Chapter 75: Cry for the Moon – Part 1
The crime city of Madripoor.
A small city-state floating in the sea.
The island itself is the city—divided into the violence-ruled, impoverished Lower Town and the ruling-class Upper Town.
And whether you’re in Upper Town or Lower Town, in Madripoor, a human life is worth less than a handful of cash.
If your neighbor vanished tomorrow, no one would even blink.
That’s the kind of city it is.
Which is why criminals and shady figures from all over the world gather here…
…including some of the biggest names on the international most-wanted list.
Black clouds from exhaust fumes block out the sun, and even when day breaks, the night never lifts.
From a skyscraper in Upper Town, I gazed down at the city below.
“How’s the view from up here?”
“……”
My eyes drifted to an alleyway in Lower Town, where a man was being lynched.
One after another, different men took turns kicking him, while the onlookers treated it as free entertainment to go with their drinks.
Thanks to the enhanced vision I gained from the counterfeit super-soldier serum, I could see it all clearly, even from several hundred meters away.
“…Hmph. Disgusting.”
“To mock the foolish and recognize one’s own worth—that is a privilege granted only to humans.”
“…You’ve got a twisted sense of fun too.”
I turned away from the wall-sized window and looked behind me.
A man stood there with purple skin and white hair—features far from anything human.
“Hmm, you don’t see it? You’re my greatest… no, perhaps my second or third greatest masterpiece. I suppose you just don’t resemble your creator, hmm?”
The man speaking with a laugh was Power Broker.
My current mission was to guard him…
Though to be honest, I couldn’t say I was thrilled about it.
He’s the creator of the counterfeit super-soldier serum.
We’d only met today, but as I expected, he was a thoroughly rotten human being.
He called me a “masterpiece.”
Power Broker Inc. is an organization that grants ordinary people superpowers.
He’s tampered with countless people over the years… and calls the enhanced beings born from his experiments his “works.”
It makes me want to spit.
But I can’t lay a hand on him.
The organization I belong to is on friendly terms with him.
Hurting him would mean rebelling against the organization.
And if I resist… I die.
I’m not about to throw my life away here for nothing.
“Well then, allow me to introduce your colleagues. Be sure to get along.”
Following Power Broker’s lead, I moved into another room.
Inside, amidst lavish furnishings, were two men.
One was a Japanese man, sitting cross-legged on the floor in meditation.
The other… with his back to me, wore a white hood, slumped over a counter.
“…Quite the colorful bunch.”
“But skilled. And you’re quite the character yourself, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t argue with that.
After all, I’m a full-body armor-clad freak myself.
“Both of them are my bodyguards. Belt and suspenders, as they say. A wise man prepares thoroughly.”
Power Broker spoke like a collector showing off his prizes.
My eyes drifted to the meditating man.
He wore traditional Japanese clothing, with a sword by his side.
Its silver scabbard and hilt gleamed—a flashy design, hardly what one would call a typical katana.
“This is Kenichiro. He serves the woman who controls this city.”
“…I see.”
He didn’t so much as glance my way, eyes closed in silence.
Yet there were no openings.
His body was naturally positioned so he could respond to an attack from any angle.
He was strong.
Possibly even stronger than me.
No doubt about it—he’s a notorious villain who’s even appeared in the comics.
But I didn’t know his real name.
It’s likely he’s better known by a villain alias far more famous than “Kenichiro.”
A sword… traditional garb… Samurai?
No, it was like trying to recall something through a fog.
It nagged at me.
“……”
But curiosity kills the cat.
He’s not the type I could casually probe for answers.
And since he seemed focused on meditation, I didn’t want to irritate him by interrupting.
I quietly looked away from him.
And turned my attention to the man in the white hood, slumped over the counter.
In his hand was a glass of liquor.
A counter in here, huh?
It had the feel of a stylish bar, a sign of wealth.
There was no reason to have something like this in an ordinary office room—especially since this was Power Broker’s private quarters.
No customers, no service—just a counter for pure indulgence.
The hooded man lay there, unmoving, in the unmanned bar corner.
I looked back at Power Broker.
“You’re not going to brag about him?”
At that, his lips curled into a grin.
“Fufu… You should know more about him than I do.”
“…I should?”
“Why don’t you try talking to him?”
…An acquaintance of mine?
Leaving Power Broker behind, I stepped toward the man in the white hood.
…Clink—the sound of metal scraping.
I instinctively raised my right hand in front of my neck.
A small knife—slightly larger than a finger—was speeding toward me.
I caught it between my fingers, killing its momentum.
I glanced at the knife in my hand.
Painted pitch black… the kind of weapon nearly impossible to spot in the dark.
No preparatory movement, no wasted motion… thrown with perfect precision.
The throwing skill was almost on par with that of the infallible assassin Bullseye.
But Bullseye favors black costumes.
This guy’s in a white robe—the complete opposite.
“…Quite the greeting. We’re supposed to be colleagues, aren’t we?”
I ran my fingers along the knife.
The man in the white hood lifted his head.
“If you’d die from something like that, you’d only be a burden.”
…For a moment, I almost forgot to breathe.
Beneath the hood was a mask fashioned like a realistic skull.
I knew this man.
No—since arriving in this world, I’d even crossed paths with him before.
I shot a glance at Power Broker.
“…Taskmaster.”
Taskmaster.
He’s just a man.
Not a mutant, not a superhuman.
Even with his peak physical conditioning, his body is only on par with that of a top-tier athlete—not at the superhuman level like mine.
But if you asked me whether I could beat him… I’d shake my head.
He has one unique ability: photographic reflexes.
Everything he sees, he remembers—and masters.
And it doesn’t even have to be in person.
As long as he’s seen footage, he can replicate any technique.
By combining multiple skills he’s copied, he can fight with techniques surpassing the originals.
In other words—
The swordsmanship of Swordsman.
The shield handling of Captain America.
The archery of Hawkeye.
The throwing precision of Bullseye he just demonstrated.
The agility of Black Panther.
The martial arts of Iron Fist and Shang-Chi.
The firearm expertise of Punisher and Nick Fury.
He can switch between them all at will, depending on the situation.
Sure, there are things he can’t mimic—like healing factors.
But his skill set is so refined that those hardly even count as weaknesses.
And more than that—
He has the talent to teach those skills to others.
With his training, even a street thug could become an underworld operative.
I was one of the people he trained.
There was a time when he was hired by the Unseelie Court to serve as an instructor.
Back when I still wasn’t called “Redcap.”
“…You know me?”
Apparently, he didn’t remember me.
It’s not that his memory is bad—
In fact, it’s the opposite.
His memory is too good.
He remembers so much, so precisely, that every time he learns something new, older memories get overwritten.
He probably can’t even recall his wife’s face anymore.
Likely doesn’t even remember he was married.
That’s his flaw.
“…I’m an old student.”
I didn’t feel sad about it.
I bore him no grudge, but no warmth either.
Still, I’d rather not fight him.
No number of lives would be enough.
“I see… I understand.”
He nodded as if satisfied and took the knife back from me.
No outrage, no suspicion at being told he’d forgotten me—just acceptance.
Proof he knows his own shortcomings.
I turned back toward Power Broker.
The inhuman-looking man was holding a glass in his hand.
I took the seat next to Taskmaster.
I spun the chair 180 degrees, sitting with my back to the counter.
“……”
The cold air made my stomach churn.
Stress.
The tension was unbearable—and I had to keep my guard up.
I wanted to “go home” to New York… Queens, specifically.
…No, that’s wrong.
This is where I belong. I can’t forget that.
I glanced at Taskmaster.
He tilted his glass, drinking through the mouth-slit in his mask with surprising finesse.
With a clunk, he set the glass down and looked at me.
My stare must have caught his attention.
“…What is it?”
He asked, sounding mildly curious.
Taskmaster works as a mercenary for money.
…I found myself wondering how much it cost to hire him.
“How much did they pay you…?”
Taskmaster glanced at Power Broker.
He didn’t seem particularly concerned, then turned back to me.
“It’s bad form to discuss payment in front of the client. Any mercenary worth their salt knows that.”
“I’m not a mercenary.”
At my denial, his shoulders twitched slightly.
“I see… just a killer, then.”
“……”
The sudden insult didn’t even make me angry.
Because it was true.
“…Hmph. So you’re aware of it. Then tell me—why do you kill?”
“Because the organization orders it.”
“…Heh.”
At my reply, Taskmaster gave a deliberate, mocking chuckle—obvious even through his mask.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re empty. A man who kills purely out of inertia… yes, ‘killer’ suits you just fine. You can’t even dress it up with fancy words like ‘mercenary’ or ‘assassin.’”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“I’m saying your skill is professional-grade, but your heart is still amateur. That softness in your mindset… someday, it’s going to lead to a mistake you can’t take back.”
I felt my brow crease.
Why the hell was I letting this guy lecture me…?
It’s not like I kill because I want to—
…No. Power Broker is here.
I should keep my mouth shut.
I can’t let my loyalty to the organization be questioned.
“Is that supposed to be advice?”
“No. It’s about how you live. You’re my student, aren’t you? And it’s a teacher’s job to guide a student who’s lost their way.”
…He’d seen right through me.
It’s true—ever since Herman nearly died, I’ve been feeling a growing distaste for killing.
But if I’m going to survive in this organization, feelings like that are useless.
I’ve buried my own emotions and lost sight of myself.
So yes—he’s right that I’m wandering.
…But I can’t let the organization know.
And I sure as hell won’t admit it to this skull-faced man, playing teacher after all this time.
“Mind your own business… You’ve been drinking too much. You talk too much.”
“Don’t posture. Just be honest with yourself. Because you—”
“That’s enough, Taskmaster.”
Power Broker cut him off, and Taskmaster fell silent.
“I don’t intend to pay for a bonus lecture.”
“…Hmph. Call it a free service.”
Taskmaster downed the rest of his drink in one motion and flung the glass away.
It slid across the sink, spinning… slowing… and coming to a perfect stop right in front of it.
…A pointless display of throwing skill.
At the same time, a chime sounded.
Power Broker took a handheld device from his pocket and checked it.
After a quick glance through the contents, he looked at us.
“…Time to work. Be happy.”
Nothing to be happy about.
Even if he couldn’t see my face under the mask, I made sure not to let my displeasure show.
“Seems an uninvited rat has shown up at the Lower Town docks.”
Closing the device, Power Broker turned his eyes to me.
“You’ll investigate… and track. Once you find the rat—eliminate it.”
“Alive or dead?”
“I’m not asking. There’s an important deal tonight… we can’t afford to leave loose ends.”
“…Understood.”
I rose from my chair, and at the same time, Taskmaster—who’d been drinking a moment ago—stood as well.
“I’m coming too.”
He stepped on the rim of the shield lying under his chair.
The disc popped up from the floor, arcing into the air—straight into his waiting arm.
…A clear imitation of Captain America.
But there was no stars-and-stripes motif here.
Only a single, engraved T.
Taskmaster turned that skull-faced mask toward me.
“You know where the auction site is?”
He asked the question evenly.
…I had memorized the map beforehand. I knew the general location.
“On the map, yes.”
“I see. So you’ve never actually been there.”
He walked past me without another word, stopping at the door.
Then he turned back, looking straight at me.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
“…Fine.”
I gave a brief nod, after casting a quick glance toward Power Broker.
Why the hell is he acting like my superior?
I followed him out the door, keeping behind.
Through the window, I caught a glimpse of Madripoor—filthy, sprawling, and unchanging.
"That bastard... I’ll kill him someday. No matter what."
I muttered in the dim, cramped room.
The air was thick and muggy, making it hard to breathe.
Of course, there was no air conditioner or anything remotely considerate like that… it was just hot.
And tickling my nose was the smell of the sea mixed with rot.
I tore open the container wall with the two claws on my hand and stepped outside.
What came to mind was last weekend—my conversation with Nick Fury.
"Laura Kinney. The reason I called you here is to get information on Redcap. Not to have you fight."
Just remembering it made my blood boil.
I’d come all the way from the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning, and all he wanted from me was to sit through an interrogation? Was he seriously screwing with me? I nearly lost it.
No—scratch that, I did lose it.
I can’t even count how many times I almost decked that one-eyed jerk… Honestly, someone should give me a medal for holding back.
Still, if I had actually punched him, it would’ve caused trouble for the principal.
And that… would’ve made me feel bad. He’s been good to me.
But in the end, I was kept completely in the dark.
Damn eyepatch.
So, I stole the intel myself.
Found out there was a high chance he’d be coming to Madripoor.
…And for the record, the source was a friend of mine—a girl.
Sure, I approached her with the intent of getting information, but… she was a good person.
Somehow, I actually think of her as a friend now.
Even felt a tiny bit guilty about it.
Anyway, once I had the info, the rest was simple.
I slipped in with a group of women who’d been kidnapped by some scumbag mafia and were about to be sold in Madripoor.
Before leaving port, I quietly freed them… which meant I was the only one left in the container.
So all I had to do was step outside and—
"H-Hey, what the hell?!"
Outside was one of the mafia’s lackeys.
Just one… but there’d be more nearby.
With the sensation of tearing through my skin, the adamantium-coated claws slid out from the backs of my hands—two on each.
From my feet, a single claw extended as well.
Though in my feet’s case, the claws were just bare bone—not covered in adamantium.
Before the guy could call for backup… before his buddies could show up… I lunged at him.
I’m a mutant.
A human born with superpowers from birth—that’s what a mutant is.
And my abilities—
"Whoa!?"
Startled by my sudden leap, the guy opened fire with his submachine gun.
I stabbed my claws into the wall and used them to alter my trajectory mid-air.
Reflexes sharper than any normal human—like a wild animal’s.
And speed to match.
I kicked off the wall, spiraling through the air, and sliced apart the submachine gun.
Against adamantium claws, a plain old metal weapon didn’t stand a chance—it split into three pieces.
The ability to sprout claws from my arms.
I swung my leg up and kicked at his arm.
Not just a simple kick.
"Gaaah!"
At the tip of my foot was that single claw.
It pierced into his arm, severing the tendon.
That’s going to leave some serious lasting damage.
"Hey, at least I’m not killing you. Be grateful."
I grabbed his head and slammed it into the ground.
He went limp and stopped moving.
…Then, from behind, a grenade came flying in.
Looked like his backup had arrived.
I was about to dodge on instinct… but then I remembered the unconscious guy at my feet.
…Tch. Damn it.
I didn’t move.
I stayed in front of him and took the blast head-on.
Smoke filled the air.
"Did we get her?!"
"...Pfft."
I couldn’t help laughing at how much that line sounded like a third-rate thug in a bad movie.
I dashed through the smoke, hooked my leg around the grenade-thrower’s neck, and twisted it tight.
"This was my favorite outfit, you know… You’d better pay me back."
"Why the hell are y—argh…!"
He clearly couldn’t believe I was still alive.
Fair enough.
A second ago, half my body had been blown off by the grenade.
But that’s nowhere near enough to kill me.
Thanks to my superhuman regeneration—my healing factor.
I kicked the now-unconscious man away.
"If more of them group up, this’ll get annoying."
Animal-level physical ability.
The power to sprout razor-sharp claws.
And a healing factor that can regenerate my body.
That’s what I can do.
I drove the claw from my foot into the side of a container and climbed up.
From above, I counted the mafia members.
They knew they were under attack—but they didn’t know by who.
…Twelve left.
I leapt down from the container.
Madripoor, Buccaneer Bay.
A container terminal where shipments from the open sea are unloaded.
Lights stand at intervals every few meters, but they’re spaced far apart, leaving plenty of dark patches.
Perfect place to hide.
…The sea is close. The salty scent of the tide tickles my nose.
There’s also the stench of something more like an open sewer.
And… with my senses enhanced by that counterfeit super-soldier serum, I could pick up the smell of blood.
“…Looks like blood was spilled nearby.”
“I see.”
Taskmaster gave a curt nod and started walking.
His gaze stayed wide, moving so his back would always have a wall to it, alert to his surroundings.
Then, without warning, he grabbed the edge of a container and pulled himself up.
It stood nearly three meters high, but he kicked into a small dent and climbed in a swift motion.
I didn’t bother with finesse—just hauled myself up using my enhanced strength.
Taskmaster pulled his hood low and scanned the area from the height.
Then, spotting something, he motioned for me to follow.
“This way.”
“…Yeah.”
I went after Taskmaster as he led the way.
…There, a group of men lay collapsed, covered in blood.
Still breathing, from the looks of it.
Taskmaster took out a small blade—no, something more like a needle—and approached one of the prone men.
“Ugh… y-you…”
Without hesitation, Taskmaster plunged the needle into the man’s neck vein.
“Ah… ah…”
The needle’s tip must have been coated with something—his face twisted as it took effect.
Likely a truth serum.
And a powerful one at that… the kind you use once without caring about what happens to the subject.
…Not exactly pleasant to watch.
“What happened here? Talk.”
“Claws… someone with claws…”
“Claws…?”
I scanned the surroundings.
On the container wall—two evenly spaced slashes.
So, claw marks.
And there… a pool of blood that didn’t belong to the man.
Enough blood to knock an ordinary person unconscious… but from it, bloody footprints led farther in, even up the wall.
“I… killed him… but he… still…”
“…A healing factor?”
Taskmaster shot me a glance.
I drew a knife from my belt, staying on guard.
The bloody footprints trailed deeper inside.
“A—agh…”
The man convulsed.
Blood foamed from his mouth… his pupils dilated.
“…Tch. Useless now.”
Taskmaster let go, and the man crumpled to the ground.
No attempt to break his fall… he wasn’t just unconscious.
He was gone.
I considered the enemy.
Claws, a healing factor, vicious enough to attack a group alone…
“…Wolverine?”
That one had an absurdly strong healing factor that could bring him back even from death, adamantium claws… and a savage personality.
But Wolverine’s claws were three.
The marks here were two.
Something didn’t add up.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. We track him.”
“…Yeah, got it.”
Taskmaster strapped his shield to his left arm and drew something from it with his right—a hilt, but no blade.
Its shape was strange.
A sword without a blade… calling it a sword felt questionable.
Without making a sound, Taskmaster moved along the containers.
…A mimicry of Black Panther?
Or perhaps Black Widow’s stealth technique?
He followed the trail of bloody footprints, and I moved in behind him.
Then… the moment we turned the corner, the trail vanished.
“…Hm.”
“…What is it?”
A question mark formed in my mind…
Taskmaster fixed his gaze… reacting to the footprints.
“This is… a backtrack!?”
Taskmaster barked out the words and whipped around to face behind us.
Backtracking—an animal behavior meant to erase one’s trail.
By stepping in their own prints and retreating backwards, they leave a path that seems to vanish out of nowhere.
I turned just a moment later… and from above, a shadow lunged down from the top of a container.
“Tch…!”
Clicking my tongue, I brought my knife up—only for those razor-sharp claws to meet it.
No… not just meet it. They sliced through as if it were butter.
The claws bit more than halfway into the blade.
Not good.
I ditched the knife instantly, raising my red-armored forearm—the adamantium section—to block.
Clang! The sound of metal repelling metal rang out.
…An even match?
Then those claws must be adamantium too.
And the attacker wasn’t using just one arm—
The other was already swinging down.
I slid the claws away from my blocking arm, breaking the attacker’s stance, and drove my shoulder plate into their face to push them back.
“Guh—!?”
Bleeding, the shadowed figure tumbled away.
…Young. A woman?
So it’s not Wolverine after all.
Then who—?
The moment I widened the gap, Taskmaster called out.
“Someone you know?”
“No.”
A woman like Wolverine…?
I don’t know anyone like that.
More like a knockoff… a duplicate…?
A clone…?
…No way.
“…X-23!?”
Information came flooding back from deep in my memory.
The woman—X-23—coughed blood and forced herself to stand.
“I’m Laura Kinney… Don’t you dare call me that name!”
With a growl, she lowered her stance—taking on a beast-like posture.
Two claws on each hand, and one on each foot.
No mistake.
…I remembered now.
Wolverine’s clone—X-23.
The 23rd subject of the Weapon Plus program, the same twisted project that created Weapon I Captain America and Weapon X Wolverine.
Born via surrogate, using Wolverine’s genetic data, and raised without a father—trained in assassination from birth.
A mutant with the same abilities as Wolverine.
I’d fought her before, in this world.
She was still a child then.
I’d put a bullet through her head, but thanks to her trademark healing factor, she hadn’t died.
…So why the killing intent aimed at me now?
Taskmaster was closer to her position.
She must have gone out of her way to target me.
Did I ever—
Ah—
“You… I’ll never forgive you…!”
My heart pounded like a war drum.
Sweat trickled down my skin.
My mouth went dry.
And then… savage memories flashed through my mind.
The dying moments of Sarah Kinney—the researcher who had carried and given birth to X-23.
Shielding the young girl with her body.
The feeling of my knife tearing her apart.
The sight of her, coughing up blood, spraying it across the floor.
The way her eyes, full of love, looked at her daughter.
No. Forget it. Don’t think about it.
They were inhumane scientists, all of them.
They deserved to die.
Yes. They were no saints.
Even if, in the end, she tried to shield her daughter.
Even if she treated her with love.
She was my enemy.
No—this wasn’t my fault.
…
Beneath the mask, my thoughts spun into chaos.
My breathing grew erratic.
My body froze.
“What are you doing?!”
Taskmaster’s sharp rebuke snapped me upward—
—Just in time to see adamantium claws lunging straight for me.
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