A Kryptonian in the Marvel Universe

"I'll give you $8 million, even if you want skull gold coins, it's fine. Just let me go this once," Lawrence pleaded with Zod, desperation laced in his voice.

Zod looked at the thick metal door separating them, wondering how terrified someone must be to install such a heavily fortified alloy barrier. The walls were reinforced concrete, and his X-ray vision confirmed steel bars embedded within. It must've cost a fortune to build this basement bunker.

"It's pointless," Lawrence continued. "Even a bomb wouldn't break it."

The fear in his voice was palpable. He'd seen Zod slaughter over 350 men with a precision that even Bullseye couldn't match. Lawrence had planned for assassins, but this one was something else.

Zod silently placed his hand on the metal door's handle.

Crack!

Lawrence heard a noise from the door, his eyes wide with disbelief as dust shook from the frame. He convinced himself it was a trick of the mind, but then Zod placed his other hand on the door.

The door shuddered violently, more dust falling as it strained under the pressure.

Zod applied more force, causing the door to emit a loud, grating sound as it bent slightly, struggling against the pressure. Still, it wasn't enough—Zod's strength hadn't reached the level required to break it.

Lawrence stared in horror, his mouth agape.

Zod sighed in frustration, deciding not to waste more time. Instead, he activated his armor. As the sleek, metallic suit covered his body, he gripped the alloy door with one hand and ripped it off its hinges effortlessly, tossing it aside.

Lawrence was frozen in shock. Zod deactivated the armor, aimed his pistol at Lawrence, and pulled the trigger.

"No—!"

Bang!

With the job done, Zod ransacked the basement, finding over $2 million in cash. He couldn't fathom why Lawrence kept so much money at home, but it didn't matter—it was his now. He set fire to the villa, stacking grenades and other explosives in the basement as he left.

The explosion roared behind him, flames lighting up the night as Zod casually walked away from the villa complex.

The Midnight Hotel's intelligence network was swift. As soon as Zod stepped outside the burning villa, they knew what had happened. Once the fire was extinguished, local representatives gathered evidence, confirming what they'd feared.

"Three hundred and fifty-three dead," one Midnight Hotel executive reported. "Fifteen of them were wearing bulletproof helmets, but the rest had their heads blown off. The ones with helmets had their necks snapped."

Another executive, a middle-aged man with a thick beard, raised his eyebrows. "Bullseye took out a team of Seals once, right? How many was it?"

"Seventeen," another corrected, his forehead prominent and cheekbones narrow. "This guy's marksmanship is incredible. He only fired 338 rounds—no extra casings were found. And the bullets he carried initially match the number. Everything else came from the enemy's weapons. Do you know what that means?"

"It means he's confident, and his skill with firearms is beyond anything we've seen. We might have a new star at the Midnight Hotel."

Zod didn't return to the Midnight Hotel in Washington. Instead, he checked in at their California branch. The man in charge of reception, a tall black man, greeted him warmly.

"Welcome, Mr. Heath," he said.

Zod nodded. "How do I collect my bounty?"

"You have several options," the receptionist explained. "You can opt for cash in various currencies, including US dollars, euros, British pounds, or Chinese yuan, all guaranteed to be clean and legal, though we take a 20% cut. Alternatively, we can set you up with an anonymous account, or you can receive your reward in skull gold coins, which can be exchanged for money or used for our services."

"I'll take half in cash, the other half in gold coins."

"As you wish, sir."

Zod received the skull gold coins, each about the size of a bottle cap but much thicker. Both sides were engraved with skull designs, and intricate patterns became visible in certain reflections. Despite being mass-produced, the craftsmanship was impressive.

He pocketed two hundred gold coins, which had a high gold content, nearly 100%. The Midnight Hotel spared no expense to make these coins feel precious.

Zod then used two gold coins to book a private jet back to Texas through the Midnight Hotel's invisible channels.

"I didn't expect them to have private jet services with untraceable routes," Zod mused. It was becoming clearer to him who was behind the Midnight Hotel.

Invisible routes required meticulous calculation of surveillance blind spots and time gaps to ensure discretion. Either someone had done the legwork to find these loopholes, or they had high-level connections capable of making the entire journey undetectable. Zod was fairly certain now—the Midnight Hotel was either tied to a massive entity like the CIA or, more likely, Hydra.

Back at his ranch in Texas, Zod was greeted by Judley, who immediately noticed a change in his demeanor.

"BOSS," Judley said, his eyes widening as he saw the briefcase full of cash. "Where did you get all this money?"

"Don't worry, it's clean and legal," Zod assured him, stashing the $1 million he'd brought back. Although the Midnight Hotel took a 20% cut, it was still a fair deal, considering most money-laundering operations took as much as 40%.

Zod wasn't interested in putting his money in banks, preferring to keep it in cash, tucked away in the ranch.

With his new legal identity and reputation solidified, Zod decided not to return to New York or any major city just yet. The ranch was perfect for laying low and growing stronger.

The Midnight Hotel officially removed Zod's bounty, and word of his exploits spread quickly. His ruthless efficiency earned him the nickname "The Devil," and due to his pale skin and fearsome reputation, it wasn't long before people started calling him "The White Devil."

Though there was no Midnight Hotel branch in Texas, Zod knew he'd need to head to bigger cities like Washington soon enough.