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Chapter 33 – The Hunter Arrives
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 13:35:39 +0000 UTCLast night inside Fisk Tower…
The mood inside was suffocating. The penthouse conference room, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooked Hell's Kitchen like a throne above the city.
A long, obsidian-black table stretched across the room, occupied by the five remaining commanders of Wilson Fisk's empire.
This was a war council. The air was thick with tension.
Kingpin sat at the head of the table, a massive, looming figure of pure authority.
At his side stood two of his most dangerous weapons—Bullseye, casually flipping a knife between his fingers, and Mary Walker, her cold blue eyes scanning the room like a predator studying prey.
Normally, these meetings were routine. Reports. Updates. Discussions about profit margins, territorial disputes, and eliminating competition.
But tonight—tonight was different. Because Marco Crusetti, one of their own, was dead. And the man responsible had declared war on them.
Wilson Fisk steepled his fingers, his voice measured but filled with cold fury.
"Report."
The first to speak was William Lopez, the enforcer. A mountain of a man, built like a brick wall, draped in a red tracksuit. Leader of the Tracksuit Mafia. His job was simple—violence. Extortion. Enforcing Fisk's will through brute force. He cleared his throat, voice deep and gravelly.
"Our men have doubled patrols. We're making sure every street, every alley, and every business knows we're in charge. Anyone who even thinks about switching sides gets a bullet."
Fisk nodded slowly. Then his cold gaze shifted to the next commander.
Anne Marie Hoag.
Unlike the others, she looked respectable. An older woman in a pristine gray business suit, her blonde hair tied back in a professional bun. But her sector—Damage Control—was one of Fisk's most insidious tools.
"I've already put pressure on the city council," she said with an air of complete control. "Any business owner in Hell's Kitchen who refuses our 'protection' will find themselves drowning in city violations, lawsuits, and property disputes. We'll drive them out until they have no choice but to sell their land to us."
She sipped her wine as if she had just recited a weather report. Fisk barely reacted, moving to the next man.
Cody Felan.
Leader of the Irish Mob in Hell's Kitchen. A sleazy, grinning bastard in an expensive blue suit, leaning back in his chair like this was a poker game. His territory? The drug dens and brothels.
"Business is steady," he said with a casual smirk. "We're pushin' more product than ever. Our girls? Best in the city. Hell, even the NYPD is some of our best customers."
Bullseye snorted in amusement. Mary Walker did not. Fisk's face remained unreadable.
Next—Peter Stokes. A slick, snake-like man in his late 40s, wearing an expensive three-piece suit and a politician's fake smile. Head of the Stokes Crime Family. His specialty? Controlling the narrative.
"Our media contacts are already spinning this Jack Hou situation. By morning, he'll be painted as a terrorist, a mutant menace, a radical extremist attacking our city's beloved philanthropist, Wilson Fisk."
Fisk gave him a slow nod of approval. Then—the final man at the table.
Michael Adams. A thin, bespectacled man who looked more like a doctor than a criminal. But his role was one of the darkest. He controlled the hospitals, the shelters, the charities. A man who wore the mask of a savior while profiting from suffering.
"We're keeping the hospitals running, but our 'operations' are in danger. That lunatic Hou has completely shut down human trafficking. Our organ harvesting supply chain is already suffering. If this continues, we'll be forced to outsource to South America."
Fisk's jaw tightened ever so slightly. That was the first real sign of emotion. Because this was a direct attack on his empire. His control of Hell's Kitchen had always relied on two things—fear and deception. And this Jack Hou was destroying both.
Fisk slowly stood. His massive frame cast a shadow over the entire table. The room went completely silent.
Even Bullseye and Mary Walker stopped what they were doing.
Fisk placed his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. His voice was soft—but filled with terrifying authority. "We are under attack."
No one dared to speak.
"This Jack Hou has proven himself to be... a disruption. A threat to our operations. He has claimed territory that does not belong to him. He has challenged our rule. He has defied the natural order."
His fists clenched. "That will not be tolerated."
Bullseye grinned, already sensing bloodshed on the horizon.
Mary Walker tilted her head, intrigued.
"Increase security," Fisk commanded. "No more mistakes. No more underestimating him. If Jack Hou wants war—then war he shall have."
The commanders nodded, their fates now intertwined with this battle. Fisk turned to his two greatest weapons.
"Bullseye."
The assassin cracked his neck. "Yeah, boss?"
"Hunt him."
Bullseye grinned viciously.
"Gladly."
Fisk's gaze then settled on Mary Walker. The woman met his eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Fisk's voice was cold.
"Unleash the beast."
For a moment, Mary didn't react. Then—her lips curled into a slow, eerie smile. "With pleasure."
The room remained silent, but the war had begun. And in the shadows of Hell's Kitchen… the Kingpin had made his move.
…
Back to the present…
The punishment was over. Inside Auntie Vivi's store, two Jack Hou clones stood before her, hands sheepishly behind their backs like guilty schoolboys.
Auntie Vivi sighed, crossing her arms. "Don't do it again."
The clones nodded quickly. "We won't, Auntie."
But then—one of them hesitated. "But… we're just clones," he muttered. "We're not the real Jack."
Auntie Vivi's expression softened. She reached out, gently patting both their heads.
"How can you say that?" she said quietly. "We're leaning on you. Jack can't be here all the time, so we'll be seeing each other more, won't we?"
The clones blinked.
"That means you're precious to us." A warm silence filled the room.
Then—one of the clones grinned widely. "Aww, thanks, Auntie!"
Auntie Vivi smirked and shoved a large bag into their arms. "Here."
The clones looked inside. Hanfu robes. Several colors. Black, crimson, white, deep blue, even one in dark purple to pink. One of the clones instinctively reached into his sleeve to pay, but Auntie Vivi held up her hand.
"No need," she said firmly. "Take it."
The other clone frowned. "Are you sure?"
Auntie Vivi snorted. "Of course. Just make sure Jack wears them properly and doesn't act like a damn street thug while wearing such fine clothes."
The clones laughed, nodding. Then—unnoticed by Auntie Vivi, one of them smoothly slipped a bundle of cash into her pocket before they left.
As they walked through the streets, the clones were greeted warmly by the people. The once-terrified business owners now welcomed them like family.
From a small convenience store, Mario, the pizza shop owner, waved. "Oi, Jack! Wait!"
One of the clones turned, grinning. "What's up, Mario?"
Mario held out a box. "Try this. New recipe."
The clones accepted it, opening the box to reveal a freshly baked pizza, still steaming. They each grabbed a slice, taking big bites.
Their eyes widened. "Holy shit, Mario. This is amazing!" one clone said, mouth full. The other nodded enthusiastically.
Mario smirked. "Secret ingredient."
One clone raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Mario grinned. "Monkey meat."
The clones froze. A tense silence stretched between them. Then—both of them gasped dramatically. "YOU MONSTER!" Mario burst into laughter. The clones joined in, cackling as they took another bite.
As they continued their walk, they passed the butcher shop. The butcher, an older man with strong arms and a thick mustache, waved at them. "Jack! Thank you again, truly!"
The clones stopped. "Oh? For what?" one asked.
The butcher gestured toward his shop. "That protection paper? It's working wonders. No more rats. No more insects. The meat stays fresh longer. People are buying more. It's… like magic."
The clones exchanged glances, smirking. "Well, I did say it was magic," one said with a wink.
The butcher laughed. "Whatever it is, it's a blessing."
The clones gave him a casual salute and continued on their way. By now, the streets felt alive. This wasn't just a territory anymore. It was a home.
…
They were almost back at Jack's house. One clone carried the hanfu robes, ready to deliver them. The other was about to follow when—
WHIZZ—
A knife cut through the air, aimed directly at his eye. In a blur of motion, the clone raised two fingers—CLINK.
The blade stopped mere inches from his pupil, caught effortlessly.
The other clone immediately leaped away, vanishing toward the house with the package.
Now—only one clone remained.
He twirled the knife between his fingers, casually inspecting it. "Hmm…" he muttered. "Good weight. Perfect balance. Razor-sharp edge. Pretty craftsmanship."
He grinned, flipping it expertly in his hand before pointing it forward. "Lemme guess—Bullseye?"
A man stepped out from the shadows. Dressed in a dark blue combat suit, a white target insignia emblazoned on his forehead, he exuded an aura of pure lethality.
His cold eyes met Jack's with a predator's focus. "Heard you were looking for trouble lately," Bullseye said, his voice calm, amused.
Jack's clone grinned wider. "Nah. But I do collect trophies."
Bullseye cracked his neck. "Funny. I do too."
The tension in the air became suffocating. A silent agreement had been made. No more words were needed. This was a fight to the death.
…
Jack spread his arms wide, presenting his prized possessions like a game show host revealing the grand prize. In front of him, on a polished wooden shelf, sat his small but growing collection:
Iron Man's middle finger (Mark IV edition, slightly burnt)
Daredevil's billy club (retrieved from an unguarded pocket)
Wolverine's motorcycle (completely unpaid for)
Jack turned dramatically to face Yao, the Ancient One, who sipped his tea calmly from the side. "And that," Jack announced proudly, "is my entire collection thus far. Small, but deeply meaningful."
He paused, placing a hand over his chest. "A testament to my dedication, my patience, and my ability to rob superheroes."
Yao smiled, setting down his cup. "An impressive collection, indeed."
Jack grinned, rubbing his chin. "I haven't paid taxes on any of it yet, though. Don't tell the IRS."
Yao let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
Jack stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. "Now then," he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. "If we were to fight right now… what should I take from you?"
Yao raised an eyebrow. "A bold question."
Jack leaned forward, smirking. "I dig your sling ring."
Yao let out a knowing hum, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?"
Jack's smile widened, a manic excitement flickering behind his golden gaze.
Yao calmly took another sip of his tea. "And what would you wager in return?"
Jack pretended to think, rubbing his chin theatrically. "Hmm… my dignity? Oh wait, I lost that years ago."
Yao chuckled.
A charged silence filled the air, the playful banter melting into something more intense. Both men smiled, but their eyes sharpened, waiting for the other to make the first move.
A fight between them would be a clash of experience versus madness, wisdom against unpredictability. Jack's hand slowly reached for his earring—Until—The sliding doors burst open, revealing a clone carrying a bundle of hanfu robes from Auntie Vivi's shop.
The clone bowed dramatically, then straightened, completely unfazed by the palpable tension in the room. "Yo, main body, got some bad news."
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't like bad news."
The clone grinned. "Then let's call it mildly inconvenient news."
Jack gestured lazily. "Alright, hit me with it."
The clone adjusted the bundle of robes under his arm before nonchalantly dropping the bomb. "Bullseye's here. Hunting us. Also, there's, like, a lot more people out for your head."
Jack's eyes gleamed with delight. "Aww, they shouldn't have."
The clone rolled his eyes. "You say that like it's your birthday."
Jack grinned. "Every day is a gift when people want to kill me."
The clone deadpanned. "That's called a 'death threat,' boss."
Jack shrugged. "Tomato, tomahto."
He turned to Yao, who remained perfectly calm. "You knew this was gonna happen, didn't you?" Jack accused, pointing a playful finger at the sorcerer.
Yao smiled, standing up and dusting off his robes. "Maybe."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "You sneaky bald bastard."
Yao casually raised a hand, opening a shimmering golden portal behind him, the swirling light revealing the halls of Kamar-Taj.
Jack crossed his arms. "You running away?"
Yao chuckled. "Let's just say our battle isn't destined for today."
Jack pouted. "Tsk. And here I was, ready to add a sling ring to my collection."
Yao stepped into the portal, pausing just before it closed. "Perhaps next time, Monkey Sage." Then—with a flicker of golden light, he was gone.
Jack clicked his tongue. "Damn. He totally knew this was coming."
The clone nodded sagely. "Old man's got that protagonist foresight."
Jack stretched, cracking his neck. "Welp. No use crying over lost treasures. Let's go meet our guest."
He grinned, eyes flashing dangerously. "Bullseye, was it? Hope he doesn't mind if I play with him a bit."
The clone snorted. "Oh, he's gonna mind."
Jack laughed, grabbing his staff and heading out the door.
