Late at night, New York, South Brooklyn Marine Terminal.
Amid the pitch-black pier where work had long ceased for the day, a rustle of deliberately muffled footsteps stirred.
A flashlight beam suddenly clicked on, pulsing in several short, rhythmic flashes to signal an incoming pickup boat out at sea.
Before the sea could answer, the pier offered a "warm" welcome of its own.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
High-powered floodlights across the docks flared to life in unison, their glaring, amber light instantly bathing large stretches of the pier as bright as day.
Caught completely off guard, the figures lurking in the dark froze in shock, instinctively glancing around in sheer panic.
Then, straight ahead, they saw a somewhat familiar silhouette standing tall.
"Where are you gentlemen headed so late at night? How about I give you a ride along the way?" Qi Li said mildly.
The instant he turned around, a spotlight hit him dead-on, making his blue-and-gold battle suit gleam with striking radiance.
Even if they did not know Qi Li by name, the lavishly produced battle suit made it unmistakably clear: he was an American specialty—a Vought superhero, far more violent and ten thousand times more corrupt than their own outfit.
A harsh, guttural bark burst from their leader's mouth.
Qi Li could not understand the words, but he recognized the Tagalog dialect.
And these men were his target tonight: the Shining Light terrorist organization.
Ever since he struck a deal with Indira Shetty, she had moved with great efficiency. Backed by Vought, she had quickly arranged this very "performance" for him.
Strictly speaking, the "performers" were already connected to Qi Li.
Earlier in Chinatown, his violent clash with Kimiko had caused a massive uproar, putting the local Shining Light cell on edge.
Kimiko was supposed to be a trump card they held in reserve, waiting for the right moment to strike a devastating blow against America.
Instead, she had unexpectedly broken loose, only to be subdued by Qi Li, drawing countless prying eyes toward Chinatown.
To avoid exposure, the Shining Light operatives had relocated to a safehouse that very day, planning to board a ship under cover of night and slip away for the time being.
As the ultimate local hegemon, Vought had a far better grasp of every tremor in New York than even the NYPD or the Department of Homeland Security.
Vought's Crime Analytics had flagged the terrorists' movements.
Under normal circumstances, assignments involving waterfronts and docklands fell to Deep Sea—assuming he had no conflicting commercial commitments.
This time, however, thanks to the arrangement with Godkin University and direct instructions handed down from the executive suite on Vought's eighty-second floor, Crime Analytics handed the assignment to Qi Li.
The string of foreign chatter had barely faded when, without a second's hesitation, gunfire erupted.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat...
A storm of muzzle flashes lit the dark.
In an instant, hundreds of rounds poured toward Qi Li.
The Shining Light gunmen held down their triggers, retreating frantically under the cover of their barrage.
"Looks like you chose the path with the least future," Qi Li remarked calmly as distorted slugs flattened against him and rained onto the ground with a rhythmic clatter. "Though what comes next is pure nonsense... surrender and your lives will be spared."
The gunfire kept blaring.
Not a single man laid down his weapon.
Nonsense, indeed.
Still, the on-site director had demanded the line.
Having delivered his cue, Qi Li was ready for business.
Schwing—
He drew the bronze sword that had become his public trademark. In a flash of movement, his silhouette melted into the night.
Before one wildly firing Shining Light gunman could even register what happened, his AK-47 snapped clean in two, closely followed by a chilling sensation across his throat.
With a thud, he dropped to his knees, clawing desperately at his spurting neck. He tried to speak, but only a feeble rattle escaped his throat as the light in his eyes rapidly faded.
A gleam of sword light flashed, and another man collapsed with an agonized shriek, clutching his pierced chest.
Forehead, temple, throat, heart, liver, kidneys...
Moving like a phantom through the dead of night, Qi Li wove effortlessly among the Shining Light terrorists, each thrust of his blade striking vital points with surgical precision.
Within a single minute, the deafening roar of gunfire dwindled to sparse, ragged pops.
"Pure artistry!" the on-site director marveled as he monitored the feeds from cameras pre-positioned across the docks.
Beside him, the assistant director nodded repeatedly. "Bronze's precise technique is a major reason he tests so well with audiences."
Just as Qi Li was about to finish off another target, the director's voice crackled through his earpiece: "Bronze, give us a decapitation this time."
"A decapitation?" Qi Li paused mid-motion, raising a finger to his lips to shush the terrorist before him, and responded in confusion, "Won't that be a bit too gory? My core demographic is women sixteen to thirty-five."
The director chuckled with easy confidence. "Don't worry. In post-production, we'll treat it like a feature film and dial back the visceral impact to the absolute minimum. That way your female fans can watch the whole thing with their legs squeezed tight without feeling disgusted, and we pull in a solid adult male demographic, too. Who in America doesn't want to see terrorists die as brutally as possible?"
"Fair enough," Qi Li agreed with a nod.
He turned back to the terrified gunman, shrugging. "You shouldn't have gotten yourselves on the terrorist registry."
In America, drug dealers, muggers, and murderers still enjoyed certain human rights—cross the line with excessive force, and someone was bound to protest.
Terrorists, however?
Sorry, not a chance.
Especially with the recent hijacking of Transoceanic Flight 37 by terrorists, public outcry was at a fever pitch, baying for blood.
The director knew his craft well: the harsher the violence visited upon terrorists right now, the higher the ratings.
Qi Li wasted no further time. With a clean stroke of his sword, he sent the man's head flying through the air, granting him a painless death.
"Fucking magnificent!" the director cheered, his blood pumping.
From there, Qi Li continued hunting down the remaining Shining Light fighters, diligently complying with the director's instructions along the way.
For instance, one spot was a blind angle, so he dragged the terrorist into the open to execute him in full view of the lens;
This time, put away the sword and use bare fists—don't kill him in one hit, because the viewers wanted to see punch after punch raining into the terrorist's face, witnessing every stage of his brutal disfigurement;
And oh, there was another line to deliver...
Qi Li was not the fastidious type.
Compared to people toiling twelve grueling hours a day for mere scraps, standing in front of the camera earned him enough in a single shoot to rival years of ordinary labor.
He truly had no reason to complain.
Within minutes, the Shining Light squad was wiped out.
Per the request of Vought's Crime Analytics, Qi Li deliberately spared their leader and a handful of survivors to squeeze out intelligence on their upcoming operations.
Chapter 56