Franklin burst into the living room, still buzzing from their score. "Boss, today's worth celebratin'. I'm headin' out to grab some booze."
Jason grinned, waving him off. "Hell yeah, it is."
He got Franklin's excitement. Years ago, Jason had felt the same rush after knocking over a convenience store for a measly $10,000. That night, he hadn't slept a wink, high on the thrill. As Franklin left, Jason sank deeper into the couch, pulling up the system interface to watch his Reputation tick upward.
[Ding! Reputation reached 300 points. Gained one ally recruitment opportunity.]
Jason tapped the recruit option, and his eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pinpoints. "No way. Him?"
A grin spread across his face, wild and unrestrained. This was huge—an inside man in the police. A game-changer.
Click.
The sound of a key turning in the lock snapped him back to reality. Only Franklin and Denise had keys. Probably her, back from blowing his cash on shopping. He ignored it, scrolling through the system.
Then his instincts screamed. Something was wrong. The footsteps were too quiet—deliberate, like a predator stalking prey.
'Shit. Assassin.'
Jason launched off the couch, his hand flashing to the Glock tucked at his waistband. In one fluid motion, he hooked his heel against the slide, chambering a round with a sharp clack. From sensing danger to readying his weapon, it took less than two seconds—a speed that would've shamed an elite marksman.
But it wasn't fast enough.
The killer stepped into the living room. Dark linen Mao suit, unremarkable Chinese features, but his eyes were razor-sharp, locking onto Jason like a hawk on a rabbit. This wasn't some street thug. This was a master.
Jason's gut churned, his hand rising to fire. But the killer moved first, his right hand flicking with lethal precision.
Swish!
A small throwing knife pierced Jason's forearm, the blade punching through muscle and protruding from the other side. Pain seared through him, his fingers spasming open. The Glock hit the floor with a dull thud.
Gritting his teeth, Jason dove to the ground, lunging for the gun with his left hand.
Thud!
Another knife buried itself in the floor, inches from his fingers. One second slower, and he'd have lost them.
'Holy shit, this guy's knife work is unreal.'
Cold sweat beaded on Jason's brow. He didn't dare reach for the gun again. The assassin strolled forward, kicking the Glock across the room with a casual flick of his cloth shoe.
"Jason Walter?" The killer asked, his accented English awkward and stilted.
Jason pulled the knife from his arm, blood dripping as he stood. Switching to fluent Mandarin, he replied, "That's me."
The killer's brow twitched, surprised. In all his years in the States, he'd never met a target who spoke Mandarin so fluently. "Your reputation precedes you," He said, still in Chinese, a faint smirk on his lips.
Jason snorted. "Let me ask a pointless question. Who hired you?"
The killer stretched his arms, assuming a martial arts stance, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Beat me, and I'll tell you."
Jason blinked, thrown off. A killer who wanted to spar before finishing the job? First time for everything. If this guy was itching to die, Jason was happy to oblige.
"Raaah!" With a roar, Jason charged, his Combat Mastery (Level 4) fueling his attack.
The killer's smirk widened, contemptuous. He sidestepped effortlessly, his fist snapping out like a coiled snake. The punch slammed into Jason's chest, sending him flying. His back crashed into the TV, the screen shattering with a sickening crunch. Pain tore through his chest and spine, blood flooding his mouth. The blow had hit something vital—his limbs felt like jelly, strength draining away.
'Did this bastard just one-shot me?'
Jason's mind reeled. He'd faced countless enemies over a decade in the underworld, but getting dropped in a single move? That was new. 'What the hell? Isn't kung fu supposed to be all flash and no substance?'
The killer relaxed his stance, shaking his head. "Your name echoes through the underworld, but you're a disappointment. Weak."
Jason forced a bitter smile, playing up his desperation. "I'm just a regular guy, good for stomping punks. How am I supposed to beat a martial arts master like you?"
As he spoke, he discreetly navigated the system interface. Thank God he'd saved those 10 attribute points. Without them, he'd be dead meat.
[Strength: 38 → 43]
[Agility: 40 → 40]
[Endurance: 35 → 40]
[Intelligence: 40 → 40]
[Remaining Attribute Points: 0]
The boost hit like a shot of adrenaline, his injuries knitting together, pain dulling to a manageable throb. He dropped to his knees, crawling toward the killer, his voice pleading. "Master, let me go. Whatever they're paying, I'll double it."
The sight of New York's most notorious killer groveling fed the assassin's ego, his chest puffing with pride. He planted a foot on Jason's shoulder. "Sorry. What she offers, you could never match."
Jason's head hung low, his eyes dim—until they blazed with sudden, feral intensity. "Fuck you!"
He lunged, tackling the startled killer to the ground. The assassin reacted fast, his fists hammering Jason's face. Two blows landed, stars bursting in Jason's vision, but he seized the killer's wrists, his Strength (43) overpowering the man's resistance. With a savage roar, he wrenched the killer's hands apart, grabbing four fingers and twisting with all his might.
Crack!
The fingers snapped like dry twigs, the sound sharp and sickening.
The killer screamed, pain lancing through him. His strength surged in desperation, and he broke free, his legs kicking wildly. A brutal strike sent Jason flying again, agony exploding in his gut. But Endurance (40) kept him in the fight. He grabbed the killer's ankles, spinning him like a ragdoll. Momentum built with each rotation until Jason hurled him headfirst at the wall.
Splat!
The killer's skull shattered against the concrete, blood and brain matter spraying like a burst melon. The body slumped, lifeless, painting the wall in streaks of red and white.
Jason collapsed, drenched in blood, his body screaming with pain. He gasped for air, chest heaving.
Ring! Ring!
An old-school phone chime cut through the silence. Jason crawled to the corpse, fishing a burner phone from the killer's pocket.
"Is it done?" A raspy, familiar voice asked.
Jason's blood boiled, an image flashing in his mind. "Gao, you fucking old hag!"
Madame Gao's voice faltered. "Jason? You're alive?"
"Damn right I'm alive," He roared. "Your boy's not so lucky. His head's splattered across the wall."
Silence. Gao's top assassin, dead. Finally, she spoke, her tone calm but icy. "We had no personal grudge, Jason. But you're a reckless menace. If you keep tearing through the city, my business collapses."
"Good. Fucking great," Jason said, his laugh bitter and unhinged. "Get ready, you old bitch. I'm coming for you. I'll burn your empire to the ground, and you'll watch every second of it."
Gao chuckled, as if he'd told the world's funniest joke. "Little boy, no one in New York talks to me like that. I'll be waiting. Don't chicken out."
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