After the diplomatic deal had been officially struck, a series of rapid, chaotic structural changes began to sweep through the Billion Bloodline group’s primary headquarters. For starters, the nomadic members of the Fallen Rose decided to pack up their gear and move in entirely.
Although the fierce biker gang possessed a handful of temporary safe houses and hidden checkpoints across the state line that they had utilized from time to time, they didn’t actually own a permanent, centralized base of operations. They were a collective of wandering warriors, constantly on the move, drifting from one high-stakes bounty contract to the next to earn the black-market revenue and lethal reputation that had allowed them to leapfrog into the Syndicate rankings. To them, this sudden relocation was just another logistical step in a high-paying mission.
That was when the practical suggestion had surfaced during the closing of the contract: if the mission they were executing this time was a long-term defense deployment on behalf of the Billion Bloodline, then their total compensation package would naturally need to include comfortable room and board.
The only facility in the district that was physically massive enough to house thirty heavily armed, rowdy bikers—without digging a massive, catastrophic hole in Max’s financial reserve—was the Fortis Group building itself. This structural reality meant that, effective immediately, the disciplined ranks of the Billion Bloodline had to figure out how to coexist under the same roof as the chaotic, unpredictable women of the Fallen Rose.
Most of the time, the newly arrived mercenaries could be located in one of three specific sectors of the fortress. First was the main communal canteen, where the women spent hours stuffing their faces with fresh rations; much to the culinary staff’s utter horror, the majority of the female bikers could surprisingly consume vastly more protein and calories than the largest male enforcers already stationed there.
The second hot spot was the specialized high-tech training rooms. For the first time in their street careers, the Fallen Rose had unrestricted access to state-of-the-art commercial conditioning machinery, and they greedily utilized the facility to systematically increase their muscle mass, raw velocity, and neurological reflexes through brutal, daily workouts.
Lastly, and most destructively, was the floor containing the elevated combat arena. Constantly, the sound of violence would echo through the rafters as the bikers organized endless sparring matches—and they didn’t restrict their challenges exclusively to members of their own crew. They would routinely shout across the floor to call out the top fighters of the Bloodline group, and the prideful rangers were more than accepting of the challenge.
Right now, looking down from the observation platform, Max was sitting quietly in a leather seat, his sharp eyes tracking five separate, high-velocity sparring matches occurring simultaneously across the square arena. Standing directly by his side were Wolf and Joe, both men tracking the intense footwork and taking in the constant, echoing whacks of the heavy wooden swords colliding with flesh and bone.
"I still think you’re being far too soft and accommodating with these outsiders, Boss," Joe muttered, his arms crossed as he watched a Bloodline enforcer get swept off his feet by a wooden blade. "What’s the real play here? Do you just have a natural weak spot for women?"
"Don’t we all?" Wolf chimed in with a wry, easy smile, never taking his eyes off the combat floor.
"I think the logistical terms they suggested actually made a perfect amount of strategic sense," Max answered smoothly, his voice carrying an unshakeable confidence. "And you need to remember that they are officially recognized at the Syndicate level. Sure, our core circle possessed the raw physical strength to dismantle the Gilt Rats, but even if a tactical simulation shows we could win a total war against the Fallen Rose, a real leader has to calculate what we stand to lose in the process.
"If you analyze the operational structure of the Fallen Rose group, you can see the most terrifying thing about them: they practically have absolutely nothing to lose."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Joe asked, turning his head to look at Max with a puzzled expression.
"Look back at how we’ve been operating," Max explained, leaning forward in his seat. "Up until now, we had been dealing with local territorial situations as they manifested. We might have been the aggressive faction initiating the attacks from time to time, but that was because we were deeply entwined with the local infrastructure.
"When we crushed a rival, there was always a tangible, structural benefit to the victory. We weren’t just getting a dangerous enemy off our backs who was going to ambush us anyway; we were absorbing everything they owned. We seized their operational businesses, their physical resources, their supply lines, and their political connections. But look closely at the Fallen Rose. They possess absolutely none of that infrastructure."
The realization did make Max wonder briefly what the biker gang actually did with the massive premium fees they charged their underworld clients. He imagined that after a successful contract, they probably just blew the entire cash reserve straight away on fuel, weapons, and alcohol, but who truly knew what went on in their private lives.
"When you engage a group like this," Max continued, his eyes darkening, "unless you are prepared to systematically hunt down and execute every single last member of their roster, a standard defeat won’t stop them. Since they have no territory to defend and no assets to lose, their survivors will simply keep getting back up again and again, continuously regrouping in the shadows to finish the original contract. By hiring them, I neutralized a relentless threat."
Joe’s jaw tightened as the strategic math clicked in his mind; he was finally starting to comprehend that managing the Underworld required far more long-term calculation than just launching into physical street fights.
"Besides," Max added, nodding toward a group of Bloodline recruits practicing their stances, "their presence here has granted our organization an unexpected blessing. It’s true that we, the Rangers, have been able to drastically increase our combat efficiency through the power of the Vow and the constant high-tier battles we’ve survived.
"The standard frontline members of the Bloodline group have been gaining valuable field experience, but not every common soldier can evolve as rapidly as we do, nor do they possess the cheat-code of a Vow. This base-sharing arrangement is an ideal crucible for them to build up their basic mechanics and realize through pain just how much stronger they need to become for the upcoming corporate wars."
As if on cue, the three leaders watched as a row of Bloodline recruits went rolling across the hardwood floor, groaning in agony as they clutched their bruised ribs and swelling shoulders.
"Well... I can’t exactly deny that logic," Joe admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched the Fallen Rose women effortlessly reset their stances. "Those girls are terrifyingly precise with those wooden blades. They’re going to be an incredible asset on our side in case an external faction attempts to launch a raid on our borders."
"Speaking of external threats," Max said, his tone turning businesslike as he adjusted his posture. "Has there been any more operational trouble regarding Dud? Aron and I have been entirely occupied with the university cleanup, so I haven’t had the time to look into his file."
"Dud hasn’t physical appeared anywhere near our sectors again," Wolf answered, his expression turning solemn. "And he’s an incredibly difficult ghost to track down, which is a given considering he managed to stay completely hidden from the major families for years.
"But if I were to hazard a tactical guess based on his behavioral patterns, there is no doubt in my mind that he is preparing to make a massive move soon. Or, more accurately... he may have already initiated it."
"Do you have a specific intelligence lead?" Max asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I’m not entirely sure if the timing is a massive coincidence or a coordinated strike," Wolf replied, leaning in closer. "Have you checked the local news feeds today? There was a massive, high-security prison break in the heart of Notting Hill. The reports indicate that quite a few high-value inmates managed to breach the perimeter and escape into the city limits... and that list of escapees includes Dipter."
Dipter. The name echoed in Max’s mind, a relic from a past conflict that he hadn’t heard in a very long time.