Jason was all business after leaving the Rossi penthouse. He moved with a swift, predatory efficiency that belied his earlier calm demeanor.

He descended to the garage where the armored vehicles were parked. His two most trusted operations, codenamed Falcon 1 and Falcon 2, were already waiting.

"It's time to move," Jason commanded, his voice low and firm. "We're going hunting. Gear up."

With orders set, the two operatives quickly slipped 9mm pistols under their jackets, preparing for close-quarters engagement. They also prepared heavier ordnance: high-caliber rifles and spares were placed on the rear seats of the SUVs, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice.

Jason took the wheel of the Escalade, and Falcon 1 and 2 followed closely in the accompanying Suburban. They sped out, driving fast and hard toward the heart of The Dukes' territory.

As they neared the designated area, Jason called Santiago, the newly appointed leader of The Dukes. Santiago quickly provided the coordinates of their main hideout—a nondescript warehouse in a tough, industrial section of town.

Both armored SUVs—massive, black, and radiating wealth and threat—screeched to a halt in front of the dilapidated building.

Panic instantly filled the hideout. The Dukes were a small, local gang and certainly didn't have the budget or influence to deal with two high-level armored vehicles. When Jason stepped out, immaculate in his suit but with two distinct pistol bulges beneath his jacket, flanked by two more men holding high-caliber rifles, the gang members instantly feared extermination.

They were all still spooked by the conversation earlier that day and knew these men were the enforcers for Santiago's mysterious new boss.

Shouting erupted inside, and Santiago ran out to see the source of the chaos. Seeing Jason, he immediately started shouting orders to his men. "Everyone calm down! It's fine! Everything is fine!"

Santiago rushed up to Jason, trying to mask his own fear. "Mr. Jason, sir, what's going on? You startled everyone."

"We're here to work, Santiago," Jason replied coolly, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings. "My boss needs this zone cleaned up quickly. The plan is to clear out the rival gangs. Lead us to their strongholds. We'll end this quickly."

Santiago laughed nervously, relieved that they weren't being wiped out. "Yes, sir! I was expecting this! Everyone, grab your gear! Time for a ride!"

Jason stopped him with a raised hand. "Hold it. We don't need your whole crew. Just you. We need to be discreet. I'm only coming with Falcon 1 and 2. We don't need hundreds of men to wipe out a few petty street gangs."

Santiago's relief evaporated, replaced by genuine terror. He was facing a sudden, terrifying reality: four men—himself and three professionals—against hundreds of entrenched enemies. He didn't understand Jason's confidence, but he had no choice.

He climbed into the Escalade, utterly impressed by the sheer luxury and the professional arrangement of the vehicle. His jaw dropped when he saw the organized racks of automatic weapons, spare magazines, and fragmentation grenades. He realized this arsenal could wipe out his entire, poorly-equipped gang in mere minutes. The Dukes' rusty AK-47s wouldn't stand a chance.

"Which way?" Jason asked, his hands on the wheel.

"The 'Pipers' are closest. They control the warehouse district," Santiago stammered, pointing.

Jason handed him an automatic, high-caliber rifle identical to the Falcons' weapons. "Keep up. And watch your back. We will negotiate first. If they don't cooperate, we wipe them out until they surrender and cooperate."

Stunned by the sheer casualness of the threat and the trust implied by the weapon, Santiago gripped the rifle. He swore an oath in his heart to help his new boss, even if it cost him his life, driven by a fear that quickly mixed with respect for this overwhelming generosity and confidence.

Jason drove the Escalade with Santiago pointing the way. They arrived quickly at the Pipers' territory, a large, decrepit warehouse surrounded by a high chain-link fence.

Jason stopped the Escalade right in front of the main gate, with the Suburban close behind. They all got out, the professional security team immediately adopting defensive positions.

Santiago yelled toward the closed warehouse door. "Open up! The new boss's men are here! We need to talk business!"

The warehouse remained locked. Two guards, who appeared to be Black men, stepped out from behind some shipping containers, clutching submachine guns. They immediately started taunting the intruders.

"Get the fuck out of here, you pathetic Mexicans!" one of them yelled, laughing and gesturing rudely. "Who the hell do you think you are, little dogs?"

Santiago, enraged by the insults and the blatant disrespect, started yelling back, his voice thick with frustration.

Jason stepped forward, cutting through Santiago's useless shouting. His voice was calm, controlled, and utterly devoid of emotion. "You have ten seconds to open that door and send your leader out. Otherwise, we'll have to do this the hard way."

The two guards laughed even harder, pulling the submachine guns up and shaking them in the air. "Who the hell do you think you're intimidating with your fancy suits and your bitch-ass guns? If it's guns you want, we got plenty!"

Jason began the countdown, his eyes locked on the guards. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One..."

The two guards scoffed. "Stop your goddamn counting, you don't scare any—"

He couldn't finish his sentence.

Two sharp, silenced shots rang out almost simultaneously from the direction of Falcon 1 and Falcon 2. Two heads instantly exploded in a brief, crimson mist. The two guards collapsed soundlessly onto the pavement, dead before they hit the ground.

The sudden, clinical violence shocked Santiago into absolute silence. The whole event took less than five seconds.

Jason didn't even look at the bodies. He gestured toward the locked warehouse door. "They chose option two."

Santiago swallowed hard, the expensive, high-caliber rifle suddenly feeling heavy and very real in his hands. He understood then: This was not a gang war; this was an execution conducted by professionals. His old life was over, and the new one had just begun in a spray of blood.

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