"I've realized something," Tony said from the podium, his voice steady yet passionate. "Beyond making weapons, I can do more for this world. That's why—effective immediately—I'm shutting down Stark Industries' weapons division."
The declaration exploded like a bomb.
Not only the reporters present, but millions of viewers watching the live broadcast froze in disbelief.
Stark Industries—the golden child of military tech, the king of firepower, the cash cow of the U.S. defense sector—had just been castrated live on national television.
It wasn't just cutting off a limb. It was cutting off… the family jewels.
And the ones who screamed the loudest weren't the generals or politicians.
It was the investors.
Ever since Tony's abduction, the company's stock price had plummeted like a kamikaze plane. Countless shareholders had clung to hope, waiting for their genius playboy CEO to come home and save the sinking ship.
And now?
He'd just taken a flamethrower to the lifeboats.
"Tony Stark, you mother—refund my money!"
"You betrayed us!"
"Can Stark stock still go up? It's over, lah!"
"I bought in as soon as he came back… screw it, I'm going to the rooftop before all the good spots are taken!"
...
Hell's Kitchen, New York.
Inside a dingy, noisy diner, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and despair.
Dozens of angry voices cursed at the TV, every word dripping venom at the man on-screen.
Darren sat in the corner, amused, swirling the ice in his half-empty glass as he watched the chaos unfold.
He had to admit, the realism of this game's NPCs was off the charts. Their facial animations, emotional nuances, even their rants felt too authentic.
Especially the curly-haired fat man up front—he was so animated, it looked like Tony had personally slept with his wife. The guy's voice was breaking into static as he gestured wildly, accidentally knocking over a cup.
The cup, however, didn't hit the floor.
The blind man sitting next to him caught it effortlessly.
Darren's brow twitched. A blind man just caught a falling cup?
"System!" he hissed. "Game bug detected again! A blind guy shouldn't have reflexes like that!"
[Ding. No abnormal data detected.]
The blind man calmly set the cup back on the table as though nothing had happened.
Darren narrowed his eyes.
Something was off.
His instincts told him this NPC wasn't ordinary.
He stood up, grabbed his untouched tray of food, and sauntered over. Without hesitation, he dropped into the empty seat across from the two men.
The fat man frowned. "Uh… can we help you?"
Darren smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. "Not really. Just wanted to get to know you two."
The fat man hesitated. "But we don't even—"
"Two hundred bucks. Friendship fee."
The man froze for half a second—then grinned so wide his cheeks jiggled. "Buddy, you came to the right place! We love making friends. I'm Foggy Nelson, and this is my partner, Matt Murdock. You are…?"
"Darren," he said simply.
"Pleasure to meet you, Darren!"
Foggy pulled out a business card with practiced speed and slid it across the table.
"We're lawyers. Just opened up Nelson & Murdock down the street. If you ever need legal advice—or get sued for something—you come see us first. Special discount for new friends."
Darren grinned, taking the card. "Lawyers, huh? Perfect. I've got a legal question for you."
Foggy puffed up proudly. "Fire away! You're talking to professionals."
Darren leaned forward, deadly serious. "If a pregnant woman gets into a fight, does that count as a group brawl?"
Foggy blinked. "…"
Matt tilted his head. "…"
Foggy stared for a good five seconds before answering uncertainly, "Uh… no, technically, it requires at least three participants to qualify as a group fight."
"But what if she's carrying twins?"
"…"
The man froze mid-blink, brain blue-screening.
What kind of sociopath asks questions like this?!
When Foggy failed to recover, Darren sighed, shaking his head. He turned to Matt instead.
"Your eyes… can't see?"
The question was blunt, but Matt didn't take offense. "That's right. I lost my sight as a child in an accident. Please don't put your hand in my pocket. I can still feel things."
Darren awkwardly withdrew his hand, chuckling. "Haha, just a joke."
Now he was certain.
This guy wasn't normal.
With his maxed-out Stealth and Pickpocket stats, no average NPC could ever notice him in action—certainly not a blind one.
Which could only mean one thing: hidden character. A special quest trigger.
While he was still thinking, Matt spoke again.
"You don't sound like a local. What brings you to Hell's Kitchen?"
His tone was calm, but the edge beneath it didn't go unnoticed.
Everyone knew what Hell's Kitchen was—a festering hive of crime and corruption.
Gang wars, drug trafficking, contract killings—if there was a sin, it had a storefront here. Even the NYPD treaded lightly, patrolling in pairs and leaving before sunset.
No sane man came here willingly.
"Looking for someone," Darren said casually.
"Who?"
"A guy. Goes by the nickname Hammer Head… I think his real name was… Harold? Or Harrow? Something like that."
Foggy scratched his head. "Hammer Head? Doesn't ring a bell. No one like that in Hell's Kitchen as far as I know."
Matt frowned slightly behind his shades. "You mean Joseph Harrow, perhaps?"
Darren snapped his fingers. "That's the one! You know him?"
"Not personally," Matt said evenly. "But I've heard stories. He's the leader of the Maggia syndicate. They call him Hammerhead. Word is, he's a bulletproof freak—unstoppable. Dangerous man. You shouldn't be looking for him."
"Yeah, well," Darren stretched, checking the clock on the wall. "Can't be helped. Time's up, though—gotta run. Let's continue this friendship another day."
Before either of them could respond, he was already heading for the door, humming as he went.
Matt listened to his fading footsteps, fingers idly rubbing the grip of his cane. His face, hidden behind the shades, was thoughtful.
"Matt! Matt!"
Foggy's frantic voice snapped him out of it.
"What?"
"That guy didn't pay for his meal! Go get him!"
Matt sighed. "…"