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"Let's move," Damon said quickly. "That explosion was massive, Even in Hell's Kitchen, the police are going to co take a look."
He scanned the surroundings. In the quiet night, distant lights were already beginning to appear.
Jimmy followed closely, lugging two large bags of cash.
"Fine," he said. "I was hoping to learn how to clean up traces from you, though…"
They tossed the bags onto the back seat.
Damon turned the key.
"Cough... Cough... Cough…"
The engine wheezed like it had asthma, then finally started.
The car was a scrapped vehicle Damon had taken from his workplace. On paper, he was the night watchman at the nearby scrapyard.
Any car there that could still move technically fell under his managent. This one, however, was clearly on its last legs.
"Damon," Jimmy said, "could you pick a better one next ti?"
"This was the best option I could find on short notice," Damon replied. "I'll fix up a few properly when I have ti, For now, make do."
He paused, then added, "And Wolverine, you should call by my alias, Big Daddy."
Jimmy frowned.
"That nickna feels like it's taking advantage of people."
"Absolutely not."
…
They soon arrived at the warehouse.
Jimmy carried the two bags of cash inside while Damon went to deal with the car.
Inside, Jimmy split the money into three piles.
One for reserve funds.
One for Mindy's education.
One for renovating the warehouse and buying weapons.
After that, he waited, bored, for Damon to return.
When Damon walked back in, he stopped short.
"Jimmy, What's all this?"
Jimmy pointed at the money on the table.
"I divided it into three parts. One for ergency reserves, one for Mindy's schooling. The last for repairs and equipnt."
He continued, growing more animated.
"I really liked the design of the warehouse we hit tonight, Above ground was just a shell. The real facility was underground."
"There was even a hidden escape tunnel," Jimmy added. "If we redirect the exit to the scrapyard, that would be perfect."
He paced slowly as ideas ford.
"…And we should definitely add drones for remote surveillance. That way, our operations won't be so rushed."
He stopped and looked at Damon.
"Oh, right, Damon, anything you want to add?"
Damon stared at him.
"I…"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Hold on, what was I about to say? Oh, right."
He looked up sharply.
"Do you know how I'd rate your operation tonight?"
Jimmy waited.
"A complete disaster," Damon snapped. "So bad I don't even want to look at it."
He pointed emphatically.
"You are not suited for infiltration. You're suited for frontal assault. The kind that charges straight through the battlefield without fear."
"Infiltration ans sothing," Damon continued. "Do you even know what it ans?"
"Entering without being discovered," Jimmy answered imdiately, raising his hand.
Then he added confidently, "I infiltrated just fine, Everyone who saw is dead. That counts."
Damon froze.
His blood pressure spiked so hard it could probably keep pace with a car on the Autobahn.
"Jimmy," Damon said slowly, "do you have a fundantal misunderstanding of what infiltration ans?"
He took a deep breath.
"Yes, the guards at the door didn't realize you infiltrated."
He jabbed a finger toward the window.
"But everyone within a kiloter knew the place was under attack. And you're calling that infiltration?"
"Yes, this is Hell's Kitchen," Damon continued. "But with the way you 'infiltrated,' forget the police. Do it a couple more tis and you'll attract the military."
He shook his head.
"That wasn't infiltration, that was a frontal breach."
Damon pointed at Jimmy.
"And tell , did you get hurt inside? Maybe not But what about when you got out?"
His tone hardened.
"If it weren't for your physique, that last blast would have caused internal bleeding."
He took a breath, forcing himself to slow down.
"The purpose of infiltration is to deny them reaction ti. Deny them the chance to fight back. Deny them the chance to take you down with them."
He spread his hands in disbelief.
"And you stord in like you were assaulting a fortress."
Damon dismantled Jimmy's performance piece by piece.
And he was right.
Without his abnormal abilities, Jimmy would not have survived.
"…Starting tomorrow," Damon said firmly, "if you still want to fight cri, you will train properly."
He leaned forward.
"You can't even infiltrate yet. Funds are secured, which ans we can start modifying the warehouse."
Damon began outlining his plan.
"The surface level becos a small, legitimate storage facility, We rent it out."
He tapped the table.
"That covers you, On paper, we're just landlords."
"Below that, we build a second underground level, That's the real base."
He continued thodically.
"The first level can be handled by hired workers during the day, the second level we build ourselves at night."
"Tools can be borrowed from above, Excavated soil gets mixed and removed gradually. Materials co in the sa way."
He paused.
"It doesn't need to be large, just enough space to modify firearms and store equipnt."
Then he looked Jimmy straight in the eye.
"For a while, we stop all operations. No action until you learn infiltration."
"If you can't learn it," Damon said flatly, "then I would rather you not take part in this fight at all."
His tone left no room for argunt.
"All right," Jimmy replied. "We'll do it your way, I'll start training tomorrow."
He hesitated, then added.
"But there's sothing you should know. School starts tomorrow."
Damon sighed.
"Fine, I'll write up training notes for you."
He thought for a mont.
"Practice on your own during the week. If you have questions, ask when you're back."
"Weekends, Saturdays, and Sundays, you train here."
Jimmy made an OK gesture, then pointed at the money on the table.
"Leave Mindy's share with you."
…
Elsewhere, Frank D'Amico was burning with rage.
He stared at the ruined warehouse in the distance, flas still licking the wreckage. His face was dark.
"Find out," he snarled. "Joe, find out who did this. I want nas."
Joe handed him a phone.
"You should listen to this, It's the last recording from the supervisor."
He explained calmly.
"The voice is distorted, but it proves this wasn't a rival gang."
He continued.
"No competitor would throw two full bags of product into the fire."
"Could be vigilantes," Joe added. "Ever since Iron Man showed up, street-level imitators have been popping up everywhere."
"Maybe a couple of idiots decided to play hero."
Frank narrowed his eyes.
"So I just got unlucky. Swept up by so wannabe superhero."
"Possibly," Joe replied. "If it were professionals, they wouldn't have gone this far."
"Product only makes money when it moves. Destroying the factory and cutting the supply hurts everyone. Robbing clients would make more sense."
Frank's organization began digging into every detail of that night.
The results were poor.
There were no nearby residents, Anyone who once lived there had been driven out by Frank's n long ago.
As for the holess, the area was forbidden territory. When business was slow, they were used as forced labor.
No one wandered there by accident.
No residents.
No witnesses.
All caras destroyed.
Investigation was nearly impossible.
And as for why no one ca out to look.
This was Hell's Kitchen.
If you wanted to survive here, there was only one rule.
Mind your own business.
Curiosity, in this place, got people killed.
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