Dud looked around at the small assembly gathered in the gutted skeletal remains of the supermarket, a massive, unhinged smile stretching across his face. The pure physical force, the bottomless wealth, and the tactical influence he now held right in the palm of his hand was a monumental upgrade from the Rejected Corps of the Chalkline Boys he had been a miserable part of in his past life.
Those boys had been nothing but throwaway soldiers, but this? This was an elite strike team. In a strange, twisted way, Dud felt like he should be sending a thank-you note to Max for driving him to this point and allowing such a perfect storm of lethal individuals to coalesce right under his banner.
"As I stated before the intermission, we have all gathered in this forgotten grave for one singular purpose: to completely dismantle and take out the Syndicate group known as the Billion Bloodline," Dud explained, his voice bouncing sharply off the exposed metal frames and scrips of the roof above. "I have already spoken to each of you individually about the logistics of the situation. I’ve told you about the shadow commander who controls this new faction that has aggressively risen through the Underworld ranks.
"There is absolutely no logical need for any of you to know each other’s personal histories, nor do I think a single one of you would even care to know about the tragic backstories of the people sitting next to you. What you do need to understand about each other is that every single person in this room is exceptionally strong in their own unique way. Bound together, you will allow us to execute exactly what we need to do to reclaim this city."
"Are you actually sure about that?" Donto asked, keeping his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he leaned against a concrete pillar. He was trying his absolute best to puff out his chest and stare everyone down in the room, attempting to project an aura of executive authority.
In truth, however, Dud knew the exact physical metrics of everyone present. Out of every single monster standing in the shadows of this abandoned retail park, Donto was by far the weakest in raw physical strength. He was a standard human athlete, nothing more. But Donto had his specific, high-society uses, and his family name was the sole reason they had been able to breach the security perimeter and get Dipter and the heavy hitters out of the high-security prison in the first place.
In the real world, you didn’t need to break down walls when you had bottomless capital. You simply paid off a couple of corrupt transit guards to look the other way, leave a few cell doors unlocked, or turn off a few security cameras here and there. Once the digital eyes went dark, breaking out of a fortress became a walk in the park.
"From what I gather based on the intelligence reports, I am the only one in this room who has actually gone toe-to-toe against Max and his inner circle of friends recently compared to the rest of you ghosts," Donto claimed, his voice carrying a bitter, defensive edge. "I’m warning you right now, he is not the same Max as the useless family member you guys might have known or heard about in the past. He is oddly, terrifyingly strong. He’s the type of freak who can wade into a crowd of fifty, maybe even a hundred well-trained sports enforcers and tear through them with absolutely no trouble at all."
As Donto spoke, his eyes involuntarily drifted toward the quiet giant, Hugo. What he had just witnessed Hugo do with that massive iron shelving unit was inhuman, a freakish display of pure physical displacement that defied logic. It was hard to process, but maybe a monster like Hugo could effortlessly slaughter a hundred people as well.
"I absolutely hate to admit it, but the rich kid is actually right," Skull said, stepping forward from the darkness, the cloth mask shifting over his face. "I’ve been doing some deep data research into their operational history over the past few weeks, and the sheer volume of their combat feats is honestly kind of crazy.
"Not only that, but you have to look at the tactical map. They didn’t just defeat the Gilt Rats; they entirely wiped them off the board. The Gilt Rats were a Syndicate-level group that was far bigger than them, held more territory, and possessed vastly more resources. On paper, that war should have been an absolute walk in the park for the Rats.
"And while I couldn’t completely confirm the digital trail, the rumors suggest that just maybe, the Bloodline managed to get their hands on some of the Gilt Rats’ restricted military technology. They are going to be significantly stronger and more armored than you think, even if you do happen to possess the raw, brute strength of a silverback gorilla."
"Hey!" Popper snapped, his eye patch twitching as he took a predatory step toward Skull. "Do we really need to be standing around calling each other names? I sat under the impression that we were explicitly brought here to work together as a cohesive unit.
"And you should watch your tongue, mask-boy. Who knows, if you keep running your mouth, a stray hand might accidentally come flying your way and splatter your skull all over these cracked floor tiles."
Dud let out a weary sigh, shaking his head in frustration. That was always the glaring issue when you gathered so many high-level predators into a single room; they all possessed massively inflated personalities and volatile egos that tended to violently clash at the slightest provocation. As the sole architect who had brought them together under one roof, he knew he would constantly have to expend energy to keep their leashes tight and keep them in check.
"Every single person sitting in this room is also fundamentally different from when they last went against the Billion Bloodline group or the ghosts of their past," Dud explained, his voice cutting through the rising tension like a knife. "I am entirely confident that each of you feels stronger, more lethal, and vastly more prepared than when you last faced their borders.
"But Skull raises a valid point. Every faction that came before us failed because they continued to severely underestimate the strategic durability of the Billion Bloodline group. We need to guarantee that we do not replicate their mistakes. We cannot fail. So, I’m guessing that since you decided to speak up, Skull, you might actually have a concrete plan? Or did you have a specific asset in mind?"
Skull fell entirely silent for a moment, his sharp eyes darting across the faces of the assembly as if he were hesitant to put his ultimate card on the table. But eventually, the words poured out from behind his mask, heavy with malice.
"Thanks to the successful prison break and the generous financial backing of our billionaire sponsor here, we possess more than enough raw numbers and foot soldiers to cause a riot," Skull whispered. "But numbers are just meat for the grinder. We need stronger, specialized killers on our side to execute the leadership core. And as it happens, I happen to know a very specific, very powerful group of people who would be deeply interested to learn the exact coordinates of a particular person in Notting Hill.
"I can act as the diplomatic bridge to introduce you to their leadership. And as long as the financial compensation is right, they will be entirely willing to do absolutely anything you ask of them. In the deepest sectors of the black market, they are known as the Black Hand."
The remaining conspirators turned their heads, exchanging wary, calculating glances in the gloom. Dud narrowed his eyes, running the name through his extensive mental directory of gangs and mercenary units.
"I’ve never heard of them," Dud said flatly, his suspicion clear.
"That simply means they have been doing their job exceptionally well," Skull replied, a cold chuckle escaping his throat. "They don’t leave witnesses, and they don’t leave a paper trail. I can establish contact and set up a meeting, but everyone in this room needs to be entirely ready when we face them. Maintain your absolute composure... otherwise, we might be the ones to lose our lives before the war even begins."