In the bright lights and extravagant atmosphere of New York, there is no place for the concept of poverty, especially in the lives of the affluent elite, where material display is far more important than grace and gentlemanly elegance. This is not merely a form of ostentation; it is a deeply ingrained mindset. If you cannot match my strength and prowess, you have no right to stand on the same stage as I do.
The protagonist has always been Tony Stark—no one could sway this notorious playboy from his ways. Yet it is noteworthy that even those who know pursuing Tony is like flying into a flame continue to throw themselves at him in droves. Whether they are beautiful scientists or Hollywood starlets, or even socialites from prestigious families, their goal is to entice Stark into becoming their husband.
However, today, everything has crumbled. Stark's empire is on the brink of being reclaimed, and Potts feels utterly helpless as she watches it all unfold. After nearly twelve years spent with Tony, witnessing his wild escapades and recognizing his brilliance, she knows that everyone has a day when fortune turns against them, and now Stark faces his greatest crisis.
"Ms. Virginia Potts?"
In a bar, Potts, drowning her sorrows, wore her professional attire, her long legs accentuated by sheer stockings.
Yes! "Adorable" is the word to describe her, exuding a charming aura despite her cold demeanor. But that wasn't why she had come to this dimly lit haven, where the number of women clearly outnumbered men. The soft, soothing melodies created a pleasant atmosphere, making it an ideal dating venue. Unfortunately, this place had a strict no-men policy...
Infiltrating this bar was already a remarkable feat, given its dark ambiance and numerous curtains that obscured sightlines. In such a space, an Asian figure was less noticeable. Hiding in the corner provided a way to evade attention, as generally, no one would pay heed to the comings and goings of others. Here, couples were primarily focused on their romantic pursuits.
With a slight buzz from the drinks, Potts looked up at the masked man standing before her and straightened in her seat, instinctively reaching for security to shoo away this annoying pest. However, the silver glint of metal in the dim light caught her eye, and her words froze in her throat as she instinctively sank back into the sofa.
"Tony Stark has been taken captive due to a conspiracy. Give me five million, and I will get Stark back!"
In her memory, Stark would create a suit in a few months and escape from the terrorists' grasp. Although she longed to help, she decided it was best to refrain for now. The world is filled with dangers, and she felt like a lamb waiting for slaughter. Since that was the case, perhaps she could trick Tony Stark into helping her with a little finesse.
Of course, she needed to provide something tangible, such as evidence that Obadiah Stane wanted Stark dead. This man, who had orchestrated Stark's capture, was now wielding immense power within Stark Industries, directing everything from the shadows. Though the conspiracy with the terrorists might be well concealed, for someone like Potts, an executive assistant, it would not be difficult to uncover the truth by digging into phone records and other data. Her task was to piece together the evidence.
"You may not believe me, but let me give you some information that will earn your trust. The terrorist organization responsible for Stark's kidnapping is called the Ten Rings. They are a mysterious cult, and the person who ordered them to kidnap Tony Stark is Obadiah Stane. Don't be surprised; just listen quietly to what I have to say."
Upon mentioning Obadiah Stane's name, Potts felt a surge of emotion and instinctively moved to stand, quickly pressing her hand on the man's shoulder while aiming a gun at his thigh.
"Investigate Obadiah Stane's recent phone records. Look into your arms sales channels. Find out who he has been associating with and their identities. You don't need me to remind you how to follow the clues. If you want to rescue Tony Stark, call this number. The phone will be on at precisely five o'clock each evening and turned off by five-oh-two."
Unfortunately, no one was offering her the money to kill Obadiah Stane; otherwise, she would have liked nothing more than to put a bullet in that bastard's head. He has caused at least thirty percent of the world's chaos and has continued to ignite more wars. From the Vietnam War to the Korean War, and onto conflicts in the Middle East and the Gulf War, Obadiah Stane's shadow looms over nearly every significant conflict. He is the one who turned Stark into a wartime figure, profiting while allowing Stark to shoulder all the blame.
The business card was placed on the table in front of Potts. The masked man rose and melted into the shadows as if he had never existed, quietly exiting the vibrant bar through the back door, leaving behind a scene that was more thrilling than any film.
***
The life of an assassin continued. This time, she had finally earned the largest reward of her life. A man, nearly driven mad by grief, had lost his wife to murder. Yet, the man who had killed her was released in court due to lack of evidence. Upon his release, he publicly humiliated the bereaved husband outside the courthouse, a man who had lost everything and found no solace in the law.
"Sixty thousand! Is this worth selling everything just to see him dead?"
The cash had already been fully paid. This was the first time she hadn't had to kill someone and still received the full amount. The thirty thousand she earned represented a clean transaction, confirming that the man was indeed good and his money was clean. Morse slid a black card across the table to Peter, beneath which lay a beautiful photo of a woman.
"This is the victim's photo. After you kill him, place the photo on the corpse's chest."
"Is that man going to…"
The suspicion in her mind was likely valid. Once the criminal was dead, perhaps the man who loved his wife and had no recourse would find satisfaction in taking his own life. Sixty thousand was likely all the man had; it was admirable to think that someone could be willing to sacrifice everything for love.
"This will depend on whether you accept this job," Morse said calmly, lighting a cigar as if it were a routine business deal. Decades of experience had allowed him to see through everything; he understood that true happiness lies in a simple, steady life. He had once known love, but that love had ended in tragedy.
"Early death might mean rebirth. Perhaps for that man, this decision might be the final testament to his love. Unfortunately, I really don't understand love; I prefer beautiful women! Looks are the key to my heart!"
"Don't forget to place the photo; this scum deserves a slow, torturous death. I've heard that in the East, there's a punishment called Lingchi, where a person is slowly cut down to the bone without dying, a torture that leaves them wishing for death. I hope that skill hasn't been lost; what a pity that would be!"
"Time to go."
As Morse finished his last instructions, the old man seemed to recall something from the past, rising to leave the room. A woman approached with a smile; she appeared to be Morse's secretary, handing him a business card. Some things can be understood with just a glance. Unfortunately, he didn't find the woman appealing, or perhaps he was just not in the mood.
Politely accepting the card, he nodded and excused himself, leaving the bar. The moon hung high in the sky, and he realized he had wasted half a day in the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he entered the Hell's Kitchen area, where a few clueless individuals often emerged at night. This was his opportunity to earn some extra cash, though it was unfortunate that sometimes these extra earnings were worthless, and even death went unnoticed and uninvestigated.
"Hey, why is there no one to bite today?"
At this time, there would usually be someone coming to pay him. Looking at the clock, it was indeed past one, yet not a single person was in sight. This was highly irregular. Had all the wrongdoers vanished? That was clearly impossible; this was Hell's Kitchen, after all. Stopping his trek home, Peter decided to take a couple of laps around the area. Perhaps this street had become too dangerous due to the high number of deaths, causing the usual suspects to steer clear. Maybe if he took another street, he would find better luck.
With that thought, Peter veered away from his usual route home, heading northwest. Before long, hurried footsteps echoed from the other side of the street. Hiding in the shadows, wearing a mask and hat, he observed a group of men dressed like ninjas surround a peculiar-looking masked individual. If memory served correctly, this was likely the vigilante who had recently gained notoriety in Hell's Kitchen, known as either Daredevil or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
After making a call, the other party answered shortly. He watched as Daredevil took down the three ninjas surrounding him, only for four or five more to appear. This battle seemed endless. Of course, if one were to adhere to the notion of justice prevailing, Daredevil would undoubtedly emerge victorious.
"Hello! I've spotted Daredevil in your territory!"
"What's the price?"
"Let's discuss how this deal will go down!"
"I want him alive!"
"Two million, friendship price!"
"You're asking for two million just to capture one person! Fifty thousand, take it or leave it!"
"Deal!"