Fudge waited anxiously in the shadows of the club, regretting every step that had brought him here. He should never have come to a place like this, not alone and certainly not with John. But after seeing what kind of person John truly was, Fudge no longer dared to describe his boss as merely rich or busy. John was something else entirely—an unpredictable force.
"Why do you work with him?" Fudge whispered to Ferdinand, glancing nervously at the door.
Ferdinand hesitated, then shrugged. "Because he has money."
Fudge shook his head, incredulous. "But did you not see what just happened? He had one man kill another, just like that."
Ferdinand's face tightened. He wanted to become successful so badly, but all the facts told him that unless he stayed by John's side, he would always be just another Brooklyn gangster.
"You cannot blame him," Ferdinand muttered.
"If you do not blame him, then who can you blame?" Fudge replied, thinking Ferdinand was losing his mind.
Ferdinand could only say, "He is sick."
"What?" Fudge was stunned. "You mean he has a mental illness?"
"I do not know. He said he had an operation before, and it made him a little abnormal." Ferdinand's hands shrank at the memory. "Most of the time, he is still normal."
Fudge did not know what to say. If it was because of illness, maybe it was easier to understand what had just happened.
Just then, John walked out with a bag in his hand.
"What is that?" Fudge asked.
"I met our old friend, but he was not holding a woman this time, which may disappoint you." John handed the bag to Ferdinand casually.
Old friend?
Fudge was confused until he saw Matt walking out, wearing a suit. Matt wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and put on the clothes John gave him, making it impossible to associate him with Daredevil.
"Matt? Why are you here?" Fudge's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're blind, and you still end up in places like this?"
"Matt came here on my behalf," John explained smoothly. "As you know, one of my cars was stolen."
Fudge reluctantly accepted this explanation.
The group made their way toward the Death Race scene.
"We need to leave as soon as possible," Matt whispered in John's ear. "Those guys could find us at any time."
"The most dangerous places are often the ones people overlook," John replied, opening the last door and walking in. "You cannot show off your skills with two pieces of baggage."
Matt accepted this, even as he tried to figure out John's true reason for being here. Was it really just about a car? Did the rich really think this way?
"How much is that car?" Matt asked.
"I do not know, maybe a million?" John replied.
"Are you lacking money?"
"No shortage."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I was bored."
Matt was left speechless. Was this really how the wealthy thought?
They arrived at the Death Race.
The track was alive with energy, lit up for the night. Modified cars of every shape and color lined up, and among the crowd, you could spot New York's elite in suits and ties, as well as celebrities who once graced magazine covers. Those who loved excitement came here to let off steam.
The rule of Death Race was simple: finish first. During the race, a navigator was required, and the cars were allowed to attack each other with any modifications they could dream up. The last car standing would complete the challenge and win the twenty-thousand-dollar prize sponsored by Satan Mansion—if they could survive to claim it. More often than not, the prize never left the house.
"Welcome to Death Race!" A flamboyantly dressed host appeared on a lift, microphone in hand, his voice booming with excitement. "Today, we welcome a new challenger. His name is… Black Ape Man!"
"Black Ape Man? When did I get that name?" Roman muttered angrily, hearing the introduction. If he did not want to prove himself so badly, he would have left right then.
"His opponent is the reigning champion, the most brutal of them all—the Rattlesnake!"
A monstrous, heavily modified car rolled out, its body covered in spikes and a shovel mounted on the front, ready to ram anything in its path.
"Wait, am I supposed to race against that thing?" Roman panicked as he saw his opponent's vehicle. That was not a car for normal people. Was this Death Race really so serious?
The host introduced several other challengers, each with terrifying, weaponized cars. Only Roman's business-class luxury car looked ordinary, like a lamb among wolves. The crowd laughed at the sight.
Ferdinand was as pale as a ghost. If his brother did not die here, his boss would surely kill him.
John, instead of being angry, seemed almost entertained.
The race began. Roman, lacking the attack power of the others, relied on his driving skills. He floored the accelerator and took the lead, but it was dangerous. The other racers launched their attacks. Someone even leaned out of a car window and fired a pistol. Bullets rained down, making Roman duck in fear.
Ferdinand watched in horror, convinced he was about to lose his job.
Matt, meanwhile, was focused elsewhere. Using his extraordinary hearing, he tried to locate a specific room among the chaos.
He whispered to John, "We need to go up to the second floor."
John glanced at the heavily guarded staircase. "You still want to go after the kingpin first?"
"The signal is blocked here. We cannot call for help," Matt said. "Once they realize what is happening, we will be prisoners."
"Optimism is not a strategy," John replied.
"They have kidnapped many children. I suspect they have other plans," Matt said seriously. "I need your help."
"If it is for my lawyer, I do not mind helping," John replied with a half-smile. "Really?"
Matt hesitated, then nodded. "I can be."
He needed John's help to rescue the kidnapped children. Even though he knew John was not a good person, he had no choice.
"Deal," John said, holding out his hand.
"I will take care of the second floor," John promised. "You go finish your business."
Matt nodded and slipped away.
John patted Fudge on the shoulder, took out a thick wad of bills, and stuffed them into Fudge's hands. "My lawyer, place a bet for me—on my car."
Fudge was left standing there, bewildered, as John led Ferdinand away.
He was alone, holding a bundle of cash, not sure what to do next.
Upstairs, Corey was meeting with Madame Gao.
"This transaction will satisfy you, Madame Gao," Corey said, pouring her some tea. Only on the top floor of Hell's Kitchen did people know Madame Gao by name. The goods she handled were always the best quality.
"I have found the child you wanted," Corey said, "but I am involved in the human trafficking business, so…"
He hoped for a reward.
Madame Gao sipped her tea, savoring the aroma. "If you can prove your strength," she said calmly, "I can let you handle more goods."
If not for the children, Madame Gao would never have come in person. Last time, she had been in Hell and Heaven, negotiating with Simon about the contraband trade. Satan Mansion was just a test run; only a small part of her business went to the Viper Gang, but even that was enough to drive Corey mad. She wanted a force loyal to her, and Corey was lucky to be chosen.
Hearing that Madame Gao was willing to offer more, Corey smiled broadly and personally escorted her out.
Just as Madame Gao left, a subordinate rushed in. "The goods are missing!"
Corey was furious. The goods were worth millions, and now they were gone. If he could not deliver, Madame Gao would cut him off.
"Find them now!" Corey roared, grabbing the man by the neck. "And kill that Daredevil!"
Madame. Gao was heading downstairs when she bumped into John.
She felt a strange sense of familiarity but could not place it. John glanced at her, thinking what a coincidence it was to meet her again, first in Hell and Heaven, now here.
Ferdinand, trailing behind, looked nervous, his hands aching from carrying the heavy bag. He had peeked inside and knew there was enough contraband to send him away for life.
"Boss, you are so rich. Why are you still doing this?" Ferdinand muttered, wishing he could just go straight.
"What are you thinking?" John replied. "Only a fool would chase such petty profits."
"Then why are you—?"
"I am looking for someone."
Downstairs, John used a Confundus Charm to slip past the guards.
Corey, meanwhile, was growing more furious by the minute. He smashed things, his tattoos reddening as his anger grew. As he panted, his strength seemed to swell. He punched through the television and made holes in the bar. The striped snake watched him, its tongue flickering.
A knock sounded at the door. Corey, still raging, opened it to find John and Ferdinand.
"You seem to be looking for something?" John said, stepping inside as if he owned the place.
Corey was about to explode, but then he saw the bag in Ferdinand's hand. His eyes went bloodshot. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.
"That is not the point. The point is, do you want it?" John replied, strolling to the window to watch Roman lead the race in his father's luxury car.
Corey calmed slightly, though suspicion lingered. "Who are you?"
"Me? Nobody," John replied with a smile. "But I am here to make a deal. You can choose."
He was so calm that Corey began to doubt himself.
"Give me the bag," Corey snarled, clenching his fists. He had no intention of paying.
John sighed. "It seems the deal failed, then…"
He spoke a word in a language that was not human.
Ferdinand could not understand, but someone else did.
Corey was about to grab his goods when, suddenly, something constricted around his neck. A bloody mouth bit into his throat.
The striped snake, his own pet, had turned on him.
Corey opened his mouth to scream, but only a gurgle escaped. The snake's fangs pierced his skin, tearing open his windpipe. Corey struggled, but the snake did not let go. Even as Corey's muscles bulged with desperation, the snake's bones cracked, but it held on until Corey finally stilled.
Ferdinand was frozen in shock. John watched without emotion.
He had a special ability. In the magical world, there are those who can speak to snakes.
It is called Parseltongue.
Watching Corey die, John remained unmoved.
At the same time, the Death Race ended. John glanced out the window. "Did your brother win?"
Ferdinand, about to vomit, swallowed hard and ran to the window. To his surprise, Roman had indeed won.
It seemed he would live another day.