บท 40: Exposed!
Inside a newsroom.
A middle-aged reporter, wearing a dated beret and old-fashioned glasses, was organizing the materials on his desk. These documents were related to cases and news about the "Devil of Hell's Kitchen." He had been tirelessly chasing that legend for a long time.
"Beep, beep, beep."
His phone on the desk rang, and he casually picked it up.
"Hello, what's up?"
"Ulrich, I have something I think you'll find interesting."
Ulrich pushed aside the materials on his desk and quietly asked over the phone, "What is it? Don't try to trick me again."
"Just come over, and you'll see." The person on the other end didn't say much more.
After a brief hesitation, Ulrich agreed.
…
"Hey, buddy!"
Ulrich slapped a dollar bill onto the back of a chubby man working nearby and said, "This better be something good, Colby."
Colby turned his round face, chewing on gum and blowing a bubble. He took the money, confidently assuring Ulrich, "You know me, Ulrich, I always show you good stuff!"
With that, he stood up and led Ulrich to a room.
Colby put on white gloves, then, with a serious look, asked, "Are you ready to see something really, really cool?"
Ulrich, a bit impatient, urged, "Just get on with it!"
"Okay!"
Colby responded as he pulled off a white cloth.
A special stick, or rather a cane, was revealed. It was short, black-red in color, with silver-white ends, one of which had two small "wings." These wings were serrated, looking like sharp blades.
But after just a glance, Ulrich shook his head and extended his hand to Colby, disappointed, "Give me my money back!"
Colby, looking innocent, argued, "Come on, man, I'm giving you gold here! Isn't this thing interesting?"
Ulrich remained unmoved, saying, "I've seen this before, don't try to fool me!"
Colby, frustrated, continued, "Alright, but I bet you haven't seen this!"
He picked up the stick, retracted the sharp blades, and gently twisted one end. The stick extended, almost poking Ulrich in the face.
Seeing Ulrich finally show a bit of interest, Colby said, "You told me to keep an eye out for weird things, right?"
Ulrich closely examined the transformed stick, gradually falling into deep thought.
"This thing is really strange, huh?"
Colby smiled, thinking he had sealed the deal.
However, Ulrich, with a solemn expression, stroked the stick and muttered to himself, "You have no idea what this really means..."
At that moment, his heart was racing. After all this time, he had finally found that person…
…
Inside Kingpin's office.
"So, you just watched him take the guy away?"
Kingpin, with a cigar in his mouth, scanned his downcast subordinates with icy eyes.
None of them dared to speak, knowing all too well how brutal their boss could be, and fearing they might become the scapegoat for their failure to stop Bullseye's abduction.
"Wesley, you know something?"
Kingpin suddenly addressed Wesley, who stood to the side.
"In ancient times, subordinates who failed in their missions would kill themselves out of shame."
He took a deep drag from his cigar, making the tip glow red, and then, with a savage expression, suddenly grabbed one of his men by the throat.
"So why haven't you all died yet?"
The man struggled in terror, slapping and kicking at Kingpin's thick arm, but the difference in strength made his resistance as futile as a child's. Kingpin held him aloft, watching as the life drained from his body.
He then tossed the lifeless man aside like trash and swung his cane at the next one.
None of the men dared to resist or flee, and one by one, they were killed by Kingpin's hand.
Three minutes later, Kingpin, looking satisfied, dropped the last body.
"Wesley, handkerchief."
Kingpin raised his blood-stained cane and said to Wesley, who stood stoically beside him, as if nothing had happened.
Wesley immediately handed him a handkerchief, remaining silent.
Kingpin tenderly wiped his cane, his expression filled with affection.
"We have a problem, Wesley," he said coldly after a while.
Wesley's eyelid twitched, and he quickly replied, "I believe problems can be solved."
Kingpin shot him a glance, a crooked smile appearing on his face.
"What do you think he's planning?"
Without much thought, Wesley responded, "Helping others out of kindness, a laughable sense of justice, a hatred of crime… Isn't that how all superheroes are?"
Hearing Wesley's remarks, Kingpin burst into laughter and looked at him with mild surprise. "Didn't know you were so familiar with superheroes. Do you like those stories?"
Wesley gave an awkward smile and replied with difficulty, "I used to like them when I was a kid."
"Yeah, who didn't know about Superman as a kid? … Don't watch them anymore?" Kingpin muttered nostalgically, then became serious again.
"If he's really Superman, there are many ways to deal with him. But if he's not..."
His voice trailed off.
"So far, he only seems Superman-like in his abilities."
Wesley responded with a grim look.
"Yes, he's as powerful as a god."
Kingpin's tone was somber.
"Superman is no god. Even gods perish if abandoned by their believers."
Wesley weakly retorted.
"Exactly. Superman isn't a god, he's just a superhero, and all superheroes have their weaknesses."
Kingpin lit another cigar, slowly walking to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Looking out at the city, the aura of a criminal overlord returned to Kingpin as he spoke in an emotionless voice, "We can't kill this superhero."
Against overwhelming power, they were nothing more than rats hiding in the dark, unable to fight him head-on.
Both Kingpin and Wesley knew this well, so Kingpin decided to change his approach.
"But we can destroy him."
He stared at the city below with deep eyes and a cold tone.
"I'll make him understand that I am the ruler here!"
For a moment, his face was filled with confidence and dominance.
"But..."
After a long silence, Kingpin spoke again, this time in a more uncertain tone.
"That's assuming he's the kind of superhero we think he is—like Superman."
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