[TN: Two chapters for missing Friday]
The underling was knocked flat on the ground, the 100-kilogram brute clutching his chest in pain, eyes wide with fear.
It wasn't that Captain Stacy had grabbed his throat to stop his breathing.
The high-speed collision was even more brutal than a football player's full-force tackle. His diaphragm had completely locked up, and his breathing function was disrupted.
By the time his diaphragm recovered a little, the pain still lingered—every breath, every cough, every ounce of tension triggered fresh spasms.
Instincts clashed: on one hand, the body screamed for air; on the other, breathing meant stabbing pain.
He was blocking his companions' escape route. At first, they were startled at his condition, then, their determination to flee only hardened. One of them even kicked aside his "good brother"—
But their fatal mistake was that they ran while reaching for their waistbands.
Modern martial arts: in America, the pinnacle form is the "gun-draw iaido."
Illegal gun carriers have evolved to the point where they can draw a weapon in the blink of an eye, and any experienced cop knows exactly what that motion means.
As a police officer hardened in the worst days of the economy, Stacy could read these punks like a book.
Those forced into theft or robbery for survival would tremble.
Those handed a gun to scare people often forgot to even switch off the safety.
Only the truly vicious saw knives or guns at the waist as part of daily life—and when facing cops, their first move was to reach.
Sure, pulling a trigger kills—but fighting with a gun takes training, takes countless built-up scenarios.
So Captain Stacy immediately raised his arm, finger pulling the electronic trigger—
Bang bang bang bang bang!
He emptied the magazine.
This exoskeleton's electronic trigger could cycle seamlessly between four modes: stun, tranquilizer, small-caliber, and riot-shot.
For this, he used the small-caliber rounds. The ammo was stored right in the arm; 16 rounds per magazine. With assisted aiming, every shot hit its mark!
O'Malley swallowed hard where he stood, watching his men crumple to the ground, fates uncertain. Instinctively, he stepped back.
Other officers quickly surged forward to restrain the three fallen thugs.
Captain Stacy looked from the ringleader to the Stone mother and son inside, both sitting weak-kneed on the floor, still in shock.
"...Please exit this citizen's home immediately."
O'Malley secretly exhaled in relief: at least this was a cop who followed procedure.
"Alright, officer..."
"I'll say it one last time—get out of this home!"
But Stacy acted like he hadn't heard the command. His voice thundered again, the floodlight still dazzling O'Malley's eyes.
Shielding his face, O'Malley was dazed. What did that mean? He just said he'd comply!
Then, in the harsh beam, he noticed—one foot of his was still inside the threshold.
That counts?!
"Wait—"
Bang!
7,500 newtons smashed into his gut. If his shirt weren't on, someone behind could've seen his back bulge outward!
And as the punch landed, the captain fired the taser from his other hand, the conductive wires wrapping O'Malley as the current surged.
A ruptured liver strike plus an electro-shock to the kidneys—O'Malley's world spun as he convulsed, staring at the ceiling.
Meanwhile, the Stone mother and son went from terror and despair to blank disbelief in under a minute, the words "NYPD!" still ringing in their heads.
"You two okay?" Captain Stacy bent to enter, another officer following in to check on them.
"We... uh... we should be fine..."
"That's good. Which of you is Edna Stone?"
Edna was the mother, and Huashi the son. The middle-aged woman raised her trembling hand. "I am."
"The NYPD has you listed as a former informant. Are these people targeting you because of the Steel-Pin Killer case?"
Huashi froze, glancing at his mother—he had no idea she'd been an informant.
Edna hesitated. She could claim it for harsher punishment on the four thugs, but lying would backfire.
So she shook her head. "I don't know. I did suspect the Steel-Pin Killer was linked to United Construction, but that was just speculation. After the killer died, nothing similar happened again.
These guys only said they came to explain the property fees."
"Property fees? Isn't the property management also under United Construction?"
"I don't know."
In theory, corporate ties are public. In practice, clever people blur the lines. Without expertise, untangling the mess isn't easy.
Captain Stacy thought for a moment, then decided to squeeze some leads from the four captured men.
"I... uh... uh..."
A strange puddle spread beneath one thug.
No one can stay composed after a liver-rupture strike combined with an electro-shock to the genitals.
99% of gang "tough guys" like to imagine they can stay cold-blooded through pain—but in reality, 99% piss themselves instantly.
Worse, the judicial system's impartiality stripped them of faith in their "protection."
To endure pain, one must have faith. And the gangs' faith—their so-called protection—was gone. In its place was high-tech, surveilling everything for public safety.
Once the proud Irish mob boss and property manager, O'Malley directly spilled the name of the Kingpin, Wilson Fisk.
O'Malley might not know Fisk's corporate crimes, but he sure knew the mobster's bloody history: gun-running, drugs, trafficking, even personal killings.
With Anthony's connections, these testimonies from four old-school NY mobsters lit a fire under the NYPD. Streets blocks away from United Construction were locked down, and from the rooftops, the whole setup was visible.
The scene drew a crowd of New Yorkers. Obeying orders, they kept to the cordon's edge, but it was still packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
All of Manhattan's eyes fell on the supposedly "respectable" real estate magnate.
And at the storm's center, Fisk's face turned dark:
What the hell had he done?
Why was the entire NYPD converging on him?
And what were those things marching down the street—RoboCop units?!
The stock market reacted faster than the people—United Construction lost hundreds of millions in minutes!
The massive Fisk collapsed into his custom chair, dazed. Why was the NYPD suddenly targeting him?
"...Wesley, have you found what the NYPD's doing? I want a lawyer to sue them for interfering with company operations!"
"Boss... looks like O'Malley gave us up."
"You kidding me?! A New York court locking down a corporation this size on the word of a gangster?!"
"Rumor is... the new mayor pushed it."
Wesley's voice trembled over the phone. "Boss, what do we do now?"
Kingpin stared silently at the glass.