Marvel: Warhammer Simulator

Clad in an oversized bulletproof vest, Fat Bob's bloodshot eyes glared around the dimly lit room, scanning his eager subordinates, who were rubbing their hands in anticipation. The deranged smile on his face twisted with madness.

"Tomorrow morning... the whole of New York will be shocked! The entire nation, even the whole world, will be stunned! The damn king pin thinks he can hide? Foolish! I, Fat Bob, will use the lives of countless New Yorkers to drag you out into the open! Even if the entire gang is wiped out and the feds launch an investigation afterward, those filthy deals will be exposed to the sunlight! Underground king... you'll become a stray dog! Slavs... never surrender!"

"Good! I've distributed all the money in the warehouse to you!" Fat Bob's face turned red as he grinned, his chubby cheeks shaking with excitement. "Now, it's time for you to repay me! Our only target is to kill as many as you can! Do whatever you want! Before that, the smuggling boats are already docked at the Hudson River port. If all goes well, you will join me on the ship, and we'll share even more wealth!"

"Ura—" Fat Bob raised his fist and shook his arm vigorously, shouting continuously.

"Eh?" At that moment, Fat Bob noticed something.

A blue orb the size of a human head flew past the shelves and appeared right in front of him in the blink of an eye!

Boom—

Plasma exploded instantly.

The brilliant burst of electric light completely engulfed Fat Bob. The extreme heat turned his 200-kilogram body to ashes in seconds!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Simultaneously, more plasma orbs surged from the dark corners, creating a frenzied thunderstorm!

"What is that?!"

"A ghost!"

"Ball lightning?!"

These phenomena, beyond human comprehension, stunned the gang members. They screamed and shouted but none dared to raise their weapons in retaliation.

As Fat Bob's ashes scattered to the ground, someone finally reacted, but it was too late! The countless plasma orbs not only enveloped everyone present but also detonated the grenades piled on the floor!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The air seemed to tremble. The intense shockwaves shattered all the glass in the Precious Mall, making them crackle.

At that moment, a tall figure clad in a black waterproof coat, with hair wrapped in a red bandana and wearing a gas mask, emerged from the shadows. He walked through the residual flames and the flickering flashlight beams, as if strolling down a rain-freshened street, into the bloody slaughterhouse.

The ground was littered with broken bodies and ashes, with occasional twitching limbs. The silent figure stepped over them, seemingly unaffected by the carnage. Zaire glanced around at the gruesome scene, his breath echoing inside his mask, drowning out any discomfort.

This reminded him of the 'good old' days in the underground tunnels.

Even though Zaire was mentally prepared, he still underestimated the plasma gun's power. In mere seconds, over thirty fully armed men had vanished from the world. The unexpected grenade detonations contributed to the chaos, but that's how real battles are: full of surprises.

Zaire stepped through the sticky blood, surveying the smoke-filled scene to ensure no one was left alive. He hesitated, then bent down to pick up the intact weapons among the remains. After a quick scan with his simulator, only eighteen guns met the criteria and were absorbed as cooling time.

[Increased cooling time: eighteen hours.]

"That was a huge loss..."

Zaire muttered to himself, regretting his reckless action. He had planned to set traps and assassinate quietly, then use the powerful plasma gun only after the bodies were discovered to end the fight. But Fat Bob's mad speech caught him off guard, leaving no time for preparation. He had no choice but to use the plasma gun to try and prevent the gang from causing more deaths in Hell's Kitchen.

The result, though... was exceptionally effective!

At that moment, Zaire, wearing his gas mask, took a deep breath and remembered something. He started searching the area more thoroughly. Sure enough, he found several black packages among the debris. Opening them, he found bundles of cash—Fat Bob's promised payment.

"Well... not a total loss."

Without counting the money, Zaire picked up the black packages and headed for the mall's exit. The explosions and smoke would soon attract police or criminals. As the culprit, Zaire needed to leave the scene quickly.

Just as Zaire reached the mall's entrance, a dark red short staff suddenly shot out from the shadows!

Sensing danger, Zaire dropped the packages. His dark Katarn combat knife instantly rose, intercepting the staff.

Clang!

The metal staff was sliced in half by the sharp blade. Zaire crouched slightly, muscles tensing, ready for combat. At the same time, a tall, slender figure in dark red armor stepped out of the shadows, twirling a staff that hummed ominously.

"Daredevil?"

Zaire's voice was low, coming through the gas mask. "Stay out of this... They were just gang criminals."

"Red Bandana? I thought you were just a myth made up by the police for the media..."

Daredevil, with his dark red mask and small horns glowing faintly, listened intently. "Hell's Kitchen is my territory. You've crossed the line... And you shouldn't kill."

Before he finished speaking, Daredevil lunged forward, his staff extending like a living creature towards Zaire's head.

"Hmph!"

Zaire snorted through his gas mask. He said nothing more, raising his Katarn knife. The blade clashed with the staff, sending it flying.

In that brief moment, Daredevil closed the distance, less than a meter away. As his staff retracted, he stepped forward, knee aiming for Zaire's abdomen.

Zaire's left fist met the knee with a heavy thud. The impact caused both to recoil slightly. Zaire's reaction was faster, instinctively reaching for his plasma gun to finish the fight. But reason held him back, causing a moment of hesitation.

Daredevil seized this opportunity. He raised his foot, kicking Zaire's chest with a force that sent him flying three meters back, crashing heavily.

Seeing his opponent weakened, Daredevil relaxed slightly, twirling his staff as he approached. But he stopped suddenly, listening.

Zaire, hand on his chest, showed no emotion behind his mask. He slowly stood up, twisting his neck slightly. Instead of drawing his plasma gun, he tore off his waterproof coat and tossed it aside. He then reversed his grip on the knife, the blade facing outwards.

"Oh... Matt Murdock."

Zaire said, his voice cold. "I won't rest until you're in a hospital bed... This isn't over!"

"This thing... It's not over! "

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This Year has to be the worst year for Minors.

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