Marvel: The Villain

A/N:- Here is the extra chapter. More powerstone for another extra chapter.

The police moved with lightning speed this time—fucking relentless!

So fast that Madame Gao didn't even have a chance to scream for help.

The rescue helicopter she'd desperately called for had barely lifted off the ground when the SWAT team smashed through the doors like a goddamn battering ram.

It was crystal clear: this wasn't just some ragtag crew of cops. No, this was a highly trained, elite special forces unit—ruthless, precise, and armed to the teeth.

A far cry from the useless, corrupt NYPD pigs who'd rather extort a bribe than do their fucking jobs.

'Who the hell did I piss off to bring a fucking special forces team down on my ass?' Madame Gao thought, her mind racing as panic clawed at her chest.

Jason emerged from behind his tactical shield, ripping off his helmet and mask with a casual swagger. "Stan, get your ass outside and guard the door. No one gets in, got it?"

"Roger that, boss. Watch your back in there," Stan replied, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Stan slipped out of the room, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Now, the sprawling office was deathly silent, save for the ragged breathing of the only two living souls left inside.

Madame Gao's jaw dropped, her lips trembling like a leaf in a storm, her face a mask of pure, unfiltered shock. "J-Jason… you're a fucking undercover cop?" She stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of her disbelief.

The question was so goddamn stupid it made Jason burst into laughter, his deep chuckle echoing off the polished walls. "Have you ever heard of an undercover cop who's been in the game for over a decade, with hundreds of bodies piled up behind him? Come on, use your fucking head."

Madame Gao paused, her mind scrambling to make sense of it. He had a point. If a guy like Jason could be a cop, America was well and truly fucked beyond repair.

"Then what the fuck is going on here?" She demanded, her voice rising with desperation. "I thought you were the one who leaked the factory's location to the cops. But no, you're out here running the show with them, and that guy just called you boss! Jason, you piece of shit, what the hell is this? Who the fuck are you?"

Her head was spinning with questions, each one more urgent than the last. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

Jason took a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He pulled his pistol from its holster and aimed it squarely at her forehead, a sly grin curling his lips. "You know what they say, don't you? A man with secrets is a man with power."

Madame Gao's eyes narrowed, her face twisting with frustration. She wasn't buying his cryptic bullshit. After a tense moment, she forced herself to relax, leaning back in her chair with a calculated air of calm. "Fine, keep your damn secrets, Jason. Let's talk business instead. You've clearly got some serious pull with the police. Name your price."

Jason's grin widened, but he didn't respond, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.

"Let me walk out of here," She continued, her voice smooth but laced with desperation. "I'll wire you a hundred million dollars. You've been strapped for cash lately, haven't you? That kind of money could set you up for life—any country, any lifestyle, no more looking over your shoulder every fucking day."

Jason's gaze flicked toward the safe in the corner of the room, his eyes glinting with interest.

Madame Gao caught the look, and a triumphant smile spread across her face. 'Gotcha, you greedy bastard.'

Greed was good. Greed she could work with. It was the men who wanted nothing that scared her.

She strode over to the safe, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, and punched in the code with a flourish. The door swung open, revealing stacks of crisp, neatly bundled cash. "One point nine million dollars, right here. You let me go, this is your down payment. Once I'm safely out of the country, I'll transfer the rest."

Jason didn't answer right away. Instead, he strolled around the office, his boots scuffing the floor as he took in the opulent surroundings—the mahogany desk, the crystal chandelier, the skyline view of New York's glittering chaos. "One point nine mil? That's it?" He said, his tone dripping with mockery. "A big-ass office like this, and you've only got pocket change stashed away?"

Madame Gao's smile faltered, irritation flashing in her eyes. "Jason, it's the twenty-first fucking century. Cash is obsolete. This is just a fraction of my wealth—a drop in the goddamn bucket. I've got hundreds of anonymous accounts in Swiss banks. That's where the real money is."

"Swiss banks, huh?" Jason muttered, his shoulders slumping as he let out a disappointed sigh, like a kid who'd just unwrapped a shitty Christmas present.

Madame Gao frowned, confused. "What's the problem? Cash, bank accounts—it's all money, isn't it?"

Jason shook his head, his grin turning cold. "Oh, there's a big fucking difference."

Bang!

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet tore through the air, spinning with lethal precision, and punched straight through Madame Gao's skull. Blood sprayed across the desk, splattering the polished wood with crimson. The notorious "Queen of New York's Underworld" didn't even have time to blink. Her eyes, wide with shock, stared blankly as her body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

[Ding! Eliminated Madame Gao (key plot character). Gained 500 villain points. Current progress: 2915/5000]

Jason stepped over her corpse without a second glance, his boots leaving faint prints in the pooling blood. He crouched beside the safe, methodically converting every last stack of cash into system points.

[Ding! Points recharge successful. Remaining points: 193]

He slipped his helmet and mask back on, the cold plastic settling over his face like a second skin. With one last look at the carnage, he strode out of the office.

Stan was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his rifle slung over his shoulder. "Madame Gao taken care of?" He asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Jason flashed a grin, nodding. "Done and dusted."

Overhead, the roar of helicopter blades cut through the night as the Marine Corps finally arrived. With the special forces and Marines working in tandem, the remaining gang members didn't stand a chance. Bullets ripped through the air, bodies dropped like flies, and within minutes, the black-clad criminals were either dead or cowering, tossing their weapons aside and hugging the ground in surrender.

The battle was over in less than thirty minutes—a brutal, bloody rout.

Stan handed the cleanup to his subordinates and drove Jason back to his apartment in an unmarked police cruiser, the city's neon lights streaking past in a blur.

---

The night had grown heavy, the city's pulse slowing to a dull throb.

Franklin sprawled on the couch in his dimly lit apartment, the TV flickering with mindless noise as he flipped through channels, his mind elsewhere. 

Knock, knock, knock!

"Who the fuck is it?" He barked, yanking his pistol from its holster and leveling it at the door.

"It's me," Came Jason's calm, familiar voice.

Franklin exhaled, his heart rate slowing as he lowered the gun. He opened the door to find Jason standing there, still in his SWAT gear, not a speck of blood or dirt on him. 'How the hell does he look so clean after raiding a fucking drug den?'

Franklin handed him a glass of water, his curiosity burning. "So, what went down tonight?"

Jason took a sip, then launched into the story—the lightning-fast raid, the special forces' brutal efficiency, the way Madame Gao's empire crumbled in under half an hour.

"Thirty fucking minutes?" Franklin's jaw dropped, his mind reeling at the sheer power of the DEA's elite team. His expression darkened as he imagined facing off against that kind of firepower himself one day. "What about Stanfield?"

Jason gestured at the TV, where news channels were already buzzing with coverage of the raid. "DEA's eating up the glory. Every reporter in the city's swarming him for interviews."

Franklin nodded, letting out a low "Oh."

---

[Ding! "Villain's Revenge" mission completed. Rewarded 2000 villain points. Current progress: 4915/5000]

Jason lay on his bed, staring at the glowing system interface hovering in his vision. His 193 points taunted him. Upgrading [Firearms Mastery] to level 7 would cost 300 points—just out of reach.

He weighed his options. Level 6 firearms skills were more than enough to handle regular humans. But against enemies with 'special abilities'? Even level 10 wouldn't do shit if he was up against someone who could tank bullets or move faster than he could aim. A perfectly placed shot was useless against a fucking RPG.

After a long moment, he made his choice. 'Don't put all your eggs in one basket,' He thought. As a wanted man with a target on his back, every new skill was another chance to survive.

He opened the system shop and dumped his points into [Combat Mastery], buying two levels in one go.

[Ding! Spent 50 points. Combat Mastery Level 5 purchased successfully. Remaining points: 143.]

[Ding! Spent 100 points. Combat Mastery Level 6 purchased successfully. Remaining points: 43.]

A flood of knowledge surged through his mind—every punch, kick, grapple, and chokehold etched into his muscle memory. His body convulsed on the bed, muscles contracting and expanding as they rewired themselves. The sensation was a twisted mix of pain and pleasure, like being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, as his body adapted to its new potential.

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