Chapter 14: Aftermath
Luke climbed in through his bedroom window, quietly cracked the door, and peeked out a few times. His foster parents seemed to have already gone to bed; the living room downstairs was silent. He closed his door, collapsed onto his bed, and soon drifted off to sleep.
Throughout the night, he cast the Aura Shield several times, realizing how much energy it consumed. Now he was utterly exhausted, his eyelids too heavy to lift. He slept deeply the entire night, and before dawn, even had a sweet dream.
In his dream, he had become the luckiest man alive, his equipment set perfectly complete; in the raid he obliterated everything with a single blow, and a crowd of followers behind him shouted their praises.
When he woke, it was already past nine in the morning.
He could imagine that with all the chaos last night, the outside world must be in an uproar by now.
Luke got up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and went downstairs for breakfast.
Entering the living room, he noticed that Matt, the wounded Daredevil from the night before, was gone. Only some faint, half-cleared bloodstains remained on the sofa. Luke pretended not to notice.
“Good morning, Karen.”
“Morning, honey!” Karen, busy preparing breakfast, wrapped him in a hug and planted a doting kiss on his cheek.
Luke brushed his cheek, feigning indifference; he still wasn’t used to this. After all, he was an adult inside, and though Karen was nominally his foster mother, she was barely in her early thirties. To be kissed every morning by a woman not much older than himself, with no real blood relation, whose looks were a respectable eight out of ten—it was a feeling he could hardly put into words.
On the table sat a classic American breakfast: bread, milk, bacon, and eggs.
Seeing only two sets of cutlery, Luke asked, “Did Foggy skip breakfast again?”
Karen paused for a moment, then smiled and replied, “Darling, Foggy had work to do and already ate earlier.”
“Oh.”
Luke said nothing more. He knew Foggy was dealing with Matt’s injuries.
No doubt, Foggy had taken the blind lawyer back to his place early in the morning. It seemed Daredevil’s wounds weren’t too serious.
The television was broadcasting the morning news. The anchor, high-spirited, was reporting on last night’s gang war that had woken half of New York.
On the screen was footage from Hell’s Kitchen, now cordoned off by a heavy police presence. Police cars were everywhere, their lights flashing in the morning gloom.
According to the report, five NYPD officers had fallen in the gunfight. The site was devastated by the gangsters’ heavy firepower, and the scene was utter chaos: shattered glass mixed with fresh blood, the bodies removed but burn marks from explosions scorched the ground everywhere. The entire block looked like a vision of hell.
As the anchor described it: “As you can see, this street looks as if it’s been ravaged by demons from the abyss.”
“Oh my God.” Karen, hand covering her mouth, stared at the devastation in disbelief.
The footage shifted to an on-site interview. Residents in nearby buildings were busy moving out. An elderly woman facing the camera complained, “This place was hell before, but this time? Satan himself just paid us a visit!”
The report revealed the factions involved in the gang war: Russian mafia, local New York gangs, and a Japanese yakuza group.
Finally, the footage showed a blurry photo taken during the chaos—a mysterious figure, notably short, wearing what appeared to be an Iron Man mask. A large question mark was stamped on the image, with the caption: He’s not Iron Man. So who is he?
Staring at the screen, the piece of egg on Luke’s fork slipped and fell. That was him.
He’d actually been photographed! Damn it!
Judging by the photo’s blur and angle, it must have been snapped by a nearby resident with their phone. People really had no fear, risking their lives to take pictures in the middle of a gunfight.
Thank goodness he’d been wearing the Iron Man mask, Luke thought. Next time, he’d need to be even more cautious. The followers of Zongrui were everywhere, damn it...
Scooping up the egg again, Luke ate it in one bite.
He didn’t think anyone would come looking for him. He’d been careful enough last night—the dwarf disguise, the voice changer, the mask—all the perfect cover.
The aftermath of that battle would surely continue to stir trouble for some time. But even if the gangs dug up every inch of the city searching for last night’s culprit, they’d be chasing that mysterious dwarf. Meanwhile, he was just a seven-year-old child, quietly eating breakfast at the table. No one would ever suspect him.
...
At that moment, in the luxurious top-floor office of Stark Tower, Tony gaped in astonishment at the news footage Jarvis displayed for him. After a moment, he said, “So I’m really this popular now...”
Even gangsters were fighting in his mask?
“Sir, shall I trace the identity of this individual?” came Jarvis’s emotionless voice.
“No need.” Tony shook his head after a moment’s thought. “This has nothing to do with me. Now, Jarvis, tell me—how is the Mark V’s portability project coming along?”
“All preparations are complete, sir.”
“Then let’s begin the tests.”
...
Hell’s Kitchen, Roulette Casino.
A young, handsome white man in a sharp suit and black-rimmed glasses strode confidently into the casino. The manager hurried out to greet him in a panic.
“Mr. Wesley... I never expected you to come in person. It’s an honor to see you...” The manager’s tone was full of reverence as he bowed his head to the young man.
“What have you found?” Wesley’s voice was low and measured—the very one heard on the phone the previous night.
“We... still have no definite leads. That dwarf—it’s as if he vanished into thin air. Neither our men nor the Russians can find him.” The manager stammered, “Actually, the amount he won wasn’t much. Maybe, perhaps, this matter—”
“It’s not about the amount.”
Wesley cut him off, shooting him a cool glance. “I told you, no one walks away with Kingpin’s money like that. The boss doesn’t know about this yet—do you want him to find out?”
“No, no!” The manager shook his head so hard he looked like a bobblehead, sweat pouring down his face.
He knew the man before him was not just Kingpin’s assistant but practically his right hand, someone the boss deeply relied on.
Wesley’s words, to some extent, carried the weight of Kingpin himself.
Wesley straightened his suit and tie. “Take care of this.” With that, he turned and strode out of the casino.
“Yes, yes! I’ll keep sending people to investigate!”
Only after Wesley disappeared through the door did the manager finally look up and breathe a long sigh of relief. He immediately summoned several subordinates to continue pursuing last night’s culprit.
“Damn dwarf!” The manager ground his teeth in anger.
...
“Achoo—” Luke rubbed his nose.
After last night’s gang war, he was certain of one thing: for now, Kingpin was not yet at the peak of his power, not yet the underground emperor controlling seventy percent of the nation’s crime.
Hell’s Kitchen was still in the throes of gang wars, with all sides vying for territory. Just last night, three factions had shown up.
Of these three, the Russian mafia and Japanese yakuza were evenly matched. Kingpin’s men, however, had clearly shown greater ambition, and it was only a matter of time before they took over Hell’s Kitchen.
Luke put these thoughts aside for the moment.
Today was the weekend—he didn’t have to go to school. Still, it was a bit humiliating for an adult to spend his days in a classroom full of little kids, learning that one plus one equals two.
He locked his bedroom door and took out the bank card, turning it over in his hands. He was already planning how to spend that seventy-five thousand dollars.
After a whole night’s effort, it was finally harvest time.