The next morning, I sat in a little diner close to the orphanage, drinking a cup of coffee. It was just another morning, and the smell of bacon and eggs cooking filled the place. I looked out the window... People rushed to work, children with backpacks went to school, and sometimes someone walked a dog. It was calm and peaceful.

I had secretly left the money at May Parker's orphanage late at night and just left without saying anything. I didn't want anyone to know it was me, and I didn't need them to. The kids would never find out who gave the money, but it didn't matter. That money would help them have a better life, giving them a chance to survive in a city that can be very tough. But I wrote a note and placed it on the bundle. Considering her character, without a note, she would have definitely taken it to the cops. And the traps are in place.

The bell above the diner door jingled, pulling me out of my thoughts. A waitress in her early fifties, with a kind smile and tired eyes, came over to refill my coffee. "You need anything else, hon?"

"Nah, I'm good," I replied, offering her a polite smile. She nodded and walked back behind the counter.

I glanced at the TV mounted in the corner of the diner, where the morning news was playing. I saw the headline flash across the screen.

"Weapons Cache and Major Crime Bust at NYPD: Mysterious Tip Leads to Gang's Capture."

I leaned back in my chair, watching the news as the reporter explained the events from last night. Apparently, the police had raided Hammerhead's safehouse after a man drove straight to the precinct, surrendered, and spilled everything about their operations. The NYPD had recovered a cache of military-grade weapons, along with several gang members who were now in custody. It was being hailed as one of the biggest busts of the year.

Then, another headline caught my attention:

"New Commissioner Yuri Watanabe Makes Bold Moves, Promises to Clean Up the City."

The camera cuts to Yuri standing at a podium outside the precinct, giving a press conference. She looked sharp as usual, her voice steady as she thanked the public for their cooperation and vowed to bring more criminals to justice.

I smirked into my coffee. I hadn't given her a gift so much as I had delivered a message. Hammerhead's organization was in disarray, and with Benny out of the picture, the tension between Hammerhead and Kravinoff was bound to escalate. It was the perfect storm, and Yuri would be right there in the center of it, cleaning up the mess while I worked from the shadows.

There was still work to be done. Hammerhead wasn't going down without a fight, and Kravinoff was no small-time thug. But I had time. For now, I'd let the city think it was on the path to salvation while I quietly dismantled the rest of the criminal underworld piece by piece. Oh, yeah. The life of a vigilante seems to be fun for now.

After I left the diner, the crisp morning air greeted me as I made my way to the old sedan parked around the corner. The city streets were already bustling, and the sounds of honking cars, chatter, and distant sirens formed the symphony of New York. I blended into the rhythm, just another face in the crowd.

I slipped into the driver's seat, the familiar smell of leather and cheap coffee filling the air. The sedan's engine sputtered to life, and I pulled out into traffic, heading toward the warehouse where I picked up my deliveries. It wasn't far—maybe a twenty-minute drive through the Bronx.

I couldn't shake the thought of Yuri Watanabe from the news earlier. She seemed like a tough one, driven and righteous. Maybe too righteous. The kind that wouldn't just let things slide. It was good to have someone like her in the city's ranks, though. She'd clean up the surface while I handled the underbelly.

As I pulled up to the warehouse, my mind switched gears. Time to focus on the task at hand. The place was a nondescript brick building, nestled between a scrapyard and a hardware store. Nothing about it screamed "legitimate business," but that was part of the charm.

I parked the car and headed inside, the creaky door protesting as I pushed it open. Inside, the familiar faces of the other delivery drivers greeted me with nods and casual greetings. Most of them were just trying to get through the day, same as me—except they didn't have a secret life. Or at least, not one like mine.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Morning, Nick," said a gruff voice from behind the counter. Roy, the warehouse manager, handed me my clipboard without looking up from his computer. "You got the usual route today. Couple stops in Brooklyn, one in Manhattan. Keep it tight; traffic's gonna be a bitch today."

"Why? Rally or something?" I asked.

"Something like that. There's this big charity gala at the Plaza tonight, and it looks like all the fancy folks are in town for it. That'll mean more people and more cars clogging up the streets."

"Why don't you put on that fake suit you bought last week and go there? I'll tag along. Maybe we can have free food," I teased him.

"Har, har," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Just get your ass out there and make your deliveries, alright? We've got a reputation to uphold."

"Ha! Told ya, that site was a fake!" shouted a man in the corner of the warehouse, probably one of the new drivers.

I snorted, shaking my head. "You'll fit right in."

Roy let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fuck! I should have listened to him. My wife is on my ass for wasting that much money on a fake suit."

"Happens to the best of us," I said as I walked over to the other side of the warehouse, where a row of vans was lined up, each one loaded with a different delivery. After loading up the sedan with the packages, carefully stacking them just right, I climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, checking my list. Nothing unusual—mostly office supplies, a few packages for small businesses, and the occasional shady-looking box that I didn't ask questions about.

The day moved quickly as I made stop after stop, driving through the chaotic traffic of Brooklyn, crossing bridges, and dodging the usual gridlock that made deliveries in New York feel like running an obstacle course. Most of the recipients barely looked at me, just signed the papers, and went back to whatever they were doing.

By the time I reached Manhattan, it was close to noon. The sun was high in the sky, and the energy of the city had shifted—people in suits rushing to lunch, tourists snapping photos, and street vendors selling everything from hot dogs to knockoff handbags.

My last stop for the morning was a small tech startup in a sleek glass building downtown. I parked the car a few blocks away and grabbed the last box, making my way to the office. The lobby was buzzing with activity—people rushing between meetings, heads down, talking into phones. I stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the seventh floor, leaning against the cool metal wall as it ascended.

The elevator dinged, snapping me back to the present. The door slid open, and I stepped out into the open-plan office. A receptionist with a bright smile greeted me as I handed over the box.

"Delivery for you," I said, keeping my voice casual.

She nodded and signed for it, not paying me much mind. Just another delivery guy. Perfect.

As I made my way back to the car, my eyes fell on the alley opposite the building. Three college students were beating up a homeless man. They laughed as they kicked him, taunting him like he was some kind of animal. The sight sent a wave of rage through me, my blood boiling. I was about to rush there and beat the shit out of them personally. I mean, all these people passing by did nothing.

They just walked by lowering their head.

I took a deep breath calming myself down. Decisions made in anger usually end poorly. It doesn't matter how fast or strong you are, if you make rash decisions based on emotions instead of logic, you'll get yourself killed. I used my psychic power to stop them from hitting that old guy and read their mind. I need to know the reason behind that situation. It turns out, those three fuckers lost their wallet yesterday around this part, and now blaming that guy, calling him a thief. The fun fact is that the homeless guy wasn't even in that alley yesterday or the day before yesterday.

Well, it's time for judgment.

I made them fight each other. They kept punching and kicking until they were rolling down on the main road, stopping the cars.

Yeah, keep hitting each other. That's right. Don't stop!

People started taking pictures and recording them. Soon the cops would be here, and they would go to jail.

One of the nearby patrol officers arrived at the scene and I manipulated those three to punch the cop. And that was the final trigger. The cop used the taser on them. They started to scream and passed out, twitching on the road. The cop called for backup and soon, the three idiots were being hauled off to jail.

I smirked, feeling satisfied. It's time to blend in again.

Huh?! A message popped up on my phone screen. It was from Kitty. Oh, this is new.

[Are you free tonight? I was thinking, maybe we could go out. You know. Jean said it's alright and I thought about it for a while. Well, one month to be exact. Was that too long? Arg! I'm babbling again, ain't I? Anyway, let me know what you think.]

Oh shit! She wants to go out on a date. I mean, I always wanted to ask her out after Jean gave the green light, but she wanted to take some time. Well, it's about time, I guess. But tonight? I got my hands full with Hammerhead and Kravinoff. I couldn't skip them just because of a date. I had plans to raid another base. But... I think I can take out a few hours.

I texted back... [I'll pick you up at 8 PM]