The night carried no stars, only a suffocating blanket of clouds pressing down over Hell's Kitchen. Beneath that oppressive darkness, crime didn't slow—it thrived, crawling through alleys and side streets like something alive. Every shadow seemed to breathe, every corner hiding something ugly waiting to happen.
In one of those narrow alleys, a woman had been forced into a dead end. Three men stood between her and escape, each gripping a knife and a flashlight. The beams cut harshly across her face, blinding her and making it impossible to see anything but white glare. Panic shook her hands as she fumbled with her wallet, her voice trembling as she pleaded for mercy.
"All my money's here… just take it and let me go, please," she begged, her words barely holding together.
One of the men chuckled, a low, cruel sound that echoed off the damp brick walls. "Relax. After we've had our fun, we'll definitely let you go." The other two grinned, stepping closer in unison, their movements slow and deliberate.
Before they could close the distance, a voice cut through the alley like a blade. "Stop. Let her go."
A figure dropped from above, landing lightly despite the height. He wore a red leather jacket, and over his face sat a mask with short, devil-like horns. The moment the three attackers saw him, their bravado shattered instantly.
"Daredevil! Run!"
They didn't even finish the word before he moved. Three strikes—clean, precise, and impossibly fast—rang out in quick succession. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed sharply, followed by the dull thuds of bodies collapsing onto the ground. In seconds, all three men lay unconscious, sprawled across the filthy pavement.
The masked man turned slightly, his voice calm and steady as he spoke to the woman. "Call the police." Without waiting for a response, he flicked out a short baton and vaulted upward, disappearing into the darkness above as quickly as he had arrived.
Far away from the alley, watching everything unfold from a distance, Locke stood silently. His gaze followed the direction Daredevil had vanished, his mind already dissecting what he had just seen.
From a technical standpoint, their fighting skill wasn't far apart. Daredevil might have had a slight edge, but not by much. The difference lay elsewhere, and Locke could see it clearly. Daredevil's physical conditioning was superior, easily pushing beyond what his own current body could handle, likely sitting above ten in raw system metrics.
But strength wasn't what made him dangerous.
It was that radar.
The so-called "Night Radar" functioned like an advanced sensory network, something akin to Spider-Man's precognition. It wasn't just detection—it was awareness on an entirely different level, boosting combat instincts, tracking ability, and battlefield control. In practical terms, it was a cheat ability that rewrote the rules of engagement.
After neutralizing the threat, Daredevil didn't linger. He vanished, and a voice crackled through Locke's earpiece.
"Well, Knight," David said, his tone dripping with amusement, "the guy you're scared of is gone. You can start your mission now."
Locke rolled his eyes as he turned toward his destination. "Who told you I'm afraid of him?" he replied, his voice flat. "He's not on the system's list, so there's no reason to clash—for now. But if he ever crosses the line, I'll make sure he gets corrected."
The streetlights flickered weakly, casting uneven pools of light across the pavement. To most people, the darkness would have been suffocating, but to Locke, it might as well have been daytime. His enhanced night vision cut through the shadows effortlessly, allowing him to move without hesitation.
He reached the Flame Repair Shop quickly, the building sitting quiet and dark. No lights shone from inside, and the silence suggested the occupants had already turned in for the night.
David's voice returned, now more focused. "First floor, east side—one bedroom, two people inside. Second floor has three bedrooms. Their eldest, Jero, is in the northern room. Two more bedrooms on either side, three people total. They're likely armed. At least two MP9s and an M4 from what I saw earlier. You sure you can handle that?"
"Easy," Locke replied.
A low wall surrounded the small yard behind the shop, barely over a meter high. Locke didn't slow down. He sprinted forward and vaulted over it in one fluid motion, landing silently on the other side.
He didn't go inside immediately. Instead, he moved along the wall until he reached the electrical box under the eaves. With a quick motion, he cut the power, plunging the building into complete darkness.
Only then did he enter.
The first-floor bedroom was exactly where David said it would be. Inside, two men lay sprawled across the room, both drunk and barely conscious. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Locke moved efficiently, striking each man just hard enough to knock them out before they could react. He gagged them, tied them securely, and dragged them aside without making a sound.
Upstairs, he repeated the process in the east and west bedrooms. Each target was neutralized with the same method—fast, silent, and precise. None of them had the awareness or discipline to respond in time.
When he reached Jero's room, he paused.
A thin rope stretched across the doorway, a small bell hanging from it. A simple alarm system, crude but effective against careless intruders. Locke examined it briefly, then stepped over it without triggering a single sound. Trap work was second nature to him, and something this basic barely registered as a challenge.
The door itself was locked, but that didn't slow him down. A few pieces of wire were enough to manipulate the mechanism, and within seconds, it clicked open.
Inside, Jero lay asleep. He was a large man, his body covered in tattoos that spoke of a violent past. Locke studied him for a moment, then checked the system's evaluation.
Black Iron-level.
Disappointment flickered across his mind. He had been hoping for a Bronze-level target, something more worthwhile.
Pathetic.
When villains couldn't even rise above mediocrity, it made the whole process feel… inefficient.
One by one, he gathered all six men and dragged them onto the second-floor railing. He tied nooses around their necks, securing each rope carefully. When they woke up, panic spread instantly through the group. Their bodies thrashed violently, muffled cries escaping past their gags as terror took hold.
Through the drone feed, David saw everything.
"Are you insane?" he snapped. "Just kill them and get out! The longer you stay, the higher the risk!"
Locke didn't even look up. "I don't kill just to kill," he said calmly. "I judge."
"Don't use my name!" David hissed. "Are you trying to get us both killed?"
"Relax," Locke replied, his tone almost amused. "It's just us and six people who are about to die. No one's listening."
"That's not the point!" David shot back. "You never use real names during an operation! Use the code name!"
Locke paused briefly. "Fine. What's your code name then? How about 'Knight's Right Hand'?"
"That sounds terrible. Call me… Tiger."
Locke snorted. "That's even worse." He adjusted his grip on the ropes. "I'm busy. We'll talk later."
In front of him, the six men struggled harder, their fear reaching a peak. Their bodies twisted, their breathing ragged, the sound of desperation filling the room.
Locke watched them, waiting.
He hadn't been talking just to argue. He had been giving them time, letting their emotions build to the maximum.
Then he spoke.
"Everyone," he said, his voice rising slightly, carrying a cold authority, "your time is up. I am judging you in the name of God. You have sinned, and now you will pay the price."
He stepped forward, his hand gripping the first support.
"I sentence you to—"
He yanked the support away.
"—death."
One by one, the supports were kicked out from under them. Their bodies dropped, ropes snapping tight as the air filled with dull, choking sounds. The struggle didn't last long. Within minutes, the room fell silent.
A notification appeared in his vision.
[Mission updated. Available for review.]
Locke ignored it for now. Instead, he worked methodically, moving the bodies back into the rooms. He collected two submachine guns as he went, securing them without hesitation.
Then he restored the power briefly, only to sabotage it immediately. He crossed wires deliberately, creating a short circuit that would mimic faulty equipment. Sparks flared, and within seconds, flames began to spread.
The repair shop was filled with fuel and flammable materials. Once the fire caught, it exploded outward, devouring everything in its path.
By the time sirens wailed in the distance, Locke was already gone.
Back at the church, he cleaned himself thoroughly, washing away any trace of the night's work. Then he stepped onto the balcony, leaning against the railing as the cool air brushed against his skin. In the distance, red flames painted the skyline, the fire reflecting in his eyes as he finally opened the system interface.
[Mission accomplished.]
[Character level: Black Iron.]
[Upgrade: Not achieved.]
[Cause of death: Hanging.]
[Freshness: Five stars.]
[Final emotions: Fear, confusion.]
[Emotional rating: Five stars.]
[Overall evaluation: Five stars.]
[Special reward for five-star completion. Gift pack upgrading…]
[Reward: Black Iron Five-Star Gift Pack. Double Luck.]
[Congratulations. First five-kill streak achieved.]
[Reward: Free attribute points +5.]
Locke's brows lifted slightly.
A kill streak bonus.
Interesting.
The system clearly had deeper mechanics than he'd initially assumed, and this was just the beginning. Still, five attribute points wasn't something to overlook.
But more importantly—
The gift pack.
He opened it immediately.
[Congratulations. Reward obtained: Compound Eyes.]
Another vision-based ability.
The effect hit instantly. His field of vision expanded dramatically, stretching both horizontally and vertically. At the same time, everything around him seemed to slow, movements becoming clearer, sharper.
It wasn't the world that had slowed down.
It was him that had sped up.
His perception sharpened, his reactions accelerating as his nervous system adapted. It wasn't on the level of Spider-Man's instinctive danger sense, but it was close enough to be dangerous in its own right.
Dynamic vision.
A powerful enhancement, especially in combat.
When he focused, the effect intensified even further, allowing him to track motion with terrifying precision. However, after a few seconds, a faint fatigue crept in.
His current mental stat sat at eight, already above normal human levels. Even so, it wasn't enough to sustain the ability indefinitely.
That made the next decision simple.
He opened the attribute panel.
[Name: Locke.
Age: 22.]
[Bloodline: Human.]
[Status: Normal.]
[Power: 7.]
[Speed: 10.]
[Defense: 7.]
[Constitution: 5.]
[Spirit: 10.]
[Skills: Combat Mastery, Firearms Mastery, Trap Mastery.]
[Abilities: Night Vision, Compound Eyes.]
[Items: None.]
[Instance: Unlocked.]
[Alternate Universe: Unlocked.]
[Main Mission: The guilty must be punished.]
[Iron-level Prey: 2/7.]
[Latest Mission: Bronze Hunt.]
[Bronze Prey: 0/1.]
[Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
Two points went straight into Spirit, pushing his mental endurance higher. The remaining three were allocated to Speed, enhancing his already lethal mobility.
Combined with his firearm proficiency and the new Compound Eyes ability, the synergy was obvious. Faster reactions, sharper tracking, cleaner execution.
Efficient.
His path forward became clear.
He would prioritize quantity over quality, stacking rewards rapidly instead of chasing stronger targets prematurely.
Hell's Kitchen wasn't ready for what was coming.
And soon, it wouldn't have a choice.