Under the deep shroud of the New York night, Huang Wen moved like a wisp of smoke, completely invisible and nearly silent thanks to the Magical Tuxedo and his refined lightness skill. His destination was the former karate dojo, once the bustling headquarters of the defunct Colin Gang.
Huang Wen had intelligence suggesting that Chief Inspector Yves, the crooked cop, was secretly diverting the gang's confiscated assets—specifically, liquidating their wealth through offshore channels.
This crucial piece of information hadn't come from casual eavesdropping; it was provided by the complex information network attached to the Kingpin Group, the powerful organization that Rhys Fisk's father commanded. For an organization of Kingpin's magnitude, infiltrating a local precinct was child's play.
Huang Wen was confident in his move. He knew that even if Kingpin realized he was the one who destroyed the Colin Gang, their interests didn't currently conflict. With Rhys Fisk—the heir apparent—now living and training under Huang Wen's roof, and with Huang Wen's evident and constantly growing power, Kingpin had every reason to maintain a peaceful coexistence.
Why make an enemy of someone who has no territorial ambitions but possesses overwhelming, unpredictable force?
Before long, Huang Wen arrived near the old dojo. He surveyed the building from a discreet rooftop vantage point. It was eerily quiet, looking utterly abandoned.
"The Kingpin's information shouldn't be flawed..." Huang Wen frowned, scrutinizing the dojo. Information leaked from deep within the precinct, acquired by Fisk's apparatus, was usually ironclad.
He moved closer, vaulting silently down to the street. As he approached the entrance, he realized the first sign of deception. The police tape and official seals were still stretched across the door, but a closer look revealed a minute tear in the center of the paper, carefully patched back together. Someone had definitely been inside.
Just as he debated whether to breach the premises, the door swung open.
Chief Inspector Yves emerged first, his bulky figure dominating the doorway. Following him were several plainclothes police officers, a few carrying heavy-duty service firearms, and two men straining under the weight of a large, heavy safe.
What happened next was an unexpected masterclass in criminal professionalism that left Huang Wen momentarily dumbfounded.
Yves, far from being careless, carefully peeled back the broken official seal from the door. He then produced an identical, brand-new sticker, which he meticulously and perfectly affixed over the old one. The overlap was seamless, executed with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many, many times.
And that wasn't all. Yves then deliberately waved a hand toward a security camera positioned nearby.
Huang Wen mentally gave the silent command to his Magical Tuxedo's intelligence system: Check local surveillance feeds.
The response was immediate: the surrounding cameras were running, but the footage had been smoothly spliced, showing a loop from the previous nights.
Yves and his crew had never appeared on the tapes. The camera never broke. The door was never opened.
"You guys are playing an entirely different game," Huang Wen shook his head in grudging admiration. "That level of operational security rivals the best professional thieves."
Huang Wen wisely chose not to tamper with the surveillance. A perfectly clean set of records meant no one would question the sequence of events about to unfold. Nobody would know Yves had ever left the precinct.
A cold, determined glint flashed in Huang Wen's eye. He watched Chief Inspector Yves and his men quickly move down a narrow side alley, and Huang Wen followed, maintaining a safe, invisible distance.
The small convoy soon stopped at the entrance of a dark, low-rise house. Yves gave a curt signal, and several officers efficiently positioned themselves to block the entrance and the alley's sightlines. Yves and the two officers carrying the heavy safe vanished inside.
Huang Wen frowned. The invisibility of the tuxedo had its drawbacks. He couldn't phase through physical objects; he was simply unseen. With the entrance thoroughly blocked by armed men, he couldn't follow them inside.
Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. A few minutes later, the group re-emerged, but Yves looked visibly dissatisfied, his lips pulled into a thin, angry line. They left the safe and its contents behind.
Huang Wen deduced the situation instantly: the low-rise house was a fence—a place to sell stolen or illicit goods—and Yves was unhappy with the valuation or the cut he was offered.
It doesn't matter, Huang Wen thought, having zero interest in recovering the Colin Gang's assets. Retrieving the loot would create a trail and force him to deal with the messy business of liquidating it, either through Kingpin—which meant sharing—or through some other illicit route, which meant unnecessary exposure. The $10 million he had previously acquired was more than enough capital for the moment.
"Alright, the job is done. Now we just wait for the transfer!" Yves looked pointedly at his men, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You all keep your mouths absolutely shut. Your share, whether it comes from me or the Boss Dickinson, is guaranteed."
"Thank you, Boss Yves! We appreciate it!" The officers chuckled, their voices thick with practiced, obsequious reverence.
"Go on, get out of here!" Yves waved them away impatiently. He lingered for a moment, glancing back at the low-rise house with intense displeasure. "Hmph! You think you can lowball me and Dickinson? You're going to regret trying to shave our cut."
He finally turned and stalked out of the alley toward the main street.
Huang Wen, invisible and perfectly still by the roadside, heard Yves's final, venomous words. A terrifying, brilliant idea crystallized in his mind.
A scapegoat. A perfect scapegoat.
The low-rise house was already engaged in criminal activity, Yves had just had a heated, profit-based argument with its occupants, and the building was conveniently located right where the Inspector was about to die. When the body was found, who would be the prime suspect in a sudden, brutal execution? The low-level criminals who had just double-crossed him.
Perfect.
Huang Wen smoothly reached into his pocket and retrieved a sunflower seed. He cracked the shell with a nearly inaudible Click-clack.
"What was that noise?" Inspector Yves, whose corrupt mind was now focused entirely on vengeance and the coming profits, stopped just as he reached the mouth of the alley. He peered nervously into the darkness, his hand hovering near his sidearm, but his eyes saw only empty shadow.
Huang Wen moved his invisible hand with a fractional gesture. The discarded sunflower seed shell, an almost weightless speck, was carried by a minuscule current of air and landed precisely on the back of Chief Inspector Yves's neck, slipping between the collar of his coat and his skin.
Yves took one more step, rounding the corner, stepping out of the alley's cover.
BANG!
The sound was sharp, localized, and devastating. The tiny shell detonated with the focused force of a shaped charge, vaporizing the Inspector's neck and cleanly separating his head from his body. It was a swift, silent, and entirely un-messy execution.
Huang Wen looked back at the low-rise house, where the occupants, startled by the noise, had begun to make a faint racket inside.
He shook his head grimly. They were already receiving stolen goods and haggling over cuts. They were dirty, disposable, and now, they were prime suspects. The death of a high-ranking police inspector requires an immediate, satisfying conclusion for the public. And Chief Dickinson—Yves's superior and co-conspirator—would need a ready-made, convenient story to cover his own involvement.
The low-rise house and its occupants, already feuding with Yves over money, provided the best, most logical explanation for an execution. Huang Wen smiled faintly. Mission complete.