At ten o'clock at night, New York beneath the darkness still looked like a city that never sleeps.
Neon spilled its glow everywhere; even from the night sky it remained bright and visible.
A tall, handsome man in a black cloak was flying low a hundred meters beneath the night.
He moved incredibly fast yet drew no one's attention, as if he had melted into the darkness itself.
In this New York stood a striking building with the English words "Stark Industries" emblazoned on it.
The man took a long look at the tower; this wasn't the first time he'd seen this iconic structure.
Yet no matter how many times he saw it, both the landmark and its master, Tony Stark, reminded him—
This was not the world he'd lived in during his previous life, but the Marvel Universe, riddled with danger, super heroes, and all manner of supernatural forces.
If he were just an ordinary man without any power, he'd have to consider staying far, far away.
After all, New York in the Marvel world isn't a place regular people can linger.
And ordinary people not only can't stay here; they also have to pray that, some years down the line, they won't get snapped out of existence by a certain purple sweet-potato.
Luckily, in this life he was no powerless ordinary man.
He had awakened the Void system from League of Legends, giving him some ability to protect himself in this dangerous world.
The man flew for a while, then came down in front of a luxurious estate in Brooklyn.
He deftly opened the door with a key and stepped inside.
Just then, his phone began to buzz rapidly.
He pulled it out and glanced over a string of new texts.
They read: "Reaper, after deducting a 5% processing fee, the rest has been safely transferred to your account. Looking forward to our next cooperation."
"Dear Mr. Harvey Ambelaca, Zero Technologies has deposited 14.25 million into your account."
"Your current balance is 163.24 million."
Harvey Ambelaca smiled at the sight.
A string of zeros on an account balance would cheer anyone up.
In his previous life, the man's name was Chu Wei—a native of the Celestial Empire through and through.
In this life he was Harvey Ambelaca, an orphan.
The only person who'd shown him even a bit of kindness was the orphanage director.
Life at the orphanage hadn't been wealthy or smooth, but it had gotten him grown.
Two years ago, after awakening his system, he received the aid of the League of Legends Void system and gained the power of one of the Voidborn—Kha'Zix, the Voidreaver.
He could become invisible by blending into the dark; so long as there were shadows, he could vanish at will. He wielded blades that sliced steel with ease, had staggering physical attributes, and near-monstrous jumping power.
Harvey also inherited the Voidborn's longevity. Most importantly, he gained the ability to absorb anything that carried energy—and evolve.
With power in hand, Harvey Ambelaca had no intention of fearing it or hiding it.
This was the Marvel Universe; as a powerless ordinary man, you could die any day to collateral damage from heroes' battles.
So his first thought was how to make money and improve his life.
With near-permanent invisibility, he could slip into anywhere under cover of night without a sound.
He certainly had the ability to rob the rich or even hit a bank—but that would be illegal.
It wasn't that Harvey couldn't expose his identity; he just didn't want to be dealing with the FBI all the time.
In the end, Harvey Ambelaca chose to become a mercenary.
As long as the price was right, he'd take the job and see it done.
Depending on the assignment, you could call the profession "hitman" or "bodyguard."
Strictly speaking, that too skirted the law—but it didn't affect his day-to-day life.
More than two years of mercenary work had dramatically improved his lifestyle.
He'd paid cash for multiple estates and villas, and could buy whatever food and supplies he wanted to further his evolution.
As for the orphanage, he donated a million to repay that kindness.
It wasn't that he couldn't give more, only that it wasn't a debt to repay with his life—or forever.
So Harvey Ambelaca felt a million was enough to settle those years of kindness.
Even in darkness, Harvey could see more clearly than in daylight.
He passed through a long corridor into the living room, turned on the lights, fetched a bottle of fine wine from the cabinet, and sank into a plush sofa.
He poured himself a glass, picked up the tablet beside him, and opened a certain dark-web site to browse.
It listed all kinds of jobs: assassinating some big name, providing protection, even demolishing a place.
Harvey accepted everything except hits on Asians; everything else he'd consider—even jobs from the military.
There are plenty of things militaries can't do in the open.
Where there are deeds of light, there's unseemly darkness in tow.
National militaries and certain tycoons need proxies to handle the dirty work, and proxies are, without a doubt, mercenaries like him who risk their lives for money.
Harvey skimmed the postings on the dark web until a particular job caught his eye.
One month from now, go to Afghanistan and kill someone under military protection. Minimum pay: ten million; with full completion, up to fifty million.
Harvey noted both the location and how the sponsor seemed to know the target's itinerary inside and out.
He glanced at the tablet's bottom-right corner—2008—and instantly knew who the target to be snatched was.
Even with "kill under military protection" spelled out, and a top price of fifty million, marking it as anything but ordinary,
there would never be a shortage of desperadoes willing to bet their lives for that kind of money.
No exaggeration: a fifty-million bounty meant that even a team-up could retire comfortably off a single job.
Harvey would have to do several to equal that—but he wasn't considering taking it.
Instead, because he knew Tony Stark was about to begin his Iron Man journey, he was thinking about which of the properties under his name still lacked insurance.
Harvey had been a merc for more than two years; except at the very beginning, he'd mostly been taking big jobs—anything, as long as the price was right.
Naturally, beyond this estate, he had far more than a mere 160 million in savings.
In fact, once he'd realized this was the Marvel Universe—and gained power—Harvey had been preparing nonstop.
He bought shares of Stark Industries, scooped up various properties, and set up a suite of insurance policies.
He knew that once Tony Stark became Iron Man, New York would quickly grow dangerous—and it would also mean it was time to make a killing.
With the right prep, not only could he legitimately claim hefty payouts from the insurers, he could also take advantage of the wave around Tony Stark.
And the price he'd pay was only to move to one of his estates in another city for a while.
Thinking about the money soon to roll in, Harvey couldn't help the smile that crept across his face.
He wasn't taking the Iron Man job. As Harvey continued to browse other bounties,
a private contact pinged.
"Mr. Reaper, we have a designated commission for you."
Harvey pondered the message.
In mercenary circles, designated commissions weren't common, but if your name was big and your completion rate sky-high, they did come along.
And the pay for designated jobs was usually generous—priced by the mercenary's own rules.
The hit he'd just finished—an Afghan high official—had been a twenty-five-million job.
"Since you've found me, you should know my rate for a designated engagement, right?"
So Harvey replied.
Meanwhile, elsewhere—
A one-eyed, bald Black man saw the reply and noticed that this "Reaper" hadn't asked about the specifics but went straight to whether the price was understood. From it he sensed unmatched confidence—bordering on arrogance.
Before reaching out, Nick Fury had, of course, investigated this Reaper.
In the merc world, no one knew who the mercenary codenamed "Reaper" really was or what he looked like; only certain facts were common knowledge.
Reaper had entered the scene two years ago, always cloaked in black, took only jobs paying eight figures or more, and possessed outrageously overwhelming strength.
Bounties above ten million were, without question, the kind you risk your life for.
Even many mercs working in teams couldn't guarantee success—and could end up returning in defeat.
Sometimes you faced a fully armed force a thousand strong.
Or you infiltrated a fortress of layered defenses to steal top-secret files.
Some jobs were tough even for multiple of his own agents working together.
Yet whatever big job this Reaper took, he completed—every time.
No matter how alert the target, how many troops they moved and how tight the defenses, or what protection they enjoyed,
once Reaper accepted the job, the target would die mysteriously in the night and the intel would vanish without a trace—as if he had some kind of superpower.
It was no exaggeration: in barely over two years, Reaper had become a living legend no one in the merc world could ignore.
There was even a saying among mercs: if Reaper accepts your bounty,
you can sit back with a drink and wait for your goal to be achieved.
Stories like that, and the almost superhuman rumors, had reached Nick Fury's ears,
and stirred in him the thought of meeting Reaper face-to-face.
But even with his resources, he couldn't dig up anything concrete about Reaper beyond what was already known.
To contact him, he'd have to honor the designated rate—starting at twenty million, with no cap based on difficulty.
And once the other party accepted, a ten-million dollar deposit was required up front.
Twenty million—U.S. dollars, not Zimbabwean dollars.
Fury also knew mercenaries were desperadoes; black-bagging the money wasn't impossible—
but only if you had the muscle for it. Against someone of unknown identity and unknown abilities—very likely superpowered—deception and double-crossing weren't Plan A.
Even so, moving twenty million took a lot of wrangling: persuading stakeholders, drafting a few fake plans, and convincing the higher-ups to release funds.
But if it could advance the Avengers Initiative—if he could recruit Reaper—Fury figured the price was acceptable.
With the funds ready, he still didn't reach out immediately.
Only when news broke tonight that an Afghan high official had died mysteriously—and that Reaper had done it—
did Nick Fury make the call, contacting him through the dark web.
"I'm fully aware—and I don't know if what I'm about to say will offend you."
"But before we discuss the specifics and the price, we'd like to meet in person."
"Because the bounty I want to post is… special."
Fury hesitated, then typed those lines.
Afterward, he waited, tense.
No one knew Reaper's background; the fact he only surfaced on the dark web had a lot to do with it.
"As long as the money's in place. Time and place."
Harvey didn't refuse; he replied directly.
"Then the day after tomorrow at 3 p.m., at this location. Any issues?"
Seeing Reaper's response, Nick Fury sent a map pin.
"Works."
Harvey's eyes flashed when he saw "Washington," but he still agreed to the meet.