Chapter 8: Allen, I'm Your Fan
The Black Hand, Valon.
The Foot Clan, Shredder.
The Hand, Madame Gao.
Along with Assassin Alliance representative Allen, a new four-party conference was formed.
Aside from the Black Hand, the other three were global assassin organizations. If not for their fear of the Black Hand's Master and his control over the Shadow Corps, they would never have been allowed into the alliance.
"Ray Xiao'ao retired, so they sent you to discuss important matters?"
Shredder's words were full of disdain. He had no respect for unknown upstarts. Even if the Assassin Master himself came, he might not give him face.
"What species are you?"
The moment they met, he was met with contempt. Allen didn't hesitate to unleash his verbal onslaught.
Shredder's heart clenched at those words.
His true form was an absolute secret. If it were ever exposed, he would become an enemy of the entire world.
After all, Earth's affairs were not meant to be interfered with by extraterrestrial beings.
But Allen didn't stop there. He looked up at the ceiling and mused,
"What's in the sewers? Four turtles and a rat. You can't kill them, you can't beat them."
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were the sworn enemies of the Foot Clan, and Shredder had suffered defeat at their hands multiple times.
Now, someone had just ripped open an old wound. His fury exploded, and his wrist blades shot out reflexively.
"You've gone too far! Apologize to Lord Shredder immediately!"
Madame Gao spoke up in support. The three factions had already privately agreed to suppress the rapidly growing Assassin Alliance. Now, they seized the opportunity to escalate the situation.
"I'm blind. Why are you all bullying a blind man?" Allen said leisurely.
Madame Gao immediately caught the hidden implication—Daredevil.
That damned blind man had constantly opposed The Hand, challenging their authority at every turn.
Yet, despite everything, he was living quite well. His girlfriends came and went, dying and reviving one after another.
"Are you looking for death?"
Madame Gao's gaze sharpened as she tapped her cane against the floor—a signal to her hidden assassins. One more tap, and they would strike.
"Oh my~"
Allen raised his voice, rolled up his sleeves, and righteously declared,
"Can't handle a blind guy, so now you want to bully an idiot? You old hag, today I'm standing up for the disabled community!"
"Everyone, calm down. Give me some face."
Valon hurriedly stepped in to mediate.
These people were all highly skilled killers, while he was just an ordinary man. If a fight broke out, even losing a single limb would be a huge loss.
"Fine."
Allen relaxed his sleeves and said with a smug expression,
"I'll give you face, since you have a handsome face. Send my regards to your family's calendar boss."
Valon: "…"
Calendar boss.
That obviously referred to Master.
And he even sent regards to his whole family.
Are you sure you're not insulting him?
In truth, Valon had misunderstood Allen. With his unconventional way of thinking, how could he say anything normal?
"Are you insulting Master?" Valon questioned angrily.
"No."
Allen put on an innocent expression, scanned the three faction leaders, and said pitifully,
"You don't want me here, so I'll just leave!?"
With that, he stood up, called for Bruce and Oliver, and headed for the exit.
Just before stepping out, Allen stopped, turned around, and asked,
"I'm really leaving."
However, Shredder, Madame Gao, and Valon all stared at him with dark expressions, making it clear they had no intention of stopping him.
The three walked out of the conference room.
As soon as they sat down to discuss serious matters again,
"You only need to say the word, and I'll stay."
Before anyone could respond, Allen returned, looking like he was giving them one last chance to ask him to stay.
Three pairs of emotionless eyes stared at him.
Allen pouted and complained,
"Grown adults, holding grudges over a little bickering. Must be some childhood trauma."
"I'll kill him."
Shredder erupted in rage, ready to strike down the madman.
"Haha, I hit a sore spot! Look how mad you are, hahaha!"
Allen shouted as he dashed out.
If not for Madame Gao blocking him with her cane, Shredder would have chased after him.
"Focus on business. With the Assassin Alliance absent, isn't this the perfect opportunity?" Madame Gao said calmly.
"Are we just letting this insult slide?" Shredder asked darkly.
"No need to act personally. He won't live past seven days."
…
The meeting fell apart.
Allen and his companions found a motel to stay in.
Oliver went out to investigate the whereabouts of the Redemption Blade while waiting for the Assassin Alliance to send their gear.
After all, carrying weapons like swords and bows on a plane was prohibited. Their weapons were likely sitting in an evidence locker by now.
Knock, knock…
"Who is it?"
A knock at the door. Allen got up from bed and opened it.
"Someone sent this for you."
The motel clerk handed over a rectangular package wrapped in newspaper.
Allen was confused but took it anyway, closing the door behind him.
"I didn't order anything online. Why is there a package?"
Unwrapping it, he found an old VHS tape inside.
"A retro, classic collection of human reproduction educational footage!"
Allen's eyes lit up with excitement.
The gateway to forbidden knowledge—utterly irresistible.
He inserted the tape into the TV and turned it on.
Sitting upright, legs together, hands on his knees, he watched with a critical gaze.
The screen flickered with static instead of playing immediately.
"Loose connection?"
Allen smacked the TV.
The static cleared, revealing a black-and-white scene.
A woman was brushing her long hair in front of a mirror, filmed from a voyeuristic angle.
"A vintage Japanese film? Looks like it has a plot."
Allen leaned in, eager to catch every detail.
A few minutes later, static interrupted the image again. The screen changed to a group of people crawling and writhing on a grassy field, their movements distorted and agonized, as if suffering unbearable pain while desperately trying to reach something.
"A group scene, outdoors, pretty intense—"
Before he could finish his thought, the screen flickered again.
Next, a hooded figure appeared by a river, silently pointing in a direction.
"Sh*t, who the hell makes such an abstract film?"
Even Allen, with his twisted sense of humor, realized this wasn't the kind of educational film he expected. He reached to turn off the TV.
But pressing the button had no effect. The screen kept playing.
"The TV's broken? Is the owner gonna charge me for this?"
As someone raised under the red flag of science and reason, Allen didn't believe in ghosts.
Time for the ultimate move—unplugging.
Yet, even after pulling the plug, the screen kept playing.
The scene now showed a lonely well, sitting in a silent, desolate forest.
Frame by frame, a pale hand emerged from the well's opening.
Allen looked at the plug in his hand, then at the TV screen.
A disheveled-haired woman, her face obscured, crawled out of the well. Slowly, she stood up, her hunched figure beginning to walk forward, as if about to step out of the TV into reality.
She got closer and closer until her white dress filled the entire screen.
The video ended abruptly.
Ring, ring, ring…
Suddenly, the motel's bedside phone rang.
Allen picked up the receiver.
"…Sadako, is that you? I'm your fan."
"…"