MARVEL'S BIG VILLAIN

Apartment Balcony

Anatoly felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at his men, some clutching their ears in pain, others groaning on the ground. If Vladimir hadn't yanked him back at the last second, Jason's bullets would have shredded his skull like Deadshot picking off a target in Gotham.

Anatoly patted his chest, still shaken. "Brother, that bastard's aim is too damn good. What now?"

Vladimir scanned the balcony, his eyes narrowing when he spotted the rappelling rope anchored to the reinforced railing. His mind raced, calculating Jason's odds of survival like Wilson Fisk weighing the benefits of a business deal. A cruel smile spread across his face.

"Cut the rope. From that height, even with his reflexes, Jason won't be walking away from this. We'll hand him over to Kingpin, and in return, he gives us the territory we want."

"Good idea." Anatoly grinned and pulled out his .45 caliber Colt M1911, a classic sidearm used by both the Punisher and the Winter Soldier. He fired twice at the rope.

Two loud gunshots echoed, but the rope held strong, with only a few frayed strands breaking loose.

"This rope's tough as hell," Anatoly muttered in frustration.

"Military-grade rappelling rope," Vladimir replied. "Same composite material used in SHIELD operations. Designed to hold up under extreme conditions."

"Well, Jason came prepared for war," Anatoly sneered and aimed again.

---

Midair

Bang! Bang!

Jason heard the shots from above and knew exactly what was happening.

Hurry up. Hurry the hell up!

Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he increased his descent speed, but—

Bang! Bang!

The final two shots hit their mark.

The rope snapped.

Jason plummeted.

At fifteen meters above the ground, a normal man would be dead on impact. But Jason wasn't just anyone—his instincts, honed by years of brutal training under the League of Assassins and mercenary work that rivaled Crossbones, kicked in.

He twisted his body midair, using the kind of aerial control Spider-Man had when dodging bullets. Landing feet first, he absorbed the impact with a well-timed roll, dispersing the force just like Batman had done in Arkham City.

Dust billowed as he tumbled to a stop, gritting his teeth in pain.

Onlookers gasped. Some stepped back in shock. Others pulled out their phones, ready to livestream what they thought was some vigilante showdown straight out of Hell's Kitchen.

Jason groaned, clutching his ankle. He had managed to avoid a crippling injury, but the pain was unbearable. Ignoring it, he staggered up and made a break for the nearby five-story shopping mall—a crowded, chaotic terrain perfect for shaking a tail.

---

Above

"That son of a bitch is still moving?" Anatoly growled, stunned at Jason's resilience.

"Not for long," Vladimir said coldly, shouldering his AK-47, the same model favored by the Russian mob in Fisk's empire.

Anatoly smirked, raising his own weapon. "The top enforcer under Kingpin, running like a rat. Kinda pathetic, don't you think?"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Jason barely made it five steps before three bullets struck his bulletproof vest, sending him crashing to the pavement.

Screams erupted from the onlookers. The ones brave enough to watch scattered like frightened pigeons.

But Jason knew better than to stay down. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet.

If he hesitated, even for a second, he'd be Swiss cheese.

Using the panicked crowd as cover, he wove through them, knowing full well that the mafia wouldn't hesitate to fire through civilians. It was ruthless, it was monstrous—but this was a war, and Jason wasn't about to die tonight.

Gunfire erupted behind him. 7.62mm bullets tore through the air, finding their unintended targets.

A woman screamed and collapsed, clutching a wound in her side.

A teenager fell, blood pooling beneath him.

A father shielded his son, only to be struck in the back.

Jason barely felt the bullet that clipped his left arm. His mind registered the pain, but survival pushed it aside. He clamped a hand over the wound and ran faster.

---

System Alert

[Ding! Indirectly killed an innocent passerby. +100 Villain Points. Progress: 640/1000]

[Ding! Indirectly wounded six passersby. +300 Villain Points. Progress: 940/1000]

---

Jason didn't have time to process the numbers flashing before his eyes. He barreled into an ice cream shop, diving over the counter and knocking over stacks of cones.

Panting, he clenched his teeth as he examined his wound.

Through the bloody gash, he spotted the dull metal of a 9mm bullet lodged in the muscle.

"Ricochet," he muttered. "Lucky break."

A clean shot from an M4A1 would've shredded through his arm. But this? This, he could fix.

He inhaled sharply and pressed his fingers against the wound.

With the precision of someone who had stitched himself up more times than he could count, he pinched the bullet between his fingertips, sucked in a deep breath—

—and yanked it out.

Blood spurted. His vision blurred. His pulse hammered.

But he didn't make a sound.

The bullet clinked onto the tile floor, rolling to a stop.

Jason wasted no time. He tore a strip from his already-ruined sleeve, wrapped it around the wound, and tied it off tightly.

The second he finished, he heard footsteps approaching the store.

The bystanders had already fled. That meant one thing—the mafia was closing in.

His mind raced. He was outgunned, outnumbered, and trapped.

Jason opened the system menu.

If he wanted to survive this, he needed an upgrade.

---

System Shop

[Proficiencies Available: Cold Weapons, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Firearms, Driving, Piloting, Special Ops, Tactical Evasion…]

The footsteps got closer.

Jason's eyes darted to the Firearms Mastery tab.

If he was going down, he was going down shooting.

He selected it.

---

[Firearms Proficiency Level 5: Locked]

(Requirement: 50 Points)

(Stats Needed: Strength 30, Agility 35, Endurance 30, Intelligence 35)

"Shit," Jason muttered. He scrolled to his attributes.

[Strength: 33]

[Agility: 32]

[Endurance: 30]

[Intelligence: 28]

10 stat points short.

And he only needed 60 villain points to level up.

Jason cracked a bloodied smirk.

All he had to do was kill a few more people.

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