Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Jason slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol, his fingers steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Gripping the weapon with both hands, he moved with predatory caution, circling around to the front of the building, his senses razor-sharp, ready for any threat that might emerge from the shadows.

He didn’t recognize the man with the single-strap backpack slung over one shoulder, but the other figure… that face was unmistakable.

“Wouldn’t the entire New York underworld love to see this?” Jason sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “The mighty boss of the Russian mafia, reduced to this pathetic state.”

Vladimir, battered and bloodied, struggled to raise his head. His eyes burned with a crimson fury, his face twisted in a manic snarl. “Jason! You devil! I’ll be waiting for you in hell—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Before Vladimir could finish his pathetic rant, Jason’s bullets tore through the skulls of both men, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a spray of blood and bone. Brains splattered across the pavement, the crimson pooling beneath their lifeless forms.

Villains always die from talking too much—a lesson Jason had etched into his very soul. He never wasted words when action was required. Ruthless efficiency defined him, and he struck with cold, unrelenting precision.

[Ding! Eliminated 1 mafia member. Gained 100 Villain Points. Current Progress: 815/4000]

[Ding! Eliminated Vladimir (Key Story Character). Gained 500 Villain Points. Current Progress: 1315/4000]

[Ding! Mission [Strike First] Completed. Reward: 500 Villain Points. Current Progress: 1815/4000]

Jason crouched down and unzipped the backpack. Inside was a fortune in crisp, green U.S. dollars, stacked neatly in bundles. A quick glance told him there was roughly four or five hundred thousand—more than enough to cover Morgan’s payment for the deal they’d struck.

With methodical precision, Jason hauled the three corpses back into the raging inferno that consumed the warehouse. The flames roared, licking at the night sky, devouring flesh and bone as he tossed the bodies into the blaze. The acrid stench of burning meat filled the air, but Jason didn’t flinch. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and returned to the sleek black Mercedes waiting nearby.

From the cash, he counted out $300,000 and handed it to Morgan, the bills crisp and heavy in his hands. The remaining $170,000 he set aside for Paul’s widow and daughter. Jason was a villain, no doubt, but he was a man of his word. Even though Paul was now nothing more than a pile of minced flesh, utterly useless to him, Jason had no intention of reneging on his promise. Honor among thieves wasn’t his style, but keeping his word was.

“Where to now? Need a ride?” Morgan asked, his fingers greedily flipping through the stack of bills, a wide grin spreading across his face. The night had turned out better than he’d expected—not only had he closed a lucrative deal, but he’d also gotten a front-row seat to a fiery spectacle and some juicy intel to boot. Morgan was practically giddy with satisfaction.

“Southside,” Jason replied curtly, his tone leaving no room for further questions.

Morgan chuckled, a sly glint in his eye. “Oh, so your safehouse is in Southside, huh?”

Jason shot him a look that could freeze blood. “Don’t be an idiot. You think I’d tell you where my safehouse is? You’d probably sell me out to Kingpin the second I turn my back.”

Morgan laughed, unfazed. “Fair point. You’re one cautious bastard, but in this game, that’s what keeps you alive.”

The Mercedes roared to life, speeding toward Southside. As they drove, Jason spotted dozens of police cars and fire trucks screaming past, their sirens piercing the night. The scale of the response was massive—half of Manhattan’s precincts must have been mobilized. The apartment explosion and mall shooting from the previous day had already rocked the city, and now the warehouse blast in Hell’s Kitchen, which had engulfed several city blocks, ensured the NYPD would be working overtime. The news media, always hungry for chaos, would have a field day with this. They’d never run out of material now.

Jason stepped out of the car in a dimly lit Southside alley, the Mercedes’ taillights fading into the distance as Morgan drove off. Shouldering the backpack, he made his way toward Paul’s apartment, his boots echoing softly on the cracked pavement.

He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and rapped on the door of Paul’s home.

Since Paul’s departure, Lisa had been a nervous wreck, her gut screaming that her husband was hiding something. The unease gnawed at her, keeping her awake through the long, lonely nights. She lay sprawled on the couch, her mind racing, waiting for Paul to walk through the door.

Knock, knock, knock!

The sound jolted her upright, her heart leaping with hope. “Paul?” She called out, her voice trembling with anticipation.

No answer.

She crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was pitch black, empty. Her pulse quickened. Moving swiftly, she slipped into Paul’s room and pulled a Remington M870 shotgun from the cabinet. With a satisfying click-clack, she chambered a round of buckshot, the cold steel in her hands steadying her nerves.

Gripping the shotgun tightly, Lisa cautiously opened the door. The hallway was deserted, but on the floor sat a black backpack, its presence ominous in the silence.

—

After leaving Paul’s apartment, Jason trudged back to his Southside safehouse. The night’s work had drained him, and he collapsed onto the couch, falling into a deep sleep that lasted until noon the next day.

When he woke, he washed up, the cool water refreshing his senses. Settling onto the couch with a simple breakfast of toast and coffee, he activated the system interface, its holographic display flickering to life.

He’d reached Level 4, earning 10 attribute points. Jason allocated them strategically: boosting Agility and Intelligence to 40 each, then dumping the rest into Strength.

[Host: Jason Walter]

[Level: 4 (1815/4000)]

[Strength: 35 → 38]

[Agility: 38 → 40]

[Endurance: 35 → 35]

[Intelligence: 35 → 40]

[Remaining Attribute Points: 0]

[Reputation: 37 → 95]

[Allies: None (Next Recruitment Requires Reputation: 100)]

[Credits: 3]

[Abilities: Combat Mastery (Level 4), Driving Mastery (Level 3), Firearms Mastery (Level 5), Melee Weapons Mastery (Level 2)]

[Market: Click Here]

—

The requirements for upgrading Firearms Mastery to Level 6 were met, but he still needed 100 credits—equivalent to a million dollars. As he chewed on his toast, Jason’s mind churned, plotting which bank to hit next to fund his ambitions.

His reputation had soared to 95, tantalizingly close to the 100 needed to recruit a villainous ally. With the media frenzy over his latest exploits, it wouldn’t be long before he crossed that threshold.

Speaking of the media, Jason pulled out his phone and navigated to CNN’s website. As expected, he dominated the front page. The headline featured a stunning aerial shot from a helicopter: a sea of flames at the center of the image, surrounded by the dark, squat buildings of Hell’s Kitchen. The stark contrast was visually striking, designed to hook readers.

He tapped the article.

“Last night, a catastrophic explosion rocked a known criminal hideout in Manhattan’s Clinton district.”

“The blast claimed the lives of 25 gang members, injured dozens of residents, and reduced multiple buildings to smoldering ruins.”

“NYPD investigations confirmed the deceased were members of the Russian mafia, including their notorious leader, Vladimir, a wanted fugitive.”

“Vladimir, the mastermind behind the recent apartment explosion and mall shooting, was found to have been shot dead, adding a layer of mystery to an already complex case.”

“The FBI’s New York field office has joined forces with the NYPD to form a joint task force, determined to uncover the truth behind this violent spectacle.”

—

Jason scrolled through other news sites, each one regurgitating similar details but with their own spin. He relished every word, savoring the chaos he’d unleashed. Now he understood why criminals returned to the scene of their crimes—the thrill of admiring one’s handiwork was intoxicating.

But his satisfaction was short-lived. A breaking news alert, posted just three minutes ago, shattered his smug grin.

“Breaking News: The joint NYPD-FBI task force has pieced together the events of last night’s explosion.”

“The incident has been classified as a premeditated suicide-style attack, orchestrated by a single individual: Jason Walter, a missing person linked to prior cases.”

A photo of Jason’s face stared back at him from the screen.

“What the hell?!” He growled, his heart pounding as he scrolled further.

The task force had used cutting-edge forensic tech to analyze the crime scene, reconstructing the night’s events with chilling accuracy. Every trace, every bullet casing, every scorched fragment had pointed to him. The NYPD and FBI had submitted their findings to the Department of Justice, which had just issued a global warrant for his arrest.

Bounty: $10 million.

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