Chapter 107 - 103
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New York, in an unremarkable auto repair shop.
A muscular Black man sat on a metal chair, his dark skin glistening with sweat. His hands and feet were tied, and an iron rod was clenched between his teeth. His face contorted in pain, and it looked like he might bite the rod in half. Sweat poured from him as he groaned in agony.
Nearby, an old man with white hair stood at a metal workbench, inspecting weapons, ammunition, and equipment. He occasionally glanced over at the struggling man, unfazed by the sight—it was a scene he'd grown used to.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided. The man's chest heaved as he took deep breaths, but his expression showed relief. The old man set down the shotgun he was inspecting, walked over, and began to untie the man.
"How do you feel?" the old man asked.
"Same as always," Blade replied through gritted teeth.
Once freed, Blade stood up slowly, his expression indifferent. He walked to a nearby chair, grabbed his black leather trench coat, and slipped it on. Then, he put on his signature sunglasses, masking his emotions further.
"You seem to be in a hurry, Blade," the old man, Whistler, observed.