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*****
Hell's Kitchen—the largest slum and criminal hub in New York, perhaps the entire United States. Here, chaos reigns: the Russian mob, Irish gangs, the Triads, local crime families—all vying for turf. Skirmishes erupt every few days, full-scale wars break out every week. Corrupt police and officials are a dime a dozen; law is merely a suggestion. It's a paradise for crime, a personal hell for ordinary people.
Right now, Ji Yuan was strolling those very streets. He'd moved here a month ago. Why? It all began after his first session with Coulson.
From the moment he'd healed Agent Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives had buzzed around his little clinic. Ji Yuan never understood why. He hadn't displayed any overt superpowers—just a bit of "medical skill," and yet Nick Fury had zeroed in on him. Fury's instincts—and control issues—were nothing to underestimate.
Hell's Kitchen's greatest advantage was its disorder. Gangs fought openly; assassins lurked in alleys; even mercenaries and foreigners crossed oceans to stake claims. Occasional superheroes brawled with criminals in the streets, too—perfect cover to evade S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance.
From day one here, Ji Yuan felt at home among the madness. Not that he planned to join a gang—he simply relished the spectacle. He liked to watch the chaos. When he did intervene on behalf of innocents, it didn't yield much "hope energy," but that was understandable—most people here had little to hope for.
More importantly, the neighborhood reminded him he was still human. Lately, the divine aspect of Noah's nature threatened to overwhelm his humanity. He caught himself viewing life from a god's perspective—good and evil, life and death, all mere illusions. Only the sparks of human kindness truly attracted him.
Just as the original Noah was a creator deity in the multiverse—treating civilizations as inconsequential ripples in time—Ji Yuan felt the same pull. Yet he wanted to be human, not divine. Hell's Kitchen cured him of godly detachment: even among ruthless criminals, moments of genuine goodness shone bright.
"Maybe because Noah and I are one and the same."
Ji Yuan reflected. There was no separate "human vessel": his body itself was a manifestation of pure light. Technically, he didn't need food or sleep—he was a being of will alone. Yet whenever he chose to embrace humanity, all human needs returned. It was the power of the mind at work. Truly, willpower was incredible.
Unconsciously, he walked until he reached a modest supermarket: Rainbow Mart—oddly familiar. He selected meats, vegetables, fruit, and seasonings. Tonight, he'd cook something delicious. Enjoying life while he still could.
"Mrs. Wang, I'm ready to check out." He called out in Mandarin, noting the large shotgun propped beside the counter.
Mrs. Wang ran the place: owner, cashier, cleaner, security—all in one. A fellow Chinese immigrant.
"Coming right up!" she answered in her warm Sichuan accent. "Wow, Ji, you're stocking up for a feast!"
"Yeah, got a big order today."
They chatted as she rang him up—comforting small talk that felt like home.
Suddenly, a gruff voice rang out beside them. "Hand over the cash, or I'll kill you!"
A gaunt man brandishing only a small knife threatened them in broken English. Ji Yuan rolled his eyes: in Hell's Kitchen, you at least bring a gun to a robbery, not a butter knife.
"Get lost!" Mrs. Wang snarled, hoisting her shotgun like a mother bear. The would-be thief glared at her weapon, then at his puny blade, muttered curse words, and fled at top speed.
"He's probably one of the new arrivals," Mrs. Wang said, returning to Ji. "Don't worry—if you're in trouble, just find me. No one dares mess with my gun."
"I'm not afraid," Ji Yuan smiled. "I moved here—this is my kind of place."
He paid, gathered his groceries, and left—Mrs. Wang unaware that her customer was the very "silver giant" everyone gossiped about.
His apartment was directly across the street: a three-story standalone squeezed between two tenements—ideal for privacy. Rent here wasn't cheap, but in Hell's Kitchen, rent always reflected risk.
Upstairs on the third floor sat his barbecue grill from last time. He unloaded the food, swept it clean with his Ultraman light, and neatly sliced everything with telekinesis. Then he lit the grill.
Soon, sizzling meat released tantalizing aromas. He sprinkled on spices, took a bite—it was heavenly. A sip of beer completed the moment.
BANG! BANG! BOOM!
The alley beside his building erupted with sounds of violence. He drew back the curtain and peered down.
Daredevil—Matt Murdock—was engaged in another brutal brawl. The blind lawyer turned vigilante had visited Ji Yuan's block three times this month. His skill was undeniable; his style, merciless.
Fork in one hand and beer in the other, Ji Yuan watched Daredevil outwit and outfight several gang members with practiced ease.
SPUTTER!
He nearly spat out his beer in shock. Daredevil's chest was impaled by a one-meter-long katana blade.
"Wait—what the hell? Daredevil goes down just like that?"
(End of Chapter)