AN: GIMME MORE POWERSTONES.
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[London Suburbs]
It was a rainy night. Marcus lay prone on the grassy hill across from the Spectre finance chief's safehouse with his sniper rifle on a bipod. He had been waiting three hours after killing all the guards around that place. He did not mind. Patience was just sniping with extra steps.
The target, a portly man in a robe with the permanent expression of someone who never tipped waiters, stepped out onto his balcony to smoke after taking a nice hot bath.
Marcus exhaled slowly. The wind shifted. He adjusted a fraction of an inch. His trigger finger curled.
The bullet punched through the target's chest and flung him backward. A second before he hit the floor, a second shot went straight through his skull. Precision was a hobby.
Marcus packed his things and walked to his car while checking the bounty board. He had taken down one target, leaving twenty-nine finance heads to go. A new alert popped up on the screen: Perkins had just killed two branch lieutenants in Morocco.
He snorted. 'Of course she did. The woman treated murder like cardio.'
He put the rifle in the trunk before driving away to his next target.
..
[Casablanca, Morocco]
The nightclub was loud. Pulsing lights, expensive fragrances, and the comforting scent of poor decisions. Ms. Perkins moved through the crowd in a black dress that made people step aside. Her heels clicked on the floor. Each step showed her silent confidence, as if she could take your wallet, your breath, and your chance at life in less than ten seconds. And she was carrying two drinks.
She found her targets at a VIP table: two Spectre lieutenants drinking overpriced whiskey and congratulating themselves on surviving this long. She approached with a gentle smile.
"Excuse me. Someone at the bar said these belong to you."
They blinked at the two drinks in her hands.
"We did not order anything," one of them said.
"I know," Perkins replied.
Before either could speak, her wrist flicked. A needle slid between the ribs of the first man. He choked silently, grabbing at her with disbelief in his eyes. It was an instant kill poison.
The second man stumbled back.
"Wha... who the hell are you?"
"Customer service," she said as she moved closer, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head against the table. Then again. Then once more until he stopped making noises before grabbing the wine bottle. She smashed it on the table and used the jagged ends to stab the guy in his throat multiple times.
And yeah, she did it before everyone, and no one was feeling lucky enough to go in and stop the crazy lady with murder tendencies.
By the time the security rushed in, she was already gone.
When she stepped out the back exit, her phone buzzed. She checked the new information.
'Marcus had six targets in London.'
Perkins rolled her eyes.
"Oh, please. Overachiever."
She adjusted her dress and headed for her motorcycle.
There were still plenty of high-value targets. And she was not letting Marcus take the lead without a fight.
...
[Osaka, Japan]
The warehouse district smelled of motor oil and late capitalism. The Shinobi twins sprinted across a rooftop. They wore lightweight armor and carried curved blades forged by a master blacksmith with anger issues.
Spectre's cyber division chief was inside the warehouse below. Thirty armed guards surrounded him. The twins considered it a warm-up.
The older twin pointed to the ventilation shaft. The younger grinned.
They split.
Inside, the guards paced nervously. The cyber chief sat at his computer, typing desperately as if he could digitally escape the problem of two extremely motivated ninjas.
The lights flickered.
A shadow dropped behind one guard. A blade flashed and blood sprayed like a fucking geyser. Silence followed.
On the opposite side, a second guard's head snapped back from a clean slash. The Shinobi twins moved fast and killed all the guards before they could even shoot.
The cyber chief grabbed his pistol and fired wildly. He hit nothing but his own stress.
The younger twin kicked him across the room, sending him sliding across the floor. The older twin pinned him with a blade under his jaw.
"You cannot kill me," the chief gasped.
"We can," the older said.
"But we will not spare you enough time to beg," the younger added.
Two blades pierced him in perfect harmony.
They wiped their weapons clean and checked their phones.
Perkins: 3
Marcus: 7
Zero: 6
Cassian: 3
Mr Nobody: 4
Shinobi Twins: 14 combined
The older twin smirked. "We are winning."
The younger nodded. "As it should be."
Then their phones buzzed again.
Marcus just added three more from a moving convoy.
The younger twin narrowed his eyes.
"...He cheats."
The older sheathed his blades. "Then we must work faster."
...
[American Rust Belt]
A steel mill churned in the distance, smoke rising like a warning sign. Mr Nobody crouched beside his dog, petting her gently. "You see that?" He pointed to the abandoned foundry. "Six Spectre captains inside. They think no one can track them here. Which is adorable."
His dog woofed.
"I know. Marcus is racking up kills like he is speedrunning a video game."
He stood and adjusted his shotgun.
"Let's go... even the scoreboard."
He walked through the main gate without subtlety. When Spectre guards raised their rifles, his dog barked sharply. Mr Nobody fired first.
The shotgun thundered. A guard went flying. Then another. Then a third. Mr Nobody moved like a man strolling through a garden while weeds politely removed themselves.
Inside the mill, the Spectre captains scrambled.
"How did he find us?" one yelled.
"I track things," Mr Nobody said behind them.
They turned too late.
A grenade rolled across the floor like a mischievous hamster. Mr Nobody whistled. The dog ran behind cover.
The explosion shook the foundry. When the smoke cleared, Mr Nobody stepped forward with a sigh.
"Less talking. More dying. Honestly, I should charge consultancy fees. But 300 million will do."
He checked the board, and Markus took the top place while the twins were in second.
He scratched his dog's ears.
"Not bad. Let's go to the next location. A couple of big fish await."
The dog trotted off obediently.
...
[Rome Countryside]
Moonlight washed over the sprawling vineyard estate. Cassian moved through the grape rows. His silenced pistol stayed low but ready.
Spectre's logistics commander was hosting a private party. Cassian did not RSVP.
He slipped through the back door and snapped the neck of the first guard with a clean twist. Another guard spotted him, but Cassian shot him and grabbed his radio before it hit the ground.
The logistics commander received intel that there's a bomb in the building. So, he panicked and tried to escape through the garage. Cassian was already there, resting against the hood of the man's expensive car.
"Going somewhere?" Cassian asked.
The commander froze.
"You are making a mistake. I have money, I have connections, we can negotiate."
Cassian shrugged.
"The rules of accepting a bounty are clear. Goodbye."
He shot him once through the heart. Then twice, because Cassian believed in quality control.
He checked his phone.
"Marcus and the twins are showing off again."
He holstered his gun and vanished into the night.
...
[Kyoto City Center]
Zero walked down the crowded street carrying a bamboo umbrella. His students blended into the passersby like they were part of the atmosphere.
Spectre's Asian information broker had chosen the worst possible place to hide: a public festival. Zero hummed to himself.
"I admire his optimism," Zero said. "But failure is the greatest teacher. And he is about to receive a very short lesson."
The broker spotted Zero and sprinted into an alley. Zero's students sealed the exits as if choreographed.
The broker drew a gun, hands shaking.
"Stay back. I can pay you. Double. Triple."
Zero tilted his head.
"You insult me. A bribe that small is rude."
He flicked his umbrella. A blade snapped out. The broker screamed and tried to run away, but thanks to his disciples, he was running in a circle. Zero followed with the calm patience of a man browsing a grocery aisle.
The killing stroke was clean and quick.
Zero closed the umbrella with a snap.
His phone buzzed.
Zero smiled warmly.
"My students, we are falling behind. This is unacceptable. Honor demands we increase our productivity."
His students straightened.
"Hai, Sensei."
"Good. Let us go make the world safer one corpse at a time."
...
[Global Map]
Across the world, Spectre branches fell like dominoes in a windstorm.
In Berlin, Perkins infiltrated a corrupt politician's office by pretending to be his mistress. She shot him mid-kiss. He did not take it well.
In Mumbai, the Shinobi twins killed their way through a Spectre biochem lab that tried to release gas canisters. They returned the gas to the sender. Yep! They drowned the entire lab in toxic gas, killing every single one of them.
In Buenos Aires, Mr Nobody led his dog through a skyscraper's ventilation system, dropping Spectre executives down elevator shafts like unwanted mail.
In Dubai, Marcus shot a fleeing Spectre accountant from a helicopter five miles away.
In Athens, Cassian infiltrated a yacht party, eliminated a Spectre diplomat, and every single Spectre member on board before stealing the yacht. It was a nice yacht, he couldn't resist it.
In Seoul, Zero and his students took down a cyber bunker while enjoying street food. Zero ate tteokbokki between kills.
By the end of the week, Spectre was no longer a threat. It was barely a rumor with bruises.
...
[Leaderboard: Final Count] [Decided by the number of branch leaders takedown around the world.]
Marcus: 102
Shinobi Twins: 78
Mr Nobody: 56
Zero: 92
Ms Perkins: 67
Cassian: 72
Marcus looked at his phone and allowed himself a small, triumphant smile.
"Well," he muttered. "That settles that."
Perkins texted him.
[You cheated.
Drinks tonight. Winner buys.]
Marcus replied.
[I do not cheat. I win efficiently.
And fine. I will buy.]
The Shinobi twins sent a photo of their blades crossed in mutual disappointment.
Zero sent a polite message:
[Congratulations. I am proud of your enthusiasm.
But next time, I will win.]
Cassian simply sighed and turned off his phone. "Show-offs. The whole lot of them."
And Mr Nobody scratched his dog's head. "Good week. Let us never speak of the paperwork."
...
Spectre was gone.
Three hundred million dollars had turned the underworld into a demolition derby. And Spectre was the car that everyone rammed. By the time the smoke cleared, there was nothing left but ruins. And even those were being carefully looted.
Markus got the bounty.
...
[New York City] [The Soup Kitchen]
Rain drizzled over the city like it had nowhere better to be. Pigeons perched on ledges, puffed up and smug, because they worked for the richest man in Manhattan and they knew it.
Inside the Bowery King's underground soup kitchen, the mood was the exact opposite of gloomy. The place was lit, loud, and overflowing with the kind of chaos only assassins, information brokers, and homeless informants could create when someone lands an absurd payday.
Two hundred million had a way of warming the room.
The King sat on his reclaimed throne, draped in velvet that had definitely been looted from a theater. His grin stretched wide enough to require its own ZIP code.
"My beautiful birds," he announced, raising a cup of cheap champagne he pretended was expensive. "Tonight, we celebrate not just money. We celebrate brilliance. My brilliance. Our brilliance. And also Marcus, who committed all the murders but let us profit. Bless that efficient psychopath."
The room cheered. Someone popped a confetti cannon. It startled three pigeons, who retaliated by dive bombing the dessert table.
The Bowery King did not care. He leaned back, savoring the moment.
His advisor approached, holding a tablet. "Boss, just finished tallying everything. Two hundred and fourteen million in pure information sales. And another twelve million from contractors who paid extra for premium gossip."
The King snapped his fingers. "What did I tell you? People love gossip more than bullets. And bullets are cheap unless Marcus is firing them from helicopters."
The adviser nodded. "Speaking of Marcus, he said he will stop by later. Miss Perkins might join. They said something about arguing over who buys drinks."
The King cackled. "Let them argue. Conflict makes great entertainment. Maybe I will sell that too."
He stood up and strutted through the room, greeting his flock. The soup kitchen tables were stacked with food. They had ribs, pasta, pies, seafood, and a suspicious-looking punch bowl that glowed a little that everyone pretended not to notice.
A group of informants played cards in the corner, betting gold coins, burner phones, and a single priceless Faberge egg that someone definitely should not have brought here.
A violinist played on top of a table, wildly off-key, but he played with enthusiasm, so nobody stopped him.
It was a good night.
***[Spoilers. Click to read upcoming chs names.][1]
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[5 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]
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[1] Ch: 220 [Premiere Jitters] Ch: 221 [Red Carpet] Ch: 222 [Mr & Mrs Smith- Premiere event] Ch: 223 [Ambition, Animation, and Ammunition] Ch: 224 [A night of pleasure]