Shortly after, David Mills and John McClane met up on a Manhattan street, got into a patrol car, and headed toward the location Simon had specified.
"He wants to play a game?"
After hearing the explanation, McClane looked irritated.
"And he specifically wants me? What the hell! I don't even know anyone named Simon!"
David sighed helplessly.
"The guy called you out by name. You do what he says, or he detonates another bomb in a public place."
"But why me?"
McClane looked completely numb.
Seriously? He'd already gone all the way out to Long Island—how did this mess drag him right back in?
At that moment, he had a strong feeling his fate was… looping again.
"Bad things just seem to follow you around. You can't outrun bad luck." David shrugged.
McClane: "…"
Yeah, bad luck my ass.
He let out a long sigh.
"I thought things were finally turning around. A few days ago, my wife used my badge number to buy a lottery ticket—and actually won a few hundred bucks."
A nearby officer muttered,
"Everyone uses their badge number for lottery tickets. You've been doing it for over ten years… this is your first win, right? Did you just burn ten years of luck on that?"
McClane's face flushed red, veins popping on his forehead.
"Bullshit! I've been lucky for over a decade! Winning once is the bare minimum!"
Then came a rapid-fire defense:
"I'm not unlucky!"
"This has nothing to do with me!"
"I just made a big case and got famous—the killer probably just knows me as the awesome cop!"
"And I can't survive a bomb either, you know!"
The entire car burst into laughter.
Even David couldn't hold it in.
"Relax, man. It's not a big deal. I trust you. In a case like this, you're the only one in the whole department who can handle it."
McClane sighed again.
"Fine. What do I have to do?"
David hesitated.
"…This."
He held up a sign covered in offensive slurs.
"You're going to wear this."
McClane: "…"
He looked down at it.
I HATE DAGO
His expression darkened instantly.
"Where are we going?"
David exhaled.
"Little Italy."
McClane closed his eyes for a moment.
"…Great."
Then he muttered,
"I just hope the Dove doesn't see this. I've got nothing against Italians."
David replied calmly,
"I already told him. If you don't show up, you might get killed by them."
McClane: "…"
---
Harlem, The Bronx.
"The fuck are you bringing 'Dago' into this for?"
Luca slammed the car door and cursed as he sped off—heading straight toward Little Italy.
Originally, he came out here to protect peace.
So how did this turn into a racial incident involving Italians?
This wasn't how the story was supposed to go.
In the original sequence, McClane should've been paraded through Harlem and beaten by a Black crowd.
Now?
Everything had flipped.
Little Italy wasn't just Mafia territory. Most people there were ordinary Italian-Americans—and some of them had very short tempers.
And now McClane was walking around with that sign?
Yeah.
Public outrage was guaranteed.
Luca understood McClane was being forced.
But the crowd wouldn't.
"I want to play a game?"
Luca let out a cold laugh.
"What, you think you're in Saw now?"
If he had brought a blade—and if he had already mastered O-Ren Ishii's decapitation skills—
Then just this level of insult alone … Would've been enough to take heads clean off.
Taking a deep breath, Luca ran through everything in his head.
Bombs.
Fourteen stolen trucks.
German mercenaries.
A massive setup.
Some bombs were real.
Some were fake.
The classic misdirection.
In the original sequence, the suitcase bombs were real.
The massive school bomb? Fake.
The whole point was to distract the police—while they stole the Federal Reserve gold.
Luca narrowed his eyes.
"The butterfly effect's already kicked in… but the key is still the same."
"Find McClane first."
The car sped forward as Luca started making calls.
"Leon."
"John."
"Elle—stop gambling."
"Ishii, I need you."
"Brian! Come pick me up—the morning traffic is a nightmare!"
---
At Uncle Bill's Supermarket
At the entrance, Ma Hon Keung was casually unloading boxes from a truck.
With Lunar New Year approaching, business had picked up significantly.
"Keung! Another crate of Cola!" Uncle Bill shouted.
"Coming!"
Just then—
Uncle Bill froze.
A shirtless white man was walking down the street.
With a sign hanging from his neck.
Front and back.
After reading it, Uncle Bill broke out in a cold sweat.
Holy hell.
This guy had a death wish.
Insulting Italians… in Little Italy?
That was practically suicide.
And with recent tensions still fresh—people were itching for an excuse.
Uncle Bill rushed over.
"Take that sign off right now! Do you want to die?!"
McClane looked exhausted.
"This isn't optional."
Uncle Bill was furious.
"I'm trying to save you!"
McClane sighed.
"Then stay away from me."
At that moment, Keung's phone rang.
"Keung, are you at Uncle Bill's place?" Luca's voice came through.
"Yes."
"I need your help."
After a quick explanation, Keung frowned slightly—until he turned and saw McClane.
Instant understanding.
"The officer you're talking about is right here."
"Protect him. Wait for me. If anything happens—use my name."
"…Got it."
Keung walked over.
"You Officer McClane? The Dove sent me."
McClane blinked.
"…Thanks. But trust me—you don't want to stand next to me right now."
Uncle Bill cut in anxiously,
"Forget protecting him—just take that sign off!"
"I can't," McClane said flatly. "I just need to walk around a bit."
Keung added calmly,
"The Dove said to follow your lead."
Uncle Bill could only sigh.
What kind of mess was this?
McClane kept walking.
Keung followed.
"What's your name?"
"Call me Keung."
"You sure the Dove sent you?"
Keung smiled faintly.
"With me here, they won't hurt you."
McClane was stunned.
Low-key confidence like that?
This guy was definitely not normal.
Soon enough—
They were surrounded.
Twenty… maybe thirty Italians closed in.
Some already had knives out.
McClane's face turned pale.
A red-haired man stepped forward.
"You lost, buddy?" he sneered. "This is Little Italy. You know who you're insulting?"
"Take that sign off. Kneel. Apologize."
"Or I'll carve you up."
McClane said nothing.
No point explaining.
That sign spoke louder than words.
Keung stepped forward.
"Let's talk this out. He was forced—this isn't personal."
"Who the hell are you?"
The knife swung toward him—
—and vanished.
Now it was in Keung's hand.
"Talk properly. Don't use knives."
"Fuck that!"
The redhead charged.
So did everyone else.
McClane braced for impact.
Instead—
He witnessed something insane.
Keung dropped into stance and moved like a storm.
Punches.
Kicks.
Shoulder slams.
Locks.
Palm strikes.
Claw grabs.
Bodies dropped one after another.
One guy got grabbed by the jacket and spun in circles like he was dancing—
Only to eat a fist straight to the nose.
Blood everywhere.
Seconds later—
More than a dozen men were down.
The rest backed off like they'd seen a ghost.
McClane's jaw dropped.
"Holy—this is insane!"
He tried mimicking the moves.
"What was that?! That move was badass!"
Keung smiled modestly.
"Ever heard about martial arts?."
McClane gave a thumbs-up.
"Respect."
Right then, Jimmy arrived with Leon and quickly dispersed the remaining crowd.
He glanced at McClane's sign, completely speechless.
At least he wasn't Italian.
Small blessings.
"The Dove filled me in," Jimmy said. "Come with me—I'll help you finish the killer's task."
__________________________________________________________________________
[Ding! You instructed Keung and Jimmy to protect McClane, defuse the racial conflict, and maintain peace in Little Italy.]
[Gain Skill Points x5]
[Gain Skill Fragments x2]
__________________________________________________________________________
Not long after, Luca finally arrived.
Seeing that ridiculous sign—
His expression darkened instantly.
Those robbers were really asking for it.
"Mission done?" Luca asked coldly.
"What's next?"
McClane shook his head.
"No idea."
Just then, David arrived with backup.
"Everyone—back to the station."
Then he pointed at Keung.
"You too. The killer specifically asked for you."
Keung froze.
Luca's eyes narrowed.
…Interesting.
Picking McClane was one thing.
But dragging his guy into this?
Yeah.
These people were definitely tired of living.
==============================================================
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