New York, Joker Organization Safe House.
Just like any other day, Jason was at the table eating breakfast, flipping on the news.
The Paris Massacre was all anyone, anywhere, was talking about. TV, social media... It was a global shitstorm.
On the screen, some CNN cunt was standing live in front of the smoking, black skeleton of Notre Dame. That 800-year-old pile of bricks was now just... rubble.
"Hmph. Good fuckin' job," Jason smirked, sipping his coffee.
That one mission had put the Joker Organization on the global map. All those pricks who'd only ever seen them on TV finally got a personal taste of real terror. And his reputation... it was skyrocketing.
[Ding! [Burn Notre Dame] mission complete. Reward: 20,000 Villain Points. Current progress: 49,000 / 47,000]
[Ding! Congratulations Host, you have reached Level 48. Reward: 10 Attribute Points. Current progress: 2,000 / 48,000]
[Level: 48 (12,470 / 47,000)]
[Strength: 153 → 153]
[Agility: 150 → 150]
[Stamina: 140 → 150]
[Intellect: 90 → 140]
[Remaining Attribute Points: 0]
[reputation: 3,847,459 → 4,979,437]
[Accomplices: A-Train, T-X... (Next Recruitment reputation: 10,000,000)]
[Points: 1,534,740]
[Rechargeable Points: 0]
[Abilities: Combat Mastery (Lv 10), Driving Mastery (Lv 10), Firearms Mastery (Lv 10), Cold Weapon Mastery (Lv 10), Superpower 'Energy Absorption' (Lv 2)]
[Shop: Click Here]
One. Fucking. Level. Left.
Jason tipped his head back and drained the cup, his eyes lit with excitement.
The news finished blabbing about the church and the stolen painting and moved on to the Eiffel Tower.
Turns out, French intelligence had figured out the Eiffel Tower attack wasn't his guys. It was some Russian stowaway, Ivan Vanko, who had a personal beef with Tony Stark.
But the real kicker? This Vanko could also build a goddamn arc reactor.
Everyone knew that was Stark's signature gold mine, built by his old man. But now, some rando with a vendetta shows up also knowing the secret recipe? The media was having a field day, and everyone was starting to connect the dots.
The screen showed cell phone footage from inside the restaurant. The fight wasn't some epic, drawn-out brawl... In ten seconds, Tony one-shotted the poor bastard. They weren't even in the same league.
Watching the video, Jason's eyes narrowed.
Stark's suit... it was different. The arc reactor, specifically. The power output... It was a quantum-leap from before.
Damn. That wasn't just an upgrade. That was a whole new generation of tech.
Jason had to admit, he was impressed. And he really wanted that new reactor.
Conveniently, the news anchor reported that Ivan Vanko was in a French prison, and the French government was refusing America's extradition request.
The fucking obviousness of it.
The French government's little plan was plain as day. They wanted to sweat Vanko for the arc reactor secrets, desperate to get off America's military leash.
"Too bad, assholes. I'm taking it."
Jason said. He immediately got on the line with Chloe and had her patch him through to Franklin.
......
Paris, Four Seasons Hotel.
Franklin and A-Train had been up half the night stashing the Mona Lisa. They were dead asleep, snoring like motherfuckers.
BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!
The phone on the pillow started buzzing its ass off.
Franklin, eyes still shut, fumbled for it, hit "answer," and mumbled into it.
"Hey! Franklin!"
Hearing that voice, they were both wide awake in one second.
"Boss!"
Jason laughed on the other end. "Sorry to wake you, princesses. I've got a new mission for you."
Franklin shot up in bed. "Boss, just say the word!"
"Did you see the news about the Eiffel Tower?"
"A little last night. Just that some crazy motherfucker tried to gank Tony Stark and got his own ass kicked."
"Right, that's the guy. He's in a French prison right now. Your job is to break him out and bring him to New York."
"Got it, boss!"
"Good. I'll let you get back to your beauty sleep. Need anything, call Chloe."
Jason hung up. Franklin turned to A-Train, told him the new plan, and they flipped on the TV to catch up on the local news.
...
Outside the Four Seasons, a dozen military armored vehicles were surrounding the hotel.
Several high-ranking government officials, backed by a hundred GIGN commandos, stormed the lobby. And Helen, their little guide, was with them, looking terrified.
She probably never dreamed that the "sugar daddy" she'd hooked up with on Facebook was of the most wanted terrorist in the country.
"Sirs, what is... what is all this?" The hotel manager just about shit himself.
The lead official flashed his badge. "Manager, I need yesterday's complete surveillance footage. Now. And prepare several rooms. We need to question your staff. Individually."
The manager nodded frantically. "Yes, of course! This way!"
They split into three teams. One to the security room. One to round up the staff for interrogation. The last team, led by Helen, went straight to Franklin's suite.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The two of them, watching the news, just looked at each other and smiled.
Franklin went to the door. Through the peephole, he saw Helen, standing there like a Judas goat. No one else was visible.
"Helen! Hey!" Franklin swung the door open, all smiles.
Helen looked nervous, forcing her own smile. "Mr... Mr. Clinton. You look well-rested."
Franklin let her in, shrugging. "Rested? Sure. Too bad the whole city's on fire. Kinda kills the vacation vibe."
Helen looked awkward. "I... I'm so sorry Paris left such a bad impression. But... I was just talking to the staff downstairs. They... they said you went out around 6 PM yesterday?"
She stared at him, hard, trying to catch a twitch.
Franklin's expression didn't change. He just looked confused. "6 PM? Nah. Your staff must be seeing things. We were right here, dead to the world, all night."
"Really? Oh... okay. They must be wrong, then," Helen said, sitting down, starting some awkward small talk.
Down in the security room, the techs had the footage. They'd split it up and were scrubbing through the whole day.
"Sir, they never left the room."
"Are you sure? Did you miss anything?" The official snapped.
"Absolutely impossible, sir," The tech said, 100% certain.
"And... the other team? The staff interrogations?"
"Nothing, sir. Everything's clean."
The officials let out a long, frustrated sigh. Their best and only lead had a solid alibi. It was a goddamn dead end.
"Gentlemen. Need a hand?"
Just then, a voice came from the doorway.
.
.
.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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