"Ugh!"
In an instant, Christine's entire body convulsed violently, her spine arching rigidly, her eyes bulging wide with a mixture of shock and pain. The suddenness of her reaction sent a jolt of alarm through everyone in the room.
Her alarming state startled the onlookers, their faces etched with concern. Before anyone could voice their questions, Christine collapsed to the floor, her body writhing as if struck by an electric current, limbs twitching uncontrollably in a chaotic dance of agony.
"Boss, she…" One of the group began, voice laced with worry.
Jason waved a dismissive hand, signaling them to remain calm. "No need to panic," He said coolly, his tone carrying the weight of experience. "This is the price of acquiring superpowers. Her genes are splitting and recombining, causing excruciating pain that could make anyone pass out. But it's temporary—five or six minutes at most. She'll pull through if she endures."
With that, he casually returned to his meal, slicing into a juicy steak. The tender meat released a burst of savory juices in his mouth, and he savored it with an air of nonchalance, unfazed by the scene unfolding before him.
Hearing Jason's explanation, spoken with the confidence of someone who had endured the same ordeal, the group hesitated but eventually settled back into their seats. Their appetites, however, had vanished, their attention wholly consumed by Christine's writhing form. The clinking of cutlery and the aroma of gourmet dishes faded into the background as they watched, hearts pounding with a mix of awe and dread.
True to Jason's prediction, after roughly five or six agonizing minutes, Christine's convulsions ceased. Slowly, she rose from the floor, her movements shaky but deliberate, and reclaimed her seat at the table. Her face, though pale, carried a newfound determination.
Six pairs of eyes locked onto her, their gazes intense with curiosity and anticipation. They were eager to witness the miraculous power she had gained, to see firsthand the wonders of her newly acquired self-healing ability.
Christine, having internalized the basics of her superpower, exuded confidence. She reached for a sharp steak knife, its blade glinting under the chandelier's soft glow. With a steady hand, she drew the knife across her pale, slender arm. A thin red line appeared instantly, slicing through her flawless skin.
As the cut deepened, crimson blood trickled from the wound, staining her arm in delicate rivulets. The group leaned forward, their breaths held in suspense. Then, as if by magic, the wound began to close. The edges of the gash knitted together, shrinking rapidly until, within mere seconds, it vanished entirely.
Christine wiped the blood away with a soft towel, revealing her arm—pristine, unblemished, as if the cut had never existed. The sight was nothing short of miraculous, a testament to the extraordinary power now coursing through her veins.
The group stared, dumbfounded, as if they had just witnessed a master magician perform an impossible trick. Their astonishment gave way to excitement, their minds racing with possibilities. Jason had mentioned earlier that a Level 1 superpower could be purchased for a mere five hundred million dollars—a staggering sum, but one that now seemed within reach.
In that moment, a seed of ambition took root in their hearts. The desire to earn money, to amass wealth, to claim such extraordinary abilities for themselves grew with fervent intensity. Work harder. Make money. Buy superpowers. The mantra echoed in their minds, fueling their determination.
Jason, observing their reactions, grinned. "So, how does it feel?" He asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Christine nodded, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. "Absolutely incredible," She replied, her voice brimming with confidence.
---
An hour later, the lavish dinner concluded. Robert and his wife, the hired help, entered the dining room to clear away the remnants of the feast—plates streaked with sauce, half-empty wine glasses, and scattered crumbs. Jason and his inner circle, sated and slightly buzzed from the fine wine, stepped outside to the sprawling ranch for a leisurely stroll under the starlit sky.
The cool night air carried the earthy scent of grass and the distant murmur of the Hudson River. Jason and Stan wandered to the edge of the ranch, where the land sloped gently toward the river below. The glittering skyline of Manhattan sparkled in the distance, a mesmerizing tapestry of lights against the dark canvas of the night.
Jason turned to Stan, his expression curious. "You mentioned on the phone that you had something important to discuss in person. So, what's got you so torn up?"
Stan flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot before settling onto a large boulder. He gazed at the city lights, his face contemplative. "The Joker Organization's structure is solid now. What's your next move?"
Jason frowned, puzzled. "What does that have to do with what you wanted to talk about?"
"It's directly related," Stan replied, his tone earnest. "Ever since I cracked those high-profile cases and got that Presidential Medal of Honor—completely out of the blue, mind you—I've gone from an obscure DEA chief in New York to a hot commodity among the elite. Big players in government agencies have been reaching out, offering me lucrative deals to jump ship."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Part of it is my track record—my ability to solve cases. But let's be real: they also want me as a poster boy, someone to polish their tarnished reputations and make their corrupt institutions look good."
Jason wasn't surprised. Stan had become a rising star in law enforcement, a celebrity in his own right with a growing fanbase across the country. His charisma, coupled with his proven competence, made him a rare asset. It was only natural that other agencies would try to poach him.
"So," Jason said, piecing it together, "You're considering leaving the DEA for another agency. But you need to know my next steps to pick the right one."
Stan nodded. "Exactly. If your plan is to take down New York's gangs and consolidate power, the best spot for me would be the NYPD Commissioner's chair. If you're planning to lay low, dodge the feds, and quietly build your empire, I'd be better off going political—maybe a role in the Justice Department. And if you're worried about the military coming after you, I could infiltrate their ranks, feed you intel from the inside."
Jason felt a surge of gratitude. Stan's willingness to tie his future to the organization's goals was rare, a loyalty that was both humbling and invaluable. But his words also gave Jason pause, forcing him to confront the complexities of his own ambitions.
He furrowed his brow, his voice taking on a resolute edge. "Laying low? Not a chance. Never have, never will. I thrive in the spotlight, Stan. I want the world to know my name, to feel my presence. My next move is to dominate New York's underworld, and with my current resources, that's practically a done deal."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "You might not even have time to settle into that Commissioner's chair before I've crushed the competition and started expanding beyond New York. At that point, being NYPD Commissioner would be… underwhelming. You'd be stuck in a role that's too small for where we're headed, and I doubt you'd want to keep hopping from job to job every few months."
Stan considered this, his gaze drifting to the river as he processed Jason's vision. After a moment, he nodded. "You're right. That makes sense. In that case, why not aim higher? I could go straight for the Justice Department. You're not going to take over the entire U.S. and go global in just a few years, right?"
He chuckled, then continued. "A role in the Justice Department wouldn't give me direct control over troops or operations, but it'd put me close to the top. I'd have access to high-level intel, the kind that could help you navigate the bigger picture."
"Justice Department, huh?" Jason muttered, his tone dripping with skepticism. He scratched his head, his mind racing. The enemies he was preparing to face weren't just New York's gangs or even government forces. Even if Stan played his cards perfectly, climbed the ranks, and somehow became Attorney General in a few years, his influence would be a drop in the bucket against such formidable foes.
"The Justice Department's not the right fit," Jason said finally, shaking his head. "What other agencies have reached out? Let's see if there's a better option."
Stan grinned, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Oh, there's no shortage of offers. Police departments in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, D.C.—they're all knocking. Then you've got the FBI, CIA, NSA, and, of course, the Justice Department."
He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, and there's this one agency with the most ridiculous name I've ever heard—Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Good lord, who comes up with these mouthfuls?"
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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