Blood sprayed from Kingpin's mouth, reaching nearly to the ceiling in a crimson arc.
Heisenberg took two steps back and frowned.
"A bit messy," he muttered, his breath releasing a cold mist into the air.
In an instant, the massive body of Wilson Fisk—better known as Kingpin—froze, blood and all, into a grotesque ice sculpture. The room grew frigid, and the creeping cold sent a shiver down Barbara's spine.
She let out a sharp gasp, her voice breaking the stunned silence.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Heisenberg turned slowly, the mist still curling from his lips.
"A word of advice: If you want a longer, less complicated life—don't ask questions. But since you're asking..."
He tapped Bullseye lightly on the shoulder.
"Tell her what she wants to know."
Bullseye nodded instantly, though a tremble betrayed his fear. He stepped forward in three hesitant strides, standing between Heisenberg and Barbara.
Despite the tension in his jaw, Bullseye's voice came out in a low murmur.
"Kingpin ordered me—his best asset—to take out the boss. This hit, the whole thing, it was his plan. He wanted to kill the boss... and the boss just returned the favor. That's all there is to it."
Heisenberg chuckled, amused.
"That's why you're my favorite, Bullseye. Quick to adapt."
Was Bullseye switching sides so fast a sign of his unreliability?
Not quite.
Even after Heisenberg subdued him effortlessly, Bullseye had tried one last, desperate strike. That final lunge—futile as it was—shouted loyalty in its own twisted way.
He had known the risk. Knew Heisenberg was more powerful than anything he'd faced. And still, he struck.
That wasn't cowardice. That was courage born from purpose.
As for calling Heisenberg "Boss" now?
That wasn't betrayal. That was survival. Adaptation. Maturity.
After all, in the Marvel Universe—especially this one—power speaks loudest. Who else besides perhaps the Ancient One could threaten someone like Heisenberg?
Compared to the so-called superheroes, Heisenberg preferred the likes of Bullseye as an enforcer. Efficient. Loyal. Unburdened by moral hesitations.
If you look at every superhero team, one pattern becomes clear: they're always the most disorganized groups, full of internal conflict, vague ideals, and poor execution.
They're free spirits, sure—but indecisive, impulsive, and inconsistent.
If not for the plot armor of protagonist status, they wouldn't last a day.
Villains, though?
Crossbones—Brock Rumlow—was a model of discipline. Loyal to Hydra. Never questioned orders. No matter the mission, he went in without complaint.
Meanwhile, Steve Rogers—a decorated soldier—regularly clashed with Nick Fury, going rogue on command.
Black Widow? Disengaged unless paid properly. Her allegiance had a price tag.
Hawkeye? Controlled by others more than he controlled his own judgment. Even turned against his own allies at times—like Quicksilver.
And let's not get started on the real loose cannons: Iron Man and Hulk. Brilliant, but unstable. They literally built Ultron and let him loose on the world.
Heisenberg understood that kind of chaos. Which is why he didn't plan to be a traditional hero here.
Yes, he could show kindness—save the weak, defend the helpless. But he wasn't driven by boundless compassion like Superman.
Heisenberg was no paragon. He knew that.
He was an anti-hero at best.
Everyone holds a hero in their heart—but some also carry rebellion. If that rebellion grows too strong, the world calls them a villain.
Heisenberg accepted that risk.
He knew himself better than anyone. Deep down, he still held onto the selfishness, the caution, the calculated ambition of a man who spent decades navigating business empires.
He'd seen too much. Done too much.
And in the Marvel Universe, that made him dangerous.
Before the crossing, he sold talismans, let go of petty loans, fixed crane games, delivered river sand, and even approved beer licenses. He knew a little bit about everything.
From the son of a factory worker to a small-time entrepreneur with an annual income shy of two million, that was Heisenberg's previous life.
That... was the limit of his capability.
Conspiracies? Strategic planning?
He wasn't cut out for that.
Though he managed a dozen employees, he always felt overpowered by the logistics.
But now, with the power of a Kryptonian coursing through his body—strength to crack mountains, hearing sensitive enough to catch whispers miles away, and eyes that could see through walls—he understood:
He couldn't do everything alone.
Not everything could be solved with a punch.
He needed an organization—an infrastructure to support his vision.
Even Superman has the Justice League.
How could he, Heisenberg, expect to dominate the Marvel Universe—harvesting power, influence, and information—without his own network?
So he decided to recruit. Not just anyone. Talents. Operatives. Soldiers. Loyalists.
And when he overheard Kingpin (Wilson Fisk) conversing with Barbara from the top of the Triskelion's Tricurved Wing Building, a wicked thought entered his mind.
Kingpin's empire… that would be his stepping stone.
Fisk—the undisputed crime lord of New York. Forty percent of America's organized crime had ties to him. His reign spanned decades. Even in the comics, Fisk's dominance lasted over sixty years.
His men had been shaped by that rule. Trained. Conditioned.
If Heisenberg could appropriate that network, tweak it even slightly, he could take over a major chunk of America's criminal underworld overnight. It was efficient. Practical.
He nodded to himself in satisfaction, then turned to his tense lieutenant, Bullseye.
He looked to Barbara, caught between awe and anxiety, and calmly stated:
"If he wants to kill me, then I'll kill him. The strong survive. The weak lie down. Simple logic, right?"
With that, he lightly tugged on Bullseye's sleeve and asked:
"After Kingpin dies, can his crew handle the transition? Can they maintain his territory?"
Bullseye paused, then admitted flatly:
"I can't do it."
"Huh?"
Heisenberg frowned. That wasn't the answer he expected. He'd given Bullseye a chance—trusted him to step up.
In his mind, Bullseye should've jumped at the opportunity to prove himself. Why hesitate?
But then he realized… Bullseye wasn't Kingpin.
He may have been Kingpin's top assassin, but assassins don't lead empires.
Bullseye explained further.
"Kingpin was ruthless, cruel, but he established rules—systems that governed the underworld for over a decade. The underworld adapted to his method.
Even if he's gone, I'm not the guy they'd rally around.
We were on similar footing. They won't listen to me just because I worked under him."
Bullseye bowed his head slightly, genuinely apologetic.
"I'd love to prove myself, boss. But it'll take at least a year to stabilize that territory. Otherwise, I'll only bring chaos."
Heisenberg sighed.
He had to admit: Bullseye was capable. Brutal, but honest. Still, a year was too long.
"Alright, forget Fisk for now. Let them fend for themselves."
He glanced at Bullseye.
"I'll open a nightclub soon. You'll manage it. Ever run one before? Doesn't matter—learn on the job. I'll find someone else to mop up the mess Kingpin left."
"Yes, boss!"
Bullseye nodded quickly, hiding the sting of disappointment.
He had high hopes for Heisenberg. The new boss wasn't just powerful—he radiated something different. Authority. Potential. Even rumors of a connection to S.H.I.E.L.D. swirled around him.
And this... this nightclub was just the beginning.
Heisenberg didn't even have a proper outfit yet—he was still walking around in a pair of Nick Fury's old pants, shirtless like some vet fresh out of retirement.
But that just confirmed it. The empire hadn't started yet. Bullseye could be there from day one.
So he stepped forward, resolved, and offered himself again.
"Boss, I'll manage the club if that's what you want. But that's not where I shine.
You could pull a finance guy off Wall Street to do that. I'm more valuable elsewhere.
Let me take over Kingpin's muscle. They've worked with me for years—I can leverage that.
You shouldn't be wasting your strength on pawns. I can gnaw away at Fisk's territory, piece by piece, and deliver it to you."
He clenched his fists.
"Even if you assign someone else to lead, I'll support them fully. I won't be a burden."
Then—with a seriousness rarely seen in his line of work—Bullseye dropped to one knee.
"Let me fight for your cause, boss."
Heisenberg's heart surged.
This… this feeling—being respected, revered, obeyed. This wasn't something he ever experienced before crossing over.
This was power.
Not just fists, but loyalty.
He restrained his smile, nodded solemnly.
"Do it, then."
He added:
"Whatever problems you face, don't be afraid.
Because your boss is me.
And I… am Heisenberg."