Chapter Four: The Fall of the Crimson Hand Society

Drip... drip... drip...

Sander furrowed his brow and looked up at the ceiling. Something was steadily dripping down, as if there were a leak. Yet, the salty, fishy taste that hit his mouth left him utterly perplexed—since when did ceiling leaks ooze seawater?

He sighed, pushed himself upright, reached for the edge of his bed, and flicked on the light.

The lamp overhead came to life, but most of its glow was blocked by something above. Just as Sander opened his mouth in terror to scream, a torrent of seawater burst from his throat, and the dark shape on the ceiling fell with a heavy thud.

"Who killed him?"

"Weren't you on watch here last night? Someone drowned and you didn't notice?"

"There wasn't any noise... Maybe he was killed first, then dumped in the water?"

As the gang members argued back and forth, Denor strode over, face grim. He shoved people aside and knelt by Sander’s corpse.

Staring at Sander’s ghastly remains, Denor drew a deep breath of his cigar; the smoke curled into a ring before slowly dispersing.

So there were still men in his crew loyal to that fool Sanders? Was someone avenging him?

Denor’s eyes swept over the crowd. He’d heard that murderers often returned to the scene of their crime, yet none of these men seemed steadfast enough for such loyalty. Who was it?

“We have a traitor among us. Someone didn’t want him alive. If I find out who, you’ll learn what true cruelty means!”

He left this threat hanging, waved his hand, and his men lifted the corpse away.

Their gang was nothing if not professional—they had their own coroner. Whether Sander was killed before or after he went into the water would soon be clear from the autopsy.

If he drowned after being thrown in, the prime suspects were surely those on dock duty last night.

Yang Qiu, projecting his will into Pike, instantly retrieved every memory of Pike’s actions from the night before. As expected, since the source material was Sanders, Pike’s first target for vengeance had been Sander, the traitor.

Yang Qiu didn’t care—who lived or died among the Bloodhand Gang mattered little to him; as long as they all perished in the end, that was enough. So began the first chapter: The Avenger Returns.

In the days that followed, corpses appeared each morning across various points of the docks, every death resembling Sander’s. The surveillance cameras caught nothing useful—only the moment these bodies were hurled from the water onto the shore.

This wave of slaughter left the Bloodhand Gang in panic. Some believed Denor, the newly ascended leader, was using the guise of Sanders’ vengeful return to purge his enemies. As a result, the gang was wracked by several more internal conflicts.

After these upheavals, the Bloodhand Gang’s numbers plummeted from several hundred to just over a hundred, and their territory shrank by more than two-thirds under pressure from rival gangs. Yet the most lucrative docks remained in their grasp.

“Who is it! You! Tell me! Who is it!”

Denor’s eyes were bloodshot as he seized a subordinate by the collar, roaring so violently that spittle sprayed the man’s face.

“Boss... boss, it wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t!”

The underling struggled in vain, legs kicking in the air.

Bang! The doors burst open. Another terrified subordinate, gasping for breath, rushed in. “Boss, it’s happened again! More dead this time!”

Denor flung aside the man in his grip and hurried to the docks. The corpses lay in neat rows, with not a single gawker in sight; the rest of the Bloodhand Gang was now cowering wherever they felt safest.

“This can’t go on. If it does, I’ll be next...”

Denor muttered under his breath before pulling out his phone. After a moment’s hesitation, he dialed.

“Sir, seven more are dead. It’s getting faster—I can’t hold out!”

“I understand. Someone will come for you soon. Go with them.”

The call ended abruptly. Denor let out a breath of relief. With such powerful backers, he would be safe soon.

A short while later, a convoy arrived at the Bloodhand Gang’s headquarters. After a brief conversation with the leader, Denor climbed into one of the vehicles.

Viewing all of this through the script’s omniscient lens, Yang Qiu’s anger began to rise. These people who came to help Denor were agents from a nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost. For such an agency, which claimed to maintain world peace, to shelter a gang leader—how absurd!

Beneath the docks, Pike felt Yang Qiu’s fury. In broad daylight, Pike began a ruthless purge of the Bloodhand Gang. Guided by the list of targets, none escaped his blade.

Within hours, the Bloodhand Gang was reduced to a single survivor—Denor—across all of New York. Pike, having completed the bulk of his vengeance, grew more corporeal; his abilities now closer than ever to what had been envisioned.

At dusk, Denor sat alone in an empty room. Cameras whirred at each corner, and elite agents guarded the doors. By rights, he should have felt safe. Yet for half an hour, a nameless dread had gripped his heart, as if an invisible hand were creeping ever closer to his throat.

His mounting terror made him want to flee, but his mysterious patron refused him this chance. Denor was now bait—meant to draw out the killer.

But Yang Qiu was unmoved. This brief script was drawing to its close.

Final chapter: No One Will Be Spared.

Night fell. The agents guarding the door leaned against the wall, bored and inattentive. It was understandable—after enduring brutal training, to be assigned to protect a mere thug was beneath them. To their minds, Denor wasn’t worth the trouble; they were here only because orders demanded it.

“This weather’s insane—blazing hot by day, cold and damp at night. I swear my undershirt’s soaked.”

“It’s odd, all right. I checked the forecast—humidity wasn’t supposed to be high today. Why’s it so damp now?”

“Come on, you still believe the forecast? For details like this, it’s wrong more often than not. You’d best get used to it.”

While the agents idly chatted, beads of water trickled down the wall behind them. As the droplets joined, a human face began to take shape in the plaster—a face that opened its mouth wide, revealing a maw of teeth more fearsome than any shark’s.

“Captain! Something’s wrong! Even at New York’s muggiest, it’s never this wet!”

A seasoned agent reported to his captain. The captain was tense, eyes darting across a dozen surveillance feeds. He saw nothing amiss, but the sheer amount of moisture in the air was clearly unnatural.

“Take a team to that room. Disengage all safeties. If anything seems off, open fire—I’ll take responsibility.”

The captain drew a deep breath, already regretting this assignment.

“Yes, sir!”

As his agents’ footsteps retreated, the captain’s heart thudded faster. This might well involve non-humans. And he knew all too well—if the client was inhuman, then the adversary would be too.