Chapter 189: Chapter 189 Ugly

Three months flew by. It was finally time for Christine and Harley to give birth.

Back at the Joker safe house, Jason had one of the rooms converted into a full-blown delivery ward. He’d brought in the best goddamn doctors and equipment on the planet. No chances taken.

The two women were inside, and Jason was pacing outside the door like a caged animal, along with the rest of the crew.

“Boss, relax,” John said, trying to calm him. “Chloe’s in there. Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”

Jason gave a stiff nod. He trusted Chloe’s tech, sure, but his heart was still trying to pound its way out of his chest.

Not even fifteen minutes later, the door opened. Chloe stepped out, smiling. “Sir. Harley’s done. It’s a boy. Mother and son are both fine.”

The weight on Jason’s chest vanished, and his fists unclenched. That little bastard. I wasn’t even done being nervous, and he’s already here.

“Congrats, Boss!” The whole crew was cheering, slapping him on the back.

The Joker Organization was basically a feudal kingdom, and Jason was the king. And in any kingdom, an heir is a big deal. It meant stability, a future. It meant the whole goddamn thing wouldn’t just collapse if Jason took a stray bullet. So yeah, this kid was important to all of them.

Jason was grinning like an idiot, a wave of… happiness… washing over him. After a second, he asked, “And Christine?”

“She’s still working on it,” Chloe said, and went back inside.

Harley’s kid was in a hurry, couldn’t wait to get the fuck out. Christine’s, apparently, wanted to stay put.

Two goddamn agonizing hours later, the good news finally came. Christine had a girl. Mother and daughter were both fine.

The two of them, exhausted but okay, were wheeled into their bedrooms, each holding a tiny bundle.

Jason eagerly leaned in for a look… and his smile froze.

They were… fucking ugly. Wrinkled, red, squashed-up faces. They looked like tiny, pissed-off old men.

Jason was staggered. These… these are mine?

Chloe stepped in. “Sir, all newborns look like that. They’ll… get better… in a few months.”

Jason just stared at her, his face screaming, Don’t bullshit me, I’m not that stupid.

In their rooms, Harley and Christine were just as baffled. They were wondering if the hospital had swapped the babies, or if something had gone wrong.

Chloe and Jason went in and gave them the science rundown. After her explanation, everyone finally calmed the fuck down and started talking names.

Harley’s kid was easy. They were sticking with Blair Walter.

Christine’s was a girl. Jason and Harley threw out a few names, but Christine just smiled and shook her head. She already knew.

“Angelina,” Christine said, stroking the baby’s head. “Angel. Do you like it?”

Jason nodded. “It’s… nice.”

He said that, but his brain immediately started playing some annoying-as-fuck, catchy BGM.

*

Having kids completely fucked up Jason’s schedule. He cut way back on missions, fobbing off the unimportant shit to his crew, and actually played house, spending all his time with the women and kids.

This went on for almost four months. And in that time, the Joker Organization transformed.

First, the sheer size. Thanks to the Joker Community, the “faith” was spreading like a plague. Now, every major US city has a Joker cell, ranging from a few hundred to a few thousand members. HQ sent out pros to manage and train them, turning these random psychos into a disciplined army, ready for real, high-stakes missions.

Second, the crew. Before, everyone was piled up in New York. It made HQ safe as hell, but it was inefficient. It was a bottleneck, wasting their talents and slowing down the points. So, Jason kicked everyone out (except Harley and Christine, obviously). He gave them each their own territory.

Stane held D.C.

A-Train took L.A.

Chloe moved to San Francisco.

John set up in Houston.

Franklin got Detroit.

David claimed Atlanta.

The results were explosive. With a supe running the show, each city became a high-growth sector. The community was on fire, with people clawing to get in. And the Villain Points… they just kept rolling in, more and more every month.

Third, Jason himself. In those seven months, he hadn’t just been changing diapers. He’d mastered his Level 2 ’Energy Absorption.’ His combat power was on a whole different level than when he first got the upgrade.

The system had a change, too. It stopped pulling its weird shit. All new recruitment was now mission-based. No more memory-wipe-and-implant bullshit.

Jason’s income was also insane. The New York black market op had expanded, swallowing the underworld of three whole states. He’d run every other old-school gang out of business, forcing them to go straight.

And the ’Joker Suit’ business was booming. After the first batch went out, every client put them to the test. Chloe’s tuned-up versions got rave reviews. Of course, a few countries tried to knock them off. They gave up on that impossible fantasy pretty quick.

How hard is it to copy a suit? Fucking impossible. Assuming you even had the blueprints… first, you need the titanium alloy. Harder to make than aerospace-grade shit. Only a dozen countries can even do it. Second, you need precision machining to put it together. Only the real

industrial giants—US, Germany, Japan—can hit those tolerances. Third, you need the guts: microprocessors, sensors, HUDs, flight stabilizers… only the US makes all that shit in-house. And finally… the reactor. The heart. That’s Stark’s private-label-magic. He’s not selling it. Not to anyone. Not even the US government. Stark Industries is gonna milk that cash cow ’til it’s dust.

Copying was a dead end. Stark wasn’t selling. That left one option: buy from Jason.

The suits were flying off the shelves. Jason wasn’t about to let that cash stream dry up, so he doubled production. He even started a “Buy 10, Get 1 Free” sales gimmick. And for the broke-ass, third-world shitholes? He made a “budget model.” Slower, weaker, but only one-third the price. For a country in the middle of a civil war, that price was beautiful.

In seven months, Jason’s net profit from suits alone was 50 billion dollars. His other black market rackets added another 10 billion. And the best part? Every single cent went straight into his pocket. Tax-fucking-free.

As for the “all-powerful” IRS? Jason could have published his address and a bank statement. They wouldn’t have dared send an agent.

60 billion dollars, personal. Jason was now, officially, the richest motherfucker on the planet. After twenty-plus years of being broke, that felt good. The only thing that pissed him off was that Forbes wouldn’t put his face on their cover.

60 billion is a ton of money, but it didn’t even stay warm in his account. His expenses were insane. He had an army of killers… they had to get paid. These guys were putting their lives on the line 24/7. A hundred grand a month? That wasn’t just fair; it was a goddamn bargain.

He had over 10,000 full members. That was a billion dollars a month in payroll alone, not even counting the part-timers.

And then there was the real money-sink: the goddamn System. Last month, Jason had maxed out the superpowers for his entire core crew. Total cost: 42.5 billion dollars.

Now, he was basically broke again. He had nothing left but pocket change. Paycheck-to-paycheck, just like in his old life.

It hurt like a motherfucker, but it was worth every damn cent. The return on investment was massive. In just seven months, his System Level had jumped 18 levels. He was just one step away from hitting the 150-point stats he needed for his next big power-up.

And the best part? He’d only actually worked for the first three months. For the last four, he’d just been sitting on his ass at home.

Ten years ago, he was a street-rat mugger, a true prole. When he joined the gangs, he was working class. As Kingpin’s top bastard, he was middle-management. After he fucked over Fisk, he was an entrepreneur. But now? Now, Jason had finally broken out of the cocoon. He was a true capitalist.

He could lie in bed, do nothing, and his assets would just multiply like bacteria. That… that was goddamn capitalism!

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