Jason leaped off the container, swapping out his spent magazine for a fresh one with a satisfying click. He stood brazenly in the middle of the highway, the glow of the burning wreckage casting jagged shadows around him. A single Cadillac? Five guys at most. With his sharpshooting skills, he could drop them all before they even drew their weapons. His blood was up, frustration from the botched heist fueling his need to spill more blood. ’Fuck it, I’m not leaving empty-handed.’
The Cadillac barreled down the road, its headlights cutting through the night. When the driver spotted the flaming wreckage and the littered corpses, he slammed on the brakes, tires squealing as the car skidded to a stop. Jason raised his rifle, a cold smirk on his lips. ’Time to make someone pay.’
But the scene he expected—four or five goons piling out, guns blazing—never came. The rear door opened slowly, and a single figure stepped out. Dressed in a tailored suit, the man was a mountain of muscle, his bald head gleaming under the moonlight. As he drew closer, Jason’s heart skipped a beat.
"Fisk!" He hissed, his grip tightening on the rifle.
’What the fuck was Kingpin doing here? This truck was supposed to be a decoy, a distraction. Why would Fisk himself show up for a fake shipment? Unless... this trap was meant for me.’
"Jason!" Fisk’s deep voice rumbled, his eyes widening with genuine surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Jason to be the one standing in the middle of this blood-soaked highway.
The two men faced off, ten meters apart, staring each other down like predators circling prey. The air crackled with tension, the distant crackle of flames and the stench of burning rubber filling the silence.
Finally, Jason broke the standoff, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nice play, Fisk. ’Repair the highway to cross in secret’—straight out of ’The Thirty-Six Strategies’. You didn’t read that book for nothing. But if you’re trying to trap me, you’re gonna need more than a single car and your fat ass."
Fisk’s shocked expression melted into a calm, predatory grin. "A trap for you?" He said, his voice low and menacing. "You’re not worth the effort, Jason. Not even close."
Jason’s brow furrowed, his mind racing. "If not me, then what’s with the fucking groceries? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, trading dope for goddamn turkey and eggs."
Fisk chuckled, a deep, guttural sound that sent a chill down Jason’s spine. "Let me enlighten you," He said, his tone almost casual as he laid out his plan.
The decoy wasn’t for Jason—it was for the DEA. Every gang in New York knew Madame Gao was the sole pipeline for high-grade dope from Mexico’s top cartel. She was their exclusive agent in the state, and Fisk was her handpicked distributor, the linchpin of his empire’s dominance. Last night’s raid on Gao’s factory—her death, her crew wiped out, and over three tons of product seized—had cost Fisk dearly. Not only was his seventy-million-dollar deposit gone, but Gao’s death left a power vacuum. The Mexican cartel would need a new agent, and every two-bit gang in New York was already scrambling to Mexico, begging for the contract. If someone else secured it, Fisk’s iron grip on the city would crumble.
Furious, Fisk had sent Wesley to Mexico to secure the cartel’s trust while he crafted a revenge scheme to bury the DEA. He and Wesley had long known their transport boss, the bearded guy, was a DEA snitch. So they fed him fake intel: a massive shipment of drugs headed to Baltimore, complete with a detailed route. As expected, the snitch passed it to the DEA, who took the bait and set up surveillance around Fisk’s strongholds, ready to pounce.
Meanwhile, Fisk contacted Baltimore’s city government, offering a "charitable" donation of food and supplies to the city’s slums and orphanages. The mayor’s office, eager for good press, had already lined up media coverage for the delivery. The plan was diabolical: when the DEA ambushed the convoy, they’d find not drugs but groceries—milk, eggs, bread—meant for the poor. Fisk would swoop in with reporters, cameras rolling, capturing the DEA’s "brutal" attack on a charity shipment, complete with dead "volunteers." The headlines would be catastrophic: ’DEA Slaughters Innocents, Destroys Aid for Orphans.’ The agency would be crucified, its leaders fired or prosecuted, its reputation in tatters.
Jason’s blood ran cold as Fisk finished. ’This motherfucker’s evil as hell.’ If Stanfield hadn’t tipped him off, if Jason had passed the intel to the DEA and sat this one out, Fisk’s plan would’ve gone off without a hitch. The DEA would’ve stormed in, guns blazing, only to find themselves drowning in a PR nightmare. Stanfield would be out, and Jason would lose his only ally in the system.
But Jason’s thirst for revenge had fucked up Fisk’s scheme. By hitting the convoy himself, he’d turned Fisk’s trap into a pile of burning wreckage and bodies. ’Dumb luck or not, I screwed you over, you bastard.’
Jason tightened his grip on the rifle, sneering. "Well, shit, Fisk. Sorry for ruining your little game."
Fisk’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "No apologies needed. I hate your guts just as much as I hate the DEA. Catching you tonight makes this worth it."
Jason laughed, mockingly. "You? Alone? You really think you can take me?"
Fisk cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the quiet night. "All those years you sparred with me, did you ever last more than a minute?"
Back when Jason was Fisk’s top enforcer, he’d been the kingpin’s favorite sparring partner—the toughest, most resilient fighter in the crew. But even he couldn’t withstand Fisk’s relentless, bulldozer-like attacks for long. The man was a force of nature, his fists like sledgehammers. Back then, Jason had been outclassed.
But now? With attribute points dumped into strength and endurance, plus [Combat Mastery] leveled up to 6, Jason was a different beast. He locked eyes with Fisk, confidence surging. "Things have changed, big man. I’m not the same guy you used to mop the floor with."
Fisk smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Oh, I like that look in your eyes. Ready to get your ass kicked one last time?"
Jason’s gaze burned with defiance. "I’ve been waiting for this, Fisk. A chance to put you down."
Adrenaline surged as he opened the system interface, his fingers flying across the glowing panel. He dumped all 10 of his remaining attribute points into strength and endurance, feeling a rush of power flood his muscles. His body thrummed with energy, every nerve alight with the promise of violence. ’Let’s dance, you bastard.’
You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
200 Power Stones for 1 extra Chapter.
5 New reviews for 1 extra Chapter.