The scene cuts back to Hell's Kitchen.
In a dead-end alleyway.
"Bang!" A man covered in blood was kicked heavily against the wall, letting out a painful dry heave.
"No money? Huh? You say you have no money?" The leading brute wore a studded leather jacket and swung a telescopic baton in his hand. With a face full of scars and fat, he cursed, "Every rat in this block knows that you can owe anyone money except my boss! I think you want to be chopped up and flushed down the sewer, don't you?"
Several lackeys nearby joined in the jeering, letting out unpleasant, eerie laughs.
However, before the words had even finished echoing.
As if specifically to cooperate with his sentence.
Squeak, squeak.
Several fat rats suddenly scurried out from the corner in perfect unison.
They didn't run away at the sight of people as they usually did. Instead, they stopped side-by-side at the entrance of the alley, raised their heads, and stared straight at the brute with their black-bean-like eyes.
That gaze seemed to say: "Who called me?"
"Shit, what the hell are these things?"
The brute was startled by this eerie scene. "Have the rats in this dump become spirits? They can understand human speech?"
Suddenly.
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound of leather shoes stepping on the sewage-strewn road rang out abruptly.
The thugs paused and instinctively looked back.
A tall woman was seen walking toward the alley entrance.
She wore a black Public Safety coat that didn't seem to belong to this World, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture as upright as an officer undergoing inspection.
Her long red hair was braided and hung behind her head. Her golden ringed eyes emitted a heart-palpitating sense of tranquility under the dim light.
"Excuse me," Makima tilted her head slightly, her voice gentle and polite.
"Pardon the interruption, but are you gentlemen Mr. Fisk's people?"
The lackeys looked at each other, faces full of confusion.
Thugs of this level were usually only responsible for collecting protection money and had no contact with the level of Kingpin; they only knew they worked for the gang.
The leading brute clearly knew a bit more.
"Who are you?" The brute frowned upon hearing Fisk's name, eyeing Makima warily and pointing his baton at her with an unfriendly tone: "Who we work for is none of your business! Get lost if you've got nothing to do! Careful I don't take you out along with—"
He didn't even have time to finish his threat.
The smile on Makima's face didn't change in the slightest, but those golden concentric-ringed eyes widened just a fraction.
In that instant.
Vroom.
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