Chapter 44: Drug Raid #44
Two days had passed since I had reluctantly accepted Big C's offer. Trusting the man was out of the question, but for now, I had to keep him on a tight leash until I could find a more reliable replacement. My options were limited, and sometimes survival meant making deals with the devil.
I made my way toward the Pal Box, ready to teleport back to New York. The sun was out, its warmness and the salty sea breeze doing nothing to calm my anxious mind.
Just as I reached the Pal Box, Dugan appeared from around the corner, wearing an expression of frustration. "Going somewhere, mate?" he asked, his accent adding a layer of formality to his irritation.
I didn't halt my stride. "I'm going to hit Manfredi where it hurts. He's got a shipment of drugs I'll be putting to the torch..."
He stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. "Off to making more trouble, then, eh?" he said, not even bothering to hide his annoyance, looking me straight in the eye.
"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be with your unhinged actions. Fury is pragmatic enough to look the other way as long as you keep providing valuable intel, but there are higher-ups in SHIELD who are starting to ask questions."
I sighed, giving him an irritated look of my own. "Clearly, you've got something to say. Spit it out quickly, Dugan. I've got places to be."
Dugan's eyes softened for a moment, then hardened with resolve. "All I'm saying is that the consequences of your actions will catch up to you sooner or later if you don't start playing nice. Not everyone in SHIELD is as flexible as Fury. You keep pushing the limits, and someone's going to push back."
I opened my mouth to reply, but I had to swallow my words as I felt an intense pain assaulting my skull, akin to someone holding my brain with both hands and squeezing hard.
I groaned, holding my forehead, my posture faltering. Dugan was sharp enough to notice that something was wrong. "You alright there?" He asked with a frown.
"It's nothing... just a headache..." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I can handle myself, Dugan. Just make sure you send someone to contact Spider-Man. I need him off my back."
Dugan shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. "You're a bloody stubborn one, you know that? Fine. I'll get someone on it. But remember, you're running out of allies."
Ignoring his last remark, I reached out and touched the Pal Box. In an instant, the familiar sensation of teleportation washed over me, and the sterile corridors of the base vanished, replaced by the bustling chaos of New York City.
As I reappeared in the theatre, the acrid smells and loud sounds of the city hit me like a wave. I took a deep breath, centering myself. I had made my choice, and now it was time to see it through.
New York was dangerous, and a good number of people in it wanted me dead for all kinds of reasons. And despite Dugan's warnings, I wasn't about to let anyone dictate how I navigated this treacherous path.
Big C was a means to an end, and for now, I'd use him. But I'd be damned if I let anyone—not Dugan, not Fury, and certainly not SHIELD—tell me how to go about doing it.
The game was mine to play, and I intended to win.
...
The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air as I made my way through the dimly lit basement of an old, decrepit mansion. The place had once been the jewel of the neighborhood, but now it served as a hidden stash house for drugs. It was a clever spot—no one would suspect a seemingly abandoned mansion in the suburbs to be a hub for criminal activity.
Groans of pain echoed through the basement as I stepped over the bodies of the thugs who had been guarding the stash. I had tried my best to avoid casualties, but two of them hadn't been so lucky. Their lifeless eyes stared up at the cracked ceiling, a grim reminder of the cost of this life.
I gathered the firearms from the thugs, checking each weapon before stowing them away. Then I turned my attention to the briefcases lined up against the far wall, each one filled with various drugs.
Stacking them in the center of the room, I pulled a gas canister from my inventory and began dousing the drugs, the pungent smell of gasoline mixing with the damp air.
Once I was satisfied, I retrieved a lighter from my pocket, ready to set the whole lot ablaze. Just as I was about to flick the lighter, a sharp pain lanced through my skull, causing me to stagger back. I clutched my head, teeth gritted against the sudden agony.
Vito materialized beside me, his expression one of concern. "You've been getting these headaches quite frequently lately. You alright?"
I winced, the pain subsiding enough for me to stand straight. "I don't know. They've been getting worse," I admitted, my voice strained. "More frequent, more painful."
Vito frowned, crossing his arms. "That doesn't sound too good. Maybe you should see a doctor."
I shrugged, trying to brush off his concern. "Maybe I will."
With a deep breath, I steadied myself and flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing at the end of my thumb. I tossed it onto the pile of drugs, watching as the gasoline ignited with a roar, flames quickly consuming the briefcases.
As the fire grew, illuminating the dark basement with its hellish glow, I couldn't help but feel a sense of grim satisfaction.
The drugs in that basement weren't just any small-time stash; they represented a significant investment. Manfredi had probably spent a fortune acquiring them, and in a few minutes, they'd be nothing but sludge, ash, or whatever Mother Nature deemed appropriate.
This was a blow to Manfredi's reputation, one built on his ability to keep the money flowing and his ruthlessness in dealing with anyone who crossed him.
There I was, a former Silvermane who double-crossed him, now messing with his money flow and costing him a fortune. No matter how feared Manfredi was, my actions today would plant seeds of doubt about his invincibility. That, in itself, was a victory.
Staring at the crackling fire, I couldn't help but get lost in thought. The flames consumed the drugs, reducing them to a blackened mess. Before I knew it, I was spacing out, the hypnotic dance of the fire pulling me in. Vito's voice snapped me back to reality.
"The job's done. Time to hit the road," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
I looked down. The flames had already died out, leaving only the melted plastic from the briefcases, infused with the remnants of the drugs.
I must have been spacing out for a good ten minutes. "Right..." shaking my head, I sighed and headed for the exit.
Navigating the mansion's decaying hallways, I soon found myself outside. The cool night air was a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the basement. Vito appeared again, walking beside me.
"Those drugs could've fetched a handsome price," he commented, his tone almost wistful.
I scowled, feeling the familiar irritation bubbling up. "I'm not stooping to slinging poison, Vito. I've got enough blood on my hands without adding that to the list."
I was about to tell him to fuck off and stop giving unwarranted advice when something impacted my body. It was light, barely noticeable, but enough to catch my attention. Looking around, I couldn't help but frown at the sight of a small dart on the ground.
Kneeling down, I picked it up, noticing a strange green liquid on its sharp tip.
Vito peered over my shoulder, his spectral form flickering. "What the hell is that? Some kind of throwing dart?"
I felt a surge of unease. The dart was too small for a throwing weapon. "Looks more like a blow dart," I replied, my voice tight.
Vito's confusion was palpable. "What's a blow dart doing on the ground?"
I immediately stood up, moving toward the car. "It was aimed at me but failed to get through my energy shield," I said, almost choking on my own words as a deafening roar filled the air.
I turned towards the sound and saw a lion, powerful and menacing, leaping over the mansion's fence, charging straight at me.
"Fuck me..."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone