Chapter 23: Chapter 23

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Jason hesitated, his jaw tight, before countering, “$1.5 million. That’s my floor.”

“Too steep,” Morgan shot back. “$1.1 million. I’ve got a family, man. If the Speed Freaks trace this back to me, I’m done for—they’ll wipe us out.”

“$1.4 million,” Jason growled. “My absolute lowest.”

“$1.2 million,” Morgan pleaded, his voice tinged with mock desperation. “C’mon, you’re putting me up against every gang in New York. I’d need ten lives to survive their wrath.”

“Fuck you!” Jason snapped. “$1.3 million, final offer. One more haggle, and I’m done.”

“Deal! $1.3 million,” Morgan said quickly. “Where’s the drop?”

Jason exhaled, frustration simmering. He’d been shaved down $700,000, but $1.3 million was still a solid haul. “North Bronx docks.”

“Got it. My guys will be there in an hour.”

“Non-sequential cash only,” Jason reminded him.

“That’s the rule. I know the drill,” Morgan replied before the line went dead.

Jason immediately dialed Franklin. “Take a right at the next intersection. Head for the docks.”

“On it, boss,” Franklin replied, yanking the truck’s wheel. The heavy vehicle rumbled onto a side road, its engine groaning as it headed toward the waterfront.

Fifteen minutes later, Jason glanced in the S2000’s rearview mirror. A cluster of bright lights flickered in the distance, growing larger. The faint roar of motorcycle engines cut through the night.

Shit. The Speed Freaks had caught up.

A cold realization hit him—he’d screwed up. “Franklin,” He barked into the phone. “There’s gotta be a GPS tracker on that truck. Find it and ditch it, now.”

“What’s wrong, boss?”

“They’re on our tail.”

“What do we do? This truck can’t outrun bikes!”

“Don’t panic. I’ll hold them off. You floor it to the docks. I’ll catch up after I deal with them.”

“Got it!” Franklin slammed the gas, the truck’s engine roaring as it surged forward. His Driving Mastery (Level 6) kicked into overdrive, balancing breakneck speed with the need to keep the cargo secure.

Jason eased off the accelerator, slowing the S2000 to 60 km/h. Soon, a dozen Harley-Davidson motorcycles roared into view, their chrome gleaming under the moonlight. Playing the part of a clueless civilian, Jason veered right, giving them a clear path.

The Speed Freaks barely spared him a glance, their focus on the truck ahead. They gunned their engines and sped past. Jason kept his distance, trailing them discreetly—until the moment was right.

He slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The S2000’s engine screamed, the tachometer needle spiking as the car shot forward like a bullet. Before the bikers could react, Jason plowed through their formation, the convertible’s nose smashing into their ranks.

BAM!

Three motorcycles careened into the guardrails at 140 km/h, metal crumpling and bodies pulverized into mangled heaps of flesh and bone. The impact was catastrophic, blood and debris scattering across the asphalt.

[Ding! Eliminated 5 Speed Freaks. Gained 500 Villain Points. Current Progress: 2515/4000]

“Shit!” The remaining bikers swerved, panic setting in as they realized the S2000 was no innocent bystander. But Jason was already gone, the Honda’s taillights a distant blur.

“Chase him! Get the bikes back!” One roared.

Jason pulled ahead, then slammed on the brakes, yanking the wheel hard left. The S2000 skidded, drifting sideways until it blocked the road. He leapt out, M4A1 in hand, and braced the rifle against the car door.

The Harleys’ headlights were blinding, a signature feature that made them a biker’s dream—and now, Jason’s perfect target. Aligning his sight with the glowing beams, he adjusted the barrel slightly upward.

Bang! Bang!

Two shots, and a biker’s head exploded, his bike crashing in a shower of sparks.

[Ding! Eliminated 1 Speed Freak. Gained 100 Villain Points. Current Progress: 2615/4000]

Jason grinned, his aim locked on the next set of headlights. The Speed Freaks tried to return fire, but their shotguns were useless beyond 100 meters, while the M4A1’s range stretched to 400. That 300-meter gap was Jason’s killing zone.

[Ding! Eliminated 2 Speed Freaks. Gained 200 Villain Points. Current Progress: 2815/4000]

After three of their own went down, one biker shouted, “He’s using the headlights to aim! Kill the lights!”

The beams vanished, plunging the road into darkness. Jason didn’t flinch. Switching to full-auto, he sprayed bullets down the straight highway. With no curves to hide behind, the bikers were sitting ducks.

Rat-tat-tat!

The M4A1’s muzzle flashed, spitting fire. Screams and crashes followed as bikes toppled, riders torn apart by lead.

Three magazines later, five more Speed Freaks lay dead, their bodies strewn across the road. The efficiency was almost pitiful.

[Ding! Eliminated 5 Speed Freaks. Gained 500 Villain Points. Current Progress: 3315/4000]

Jason ditched the empty M4A1 and grabbed his Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun. Click-clack. A round chambered.

The remaining bikers closed in, now within 100 meters. Their shotguns roared, pelleting the S2000. Tires burst, the windshield shattered, and the car door turned into a sieve. Sparks flew as pellets ricocheted off the asphalt.

The Speed Freaks’ Remington M870s fired devastating spreads, pinning Jason down. But their old-school shotguns required manual reloading—a fatal flaw on speeding bikes. Jason’s Benelli, a semi-automatic beast, needed only one chambered round to unleash hell.

When the enemy fire paused, Jason popped up, the Benelli steady in his hands. At 50 meters, aiming was barely necessary.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Seven shots, each loaded with 12-gauge Sabot slugs, punched fist-sized holes through the remaining six bikers. They dropped like flies, blood pooling beneath them.

[Ding! Eliminated 6 Speed Freaks. Gained 600 Villain Points. Current Progress: 3915/4000]

Silence fell, the air thick with gunpowder and death. Jason stood, exhaling slowly, his body thrumming with adrenaline.

The S2000 was toast—tires blown, engine smoking, windshield gone. Luckily, a few Harleys were still intact. Jason packed his gear into a backpack, mounted a bike, and roared toward the docks.

After a hundred meters, he stopped, a thought nagging at him. He opened the system interface.

[Reputation: 181↑]

The slow trickle of Reputation points gnawed at him. Was he being too subtle? If his rampage through New York’s underworld counted as low-key, what the hell were Kingpin and the other bosses? Ghosts?

Then it hit him. He’d been hiding his identity, a reflex born from years in the shadows. Even Kingpin’s real name was a mystery to most gangs. It kept you safe, but it starved your infamy.

Jason made a choice. Good deeds could be anonymous. Evil ones demanded a signature.

He grabbed a severed arm from one of the Speed Freaks, its blood still warm. Kneeling, he scrawled a message on the asphalt in crimson: ’The Killers is JW!’

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