American Comics: BOSS Invasion

Brooklyn, the underground fighting arena in the Black community.

In this bustling metropolis, beneath the dazzling lights of the night, countless elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies unrestrainedly indulge their bestial desires. Blood, violence, and lust—everything that can lure people to hell emanates a sweet and tempting aroma.

This is a well-ordered office building, housing not only securities firms and insurance companies but also several well-known brand stores, and even a reputable law firm.

But who would know that this very place transforms into Brooklyn's most brutal and bloody underground fighting arena when night falls?

Fortunately, the owner, Mr. Tombstone, still gives the federal government some face, not openly displaying the business above ground. However, the massive and luxurious underground space, accessible through no more than ten entrances, makes little difference.

Mr. Tombstone's business is quite popular, with the arena packed every night. The meticulously divided VIP rooms are even more sought after.

Many individuals who value their status have thrown tantrums over these insignificant private rooms, providing much amusement for others.

Little do they know that after their outbursts, these so-called important figures invariably purchase one-way tickets for a trip to hell.

This is an underground space meticulously designed by several renowned designers.

Every inch of the place is utilized efficiently. Whether it's the environment, furniture, taste, or even ventilation, everything provides a comfortable feeling.

The main arena is divided into several sections, with different levels of fighters. Guests are categorized based on the bloodiness of the fights and the betting limits, applying the most scientific marketing methods to the oldest business, which is undeniably ironic.

Amidst the bustling crowd, there is a restricted small corridor deep within the underground space.

A Black man in a waiter's uniform quickly approaches and exchanges a gesture with the four Black guards inside.

The four then separate, revealing the door they were concealing.

The waiter steps forward, gently knocks twice, and then waits quietly.

After a moment, a deep voice comes from within.

"What is it?"

The waiter speaks clearly: "Sir, an invitation from Ironhead of the Russian Mafia. What are your instructions?"

Silence fills the room for a while, then a faint voice replies: "Come in!"

"Yes, sir!"

The waiter carefully adjusts his attire, his expression shifting to one of humility and respect, before pushing the door open and entering.

This is an office, spanning over a hundred square meters, furnished with an executive desk, several shelves, a set of obviously high-end sofas, and a small wine cabinet.

Compared to the extravagance outside, this place seems slightly more rigid, like the office of a top-notch lawyer.

The waiter glances at the door beside the wine cabinet and then quickly lowers his head.

He knows that is where Mr. Tombstone's real office is located.

He stands properly and respectfully says, "Mr. Tombstone!"

A tall man with deathly pale skin sits in the executive chair, silently watching the waiter.

From his frame and facial features, it's easy to tell that he is clearly a Black man.

However, his skin is so white that it's almost blinding, as if someone maliciously painted him white.

Although he tries to be presentable, wearing a suit, vest, and tie, and even sporting an expensive tie clip,

he still constantly exudes an eerie and sinister aura.

His skin and hair are so pale, with only his two eyes emitting black light, making people unable to help but think of a demon crawling out of hell.

"An invitation?"

"It's here!" The waiter hurriedly places the invitation in front of Mr. Tombstone.

Tombstone uses a pen to open it, glances at it, and pushes it aside: "Investigate. I want to know what's been happening these past two days?"

The waiter is taken aback and says, "Sir, previously, a huge monster emerged from underground…"

"You know that's not what I'm referring to!" Tombstone says: "I don't care about what happens in New York. Even if the Earth is about to explode, there are superheroes and the federal government to save the world. Our mission is to make money and enjoy life. Of course, if there's a suitable opportunity, we won't forget to eliminate our competitors, so we can make our business bigger and bigger, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter quickly says: "That's right, your words are the truth!"

Tombstone nods: "So… do you know what to do?"

"I'll have someone check the police and federal police files to see what the other families are up to."

Tombstone raises an eyebrow: "Don't forget about the street clowns. Although they are laughable and foolish, they are also a nuisance!"

"I understand!"

The waiter bows and slowly retreats.

As the door closes, the door beside the wine cabinet quietly opens, and two beautiful women walk out.

If anyone were to see them, they would immediately exclaim, aren't these the hottest female singer duo in Los Angeles this year?

At the same time, Mr. Negative of Queens, Cornell Stokes, the Water Snake of the port district, and even Kingpin and Madame Gao, who were busy integrating Hell's Kitchen under the name of Allied Real Estate, also received this small piece of paper.

They were either puzzled or sneered, with varying reactions and different guesses, but they all chose to attend this unusual gathering.

That night, undercurrents surged throughout New York City.

With such a large-scale movement, the NYPD naturally received the news immediately, but unfortunately, they were too busy putting out fires everywhere to have the energy to deal with it.

Moreover, the New York gangs have never been quiet, so after adding the two together, several leaders gathered and mumbled for a while, deciding to let it go.

Anyway, the mess is already a broken stall, so they are not afraid of stepping on it a couple more times.

In South America, in a remote manor villa, an extremely strong figure sits by the pool, his body full of knotted muscles, layered and terrifying, as if he were a human bear completely piled up of muscles.

"What? An invitation from the Russian Mafia?"

The butler says expressionlessly: "Yes, it is said that they not only sent invitations to famous gangs, but also gave one to a high-profile newcomer."

"Are you sure Daredevil has already fallen into this person's hands?"

"We cannot rule out the possibility that they are doing this on purpose!"

A cold light flashes in the strong man's eyes, "Interesting! Prepare the plane, it's time to meet these old buddies!"