Chapter 101: The Show Begins
Donnie hung up the phone, paused for a moment, then walked to the row of bookshelves behind him and activated a hidden switch.
The bookshelves slid open to both sides, revealing a downward passage constructed entirely of reinforced steel. Donnie descended, and as his body entered the metal corridor, sensors automatically recorded his weight, gait, heart rate, and other biometric data.
When he reached the bottom, all data verification was complete, and a concealed door hissed open, revealing a compact armory.
Donnie retrieved a disc about the size of a dinner plate and placed it against his chest. He pressed it lightly, and layers of metallic plating emerged from the disc, spreading to cover his torso, chest, and other vital areas.
He then grabbed several metal bands resembling advanced bracers and clamped them tightly around his arms and ankles. As he stood and flexed his muscles,
the four metal bands locked against his skin with a sharp click.
"Stark Industries Mark II Portable Exo-Frame activated!" A crisp, synthesized voice announced. Donnie clenched his fist and swung his arm—a sharp whoosh cut through the air.
He nodded in satisfaction, then pulled two modified .50 caliber Desert Eagles from the weapon rack.
In this era, plasma weapons had become widespread due to technological advancement. However, Donnie still preferred classic ballistic firearms.
Plasma weapons had virtually zero recoil and exceptional accuracy, but lacking the explosive propulsion of gunpowder, their kinetic impact and stopping power were somewhat limited. Furthermore, they were easily neutralized by portable energy shielding.
Therefore, Donnie favored traditional firearms—their devastating kinetic energy and explosive force could punch straight through energy barriers, and aside from stability issues and noise, they were practically flawless.
Accessing a secure channel on his smartwatch, he typed: "Get your crew to my office. Full loadout, and bring the War Rig. We've got business tonight."
"Copy that, boss,"
a gravelly voice crackled through the communicator. Donnie exhaled slowly, stepped out of the underground armory, and sealed the hidden passage. Moments later, he heard the screech of brakes outside.
He opened the door to find a hulking man in half-body mechanical armor standing there.
"Everything ready?"
The man's eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Donnie fully geared up.
"Boss, what's going down?"
"Emergency situation. I'll brief you en route."
The man nodded. "Brought everything we could carry, and the boys are locked and loaded. Figure we've got enough firepower to storm a police precinct."
The sun had set, and darkness descended. Donnie's face was clouded with tension. A strange chill crept over him—in the darkness ahead, it felt as if something monstrous was waiting to swallow him whole.
"Let's move."
Meanwhile, across town, Lionheart—who was practically unraveling—was furiously demolishing everything within reach.
"All of you are worthless!"
"How many days has it been? I want him found—alive or dead!" For the first two days, Lionheart had clung to hope, but as time dragged on, his belief in Michelin's survival withered.
The sleepless nights of waiting had driven him to the edge of a mental breakdown—he needed only the smallest spark to detonate.
"Boss, we've got a problem! Martin just sent me footage!" Someone entered from outside, jaw clenched, and transmitted the video to Lionheart's communication device.
The footage showed Michelin, tortured beyond recognition, with thick metal rods impaling his limbs. The room was dimly lit, making it difficult to assess Michelin's exact condition, but judging from the injuries alone, his survival seemed unlikely.
"Brother!" Lionheart roared, reaching out as if he could touch Michelin through the holographic projection.
"Where is he? Tell me now—where is he?" Lionheart demanded urgently.
"When Martin sent the footage, he said he spotted him in a hidden sub-level at the Blackwater Street headquarters. They were secretly interrogating Michelin, and word is they're about to transfer him to Donnie personally."
"Donnie, I'll tear you apart!"
"You laid hands on my brother!"
Lionheart's eyes flashed with feral rage. His eye twitched, and the scar on his cheek throbbed violently.
"Boss, I think Donnie must've discovered the connection between Michelin and Johnny, which is why he grabbed him and tortured him. If he finds out about our operation, we're—"
"Get me a headcount of our people. I'm going in to extract him."
"Blackwater Street used to be our territory. Tell the crew to move fast—I'm worried they might do something desperate."
"Also, contact Martin and wire him some cash. Tell him to assist our operation once we hit the Blackwater Street base."
"That kid might play dumb, but he's not stupid. Things could blow wide open any second. Even Mad Dog Johnny's already down—this small-timer's probably planning to bail."
"Pay him off and make sure he stays put and cooperates."
"Boss, smart thinking!" Lionheart's lieutenant gave a thumbs up and quickly made the arrangements.
Lionheart's location wasn't far from the Blackwater Street base. He didn't take the surface route but instead followed the winding network of maintenance tunnels beneath the city.
When he and his crew emerged from below ground, they were less than a block away from their old safehouse near Blackwater Street.
Clearly, this was something they'd prepared in advance—ideal not only for surprise attacks but also for quick underground extraction afterward.
"What's the situation?" Lionheart's massive frame, concealed in shadow, asked in a low growl.
"Martin says Donnie's crew is inbound—could arrive any minute. That greedy bastard just demanded triple his usual rate."
"Hmph, fool. You've got to live long enough to spend money. But fine—we're in luck."
As Lionheart was speaking, the rumble of a heavy engine suddenly echoed from the distant streets. A long, heavily armored vehicle—something straight out of Mad Max—crashed through the gates of the Blackwater Street compound and rolled in.
"Damn it, they're here!"
"Move, move, move!"
Lionheart hadn't expected them to arrive so quickly. He led his men forward, and from a distance, they could hear the thunderous roar of gunfire erupting from within the compound.
Upon entering the main hall, they saw the room littered with severed limbs and bodies scattered across the blood-soaked floor.
"BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!"
Gunshots rang out from the basement level. Lionheart's eye twitched and he shuddered. That distinctive sound reminded him of the day Donnie nearly blew his head clean off.
"It's Donnie. He actually showed up in person."
Lionheart's face twisted into something monstrous. He grabbed two metal cases from one of his men and pulled out two heavy ballistic shields, each about half his height.
At that moment, Donnie emerged from the basement entrance, his crew dragging Michelin's mutilated corpse behind them.
"Well, well... Lionheart."
The instant he saw Donnie, every muscle in Lionheart's body bulged with rage. Then, catching sight of Michelin's body being dragged along, he roared,
"DIE!"
Donnie's face hardened as he raised his pistol and fired.
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