Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Parker had done this before.

Once.

And that was all it took to realize he couldn't get any better at it.

Didn't get older. Didn't get wiser. Didn't even think of stopping.

It was as thrilling as it was fun, the perfect blend of chaos and skill, a symphony of burning rubber and bad decisions. The kind of shit that should be illegal—and technically was—but felt so goddamn good. Tonight? He was letting loose.

No rules. No restraints. No second thoughts.

After hours on edge, bottled-up chaos scratching at his ribs, after knowing of Chione's death—which he knew wasn't an accident and which he hadn't disclosed why it had him on the edge—after learning Tessa had some little secrets about Ashford and realizing the bastard had dared to target him…

Yeah.

Parker needed a goddamn outlet before he turned every single thing he hated into dust. Right now, that swelling pool of pure, undiluted rage was telling him to go full nuclear—unleash the devil in him.

Instead?

He was keeping it cool. Barely.

Because keeping calm came with perks.

That's what the system had taught him, after all. Calm thinking = good missions and ultimate choice options = better rewards.

But was it enough?

The Jesko whipped through the highway like a blade through silk, smooth, effortless, untouchable. Parker let one hand hang over the wheel as he leaned back, tapping his finger against the shifter while his free hand?

Yeah. He checked his phone that he'd muted when they separated—they couldn't hear from his side.

One glance.

Atalanta.

She was grinning in the video feed, laughing her ass off at whatever disaster she was causing. People were screaming in the background. Alarms. Something had exploded.

Yeah, that checked out.

Parker smirked, dragging his tongue over his teeth. He was going to use her and he was going to send a message to the gods for him. He knew they were watching him already, probably whispering among themselves about his little highway stunt, but he wanted them to really know.

He was back.

And he never let go of grudges.

Not ever.

He tapped out a quick message. "Make it loud."

Then?

He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and refocused on the road. Time to keep moving.

Parker shifted gears, exiting off the main freeway onto a less busy road, a quiet curve that would snake its way through Benedict Canyon, spitting him out near Rodeo Drive without attracting a whole damn SWAT team.

Less traffic. Less noise.

Less cops.

The city lights dulled as he carved through the curves, streetlights casting long shadows across the Jesko's mirror-like surface. The world here was quieter—rich hills, massive estates, fences taller than the secrets they hid.

No sirens. No helicopters.

Perfect.

Maybe tonight, for once, he'd get to enjoy the drive without some masked asshole trying to punch him through a windshield.

…Right?

Right?

WRONG.

Because just as he hit a long stretch of road, just as he relaxed into the leather seat, just as he thought maybe, just maybe, he'd get a break—

BOOM.

Something landed in front of him.

Hard.

Hard enough to dent the goddamn pavement.

Parker's stomach dropped.

Oh, you've gotta be shitting me.

The Jesko's headlights flared, illuminating the absolute menace standing in the middle of the road.

A cape.

A mask.

A punchable fucking stance.

The kind of big-damn-hero energy Parker had zero patience for.

His eye twitched. When heroes don't know how to mind their business.

"Bro."

The guy—whoever the hell he was—pointed directly at the Jesko's hood like he was in some comic book cover pose. "You think you can just tear through the city like some lawless maniac?!"

Parker groaned so hard it felt spiritual.

"Yes. Actually. That's exactly what I think." Parker said, more to himself.

The guy dramatically clenched his fists.

"Not on my watch."

Parker scoffed. "Wh—bitch, who even are you?" Dude didn't answer.

Just fucking charged.

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Do we have to do this? Really?" Parker barely had time to react before Caped McTryhard went full LITERAL Superman, his fist cocked back like he was about to one-punch KO a planet.

Yeah, no thanks.

Parker dropped the clutch, floored it, and SWERVED.

The Jesko slid sideways, engine snarling, tires shrieking, the back end barely clipping the guy's outstretched hand as Parker whipped around him like he was nothing more than an overgrown traffic cone.

"Later, bitch!" The car tore off down the street, leaving burnt rubber and an extremely pissed-off superhero in its wake.

Parker didn't look back.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't care.

Because one thing was very clear now.

The cops weren't his only problem tonight. And if he stayed here, he might end up going full nuclear on this hero.

Parker thought that was the end of it. Thought maybe, just maybe, whoever had been stupid enough to try and chase him down would take the small L, go home, and rethink their life choices.

But no.

Instead, the air detonated with a shockwave of energy so strong it nearly sent his Jesko skidding off the road, his vision briefly blurring as he gritted his teeth against the sheer force of it. That wasn't just some overzealous hero trying to make a name for himself.

That was Ether. And worse? It was familiar.

His grip crushed the wheel, jaw locking as his head snapped to the side, eyes burning red in an instant. His instincts screamed, a name surfacing in his mind even before he could process it fully. He knew that Ether, and if this was who he thought it was, then this bastard had just made the worst mistake of his life.

A heavy thud shook the road behind him, the sound of power slamming into the asphalt. Parker barely turned in time to see the figure standing there, backlit by the moon's glow, the faint crackle of divine energy licking at his skin like static before a storm. The way he carried himself, the way that Ether pulsed with raw, arrogant confidence—it confirmed everything Parker already suspected.

Theseus.

The son of Poseidon stood tall, looking every bit the smug, self-important demigod he was, with his arms crossed like he had just done something. He was one of those proud, righteous, 'I-am-the-law' types who walked around as if the world bent over backwards to accommodate him. And now, this absolute moron had the nerve to get in Parker's way on a night where he was already seeing red. That was a critical fucking error.

The Jesko screeched to a violent halt, the tires coughing up smoke, the smell of burnt rubber clinging to the air as Parker threw the door open and stepped out without hesitation. No words. No quick movements.

Just slow, deliberate intent as he faced Theseus head-on, his gaze steady, unreadable, glowing crimson against the dim light. He didn't speak at first, didn't react to the slight shift in Theseus' stance as the demigod smirked in that way all heroes seemed to—like they already knew how this was going to play out, like he had some moral high ground that Parker should be grateful for.

"Smart move stopping," Theseus finally said, rolling his shoulders as if this was just another night on patrol, as if Parker was just another criminal to subdue. "You can't outrun me."

Parker didn't blink, didn't even change his expression. He just stared, studied, judged, like he was deciding whether or not this guy even deserved a response.

Honestly? He didn't. But Parker was pissed. His mind was already a storm, his patience already worn too thin, and this was just the latest dumbass Olympian child to get in his way. So he finally spoke, voice low and even, the kind of calm that came right before something violent.

"You're about five seconds away from regretting every decision that led you here. Five seconds. That's what I give you to get lost or..." He looked up as if telling the gods to warn this brainless fool. That's if the gods weren't as brainless. Or if those with enough brains even cared about this boy.

Theseus snorted, his stance shifting ever so slightly, clearly dismissing Parker's words as empty bravado. "Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do?"

Parker's lips barely moved, the corner of his mouth twitching upward—not in amusement, not in challenge, but in something far worse.

"You die?" And then he moved. Five seconds were up?