Marvel's whitewashing cop, you want me to save the world?

Chapter 30 Brock, Where is the Razor Shield Gang's Lair?

Looking at Brock slowly moving forward, Li En couldn't help but admire the guy's composure.

He was furious just moments ago, looking like he was about to rush in and fight the gangsters to the death, but he calmed down in the time it took to turn around two shipping containers.

He was walking hesitantly, his toes shuffling on the cement ground, probably wanting to leave but reluctant to part with the reward.

However, because of Brock's dawdling, the gunfire at the port gradually subsided.

By the time the two men officially stepped into the container storage area, the gunfire had completely stopped.

The white light from the searchlights shone down from the high poles, cutting out stripes of light and shadow between the containers.

People lay sprawled on the ground, some lying face up, others curled up on their sides, clutching their broken arms, biting their lips and remaining silent.

One of the Razor Gang members saw two pairs of police boots step past him, turned his face away, stared at the base of the shipping container next to him, and pretended not to see anything.

As expected of someone who's been to Hell's Kitchen, their ability to assess situations is quite good.

Brock walked slower and slower, the muzzle of his gun moving back and forth in the shadows ahead, each step like he was testing for landmines with his toes.

Li Enqian simply walked past him and went to the front.

Without any hesitation, Brock immediately moved behind Lee En, turned sideways, and followed with his gun.

Li En didn't care; this was the correct advance formation all along.

He walked along the edge of the container until he reached the area directly illuminated by the searchlight. With his back against the metal sheet, he peered over the edge.

Eight people were lying in front of the red container.

Most of them had fainted, and only two were still moving. Their arms and legs had been broken, and they were using their elbows to support themselves on the ground, inching their way toward the sea.

A pried-open lock was hanging on the container door, the lock ring crookedly on the latch.

Li En raised his right hand and extended three fingers.

Pull back, clench your fist.

He immediately accelerated, circled around to the other side of the red container, and aimed his gun.

Brock widened the angle and provided cover from the outside.

The masked man stood with his back against the container door, in front of the gun's sights.

A black headscarf covered the upper half of her face, leaving only her chin exposed.

The right shoulder of the bodysuit was ripped open, the fabric rolled up, revealing a bluish-purple bruise underneath.

My right arm was swollen, and my fingers were barely able to grip the handle of the short stick, with blood trickling down between them.

My left leg is slightly bent, and all my weight is on my right leg, with my right knee trembling slightly.

A bloodstain hung from the corner of his mouth, stretching from the crack in his lip all the way to the tip of his chin.

His Adam's apple bobbed once, and he swallowed what was in his mouth.

He was breathing heavily.

When Li En saw that chin, the corners of his mouth curled up with a hint of amusement.

He had always assumed that masked men should wear the same kind of hoods as him, the kind that exposes the eyes and mouth.

I didn't expect it to be a style that only covers half of the face.

And that chin looks so familiar.

The jawline is somewhat hard, the lips are thin, and the philtrum is slightly short.

Jiaoxi Bar, Blind Lawyer.

Matt Murdoch.

This guy works as a lawyer during the day and works as a vigilante at night.

Are you getting enough sleep?

Lee lowered the muzzle of his gun and waved at Brock.

"This guy is seriously injured."

Brock remained in a gun-wielding stance as he moved over from the outside of the container.

He saw Matt's swollen right arm and the bloodstains at the corner of his mouth, and a smile spread across his face.

The gun was aimed at Matt's thigh, and the volume was increased.

"Police! You're under arrest! Spread your arms and get down!"

Matt didn't move.

"Fuck! Put your hands up!"

"Brock." Lee turned his head and said in a low voice.

"This guy would have collapsed long ago if he hadn't been leaning against the shipping container."

"Look how swollen his right hand is, and he can't even stand up straight. He's probably broken his leg and can't lift it up."

Brock ignored him and continued yelling at Matt, "Shut up, Lee! You, put your hands up right now!"

Matt took a deep breath.

Its nose twitched, and its earlobes twitched outwards twice.

What he heard was different from what Li En heard.

When he was nine years old, a truck carrying chemicals overturned at an intersection, the tank cracked, and the liquid poured into his eyes.

The operating room lights were the last light he had ever seen in his life.

But after that, everything else began to become clear.

The salinity of the sea breeze can be used to distinguish salt concentration, and the sounds of taut and slack steel cables can be discerned from 300 meters away.

A person standing ten meters away could hear their heartbeat more clearly than the hands of a watch.

The movement of air traced the outlines of the surrounding objects on his skin, and together with the sounds and smells, the world was pieced back together in his mind.

The stitching is denser than before.

When he was a child, he was almost driven crazy by these sounds for a period of time, but then he met a teacher.

In that person's hands, he transformed from a child overwhelmed by his senses into someone who could fight with his senses, and he continued to hone his skills to become stronger.

And now, all his senses are reporting the same thing.

escape.

The guy who walked over wasn't an ordinary person.

His footsteps landed on the ground, each touch feeling like a hydraulic hammer pounding on a concrete pile.

His breathing rate was not fast, but with each breath, the volume of air he took in was more than twice that of an average adult male.

In his perception, the walking Li En was like a large truck, but with a human-shaped form!

This is something a truck can't compare to.

Even the gold belt champion he used to encounter in the underground boxing ring would be nothing more than background noise compared to the person in front of him.

All the senses combined lead to the same conclusion being pushed by all the channels.

In your current state, you absolutely cannot win.

We must escape.

But he cannot escape.

The shipping container is right next to my ear.

The vibration of the metal box door transmitted every word of the sound inside to his eardrums.

A child was calling for his mother in a hoarse, breathy voice; another child buried his face in someone's shoulder and sobbed, his vocal cords swollen, and he trembled with pain with every swallow.

Several girls huddled at the very back, too afraid to move.

He leaned against the box door and stood up straight.

Matt's shoulders slumped slightly when Brock called out the name "Lee En".

It was that police officer.

A few days ago, when he was cracking down on the Razor Gang, he heard that people were taking action at the neighboring port.

One person rescued a boy.

After that incident, he memorized the other person's build, weight, gait characteristics, and heart rate.

In just a few days, Officer Li En's demeanor had completely changed.

If what he heard last time was a police patrol car, what he's hearing now is a main battle tank.

But if it's him, then it should be possible.

Matt gently raised his right hand.

Brock immediately raised the muzzle of his gun three inches: "Slow down! Spread your arms out, above your head!"

Matt obediently and slowly raised his hands.

With his right hand raised halfway up, his swollen deltoid muscle was already trembling, but he didn't stop moving.

As his fingers passed by the container door lock, he suddenly pressed his wrist down, the latch popped open, and the container door opened a crack to the inside.

His body simultaneously lunged to the side, crashing onto the concrete ground, with his left shoulder landing first.

"Fuck! Stop right there!"

"Brock".

One sound followed another.

Brock's finger was already on the trigger, but he stopped when he heard those two words.

He turned around, his mouth open, but no sound came out.

Li En stood at the edge of the searchlight beam.

The right half of his body was clearly outlined by the white light, while the left half was completely shrouded in darkness.

His expression was calm, a calmness that Brock had never seen before.

He had seen Li En frown, when he was scolded for saving people at a car accident scene, when he was given the runaround at Barrett's grocery store, and when he was looking through surveillance footage on a computer screen at the police station.

He had also seen Li En smile, when he clinked glasses with the two lawyers at Jiaoxi Bar.

But he had never seen Lee En's face like this before.

His eyelids didn't twitch, his mouth didn't twitch, and his breathing was steady; he was like a volcano that had been pushed to its breaking point.

The lava hadn't even erupted yet, but the mountain was already trembling.

Brock followed his gaze.

The white light from the searchlight shone directly into the open door of the red shipping container.

Several children emerged from the darkness.

Black hair, brown eyes, and a face stained with ash and dried tear stains.

My lips are dry, cracked, and peeling, and there are red marks left from where the tape was torn from the corners of my mouth.

His shoulders and arms were covered in abrasions and bruises, and his wrists still bore deep red marks from the cable ties.

A girl of about six or seven years old huddled at the front, clutching the hem of the boy's clothes with both hands, the skin on her knuckles already scraped raw.

They held hands, huddled together, and shrank into the shadow of the shipping container.

But there was no room left inside; dozens of small bodies were crammed together.

Brock stood still, the muzzle of his gun now hanging down to his outer thigh.

Li En stepped forward and reached out to close the container door.

The hinges turned very quietly, and the latches re-engaged.

Click.

He addressed the gangsters who were lying on the ground but hadn't yet lost consciousness.

His tone, like his expression, was perfectly calm, like a gentle breeze blowing across the sea.

"Brock, you have a way to get them back, right?"

Upon hearing the sound, Brock instinctively tightened his grip on the gun handle.

"Call the newspaper first and ask a reporter to come to the port, the sooner the better."

He spoke very quickly and in a low voice.

"With reporters filming, these children will be on the front page."

"Embassies from various countries will come to demand his release, and the mayor of New York City will do everything he can to compensate him in order to quell public opinion."

"These children will eventually receive compensation and be able to return home on a chartered plane."

"This matter can be resolved."

"But... before that, we need to make sure the children are protected at all times."

"Very well, thank you for your help, Brock."

Lee tucked the Glock 17 back into his waistband.

With a flick of his right hand, a brand new Glock appeared in his palm.

The gun body was jet black, without any signs of wear, and the slide reflected a cold light under the searchlight.

He pressed down on the magazine catch with his thumb, the magazine slid out, he pushed it back in, pulled the slide, and an extra round was in the chamber.

"Brock, do you know where the Razor Shields' headquarters are?"

"Li En, calm down."

Brock took his hand off the phone, took half a step forward, and pressed his palm down.

"Even in Hell's Kitchen, animals would do something like that, but charging in head-on isn't a good option."

He knew what state his partner was in.

The anger had been suppressed to the lowest point, so suppressed that it was even more terrifying than before.

But what exactly is Hell's Kitchen?

Human trafficking, drug trafficking, arms smuggling—aren't these all everyday occurrences?

This time, he brought a bunch of kids from abroad, and even he was tempted to shoot and kill them.

But no.

Because this is Hell's Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen has its own rules.

Li En turned to the side, and the searchlight beam split him in two.

The right half is a dark blue police uniform, while the left half is completely shrouded in darkness.

"There must be a lot of money in the Razor Gang's hideout."

"Of course there is, but the firepower is considerable. You saw it just now; they were even firing rockets! Did you forget?"

Brock pressed his throat.

The Razor Claws aren't top-tier in Hell's Kitchen, but they're still a gang that can field several hundred members.

Being able to control a port demonstrates that the other party is definitely not weak.

Rushing into someone's lair is practically suicide.

At the very least, the National Guard would have to be mobilized to have any chance.

Lee looked at Brock but did not respond.

He raised his right hand and pointed the gun at a gangster who had fallen to the ground next to him.

Pull the trigger.

boom.

The bullet entered through the back of his head.

He fell face down, his face hitting the concrete floor, and he didn't move again.

Throughout the entire process, from raising his hand to pulling the trigger to putting the gun away, there was not the slightest hesitation.

Brock instinctively raised his gun and pointed it at Lee: "Lee! Calm down!"

"Brock, I'm calm." Lee's voice remained calm.

"All you need to do is tell me where the Razor Shield's headquarters is."

The gun barrel moves, aiming at the next target.

Two more shots were fired.

The person lying on the ground didn't even have a chance to twitch.

"You bastard! Die!"

The two gangsters who hadn't fainted finally found the gun that had fallen to the ground, struggled to sit up, and pointed the gun at Li En.

Lee En was still looking at Brock, then flicked his right hand to the side, turning the gun barrel away.

bang bang.

Two triggers, two bullets, two foreheads.

The gun barrel dropped back down.

Of all the people Matt knocked down in this area, only one remains now—the one lying behind Brock.

Brock looked into Lee's eyes.

Those eyes were expressionless, the pupils were shrunken, and only the white light of the searchlight was reflected in their sockets.

He lowered his hands.

"West 35th Street Warehouse, the Razor Gang's territory."

"I'll leave those children to you, Brock."

Li En turned around and stepped out of the container stacking area.

As I stepped over the collapsed barbed wire fence, my police uniform was instantly replaced by a full set of special operations gear.

The bulletproof helmet was pulled down to the brow bone, the Velcro straps of the tactical vest were tightened at the side of the ribs, the goggles were pushed up and locked at the front edge of the helmet, the night vision goggles were flipped up and not put down, and the combat boots were on the concrete ground.

He fired as he walked.

Every time the gun muzzle deflected, a body lying on the ground that wasn't quite dead was hit by a bullet.

Hearing the occasional gunshots, Brock took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Ben? Get over to the port right now, the one on 12th Avenue. I have some juicy gossip. You have ten minutes."

"Yes, now."

He hung up, squatted down, took out gloves from his pocket and put them on.

He walked over to the corpse next to him, bent down to pick up a pistol that had fallen to the ground, removed the magazine, glanced at it, and pushed it back.

He turned around and walked up to the gangster who was still alive behind him.

The man was lying on his back on the ground, one of his legs broken by Matt's short stick, and he was using his elbow to push himself backward.

He saw Brock approaching and began muttering, "Officer, I'm just a worker, officer..."

Brock pointed the gun downwards at his forehead.

"Pah! Scumbag."

boom.

……