Chapter 29: Gang War Escalation
The mid-morning light filtering through the No-Tell Motel's grimy window was a sickly, pale gray, barely cutting through Gotham's perpetual haze. Jax Reed sat hunched over the chipped laminate desk, his tactical jacket slung over the chair, its leather creaking faintly as he shifted. The air was thick with the bitter tang of lukewarm motel coffee and the greasy aftermath of last night's takeout, the carton's soy sauce stains bleeding into the stolen manifest he pored over. His combat knife twirled absently between his fingers, its whir a rhythmic ritual that steadied his strategic wariness. "Gotham gloom matches my mood, but this paperwork's trying to kill me before the gangs do," he thought, his sarcasm a shield against the weight of Arc 1's echoes—Homelander's chaos, the Butterfly boss's fall. The manifest, decrypted Vought comms, and Catwoman's heist loot sprawled across the desk, a chaotic puzzle of gang war ties.
Jax's eyes narrowed at the manifest's key detail: a shipment of low-grade Compound V serum, Vought's dirty fingerprints all over Gotham's street gangs. "Blood's red paint, and Vought's painting the town," he thought, circling Oswald Cobblepot's name with a pen, its ink smudging under his calloused thumb. The serum wasn't just fueling Butterfly remnants—it was enhancing lowlife thugs, turning Gotham's underbelly into a supercharged powder keg. He leaned back, the chair groaning, and took a sip of coffee, grimacing at its acrid bite. "This tastes like regret and dishwater," he muttered, setting the mug down with a clatter, a mundane tic that grounded his restless energy.
He dialed Adebayo on his satellite phone, its weight reassuring in his hand, needing her empathetic anchor before diving into the escalating gang war. "Sarcasm levels rising, but I need her to keep me from going full chaos mode," he thought, his breath fogging the phone's screen in the chilly room.
"Okay, Adebayo, it's official—Gotham's thugs are juicing on Vought's discount Compound V," Jax said, his voice sharp with urgency. "This isn't just Butterfly scraps. It's a full-on escalation, and Penguin's name is all over it."
Adebayo's voice came through, firm yet laced with her signature empathy, her lip-biting concern audible even remotely. "Listen to me, Jax. This is no longer small-time. If they're using Compound V, it's going to get messy. You have two cumulated summons. Use them, but remember the lesson from Evergreen: Ethics matter in the grey zone. You're hitting thugs, not cops. Don't go full Homelander on collateral."
Her words landed like a cold splash of reality, tempering his eager anticipation with a flicker of moral reflection. "From chaos to conscience," he thought, his knife pausing mid-twirl. He wanted the rush of battle, but the guilt of innocents caught in the crossfire—Arc 1's collateral scars—still stung. "Got it. Lethal but surgical. I'll keep the chaos contained," he promised, his tone softer, the weight of her trust grounding him.
[SYSTEM: CUMULATE: 2.]
[HOST MORAL COMPASS CHECK SUCCESSFUL.]
[NO POINTS EARNED.]
Jax ended the call, Adebayo's support settling in his gut like a warm ember. He slapped his hand on the desk, the mug rattling, coffee sloshing onto the manifest. "Damn it," he cursed, wiping the spill with his sleeve, his clumsiness a humanizing beat. "Time to paint the streets red," he thought, zipping his jacket, the leather's creak a prelude to the hunt.
The late afternoon alleys of Gotham's industrial sector were a claustrophobic maze, shadowed and heavy with the stench of rain-soaked asphalt and stale garbage. Jax moved deliberately, his boots crunching on gravel, his presence bait for the gang hub he'd scouted. The air was charged, the distant rumble of thunder mixing with the clank of machinery, a gritty symphony that set his nerves alight. "Sarcasm levels rising, but this is my kind of party," he thought, his pulse quickening, the thrill-seeker itch from Arc 1 burning bright.
A dozen figures swarmed from three directions, their eyes wide and veiny from cheap Compound V, their movements jerky with unnatural strength. Makeshift weapons—pipes, chains—and Vought-tech rifles gleamed in the dim light, their shouts a deafening roar over the scrape of boots. "Blood's red paint, and these guys are ready to spill," Jax thought, dodging a pipe's swing, its whoosh grazing his ear.
[SYSTEM: DANGER LEVEL: MEDIUM-HIGH.]
[CUMULATE: 2 (SUMMON LIMIT: 3).]
[SPECIFIC SUMMONS ACTIVATED.]
"You want Vought? You got Vought! I summon the chaos!" Jax yelled, his voice strained as he ducked a flurry of enhanced punches, his Agility 3 keeping him just ahead of the blows.
[SYSTEM: SUMMON PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.]
[SUMMONS: KIMIKO, A-TRAIN, BLACK NOIR.]
[BOUND TO 'RIP THROUGH GANGS, FOCUS ON LEADERS.']
Three bursts of sickly-sweet ozone flooded the alley, the air crackling with power. Kimiko materialized with a feral snarl, her small frame a coiled spring of lethality, her dark eyes glinting with violence. A-Train appeared in a blue blur, his speed a whirlwind, his cocky grin flashing. Black Noir, silent and imposing, loomed like a Kevlar-clad specter, his presence chilling the chaos.
The battle was a savage ballet. A-Train tore through the closest thugs, his non-lethal strikes snapping bones with bone-rattling cracks, his speed leaving afterimages. Jax felt a surge, A-Train's echo sharpening his own movements, his muscles humming with newfound agility. "From chaos to speed," he thought, dodging a rifle butt with a fluid sidestep. Kimiko moved with visceral precision, her hands blurring as she disarmed and disabled, her silent ferocity a stark contrast to the gang's screams. Black Noir, a ghost in the fray, targeted the leaders, his knives flashing with surgical accuracy, downing them without a sound.
Mid-sprint, A-Train hit an oil slick, skidding cartoonishly, nearly colliding with Kimiko. "Whoa, speed bumps are literal here, man!" Jax barked, laughing amidst the chaos, the humor a spark in the tension. The remaining V-users broke, fleeing in panic, leaving their leaders groaning in the dirt.
[SYSTEM: SUMMONS USED: 3.]
[CUMULATE: 0.]
[STAT ECHO DETECTED: A-TRAIN (SPEED/AGILITY).]
[HOST AGILITY +1.]
[CURRENT AGILITY: 4.]
[COMBAT VICTORY: +20 SP.]
[CURRENT SP: 405.]
The summons vanished, leaving Jax alone in the smoke-hazed alley, his breath steaming, adrenaline a sweet burn in his veins. "Sarcasm levels rising, but I'm adapting," he thought, his boots scuffing the asphalt as he checked the downed leaders. Whispers of "Penguin's umbrella army" and a weapons shipment echoed, tying the fight to intel.
Back at the motel, evening shadows stretched across the room, the air heavy with the lingering scent of antiseptic and fried food. Jax sat on the edge of the tub, cleaning a superficial cut on his shoulder, the warm tingle of Lesser Regeneration sealing it. Greenish-purple bruises bloomed across his ribs, a stark contrast to Arc 1's scars. "Arc 1 scars were badass. These bruises are just rude," he grumbled, dabbing a towel at his side, his voice rough with fatigue. He journaled the fight, sketching Kimiko's snarl and A-Train's skid, the pen scratching rhythmically, a mundane ritual to process the chaos.
He grabbed the burner phone, needing Catwoman's voice to anchor the night's violence. "From chaos to date night," he thought, dialing her number, his heart lifting at the first ring.
"Well, you sound… alive. That's a good start," Catwoman purred, her voice a warm caress through the static.
"Barely," Jax said, leaning against the cool tile wall, a faint smile tugging his lips. "Your city is rude. I got jumped by a V-enhanced flash mob. But good news—I've got intel on Penguin's weapons shipment. Think I found our next date target."
"Oh? Already planning a sequel?" she teased, her tone playful, sparking a warmth in his chest.
"Sequels are my jam," he replied, his smirk audible. "I'll fill you in tomorrow. Just wanted to check my favorite kitten's staying out of trouble. Clear your schedule—rooftop, takeout, seven p.m."
Her laugh was low, enticing. "Don't be late, wildcard. Or I'll take your loot." The call ended, her words a lingering promise, the gang fight's victory opening the door to Penguin's empire. "Sarcasm levels rising, but this romance is worth the bruises," he thought, the whispers of Suicide Squad scouting from the gang's chatter a cold knot of foreshadowing.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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