New York at night had a different kind of shine, one that felt louder, messier, and far more alive than anything the daylight could offer. Neon lights bled into the streets, and the city's pulse carried through drunken laughter, distant sirens, and the constant hum of people refusing to go home.
Couples clung to each other on sidewalks, half-lost in their own worlds, treating the sky like a blanket and the concrete like a bed. Somewhere between romance and chaos, the line blurred into something raw and unfiltered.
April wrinkled her nose as she walked past them, exhaustion weighing down her steps after a full day of chasing leads that went nowhere. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement, each step a reminder that she should've called it a night hours ago.
"Gross," she muttered under her breath, looking away as another couple stumbled into view. "Seriously… get a room."
Even then, habit kicked in.
Her eyes kept moving, scanning everything out of instinct. Years of being a journalist had wired her brain that way—every detail mattered, every odd movement could be a story waiting to break.
Unfortunately, tonight had nothing to offer.
Aside from the occasional drunken howl that sounded more like wild animals than people, there was nothing worth chasing. No leads, no clues, no breakthroughs.
Just noise.
"It's the same everywhere," she murmured to herself, frustration creeping into her voice. "Can't find anything on the Big Foot Gang, and those four turtle guys in the sewers might as well be ghosts."
The case had been eating at her for two weeks.
Women disappearing without a trace. Evidence pointing toward the Big Foot Gang, one of the nastiest groups operating in the city. Surveillance footage, scattered clues—it all lined up.
But nothing stuck.
No hard evidence.
No arrests.
Nothing that could actually bring them down.
All she could do was watch as they walked free.
Her jaw tightened slightly as the thought settled in, but before she could spiral further, something caught her eye.
A man.
He was walking ahead of her, not too far off, carrying a violin case. His posture was relaxed, his pace steady, and there was something almost refined about him that stood out against the chaos of the street.
April blinked.
Even with everything on her mind, she found herself watching him for a few seconds longer than necessary. He didn't belong in this mess—not like the others.
Then the traffic light changed.
The shift snapped her out of it, and she shook her head slightly before stepping forward to cross the street.
That was when everything went wrong.
Three men burst out from the shadows under a nearby tree, moving fast and with purpose. Their faces were completely covered, black cloth hiding everything except the tattoos on their shoulders—matching marks that screamed affiliation.
Same group.
Same threat.
April didn't hesitate.
She turned and ran.
Her heels made it harder than it should've been, each step uneven, unstable, slowing her down just enough to matter. Behind her, heavy footsteps closed the distance with terrifying ease.
It didn't take long.
She hit a dead end—a wall, cold and unforgiving, cutting off any chance of escape.
Her breath came in sharp bursts as she spun around, heart hammering in her chest. The three masked men approached casually, like predators that already knew how this would end.
"You can't do this," she said quickly, forcing confidence into her voice even as fear crept in. Her hand lifted, gesturing vaguely, as if that alone could back up her words. "I've got friends. Strong ones. They show up when you least expect it."
The men didn't slow down.
One of them—a bald, broad-shouldered man—reached into his pocket and pulled out a baton, spinning it once before pointing it toward her with a grin hidden beneath the mask.
"If you've got friends," he said, voice rough with amusement, "tell them to come find us."
He took another step closer, shoulders rolling as if warming up.
"I've been through Hell's Kitchen," he added, tone dropping slightly. "Nothing scares me."
The other two nodded, clearly sharing the same confidence.
April felt her stomach drop.
They weren't bluffing.
And they definitely weren't backing down.
"Is this it?" she thought, panic tightening around her chest. "Am I seriously going to lose here?"
The question barely had time to settle before something unexpected cut through the tension.
"Excuse me… could you move aside?"
The voice was calm.
Polite.
Completely out of place.
All four of them turned.
The man with the violin case stood a short distance away, looking exactly as he had before—unbothered, almost casual. He lifted a hand slightly, gesturing for them to step aside as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience blocking his path.
The bald man froze for half a second.
Then his expression twisted.
"Kid," he snarled, stepping forward, "are you trying to die?"
The baton swung without hesitation, cutting through the air as it came straight for the man's face. There was force behind it—real intent, the kind that didn't stop until something broke.
And yet—
As it got closer…
It slowed.
The movement lost momentum, the strike dragging as if something unseen was resisting it.
The two men behind him didn't notice.
Instead, they grinned, their attention shifting completely.
"What's this?" one of them laughed. "You feeling generous today? Want to share the fun?"
"Don't forget me," the other added eagerly. "I've been waiting for a chance like this."
April's anger flared instantly.
"Disgusting," she snapped, fury cutting through her fear for a moment. "You guys are trash!"
But anger didn't change reality.
If this stranger got hurt because of her—
That thought hit harder than anything else.
"You two!" she shouted suddenly, forcing herself forward despite the fear clawing at her chest. She raised her fists into a clumsy boxing stance, hands shaking but determined. "Come at me if you've got the guts!"
It wasn't a good stance.
It wasn't even a smart move.
But it was something.
Her figure, her expression, that stubborn refusal to back down—it only made things worse.
The two thugs rushed her at the same time.
April clenched her fists tighter, bracing herself.
"I'm not backing down," she told herself. "Not here. Not now."
Then—
"Bang."
The punch landed clean.
Her vision went white instantly, the world snapping out of focus as her body collapsed to the ground. Pain exploded through her senses, followed by dizziness that made it impossible to think straight.
Sound warped.
Light blurred.
Everything spun.
And then—
"Bang. Bang. Bang!!!"
Three sharp explosions tore through the air.
It didn't sound like gunfire.
It sounded heavier.
Final.
By the time April's fading awareness caught up, the three men were already gone.
Not fallen.
Gone.
Their bodies had burst apart from top to bottom, blood and fragments scattering across the ground in a grotesque spray. It was like watching something crack open under pressure, the aftermath painting the pavement in red.
Her stomach churned violently.
Before she could even process what she was seeing, a pair of hands lifted her gently from the ground.
Her head swam, nausea hitting hard as she struggled to stay conscious.
"W-who…" she managed, voice unsteady. "Who are you?"
The man holding her smiled faintly, as if the scene around them didn't matter at all.
"If you're willing to publish something for me," he said, pulling a camera from his pocket and placing it into her hands, "then we're friends."
April blinked, trying to focus.
Her fingers tightened around the device as instinct took over.
She looked.
And then her eyes widened.
"You…" she whispered, disbelief flooding her expression. "You actually got a photo of Spider-Man."
Her voice rose slightly, shock pushing through the haze.
"This kind of shot—this is something only the Daily Bugle ever gets their hands on!"
She scrolled through it quickly, breath catching.
"And this isn't just any picture… this is dirt. Real dirt. The kind that could blow everything open."
Her grip on the camera tightened.
"Do you even understand what happens if this goes public?"
Liam shrugged, completely unconcerned.
"You look pretty happy about it," he said lightly. "So go ahead and publish it."
April snapped her head up, suspicion cutting through her excitement.
"Why would you give me something like this?" she demanded, pulling the camera closer to her chest. "What if I just take it and walk away? What if I don't hold up my end?"
Liam's gaze met hers, calm and steady.
"I know who you are," he said simply. "And I don't think you're the kind of person who runs from a deal."
He paused, then gestured slightly toward the mess surrounding them—the blood, the remains, the undeniable evidence of what had just happened.
"Besides," he added quietly, "going against me…"
His tone didn't change.
But something in it did.
"…wouldn't end well."
April's breath hitched.
Her eyes locked onto him, something clicking into place as realization set in.
"You…" she said slowly, voice trembling despite herself. "You're the Butcher?"