Wearing an eye mask, Jason reclined in the plush first-class seat.
After a six-and-a-half-hour flight, the United Airlines plane touched down safely at Los Angeles International Airport.
Dressed in casual sportswear with a black shoulder bag, Jason stepped off the plane, looking like any tourist hitting L.A.
Bright shops, crowded terminals, and a cacophony of voices filled the air—LAX was a chaotic hive.
Jason took it in, slipping on sunglasses with a slight smile. "City of Angels, I’m back."
"Boss, the pickup’s arranged," Chloe’s voice crackled through the earpiece in his shades.
With a top-tier AI like Chloe, he needed matching gear. He’d picked sunglasses.
Beyond their dual electronic displays, they housed a smart chip Chloe had custom-built.
Limited by this era’s tech, she couldn’t upload herself into the chip, but she’d beefed up its comms.
The shades handled visuals; Chloe’s mainfra crunched the data and bead results to the display.
Navigating the crowd, Jason scanned the exit where people held signs in various languages.
Soon, he spotted a two-ter-tall, buzz-cut hardass.
The guy’s sign read "Mike Johnson"—Jason’s fake ID.
His sharp senses caught Jason’s gaze.
Their eyes locked.
Seconds later, the guy lowered the sign and approached. "Mike Johnson?"
"Yeah." Jason flashed his ID.
Identity confird, the hardass’s stoic face lted.
He grabbed Jason’s bag, saying respectfully, "This way, sir. Car’s up front."
Jason followed to three black Cadillac SUVs parked curbside.
The guy opened the middle one’s door, gesturing for Jason to enter.
Jason nodded and slid in.
The interior was tricked out with precious tals, gaudy and lavish—exactly the kind of tacky shit Jason loved.
A mini fridge by the seat held vintage Scotch. Jason poured himself a glass.
The hardass took the front passenger seat, spoke into a radio, and the convoy rolled out.
"Boss, welco to L.A.," He said, turning with fanatic eyes.
Jason swirled his glass. "You with the branch?"
The guy shook his head. "Sent from New York HQ. I trained the branch at first, but now I run it."
"Got it." Jason nodded, sipping.
Since the Joker Community launched, Joker followers had popped up nationwide, but they were scattered, fighting solo.
Left unchecked, the governnt would crush them.
So Jason trained elites in New York and sent them to build branches across the country.
United, they’d hit harder.
"Tell about the branch."
In L.A., Jason needed the lay of the land.
Leaning into the leather seat, he listened with interest.
L.A.’s dense population fueled a massive branch—over a thousand full mbers and ten thousand peripherals in just six months, growing fast.
With HQ’s cash, manpower, gear, and tech, the L.A. branch was the strongest outside New York.
Half an hour later, they pulled into a branch safehouse.
L.A.’s strength showed—over twenty such safehouses spanned the city.
Jason’s visit was hush-hush. Mid- and low-level mbers were clueless, and no big welco was planned.
Only a handful of top brass—less than ten—knew.
Jason donned a black trench coat and followed the hardass to a room deep in the safehouse, his temporary digs.
"Room" was an understatent. The suite was 500 square ters—bedroom, living room, study, bathroom, eting room.
In the eting room, branch leaders waited.
So were HQ transplants, others climbed through rit, but all their hearts raced upon seeing Jason’s face.
Like starstruck fans eting their idol, it was a dream co true.
The door shut. Phones were powered off, placed on the table, and a signal jamr activated.
Jason took the head seat, eyeing the unfamiliar faces. "No small talk. You know why I’m in L.A."
They nodded.
Chloe had briefed the top guy—the hardass—before Jason left, so they could prepare.
The hardass handed Jason a file. "Stark Industries’ details—blueprints, the works—"
Jason cut him off. "Been to Stark Industries. Got the layout morized. I need security numbers, weapons, that shit."
Silence fell.
Jason frowned. "What? No intel?"
The hardass spoke. "Boss, after the Stark bank heist, their security got a full overhaul. Their secrecy’s airtight. We tried everything—no dice."
Jason’s brow creased. No intel? Storming in blind was a pain in the ass.
Given the task’s rewards, barging in is a shitty idea.
The room went quiet. The hardass ventured, "Boss, how about a diversion?"
Jason looked up. "Lay it out."
The hardass gathered his thoughts. "We’ve got a suicide squad—terminally ill folks, broke, no hope. They’re done with life, just want one last wild ride."
"My plan: send them through Stark Industries’ front gate, ard to the teeth. Regular security can’t stop them."
"They’ll draw out most of the guards. If Stark’s got an ace up their sleeve, they’ll play it."
"Once they show their hand, we’ve got the upper hand."
"If their ace is tough, we bail, figure out how to counter it."
"If it’s weak, you hit from the sky."
"No security, no ace—Stark Industries is a fucking open door."
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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
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