As the former ruler of Hell's Kitchen, Wilson Fisk was not a fool.
On the contrary, he was very smart.
So smart that with just a stack of therapist records, he could deduce Dax's entire growth trajectory.
Under Fisk's analysis, he came to know the man.
A problem child who started killing from a young age.
A child with a profound psychological illness.
"Psychosis." Before his eyes, an image of Dax receiving treatment seemed to unfold.
The female doctor guided and taught a murderer who had killed his own coach.
"Yes, this way, you are easier to control."
Fisk muttered to himself and continued to look.
He saw Dax's hatred for the therapist's impending death and also saw that the child was isolated and helpless, with no one around who could guide him.
Fisk watched, as if looking at that very child.
He then saw the adult Dax start working; he was at a suicide prevention center, counseling those with suicidal tendencies.
So many times, he wanted to tell those seeking help to pick up weapons and shoot the people who made them suffer.
But he held back.
Fisk watched the woman walk over; she just lightly stroked Dax's shoulder, making the big boy smile and take his work seriously.
But the woman only saw all this as mutual encouragement between ordinary colleagues.
Fisk's gaze followed the woman as she left, then he looked down at Dax again.
That woman... Fisk looked at the photo on his phone.
In the photo, Dax was in the square, looking affectionately at her.
This was like a silent play; Fisk had basically figured out everything about the FBI agent.
A smile appeared on his lips. "You have your tools, and I have mine."
He was ready to take Dax into his fold.
In this era of Superheroes, the birth of a villain can show people how good things were before.
Fisk stood by the hotel window and saw that there were only a few protesters below.
People are like this; they have short-lived enthusiasm. Once time passes, they quickly lose interest.
Compared to an underground boss, they pay more attention to those Superheroes.
Tony Stark dismantled the terrifying 'Ten Rings', and America, the world's beacon, once again demonstrated its strength as the number one power.
Ignorance always makes up the majority.
Smart people are pitifully few.
Fisk was an ambitious man; he knew what he needed.
He knew this from his childhood, after repeatedly smashing his father's head with a hammer.
He wanted New York. He wanted this city.
When he was acquitted, his next step was to start campaigning.
Become the leader of this city, change this city, and make this city his own property.
Light seemed to be at his feet; Fisk just needed to take this one step forward.
The judge had been bribed, and Desmond was helping him.
That was a huge force, with significant influence in the government.
Just one step.
Ambition was hidden in Fisk's eyes.
He chose his favorite white suit from the wardrobe.
His seemingly bloated body held immense power.
His gaze swept over a syringe in the cabinet; he gave a scornful smile, wanting to skip it, but after a pause, he picked it up and put it in his pocket.
As dusk fell, Fisk walked out of the room.
Dax happened to come in carrying a tray.
As a protected criminal, Fisk's food had to be delivered personally by the FBI.
This was a rotating task.
Under Fisk's calculation, it happened to be Dax's turn today.
He adjusted his clothes, walked out, and sat down at the table in a grand manner.
Dax glanced at him, saying with malice in his eyes, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I'm watching you constantly!"
This expression was exactly what Fisk wanted to see.
It was also at this moment that Fisk could confirm that this person was the one he wanted.
Fisk quietly looked at Dax, his expression seemingly sad and guilty.
He was an excellent actor; stepping out of Hell's Kitchen, he could be the best actor in Hollywood.
"I... smashed my Father's head with a hammer," Fisk said, observing Dax's expression. He wanted to use a similar childhood killing experience to bridge the distance between them. "I was twelve years old then."
"Actually, I was very young and completely inexperienced," Fisk continued. "I had never danced with a girl, and I went to bed before midnight."
"I had never left the city, and I had never even taken the subway by myself."
He was like an insecure child.
Dax looked at Fisk with a hint of confusion and scrutiny in his eyes.
He didn't understand why Fisk was telling him all this.
But as an FBI agent, Dax was undoubtedly excellent.
He remained calm and began to listen... he looked as if he was touched.
Listening to Fisk talk about how he killed his Father.
"At twelve years old, I stood beside my Father's body, watching him being killed by me with my own eyes."
He gazed into Dax's eyes, stood up from his seat, and made himself level with Dax.
"That feeling, that moment, I felt," Fisk recalled, saying, "This is something you are familiar with."
Dax's pupils constricted.
Seeing this scene, Fisk knew he hadn't guessed wrong.
The person in front of him was a born villain.
What suited him best was not becoming an FBI agent but becoming a useful tool.
"You were taught to hide the truth. You made yourself into something this world can tolerate," Fisk added. "A soldier completing a patriotic mission, an FBI sniper."
"A thoughtful companion to a kind young lady." He spoke with too much immersion, not even noticing the strange expression on Dax's face for a moment.
Kind young lady?
Could it be her?
Fisk didn't know that the woman Dax once admired was no longer his North Star.
His past feelings for her had completely disappeared since the day he lost everything.
His reliance on her was merely a desire to find someone to guide him and restrain his inner self.
That wasn't love.
This was what he learned later.
Hiding himself?
The self-suppressed Dax has disappeared; now he has transformed into the Night Ghost.
While killing, he receives words of generous praise.
He has the sun as his guide.
How could he get lost in direction?
Perhaps these words were useful for the old Dax, but now, with a new guide, how could Dax be affected?
It was just an ineffective attempt at subjugation.
Fisk over there was still talking to himself.
"She will never understand you." Fisk wanted Dax to understand that a person like him could only cling tightly to the person in front of him. "This society won't understand you either."
"It punishes people like you..." Fisk gazed deeply into Dax's eyes and said sincerely, "People like us."
We are the same kind.
This was what Fisk wanted to express.
Dax understood. He took a deep look at Fisk and glanced at the food on the table.
Dax hooked his finger onto the raised edge of the tray and slowly pulled it to the edge, letting all the food fall onto the floor.
He turned and left. Listening to a fool moving himself was truly bad luck.
Fisk watched with his hands behind his back, profoundly; he felt confident.
The woman who had once been so important to Dax returned home.
As soon as she opened the door, she saw renovation workers laying down plastic sheeting.
"You are..."
Whoosh.
The silenced pistol's trigger was pulled.
She died right there in her home.
The workers wrapped the body in plastic sheeting and carried it away like an object.
No one knew that a murder had happened here.
And all of this was arranged by Fisk.
He stared at the message sent by his subordinate on his phone; the lawyer was coming.
The camera was turned off, and Fisk made a call.
"Leland, start."
Leland was his man, an old accountant who also held a lot of power.
He was the number three figure besides him and Wesley, managing Fisk's transferred assets with the lawyer.
Upon receiving the call, Leland immediately arranged for all of Fisk's newspapers to start operating.
"Villain or Wronged? Wilson Fisk's Final Judgment!"
This was Fisk's goal: to turn this attention into his political capital.
He wanted to turn everything around and take everything back.
No!
He wanted more!
The white-haired Leland finished everything, put down his phone, and had a look of struggle on his face.
From under the drawer, he took out a burner phone.
After hesitating for a moment, he dialed the only number recorded on it.
The call was connected, and he said concisely, "He has started."
There was no response from the other side, so Leland hesitated again for a while and asked cautiously, "You guarantee I'll be fine, right?"
This time, there was finally a response from the other side.
"Mm."
One word made Leland feel relieved.
He hung up the phone and stayed in his seat for two hours.
During these two hours, the newspapers had started operating under his instructions, printing articles that had been prepared long ago.
After doing all this, he took out all his cash from the safe and stuffed it into a bowling bag.
With old arms and legs, he carried the things and walked out the door.
The car that had been waiting for a long time, with a driver in black, opened the car door for him to get in.
This car was going to the airport. Under the driver's gaze, Leland said nothing and boarded the plane flying to Sicily.
Looking at the gradually receding prosperity, Leland could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
A flight attendant walked over, wearing a scarf around her neck, and asked with a smile, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Champagne would be best," Leland said.
Finally, the highly anticipated day arrived.
Afternoon.
Fisk was personally escorted by the FBI to the courthouse for the verdict.
The public and reporters were gathered in front of the courthouse; they held signs and loudly protested against Fisk.
Fisk paid no attention. He looked at Dax, who wasn't present, and asked the FBI agent he had bribed, "Where did he go?"
"Dax? I don't know, he took leave."
"Hey!" Ray pointed at that agent and said angrily, "You don't need to explain to a criminal!"
The agent repeatedly apologized, but in reality, he didn't care.
Ray also became a bit more irritable; something had happened at his home, yet he had to be here protecting a criminal.
Being dutiful, he didn't think Fisk would be acquitted.
But he didn't know that not everyone was as upright as him.
The judge was also human; he also had weaknesses.
The jury with the judge was a group of innocent and weak citizens.
They had no opportunity, nor the ability, to refuse certain things.
When Fisk walked inside.
Fisk's gaze swept over the jury one by one; those he looked at lowered their heads.
His lawyer's passionate speech filled the courtroom, speaking about how his client was a person who fought to make the world a better place.
It was some petty people, those deeply entrenched underground forces, who wanted to destroy this person.
The lawyer said, "That person's family is the biggest tumor in this world, and Wilson Fisk, by opposing him, became the sacrifice in this battle!"
The judge struck the gavel, signaling for quiet, and asked, "Who is the person you are talking about?"
"He has endless wealth, is the biggest mafia, using harm as a trade, circulating throughout the world."
"He is..."
The lawyer looked around and loudly spoke the name.
"John Wick!"
The sound fell.
The entire courthouse was silent.
The lawyer sat down leisurely.
Ray inexplicably felt uneasy; he glanced at his watch.
He didn't know why Dax had taken leave today.
But the judge's attitude today and the jury's silence made him uneasy.
"After the jury's unanimous decision, this court hereby announces," the judge looked at Fisk, "Wilson Fisk, the charges previously brought against him are not established!"
"Not guilty! Released!"
The gavel fell. Ray's eyes widened, unable to believe this decision.
As for Fisk, he smiled.
Everything began to reverse.
(End of Chapter)
***
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