Marvel: DNF Invades

This was no time for pleasantries. Daredevil shielded Fudge, and the two quickly escaped through the alley behind the mecha.

Behind them, the mech clashed with a large group of tough Russians, all armed with AK-47s.

After running a considerable distance, ensuring they were safe, Matt and Fudge stopped, exchanging looks.

Clearly, both wanted to know more about the mysterious "friend" who had suddenly appeared.

Fudge panted. "Looks like these guys pissed off someone besides us."

"Describe them to me," Matt said.

As a blind man, he couldn't see, but his extraordinary perception told him the person felt somewhat familiar.

"A robot."

"A robot?" Matt frowned.

"Yeah. A flying one," Fudge clarified. "About four feet tall. It was too dark to tell the color."

"Iron Man?"

"No, definitely not." Fudge shook his head. "This thing was smaller."

Silence.

Was the world changing too fast, or had they been in Hell's Kitchen too long? Robots belonged in sci-fi movies—why were they suddenly appearing in real life?

Matt listened to the sounds from afar, feeling an odd sense of helplessness. Compared to that, his abilities were severely lacking. From the sounds alone, he could tell—the Russians had been wiped out.

---

The air combat mech hovered over the battlefield. Luke examined the wreckage below, then bent down and picked up an AK-47, checking its condition. It was intact. Satisfied, he stashed it into his storage space.

The Russians had "gifted" him ten AK-47s. They loved these guns for their raw power, their thunderous fire. A real man's weapon.

Now, those "real men" lay on the ground, barely breathing. Most wouldn't survive.

Luke had handled them bare-handed—while piloting a mech.

Before the fight started, an idea had struck him. He had already mastered several martial arts skills, and they had become muscle memory. So why not integrate them into mech combat?

Thus, DNF fighting techniques were adapted into mecha combat. The power? Amplified tenfold.

At first, his movements were a bit clunky, but he quickly got the hang of it, becoming smoother with every strike.

A single-inch punch? The Russian's chest caved in instantly. Dead.

An upward kick? Another unfortunate soul had his legs obliterated.

A mecha throw—where did the guy go? Oh. Beneath the rubble. Too bad.

Against a martial arts master, these thugs might've stood a chance. Against a mecha martial artist? No one could stop him.

The remaining Russians fired wildly, AK-47s spitting rounds, but the bullets barely left scratches on the mech's armored shell. It was no contest.

One mech versus twenty-five armed Russian mafia members.

Fight duration: 1 minute, 12 seconds.

Total domination.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," Luke mused, avoiding the gory mess as he gathered the discarded AK-47s. "Didn't expect martial arts to work like this in a mech. I really am a genius."

Two bursts of fire erupted from the mech's thrusters, and Luke soared into the night, leaving behind a crime scene soaked in blood and bullet casings.

---

Hell's Kitchen had officially gone up in flames.

From the sky, Luke could see it—every street, every alley was now a battlefield. Gangs were colliding in brutal firefights.

Explosions echoed in the distance, their fiery plumes illuminating the night.

Under his watchful eye, Matt and Fudge had successfully retreated from the chaos. That meant Luke could focus on his second objective—acquiring more firepower.

Not just guns—he needed ammo. A lot of it.

"Analyzing possible locations where weapons are stored," Ross's voice came through the mech's speakers. Several marked locations appeared on the HUD.

Luke nodded. "If these are their nests, there's bound to be a stash of guns and ammo. Let's go."

He had a solid grasp of tonight's situation.

From the gunfights, it was obvious—the local New York gangs, including the Irish and Mexicans, had all sided with Kingpin.

Clearly, Kingpin had bought them off and was orchestrating a full-scale takeover of the Russian mafia's territory.

The Russians? They were utterly screwed. Alone. Outnumbered. Doomed.

The Japanese, meanwhile, were acting as opportunists—swooping in to loot whatever they could from the Russians' crumbling empire.

So, the situation boiled down to this:

Everyone vs. the Russians.

The Russians were getting steamrolled by the entirety of Hell's Kitchen's underworld.

Luke had just made their night even worse.

But if anyone thought the Russians would go down quietly, they were mistaken.

The so-called "fighting nation" wasn't known for surrendering.

Pushed to desperation, they went berserk.

Now, they were the ones bringing the fight.

In a full-blown counterattack, the Russians unleashed a storm of AK-47 fire, forcing the Irish and Mexicans to retreat.

"Huh?"

Luke, en route to a Mexican hideout, suddenly paused mid-flight.

His screen zoomed in on a very familiar face.

"Wait a minute..."

He enlarged the image, confirming his suspicion.

That face—cold, yet inexplicably alluring—was unmistakable.

"What the hell? Shouldn't she be playing secretary for some rich asshole? Why is she here?"

Down below, in the middle of the gang war, that very woman was crawling through the firefight, desperately trying not to get hit.

At that moment, two large factions were locked in a gun battle in an open square.

Then—

A white mech dropped from the sky, landing dead center on the battlefield.

Silence.

The gunfire ceased.

Dozens of gangsters froze, staring at the sci-fi machine that had just crashed their turf war.

A heavily tattooed Mexican with a thick accent broke the silence, yelling, "Who the fuck owns this robot? Move the hell outta the way!"

Luke's distorted voice echoed from the mech's speakers.

"Robbery. Drop your guns. Walk away, and you live."

The gangsters exchanged dumbfounded glances.

Then—pure rage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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