Alex Ray never expected the "mouse" standing in front of him to be Rocket Raccoon from the Guardians of the Galaxy. The experience had been pretty miserable.
Looking into Splinter's earnest eyes, Alex couldn't help but feel moved.
Who was he to stop a rat from seeking vengeance?
With that in mind, Alex nodded to the mutant rat standing before him.
"I can promise to take them in."
Upon hearing Alex's reply, Splinter finally looked relieved.
He quickly stood up and bowed deeply to Alex. On this planet, the four turtle brothers behind him were his only concern.
Now that Alex had promised to protect them, Splinter believed he would keep his word.
Ding—
"Congratulations, host. Splinter has successfully added you as a friend."
"Friendship level with Splinter has increased to two stars."
"You have acquired mastery of the Nunchaku attribute."
This information appeared in Alex's mind, and he paused briefly before a satisfied smile crept across his face.
It seemed this rat master wasn't just full of stories—he also had real strength.
Alex had gained a solid benefit from this encounter: not only a valuable ally, but also a mastery bonus in wielding the nunchaku.
After all, how else could a rat have survived all these years without serious martial arts proficiency?
Meanwhile, the four turtle brothers behind Splinter were clearly dissatisfied. Upon learning they'd be staying in Hell's Kitchen, they didn't express joy. Instead, they surrounded Splinter, bombarding him with anxious questions.
"Master, are you abandoning us?"
"We're not going anywhere! We're sticking with you!"
"We'll help you get revenge!"
Three of the turtles rushed to stop Splinter from handing them over to Hell's Kitchen.
Alex didn't interfere—this was a family matter they needed to settle among themselves.
He wasn't going to coax them into staying.
Instead, he strolled over to a nearby sofa, sat down, and picked up a newspaper.
The headlines caught his attention immediately:
HELL'S KITCHEN: Is It a Race or a War on Wheels?
"Shocking! No Normal Humans Found in Hell's Kitchen!"
"Lord of Hell, Alex Ray, May Not Even Be from Earth!"
"New Racing Track Rumored in Hell's Kitchen!"
"50 Million Views: The Race That Made Hell's Kitchen Famous!"
—The New York Daily
"Alex Ray, Business Genius—$100 Million Net Profit from One Race?"
"Genius Like Him Doesn't Belong in Hell's Kitchen!"
"Hell's Kitchen Is Holding Him Back!"
—Wolf Street Financial Daily
Alex stared at the pile of newspapers, a complicated expression on his face. He didn't know the competition had earned that much. He just wanted to throw a cool race.
Sure, he had expected some profit—but not like this.
Still, thinking it over, it made sense. Between registration fees, sponsorships, and media rights, the money added up quickly.
After all, the racers brought their own vehicles, and the track was already part of the city. The costs weren't that high to begin with.
Frankly, not making money off it would've been the real surprise.
But for Alex, the money wasn't the most important part.
What truly mattered was that the people of Hell's Kitchen—especially the mutants—had begun to integrate better with society after the race.
The event had boosted the area's reputation significantly. Once synonymous with dirt, chaos, and violence, Hell's Kitchen was now viewed as an exciting, albeit dangerous, hot spot for underground racing.
Across the internet, people's first impression of the neighborhood was no longer disgust. It was thrill. Anticipation.
And the race had drawn in more "talent."
Many of the racers and crew had criminal pasts or shady records, but Hell's Kitchen gave them a second chance—a place to live without judgment. Driving was their skill and their ticket out of that past.
Transportation in the city had even improved as a result.
In the old days, driving in Hell's Kitchen was like playing Russian roulette. Shootouts, crossfire, and general anarchy made it a death trap for anyone behind the wheel. Many drivers had died in gunfights right on the road, which led to an extreme shortage of drivers willing to take the risk.
Now, things were changing.
The new drivers—grizzled, elite racers hardened by chaos—weren't just fast. They were fearless and tactical. They could navigate a hail of bullets like it was just bad weather.
That meant safer roads, smoother transportation, and a more functional infrastructure for residents.
Alex had also met some influential new faces—like Deckard Shaw, who had officially joined the Hell's Kitchen crew and now worked as his personal driver.
Not that Alex really needed a driver—but Uncle Kingpin and Wanda's crew insisted.
"You're the head of a company," they'd said. "You can't just walk around without a driver. It's about appearances."
Meanwhile, the guy who looked suspiciously like Dwayne Johnson had offended S.H.I.E.L.D. after losing the race. They reassigned him to the Hell's Kitchen precinct to fight street crime.
Even though Hell's Kitchen was far safer than before, it was still America. Crime was a daily reality.
As for the so-called "family hero," Alex had no clue where he ended up. Rumor had it that after the race, the guy had robbed a gun shop near the Continental Hotel and was taken down by their staff.
Though he eventually escaped, he reportedly didn't walk away unscathed—word was that his "third leg" got broken.
So much for having kids.
Alex chuckled to himself and stretched.
"I need to hit the sack early tonight," he muttered. "I've got a date with Wanda tomorrow."
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