Late at night, inside a villa on the Upper East Side.
A bottle of red wine worth tens of thousands of dollars shattered against the wall.
Glass burst in every direction, and the orange-red liquid splattered across the wallpaper like blood.
"Trash!"
After roaring the word, Derek gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white, chest heaving with rage.
A highly trained elite squad—more than a dozen fully armed men—couldn't even kill one ordinary NYPD detective, and they even lost their top sniper.
Just remembering how the Council of Elders had screamed at him earlier made Derek's fury spike all over again.
But anger wasn't his biggest problem.
The real issue was how to clean up the mess.
The commotion had been huge, and the Manhattan Police Department was directly involved. It would be nearly impossible to cover up.
Even the congressmen HYDRA had planted wouldn't be able to suppress this incident.
Should he contact S.H.I.E.L.D.? Alexander Pierce?
No. That bastard would never help him.
Ever since HYDRA fractured, that bastard Pierce had been eager to see the Council of Elders wiped out.
He had never stopped sabotaging their operations.
If Derek went begging for help now, Alexander Pierce might actually lend a hand—to Lynn, that damned troublemaker.
Just thinking of Lynn made Derek's head throb.
Damn it. A mere NYPD detective—someone he could crush with one hand under normal circumstances—yet somehow impossible to kill.
While Derek was fuming, the lights in the villa suddenly flickered, then went out completely, plunging the hall into darkness.
Assuming it was just an electrical issue, Derek grabbed his phone to use as a flashlight, planning to call the housekeeper.
But the next moment, a cold gun barrel, reeking faintly of death, pressed against his temple.
Under the weak glow of his phone screen, Derek clearly saw the handsome, expressionless face before him.
"Ly… Lynn Hall..?"
The instant he recognized Lynn, panic surged through him. He was about to beg for his life or stall for time.
But before he could speak, a sharp gunshot cracked through the darkness.
The bullet tore straight through his skull.
With a dull thud, Derek collapsed onto the sofa, his lifeless staring eyes still frozen in terror from his final moment.
Picking up a pen, Lynn drew a clean line through Derek's name on the paper.
Without a backward glance, he turned and left.
...
Half an hour later, inside Brooklyn City Hall.
"Maria, sorry to trouble you."
Handing a document to his female secretary, the Deputy Mayor smiled warmly. "You can come in a little later tomorrow as compensation for working overtime tonight."
"Thank you, Mr. Colin."
Smiling as she accepted the paperwork, the secretary turned and left the office.
Leaning back in his chair, Colin stretched, then glanced at the photo of his wife and daughter on the desk. A soft, affectionate smile spread across his face.
He was just about to stand up and head home when, in the very next second, a figure dressed in black crashed through the window.
Thasssh!
Before Colin could even reach for the emergency button under his desk, Lynn—masked and clad in a night suit—closed the distance in an instant.
Crack!
With a single decisive twist, Lynn snapped Colin's neck, then vaulted back out the shattered window and vanished into the night.
When the secretary later realized Colin had yet to leave and knocked before entering the office, she found the Deputy Mayor slumped over his desk, eyes wide open in shock.
Overnight, seventeen people died in New York—ranging from the Deputy Mayor and wealthy elites to ordinary convenience store employees.
All of them were killed swiftly and cleanly, leaving no trace at the scene. Their bodies were found afterward, and only then was the cause of death confirmed.
...
The next morning.
Walking out of Brooklyn City Hall, George Stacy stretched.
Almost every NYPD officer in New York had barely rested last night; with so many murders occurring at once, and from the identical modus operandi, it was clear they were committed by the same person.
Returning to his patrol car, George Stacy felt a vague, sinking feeling.
This… this had to be Lynn's doing.
With that thought, George Stacy immediately dialed Lynn's number.
When the call connected, George asked, "Lynn, where are you?"
"At a hotel, what's wrong?"
Looking at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, Lynn added, "My apartment was shot full of holes yesterday, remember? I had no choice but to crash at a hotel. You looking for me for something?"
After getting the hotel name from Lynn, George Stacy drove there immediately.
All the way over, his mood was a tangled mess.
He had a terrible premonition that this whole thing was connected to Lynn… yet he kept praying silently, Please, please don't let it be him.
Arriving at the hotel almost at top speed, George headed straight for the eighth floor—Lynn's floor. There was only one corridor entrance.
Flashing his police badge, he had the hotel staff pull up the surveillance footage and copy it.
Holding the copy in his hand, George stared at it for several long seconds without speaking.
Then he took the elevator up, went straight to Lynn's room, and knocked.
When Lynn opened the door, George brushed past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.
He grabbed a sealed bottle of mineral water off the table, twisted it open, and downed more than half in one go.
Then he sank into a chair, offered Lynn a cigarette, and said, "You must've slept great last night. Do you know the rest of us were going insane?"
"We still haven't found anything on the people who attacked you, and then overnight, seventeen people turned up dead across New York."
"And all seventeen were killed cleanly and professionally. One of them was the Deputy Mayor—our Director's head is about to explode!"
Lynn shrugged. "Then do your best. I've got more important things to handle anyway."
Seeing Lynn getting ready to leave, George Stacy said quietly, "On my way here, I kept thinking… if all seventeen assassinations were done by you, what am I supposed to do about it?"
He held Lynn's gaze for a few seconds. "You know I've always been someone who values principles."
"And? What then?" Standing at the doorway, Lynn looked back at him with a faint smile. "If I really did it, are you planning to arrest me?"
"I don't know."
George shook his head. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I do know this—if you did do it, you must've had your reasons."
"I just hope you won't shut me out."
Meeting George's earnest eyes, Lynn laughed. "You give me too much credit, George. I'm not that capable. No more talking. I've got a plane to catch or I'll miss my flight."
He waved casually and walked out.
When Lynn's figure finally disappeared, George Stacy reached into his trench coat and pulled out the surveillance backup.
Fuu.. this kid..
This time I've got your back..
After a long moment of hesitation, he exhaled heavily… then stood, walked to the bathroom, and tossed the drive into the filled bathtub.
_______
(づ￣ 3￣)づ
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