It was the middle of the morning when Kojo decided to take a stroll about his hood. Five minutes in, he realized someone was staring and not avoiding his being. They stalked where others could block sight, avoided his shortcut alleys, and took some time before turning at corners. His pursuer unfortunately had a distinct scent like every other being on Earth, one he could notice from crowds of others.

Growing bored and interested, he made his way to one of Hunts Points' many decrepit streets to wait for a confrontation.

The homeless cleared the area in a few minutes when they realized 'Black Horn' was present, prepping the grounds for him.

A half hour passed until a limousine turned into the street.

Kojo took a few steps back before it pulled up in front of him.

The driver's seat window lowered, revealing a black-suited man wearing shades. "Hop in."

"Name. Now."

"The Silvermane Family."

"Who in the family?" He put a hand on the vehicle's jet black chassis. "Keep in mind I'll crush this dick-looking ride into a ball of scrap with you in it if you don't tell me or play vague."

"Silvio." The driver smirked while the end-door opened. "Who else?"

Kojo raised an eyebrow.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. He was partly waiting for this, but there were strong chances things would end as they did the last time he agreed to sit down with his enemies. At the very least, he'd walk out without getting fended off by a flatscan again.

"Destination?"

"Brooklyn."

He scoffed. "Where specifically?"

"Not what I'm supposed to tell you."

"You do know I can skin you with my fingers, right?"

"This is a one-time offer, he'll know if you do anything to me, and he knows how to get into contact with people who can hurt you. Hear him out: that hit on your head doesn't give you much options."

Kojo frowned. "You know that makes me want to kill you more?"

"I know." He drummed his hands against the car wheel handles. "You coming in or not?"

"My respect and loathing, nameless goon. Respect and loathing." The mutant walked to the opposite end of the limo, fitted himself through the door, and eased it shut.

In just a few minutes of the traffic-plagued scourge New York called its streets, Kojo was uncomfortable. His seat was too soft, the air tasted like bleach, the limo's interior had stark colors as though it were new, the goings of the outside world were muffled, and he couldn't smell anything foul other than the dirt underneath his fingernails.

He lowered his window to let in his world only for it to climb back shut.

"No one can see you on the way there." The driver's voice emerged from a speaker. "Just sit back and relax. I'll put the AC on."

Cool air fanned through Kojo's side of the car, failing to calm nor comfort him.

He groaned.

Several torturous hours passed before the limo stopped outside its destination.

"We're here."

The rear door burst open and its aesthetic-clashing passenger stumbled out.

"Hey!" Nameless Goon exited the vehicle. "Do-" He squinted at a more-than-usually-disheveled Kojo. "You look like shit."

He jumped twenty feet into the air, stretched, landed, and shook himself. "Fuck you and your dick car."

"It's called a limousine: a custom Cadillac SUV limo made this year actually."

"Whatever it is, I could've gotten here in under half an hour if you just gave me a single fucking direction." Kojo looked up at the fancy building's equally pristine sign. "The Fazioli?"

"Piano club. Everyone inside is Maggia, pianists and bartenders included."

"You're making it hard to accept this is a meeting and not an ambush, not that I mind."

"Just saying whatever you two say can be said in front of everyone." He leaned on his car. "And to be on your best behavior."

Kojo rolled his eyes and raised his middle finger before he walked into the club.

Everyone's eyes fell on him, including the performing musician's.

He suppressed a grunt at the interior's familiarity with the limousine. The gunpowder and leather handle scents were a welcome change, but everything was more or less the same with his company sporting awful colognes over their natural musk. "Silvio 'Silvermane' Manfredi." Kojo picked the old man out by the bar from his lack of any weapons. "We meet at last."

Smiling, Silvio picked up his drink and began walking with his bodyguards in tow. "The Prince of the Bronx." He stopped to rise an eyebrow. "They told me you were a young man… But I didn't expect you to be this young."

"You grow up fast on the streets. Can we get down to business?"

"Sure, let's sit down."

"I prefer to stand."

"Then follow me." He sipped his drink as he led Kojo to the bar. "Do you know how organized crime started in this city?"

The boy scoffed. "Two or more guys, probably black, got together and started jacking other people with money."

"No, that's just a normal street gang." Silvio stopped by the bar counter. "Organized crime came from Italy. When people decided they didn't need to be lorded over, they realized how much the aristocracy protected them with their private armies. They were suffering from a power vacuum of their own creation. That's when the Cosa Nostra sprung up, or what would eventually become it, and took matters into their own hands. Soon enough, they were the new aristocracy, whether anyone wanted them to be or not."

"And eventually they found their way here, grew into the five families, and died out."

"Good things don't last forever. We came from the same stock, but we saw things differently: our associates are approved by the head, not some soldier easily conned by a two-bit FBI agent from Jersey." He grumbled. "Every family is under one flag too. Power has to be centralized and delegated properly or else succession is complete chaos, which isn't good for anybody."

Kojo narrowed his eyes. "Is there a point to this?"

"In just about two years, you did what neither of our organizations could do for decades since the big war: unite the Bronx." Silvio frowned. "But you're still in the mindset of a petty thug from what I've gathered of you. There is so much more you could be."

"Your fancy suit lapdog?"

"A family head with full control of your territory. I take a cut and you restructure things to be more organize. That's all that changes."

"Better than the last offer, but I have to say no."

Silvio paused. "You don't understand the danger you're in: the Yakuza and Kingpin won't take your continued independence lightly."

"I already killed the Oyabun and fucked up his son." Kojo grinned. "As for Fisk, I can handle anyone who tries to collect my head and his entire army of mercs. Everyone knows not to fuck with me. If they think they can make an easy fortune, I'll let their bodies serve as an example."

"Maybe you're invincible, but your men aren't. Your control over the Bronx will wane without them. The Yakuza won't wait for their new leader to recover forever, and Fisk is a wrathful sonofabitch."

Kojo scoffed and crossed his arms. "You think I don't know that? The fatass threw his fucking dinner table at me when I told him the same thing I'm telling you."

"The Georgian one?" Silvio asked

"What?"

He took a few gulps of his glass. "Did the table have a glossy rich brown color?"

"…Yeah."

"What a waste of good furniture." The old man shook his head and gestured for the bartender to refill him.

"I think we're done with this conversation."

Tip-tap steps pattered from above.

"Grandpaaaa! I'm booored!" A young girl's voice yelled.

Silvio groaned. "Oh godda-" He turned to the second floor stairs. "Not now, sweetie! Grandpa's dealing with something!"

An auburn-haired, olive-skinned girl skipped down the steps, followed by a stumbling Maggia man. "You always say that!" She froze, her eyes meeting Kojo, when she finished her descent.

He tilted his head.

"Coool!" She ran over towards the crime lords to everyone but Kojo's horror. "You have horns! Let me see them!" She stretched out her arms.

"Sofia."

A grin spread across the mutant's face as he squatted down to her level.

"No, piggyback ride! I want to feel them."

He glared into her eyes.

She pulled back her arms to thrust them outward again, humph-ing for emphasis.

Kojo's head inched back.

This was a first.

"…Sofia," Silvio whispered.

"Okay." Kojo took hold of the little girl, stood back up, lifted her into the air, and set her over his shoulders. "Don't touch the tips: they're sharp."

The onlookers reached for their weapons but were gestured by Silvio to stand down.

"Woah!" Sofia ran her fingers along the horns' curve. "They're so smooth. Are you a minotaur?"

"Mutant actually."

"Cool! Do you have powers?"

Kojo flipped from the bar to the top of an unused table like a fly exchanging walls.

"That. Was. Awesome!" The little girl squealed.

Kojo laughed. "You've seen nothing yet."

Silvio gulped and stepped forward. "Hold on. Let's ta-"

Securing Sofia's legs, Kojo back-flipped on to the second floor's railing before flipping over to the staircase's.

"Oh sweet mother of god."

The Maggia endured the two children streaking through the air to and from tables, railings, the stage, and even the top of chair backs for a full five and a half minutes.

Kojo, figuring his rival understood his strength, finished by jumping up to the ceiling and impaling it with his fingers.

Sofia looked down at her fellow humans. "Woah!" She glanced up to the source of her height. "You're super strong!"

"And I know to use it. That's the real superpower." He pulled his fingers free, letting them fall back to Earth.

"I want to go again! Again!" She punched her arms up in the air.

Kojo lifted her off and set her on the tiled floor. "Next time maybe."

"Pleeease!" Sofia batted her eyelashes. "It'll make me the happiest girl in the world!" She frowned. "You're making me sad."

"I've got other stuff I need to do. It was fun, so maybe it'll happen again."

The Manfredi girl dropped her paper-thin façade. "At least tell me who you are!"

Kojo glanced back at Silvio before kneeling down and taking hold of his granddaughter's hand. "I'm a prince disguised as a peasant." He kissed the back of it. "One day I'll be a king, and everyone will know me."

Sofia froze.

With a curtsy, he waved farewell and left the Silvermane establishment.

"Are you okay?" Silvio rushed over and asked.

The girl stared at her hand.

"Sofia."

"I'm fine." She turned away with a humph. "That guy was super cool." Blinking, she shifted towards her grandsire. "You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"No…"

Sofia pouted and moved her hands over her chest. "Grandpa."

"I'm not. We just disagreed over some business."

"…"

"…"

With one more humpth, the Silvermane heiress stomped back towards the stairs.

Silvio breathed a sigh of reluctant relief.

Kojo stared out into the foreign streets of Brooklyn. It was better than the club and the limo, but it was still a completely different side of New York he had never been. There was always too many people to take care to see all the city offered. Right now, he had to babysit his turf until the hit was called off though.

He shrugged and took off into the evening light.

Several miles away, a masked man stood up from his anti-material rifle scope and drew a burner phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and dialed a number. "He's gone."

"Good. I was worried he'd try something at the last minute."

"Have the money transferred to the account I gave you."

"I will… Say, did that kid look familiar to you?"

"Not particularly."

"He kinda remains me of the time I had to call you in last minute."

The man's lips pursed behind his mask. "I remember somewhat. I need a name."

"Augusto."

"The one with the peashooter, the tomcat."

"Yeah, the nobody who almost killed you."

"He's not the first."

"I know." The man on the opposite line paused. "He looks like him, vaguely."

"I can't remember his face, only his moves."

"Right. Goodbye."

Pressing the end-call button first, the masked man stowed his phone.

Augusto fired volleys of three shots. Knees, center mass, and the head were all targets. He had armor to block them though it didn't fair well in point-blank range as most bullet-resistant material did. Every movement was efficient, even when he drove his sword through his guts.

Taskmaster hefted the rifle over his shoulder and leaped off the rooftop back down into the shadows.