Chicago's Silent King
Back at the base — an abandoned bank Classic had converted into the HQ for Classic Hoodz — the crew gathered under the dim light of a bulletproof chandelier, where money wasn't counted… it was measured in silence.
The vault room was no longer for cash.
Now, it held crates of imported weapons, briefcases of uncut product, encrypted laptops, and blueprints of the city's underground pipelines.
But tonight, the energy was different.
That mysterious call was still echoing in Classic's head — someone knew his real name, his bloodline.
But instead of spiraling, Classic sharpened.
---
He walked into the center of the war room, eyes locked on the glowing digital map on the wall — tracking every street corner they controlled, every rival move, every open route from Chicago to Mexico, to Nigeria, to Dubai.
The crew fell silent as he stood still, hands behind his back.
Then came the words.
> "I don't want a plug anymore."
He turned to face them, voice cold.
> "I want to be the plug."
---
Juno blinked. "Wait, what you mean—"
Classic cut him off with a glance.
"I'm tired of middlemen. I'm tired of waiting for shipments, praying the price don't spike. I'm tired of asking for respect."
He stepped forward.
"I want labs, not packages. Ships, not handoffs. Doctors, farmers, engineers. Chemists that answer to me."
Maya leaned against the desk, intrigued.
"You talking full-on empire?"
Classic smiled slightly.
"No. I'm talking monopoly."
---
He walked to the vault, pressed his hand against a biometric scanner, and the thick door hissed open.
Inside… blueprints.
Not just of drug routes, but grow farms, chemical refineries, coastal ports, smuggling submarines, and even crypto wallets tied to offshore accounts.
Alex raised a brow. "You been building this behind the scenes?"
Classic nodded.
> "This city been selling poison for decades. I'm just gonna make it cleaner, safer, and only move through me."
---
He grabbed a marker and circled three names on the digital board:
Marco Fuentes – Chicago's South American cartel connect.
"Dr. Blue" – A rogue chemist once used by the CIA.
Amina Blaq – Nigerian arms trafficker with ties to West African warlords.
"These three don't know it yet," Classic said, "but they're gonna work for me."
---
Juno stepped up. "And if they say no?"
Classic looked him in the eye.
> "Then they disappear."
Silence.
Then Alex chuckled. "Man, you ain't building a gang. You building a global syndicate."
Classic nodded once.
"I don't want to be in the game," he said, turning back to the map.
> "I want to own the board."
---
Suddenly, an alert flashed on Maya's laptop.
Unauthorized drone footage.
Near the bank.
Someone was watching.
Classic stepped over, reviewed the feed.
A camera. On a drone. Hovering just above the fourth floor.
The screen zoomed in.
A logo.
A black fox inside a gold triangle.
Maya's eyes widened.
> "That's not a gang tag… That's a government spy drone."
Classic's voice was low. Dead serious.
> "Get everyone underground. Lock down the exits. Burn all paper trails. Wipe the servers."
> "If they want a war... we give them a kingdom."
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