svetikya Chapter 13 The Hunter Walking in the Night
Chapter 13 The Hunter Walking in the Night
Times Square at night is filled with the colors of neon lights.
Pink, blue, and purple light poured down from more than a dozen giant GG signs, colliding and churning into a murky, ever-flowing mist of light above the street.
The light fell on the faces, bodies, and held-up phones of pedestrians, coloring their skin tones and expressions with the same unreal hue.
Some people were laughing, some were kissing, some were making gestures to the camera, and flashes of light were going off one after another in the crowd.
A tall, thin man walked out of the crowd.
The suit was perfectly wrinkle-free, the white shirt was buttoned up neatly at the collar, and the tie was pulled to the very top.
The hair was combed neatly with hair oil, and each strand lay flat against the scalp.
As the arm swung, a section of the metal watch strap was revealed from the right sleeve.
The Rolex dial reflected a pale gold light under the neon lights, creating a distinct contrast with the surrounding cheap sequins.
Kilgrave walked at a leisurely pace, his hands in his pockets.
He walked past tourists holding selfie sticks, past backpackers squatting on the steps eating hot dogs, and past salesmen in ill-fitting suits.
My gaze swept across their faces.
Everyone had the same expression on their face.
That kind of relaxation after being filled with lights, music, and alcohol.
It was as if everyone's face was made from the same mold.
His gaze lingered on the crowd for a few seconds before he looked away and continued walking.
When the heavily made-up women standing on the street corner saw him, some puffed out their chests, and some tossed their hair.
His gaze swept across their faces without pausing, the light in his pupils remained unchanged, and his lips did not move.
A drunk man slumped next to a fire hydrant on the sidewalk, his bottle overturned on the ground, amber liquid slowly trickling down the cracks between the bricks.
A man wearing a dirty hoodie stood in place, leaning forward with his knees slightly bent.
His hands hung limply at his sides, like a puppet with its strings cut, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers.
Kilgrave did not slow his pace as he passed by them.
He felt a sense of disgust.
It's not because the city is noisy, nor because it's too bright.
The people here have already been packaged.
They've all been marinated in the same flavor by lights, alcohol, and filters from social media.
The hunting grounds don't need these people.
He wanted prey that was still unpolluted, those with eyes that still held a primal gleam.
You won't find this kind of person in Times Square.
But he still has to come here.
Kilgrave pulled his right hand out of his pocket and glanced down at his watch.
The hour hand on the watch face was pointing to a certain number, but I didn't count it carefully.
In the underworld, jobs aren't written on a schedule. You do the work when it comes, get paid when you're done, and then you leave.
New York City has the most wealthy people, and wealthy people have the most shady problems to solve, so he will come back, again and again.
Once he's made enough money, he leaves to find his prey elsewhere.
His code name in the underworld was given to him by a group of people.
Those people didn't know what to call him, they only knew that people who got close to him would become strange.
So they call him—
Purple person.
Kilgrave walked to the edge of Times Square, turned west at the intersection, and stepped onto West 38th Street.
The lights suddenly went out behind us.
The lights of those giant GG signs were blocked by the buildings on the street corner.
All that remained in front of me was a row of cold, deserted streetlights, with "For Rent" signs pasted on the lampposts, and a few of the poles were leaning.
The lampshade was half broken, and the bulb was exposed, emitting a sickly pale light.
Just one street away, this place feels like a completely different world from Times Square.
There was no one on the sidewalk, the shop shutters were all pulled down, and the metal sheets were covered with graffiti of various colors.
Several buildings had scaffolding erected outside, and the green protective netting billowed and deflated in the night wind, like something huge breathing.
Kilgrave walked on the sidewalk, his leather shoes clicking clearly on the cracked concrete.
Occasionally, someone would walk over from the other side.
A homeless man wrapped in a sleeping bag, a middle-aged man carrying a beer bottle, and a young man with shifty eyes emerging from the alley.
His gaze lingered briefly on them, assessing them, before shifting away.
not enough.
As they reached the crossroads, two figures darted out from the shadows, one in front of the other, moving in perfect unison.
The man in front was thin and bony, with high cheekbones and sunken cheeks. He held a dagger in his hand, the blade leaving a white line under the streetlight.
The obese man behind him, with his chin flesh piled up in three layers, blocked Kilgrave's path.
"Hey." The skinny one pushed the dagger forward, the tip pointing at Kilgrave's chest. "Hand over your watch and wallet."
Kilgrave did not move.
His eyes lingered on each of the two men for a second before he lowered his gaze to his right wrist.
He raised his hand and held the watch up to the streetlight.
The Rolex dial reflects a cool light, and the gold hands and markers stand out clearly against the white background.
The fluted bezel on the watch face displays a fine, shimmering pattern under light.
Gurgle.
The gaunt robber swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
His eyes were fixed on the watch, and the tip of his dagger began to tremble slightly.
"Take it off right away!"
Kilgrave looked up and met the eyes of the gaunt robber.
His lips were slightly parted, and his voice was soft, with a slight, electromagnetic vibration at the end of each word.
"This is worth 300,000. Don't sell it as a fake worth a few thousand."
Upon hearing the number, both of their eyes simultaneously lit up with a glistening sheen.
The fat robber pulled a hammer from his back waist, hefted the hammerhead in his hand a couple of times, and it made a dull metallic sound.
The skinny robber licked his chapped lips, his tongue leaving a wet trail as he licked from the corner of his mouth to the cupid's bow.
The hand holding the dagger trembled even more violently.
"Hurry! And your wallet, and your suit!"
He took another step forward, the tip of the knife less than an arm's length from Kilgrave's chest.
"Hurry up, fuck!"
Kilgrave began to untie the watch strap, his movements neither fast nor slow. He hooked his fingertips into the buckle's slot and gently pried it open.
He took off his watch, stretched it out, and placed it in the thin robber's open palm.
The metal back of the watch landed on my palm with a soft thud.
Then he started taking off his coat.
The suit jacket slipped off his shoulders, the silk lining scraping against the cuffs of his shirt with a soft rustling sound.
He folded his coat, draped it over his arm, and waited.
The skinny robber's gaze swept over him, from the collar of his shirt to the belt buckle at his waist, and from the belt buckle to the pair of high-quality leather shoes on his feet.
"And the tie, the trousers! Take them all off!"
Kilgrave's expression remained unchanged.
His mind had already started wandering to other things.
Once the abilities take effect, what should these two people do?
He mentally scrolled through old program schedules.
Imagine two men taking off their clothes and embracing in the street, passionately fighting with bayonets right there.
They bite each other's necks until their throats are torn open.
Or they could climb up that scaffolded building and jump from the sixth floor, one jumping first, the other following, landing on the sidewalk with their heads facing the same direction.
These ways of dying were somewhat interesting at first, but now they're just repetitive and boring.
He'd seen it too many times, like eating the same dish for ten years—even the best chef couldn't save it.
He sighed and handed over his coat.
The skinny robber grabbed it and tucked it under his arm, while the dagger in his other hand was still dangling.
"hurry up!"
Kilgrave's fingers rested on the top button of his shirt, and he had just unbuttoned one.
"You've gone too far! Taking the watch and coat wasn't enough, you didn't even leave them their shirt and pants?"
The sound came from across the street, crisp and clear, neither too loud nor too soft, with a casual and nonchalant quality.
Both robbers turned their heads at the same time.
"Who the hell are you? Mind your own business!"
The fat robber raised the hammer, pointing the hammerhead in the direction of the sound.
The skinny robber's dagger also turned, the tip drawing a semicircle in the air.
Kilgrave's gaze went over the shoulders of the two robbers.
A figure walked across the pedestrian crossing from the opposite sidewalk.
A black hoodie, with the hood pulled over the head and the hem covering the waist.
Judging from her walking posture and voice, she is a woman.
Her steps were steady, each step covering almost the same distance, her hands hanging at her sides, and her shoulders not swaying.
Kilgrave watched her walk over.
The girl has a good figure, about 1.7 meters tall, and her hoodie is loose, but you can see her good coordination from the range of her movements.
His face was mostly obscured by the shadow of the hood, with only his chin and lips showing.
He was a little curious.
How could someone of that size dare to walk towards two robbers wielding weapons?
"Are you fucking looking to die?" The skinny robber brandished his dagger in the air, the blade flashing a series of bright spots under the streetlight.
The girl didn't stop.
She crossed the street and stood about two meters away from the two robbers.
The face beneath the hood lifted up, revealing the curve of the chin and a pair of eyes.
Give the things back to him.
The skinny robber's mouth stretched open, revealing an expression that was both a smile and an anger.
He didn't say anything more, gripped the dagger and stabbed at the girl, the tip of the blade aimed at her abdomen.
Kilgrave stood still, putting his hands back into his pockets.
He tilted his head slightly to the left, his eyes fixed on the girl.
The girl raised her left hand, her palm clamping down on the thin robber's right wrist, which was holding a knife, like a pair of pliers. Four fingers pressed between the radius and ulna, and her thumb was hooked into the base of her palm.
With a gentle twist.
Click.
The sound of dislocated joints echoed through the quiet street, followed by the skinny robber's heart-wrenching screams.
"Aaaaaah!"
The dagger fell from between the loosened fingers, its tip embedding itself in a crack in the concrete floor. It bounced once and then collapsed.
The girl raised her right foot and kicked the skinny robber in the shin.
The angle is tricky; the instep is straightened, and the bone on the inside of the foot is used to strike.
Click.
The second break was more brittle than the first.
The skinny robber's body slumped down, his knees hitting the ground, and his other leg bent down as well, his whole body curling up into a ball.
His mouth opened as wide as it could, and the sound that came out of his throat changed from a howl to a whimper.
The fat robber rushed up.
The weight of over two hundred pounds pressed down on his two legs, making the ground tremble slightly with each step. He swung the hammer, the hammerhead whistling as it smashed down from the side.
The girl looked up.
The eyes beneath the hood swept in his direction, their pupils showing no tension, only a hint of inexplicable disdain.
She stretched out her right hand, fingers spread, and grabbed the fat robber's shirt at the chest.
His fingers dug into the fabric, his knuckles bulging out from under the sweatshirt. He flicked his wrist and pushed it to the side.
The body, weighing over 200 pounds, left the ground, traced a low, flat arc in the air, and crashed against the base of the wall across the street.
thump.
After colliding with the wall, his body bounced back and fell to the ground. The hammer flew out of his hand, rolled five or six times, hit the curb, and stopped.
The fat robber lay on the ground, his chest heaving violently, but he couldn't get up.
The girl bent down to pick up the Rolex and purple coat from the ground, straightened up, and walked up to Kilgrave.
She pressed the things against his chest, the watch chain stuck to his shirt, fell down, and hung on the hem of his coat, which draped over his arm.
She looked up.
The shadow of the hood receded from her face, revealing a delicate little face.
A few strands of black hair clung to her cheeks, blowing in the night wind before falling back down.
Her eyes were unbelievably clean under the streetlights.
The boundary between the whites of the eyes and the pupils is very clear. The pupils are a deep color, like a still pool of water without a ripple on the surface.
"Don't wander around in dark streets if you don't have to, rich man."
Her voice remained the same, neither too loud nor too soft, and she turned around after speaking.
As she turned around, the hem of her hoodie swung back down, causing the hood to fall back over her head and cover her face.
She walked across the street, her steps as steady as when she came, and soon disappeared into the shadows behind the scaffolding.
Kilgrave stood still.
The Rolex was still hanging on my shirt, the metal of the watch chain close to my heart, the cool touch seeping into my skin through the fabric.
His right hand gripped the coat, his knuckles bulging at an angle beneath the cashmere fabric.
Suddenly his body began to tremble.
First the fingers, then the forearms, then the shoulders.
The shaking was not very strong, but it was very fast, like an electric current rushing up from under the spine, passing through each bone, and finally stopping at the base of the skull.
"Found it."
"Finally found it."
He lowered his head and held his coat in front of his face.
He brought his nose close to the spot where the girl's fingers had just touched; there was a small patch of fabric there that had been pinched and wrinkled.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, paused for a few seconds, and slowly exhaled through his teeth.
In the distance, the skinny robber was still rolling on the ground, his cries of pain coming in fits and starts.
Kilgrave opened his eyes, put the coat back on, and buttoned it up one button at a time.
The Rolex was put back on my wrist, and the clasp clicked shut.
He straightened his tie and buttoned up the top button of his collar.
Then he turned his head and glanced in the direction of the two robbers.
"Shut up."
"Stop breathing."
The wailing stopped.
Both of them froze at the same time, their eyes widened, their mouths opened, and a hissing sound came from their throats.
Their chests heaved violently, but each breath they took seemed to be blocked by something, unable to get in.
The skinny robber lifted his hands from the ground, grabbed his neck, and dug his nails into his skin, leaving several bloody marks.
The fat robber rolled over, supporting himself on all fours, his mouth opening and closing, his eyeballs bulging out of their sockets.
They wanted to shout, but couldn't.
I want to inhale, but I can't.
A few minutes later, the skinny robber's hand slipped off his neck and hit the ground, his body going limp.
The fat robber's limbs couldn't hold on any longer. First, his knees slid off, then his elbows bent, and he lay flat on the sidewalk, his face pressed against the cracked cement.
Their lips and nails changed from flesh color to bluish-purple, and finally to a dark purple that was almost black.
Kilgrave didn't look at them again.
He straightened his cuffs, turned the watch face back to the inside of his wrist, put his hands back in his pockets, and turned to walk towards Times Square.
His pace was neither fast nor slow; his leather shoes stomped steadily on the cement floor.
Behind them, two bodies lay quietly under a streetlamp.
The neon lights were blocked by the buildings on the street corner and couldn't reach us.
Only the pale streetlights shone on their faces, reflecting a purple hue like solidified grape juice.
……