It didn't take long before the floor was covered with bodies.
Even the ones with the lightest injuries had several broken bones. A few had died on the spot.
Zod walked over to the stunned cashier.
"I'll have your best BBQ. And an ice-cold Coke—fill the biggest mug you've got. Make sure it's really cold."
He genuinely missed Earth's Coke. Back on Krypton, no matter how hard he tried, he could never recreate the flavor he craved.
The owner didn't dare refuse. Zod swept his gaze across the room and noticed not a single table was clean. So he helped himself, grabbing a few thousand dollars off the gangsters sprawled across the floor.
He wasn't familiar with American prices—much less the prices in this era, which wasn't even the period he had originally come from.
"Hurry up and clean this table."
Zod's tone left no room for argument.
The restaurant had no choice but to send a busboy over, who wiped down the table and the greasy chairs with detergent.
Places like this rarely bothered with cleaning. Even if they tidied up, the moment a gang walked in, they'd trash the place all over again. Over time, they simply stopped trying.
Zod enjoyed the Texas-style BBQ—thought it was decent—and then downed five gallons of ice-cold Coke.
On top of that, he polished off more than fifty pounds of assorted grilled meats by himself, wiping out nearly half the shop's inventory.
The owner looked utterly broken when he tallied the bill.
Zod also realized he'd become incredibly ravenous. Yet Kryptonians weren't known for needing this much food. Photosynthesis alone was usually more than enough to meet energy demands. Unless someone's stomach functioned like a matter-annihilation generator that could convert mass directly into energy, there was no way eating like a Saiyan would give you planet-busting power.
Full and satisfied, Zod started asking the owner some questions.
Only then did he learn that the gang he had just killed and crippled was the infamous Scorpion Gang. Their name wasn't exactly original, but in Mexico and Texas, they were terrifyingly well-known. Only one group could match them—the Skull Gang, allegedly backed by the United States' underground emperor, Kingpin.
The two gangs constantly clashed across the U.S.–Mexico border, in Mexico, and throughout Texas—trafficking powder, hijacking tourists, kidnapping, extortion, and at times even running organ-trafficking rings big enough to make national news.
These days, the Scorpion Gang mainly dealt powder and crystal; the Skull Gang handled arms. The largest weapons dealer in the Americas partnered with Kingpin, and Kingpin partnered with the Skull Gang.
As a result, the Skull Gang carried better gear and heavier firepower. The Scorpion Gang could only hold their own with a seventy-thirty split at best.
Zod found it amusing, but he had no intention of playing vigilante. He wasn't Bai Li Qingfeng or some "Long Aotian"-type protagonist who would wipe out entire criminal syndicates just for existing—unless they provoked him first.
After eating, Zod didn't head back right away. Instead, he wandered around this foreign land.
Meanwhile, the badly injured remnants of the Scorpion Gang went back to report what had happened. If they had merely been beaten up, that would've been one thing. But deaths and crippling injuries? That was a direct slap to the Scorpion Gang's face.
Their headquarters wasn't in Texas like the Skull Gang's, but that didn't mean they lacked muscle here.
Within minutes, over fifty armed men mobilized. Their mission: eliminate the guy who had humiliated the Scorpion Gang.
And Zod's movements didn't escape the watchful eyes of local informants. Soon enough, he was surrounded in the street.
Texas police had no interest in meddling with the Scorpion Gang. Most of them were dirty cops on both the Scorpions' and the Skulls' payroll. As long as nothing escalated too far, they preferred to look the other way.
Zod raised a brow, surprised.
"Die!"
They had no plans to drag him off for torture. Killing him in broad daylight sent a much stronger message.
As the barrel came up, Zod's enhanced reflexes let him clearly perceive the movement in slow motion. He calculated the bullet trajectory at a glance and stepped aside with ease—just as the gangsters instinctively pulled their triggers.
The next moment was straight out of an action movie: Zod slipped between the bullets effortlessly and closed the distance in a heartbeat.
"Holy—!"
"F**k!"
The fifty-plus gunmen panicked. But no matter how badly they wanted to hit him, their bodies were simply too slow. Zod rushed in and drove his fist into the man who appeared to be their leader. The impact triggered a chain-reaction collision that belonged in cinema, not reality.
The leader flew backward, slamming into three or four men behind him. Those men crashed into the ones behind them…
One punch—half the group went down.
These powder-runners had no idea how important spacing and formation were. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder just made them walking targets.
The first guy, having taken the brunt of the force, now had an impact crater in his torso—large enough you could've placed an encyclopedia inside.
Beyond seven steps, guns win. Within seven steps, fists win.
And once Zod got close, the Scorpion Gang had zero chance of fighting back. Even if they desperately tried to redirect their guns, they'd only end up shooting their own men. Zod casually batted aside their weapons, causing them to mow down each other in panic.
By the end, the street was filled with groaning bodies. All that remained in their eyes was fear.
What kind of monster had they provoked?
Zod planted his foot on one of the moaning men.
"Take me to your Scorpion Gang boss."
His gaze dropped coldly.
If they wanted to come after him, then he had no reason to let things go.
"Police!"
Right on cue, the dirty cops who had taken hush money came rushing over.
Of course they did. If something major happened to the Scorpion Gang on their turf, they'd be the ones in trouble. Their bribe payments would shrink for months.
Zod shot them a dismissive glance and vanished.
He didn't feel like dealing with that layer of corruption yet. Instead, he chose to follow the trail. These guys would be taken to the hospital—or someone from the Scorpion Gang would visit them.
Either way, that would be his chance.
As expected, once the officers notified the Scorpion Gang, they immediately sent someone to check on the survivors. Zod tailed that man all the way to one of the Scorpion Gang's factories near the Texas border.
This factory was one of their key distribution hubs, producing over thirty tons of crystal and powder a year—the largest production site the Scorpion Gang possessed.
From here, shipments went out to Texas, across the U.S., and deep into the Golden Triangle.
No exaggeration—this was a river of gold. At least two-thirds of the Scorpion Gang's entire revenue came from their drug operations.
/-\
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