New York. Logan never imagined he would return to this city. It held too many memories: the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, the X-Men, Scott, Jean, Beast... Familiar streets, the faces of old friends flashing in his mind.
Returning to this city filled him with conflicting emotions, but he was also worried about being recognized. After all, his old photo was still on wanted posters, and those types had an infallible nose.
Fortunately, the Lawrence family had prepared thoroughly for this mission, passing all checkpoints and ensuring a smooth journey, allowing them to enter New York easily.
"Big cities are something else," exclaimed Samuel, looking out at New York from the driver's seat.
This was not a solo mission for Logan; he was reunited with his old crew. Besides Samuel at the wheel and Logan in the passenger seat, Conrad and Josh were also in the back.
As one of the world's four major financial centers, New York's prosperity is undeniable. Skyscrapers rise imposingly, and the bustling streets are filled with successful people in suits. Luxury cars and sports cars crisscross the main avenues, and countless upscale boutiques abound; the very air seems to smell of money.
They entered New York at sunset, and the streets were overflowing with activity. Here, the influence of the Avengers was undeniable.
Avengers billboards were projected onto screens in major commercial areas, and Avengers toys were everywhere.
Posters of Captain America brandishing his Vibranium shield plastered the streets, children joyfully hugged Hulk dolls, Iron Man's futuristic helmet, Thor's hammer, and many other toys.
The Avengers had seized the entire New York market.
Logan's gaze swept across the toy stores, and his eyes gradually dimmed. In the huge city of New York, there was no longer any trace of the X-Men.
But should he be grateful?
After all, no one would recognize him like this.
At the intersection, Logan looked at the giant screen on the building next door, which projected a huge poster of the Avengers in a group portrait.
Passersby stopped to watch, telling their children about the exploits of the Avengers.
Logan watched the scene, overwhelmed by emotion.
The Battle of New York in 2012 had just ended, the Avengers were famous everywhere, and people's admiration for them was at its peak.
"They're at the top," commented Samuel, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands on the wheel, waiting for the light to turn green. His gaze swept over the Avengers-themed interface. "But although the Battle of New York catapulted them to fame, the price was very high. Many civilians suffered terribly in that war. My cousin lives here; he saw the Hulk smash his car, which he had bought on installment years ago."
Josh, in the back seat, suddenly interjected: "He should be grateful he wasn't smashed to pieces."
Logan shrugged. "You can't expect those alien monsters to attack us and not destroy the city. You can't have everything. Protecting Earth requires some inevitable destruction."
The superheroes who want to save the planet naturally incur costs that no one wants to see.
Samuel, still smoking, turned to Logan. "You've never been a superhero, how do you know what the Avengers are thinking?"
"I just guess," Logan smiled, then fell silent.
When the light turned green, Samuel started the car and drove to the hotel near the New York port.
Compared to the bustling skyscrapers downtown, this suburb near the port was far less glamorous.
The streets were no longer smooth and level; heavy trucks loaded with goods passed daily, inevitably creating potholes.
The people were no longer the impeccably dressed elites from before; most were construction workers and longshoremen in white t-shirts and yellow hard hats.
Logan and his companions checked into the hotel.
The accommodation was extremely cheap, and the conditions, consequently, were dire. The room was so small it barely fit a bed, and the bathroom shower didn't even have hot water. Logan suspected the sheets might still hold the sweat of the previous guest.
These cheap hotels mainly catered to longshoremen or travelers about to disembark from ships; if the prices were higher, they would probably prefer to sleep on the street.
Although they had checked in, Logan and his crew had no intention of resting.
It was already night, and the sky was gradually darkening. Their mission was scheduled for that very night, leaving them no time to rest.
The four men squeezed into one room. Conrad tossed his travel bag onto the sheets, revealing a large pouch filled with pistols, silencers, spare magazines, knives, and other weapons.
Each man took out a pistol, attached a silencer, tested the weapon, and loaded bullets into the magazine.
"It's 7:30 PM. We leave at 9:00 PM. The port will be closed at that hour and no one will be specifically watching the containers, but there will be patrols passing by occasionally," Logan explained the mission details while loading bullets. "Be extremely careful not to be seen by the patrols. Otherwise, if they call the police, officers and guards can surround the entire port in ten minutes. In that case, our only escape route will be the sea behind the port."
As he spoke, Logan glanced at Conrad.
This man had been silent since they left, barely uttering a word from Santa Fe to New York, and no longer refuted any of Logan's statements.
Clearly, after the last incident, he had learned his lesson and would at least not openly oppose Logan.
"The target this time is clear," Logan said softly, tucking the magazine into his pistol. "Chris wants us to find container number 79. The two crates inside, numbered BU-26 and BU-27, are our objective. Remember, handle them with care. They probably contain priceless porcelain or other antiquities—something very valuable." Although Chris said there were antiquities inside, Logan didn't fully believe him.
His gut told him that this cargo was a hundred times more important than the supposed antiquities.
Samuel and the other two nodded, organized their equipment, and took out compressed biscuits and water from their backpacks to replenish their strength.
Night fell, the port breeze blew, and the salty, damp air was incomparable to the desert of Santa Fe.
Logan and his companions dressed in black to blend with the night, drove around the port several times to determine their escape route, and then parked the vehicle in a nearby lot before heading into the port.
The port was already closed, surrounded by a ten-foot-high fence. The access roads to the port were blocked with posts, and guards with batons stood watch on both sides of the posts.
This obstacle posed no problem for Logan and his team. They cautiously approached a fence in a corner, climbed it easily, and entered the port.
Before them stretched a massive stack of containers, of all colors, neatly piled up, as far as the eye could see.
"My God, how long will this take us!" Samuel exclaimed, looking at the endless row of containers, his head spinning.
Logan crouched down, cautiously observing his surroundings, and whispered: "They are all organized. Once we find the pattern, we'll find it quickly."
Having said that, Logan carefully approached the containers, checking the numbers. He quickly deduced the arrangement of the containers and began heading toward their target.
They encountered several patrol officers along the way, but their search was lax; they simply walked between the containers with flashlights, and Logan and his team hid behind them every time they saw a light, remaining undetected.
After a series of uneventful close calls, the four finally found the container they were looking for, number seventy-nine.
"This is it!" Samuel exclaimed, eagerly pulling out pliers from his back. "The sooner we get it, the sooner we can go back to rest. Maybe we can even grab a drink at the hotel bar."
He was about to break the container's padlock.
"Wait!" Logan suddenly whispered, stopping him, and brought a finger to his lips. "Shh, someone's coming."
His sharp senses allowed him to clearly hear a slight approaching crunching sound.
The other three looked around in confusion, but heard nothing.
Just as they were about to ask, deep footsteps were heard.
"Damn it! Hide!"
Logan scanned the surroundings and pointed to two containers stacked in front of number seventy-nine.
The other three understood and quickly climbed onto the containers, lying flat on top.
From below, the height of the containers prevented anyone lying on top from being seen.
Soon, the footsteps became clearer and more frequent, giving the impression that there were several people. Most importantly, the people weren't carrying flashlights and were walking stealthily—they were clearly not port guards.
The intrusion of strangers made Logan frown.
"Rumlow, are you sure it's container seventy-nine?" a clear, cold female voice asked.
"Yes, intelligence indicates it's here," a grave male voice replied.
"Damn it!"
Logan's heart skipped a beat; they were after container seventy-nine too!
To find out their purpose, Logan cautiously poked his head out, and upon seeing the figures below, he froze.
A small team in special forces uniforms surrounded container seventy-nine, led by a very attractive woman with striking reddish-orange hair and a beautiful face. Her tight, black combat suit perfectly accentuated her impressive figure.
Black Widow, Natasha!
Logan recognized the woman immediately, his heart jumped, and he quickly pulled his head back.
"What's wrong?" Samuel asked quietly, noticing Logan's expression.
Logan frowned, trying not to speak.
"Damn it, they're from S.H.I.E.L.D."