In an instant, the instinct for survival overwhelmed everything.
Raven's cells rapidly reorganized.
Her disguise as a cleaner vanished instantly, and in her place stood a burly man, nearly two meters tall, wearing a slaughterhouse worker's uniform.
She didn't even think, she just turned and ran!
"Oh? Still want to play hide-and-seek?"
Bullseye let out a pleased chuckle.
He didn't even bother to look at what monstrous form Raven had taken; it wasn't important.
His target acquisition never relied on his eyes.
It was heartbeats.
It was the subtly sweet scent in the air when adrenaline surged.
It was the unique fragrance of fear, exclusive to his prey.
Whoosh!
Another playing card, the King of Spades.
The card spun rapidly in the air, like a miniature cutting machine, not hitting anyone, but precisely severing a high-pressure water pipe near the big man's feet.
Hiss—!
A high-pressure stream of Water suddenly shot out, instantly making the floor slick.
Raven stumbled, almost falling flat on her face.
Damn it!
This madman didn't want to kill her in one move; he was playing! Enjoying the process of toying with his prey!
Bullseye followed unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, humming an off-key tune, strolling leisurely.
But each step he took was as if measured with a ruler, completely blocking all of Raven's possible escape routes.
Raven plunged into the cutting workshop, which was hung with pig carcasses.
The strong smell of blood and rust assaulted her.
She moved like a slippery loach, weaving desperately among the pale pig carcasses.
Yet, Bullseye's attacks relentlessly pursued her.
A coin flicked from his fingertips, struck an iron hook holding a carcass, made a 'ding' sound, ricocheted at an odd angle, and grazed her arm, drawing a string of blood beads.
It hurt.
But this pain, instead, forced her heart, which was about to leap out of her throat, to calm down.
She needed an opportunity.
A moment of chaos that could turn the tide!
Her gaze swept across the crisscrossing steam pipes overhead.
That's it!
After narrowly dodging a steel pen Bullseye casually threw her way again.
Raven's body suddenly exerted force, like a cornered leopard, kicking off a butchering table.
Using the momentum, she leaped high, grabbing tightly onto the cold pipes overhead with both hands.
"Trying to fly?"
Bullseye finally stopped, picked up a butcher knife from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and tensed his arm muscles.
No time!
Raven had spotted the money box; it was not far, guarded by two burly men.
She needed a big enough disturbance, one that would make everyone blind and deaf!
She pinpointed the weakest weld on a valve, scurried like a snake along the pipe, gathered the strength that had surged after her dual cultivation into one punch, and with all her might, slammed it down!
Crack—bang!!
The valve burst open!
Scalding steam, accompanied by an ear-piercing shriek, gushed out like a white tidal wave!
"Boom—!"
The entire second basement floor was instantly engulfed by a dense white mist so thick one couldn't see their hand in front of their face.
Sight and hearing were completely nullified at that moment.
"Shit!"
Bullseye instinctively raised his hand to shield his face; the high-temperature steam stung his skin.
But there was no panic on his face; instead, he grinned a more sinister smile.
"Playing hide-and-seek in my territory?"
He tilted his head, listening to everything in the fog, and with a flick of his wrist, he threw the butcher knife he was preparing to hurl.
Whoosh!
The knife, whistling through the air, whizzed past a direction where no one was, and with a clang, embedded itself into a distant metal wall.
He was using sound and indiscriminate attacks to frantically compress her living space!
Now!
Raven leaped down from the pipe, landing lightly on her toes without making a sound.
The two burly men guarding the money were still blank-minded from the explosion and high-temperature steam, standing foolishly in place.
Raven's figure was like a ghost, instantly closing in.
With a swift movement of her hands, at an angle impossible for a human, she precisely twisted both men's necks.
Two soft 'crack' sounds were perfectly drowned out by the shriek of the steam.
Her fingers were quick as phantoms, pressing the grain-sized tracker firmly into the hidden compartment at the bottom of the metal money box.
Done.
She didn't hesitate, sidestepping a whistling coin in the thick fog, then turned and completely merged into the denser steam, disappearing.
Apartment.
Raven's figure emerged from the shadows, still carrying the scent of blood and the damp cold from the Red Hook Slaughterhouse.
"There was an accident."
She briefly recounted the events, her voice filled with uncontrollable lingering fear and anger.
"Kingpin's top assassin, Bullseye, was guarding it. He's a madman, I almost died there!"
It was a true brush with death.
Lynt was staring at a slowly moving red dot on his laptop screen.
Hearing the name Bullseye, his finger, which had been tapping the table, paused for half a second.
In that half-second, Raven noticed.
But there was no tension on his face; instead, a madman's smile widened at the corners of his mouth.
"Bullseye... Kingpin really values this shipment."
He muttered to himself, turning his chair, his eyes shining eerily in the dim room.
"I only intended to catch a few small fish, but I didn't expect a shark to show up."
Raven frowned deeply.
"This isn't funny. I told you, I almost died there!"
"No, this is good."
Lynt stood up, picked up the bottle of liquor from the table, and poured two glasses of whiskey.
The amber liquid swirled in the glasses, and his face showed the satisfaction of a plan succeeding.
He handed a glass to Raven, then raised his own, gesturing towards the red dot on the screen.
"A mad dog, perfect. It saves us the trouble of beating the drum; he'll make as much noise as possible for us."
He looked at Raven, his eyes devoid of comfort, only cold calculation.
"Now, everyone's eyes will be fixed on him, on Kingpin, on that slaughterhouse. We just need to..."
He raised his glass, clinking it lightly in the air.
"...wait for the curtain to rise."
Meanwhile, as night fell.
The Red Hook Slaughterhouse, like a bleeding behemoth, had fallen into an even more eerie silence after the earlier steam explosion.
On the periphery.
Several unknown forces were quietly approaching.
On the highest cargo crane, a figure lay prone on the cold steel; the wind ruffled her distinctive dark red hair.
Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow.
She calmly raised her binoculars.
On the ground, a silhouette deeper than the night moved through the shadows of the containers.
The large White skull emblem on his chest was faintly visible in the darkness.
Frank Castle, The Punisher.
He racked the slide of his gun, chambering a bullet, his heavy breaths filled with the scent of blood.
To him, walls and doors were no different; there was only the difference between blocking his way and not blocking his way.
Suddenly—
"Screech—!"
A harsh screech of brakes cut through the stillness.
A dilapidated van swerved and crashed into the wire fence of the Red Hook Slaughterhouse's main gate.
The car door was kicked open.
"Charge! Get the money!"
"Kill them! Thirty million!!"
A dozen thugs, armed with various weapons, like a pack of drug-crazed hyenas, howled and rushed through the main gate in the stupidest, most arrogant way.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Chaotic gunfire ignited this place of death.
On the high tower, Natasha lowered her binoculars, her brow slightly furrowed.
Cannon fodder.
In the shadows, Frank stopped, sniffing the sudden smell of gunpowder and cheap greed in the air, a cruel smile spreading across his lips.
Warm-up time.