[Bonus Chapter] | Chapter 33. Harlem

'I guess I assumed too much.'

Frank gave him fewer reputation points than Ryan expected.

This made Ryan realise that even if the guy was a superhero, different heroes could give him different amounts of points. There may be differences in the heroes' own social status and influence, but Ryan felt it had more to do with the superheroes' own personalities.

After all, compared with Tony, who hadn't suffered setbacks yet, transforming into a true Iron Man...

Frank, the 'Punisher' who was a retired United States Marine and had suffered drastic changes, wasn't easily swayed because of his character or his experiences.

The word 'detached' may not be accurate, but it could also be used to describe Frank's inner world at this time.

To a man whose heart was so full of vengeance that he had long forgotten about life and death, Ryan wouldn't be able to generate much of an impact on his psyche and, naturally, wouldn't be able to gain too many points.

So, the failure of one plan didn't dampen Ryan's confidence too much.

What's more, compared to the early days of the system in the past, when he was up early and working like a dog but only collected one or two reputation points, the profit from this meeting with Frank, if not as expected, was at least much better than that.

'Be reasonable, and don't be overly ambitious. Big shots like Tony Stark were, after all, only a minority.'

After comforting himself a little, Ryan immediately turned his attention to the next target.

On his hand, the lower third page of the future famous newspaper 'Daily Bugle' was reporting a new and strange story about Harlem, Manhattan. The report said that several gang members claimed to have met the black version of the Terminator, and the other party was invulnerable, even if he wasn't wearing clothes.

　　...

Manhattan, Harlem.

New York's famous ghetto, which was also the largest black neighbourhood in the United States, had been aggravated in recent years by the influx of Latino immigrants from Mexico, which intensified the internal conflicts in Harlem. At the same time, racial conflicts, gang warfare, drugs, crime and poverty continued to plague the area.

"Hey, yellow-skinned dwarf! You shouldn't be here!"

Near the Harlem River, several wandering black men noticed a figure in a red sweatshirt passing by at the opposite junction and then opened their mouths to jeer.

The figure stopped and looked at the loitering black men gathered in twos and threes not far away and rhetorically asked, "Are you talking to me?"

"If it ain't you, are there any other yellow runts here?" In the face of the question, a thin-looking black man grinned back with a provocative gesture, full of discrimination, revealing his huge gaping teeth.

"Haha!"

In response, his friends, who were gathered around him, laughed along with him.

"Oh, so it wasn't a mistake." Seeing that, the figure shrugged and then shook his head as he walked toward them.

"What? You wanna talk with us more about it? Lecture us or something?" Looking at the approaching figure in front of them, instead of showing any worry, they sounded more and more fierce.

"Hey, shorty, if you don't want to get hurt, get the hell out." Among the men, a bald, topless man, showing off his glistening muscles, stepped forward and blocked the figure's path, "Otherwise, this won't end with a few words."

"Come on, Martin, don't spoil the fun. Things are just starting to get interesting. We're just having fun."

"That's right, Martin. Can't you stop doing that?"

At the sight of the scene, several people standing behind the bald Martin let out a sigh of disappointment.

"Don't waste time here, we're still going to Cottonmouth's later ..."

Turning his head to his fellow gang members behind him, he explained that stopping the other man wasn't out of any kindness on his part but purely because he didn't want to waste time.

"So, kid, count yourself lucky ..."

Turning back, Martin looked at the figure that was barely above his chest and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything else, he felt a huge force slamming into his chest, and his whole body flew straight up.

"Martin!"

"Fuck!"

The whole situation might not have registered with Martin yet, but standing behind him, his few friends saw the whole thing unfold.

They clearly saw that the yellow-skinned shorty, who stood opposite Martin and was jeered at by them, merely lifted his foot and Martin, who weighed over 200 pounds, flew up as if he was a balloon.

Bang --

With a heavy thud on the ground, the few remaining black men seemed to snap back to their senses as they turned their heads to look at Martin, who had fallen to the ground, spitting blood. They hastily pulled out the knives and handguns from their pockets and aimed them at the man in the red sweatshirt in front of them.

The man's expression didn't change in the slightest when faced with the threat in front of him.

Bang!

Ah --

Then, a brief burst of gunfire accompanied by punches and kicks was heard, and several black men who had been arrogant were seen falling to the ground.

Only the skinny black man who had opened his mouth earlier to provoke him stood still. He looked at all his fallen and whining companions around him, gulped and threatened, "Don't come any closer ... We're Cottonmouth's men. Ask around. No one in all of Harlem would touch Cottonmouth ..."

"Got any money on you?" Opening his mouth to interrupt the other man's threat, the man in the red sweatshirt suddenly spoke up and asked.

"Yes, yes!"

Although he wasn't sure why the other man suddenly asked that, he hastily nodded and took out some money from his own pocket.

"...Only 22... 25 bucks! "

Handing over the only cash he had left in his body to the man in the red sweatshirt and watching the other man tuck it away in his pocket in a dazzling manner, the black man couldn't help but blurt out, "Are you fucking mugging me right now!?" In the past, they would always be the ones to rob people, relying on Cottonmouth's reputation. This was the first time someone would rob them and beat them so badly.

"Yup," nodding down without hesitation, the man in the red sweatshirt glanced at the few people who had collapsed around him and then at the skinny black man in front of him, "Remember, don't casually insult people."

Casually lecturing the few people, the man in the red sweatshirt went back toward the direction where he came from and turned a corner.

As the man left, Martin, who was lying on the ground, struggled to get up,

"Martin! You okay?" Noticing the movement from behind him, the skinny black man turned around and struggled to help Martin up.

"Call in, tell Cottonmouth we've been attacked."

Barely getting up from the ground, Martin felt a sharp pain in his chest. Looking in the direction the man had left, he gritted his teeth and turned to his accomplice, who was supporting him.

...

-:Binge:-

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