Drex Valen slipped into the factory without hesitation.
The place was packed with xican laborers, which made sense. The facility sat on the Texas border, but this stretch of land lived by its own rules. For the Scorpion Gang, workers from xico were ideal. They knew the gang's reach, understood the consequences of disobedience, and still had family on the other side of the border. That made them easy to control.
Fear was cheap.
The factory itself was heavily fortified. The rival Skull Gang had apparently tried to shut it down more than once, only to get driven back by overwhelming firepower.
That no longer mattered.
After days under the Texas sun, Drex had reached the point where bullets were more nuisance than threat. He still had to respect heavier weapons, but standard gunfire was no longer enough to stop him.
Even so, he kept his clothes in mind.
Armor or not, he did not plan to spend every waking hour in battle gear.
So he moved like a shadow.
Fast enough that the Scorpion Gang's soldiers barely understood what they were seeing. They were used to ordinary n, ordinary fear, ordinary violence. A living blur tearing through their lines did not fit any of their expectations.
Drex slipped through the first barrage, snatched a semi-automatic rifle from one of the gunn, and opened fire.
The weapon's recoil ant nothing to him.
With his superhuman senses guiding every shot, his aim sharpened almost imdiately. Within seconds, he was functioning like a machine-made marksman.
Scorpion n dropped by the dozen.
Those who survived the first wave turned and ran.
Drex kept firing.
He hunted them down with controlled bursts, cutting through the factory until no one was left standing.
Then he started collecting what he could.
Cash first.
Anything else, he tossed aside.
By the end of it, he had scraped together a few thousand dollars. Not bad, but nowhere near enough.
"Money still moves too slowly," he muttered.
If he had more than his armor and a working system, he could have done things properly. Hacked networks. Built a financial identity. Generated real leverage.
But with only his current setup, he was stuck doing things the old-fashioned way.
The factory itself remained intact.
Drex drove the workers out and left the building standing. Then he passed a ssage to the few who could understand English.
Tell the Scorpion Gang to bring ten million dollars if they wanted the place back.
If they refused, he would burn the product and let nearby rednecks pick through the ashes.
Because the factory was too important to lose, the response ca quickly.
Very quickly.
By the next encounter, the Scorpion Gang had sent over two hundred ard n.
It looked less like a gang retaliation and more like a small private war.
Heavy machine guns.
RPGs.
Enough firepower to level a block.
And a helicopter.
The man Drex had left alive had clearly explained things badly. To the Scorpion leadership, this sounded like the Skull Gang or so new outfit making a move on their territory.
Instead, they found one man standing in the middle of it all.
Antonio Ruiz, the gang's third-in-command, stared at him in disbelief.
"You're alone?"
Drex looked at him like the question was strange.
"Obviously."
Antonio's eyes narrowed.
"Grab him."
Drex sighed. That was the problem with n like this. They always needed one last chance to feel powerful.
He picked up a pistol from the table beside him and fired before anyone could properly react.
Three n went down instantly.
The room exploded into gunfire.
Antonio retreated at once.
"Kill him!"
Drex answered with two rifles in his hands.
Muzzle flashes lit the compound.
Bodies dropped in rows.
The Scorpions had brought large-caliber weapons ant to punch through cover, but Drex did not need cover. Bullets found him less than useless to worry about, and his accuracy was terrifying. Every shot struck ho. Every burst tore another man down.
The gang tried to use explosives, but they hesitated.
The month's product was still inside the factory. Blow it up, and they would be destroying millions in revenue.
That hesitation killed them.
Drex surged forward through the chaos, moving too quickly to track. A machine gunner tried to sweep him with fire.
Drex simply shot him before the barrel could finish turning.
The helicopter's cannon opened up.
Drex kept walking.
He kicked one RPG gunner off his feet, snatched the launcher, and turned it on the aircraft.
The pilot saw the weapon rise and tried to pull away.
Too late.
The rocket launched.
The helicopter vanished in a roaring bloom of fire.
When the shooting finally stopped, Drex had reduced the entire force to wreckage.
Then he seized Antonio Ruiz.
Antonio was shaking so hard his teeth nearly rattled out of his skull.
Two hundred n.
All dead or dying.
By one person.
This was not supposed to happen.
"Call your boss," Drex said. "Tell him to bring the money."
Antonio swallowed hard. Drex's tone left no room for negotiation.
"He'll think your side has a lot more n than he expected," Drex continued. "Tell him you were captured."
Drex preferred not to gamble if he did not have to. Better to make the Scorpion Gang co to him than to keep chasing them.
Antonio knew exactly what Drex was doing.
He just did not know where such a brutal bastard had co from.
But survival mattered more than pride.
He made the call.
"Monis," Antonio said into the phone, his voice tight with fear. "I failed. They had too many n. I was taken alive."
He looked at Drex as he spoke.
"They only want money. The product is still intact."
Drex did not care what was revealed and what was not. The Scorpions would not abandon the factory. The shipnt inside represented too much money, too many contracts, and too much leverage. Wilson Fisk and the Skull Gang were already circling this territory, waiting for a mistake.
If the Scorpions let this slip, their custors would simply start dealing elsewhere.
So, just as Drex expected, they paid.
The next group that arrived was much smaller.
Only a dozen n this ti, carrying cash instead of rifles.
It was a retreat, not a victory.
But it was still money.
Antonio, looking shell-shocked and exhausted, stood among the bodies while the new arrivals stared at the carnage in silence.
"Boss," one of them said, looking from the dead n to Antonio and then to Drex. "We should go back and report to Monis."
Antonio just nodded.
Drex counted the cash with calm satisfaction.
Ten million dollars, mostly in old twenty-dollar bills.
More than he had expected. Enough that the stack looked like it might swallow the trunk of a car whole.
He found a larger vehicle, loaded the money inside, and drove away.
No victory speech.
No theatrics.
Just the sound of the engine and the weight of a very profitable afternoon.
When Drex returned to Shelley's farm with a new truck and a mountain of cash, the farr stared at him like he had co ho from another planet.
"What the hell did you do?"
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