The steady ticking of the monitoring machine pierced through the sterile air, which was heavy with the scent of antiseptic. Lynn Winchester (formerly Ying Zijing) awoke in excruciating pain. Someone was repeatedly grinding her arm’s IV needle with the sharp edge of a manicured drill.
"Be gentle!" The woman in the white coat sneered, her chest badge reading "Dr. Lucy." "You think you can just pass out from a little blood draw? Typical of a slum rat—probably can’t even handle this."
Fragmented memories suddenly flooded her mind—the night three months ago when the Winchester family had brought her back from the Brooklyn slums, the DNA test results showing a 99.99% match, and her adoptive mother's words: "We need you to donate bone marrow regularly for Victoria."
"Dr. Lucy!" The hospital door swung open. Victoria Winchester (formerly Ying Luwei), wearing a Chanel tweed coat, strode into the room. Her platinum blonde hair shimmered softly under the overhead light. "We agreed to keep this private. You’re scaring Lynn!"
"Private?" Dr. Lucy ripped off her latex gloves and tossed them onto a metal tray. "The whole of New York knows this wild girl seduced your fiancé at the Met Gala last week! Frankly, she should’ve been left to rot on the streets—"
Before Lucy could finish her sentence, the pale girl suddenly sprang to life. Lucy felt the world spin as she was yanked and pressed against the medical cart, her arms twisted behind her. The tray full of syringes clattered to the floor.
"Dear Dr. Lucy," Lynn whispered, her syringe gently grazing the trembling woman’s neck, "Do you know how many years a sentence for illegal o***************g gets you in New York?"
Victoria’s Gucci handbag dropped to the floor. The timid adopted daughter lying in the hospital bed now seemed like a completely different person. Lynn's phoenix-like eyes shimmered with a dangerous glint that made the Picasso print on the wall seem dull in comparison.
"Surveillance! Security!" Lucy screamed, her voice shrill, echoing down the hallway.
Lynn casually released her grip, pulling a black card from Victoria’s limited-edition crocodile leather bag. "Your personal doctor has been overdrawing hematopoietic stem cells three times this week. This card could buy the entire department of hematology—if you want her to keep quiet, that is. Or should I make the headline of The New York Post read 'Upper East Side Socialite Turns a Blind Eye to Human Blood Farm'?"
Just then, rapid footsteps echoed in the hallway. Lynn grabbed her biker jacket and leapt out the window. The December wind and snow rushed into room 914 as Victoria rushed to the window, but all she saw were the fluttering edges of a coat disappearing into the night.
(Forty Minutes Later, Hell’s Kitchen District)
Alexander Fu (formerly Fu Yunshen) leaned casually against a graffiti-covered wall, playing with his hunting knife. A dark red scarf partially concealed his jawline. The neon lights from the convenience store across the street reflected a strange purple glow in his eyes. This rising star on Wall Street, the talk of the tech world, looked almost like a fallen angel straight out of Gotham City.
"Mr. Fu!" His assistant rushed over, holding a tablet. "The target has been spotted three blocks away. Five MS-13 members are..."
The sharp sound of a blade slicing through the air interrupted the report. Alexander stared at the surveillance footage, where a black-haired girl was kneeling, pressing the spine of a tattooed thug to the ground. She was holding a stolen butterfly knife to the g**g leader’s throat. The wind and snow whipped her blood-stained shirt, revealing the faint outline of a phoenix tattoo on her waist.
"Tell the DEA to prepare the net," he said with a low chuckle. "I’ll meet this little phoenix of the Winchester family myself."