Bullseye shot upright, gasping as cold air cut across his skin and left him shivering.
He scanned the room. Whitewashed walls, aluminum cabinets, collapsible furniture, even a dining table broken down into slats. Not a single thing for comfort, just what was needed. Not a chair, not a bed, only the floor for sleep.
The windows weren't sweeping glass, either. Each was divided into a grid of sixteen small panes, each a little different in color and thickness, enough to bend the light and keep out prying eyes. And now they were wide open, letting in cold gusts that Bullseye never tolerated. He always kept them shut, hated the draft. But last night, someone had opened them, and the chill felt oddly grounding this morning.
Bullseye glanced at the floor. Sleeping there was habit by now. It was a way to sense the quietest footstep, the faintest vibration that might warn him of an intruder. Beds just made you soft. He learned that from the Japanese, who slept on floors to avoid being killed in earthquakes, or by enemies in the dark.
He'd needed it. He had plenty of enemies. Working for Kingpin as his shadow assassin had bought him more vendettas than he could count. Everyone wanted him dead. He survived on secrecy and paranoia.
But…
He frowned.
No one knew about this place. Not even Kingpin's closest lieutenants. The apartment was deep inside a guarded building, layers of security, cameras, armed guards, the heart of Kingpin's den.
How did he get back here last night?
Wait a second!
Daniel.
Memories surged—Felicia Hardy, Erica, the bloody firefight by the river, Daniel moving like a wraith. Bullseye ripped open his shirt, heart pounding.
There, etched over his heart, was a black magic circle—a sigil pulsing faintly, a devil's eye that felt almost alive.
Daniel had put it there. The man hadn't spared Bullseye. He'd marked him.
Which meant, Bullseye realized, Daniel knew exactly where he was. He must have walked Bullseye right through Kingpin's security, past every camera, right to this spot... without anyone noticing.
Bullseye's hands trembled.
This apartment wasn't even his choice. It was assigned, half housing, half surveillance. Kingpin picked it to keep him under his thumb. But Daniel had strolled in and out again with no one the wiser.
The shame hit hard. All his bravado, all his nightmares, and when death stared him in the face… he gave up. It cut deeper than a knife. Bullseye prided himself on fighting to the bitter end. Now he couldn't shake the truth: beneath the madness, he was afraid.
He gulped a glass of water, trying to swallow the feeling away.
Whatever Daniel had done to him, he had to break the link. Get rid of the mark. Regain control, before it was too late.
But how?
The phone rang, cutting through his thoughts. He picked up.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "Understood. I'll be there soon."
Kingpin wanted to see him.
Of course. The boss would want to know what had gone wrong last night at the river.
He checked the clock—eight hours had passed since then. The city was just beginning to wake up.
He took the elevator to the top floor, nerves taut. Oddly, the usual secretary was missing. Bullseye knocked.
"Come in," came the boss's growl.
Kingpin stood at the window, phone in hand.
"...Tell everyone to proceed with caution. Move out to the safe house tonight." He clicked off and turned around, fists clenched.
Bullseye kept his tone careful. "Trouble?"
Kingpin's eyes narrowed. "Mexico's turned upside down. The Coast Guard intercepted one of our yachts—dirty cargo on board. NYPD's going all out, shutting down blocks, especially in our turf."
Bullseye shrugged. "That's not so bad, is it? Hell's Kitchen will be the focus. NYPD can't chase everyone."
He was right, in theory. The cops were buried in work with all the agencies descending. They couldn't keep this up for long.
But Kingpin didn't look convinced. He studied Bullseye. "About last night—I heard you staggered in. What happened? Why did the mission fail?"
Bullseye blinked. "I… I came back on my own?"
Kingpin frowned. "Who else would've brought you? Check the security footage if you need proof."
Bullseye's gut twisted. The cameras showed him walking in? But he'd blacked out. That meant Daniel had made him walk—like a puppet.
He forced a smile. "Boss… We ran into a super-powered target. Someone dangerous. Maybe psychic. All my men are gone. I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was here."
He hesitated.
"I thought you'd sent someone to collect me. But, I guess not."
Kingpin's eyes darkened. Another superhuman was another complication. Spider-Man was enough trouble, but at least Spidey spread himself thin. This one was different: unknown, and lethally precise.
"Who is he?" KIngpin asked.
Bullseye's voice dropped. "Daniel van der Berg. He was with Felicia Hardy. She was out cold, in the river. He pulled her out and cut through our ambush. My whole team... dead. I tried to run. He stopped me. After that… I don't remember."
Silence lingered.
Kingpin sneered. "So we walked right into it."
"I'd like to dig into him more," Bullseye offered. "We have a name now, let's take him out."
Kingpin shook his head. "No. Leave him for now. I'm putting Elektra on it. You've got other work."
Bullseye blinked. "Boss?"
"You're flying to Mexico. Handle it, then come back. That's your job."
"...Understood."
Kingpin waved him off. Bullseye shut the door behind him.
As it clicked, the boss turned to the shadows by the window.
A gentle, old woman's voice called out.
"He's hiding something. Fear makes men weak."
From the dimness stepped a frail elderly Chinese-American woman, leaning on her cane. Her tone was soft but her presence was icy.
Kingpin didn't move. "Madam Gao."
She smiled, polite as a knife's edge. "You're in more trouble than you realize, old friend."
He held her look, challenge in his eyes. "Or maybe it's all opportunity, hidden by trouble."
"Either way," she said coldly, "I expect you to keep your promise. Our work in Hell's Kitchen must not be interrupted."
"It won't," Kingpin said. "I promise."
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