Brooklyn.

Peter stood beneath the streetlight, hands in his pockets, casually observing the vehicles and pedestrians passing by.

The security in the Benheson neighborhood was among the worst in Brooklyn. Not only were thefts common, but drug trafficking and smuggling were frequent as well.

The area, filled with immigrants from different backgrounds, created chaos and made it difficult to manage.

"Whoosh!"

A Lexus zoomed past him without any sign of slowing down.

Adjusting his baseball cap, Peter continued to wait patiently, hoping to catch someone in the act. Robbing a few random gang members wouldn't bring in much money, and since he didn't know the location of their headquarters, all he could do was observe.

However, given the "simple customs" of the area, it was only a matter of time before some gang members showed up.

As expected, a pickup truck pulled up a few minutes later. The driver noticed Peter standing there with his hat lowered, likely assessing him, before stepping on the gas and honking mockingly.

The truck sped past Peter, and a fast-food cup from Chick-fil-A was tossed out of the window, landing in a ditch behind him. The driver's wild laughter faded as the truck disappeared into the distance.

Peter watched it disappear without a change in expression, but the truck's taillights soon lit up. With a sudden brake, it pulled to the side of the road.

Two young men climbed out, grinning as they approached. One had shaggy blonde hair, and the other was short and chubby with a face full of freckles.

"Nice car, but it looks like it's leaking a bit. Aren't you worried about catching a cold?" Peter commented with a frown, glancing at the two.

"This is my dad's truck," the blonde said, moving toward him, while the chubby guy circled behind. They positioned themselves on either side of him.

"I'm looking to buy some 'lubricant,' but I need a large amount. You got any?" Peter asked, using the slang for drugs.

"Wow, bro, I like how you talk," the blonde replied, making eye contact with the guy behind Peter. "You got the money?"

"Of course."

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Peter pulled two stacks of cash from his pocket, waving them in front of the two.

"Is this enough?"

Naturally, as a high school student, Peter didn't have that kind of money. Most of the cash was just paper sandwiched between a few real bills. But under the cover of night, it was easy to get away with. If it were daytime, it would've been a different story.

The two gang members didn't suspect anything and assumed they'd found an easy target. Initially, the blonde wanted to rob Peter right away, but the dangerous look in Peter's eyes made him reconsider. He didn't know if Peter had a gun, and he regretted not bringing one himself.

"You better not be trying to pull something on us, or you'll regret it," the blonde warned, his expression shifting. Finally, he decided to take Peter to meet their boss. He doubted Peter was a cop; no cop would attempt a sting operation this way.

"Buzz!"

The pickup roared to life and sped off into the night. Peter sat in the back seat with the chubby guy, while the blonde drove. Peter felt a tinge of regret that they hadn't tried to rob him. His original plan was to beat the gang members senseless and find out where their hideout was, but they held back.

"So, where are we going?" Peter asked, watching the city lights flash by outside the window.

"Hell's Kitchen. We've got more product there, enough for you to buy as much as you want."

"What gang are you with? Triad? Viper?"

"Neither. We're with the Hand. Don't confuse us with the Triad losers. We kick their asses," the blonde replied smugly.

The Hand again? Peter's frown deepened. Last time, the gang that had tried to kidnap Gwen was also from the Hand. Now these two were too. He was beginning to think he had some sort of connection with them.

After his encounter with the Hand's strongmen the previous night, Peter had looked up information on them. There wasn't much online. The Hand was a gang active in Midtown and Hell's Kitchen, once involved in a notorious prosecution for illegal activities. The details were sparse, though.

Peter wanted to ask more, but the truck had already entered the notorious Hell's Kitchen.

"Screech!"

The truck came to a halt in front of a two-story building in a residential area. The cold night wind howled, and the two men bundled up in their jackets as they led Peter upstairs.

The blonde had already called ahead, so without further questions, they took Peter inside.

The wide hall was engulfed in darkness, the lights off. The silence was thick, broken only by the blonde's calls and the wind howling outside.

"Boss?"

The blonde scratched his head in confusion. "Where's the guy? He told me he'd be waiting here."

Peter frowned, his heightened senses picking up the distinct scent of blood. Having gone through the "Alien Slaughter Research Base Incident," he knew exactly what that smell meant. The alien parasite inside him stirred, its predatory instincts awakening.

The alien inside Peter, in some ways, was like a spider among its kind. It hunted silently, waiting to strike with overwhelming force, sensing danger by the flow of air.

As his hunter instincts kicked in, Peter vanished.

The blonde swallowed nervously, exchanging uneasy glances with the chubby guy. They both felt something was wrong.

The blonde turned around, only to find that Peter had disappeared. A wave of panic hit him.

"Where the hell did he go?"

Not only was their boss missing, but the guy they'd just brought along had vanished too. The situation felt more and more eerie.

Suddenly, with a loud "bang," the blonde hit the ground hard, as if something had tripped him. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain, and pulled out his phone, using its light to see what had caused him to fall.

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