Chapter 51: Chapter 51

The prison was a fucking slaughterhouse, the air thick with gunpowder, blood, and screams. As guards dropped, inmates snatched their weapons, turning the tide from a one-sided massacre to a brutal stalemate, and now, a full-on rout. The guards, trained for control, not war, were no match for the inmates’ raw savagery. The scales had tipped, and victory was slipping into the prisoners’ blood-soaked hands.

Floors two through five were a lost cause, overrun by inmates who tore through the guards like wolves through sheep. Only the first floor held a pocket of resistance, a desperate stand by the last of the prison’s defenders. Outside, Franklin’s mercenaries, battered and bloodied, had paid a brutal price—half their force cut down—but they’d crushed most of the perimeter guards, herding the survivors into the prison’s main building. The final battle was converging on the first floor, a chaotic firefight that shook the walls.

Jason, Harleen, Wick, and Bill hit the second floor, weaving through the carnage. A hulking inmate, his arms sleeved in tattoos, spotted them and froze, his face twisting with rage. “Jason, you fucking animal!” He roared, charging like a bull, his eyes wild with hate. “You slept with my wife, you son of a bitch!”

Bang!

A single shot rang out, and the man’s throat exploded in a spray of blood. He clutched his neck, collapsing to his knees, gurgling as crimson gushed like a broken faucet.

[Ding! Accomplice ’Harleen Quinzel’ killed 1 inmate, earning 100 Villain Points. Current progress: 6040/7000]

Harleen blew on her pistol’s barrel, her grin radiant with newfound confidence. Her Level 5 Firearms Mastery had turned her into a fucking sharpshooter, and she was loving every second of it. “Not bad, huh?” She purred.

Wick nodded, his voice calm but approving. “Solid shot.”

Harleen’s eyes sparkled, her adrenaline pumping. “You’re the pro killer, right? How about a little contest? Who can rack up the most bodies?”

Jason spun around, his jaw dropping. ’Harleen, are you fucking insane?’ Challenging John Wick to a kill count contest was like challenging a shark to a swim-off. The man was a legend, the Baba Yaga, with Level 8 Firearms Mastery that could make gods bleed. “You’re out of your damn mind,” Jason muttered under his breath.

Wick, ever the gentleman, gave a faint smile. “Sure. I’m game.”

Jason groaned inwardly. ’He actually fucking agreed.’

“Fine, count me in. Three-way bet.” He glanced at Bill. “You joining?”

Bill waved his hands, backing off. “Hell no. I’m a chemist, not a gunman. I can’t hit shit past ten meters.”

Jason didn’t push, grabbing an automatic rifle from a dead guard’s hands, its grip slick with blood. Wick and Harleen armed up, and the three charged toward the first floor, diving into the fray like wolves into a slaughter pen.

The guards didn’t stand a chance. Against Jason’s Level 6 Firearms Mastery, Harleen’s Level 5, and Wick’s god-tier Level 8, they were cannon fodder. The trio moved like a death squad, cutting through the guards with surgical precision. Bullets flew, bodies dropped, and blood painted the walls. In fifteen minutes, the gunfire fell silent. All 700+ guards in Long Island Prison were dead.

But the victory came at a cost. Of the 400 mercenaries, only 200 survived. The 300 inmates were down to less than 100, their bodies strewn among the guards’. The prison was a graveyard, a testament to the price of freedom.

The kill count results were in, and no one was surprised. Wick dominated, his body count dwarfing Jason and Harleen’s combined.

[Ding! Accomplice ’John Wick’ killed 57 guards, earning 5700 Villain Points. Current progress: 11740/7000]

[Ding! Congratulations, Host has reached Level 8, earning 10 Attribute Points. Current progress: 4170/8000]

[Ding! Killed 29 guards, earning 2900 Villain Points. Current progress: 7070/8000]

[Ding! Accomplice ’Harleen Quinzel’ killed 13 guards, earning 1300 Villain Points. Current progress: 8370/8000]

[Ding! Congratulations, Host has reached Level 9, earning 10 Attribute Points. Current progress: 370/9000]

Jason stared at the system interface, his jaw slack. ’Holy fuck.’ Two levels in one go, just by riding Wick’s coattails? This was the kind of high he could get used to. The system was his ticket to power, and his crew—his tools—were the key to milking it. He opened the interface, allocating his 20 Attribute Points after a moment’s thought, pumping them into Strength and Agility to keep his edge.

[Level: 9 (370/9000)]

[Strength: 53 → 63]

[Agility: 40 → 50]

[Endurance: 50 → 50]

[Intelligence: 40 → 40]

[Remaining Attribute Points: 0]

[Reputation: 784 → 1158]

[Accomplices: Harleen Quinzel, John Wick, … (Next recruitment requires 3000 Reputation)]

[Points: 0]

[Abilities: Combat Mastery (Level 6), Driving Mastery (Level 3), Firearms Mastery (Level 6), Melee Weapons Mastery (Level 2)]

[Store: Click Here]

Harleen, still buzzing from the fight, gaped at Wick. “What the fuck kind of shooting was that? Gun-fu or some shit? You’re unreal.”

Wick shrugged, his humility infuriatingly genuine. “I use CAR—Center Axis Relock. It’s a stance that forms four stable triangles with your body, absorbs recoil better, keeps you steady and agile, and minimizes the chance of getting disarmed. My shooting’s based on the Mozambique Drill: two quick shots to stun at close range, then a precise follow-up. If you want, I can teach you. You’ve got room to grow.”

Harleen’s eyes lit up, soaking in his words like a sponge. She’d just gone toe-to-toe with a legend and was already itching to level up.

—

After weeks in a concrete cage, Jason stepped outside, breathing free air for the first time. The night was a fucking nightmare—black clouds choked the sky, wind howling like a banshee, lightning cracking in the distance. The prison grounds were a slaughterhouse: over a thousand corpses, guards and inmates alike, littered the earth. Severed limbs, blood-soaked concrete, the stench of death—it was enough to make a weaker man puke. ’Hell’s got nothing on this,’ Jason thought, unfazed.

“Boss!” Franklin’s voice cut through the chaos. He sprinted over, grinning like a kid, and pulled Jason into a bone-crushing hug. “We fucking did it!”

Jason clapped his back hard, gratitude in his eyes. “You pulled through, man.” He turned, gesturing to his crew. “Meet Harleen, Wick, and Bill.”

Franklin flashed a wide grin, striding up to shake hands. “Yo, what’s good?” The past few days had forged him into something new—braver, sharper, a far cry from the shaky car thief he’d been. He was a fucking soldier now.

The mercenary leader stood at a distance, waving Franklin over. “Job’s done. Time for me and my boys to split.”

Franklin frowned. “Hold up, come meet the boss. Get to know the guy who pulled this off.”

The leader glanced at Jason, his face heavy with grief, and shook his head. “Nah, I’m not in the mood.” He turned, rallying his surviving men—barely 200 of the original 400. The payout was massive, but losing half his crew weighed like a fucking anchor. Still, he didn’t blame Franklin or Jason. This was the mercenary life—death was just part of the deal.

As the mercenaries vanished into the night, Jason and his crew prepared to move out, their eyes set on the next target: Fisk’s empire at New York Harbor.

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