Saturday evening. A car was driving towards the gate of a rather private and wealthy Queens area; the vehicle passed through the security gate without even opening their car window, since the security guard recognized them.

The car then quickly drove past the location before arriving at its destination. Paul, the driver, opened the driver's door and proceeded towards the passenger door to open it from the outside, assisting the passenger who was inside.

"Be careful," Paul warned the woman stepping out of the car.

"Paul, I was shot in the thigh, not amputated," Catherine, the woman, grumbled. The woman then stood up on her own, removing her purse from the car seat.

"Well, the doctors said you shouldn't move around too much for a few days," Paul shrugged.

"I'm also a doctor. and I said it's fine, the wound closed a couple days ago." Catherine shot back. "Anyway, just bring out the suitcase."

"I'll take care of it." Duncan, who had just gotten out of the car, spoke up. He opened the trunk of the car and brought out a purple luggage, which he then placed on the ground.

"Anyway, Paul, I need to get to work on Monday, so don't be late." Catherine continued.

"Work?" Duncan smirked. "In that condition?"

"It's just a bullet in the thigh, Duncan; I'll survive." Catherine sighed and rolled her eyes. "Plus, I'm not going to the hospital; I'm going to the lab."

"Right, the mysterious lab..." Duncan mumbled.

Suddenly, the three noticed a police car approaching their home. It was strange that the security let them in because it was a gated neighborhood. The police car came to a stop in front of the house, and two cops disembarked. The cops were wearing their uniforms.

Duncan approached them, temporarily leaving the baggage on the ground alone.

"Can I assist you, officers?" Duncan inquired quietly.

"Mr. Plagmann," one of the officers introduced himself. "Don't worry about us. We've come to ask you some questions regarding your case."

"I've already told you everything." Catherine stepped in. "Why are you all here again?"

"Thank you, ma'am. We only have a few more questions for you. Your assistance is greatly appreciated."

Catherine sighed as Paul entered their own car to properly park it. "Fine. Please ask it here."

The two officers exchanged nods and turned to face each other. One of them took a notepad and a pen from his pocket.

"When our colleagues questioned you a few days ago, you stated that you had been Mr. Nefaria's personal doctor for a long period. Did he tell you anything about what might have caused the accident a week ago?"

Catherine appeared irritated. "What makes you think he'd tell me? I was hardly called."

"So nothing?" the officer said again.

"No." Catherine made a shaky motion with her head. "Is that all?"

"No, ma'am. You claimed your son is the last thing you see before passing out? What was your son doing at that time?" Looking at Duncan, the detective inquired once more.

Catherine tensed. Her eyes were drawn to her son. She paused for a few seconds before continuing, albeit hesitantly.

"He... was closing the door," Catherine quietly said. "To hide."

"No. She last saw me when I stabbed a man to death." Duncan corrected his mother.

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Plagmann." The officer nodded. "Then, referring to your statement, you stated that you hardly noticed the gunmen's killer. Have you remembered any details that you hadn't remembered before now that a week has passed?"

Duncan laughed as he walked back to the suitcase and sat on it. "You're here for me all along, huh?"

"Mr. Plagmann, please understand. We are only relying on your testimony in this case. We require as many hints as possible."

Duncan only sighed. "No. I do not remember any forgotten details. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

The cop simply nodded, a little disappointed.

"Although..." Duncan murmured.

"Although?" the cop perked up.

"I overheard the gunmen say something." Duncan went on. "I heard something about a guy named Fisk?"

"Fisk?" the officer asked. "Did you hear anything else?"

"I probably should've said that when officer Stacy was questioning me..." Duncan made an awkward laugh. "You're going to tell the investigation team about this, right?"

"Of course," the cop said, nodding.

A lie.

Duncan acted as normally as he could. "Oh, the shooters mentioned something about "Wilson Fisk sends his regards" or something like that."

As he closed his notepad, the cop hummed. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Plagmann; this will surely help the investigation a ton."

"Sure." Duncan muttered as he stood back up. He grabbed the bag and yanked it away from the ground. "Do you require anything else?"

"No, I guess we should report this as quickly as possible," the cop replied. They then moved towards the car and got inside. Before leaving, they rolled down the window and nodded.

"Didn't even thank my mum..." Duncan muttered something. "Quite the amateur..."

"Duncan, did you hide important information from the police?" Catherine frowned.

"I forgot." Duncan groaned and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't exactly in a positive state of mind at the time."

Catherine murmured, her brow furrowed. "Well, if you forget something else, you ask Paul to take you to the police station. Understand?"

"Right."

—

A man stood on the ledge of an old apartment building in the dead of night. The man was dressed in a black padded monk robe with a leather belt around his waist. The man's head was concealed beneath a cowl, and his face was concealed behind a mask.

The man was looking down at what was going on below him. It was just a regular car entering the alleyway beside the building. Two men in jackets and hoodies were inside the car. As the vehicle came to a halt in the middle of the alleyway, another man emerged from a door across the building. The man was wearing a suit, which stands out quite a bit.

As the suited man approached the car, he tapped on the door's window. The men inside the car rolled it open, and the suited man entered his head to the car.

"You'd better have some good news." From a distance, the robed man heard the suited man.

"We have some," stated the man inside the car. "The money first."

"First, the news, and then I'll decide if it's worth the price," the suited man insisted.

Inside the car, the man complained. "Fine. the boy that survived. He knows."

"Meaning?"

"He knows that Fisk was behind it," the man inside continued. "He told us. He said he forgot to tell Captain Stacy. We promised to tell our 'colleagues,' so if he notices that the captain doesn't know anything, he'll most likely come to the precinct himself."

The man in the suit hummed. He then pulled an envelope full of cash from his pocket and tossed it into the car.

"Keep listening. We'll take care of their family," said the suited man. "What about the "angel" that the boy mentioned?"

"He still doesn't remember."

"We'll make him remember while we take care of him." The man in the suit nodded. "Well done."

The man above the building knelt on the railing's edge. He then slowly removed his mask, unveiling blue flames behind him, forming an angel-like figure that invigorates an ominous spirit.

The angel, Kalyptos, glanced over the pages of the book in his hand before settling on one. A fraction of a second later, little violet spheres emerge around him, collecting energy from the environment.

The sphere twisted before hurtling itself at the men below at speeds faster than sound.

Because the spheres made no sound, the men had no idea what was heading for them. Then they felt a strong pain in their back, especially near their spine.

The spheres had punctured their bodies, destroying their spines just enough to keep them alive. The men dropped to the ground, unable to use their limbs due to paralysis.

The suited guy's eyes widened as he watched a robed figure fall from the sky, angel wings visible from behind him. He couldn't see his face because the hood obscured it. The suited man was carrying a revolver in his pocket but couldn't move his arm. He tried everything, but he was helpless.

"W-what's going on?" The man in the car muttered. His voice was feeble since it was difficult for him to move his mouth.

The men in the vehicle could only hear faint footsteps approaching them, but they couldn't do anything because their necks couldn't turn.

The robed man eventually came to a halt in front of the suited man. The suited man could feel the gaze beneath the cowl and couldn't help but tremble.

A menacing angel reappeared behind the robed man, causing the suited man to shudder because he had never seen anything like it.

When the angel flipped the page in his book, a faint white sphere appeared near the suited man's head. The man's eyes whitened as the sphere entered his brain.

"So Fisk is in jail?" the robed man inquired.

"Yes," the suited man stated unequivocally.

"How did he do all of this then?"

"Corruption... is everywhere," the suit declared. "Even in the most... righteous place..."

For a split second, the robed guy remained silent. The men in the vehicle began to panic when they heard all of this. "Hey! Who is there? What are you doing?!"

The robed man continued to stare at the suited man while ignoring the other two men.

"Can you tell me where your organizations were?"

"There are a lot," said the suited man flatly. "Hell's Kitchen... has the most... bases..."

"Do you know where all of them are?"

"I know… a few of them..."

"Then tell me..."

As the suited man listed every single base he knew, right down to the addresses, the men inside the car continued to yell, half asking for aid, half attempting to keep the suited man from saying anything else.

yet it was useless.

When the suited man came to a halt, the two men heard a kick, then silence.

Soon later, two more white spheres entered the vehicle and penetrated the two men's heads.

"Since when?" the robed guy inquired.

The two infiltrators could only converse without even looking at the robed figure.

"Last year..."

"What exactly have you done?"

"Forge documents... erase records... sell information..."

Again, it was silent for a few seconds. The two men could soon hear footsteps going away from them, before seeing a card planted on the car's front window.

That was the last thing they heard when two violet spheres penetrated their heads and killed them instantly.

As the moon shone brightly in the sky, the silent alleyway would soon be filled with the sirens of the police.

—

Captain George Stacy had just arrived at the crime scene where he had been dispatched. He walked through the police line while some of the officers who had arrived before him greeted him, showing respect for a senior member of the force.

George made his way to the center of the crime scene, where a vehicle had been parked quietly in the middle of the alleyway.

"How does it look?" Looking at the forensic scientists at work, George asked one of the cops.

"No clear suspect," the cop sighed as he gave him a small, transparent bag. "Aside from this, nothing."

"What's this?" George examined the bag. It was a tarot card with the number 'XI,' the justice tarot card. "A tarot card?"

"Yep," the officer hummed. "It was found on the car's front window. Reversed."

"Does it matter whether it's reversed or not?" George wondered.

"Well, according to one of these guys, if the justice card is flipped, it implies, well, injustice."

"Every killer has a gimmick now." George murmured. He moved his gaze to the seat of the car; the bodies of the police officers inside had been recovered, but the blood remained. "What are those guys doing here?"

"We don't know yet. But the guy who's dead outside is one of the members of Fisk's old mafia. He died from a broken neck, unlike these two," the cop replied. "Last thing we see these two guys do is when they drop off their police car."

"What did they do before?" George wondered.

George raised his brow as the cop handed him a piece of paper. "This kid again?"

"These guys went to their house to question them, but then they went back to the precinct and didn't report anything."

"You think those two guys are spies from the syndicate?" questioned George.

Because he didn't have any evidence, the cop just shrugged.

But then, from behind, came a voice with a strong British accent.

"Well, as of right now, gentleman, we know that they are informants for the crime syndicate," said the voice.

When George and the other cop turned around, they saw a mature man standing in front of them.

"Arthur?" George frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, brother, the office brought me back out of retirement to deal with your issue." Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

Arthur Stacy was George's brother, a former CIA operative turned private investigator.

"The FBI has had these two rats on their radar for quite some time." Arthur went on. "They're probably coming to report on a significant discovery. This is most likely related to the boy they met earlier."

George let out a sigh. "Poor kid, he's been quite unlucky these last few weeks."

"Are you familiar with him?" Arthur inquired, intrigued. "Of course, aside from the police-victim interaction."

"Apparently, he's Gwen's lab partner." George made a hum. "All right, I'll phone his mother and see if we can pay them a visit."

—

On a Sunday afternoon. George was now sitting with his brother inside the Plagmanns' home. The living room is quite spacious and well decorated, and it was definitely not cheap to make this possible.

George and Arthur were given tea, which Arthur thoroughly loved because he had spent so much time in Britain.

"So, officer, what brings you here?" Catherine, who was sitting next to Duncan, inquired. "For the second time in a row."

"We apologize for that, Miss Plagmann. But the circumstances have brought us back to your home."

Catherine sighed and turned to face Duncan. "OK, this is what happens when you forget things."

"Forget?" Arthur inquired.

"I forgot to tell you guys some information." Duncan continued. "I was a bit stressed back then, so I totally forgot what the gunmen had said in that place."

"Oh really?" George frowned. "Which is?"

"Do you not know?" Duncan questioned, a bit confused. "I thought those two guys have already told you?"

"Those two men… have passed away…" Arthur said, making the room turn silent. "Our investigation led us to their last destination before they died. To here."

"Oh…" Duncan gulped. "Well, I told them what the gunmen had said in that place. They said something about "Fisk"."

"Fisk?" George frowned. "As in Wilson Fisk?"

"Yeah, "Wilson Fisk sends his regards", or something like that. I can't remember clearly."

"That is… indeed valuable information…" Arthur murmured. "It makes sense now."

"Makes sense?" Catherine frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Pardon me, madam. But we believe that those two men that you have met yesterday are in fact informants of a mafia syndicate. They were found dead last night in an alleyway, along with their employer."

Catherine gasped. "You don't think—"

"Don't worry, Miss Plagmann, we'll make sure to place sufficient security around the area." George comforted Catherine. "While we doubt that the information has been leaked to the organization itself as their employer has also died, we need to take some precautions."

"Thank you… officer…"

George just nodded and sighs. He then stood up. "Well, sorry to take a lot of time this week, Miss Plagmann, Duncan. We can't stay here long, so if you remember some things again, you should contact us or go to the precinct."

"I understand, officer." said Duncan, nodding.

All of them stood up from the couch, and walked outside. Duncan smiled at the two cops when they reached their car, receiving an awkward nod from those two.

Though Duncan didn't smile at them, he smiled because he heard the sound of broken chains in his head, an indicator of a rank up.

—

George was passing through the streets of New York using his police car with his brother. It was quite busy in this area as the crime scene closed the street for a couple of hours.

"What do you think of that boy?" questioned Arthur.

"He's a good kid. Though he's probably scarred for life because of that incident. Why?" answered George.

"I don't know. It's just like you said, he's quite unlucky to be swirled up in this mess of a case." continued Arthur. "Maybe it's just me, I don't know."

"Alright then."

The two brothers continued to chat casually as they traveled to the precinct, reporting on what they had learned from the Plagmanns.