C52: Call the Police
"Sir, do you know where Willard is?"
On a busy Hell's Kitchen sidewalk in New York City, Ah Xing currently operating via a clone, halted a kindly looking white-haired man in a faded Mets cap and asked politely.
"Sorry, I've never heard of Willard." The man shook his head. His gaze lingered on Ah Xing's slightly disheveled appearance—scuffed shoes, faded red undershirt, too-thin jacket and a flicker of pity crossed his face. "Son, why are you looking for a place like that?"
"To find the legendary ultimate killer… the Fire Cloud Evil God."
"..."
[Famousness from New York citizens +0.1]
The old man's expression shifted instantly. Concern drained from his face. He took an instinctive step back. "Right. I—I'm sorry, can't help you. Maybe try someone else."
As the man quickly turned and shuffled away, Ah Xing sighed softly and resumed his circuit, continuing his task per protocol.
Compared to Li Ran's other avatar, the charismatic and theatrical Kaito Kid—this clone, operating under the identity of Ah Xing, was less adept at generating notoriety. But that disparity was inevitable. The two personas were built on vastly different frameworks: one was a showman who thrived in spectacle, the other a grounded martial artist from Penglai with roots in Chinese mysticism. You couldn't force Ah Xing into the limelight the way you could with a phantom thief who once left notes for Spider-Man and eluded Batman.
Simply put, Li Ran's strategic blueprint for Ah Xing wasn't about casting a wide net like Kid. Past experience had proven that only when Ah Xing assumed a hero's role intervening in street crime, confronting supervillains, or invoking Penglai lore—did he reliably earn recognition. Fame was more a side effect than the goal.
His current efforts wandering the streets, asking cryptic questions were a side mission, a stalling tactic while waiting for major players to reveal themselves.
After all, New York had always been the battlefield of masks. Whether it was Matt Murdock cleaning up Hell's Kitchen as Daredevil or Jessica Jones punching through brick walls in Harlem, the line between superhero and vigilante was blurred in this city. But right now, things were quiet. Too quiet. No Kingpin operations. No Chitauri tearing up Grand Central. Not even a low-level Goblin sighting in Queens.
Unfortunately, Ah Xing's vague inquiries weren't attracting costumed crusaders.
They attracted cops.
"Who placed the call?"
Officer Sidis, a sharp-eyed Black policewoman in standard NYPD uniform, arrived first. Her badge glinted in the late afternoon sun as she stepped from her cruiser.
"I did." The white-haired man from before raised a hand hesitantly. He pointed toward the red-shirted Chinese man across the street. "That guy. Been watching him circle the block, stopping people left and right, always asking if they've heard of a place called Willard. He stopped me too. Said he was trying to find… the 'ultimate murderer.' Called him the Fire Cloud Evil God."
"Fire Cloud Evil God?" Sidis arched an eyebrow.
The man nodded. "Everything I said is true. Look, he's stopping someone else now."
"What's going on?"
Her partner, Rem—an Asian-American officer with a more relaxed gait but observant eyes had just arrived.
"This gentleman reported that the man in red mentioned some killer called the Fire Cloud Evil God."
"What, are we in a B-movie now?" Rem muttered.
"I wish." Sidis exhaled sharply. The city was still reeling from Kaito Kid's rooftop jewel heists and Daredevil's recent beatdown of some rogue Fisk enforcers. She hadn't signed up to play triage for cryptic kung-fu wanderers.
"Thanks for the call, sir," she said with a tight smile. "We'll take it from here."
The old man nodded, then looked across the street again. "Be careful. I have a bad feeling about that guy."
"Appreciate the heads-up," Sidis replied, though her tone betrayed that she didn't take it too seriously. "Just for the record, sir, could I get your name?"
"Stan. Stan Lee."
…
"How's it looking?" Sidis asked after briefly taking Lee's information.
Rem shook his head. "Talked to a few locals. Nobody reported harassment. He's just been asking weird questions about 'Willard.'"
"Know what that is?" Sidis asked.
"No clue. Could be a fictional place. Or an alias. Maybe an old hospital, or a Hydra substation if this is another S.H.I.E.L.D. cleanup in disguise."
"So no real crime reported?"
"Not yet."
"We still need to—?"
"Yeah. Standard protocol," Rem said, nodding toward the strange figure down the block.
Sidis sighed and turned toward Stan Lee, still waiting patiently nearby. "Just a routine check."
"Routine," Rem echoed.
They crossed the street toward Ah Xing, approaching calmly. Sidis spoke first, offering a professional smile.
"Excuse me, sir—NYPD. We'd like to ask you a few questions. Please cooperate."
"Is something wrong?"
Ah Xing's voice was even, unreadable.
"No, sir, no allegations. But someone reported suspicious behavior. Can you provide a license or identification card?"
Ah Xing: "..."
Then, with a completely flat face, Ah Xing said: "Sorry, Ican'tspeakEnglish."
You literally just spoke fluent English.
Sidis and Rem exchanged a silent glance.
Sidis slowly moved her hand closer to her radio. "Sir, we need to see some form of ID. A passport will do."
Ah Xing sighed internally. I don't have ID. I'm a metaphysical projection of a martial spirit. My passport is in another plane of existence.
Sensing the escalating tension, the clone raised both hands slowly. "Okay, okay," he said in English, giving up the act. "I'll get it."
Both officers relaxed slightly, their hands easing away from their holsters as Ah Xing reached into his inner jacket.
And that's when everything changed.
In a blink, Ah Xing's stance shifted. Power surged through his legs—Vajra Step. His muscles tightened, and in a single explosive motion, he kicked off the pavement with almost no sound. By the time Sidis and Rem even registered the movement—
He was gone.
Vanished.
Just another ghost in New York.
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