Kaira was half Russian and half Japanese. Her father was a big, broad-shouldered Muscovite, and her mother was said to be a Chinese-born islander.
As for how she ended up working in the military–industrial field, the only explanation was personal hobby turning into professional obsession.
She was beautiful—exceptionally so. At least in Zod's eyes, Kaira was top-tier.
"All done."
Kaira set the two Silver Eagles back into the case, giving them a final, meticulous wipe.
"I've heard the Desert Eagle is notorious for malfunctions, but it handled surprisingly well during the test. Is that because of your custom work?"
Zod took the case from her and smiled.
Kaira was used to praise—her looks alone had attracted more than enough of it—but hearing it from someone like Zod, handsome enough to make hearts skip beats, felt different. Satisfying.
Especially with the coat he wore hanging half-open, revealing a tight chest and carved abs. He didn't wear anything under it except a combat harness; whenever he fought, he just zipped the coat halfway and it worked.
Honestly, the best part of reincarnating as a Kryptonian was the physique. Perfect muscle lines, sculpted like a Greek statue.
In fact, Zod's build and face were roughly on par with Nero and Dante from Devil May Cry 4.
And he had even styled his hair like Aizen—slicked back, impeccable, and infuriatingly charming.
"The reason the Desert Eagle has so many issues," Kaira explained, "is because it was originally meant to function more like a hunting pistol. It was never designed for intense combat. It's delicate—like a princess who's never fallen in love. Sand, water, even slightly harsh terrain can make it fail. I put a lot of work into modifying these two. If you think they perform well, why not let me see how you use them?"
She sounded genuinely curious.
"No problem."
Zod nodded. They headed to the tenth basement level of the Midnight Hotel. It was an open, free-use firing range—spacious, with plenty of private practice rooms for hitmen.
Since it was Zod's first time down here, Kaira handled the room setup with practiced ease.
"Moving target or high-speed?"
She stood beside a panel built into the wall, glancing at Zod—who hadn't yet put on a pair of noise-reducing headphones.
One drawback of the Desert Eagle: the sound was explosive. There were silenced versions available, but Zod refused them for aesthetic reasons. So Kaira had simply done her best to reduce the blast.
"High-speed targets?"
Zod knew what moving targets were. But high-speed?
"High-speed targets are tennis balls," she explained. "The system launches several at once and they bounce rapidly between three walls. Most hitmen never choose it."
Which made sense—plenty of killers had flawless aim, but hitting fast-moving tennis balls? There probably weren't even one in ten thousand who could manage it.
"We'll do that."
Zod slipped on the headphones. Kaira pressed a button.
"Countdown: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!"
Three tennis balls shot out of openings in three different walls.
And at that moment, Kaira saw Zod's arms move—so fast her eyes almost failed to track them—as he drew both guns.
Bang! Bang!
The two shots fired simultaneously. Kaira noticed how steady his hands were—steady enough that even dual-wielding Desert Eagles didn't cause the slightest shake. Shells flew, and Zod casually flicked a last shot to knock the remaining ball out of the air.
His draw and firing speed were locked at 0.02 seconds. Watching it from the side made the guns look impossibly fast.
"Your draw speed is… that quick?"
Kaira finally understood why Zod consistently delivered headshots. He didn't even need to aim—he was simply too fast.
"But if you're that fast," she added, analyzing immediately, "you shouldn't be using automatics. You should be using a revolver."
With revolvers, firing speed scaled directly with hand speed. They'd survived this long for a reason.
Meanwhile, the Desert Eagle ejected casings too slowly to keep up with Zod's pace, wasting his greatest advantage.
"I only like using Desert Eagles."
Zod shook his head.
"…Fine. I'll tailor the mods accordingly. I'll shorten the trigger travel—it won't affect your accuracy."
She respected her customer's preference.
A shorter trigger pull meant no heavy squeeze that could throw off precision.
Zod rested for a few days before picking up a new job. When you're young, you need to earn your money early. Who knew—one day he might get so strong that making money stopped being fun altogether.
This time, the target was a man named Daken.
The bounty was 3.5 million dollars. A sum that high for one individual meant one of two things: either the target was terrifyingly skilled and hiding unknown secrets—like Jit before—or he commanded something like Lawrence's Hellfire gang.
Zod glanced at the target's photo and location once and set off immediately. Other hitmen would need ten days or more for prep work and scouting; he didn't bother.
As usual, Midnight Hotel's express service handled the transportation. Zod arrived in New York.
Stepping into the city that would one day become Marvel's chaotic center, he couldn't help feeling a bit emotional.
Stark Industries was still headquartered in Los Angeles for now—they would soon move to New York. And as for the first superhero here… Zod couldn't remember. What he did remember was the official count: at least 6,000 superheroes lived in New York.
Most were street-level vigilantes, sure—but the number was still insane. If they all showed up at once, there wouldn't be enough supervillains to go around.
Thankfully, the city was still normal for now.
He easily spotted the target—a man who didn't seem to have bodyguards. Zod tailed him into a noisy nightclub. The pounding music was so loud it made his ears ache, but with a quick adjustment of his super hearing, the discomfort vanished.
His recent sunbathing sessions had awakened heat vision—weak and only good for grilling food so far, but still progress.
Daken made out with a blonde in the dance floor for a while before heading to the bathroom. Zod followed. The stall was empty except for Daken.
Zod drew his gun the moment he entered.
Bang!
The explosive shot was swallowed whole by the club's roaring music. Daken's head burst apart, and he collapsed.
Zod holstered his weapon and turned to leave—
A violent gust slammed toward him from behind.
He tilted his head, narrowly avoiding a fist. Turning swiftly, he saw Daken—completely unharmed—lunging at him.
His speed was impressive, his punches sharp enough to cut the air. Zod dodged twice, then pressed one Silver Eagle against Daken's chest and fired.
Bang!
A gaping hole tore through Daken's heart. He fell, twitching.
Zod watched the body. After lying still for a moment, Daken suddenly sprang up and pounced. A normal human would've been taken down instantly.
But Zod caught him by the throat with lightning reflexes.
"A vampire?"
/-\
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