New York, Rikers Island.
Although the Kang Dynasty incident had occurred recently, for the vast majority of people in New York, it was as if the event had never happened. Only Kingpin, who had been involved in the periphery of the incident, held a blurred impression, but since he had essentially sat out the final decisive battle, his memories were faint.
He remained in his cell, drinking tea and reading the newspaper. Suddenly, Kingpin seemed to hear a strange sound. He moved to the iron-barred window and looked out, spotting a sedan driving into the Rikers Island prison complex deep in the night. Kingpin furrowed his brows. At Rikers, the highest level of security was reserved for vicious death-row inmates and New York gang leaders; the defense protocols here were nowhere near sufficient to house superpowered criminals.
Scanning his internal intelligence network, Kingpin couldn't recall anyone scheduled for contact at this hour. He sat back down on his bed, then stood up abruptly, tracking the direction the car had taken.
It was headed toward Death Row.
"Cletus Kasady. Serial killer, psychopathic murderer. The kind of person who, in the last century, would have easily become the inspiration for a horror movie prototype—but unfortunately, this is the age of superheroes. No one cares about guys like this anymore."
"What are the charges?"
"Eleven counts of first-degree murder, twenty-three counts of second-degree murder, seven counts of felony murder. Antisocial personality, schizophrenic—but not multiple personalities. A lawyer once tried to use a mental illness defense to get him off; Kasady turned around and murdered the lawyer's entire family."
The prison guard introduced the inmate to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent walking beside him, clarifying the situation once more: "He's scheduled for lethal injection the day after tomorrow."
"The day after tomorrow? That means there are still forty-eight hours left."
The agent looked at the murderer inside the cage. His limbs were bound by heavy shackles, and a mask covered his mouth. The agent entered the cell and sat beside Cletus, meeting the death-row inmate's bewildered gaze.
"Do you know that you're already dead? Legally speaking, I mean."
Cletus stared at him expressionlessly.
"Here's the thing. When we realized the future was changing and the fates of many were being rewritten, we began taking steps to handle—or rather, preserve—certain... necessary materials. Like you. I didn't know why the algorithm flagged you as significant, but today, I understand."
"Do you want to live?"
The agent couldn't see the lower half of Cletus's face, but he saw the man's eyes narrow. He knew that look well.
This man didn't care about his own life or death; what he seemed to care about was that he hadn't killed enough people yet.
"Very well," the agent said, producing a small box. Inside was a syringe filled with a thick, red-and-black liquid.
"我们 have tested this on many people. Many lunatics we thought had sufficient potential died because they couldn't withstand the side effects. To be honest, this is the last vial." As the agent spoke, he plunged the needle into Cletus's neck and depressed the plunger. "I hope you succeed. If you do, you won't die in two days. If not... you'll die tonight. Good luck."
Two days later, after the doctors had administered enough drugs to cause cardiac failure and confirmed his passing, Cletus's body was moved to a cold storage locker to await autopsy.
In a sense... Cletus was indeed dead.
However, he felt his consciousness still existed. He began to look back on his past, from the first person he killed at age thirteen until now. He had told the police his true body count, but those stupid officers couldn't find the corpses and could only sentence him to a term that was entirely insufficient.
He should have been executed at least thirty times over.
"A... fine victory."
A strange, unfamiliar voice echoed around him. Cletus realized he was standing in a bizarre place. Beneath his feet was viscous, writhing biomass crawling across the ground, congealing into structures resembling blood vessels. The area was dimly lit, yet no light source was visible.
He spun around and saw thick biomass forming dense buildings of congealed flesh. Giant wyverns crouched outside the structures. He looked up and saw a thin, pale man sitting upon a throne. His body was as gaunt as a skeleton, with a red dragon insignia emblazoned on his chest.
"Finally... I have moved away from that damned Spider-Totem. Though not entirely."
The man muttered words Cletus couldn't understand, then looked toward him. "Ah, pay it no mind. Let us make a deal, mortal. You kill a few people for me, and I will give you the power to kill anyone."
Cletus began to laugh.
He opened his eyes and felt a searing heat. He was surrounded by enclosed metal walls. He felt the high temperature constantly scorching his body, a pain that drew a delighted laugh from his throat. Beneath the skin that was charring and emitting a foul stench, a red-and-black viscous biomass began to churn and surge forth.
A crematorium employee, who had just sent the body into the incinerator, thought he heard laughter. Uncertain, he leaned toward the furnace to listen. Terrified by what he heard, he dropped his shovel and scrambled away on all fours. Then, a muffled thud came from inside the incinerator.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Accompanied by the roar of high heat and terrifying impacts, the incinerator finally exploded. A slender red monster with limbs elongated to an incomprehensible degree stepped out from the flames. Black biomass flowed across its body.
Cletus felt everything. He then retracted his new symbiote with disbelief. He saw his body, which had begun to carbonize from the furnace heat, revert to the state of severe burns, while the suture marks from the autopsy were still clearly visible on his chest.
"I only need to kill two people to be allowed to kill countless others? This is truly..."
Carnage covered Cletus's body. This symbiote possessed its own consciousness, but it was not yet mature and could not speak; it simply called out a single sensation to its host repeatedly.
It was starving.
Yes, hunger.
How long had he been locked up on the island? How long had it been since he killed someone? Not only was his new partner hungry, but he was starving as well.
"Let's find a few vagrants to practice on first. Oh, no, wait... let's eat this crematorium clean first. I smell the scent of the living..."
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