Time flew, and the Los Angeles sky was soon swallowed by darkness.
Tonight, the east, south, and north districts of L.A. were ghost towns, their streets emptied as thrill-seeking, romantic-minded citizens flocked to the west side to catch the action.
By dawn, the billion-dollar bet between billionaire Tony Stark and America's most wanted, Jason Walter, would kick off.
To get a front-row seat to the spectacle, droves of locals and tourists flooded the west side, packing every hotel near the bank to the brim.
Hotel rates, especially for rooms with a view, shot through the roof. Tourists camped out on balconies with binoculars, munching on late-night snacks, counting down to midnight.
Rich bastards worried about safety signed up for a tour company's helicopter sightseeing gig, letting them watch the century's biggest gamble from the safety of the skies.
For those too broke or too cautious to get close, staying home and watching the news was the move.
A local TV station, cozy with Stark Industries, was set to livestream the whole damn thing.
And for the penniless and fearless? Heading straight to the streets near Stark Industries Bank was a ballsy but solid choice.
Turns out, plenty of people fit that bill. The streets around the bank were mobbed with gawkers, waving flashlights like concert glowsticks, cheering and shining beams at the building.
Despite multiple warnings from the L.A. government to steer clear, nothing could dampen the crowd's feverish excitement.
…
On the rooftop of a high-rise near the bank, a wild party was in full swing.
Stark Industries execs and a few military bigwigs lounged on sofas, sipping wine, chatting, and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.
Having seen Stark's Iron Armors, they were cocky as hell. Jason and his crew might be crack shots, but they were still flesh-and-blood mortals.
Tony, a little buzzed, turned to a general. "Your boys all set?"
The general, with a model draped across his lap, grinned. "We've got three thousand active-duty troops posted across five blocks around the bank. The second Jason shows his face, we lock this place down and bag him like a fucking turtle in a barrel."
Tony raised his glass, smirking. "Three thousand troops in one go? That's some serious balls, General. If Jason catches wind of this, he'll probably shit himself and stay home."
"Heh, Tony, no wonder all the Hollywood starlets are crazy for that slick mouth of yours!" The general chuckled.
…
At nine p.m., dozens of armored vehicles roared into the underground parking garage.
Three hundred Iron Warriors stepped out, fanning out to their pre-assigned ambush points at the bank's entrances and corners.
Jason, by some stroke of luck, got stationed near the vault.
Three hours of waiting later, only ten minutes remained until midnight.
A news van from the TV station rolled into the garage. A stunning anchorwoman stepped into view, addressing the audience.
"Good evening, everyone. I'm standing at the entrance to Stark Industries Bank's underground vault. With less than ten minutes until the challenge begins, the massive vault door behind me is about to open."
The camera panned away from the Iron Warriors, focusing on two bank security guards.
They approached the vault door, passing key, fingerprint, and password checks. The heavy door swung open.
A billion dollars in cash sat untouched inside.
As the guards left, the anchorwoman spoke again. "Mr. Stark keeps his word—the vault door is open. Jason Walter, if you're man enough, come take the money. If you're too chickenshit, release the two celebrities and turn yourself in at the precinct!"
She flipped the bird at the camera, pure provocation.
In a shadowed corner near the vault, Jason watched the scene with a sly glint in his eye.
Less than five minutes to midnight, the rest of the bank staff scrambled to clear out.
Soon, the sprawling bank was empty except for the three hundred Iron Warriors lurking in the shadows.
Dong… dong… dong…
The clock tower outside the bank chimed midnight, its heavy tolls signaling the start of the billion-dollar gamble.
…
With the city's focus locked on the west side, the east side's Union Savings Bank sat on a nearly deserted street, traffic a fraction of its usual chaos.
Suddenly, five vans screamed down the road, smashing through the bank's outer barriers and screeching to a halt at the entrance.
Onlookers and passing cars froze, thinking it was a crash, craning their necks to gawk.
The van doors flew open, and over thirty masked figures in black poured out, weapons in hand.
"Holy shit!"
"They've got guns! Run for your lives!"
"These lunatics are robbing Union Savings!"
…
Cars peeled out, tires squealing. Pedestrians screamed, scattering in every direction.
Christine tilted her head back, eyeing the imposing Union Savings Bank with a cold smirk.
She gave a slight wave, and a black-clad figure stepped forward, planting C4 on the bank's security door.
The charges set, everyone fell back to a safe distance.
BOOM!
Thirty seconds later, a massive fireball erupted at the entrance, the deafening blast shattering the east side's quiet.
The ten-centimeter-thick security door was blown open, leaving a gap tall enough for one person and wide enough for two, flames licking both sides.
Two black-clad figures grabbed fire extinguishers from the vans and doused the blaze.
As the flames died down, the rest of the crew charged inside.
"Shit!"
The night-shift guards spotted the intruders and ducked for cover, opening fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets slammed into the intruders' full-body armor, causing pain but no damage. They raised their automatic rifles and returned fire.
The guards, in short-sleeved uniforms, dropped dead instantly.
Christine strode in, scanning the scene. "We're on the clock. A few of you hold this position. The rest, get to the underground vault—now!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
At her command, the thirty-plus operatives split into two teams and moved out.
These were the Black Organization's elite, their efficiency razor-sharp.
After taking out a few more guards along the way, Christine led her team to the underground vault door.
The Black Organization had talent to spare. A black-clad techie stepped up with a laptop, plugged into the port, and started cracking the vault's code.
Click!
One minute later, the vault door swung open.
The team rushed in, stuffing stacks of cash into prepped bags.
From the moment they hit the bank to the moment they left, the job took less than five minutes—but that was enough time for the cops to get wise.
Banks were the police department's sugar daddies. Anyone who fucked with their money was picking a fight with every badge in the city.
.
.
.
.
You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
Top 50. All time.