The rain outside tapped rhythmically against the glass of Nelson’s Diner, creating a quiet wall of sound that isolated the interior from the rest of the city.
Jack took a slow sip of his black coffee. The heat bloomed across his palate, but his eyes remained sharp, watching the reflection in the dark window frame.
Through the reflection, he saw Karen Page slump slightly in her booth. Her fingers fumbled with a yellow highlighter, dropping it onto the stack of financial ledgers. She reached for her coffee mug, found it empty, and let out a long, shuddering sigh laced with frustration and exhaustion.
Jack didn't turn around abruptly. He picked up his cup, stood up smoothly, and walked toward the diner’s coffee pot resting on the warmer near the booths.
"It gets bitter when it sits on the burner this late," Jack said quietly, his voice breaking the silence of the diner like a low cello note.
Karen jumped, her shoulders tensing as her hand instinctively darted to cover the topmost document on her table—a Union Allied shipping manifest.
Jack stopped two paces away, holding his mug. He kept his posture relaxed, his hands visible, and his expression completely neutral—a masterclass in non-threatening demeanor powered by his Poker Face (Tier 1) skill.
"Sorry," Jack offered a faint, polite smile that reached his eyes just enough to disarm her defenses. "Didn't mean to startle you. The graveyard shift in this city makes everyone jumpy."
Karen swallowed hard, her blue eyes scanning his face. She saw no weapon, no mobster attire, no tactical gear—just a tall, sharp-featured man in a dark coat who looked like an overworked night-owl.
"It's... fine," Karen said, her voice raspy from lack of sleep. She consciously pulled her hand back from the documents, trying not to look suspicious. "Just a lot on my mind."
"Union Allied?" Jack asked casually, nodding toward the red stamp visible on the edge of a paper beneath her coat sleeve.
Karen’s breath hitched. Her body went rigid. "How do you—"
"It's on the front page of every tabloid in Hell's Kitchen," Jack interrupted smoothly, taking a seat at the empty booth across the narrow aisle from her, leaving a respectful distance. "Construction kickbacks, city contracts, and now some corporate scandal. Hard to miss if you read the news."
Karen stared at him, weighing whether to retreat or speak. For weeks, she had been isolated, hunted, and ignored by authority figures who were either paid off by Fisk or too terrified to act. Looking at this stranger—who seemed entirely untroubled by the tension suffocating the city—she felt an overwhelming urge to talk, if only to ground herself.
"It's not just a scandal," Karen murmured, her voice dropping into a guarded whisper. "It's a cover-up. People are dying because of what's written on these papers."
Jack leaned back, resting his elbows on the table. His 5.3% Synchronization analyzed her vocal pitch, micro-expressions, and eye movements in real-time. She was terrified, but driven by a righteous fury—the perfect combination for exploitation.
"People like James Wesley?" Jack asked softly, dropping the name with surgical precision.
Karen’s eyes widened in genuine shock. "You know Wesley?"
"I know of him," Jack corrected, a dark, barely perceptible gleam passing through his pale eyes. "A fixer for very powerful men. Men who don't like paper trails. If you're holding something Wesley wants, sitting in a diner at 3:30 AM isn't going to keep you safe, Miss..."
"Karen," she said automatically, before catching herself. She bit her lip, but the dam had already broken. "They framed me. They killed my coworker Daniel, and they made it look like I did it. All because we found out Union Allied is laundering money through ocean freight shipments."
"Ocean freight?" Jack raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity while recording every detail into his memory.
"Pier 19," Karen blurted out, leaning in slightly, desperate for someone to believe her. "They're routing untaxed chemical shipments through the cold storage vaults at Pier 19. It’s not construction material. It’s something else. Something heavy."
Jack’s lips twitched upward into a genuine, slow smile.
The intel Victor Vance had sold him was now independently confirmed by an insider from Union Allied itself. Pier 19 was indeed Fisk's primary chemical nexus.
"Fascinating," Jack whispered.
Karen looked at his smile, feeling a sudden, inexplicable shiver run down her spine. The calm, polite stranger suddenly felt very dangerous, though she couldn't understand why.
Before she could question him further, Jack stood up from the booth. He pulled a crisp fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and laid it quietly on Karen’s table.
"Get a fresh cup of coffee, Karen," Jack said, his voice dropping into that smooth, chilling timbre. "And don't worry too much about Mr. Wesley or Union Allied."
Karen looked up, bewildered. "Why?"
Jack adjusted his beret, shadowing his eyes once more as he turned toward the door.
"Because in a city this crazy..." Jack purred over his shoulder, "...sometimes the monsters end up eating each other."
【 Intel Verified & Expanded! 】
Target: Pier 19 Chemical Distribution Vaults (Union Allied Logistics)
Information Acquired: Off-book chemical manifest & security routing confirmed via Karen Page.
【 Rewards Issued: 】
Synchronization: +0.2% (Current Total: 5.5%)
Jack stepped out into the pouring rain, leaving Karen Page sitting frozen in the diner.
At 5.5% synchronization, his mind felt crystal clear. He had the money, he had the lab, and now he had the exact operational layout of Fisk's chemical reserve.
It was time to pay Pier 19 a visit.
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