300 gems = bonus chapter
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John's vacation was finally shaping up to be what he had envisioned. With both Hammer Industries and Taran Industries embarking on their respective ventures in New York, John found himself with ample free time. He decided to spend a day in Queens.
Holding a croissant he had bought in Brooklyn and a glass of milk, John ambled through the borough. He had the air of a young aristocrat enjoying a leisurely afternoon snack, perhaps on the streets of Paris, rather than in the bustling expanse of Queens. Hammer Industries was located here, and John's relaxed, almost ostentatiously carefree demeanor was a source of considerable bewilderment for the company's management.
Yuri Orlov, a man whose hairline was receding rapidly from too many late nights, approached John. No fewer than five bodyguards trailed him, with additional professional security personnel, disguised as ordinary passersby, subtly present in the vicinity. On any given outing, Orlov was typically accompanied by more than a dozen such protectors. These men were die-hard loyalists, prepared to lay down their lives for him, a loyalty secured by Orlov's considerable annual expenditure on their upkeep. This was no mere salary; it encompassed comprehensive arrangements for their residences, families, children's schooling, and their parents' medical insurance. Every detail was meticulously managed, ensuring their unwavering, cost-be-damned service.
Having hunted for blood diamonds in Africa and stared down the barrel of a warlord's gun, Orlov possessed a stark understanding of human motivation: everyone only gets one life, a truth that could make any man brutally pragmatic when pushed to the edge.
"You gave away two billion in gold without batting an eye," Orlov remarked, joining John. He subconsciously reached for a cigarette, then, noticing John, tucked it away again. He complained, "You spend money even more generously than your father ever did."
John popped the last piece of croissant into his mouth, took a sip of milk, and said lightly, "That was a windfall, Orlov."
"That was gold," Orlov retorted, a note of genuine pain in his voice. "I would rather have given you two billion US dollars." For an arms dealer, the thought of such a vast sum of hard currency like gold changing hands so casually was indeed distressing. All other currencies derived their value from the nations backing them, but gold was different. As a rare metal, it was a strategic asset for every country, essential for manufacturing many electronic products. No one ever had enough gold.
"You possess something even more precious than gold," John said, raising his hand to reveal a shimmering purple crystal. He arched an eyebrow. "Energy, Orlov, is more precious than gold."
"Gods, must you flaunt that thing so openly?" Orlov nervously snatched the crystal and slipped it into his pocket, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I cannot let Stark Industries get wind of our trump card."
"He already knows."
"What?" Orlov raised a hand to his forehead in helpless exasperation. "My dear John, you cannot always be so forthright."
"Sometimes, a few well-placed lies can make life considerably more pleasant. Now, come on, give it to me. How many more do you have?" Orlov, with an almost desperate eagerness, looked as if he were about to search John's pockets himself.
John deftly slapped Orlov's encroaching hand away. He passed his milk glass to a nearby bodyguard and said casually, "Tell me your news, Orlov. You have not forgotten our principle of equal value exchange, have you?"
Hearing this, Orlov scanned their surroundings before speaking. "You should be aware of who you are dealing with, kid." He then invited John into his car. "That fellow is not to be trifled with. He is called Kingpin. On the surface, he is a businessman, but in reality, he controls the underground forces in Hell's Kitchen."
Settling into the stretched Lincoln, with bodyguards positioned discreetly around the vehicle, Orlov poured a glass of champagne. "Yes, you heard correctly. That man has Hell's Kitchen in his grip, so much so that even the hotel system cannot interfere excessively."
"When your father convened the twelve powers of the High Table, Kingpin was not among them. Later, through some maneuvering I am not privy to, he seized the position that rightfully belonged to New York." Passing the champagne flute to John, Orlov hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Are you truly of age? Forgive me, but your face looks younger than my brother did when he was in high school."
John accepted the champagne. "It seems his ambition is not particularly difficult to discern."
"Of course. The man wants to dominate New York," Orlov affirmed. "I suspect he even harbors ambitions of running for mayor. With your father's arrival in New York, Kingpin became notably active, clearly aiming to usurp your father's position." Orlov poured himself another glass, took a sip of champagne, and shrugged. "Obviously, he underestimated your father."
"Your father has the responsibility of maintaining the balance of this High Table. He cannot allow any single power to become disproportionately strong or weak," Orlov explained. "Balance and order are precisely why the government acquiesces to the hotel system's existence, a delicate equilibrium your father masterfully upholds." After a pause, Orlov extended his hand expectantly. "Now, give me the item."
"Is that all?" John looked at Orlov with an expression of surprise. "You merely wished to provide me with an introduction?"
"What else?" Orlov appeared equally perplexed. "If there existed evidence capable of bringing that man down, I would have dealt with Kingpin myself long ago."
"That makes a degree of sense, though not an overwhelming amount." John produced a bag and handed it to Orlov. It was filled with purple crystals, the raw form of the magic crystals, and the quantity was sufficient for the reactor experiments. Orlov opened the bag, and a wide, satisfied grin spread across his face.
"I do not have extensive involvement in the hotel system," Orlov finally advised John as he prepared to depart, "but you should know, it is not just Kingpin who covets your father's esteemed position at the High Table."
John nodded and exited the car. He handed the champagne flute back to the bodyguard he had given his milk glass to earlier and retrieved his own glass. He then looked at the bodyguard's Asian features with a flicker of surprise. "What is your name?"
"Danny," the man replied, his face stern, yet there was something about him that struck John as familiar.
Orlov elaborated, "This is Danny, a fighter I recruited from an underground fighting ring. Though not particularly tall, he is the most formidable among my bodyguards. Before he came to work for me, he was raised like a dog."
Danny remained expressionless, seemingly unfazed by Orlov's blunt description of his past. Perhaps the environment in which he had grown up had not afforded him much opportunity to express or even process emotions. John touched his chin thoughtfully; the man bore a passing resemblance to a kung fu superstar from his previous life.
*****
Queens, the largest borough in New York, shares a border with Brooklyn. John meandered through its streets, which, while not possessing the opulent grandeur of Manhattan, had their own distinct character. Yet, just as disparities between rich and poor exist everywhere, Queens too had its share of affluent residents driving luxury cars.
John strolled along, a camera in hand. This was no ordinary camera, however; it was a device from the magical world. He paused by a fallen tree, clicked the shutter, and then stood for a moment, quietly admiring the scenery.
"May, look!"
"Peter, be careful; do not fall!"
A familiar voice reached his ears, and John turned his head. A recognizable pair came into view. Young Peter Parker had also spotted an acquaintance and came running over, clutching a handful of freshly caught leaves in one hand and a small trophy in the other.
"It's you, John!"
"Perhaps you could be polite and address me as Mr. Wick," John said, playfully flicking Peter's forehead, leaving a faint red mark.
"Hey!" Peter rubbed his forehead. John's gaze fell upon the trophy.
"A Youth Science and Technology Award?" he inquired, genuinely surprised. "So, you are a future Einstein, are you?"
May approached with a warm smile. "Do not praise him so much; he will become conceited." Looking at John, she asked curiously, "What brings you here?"
"Just taking a stroll," John indicated the camera, "and capturing a few souvenirs."
"There is not much here worth remembering," May said with a smile and a dismissive wave of her hand. In her view, these were all ordinary, everyday sights. It felt as if she had been here for so many years, and little had truly changed.
"Not necessarily," John countered easily. "Circumstances can be unpredictable. Perhaps one day, these very things we take for granted will be dearly missed."
"You have a point," May said with a knowing wink. "How about you take a photo of me? Perhaps I will miss this moment in the future."
"Very well, but remember, there is a condition…"
"An exchange of equal value," May interjected with a smile. "Can that meal be considered an exchange of equal value?"
"Let me consider." John paused thoughtfully for three seconds. "Deal."
He raised the camera and gestured for Peter to join May. "Alright then, say cheese!"
"Cheese!"
The two stood beside the busy street. Autumn leaves drifted from the trees, one gently landing on Peter's head as he beamed with a bright smile.
It was August, a fine time to explore Southeast Asian cuisine. In the Thai restaurant, Peter sipped Tom Yum soup with such enthusiasm it seemed he found it addictive.
"I am not sure if it will suit your taste," May commented. "Many people in the United States have allergies and cannot tolerate Thai food."
"Fortunately, I do not have such concerns." John picked up a piece of spring roll, briefly pondering whether it was authentically Thai.
"Are you from London?" May was quite curious about John, especially since he had saved Peter previously. "Are there many people like you there?" She was referring to wizards; it was her first encounter with one.
"There are people like me all over the world," John chuckled. "Perhaps your neighbors or classmates are among them."
"I know, it is Ned!" Peter chimed in. "His grandmother mentioned a hereditary talent in their family." Then, looking rather crestfallen, Peter added, "But I have never seen him use magic."
"Perhaps it is possible," John said, not wishing to dash the child's imagination. He smiled. "Maybe one day he will receive a letter delivered by an owl."
"What is that?"
"An admission notice to a school of magic." John placed the spring rolls into his bowl, examining their contents. "I used to deliver letters by owl myself."
"I will definitely ask him next time!" Peter exclaimed, his mind already conjuring images of an owl delivering a message.
May watched the interaction between the two with a fond expression. They truly seemed like father and son, though of course, their appearances bore no resemblance.
After finishing their meal, they walked out and encountered a portly older man passing by, carrying an armful of red clothes, presumably to sell in a nearby store.
"It is Santa Claus!" Peter blurted out. Christmas was still more than three months away, but some were already beginning their preparations.
John remarked with a touch of wistfulness, "I wonder if I will be able to celebrate the holidays with my family this year."
"You can come to our house, Mr. Wick; please make an appointment!" Peter said excitedly. "I can show you the Lego I built."
"Perhaps I will visit then," John said, glancing at May, who showed no objection. He extended his hand to Peter. "When I come, I will bring you a Christmas gift, Peter."
It was clear that Peter was quite fond of this magical Mr. Wick, and he happily took John's hand. Mei also extended a heartfelt invitation. "We are serious, John."
"Well, it seems you are very interested in my Christmas gift," John smiled. "I will come."
He bid them farewell and then casually looked across the street. An Asian man stood there, smiling at him. John met his gaze.
"Hello," the man said. "My name is Xu Wenwu."
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