The man's demand made Chen Mo sneer coldly. Slowly, he drew the twin pistols holstered at his thighs.
"You kidnapped people from my martial hall," he said, his tone like ice. "And you still dare ask who I am?"
The leader froze, confused for a moment—then his face drained of color.
"It's you! You… how are you back?!"
He'd heard plenty of rumors about Chen Mo. The only reason they'd dared move against the martial hall was because the two major families had urged them on— and because Chen Mo was supposedly serving overseas in Europe.
They'd thought he couldn't possibly return anytime soon. And with the temptation of the fortune he was said to have brought from China, the risk had seemed worth it.
Word on the street was that Chen Mo's wealth was hidden right inside the martial hall.
Plenty of gangs had been eyeing it, but the shadow of Chen Mo's reputation—and the terrifying strength of his four top disciples—kept most of them waiting.
Then this man had learned that one of those disciples' families lived nearby. He'd thought it was a perfect plan: lure one out, ambush him with twenty guns, and eliminate him.
He hadn't expected the very man they feared most—Chen Mo himself—to suddenly appear before them. A chill climbed his spine; he could almost smell death in the air.
He knew what had happened to Mad Dog Tony's crew.
Was he about to share that fate?
Fear surged—but so did desperate courage. You're strong, sure—but you're not bulletproof, he told himself.
He bared his teeth in a snarl. "Kill him!"
Twenty muzzles flashed. Dozens of bullets tore through the air from every direction.
The leader's lips curled into a smug grin—Chen Mo would die under his bullets, and once the most feared man in Brooklyn was dead, he'd rise as one of its new kings.
That dream shattered an instant later.
Chen Mo's figure blurred—and vanished.
Every bullet missed.
"What the hell—?!" the leader gasped.
Even the gunmen froze in disbelief.
Then the nightmare began.
Chen Mo moved like a shadow among them. Twin pistols roared back.
The very first shot blew through the leader's skull—his eyeball burst, the bullet punching through his brain and out the back of his head, painting the wall—and the henchman beside him—with gore.
Panic spread.
The thugs fired wildly, screaming as their comrades dropped one after another.
But Chen Mo was untouchable.
His movements were too fast, too precise.
Within seconds, half the room was down.
The survivors broke.
They threw down their weapons and ran for the door, pushing and tripping over each other in blind terror.
Chen Mo advanced slowly, his pistols flashing like lightning—every squeeze of the trigger claiming another life.
By the time the last man reached the warehouse door, only one was left alive.
He burst outside, gasping for air—then froze.
At the entrance lay several corpses, and six figures in black combat suits stood waiting, guns raised.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The last thug fell, eyes wide open, dead before he hit the ground.
The team had opened fire the moment they'd heard shots inside. Now, as silence fell, Chen Mo walked out of the warehouse carrying the rescued woman and child.
While Wang Kun reunited tearfully with his family, Howard Stark came striding up to Chen Mo, sounding almost disappointed.
"That's it?"
Chen Mo shot him a flat look. "What, you wanted fireworks?"
"You could've left a few for us!" Howard grumbled. "I only got to fire two shots!"
Chen Mo snorted. "Be grateful. That last one was a charity kill—I left him for you on purpose."
Howard blinked. "Wait—on purpose? What do you mean, the last one?"
"These idiots were just pawns," Chen Mo said, his voice dropping low and cold. "The real masterminds are the two mafia families behind them."
His eyes gleamed with a hard light.
"Tonight, I'm going to wash Brooklyn in blood."
Howard's face lit up—not with fear, but with excitement.
"Good! Those bastards have been poisoning this city for too long. The government turns a blind eye—so we, S.H.I.E.L.D., will clean it up ourselves!" He raised a fist, eyes blazing. "Tonight, we wipe them out!"
Chen Mo looked at him, half amused, half speechless. Beneath Howard's polished, gentlemanly exterior, there was clearly a fiery, ruthless heart.
Then again, he mused, what else do you expect from America's biggest weapons dealer?
"I never realized you were such a war junkie," Chen Mo said dryly. "You want to go first, then?"
Howard puffed out his chest. "Hey, I'm a man of passion too, you know!"
Then, after a pause, his grin turned sheepish. "But, uh—since you're here… I'll let you take point."
Chen Mo just sighed. "Coward."