A/N:- We did not meet the goal but here is the Chapter.
The two lead Cadillacs were launched skyward by the mines, flipping end over end like toys in a tornado before crashing back to earth in a mangled heap of twisted metal and shattered glass. The deafening explosion sent twin fireballs roaring into the night, illuminating the desolate highway in a hellish glow. The truck driver, caught off guard by the sudden carnage, slammed his foot on the brake, the screech of rubber on asphalt piercing the air. Thick white smoke poured from the massive tires as they locked up, carving deep, ugly skid marks into the road. The truck, a behemoth weighing tens of tons, groaned to a stop just shy of the wreckage, a hundred meters from the smoldering ruins of the escort cars.
Inside the cab, the two drivers exchanged a wide-eyed glance, their faces pale with shock. ’What the fuck just happened?’
A hundred meters away, Jason knelt behind a boulder, his automatic rifle steady in his hands. His eyes locked onto the truck’s windshield through the scope, and he squeezed off a burst of precise shots.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets punched through the glass, shattering it into a spiderweb of cracks. Both drivers jerked as rounds tore into their chests, blood spraying across the dashboard as they slumped over the wheel, gurgling in agony.
[Ding! Eliminated 2 gang members. Gained 200 villain points. Current progress: 1115/6000]
The rear two Cadillacs screeched to a halt, their doors flying open as ten armed gangbangers spilled out, clutching rifles and scrambling for cover behind the vehicles. They crouched low, scanning the pitch-black horizon for their attacker, but the night was a void, swallowing everything beyond the glow of their headlights. They were blind, but Jason wasn’t. The Cadillacs’ LED beams lit up the scene like a stage, giving him a clear view of every move they made.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
His rifle barked again, and three gangbangers dropped, their bodies twitching as blood pooled beneath them. The others froze, panic creeping into their eyes.
"Where the fuck is he?!" One screamed, voice cracking. "Find him and waste his ass!"
The muzzle flash from Jason’s shots gave away his position, and the remaining seven gunmen lost it, spraying bullets into the darkness like a pack of rabid dogs. Hundreds of rounds chewed up the dirt, but not a single scream answered their fire. Jason had already moved, slipping through the shadows like a ghost, his combat training making him a predator in the night. Their barrage was nothing but noise, a desperate tantrum against an invisible enemy.
When their magazines ran dry and they fumbled to reload, Jason struck again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Four more went down, bullets ripping through flesh and bone, their bodies crumpling into the dirt.
The survivors were unraveling. They couldn’t see him, couldn’t hit him, but he was picking them off like fish in a barrel. Fear took hold, raw and primal. One gangbanger snapped. "He’s a fucking demon! I’m done!" He threw his rifle down and bolted for the nearest Cadillac, his boots pounding the pavement in blind panic.
Jason paused, eyebrow raised. ’The hell’s this idiot doing?’ He leveled his rifle, aimed at the driver’s seat, and fired.
Bang!
The bullet punched through the windshield, exploding the man’s head in a spray of blood and brain matter that painted the car’s interior red.
The last two gangbangers were trembling, legs like jelly. They couldn’t fight him, couldn’t outrun him. They locked eyes, a silent agreement passing between them—’we’re fucked, but we’re not going down like cowards.’ One nodded fiercely, gripping his rifle to provide cover fire, while the other made a break for the second Cadillac, crawling and stumbling in desperation.
But their plan fell apart in an instant. The cover-fire guy sprayed bullets wildly, screaming, "Let’s kill this bastard!" The runner, meanwhile, was halfway to the car, muttering, "Fuck this, I’m out!" They froze, realizing they’d misread each other’s intent. ’You said we’d fight, you prick!’ ’You said we’d run, you dumbass!’
In that split-second of confusion, Jason seized his chance. He snapped his rifle up and dropped the guy in the open, a clean shot through the chest sending him sprawling. The runner, realizing he was alone, sprinted harder, his breath ragged with terror. Jason aimed for his head but hesitated. ’A live one might spill something useful about Fisk’s operation.’ He lowered his aim and fired at the man’s leg.
Bang!
The bullet shattered his shinbone, and the guy screamed, momentum carrying him forward. His face smashed into the car door with a sickening crunch, his neck snapping like a twig.
Jason blinked, stunned. ’Well, shit.’
[Ding! Eliminated 10 gang members. Gained 1000 villain points. Current progress: 2115/6000]
Rifle still raised, Jason vaulted the guardrail and approached the truck cautiously, eyes scanning for any hidden threats. The cab was a slaughterhouse, blood dripping from the shattered windshield. No way this rig was drivable now—any passing motorist would see the carnage and call 911 in a heartbeat. His plan was simple: crack the container, grab the high-value goods, load them into the Ford, and torch the rest. Fisk would get nothing but ashes.
He slapped a C4 charge onto the container’s lock, set the timer, and sprinted to a safe distance, plugging his ears.
BOOM!
The blast shook the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. As it cleared, Jason stepped forward, the truck’s headlights revealing a gaping hole in the container. Inside, stacks of cardboard boxes were packed tight, promising a fortune.
"Hell yeah, jackpot!" Jason muttered, rubbing his hands together. Whatever Fisk was moving had to be top-tier—drugs, weapons, maybe even cash. A quick sale to his contact, Old Morgan, and he’d have enough to max out [Firearms Mastery] to level 7.
He climbed into the container, tearing open a box with a grin. Then his face fell. Six jugs of cooking oil stared back at him—not the black gold of crude oil, but fucking vegetable oil, the kind you’d use to fry chicken. "No fucking way," He growled, ripping open another box. Ten bottles of fresh milk. His stomach sank as he tore into a third—boxes of eggs, pristine and unbroken.
"No... this can’t be right..." His voice trembled as he smashed box after box, desperation mounting. Bread, vegetables, turkey meat—fucking groceries. He stood frozen, surrounded by a supermarket’s worth of goods, his mind reeling. ’What the actual fuck?’
Had Fisk, the ruthless kingpin, gone soft like some comic book hero, trading drugs for goddamn deli meats? Not a chance. The more likely answer hit him like a punch to the gut: Stanfield’s informant fucked up. Either the guy was incompetent, feeding them bad intel, or he’d flipped, setting them up with a decoy shipment to waste their time.
Jason slumped onto a box, his head spinning. Fisk was no amateur. This whole operation screamed Thirty-Six Strategies—specifically, "repair the highway to cross in secret." The loud announcement of a shipment, the detailed route, the light escort of only twenty-two men—it was all too convenient. Fisk, with his brute strength and cunning sharper than any Ivy League scholar, had played them. Jason remembered visiting Fisk’s penthouse once, seeing him thumb through a Chinese copy of The Art of War, smirking like he’d already won every battle. This was a feint, a distraction. The real shipment—loaded with billions in drugs—was probably halfway to Baltimore on another route.
’Son of a bitch.’ Jason shook his head, bitter laughter escaping his lips. Tonight was a bust.
His phone buzzed, Franklin’s voice frantic on the other end. "Boss, we’ve got company! Another car’s coming!"
"What kind?" Jason snapped, already reaching for his rifle.
"Cadillac, same as the others!"
"Fuck!" Jason’s blood ran cold. ’A trap within a trap.’ He leaped off the truck, ready to bolt. "How many?"
"Just one!"
Jason’s hand froze on the car door. ’One?’ He almost laughed. ’Are these idiots playing the hero one at a time?’
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