Marvel: The Villain

A/N:- More power stones.

Jason's body ached, the blood loss from the fight leaving him drained. He slumped onto the living room couch, snatching a newspaper to drape over his face as he closed his eyes, willing his body to recover. The faint hum of Beethoven's piano drifted from Stan's phone, but he quickly silenced it, glancing at Jason to avoid disturbing him.

Franklin, still bristling from Stan's presence, sidled up, keeping his voice low. "Yo, welcome to the crew. I know you're some big-shot DEA chief, but I was here first. I'm the boss's right-hand man, so by street rules, I'm your senior. Show some respect."

Stan stared at him, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. After a beat, he chuckled, sharp and mocking. "Respect you? You think you've earned that?"

Franklin's face twisted with anger. If not for Jason resting nearby, he'd have lunged at the smug bastard right then. "Watch your mouth," He hissed.

Stan's eyes raked over Franklin, dripping with disdain. "You wanna talk about seniority? Your screw-up nearly got Jason killed. Some 'right-hand man.'"

Franklin's shock morphed into rage, his voice trembling. "You better explain that, or I'll put a bullet in you."

Stan shook his head, unfazed. "Fine. I'll spell it out. You lowlife car thieves always leave a signature—little traces of your handiwork, like fingerprints. The cops took that S2000 from the crime scene to their lab. They found your sloppy marks all over the door and ignition. That tied you to Jason."

Franklin's face fell, his bravado crumbling.

Stan pressed on. "They pulled your phone records. Noticed you've been chatting with an unknown number lately. Then there's your aunt Denise, suddenly flush with cash—buying Dior makeup, dining at Michelin-star restaurants, way above her pay grade. This morning, while she was out jogging, the cops grabbed her. She spilled about the 'stranger' living at her place. Didn't look like Jason, but the height and build? Dead match. They knew he was hiding with you."

Franklin's head hung low, guilt gnawing at him.

"But here's the kicker," Stan continued. "A dirty cop in the NYPD's upper ranks—someone on a gang's payroll—fed them bad intel, delaying their raid by three hours. That gave his boss, Madame Gao, time to send her assassin after Jason. So, you still think you're the top dog around here?"

Franklin's shoulders slumped, despair creeping in. He'd been with Jason only a few days, and his mistakes had already put his boss in the crosshairs twice. Maybe he was just a dead-end punk, dragging Jason down with him.

"Enough!" Jason's voice cut through, sharp and commanding. He sat up, tossing the newspaper aside, his eyes blazing. "I don't expect you to hold hands and sing, but quit bickering over old shit."

Stan spread his hands, feigning innocence. "Boss, I'm not fighting. Just laying out the facts so Franklin here can wise up and stop fucking up."

Jason snorted, his tone dry. "If you've got energy for lectures, use it to figure out our next move."

Stan's eyes gleamed, catching Jason's drift. "You're going after Madame Gao, aren't you?"

Jason nodded, his jaw tight.

Stan clapped his hands, excited. "Easy. I know her factory's in Hell's Kitchen. I can send my guys to torch it, lock her up, and leave her at your mercy."

Jason shook his head, exasperated. "First, choose your words better. Second, Gao's got hundreds of Chinese mobsters under her, plus dozens of allied gangs. Your DEA grunts wouldn't stand a chance."

Stan straightened, his pride swelling. "Boss, you're underestimating us. The DEA isn't just a few badge-wearing cops. We're a federal powerhouse—same jurisdiction as the FBI stateside, plus extraterritorial rights in places like Mexico where the drug trade runs wild. We've got FAST, our special ops unit. Their numbers, budget, and missions are so classified even Congress can't touch them. In a pinch, we can call in the damn Marine Corps."

Jason's worldview shifted, his eyes widening. "I had no idea the DEA had that kind of pull."

With FAST and the Marines in play, Gao and even Kingpin were small fry. Imagining Gao's shocked, despairing face sent a thrill through him. "We move tonight," He said, his voice electric. "Catch that old hag off guard and burn her operation to the ground."

A gentleman might wait a decade for revenge. Jason wasn't a gentleman—he was a villain, and three days was too long to wait.

Stan's expression stayed calm, confident. "No problem. Rest up, boss. By morning, it'll be all over the news."

Jason stopped him cold. "No. I'm in on this. I need to kill her myself."

Stan didn't flinch, his mind already working. "Easy enough. I'll slip you into the DEA as one of my guys. Throw on a SWAT uniform, cover your face, and nobody'll know it's you. The only thing is…" He glanced at Jason's bandaged arm. "Your injuries."

.

.

.

.

You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

100 Power Stones for 1 extra chapter.

5 New reviews for 1 extra chapter.