Chapter 6 One Round Left

A Town Not Far From Gotham

Inside a dimly lit room, the wooden floorboards creaked under the weight of time. Two chairs faced each other, separated by a worn table cluttered with a half-empty beer mug.

Jack leaned back in his chair, swirling the drink in his hand before downing it in one gulp. He exhaled sharply, savoring the burn.

"Ahhh... now that's good beer."

He slammed the mug onto the table, his sharp gaze locking onto the old man across from him. The man, frail with wisps of white hair and thick glasses, shifted uncomfortably under Jack's stare.

"So, uh... what was it you were looking for again?" The man's voice wavered.

Jack smirked, his words slow and deliberate. "A weapon. About five feet tall. Brown skin. Shimmering blue eyes. White hair. Completely clueless about anything and everything."

The old man blinked. "Umm… don't you mean a person?"

In a flash, Jack drew a knife from his back, the blade gleaming in the dim light. He pointed it at the man, who immediately raised his hands in surrender.

"Listen, just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I can't kill you." Jack's voice was casual, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable.

"I-I'm sorry!" the man stammered.

"Yeah… you better be." Jack lowered the knife. "So, did you see it?"

"No! I swear, I didn't see anything!"

Jack sighed, pushing himself up from the chair. "Well, this has been an utter waste of my time." He turned toward the door, dragging his feet. "See ya. Oh, and thanks for the beer."

The old man exhaled in relief. "Wait... so you're not gonna hurt me?"

Jack paused at the doorway, tilting his head in mock confusion. "Hurt you? Why the hell would I do that? As long as you don't know I'm Jack the Reaper, I've got no reason to—"

He stopped mid-sentence, realization flashing across his face.

"Shit."

The old man's eyes widened in horror. "J-Jack... the Reaper…?"

Jack slowly turned back, his expression darkening.

"Well... I guess I have to hurt you now."

****

Gotham

The gunmen locked onto Jaxon, their fingers tensed around their triggers, waiting for the slightest movement.

Jaxon's eyes gleamed through the black mask covering his face, a flicker of thrill flashing in the dim light. Then—he moved.

A dark silhouette shot into the air, elevating fast. The gunmen reacted instantly, their arms snapping up as they opened fire. But Jaxon was already gone. A blur of black shifted leftward, rematerializing beside one of them.

Before the man could react, cold steel pressed against his skull.

Bang!

The masked figure stood firm as the lifeless body slumped forward. Jaxon caught him, using the dead weight as a shield. A fresh wave of bullets rained down, slamming into the body in rapid succession. Jaxon took slow steps backward, unfazed.

"Only one round left." A smirk laced his voice, though his expression remained hidden beneath the mask. "This can't be good."

Then, he raised his gun skyward—one final bullet.

Poo!

The sudden shot made the attackers hesitate. Their heads tilted upward, tracking the path of the bullet. Confusion flickered across their faces. That second of distraction was all Jaxon needed.

A flash of metal. His empty gun, spinning at breakneck speed, hurtled toward one of the gunmen. The moment of realization came too late—the weapon struck his face with brutal force, sending him stumbling backward.

Jaxon was already moving.

He materialized before another shooter, his masked presence an eerie blur. A devastating uppercut shot upward, his knuckles colliding with bone. The man's head snapped back, his body lifted off his feet in a violent arc before crashing down hard.

Jaxon stood tall amid the chaos, his masked gaze sweeping the battlefield. He wasn't done yet.

The last gunman stepped back, his trembling hands tightening around his weapon as Jaxon closed in. Desperation flickered in his eyes as he raised the barrel, his finger hesitating over the trigger.

A blur.

Jaxon vanished from sight. Cold steel pressed against the man's forehead before Jaxon's masked figure rematerialized.

Bang!

The man's head snapped back, his body crumpling to the ground.

The remaining three gunmen stood frozen, their weapons clutched tightly. Even with their numbers, fear sank into their bones. Jaxon tilted his head slightly, his glowing blue eyes cutting through them like a blade. A single thought gripped their minds.

Run.

Panic took over. Their weapons dropped as they turned to flee.

Pfft!

A sharp crack rang out. One of them collapsed mid-stride, a bullet tearing through the back of his skull. The last two ran faster, desperation fueling their steps—until one of them was yanked back by a force he never saw coming.

Jaxon materialized in front of him, his stance wide, his torso bent.

His fist rocketed upward.

The man's head snapped back violently, his body lifting off the ground before slamming into a nearby wall, a cloud of dust rising on impact.

The final man tripped, landing hard on his back. He scrambled away, eyes locked onto Jaxon in pure terror. "Please—please don't kill me! Have mercy!"

Jaxon stood over him, his unreadable mask hiding any emotion. Then, without a word, he turned away.

A flicker of hope crossed the man's face as he stumbled to his feet, wasting no time as he ran.

Pfft!

His body slumped forward, a dull thud following as he hit the ground.

Jaxon stood still, his outstretched arm steady, a faint trail of smoke rising from the barrel of his gun.

Then the sirens came.

The blaring wail of police cars filled the streets, tires screeching to a halt as doors burst open. Armed officers swarmed the area, their weapons drawn, eyes scanning the aftermath of the battle.

Jaxon tilted his head, watching them for a moment.

Then, in an instant, he was gone.

Multiple police officers stepped out of their vehicles, weapons drawn, scanning the area with hardened eyes. But to their shock, all the gunmen were already down. Confusion spread among them as they holstered their weapons and moved swiftly to secure the scene, tending to casualties and gathering statements.

****

Giovanni sat in his dimly lit living room, the air thick with the scent of cigars and aged whiskey. His phone rang, breaking the silence. He exhaled slowly before answering.

"What?" His deep, menacing voice carried over the line.

"Sir… I'm afraid something bad happened."

Giovanni's grip on the receiver tightened. "Go straight to the point, Vincent."

"Someone took out our men before the cops got there."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed. "The hell did you just say?"

"There was this guy… black mask… fast, strong. Took them out like they were nothing."

Giovanni sat forward, tension creeping into his muscles. "You're telling me one man wiped out an entire crew of ten armed men?"

"Yeah, I—"

Click.

Giovanni hung up, dragging a hand down his face. A slow, heavy sigh escaped his lips. "The boss is not gonna be happy about this."