Chapter 139: V for Vendetta
Carl, ecstatic, quickly scribbled down his boss's words in his notebook, eyes shining with admiration. Ron nodded approvingly, then shot a look at his two operators. "Look at him, then look at yourselves! You're losing your edge, gentlemen."
But if Ron had seen the title in Carl's notebook, he'd have been even more irritated: "How to Become a Legitimate Crime Boss: The Making of a Don." God knows what garbage the kid was writing down based on watching Ron's operations.
"Remember, from now on, don't call me Boss or Chief. Call me V. Now, let's begin." Ron activated his voice modulator and squeezed the trigger.
The RPG boomed, sending the cartel gunner flying. Wearing a black tactical outfit and white Guy Fawkes mask, Ron discarded the launcher and leaped from the high rooftop. Muzzle flashes erupted from his twin Taurus Model 608 revolvers.
As Ron's body spun through the air, bullets flew in seemingly random yet perfectly calculated patterns, striking cartel fighters between the eyes.
Sixteen rounds, sixteen bodies hitting the pavement. From first shot to final impact, less than two seconds elapsed.
Even assassin Arthur was impressed by the marksmanship. He immediately fired controlled bursts at the opposing rooftop, dropping two gunmen who were drawing beads on Ron as he descended with a heavy gear bag strapped to his back.
Ron, walking through the crossfire, stood in the middle of the street, smoothly ejecting sixteen spent casings before reloading with practiced efficiency.
The cartel ambushers on the rooftops were stunned.
It wasn't just Ron's theatrical appearance or his terrifyingly precise shooting—they'd discovered this "freak" was apparently unkillable!
Several had put rounds center mass, but he'd simply staggered and kept moving.
Ron's voice modulator crackled over the hijacked radio frequency: "You can kill a man's body, but you can never destroy his ideals, because ideas are bulletproof."
Bullshit! Hank, who'd just dropped a probing gunman with his sniper rifle, sneered from behind cover. The guy was clearly wearing double-layered body armor under that costume!
Still, Ron's theatrics were undeniably effective. Some cartel fighters were already getting spooked. The most terrifying thing isn't advanced weaponry or superior firepower—it's the unknown.
Like an apparently immortal enemy.
Arthur, timing it perfectly, rolled behind the transport vehicle where Toretto and the others were taking cover. The female police officer had already freed them, and Arthur opened his pack, dumping the contents.
AK-47s scattered across the asphalt.
Everyone expertly grabbed one, charged the bolt, and began returning fire.
The sudden increase in firepower temporarily suppressed the cartel's assault.
"This nation is corrupted. Criminal cartels and corporate oligarchs trample the government underfoot, tyrannical and arrogant. Corrupt officials collaborate with them, and even law enforcement serves as their accomplices. Reyes has become the true dictator of this region..."
Ron delivered his monologue while engaging targets. This time he wasn't as reckless, taking proper cover. After all, no matter how thick your body armor, a headshot would still drop you.
Ron's voice, broadcast through the commandeered radio system, reached every corner of the street. Behind previously shuttered windows, pairs of furious eyes appeared, burning with rage.
Ron knew his psychological operation was working, but the firepower seemed insufficient. He didn't mind stoking that anger further.
"This country's wealth is created by its people, and belongs forever to every citizen born on this soil!" Ron dropped two more cartel soldiers with precise shots. "Nobody has the right to steal it from working families!"
"If someone takes our prosperity, then we take it back! Power to the people..." Ron's speech was so impassioned he almost slipped into revealing his true ideological background.
Arthur didn't think much of it, but Hank's skin crawled. "Boss, dial it back! We're still Americans here!"
The fury behind those windows intensified. If looks could kill, Reyes would already be incinerated.
But that didn't matter. Rage couldn't kill—but AK-47s could. Ron tapped a rhythmic pattern on his radio. The prearranged signal to Hank.
Hank gunned a small truck straight into the battleground, the cargo bed tilted up, and assault rifles clattered to the pavement.
"Storm the castle, seize the treasury!"
Damn! Wrong movie reference!
Ron realized his mistake after shouting, and everyone looked confused. He quickly corrected himself: "Kill Reyes! Reclaim the wealth that belongs to us!"
Silence fell across the area. Everyone stared from behind their windows, but nobody dared venture outside.
The cartel leader surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. This was the result of years of systematic intimidation. But Ron wasn't giving up. Instead, he used a lull in the firefight to grab a rifle and hurl it through a nearby window.
Just as the cartel fighters were still laughing at Ron's apparent desperation, a miracle occurred.
That window erupted with automatic fire, cutting down the confused and bewildered gunmen still standing on the rooftop. Ron smiled—his plan was actually succeeding.
Sure enough, after that window became a new firing position, more people began emerging. They grabbed weapons and joined Ron's fight, gradually replacing him as the primary combatants.
Though their marksmanship was terrible and their tactical movement was nonexistent, their fighting spirit—fueled by pure rage—made them fearless. They gradually overwhelmed the cartel, surrounding the survivors.
The battle continued until only one gunman remained, collapsing in terror and dropping his weapon.
Finally, a victory cheer erupted from the crowd.
"Kill Reyes! Take back our money!" "Kill Reyes! Take back our money!" "Kill Reyes! Take back our money!"
Those armed and unarmed alike roared in unison. Their sudden victory finally made them realize that the cartels who'd always terrorized them weren't so fearsome after all. They were flesh and blood, killable by bullets.
Victory emboldened them beyond anything they'd ever experienced. With weapons raised and slogans chanting, they marched toward the city's most luxurious corporate tower.
During the march, more and more people joined, the crowd growing like a snowball. Someone—nobody knew who—took out a black bedsheet and painted Ron's mask design in white.
It became the most prominent banner in the procession.
(End of chapter)
If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a Power Stone or Review!
P@atreon/Soulforger (45+ advanced chapters)
Buy me coffee - ko-fi*com/soulforger01