Seeking Death?

Martha watched Michael anxiously, clearly worried for his safety.

Jack’s plump face bore a wound, his expression gloomy as he kept his head down—a clear sign he’d received a reprimand. Susie’s clothes were tidy, though she was tied up; there were no signs of violence, which suggested these people were professionals in their line of work.

After taking in their condition, Michael turned his gaze to the man in sunglasses. Tattoos snaked along his arms, and there were calluses on his hands from gripping a gun—clearly a seasoned hand, standing with military bearing. He might well be an ex-soldier.

That led to the question: what did these people want? Was it about stocks, or something more sinister?

Michael asked, “Who exactly are you?”

The leader in sunglasses looked at Michael with a hint of amusement, then replied arrogantly, “Kid, you don’t need to know who we are. Just know that you’ve offended someone you really shouldn’t have.”

Offended? Michael racked his brain but couldn’t recall having crossed anyone, though the way these people operated didn’t exactly scream legitimacy.

Michael frowned. “Are you gangsters? What did I do to offend you?”

“You bought our stocks, so now you’re going to hand them all over.”

The sunglasses-wearing man tossed a document to his companion and gestured for it to be given to Michael.

Michael glanced at the papers: a stock transfer agreement, including shares from both Osborn Enterprises and Stark Industries.

So these were the shadowy figures pulling the strings behind Osborn Enterprises, and now they had their eyes on his Stark Industries shares as well.

To be this brazen—to have enough influence to get things from the police, to silence even the king of stocks, and to act outside the law—there weren’t many people who fit that description.

“You work for Kingpin,” Michael said.

The man in sunglasses was unsurprised that Michael had guessed Kingpin’s involvement. After all, who hadn’t heard of Kingpin?

“Glad you know. Saves me the trouble of persuading you further. You’d best sign these papers quietly, or your friends here might not live to see another day.”

Michael smiled faintly.

Kingpin—such arrogance. Did he really think being the boss of the underworld made him untouchable?

Besides, did they take him for a fool? As if they’d let them go after he signed.

“So, between you and me, who do you think will die first?”

The sunglasses-wearing man snorted at Michael’s question. “Kid, don’t try to play games with me, I—”

Before he could finish, Michael was already in front of him, slapping his face so hard it was nearly unrecognizable.

Before the others could react, Michael moved to the man holding Martha, snatched away his gun, and dispatched him with another slap. In a flash, he took down the remaining two as well.

Michael moved through them like a demon, efficient and ruthless, faster than bullets in their eyes. He simply teleported in front of each one, and with a gentle touch, their muscles twisted, sending their bodies flying uncontrollably.

Soon, everyone lay sprawled on the ground. Martha stared at Michael in disbelief, unable to comprehend how he had done it.

Michael untied their ropes; even then, none of them could shake off their shock.

He himself found the sight of so many corpses rather unsettling. But these were Kingpin’s people—the scum of the earth, every one of them deserving their fate.

Jack finally came to his senses and challenged Michael, “What on earth happened? Michael, how did you get mixed up with them?”

Michael picked up the documents and handed them to Jack. “I bought a large amount of Stark Industries stock. Overnight, I became a wealthy man, and it drew the wrong kind of attention.”

Jack read the documents and quickly understood. He’d always wondered why Michael spent money to cozy up to politicians—it was out of fear that someone would covet his sudden fortune. Still, in the end, someone had envied him anyway.

Michael had been both the source of their fortune and their downfall. Jack sighed helplessly.

“Michael, let’s leave America. Kingpin is a powerful and terrifying figure. With your talents, you’d start over in no time.”

Martha, still unfamiliar with Kingpin’s infamy, asked in confusion, “Is Kingpin really that powerful? Can’t the government do anything?”

“No, they can’t. Kingpin is the lord of the underworld. He makes the rules. The police can’t touch him.”

Susie looked at Michael with distaste. “Isn’t this all his fault? Let him fix it, then. He was so impressive just now—why doesn’t he just go kill Kingpin?”

Jack, more rational, slapped Susie. “This isn’t the time for nonsense. Pack your things—we’re leaving.”

Michael stopped him. “No need to pack. Susie’s right. I’ll go and kill them all, once and for all.”

Jack was stunned, then said, “Michael, don’t be ridiculous. You have no idea how dangerous Kingpin is. Susie was just venting.”

“How dangerous can he be? Is he immortal?”

Jack was speechless.

After what Michael had just done, it was clear he was beyond the realm of ordinary men. Kingpin was just a gangster, after all—no matter how fearsome, still just a man. How could he be impossible to kill?

“Wait for my good news. If I don’t come back, then book your tickets.”

“Be careful, Michael,” Martha said.

Michael glanced at Martha, closed the door behind him, and left.

Kingpin had crossed the line—he’d threatened Martha’s safety. That meant he had to die.

Michael ascended to the top floor of Osborn Enterprises, crafted a clown mask and a Tang sword, and set out.

He dialed Tony’s number.

“Tony, are you there?”

“I am. What’s up?” Tony was busy developing a new reactor to solve his blood toxicity problem when he answered Michael’s call.

“Can you help me look into a man named Wilson Fisk? His wife’s name is Vanessa, and his son is Richard. The guy should be a big, heavyset man.”

“Hold on.” Tony had Jarvis hack into the government systems and soon found Wilson Fisk.

“Wilson Fisk runs a transport company, but it’s riddled with issues—looks like a front. His wife seems to have died, and his son lives at—”

Michael remembered a storyline where Kingpin, realizing his wife was his weakness, killed her himself. His son was later murdered by an assassin, and in revenge, Kingpin launched indiscriminate attacks on his enemies, nearly starting a world war.

Now, Kingpin still had a son, but his wife was likely already dead—by his own hand.

What a cruel man.

Intent on leaving no loose ends, Michael tracked down Richard.

He turned out to be a decent young man, though evidently unaware of his father’s true business. He bore no resemblance to Kingpin—thin and slight, in fact.

“Young man, I see great potential in you. You’re destined for greatness. Come with me.”

“What? Who are you?”

Michael simply pressed his sword to the young man’s throat.

“Willing to come now?”

“Who are you trying to scare? Who even uses swords to kill people these days?”

Michael smiled, sliced through a nearby sapling with a single stroke, and asked, “Do you think I can kill you?”

Richard swallowed hard, staring at the smooth cut of the tree, and fell to his knees on the spot.

“I’ll go with you. Just don’t kill me!”

Michael chuckled. “A real talent—what a shame.”

Such a steadfast fellow—if only he weren’t Kingpin’s son, Michael might have kept him around as a loyal underling.

With Richard in tow, Michael arrived in Hell’s Kitchen, and by chance, spotted a law firm.

Could it be the office of that man?