Chapter 14: The Predator's Logic
Max drove the Copperheads' car—a matte black Dodge Charger that growled like a beast—out of the garage. He didn't go to the safe house. He didn't need to hide anymore.
His mind was racing, but not with panic. It was processing information at a rate that frightened him. He looked at the street signs and instantly memorized the grid. He listened to the police scanner he had stolen from Gold Tooth's belt and could filter the static, isolating the frequencies of the Vittorio patrols.
He was evolving.
The deal with the Devil wasn't just physical. It was cognitive. As his "Rep" increased, his brain was being rewired. He wasn't just a thug; he was becoming a tactical supercomputer.
He pulled the Charger into an alleyway overlooking a Vittorio distribution hub—a nightclub called Velvet. This was where the Syndicate moved their high-end narcotics.
Max watched the bouncers. He counted their rotations.
Left guard: 250 pounds, favoring his left leg. Right guard: carrying a concealed weapon under his left armpit. Camera sweep: every 45 seconds.
Before the deal, Max would have seen obstacles. Now, he saw equations. And he knew how to solve them.
He didn't have an army. He didn't have guns. He had a tire iron he found in the trunk and the terrifying strength humming in his veins.
He walked up to the front of the line. The VIP rope.
"List?" the bouncer grunted, not looking up.
"I'm the new management," Max said.
The bouncer looked up, sneering. "Get lost, ki—"
Max didn't headbutt him. He simply placed his hand on the bouncer's chest and pushed.
It looked like a gentle shove. But the bouncer flew backward as if hit by a truck. He crashed through the double oak doors of the club, splintering the wood and landing in the lobby.
The music inside didn't stop, but the screams started.
Max walked in. The second bouncer reached for his gun. Max was already there. He grabbed the gun barrel, twisting it downward. The metal bent. The bouncer stared at the warped steel in horror.
"Sleep," Max said, delivering a chop to the man's carotid artery. The man collapsed.
Max walked onto the dance floor. The strobe lights flashed, freezing the dancers in frame-by-frame motion. He felt the rhythm of the bass in his chest, but it didn't distract him.
He walked to the bar. The bartender, a made man for the Vittorios, dropped a shaker.
"Where is the manager?" Max asked. His voice cut through the pounding techno music, amplified by some strange vocal resonance he hadn't realized he possessed.
"Up... upstairs," the bartender stammered.
Max walked up the stairs. Security guards rushed him. Four of them.
It was a dance. A brutal, efficient ballet. Max dodged a punch by a millimeter. He caught a fist and used the momentum to throw the attacker over the railing. He kicked a knee, shattering it. He moved faster than human reflexes allowed. To the guards, he was a blur. To Max, they were moving in molasses.
He reached the manager's office. He didn't knock. He kicked the door. The solid wood exploded inward, torn from its hinges.
The manager, a fat man named Sal, was counting money. He scrambled for a shotgun under his desk.
Max was across the room in two strides. He placed his hand on the shotgun barrel and pressed it down to the desk.
"Don't," Max said.
Sal pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The gun fired, but Max held the barrel down. The buckshot tore through the mahogany desk and into the floor. Max's hand didn't even vibrate.
"You..." Sal gasped. "Who are you?"
"I'm the takeover," Max said.
He grabbed Sal by the collar and lifted him. Sal weighed three hundred pounds. Max lifted him with one arm, his feet dangling off the ground.
Status Check: Intimidation Success.
Buff: Charisma +10. Voice Command Unlocked.
"This club is mine," Max said, his voice echoing with a dark authority. "The money is mine. You work for me now."
"The Vittorios will kill you," Sal choked out. "They have an army."
"I have a partner," Max whispered, his eyes flashing black. "And he's very hungry."
Max dropped Sal. The fat man collapsed, gasping for air.
"Call your men," Max ordered. "Tell them the ownership has changed. Tell them the Iron Dogs are back. And tell them... the Devil is driving."