[TN: Here, two chapters for missing yesterday also saw a very funny review, I got my second one-star review, and just like the last one, didn't add to anything. I'm fine with one-star as I'm doing this for fun, so at least offer so real criticism or sothing. PS don't harass them, I'm just taking the piss at them, is all.]
Gwen clung to the outside of the United Construction Company tower, watching the entire process of her father's heroic battle.
But to be honest, it wasn't all that hard-fought.
The process was basically like this:
Kingpin picked up a table and smashed it toward four armored police officers.
The four cops dodged and spread out, the table shattering into pieces on the floor!
Kingpin turned, grabbed a chair, and prepared to throw it again!
The four officers fired their tasers, but unfortunately, the effect wasn't great—Kingpin didn't go down!
He staggered, actually hit himself with the chair.
Kingpin tried to stand up again. The four officers were shocked and cranked up the voltage, while switching their other hands to tranquilizer rounds.
Even after firing off all the tranquilizers, they emptied two clips of small-caliber bullets.
Finally, Kingpin went down.
[Gwen: Is he even human? He hasn't been bitten by so kind of genetically engineered animal, has he?]
[Leo: What, you think maybe a mutant wild boar bit him?]
[Gwen: He seems like he could casually win Olympic dals or MMA championships. If he didn't do this, he could be rich and famous.]
[Leo: You can't judge soone like him by ordinary standards.]
Kingpin weighed 204 kilos, stood two ters tall, and could fling a nearly 200-kilo table several ters away. In weightlifting terms, he could probably challenge over 300 kilos.
He was already at the limit of human ability—if he did boxing, a single punch might kill an opponent.
If he hadn't beco a gang boss, being a top-tier athlete earning tens of millions a year wasn't impossible.
That kind of wealth is unimaginable for ordinary families.
But perhaps it was his thirst for ultimate power that gave rise to his monstrous physique—without a desire to exceed limits, how could one obtain a body that exceeds limits?
Leo already knew Kingpin's physical strength was far beyond ordinary, so the "non-lethal" weapons he equipped Captain Stacy with were, for normal people, downright deadly.
Each of the four tasers discharged more than ten milliamps. A weaker constitution could have gone into cardiac arrest.
And the tranquilizer darts—each shot carried more than three tis the dosage for a normal adult. Add to that the small-caliber bullets ant for suppression: three or four hits would immobilize most people, but Kingpin's bulk could probably tank four or five magazines.
Still, no matter how strong, he was human. Thousands of days and nights of training couldn't match bullets churned out by the assembly line. If he could withstand them, then just add more.
Kingpin knew this truth, but science and technology were his Achilles' heel.
If he had money and power, of course he'd study these things. But now, he could barely protect himself.
The massive restraint bed bound the once-glorious cri emperor like a hog, steel and current locking him down, his once-pristine suit torn to shreds.
A strange sll lingered—
For all his training, his body's tolerance to current wasn't much higher than an ordinary man's, maybe one or two milliamps more at best.
The electricity and drugs were enough to wreck his bladder and bowels, leaving him partially incontinent.
Employees who once dared not look him in the eye now whispered behind the police, pointing fingers.
The cri lord who once demanded kneeling tears was now bound like an animal, soiled and humiliated.
The very people he "fed scraps" to now looked at him with those eyes!
The imnse humiliation burned like fire in his mind: if he had a machine gun right now, he'd turn this place into hell!
But just as ordinary people's fear and rage at an intrusion can't beco strength, Kingpin, too, tasted helplessness.
Steel and current—physical barriers no man can cross.
The restraint bed rolled to the exit. Several large prison transports waited outside. Kingpin quickly learned who was behind this:
The new mayor, Anthony Flor, stood beaming in front of the convoy, shaking hands with the arresting officers.
After so brief congratulations, Anthony approached Kingpin, smiling, though his smile was sowhat hollow.
Looking at the giant, he hid his thoughts beneath the grin:
This was the man who once ruled Hell's Kitchen, commanding countless thugs.
Back when Anthony was just an ordinary man, he had two choices: remain ordinary, be forced out, drifting holess, or follow Leo to build a seemingly pointless hoowners' association, nearly getting killed by Kingpin's assassins.
Of course, luck favored him: a dump truck delivered righteous justice.
Without those events, perhaps Kingpin would be mayor now.
Yes, Anthony realized, looking back, that his rise mirrored Kingpin's in many ways.
His voter base ca from the New York Workers' Mutual Aid Association, which itself grew from the Hell's Kitchen Hoowners' Association.
If Leo hadn't dragged him into it, these people would still be under gang control.
Threatened by guns and knives, they'd surrender work hours, protections, wages, even hos—and what was one aningless vote compared to that?
Now, as mayor, Anthony knew the world was filled with corporations and vested groups. He had Leo's support, but if Kingpin had built up, wouldn't companies like Oscorp, Cybertek, Stark Industries, or Roxxon Energy back him as well?
Each could have been Kingpin's patron.
From the start, Anthony knew he wasn't Kingpin. He couldn't drop his morals, abandon all limits, and claw up from nothing.
Kingpin hadn't been born rich. He trained daily, building the strength to kill one man and terrify ten.
He was truly self-made, by the bloodiest ans.
Anthony, anwhile, had never killed anyone with his own hands.
The thought struck him: Kingpin couldn't just sit in prison. He had to die.
Crack!
Kingpin bit through his gag, spat out shards, and slurred:
"Ha… didn't think… the new good-guy mayor Flor… turns out… you and I are the sa… hah… big one…
But have you thought of what excuse you'll use?"
Anthony frowned. "He's babbling."
Captain Stacy approached and showed the arrest warrant:
"You ordered Sean O'Malley and other known offenders to break into the Stone family's ho, committing intimidation and illegal detention."
"That's it?!"
Kingpin's left eye widened—his right too drugged to open.
He couldn't believe it. NYPD raided United Construction not for embezzling millions in pensions, nor tax evasion or money laundering, nor the bodies in foundations—
But because he scared two ordinary tenants with a mortgage!
"Of course there's more. O'Malley also linked you to a major cri syndicate, with several homicides. You're under investigation.
Mr. Fisk, you may call a lawyer, you may rant and rave, but you are under arrest. You may remain silent, but anything you say will be used in court."
Stacy cut him off.
The cri boss, already shaken by the humiliating arrest, lost his composure, but procedure had to be followed.
Normally, testimony from repeat offenders like O'Malley wasn't enough to justify arresting a corporate CEO.
But tis had changed. The mayor's signature was enough.
And Kingpin's "That's it?!" only strengthened the case—this boss cared too much about face, and their strategy worked.
Kingpin froze, staring at Anthony, filled with anger, regret, unwillingness.
After a long silence, he growled, "You're nothing but that kid's dog."
Anthony froze—the cri boss hadn't recognized him.
Thinking back, when Kingpin targeted the workers' mutual aid, Leo was the one in charge, and the assassinations had aid at Leo.
So the cri boss didn't even know who Anthony was?
Anthony stroked his chin. "Mr. Fisk, perhaps you forgot. About ten months ago, the Steel-Pin assassin chased Mr. Li down the road, causing a van to lose control and smash into shops.
I was in that van."
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