One minute later, the smaller of the two black men knelt on the ground, looking fearfully at Leo who was still four or five meters away.
That gaze wasn't like looking at a person, but more like looking at a demon.
Just moments ago, this person's finger had emitted a blue light, and his big brother had been completely vaporized into a blood mist.
And that finger was now pointing at his head.
"Want to live? N****r."
Leo asked softly. This race's talent was still something else—at least it made him somewhat wary.
Wary of what?
Of course, he didn't dare go hand-to-hand and blow the opponent apart with his fists.
Getting his hands dirty would require washing them, at least scrubbing off a layer of skin to get clean.
Otherwise, why would Leo use a ki blast against a tool?
It was like using a cannon to kill a mosquito.
"Yes! Boss, spare me!"
The black man knelt on the ground, almost kowtowing, just hoping Leo would let him go like a fart.
As for racial discrimination?
Please discriminate all you want—no, that's not discrimination, that's objective evaluation!
"If you want to live, take me to this place."
Leo threw over a piece of paper with the address of the Russian brothers' location.
After seeing the address clearly, the black man hesitated. He worked this area and naturally knew what this place represented.
But looking at that finger that was already glowing, he immediately made his decision.
"Boss! I'll take you there right away!"
...
Thirteenth Street, a seemingly abandoned dilapidated factory—this was the hidden base of the Russian Brotherhood.
This place was very close to an abandoned dock. It appeared abandoned on the surface, but that was just the public story.
For these criminal groups, it was the best smuggling route.
And this Russian Brotherhood was responsible for exporting the drugs produced by the Hand overseas, with the main destination being mainland Russia.
However, their business had been having problems recently.
Several meddling social outcasts had suddenly appeared in Hell's Kitchen who, when night fell, would obstruct New York's normal economic development.
Two shipments had already been disrupted by them.
One called Daredevil, one called Iron Fist, and most terrifying of all, the Punisher.
The first two wouldn't kill people; the last one was terrifying—he came specifically to kill.
Big brother!
We're a pillar industry of New York, okay? We pay taxes!
Who gave you the right to harm taxpayers!
Recalling Madam Gao's warning from this morning, big boss Vladimir's face was so dark it could drip water.
He looked at his subordinates.
"If this shipment has problems again tonight, then neither the Kingpin nor the Hand will tolerate us anymore."
"We won't be able to stay in Hell's Kitchen either. Give me your absolute best effort. If you encounter those meddlers, shoot to kill immediately!"
"If handguns don't work, throw grenades at them, launch rocket launchers—as long as we ensure these goods get shipped out, no matter how big a mess you make, I'll cover for you!"
Vladimir's roar echoed through the spacious factory.
The group of underlings also showed confidence.
"Ура!" (Ura!)
Just then, an inappropriate voice sounded quite abrupt.
"You guys can actually get rocket launchers?"
Instantly, everyone's eyes turned to the speaker. High up on the rafters, Leo sat there, casually swinging his legs.
"Who are you?"
Vladimir asked, inconspicuously waving his hand. Several underlings quietly found angles, took out guns, and aimed at Leo.
Under the illumination, Leo's face appeared somewhat blurred, but his features could still be made out.
No mask, so not Daredevil.
Not dark-skinned, so not that bulletproof freak (Luke Cage) either.
As for the Punisher, even more impossible—the Punisher never wasted words. If it were him, this place would already be a sea of flames.
Vladimir's face turned green.
Another meddler popped up?
Leo didn't answer but asked instead: "You're Vladimir, right? Then who is your brother Anatoly?"
This group of Russians were all big and burly, all with the same buzz cuts and blonde hair—he really couldn't tell who was who.
"Сука блять, that's me! Got a problem with that?"
A blonde hothead spoke up aggressively.
"I see..."
Leo nodded in understanding.
The next second, everyone present felt their hearts skip a beat—Leo's figure had vanished from the rafters.
"Find him! Find him quickly!"
Vladimir roared. Anatoly's vision blurred, and he saw that person was already right in front of him.
"Having a foul mouth is good—you die faster and can reincarnate sooner."
Leo murmured to himself, his movement seeming slow but actually fast, playfully flicking out a finger flick.
Then Anatoly's head exploded.
Bang!
The watermelon burst, red and white bits mixing together, splattering on the faces of several nearby people. Their expressions all froze, completely unable to react.
Some even instinctively licked it, then frantically retched.
Gotta say, worthy of being the boss—Vladimir was the first to come to his senses. Witnessing his brother's death firsthand, his eyes turned blood red, going mad with rage.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
Hearing the boss's order, the underlings pulled out weapons and opened fire continuously, even accidentally hitting their own people.
Leo neither dodged nor evaded. Around him erupted visible blue ki flames, like an indestructible shield, blocking all the bullets.
Seeing this scene, the Russian Brotherhood members were all scared stupid.
What was this? Superman?
"Originally I was planning to spare your lives—after all, no one paid for yours."
Leo sighed. He really hated this feeling of being freeloaded off.
But since they had made a move against him, they were enemies. Since they were enemies, why let them live?
What if a protagonist emerged from among them with heaven-defying luck who could pin him, a Saiyan, to the ground and beat him up?
So for safety's sake, Leo decided to send them all to meet God collectively.
Screams echoed continuously throughout the huge factory, but lasted only a short time—in just one minute, silence returned.
Only Leo remained standing.
On the ground were severed limbs and flowing blood. Normal people would probably vomit after seeing this.
But Leo felt no discomfort at all; instead, he felt quite pleased.
Well, it's all the Saiyan bloodline's fault.
He used to be a three-good student, among the first to wear the red scarf—how could he be so violent?