Damon found himself standing near the door of a New York train wagon, surrounded by war propaganda posters that obscured most of the windows. The relentless recruitment efforts of the army were evident everywhere he looked.
His attention was drawn to a newspaper a passenger sitting next to him read. The article discussed Prussia's new alliance with Austria-Hungary and the Ottomans. A wave of frustration washed over him as he muttered, "Oh Bismarck. This U.S.-Florida war could be one of your manipulations."
Another traveler, dressed similarly to Damon with a hat and scarf, approached him from behind. "Listen, stay quiet... or you'll regret it," the thug warned.
Damon, unfazed by the intimidation, responded in his usual nonchalant tone, "Get lost. Find someone else to bother."
This response only fueled the man's anger. He pressed a revolver on Damon's back, demanding money from Damon with increasing hostility. Although the mugger tried to be inconspicuous, the few passengers nearby noticed.
Damon turned to face his aggressor, his brow furrowed with annoyance. "You're still here? Stop pestering me and go away. Can't you see I'm trying to read?"
Enraged, the thug fired five times. Damon collapsed, causing panic and screams to erupt among the other commuters. The mugger started to collect valuables from the frightened passengers.
Through the chaos, Damon muttered, still lying on the floor of the train, "Hahaha! That barely tickled!"
The mugger gawked at Damon's survival and approached him cautiously. "How are you alive?" the mugger shouted, closing in on Damon.
Damon managed a sly smile. "You're still here? Stop wasting your time. I don't have any money to give you. Can't you see I'm enjoying my near-death experience?"
Infuriated, the mugger seized Damon by the tie, pressing the gun against his temple. "I'll see you in hell," the mugger taunted.
Damon, undeterred, gripped the mugger's arm, applying pressure in return. "I don't mind the idea, but I'm not ready to go just yet."
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Confusion clouded the mugger's face as Damon wrestled the gun from his grasp, kicked him in the stomach, and shattered a nearby window with a shot. Taking advantage of the chaos, Damon seized the mugger by the neck and effortlessly lifted him off the ground.
"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" the mugger struggled, his voice filled with desperation.
Damon chuckled. "That won't do, my friend."
With a swift motion, Damon tossed the gun out of the shattered window, punching the mugger in the face. He followed up with a forceful kick to the mugger's chest, making him collapse unconscious on the floor. Within seconds, the train reached its destination, and as the doors opened, Damon sprinted away, leaving behind the bewildered and terrified passengers.
Damon left the train somewhere close to Wall Street, scanning the area with his binoculars in search of the bomb somewhere in any of the buildings. Dissatisfied with the results, he muttered to himself and pocketed the binoculars. Choosing to cover more ground, he decided to take a hansom cab.
"Central Park, please!" Damon requested after studying a map. After about 40 minutes, the cab approached the park, and he dashed in.
As he made his way through the park, he overheard a teenage crier shouting the latest news. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Oregon will supply troops to Florida for the impending war, along with the reluctance of European powers to ally with America, however, President McKinley requested a loan from Spain to finance the war.”
Seeking a quiet place, Damon continued his stroll, eventually finding a secluded spot. He stopped and called out, his voice echoing in the empty parcel.
"Nice to meet you, you can call me Damon. How can I help you? Come out from wherever you're hiding. I know you've been following me."
Silence enveloped the surroundings, and no one appeared. Undeterred, Damon pressed on, his pace quickening as he continued down the desolate paved road, the sounds of the gentle breeze and birdsongs providing a backdrop to his thoughts.
After five minutes, he repeated his call, but this time, three policemen emerged from the bushes. "Just because I've bested an idiot who tried to rob me?" Damon sighed.
"I see you're not afraid," one of the officers remarked.
The policemen, dressed in black slacks and vests with blue long-sleeved shirts and black ties, stood their ground. Only the captain sported a hat, a symbol of his authority. Although they interrupted his tirade, and in the blink of an eye, Damon positioned himself behind one of the officers, holding a knife against the man's neck, his threat directed at the others. "What if he dies?" Damon smirked.
"Don't you dare touch him!" the captain ordered, his squad aiming their guns at Damon.
"Put the knife down!" the captain commanded, but before the words had fully left his mouth, the hostage lay unconscious on the ground.
"Oh, sorry!” Damon said, facepalming.
In the chaos that followed, the remaining officers opened fire, but Damon dodged every bullet, his movements fluid and agile.