Chapter 33: Chapter 33: You'll Only Be a Second Generation from Now On
Stark never considered himself easily persuaded. However, Cohen's few words stirred his emotions deeply.
Originally, he had a romantic evening planned with the twin cover models of Penthouse, but now he had completely lost interest.
He stared at Cohen. "You want me to join you?"
Cohen quietly observed him for a moment and then smiled. "Sorry, we're not currently accepting unqualified members. But we can allow you to join in another way."
Hearing the words "unqualified members," Stark was a little angry, but he was more curious about this "other way."
"What kind of way?"
"Money, a lot of money."
Stark gritted his teeth. He, the smartest person on this planet, was worth nothing compared to some money? He was quite frustrated, gave Cohen the middle finger, and turned to leave.
"This lousy place, you think I wanted to come here? I make millions in a minute, and you think I want to play house with you? Can you even afford me?"
Cohen didn't mind his rant and walked him to the door. "Stark, when you truly understand what I said, you'll be a hero."
The only response was the roar of Stark's car engine and a raised middle finger.
Watching Stark speed away, Cohen shrugged. That guy was headed to Afghanistan soon. He was about to make a fortune, and there was no way the storyline could change at this point!
Besides, without the long and torturous experience in that cave, could the Iron Man born from quips and tricks still be the same Iron Man?
Oh, he suddenly remembered—he had to find an opportunity to give Stark the name "Iron Man."
That way, Cohen would be the first Iron Man, and Stark the second. It would be great if Stark, with all his money, would pay to get the name back.
If he refused, Cohen could just pay James from the Daily Bugle to start calling Stark "Tin Can Man" on TV!
...
The vampires were in deep trouble.
After several days of repeated broadcasts on TV, millions of people took to the streets.
The whole of America was on the verge of paralysis, and The President finally came up with a solution.
He declared that all vampires within the United States were illegal and established a specialized agency: the Vampire Clean-up Bureau.
The White House published the Vampire Hunting Manual and began equipping the police with anti-vampire weapons nationwide.
These measures sparked a killing spree across the country.
Just as the scalps of Native Americans could once be exchanged for government bounties, now the distinctive fangs of vampires had become a valuable commodity on the black market.
Hunting vampires even became the trendiest game for some young people.
In this climate, the vampires, whose weaknesses were evident, suffered heavy losses, and the survivors hid even deeper.
Cohen and David closely monitored the situation, feeling satisfied with the outcome. All attention had shifted away from "Demon Face," and their revenge plan against the Hell's Kitchen gangs could now proceed.
At this point, an unexpected visitor arrived—a young man named Wesley, a man who had been crushed by life.
His eyes were filled with confusion, and his hands were tightly clasped, as if holding something.
He sat silently on a bench in Emma Church until Cohen greeted him.
Cohen frowned. "Wesley, what's wrong?"
Since their first meeting, Wesley had visited a few times, and each time, Cohen had given him heartfelt comfort and encouragement.
To Wesley, who had been mercilessly trampled by life, Cohen was practically a life coach.
Wesley extended his clasped hands in front of Cohen and slowly opened them, revealing two flies without wings.
Perhaps he had held them too tightly on the way, and the flies were now half-dead.
"Father, the change you predicted has arrived, and you'll never guess what happened! I... I shot off the wings of the flies!"
Cohen paused. He knew the related storyline had begun.
In short, the Assassin Brotherhood received hints of fate from a loom. They deciphered names from the woven fabric and eliminated the evildoers, maintaining world order.
But the current leader of the Brotherhood, Sloan, had become corrupt.
Obsessed with money and power, Sloan began using the highly skilled assassins of the Brotherhood for his personal gain. Wesley's father, Carlos, discovered this, so Sloan wanted to silence him. However, Carlos was too powerful.
Thus, the protagonist Wesley came into Sloan's sights. Sloan planned to train Wesley and have him unknowingly kill his own father.
Cohen patted Wesley on the shoulder. "Did you meet a lot of people today?"
"Yes, there was a black leader, a beautiful woman, and... others."
"What do you think of them?"
Wesley's excitement cooled slightly, and he looked up, saying firmly, "My life is garbage. They can offer me something different. I want to give it a try!"
Cohen shrugged. "Then give it a try."
Seeing Cohen casually say this, Wesley fell silent. Cohen had previously told him many times not to make decisions lightly. Why wasn't he stopping him this time?
Cohen smiled. "I'm letting you try so you can learn from them. They'll train you into a top-level assassin. But when they give you a mission, make sure to come see me before you carry it out—especially when they ask you to avenge your father's death!"
Wesley's heart trembled, and he quickly asked, "Avenge my father's death? What do you mean?"
Cohen shook his head and pointed to God behind him. "Fate cannot be glimpsed, but God has already shown the path to salvation. When you return here again, you will understand everything."
...
Cohen's revenge had officially begun.
After investigating for some time, he identified six major gangs that were the primary issuers of the bounty: the Russian Mafia, the Algerian Mafia, the Gambino family of the Mafia, the Irish Mob, Kingpin, and... the Hand.
That night, with David's help, Cohen infiltrated a luxurious mansion in New Jersey, right by the Hudson River, across from Manhattan.
Compared to the brightly lit, flashy Manhattan, this place was quiet and low-key.
The Gambino family of the Mafia lived here.
They had contributed a significant amount to the Demon Face bounty—$800,000—and gathered over a dozen gunmen.
The Gambino family's biggest business at the moment was arms smuggling, and the RPG used to attack Cohen that night had been supplied by them.
Once inside the mansion, Cohen moved swiftly and silently, like a skilled assassin.
Not exactly unnoticed, but certainly leaving a trail of bodies.
Before the enemies even saw his face, they were already down.
When he reached the main building, the lights were still dim. Unfortunately for the enemies, Cohen had infrared vision that could see through walls, revealing their hiding spots.
He swapped the gun at his waist—this was a weapon specially modified for him by master gunsmith Whistler.
Calling it a gun was an understatement; it was more like a "mini-cannon." It had a single-shot capacity, a 20mm caliber, double the powder, and custom-made spiral armor-piercing rounds.
In the hands of an ordinary person, it would shatter their wrist.
Cohen called it "The Executioner."
"Bam!"
The bullet mercilessly pierced the concrete wall, blowing up the head of the figure hiding behind it.
After nine shots, the Gambino family became history.
A few trembling servants hiding in the servant's quarters only heard the gunshots and footsteps before the massacre was over.
When the police questioned them later, they looked utterly bewildered, knowing less than the police did.
The massacre was quickly reported to George Stacy. He had a hunch that Demon Face had returned.
But looking at the mountain of paperwork in front of him, he shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tossed the files back to his subordinates. "Handle it quietly."
Then, he buried himself in the vampire-related files again.
These politicians had hidden the existence of vampires for their own profit, and now the public was angry. Why should the police bear the consequences?
"Damn it!"
(End of Chapter)
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