[10,000 Credits Deducted.]
[Acquired: Brute Force.]
[Description: Physical power is exponentially magnified. You can now launch an adult male with a single palm strike. Caution: Control your output to avoid accidental "iron poisoning" of your targets.]
"Dad... my classmates..." Jimmy sat in the back of the convertible, his head swiveling to watch the black plume of the yacht fire against the sunset.
"You're a real humanitarian, Jimbo," Jax teased, feeling a strange, dense warmth spreading through his muscles. "Worrying about the guys who sold you out to a cartel while the smoke is still in your hair."
Jax didn't dwell on the reward for long. He was more curious about how Bruce was managing to "recruit" in a locked apartment. He had provoked one of the most sprawling factions in San Andreas within forty-eight hours of landing. Super Dynamic Vision was a godsend, but even with slowed time, he wasn't a one-man army against a hundred gang members with Uzis. He needed more than just reflexes; he needed a base of operations.
His phone buzzed.
"Mr. Sterling? It's the foreman. The clinic is finished." The voice was a gravelly, deep Southern drawl. "Come by, walk the floor, and bring my damn money."
Michael glanced over as Jax hung up. "Hospital ready?"
Jax nodded. Michael pulled a sharp U-turn, tires screaming, and headed toward the commercial district.
They pulled up to a modest storefront. A burly Black man was squatting by the entrance, surrounded by a chaotic spread of drills and saws. He stood up as they approached, his eyes scanning Jax—the only Asian in the group—as the obvious boss.
"Wait here while I check the work," Jax said.
The interior was tight—roughly a hundred square meters—but localized perfectly. A clean reception area, a narrow consultation room, and a boarding section in the back. The equipment was used but functional. Jax walked back out and hit the transfer button on his banking app.
"Thanks, Boss," the foreman grinned, seeing his balance jump. "You need more walls knocked down, you call me."
As the man walked away, Michael let out a soft, weary sigh. "Pity."
Jax looked at him, confused. "Pity? It looks great for fifty grand."
Franklin, who had already claimed the swivel chair at the front desk, chimed in. "You're fresh off the boat, Jax. In this city, contractors usually cut corners. Mike was hoping the guy would mess up so he could lean on him and get your deposit back."
Michael shot Franklin a look of genuine surprise. Franklin just shrugged. "I've done the same thing, Mike. Truth is truth."
Jax ignored the banter, looking over his new kingdom. It was functional. It was a front. It was home.
After dropping Michael and a traumatized Jimmy back at the villa, Jax drove the car he'd "liberated" from Simeon back to his apartment complex. He climbed the stairs, shoulder-charged his door open, and stopped dead.
On his sofa, nestled among the cushions, was a tiger cub. It was half the size of Bruce, with golden fur and eyes that held the cold, ancient stare of a jungle apex predator.
The cub's ears flattened. Its fur spiked. Before Jax could even drop his keys, the cat launched itself like a golden arrow toward his throat.
[Super Dynamic Vision: Activated.]
The world turned to molasses. Jax saw the individual whiskers on the cub's face. He stepped to the side, his new Brute Force making his movement feel effortless, and snatched the cub by the scruff of its neck mid-air.
"BRUCE! Get out here!" Jax roared.
The cub dangled, its paws batting fruitlessly at the air. It was small, but the "king of the jungle" aura was already there.
The bedroom door handle rattled and clicked. Bruce waddled out, his legs splayed like he was walking on a rocking boat. The stench of high-proof grain alcohol hit Jax's nose before the dog even opened his mouth.
"Oh... you're back," Bruce mumbled, his eyes glazed.
"Nonsense, I live here," Jax snapped, holding up the tiger. "Where did this come from?"
Bruce squinted at the cub. "Holy shit, Jax! Where'd you find a lion?"
"It's a tiger, you drunk! And why do you smell like a distillery?"
Bruce shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "I remember... I took Big Black into the city to find some supplies. We found some poachers... they'd taken down a big cat. This little guy was hiding in the brush. I figured he'd be better off with a 'Beast Overlord' like me than a taxidermist."
Jax facepalmed. He'd been gone for a day and his dog had committed grand larceny and illegal animal trafficking. "And who is 'Big Black'?"
Bruce gestured with a shaky paw toward the bedroom. Jax walked in and looked at his bed. The Bald Eagle was sprawled on his pillow, wings tucked awkwardly, a thin trail of saliva dripping from its beak onto the duvet.
The sun was setting over the Los Santos skyline, casting long, purple shadows across the room. Jax looked at the cub—now hiding behind Bruce's legs—and sighed. He couldn't go to the authorities, and he couldn't leave them in the street.
"Fine," Jax muttered, changing into a fresh shirt. "The three of you stay here. Do not. Leave. This. Room."
Bruce nodded frantically, his eyes already drifting toward the fridge he'd packed with stolen steaks. Behind him, the tiger cub mimicked the motion, nodding its round head at Jax with wide, confused eyes.
Jax walked out and pulled the door shut, heading for the elevator. He'd had enough "domestic" bliss for one day. It was time to see if the Los Santos nightlife was as lethal as the daytime.
Inside the apartment, Bruce turned to the cub. "Kid, tonight, I'm gonna teach you how to drink like a pro."
The tiger let out a tiny, high-pitched awoo.
"Wait," Bruce paused, scratching his ear. "Are minors allowed to have bourbon?"