Chapter 98: Chapter 98

Harley, David, and Christine headed to the former Black Organization—now Joker Organization—base, where Christine’s crew was already assembled.

Jason, alone, climbed into Kevin’s beat-up old Ford and drove toward Stark Industries Group headquarters.

The HQ and the bank were both on the west side of L.A., a straight shot, barely five kilometers apart.

Kevin, a senior security officer at HQ, had bought a house nearby to make his commute less of a pain in the ass.

Fifteen minutes later, Jason pulled up to the underground parking garage entrance, rolled down the window, and stuck his face out for the camera.

Three seconds later, the facial recognition system gave the green light.

The iron gate lifted, and Jason drove into the garage, parking in Kevin’s usual spot.

As he stepped out, a sleek new Camaro pulled up next to the Ford.

A jacked-up musclehead got out, grinning. “Yo, Kevin!”

“Yo!” Jason shot back, flashing a smile while his brain raced to pull up the guy’s info.

In a split second, he had it.

This was Kevin’s best bud from their Navy SEAL days, a teammate who’d retired the same year and followed him to Stark Industries.

The two were tight, always crashing at each other’s places for parties.

Jason strolled over, chatting like they were old pals, not a hint of nerves or hesitation.

The friend didn’t suspect a damn thing. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder into the underground shooting range.

The massive range was already buzzing with security personnel. Some were firing at targets, others lounged with coffee, shooting the shit, while a few were slugging it out in the octagon cage.

Knowing they were about to face America’s most wanted criminal on the front lines, most of them seemed oddly chill, not a trace of nerves.

Jason couldn’t figure out where their cocky confidence came from. Was it their battlefield-honed skills or the Iron Armor Stark had prepped for them?

He and the friend sat down, bullshitting for half an hour until the rest of the security team showed up.

Stark Industries’ security chief strode into the range, trailed by a squad of active-duty soldiers toting automatic rifles.

Jason’s gut tightened at the sight.

’Have I been made?’

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Three hundred security personnel snapped into formation, lining up in ten neat rows.

The soldiers, though, fanned out, surrounding them with wary eyes.

Someone piped up, confused. “What’s this about, boss?”

The chief boomed, “Jason Walter’s crime syndicate has someone skilled in disguise. According to Mr. Stark’s intel, Jason himself might’ve already slipped in among you, wearing a new face.”

The words hit like a fucking thunderbolt, sparking chaos in the crowd.

The security team started panicking, eyeing their neighbors with suspicion.

Jason’s heart raced, but he played it cool, furrowing his brow and scanning the room like everyone else.

The chief continued, “Don’t worry. No matter how good their disguise is, it’s just a layer of fake skin slapped on their face. No high-tech bullshit.”

“Next, you’ll all step forward one by one. The officers behind me will check you. Start with this row.”

The first guy in the first row stepped up.

An officer pinched his face hard, watching as the skin reddened, then nodded and let him go.

A real face would show red marks when pinched. A silicone mask? No reaction, no matter how hard you squeeze.

Clearly, someone at Stark Industries knew their shit about disguises.

One by one, the security team went through the test, passing without a hitch.

When Jason’s turn came, he shoved down his nerves and stepped forward, cool as ice.

Soldiers aimed their rifles at him from multiple angles while one officer pinched his cheeks.

Soon enough, two red marks bloomed on Jason’s face.

The officer nodded. “Clear. Head to the equipment warehouse.”

Jason flashed a smile and left the range.

Christine’s disguise was fucking unreal—good enough to fool anyone. Not only did it redden under pressure, but if you sliced it with a knife, the damn thing would even bleed.

…

Jason had Stark Industries’ layout burned into his brain. He found the equipment warehouse without a hitch.

The warehouse sprawled over 100,000 square meters, packed with an arsenal of advanced weapons—old stock from years ago and fresh gear ready to ship worldwide.

The firepower in there could start a small fucking war.

Jason took his place in a corner where three hundred massive iron crates were stacked.

If he had to guess, those were the Iron Armors.

An hour later, everyone had passed the test.

The chief sauntered over, grinning. “Well done! You all passed. Looks like Jason Walter’s dumber than we thought.”

The security team burst into mocking laughter.

Jason joined in, “Hahaha…”

As the laughter died down, the chief signaled factory workers to start fitting them with the Iron Armors.

When two workers hauled a crate over to Jason, his pulse quickened.

This was the fucking Iron Man prototype, even if it was a low-rent version.

The crate opened, revealing a pile of precision titanium alloy parts. The workers grabbed their tools and started assembling the armor on Jason from the ground up.

Half an hour later, the Iron Armor was fully installed and powered up.

A bright flash lit up the LCD panel in front of Jason’s eyes, displaying the outside world in crisp detail.

The helmet was rigged with over a dozen high-def infrared cameras, their views overlapping so even if a few got shot out in a firefight, he’d still have a clear line of sight.

Once the armor was set, the chief started handing out weapons.

Based on Stark’s and the military’s intel, Jason’s crew was likely packing M16s with M995 armor-piercing rounds.

To one-up them, Stark had armed the security team with M240 machine guns loaded with 7.62mm M993 armor-piercing rounds—way deadlier than the 5.56mm M995s.

Three hundred badasses wielding machine guns, backed by 500-round mags of armor-piercing ammo? That kind of firepower could shred Jason’s crew to pieces.

The armor weighed 120 kilos, the machine gun 11 kilos, and the mag 15 kilos—nearly 300 pounds of gear. Most of the security team was struggling under the load.

But for Jason, with a strength stat of 63, 300 pounds felt like wearing an extra jacket.

Everything was ready. The chief launched into a pre-battle pep talk.

It was the same old bullshit—honor, duty, family. Nothing new.

When he finally shut up, the three hundred soldiers climbed into armored vehicles and rolled out of the factory, heading for the bank.

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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

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