Quietly approaching the slaughterhouse entrance, a cold light flashed in Kruen's eyes, and he waved his hand violently.
Twelve members of the "tactical team" wearing Black Rabbit security standard bulletproof vests, who were actually core members of the Red Blood Gang in disguise, broke open the rusty iron door of the warehouse like hungry wolves.
The MP5 submachine gun was equipped with a silencer, and the dull roar instantly tore through the darkness, with flames gushing out of the muzzle.
Inside the warehouse, the drug lord "Mad Dog" of the Hellhound Gang was holding a bag of heroin samples and examining it seriously.
When the gunshot rang out, the greedy grin on his face didn't even have time to freeze.
The bullet accurately penetrated the cargo box behind him, and the Colombian white powder of astonishing purity exploded in the air instantly.
"Fuck! Black Rabbit bastard--!" A Latin gang gunman just reached for his waist when he was pierced through the chest by three bullets and was thrown backwards, his body knocking over a folding table piled with US dollar bills.
Eugene rushed in front, striding through the sticky pool of blood.
A burly man with a hellhound totem tattooed on his neck rushed out from behind the shelf with a gun in hand. Kruen dodged the gunshot by leaning sideways, and his left leg burst out with a force far beyond that of an ordinary person, kicking the man hard in the knee!
The sturdy man fell to his knees with a howl, the cold barrel of the Colt Python pressed against his sweaty brow.
"Bang!"
The back of the sturdy man's head exploded like a ripe watermelon, and the mixture of brain matter, bone fragments and blood splattered all over the brick-like drugs scattered on the table.
The strong smell of rust and gunpowder filled the air, turning this abandoned slaughterhouse into a complete hell.
A dying groan echoed from behind a container at the other end of the warehouse. Kron strode forward and pointed the camera of his specially approved Chicago Police Department "body camera" at the Latino leader twitching on the ground. He said coldly, "Hellhound and the Latino resisted arrest and attacked police with weapons."
Before he could finish his words, the shotgun in his hand blew off the opponent's head.
In thirty seconds, with the precision of a scalpel, the thirty New York gang members at the scene were slaughtered completely.
Kron walked to the central trading table with a satisfied look on his face. He bent down and pulled out a bulging olive green military backpack from under the table - inside was two million in neatly bundled cash that was not contaminated by blood.
In the cargo box next to it were 300 kilograms of high-purity cocaine, with a black market value of over 60 million US dollars.
"Count the spoils! Clean up the fingerprints!" Kron's voice was calm.
…
By the early hours of the morning, the massacre was completely over.
The recorder Eugene carried with him had already clearly recorded everything that had just happened.
Back in an apartment in Brooklyn, Eugene didn't bother to deal with the blood on his body. He immediately pulled the heavy curtains to block out the faint light from the outside world.
He operated the tablet precisely, and lines of text scrolled quickly on the screen, a detailed record of tonight's actions.
Crucially, he caught the almost crazy ambition in Kroon's eyes and his undisguised contempt for Ribbs - the words "From tonight on, the underground world of New York will have only one name - Kroon!" were clear and harsh.
Written records are not enough.
Eugene turned on his recorder and sent out the two million cash seized from Kroon, the pure white cocaine worth 60 million US dollars, and the picture of Kroon's silhouette standing tall.
…
A few hours later, it was just dawn in Chicago.
As soon as Ribs arrived at the city hall yawning, Alfred pushed the door open and walked in.
He presented the briefing Eugene had sent last night to Ribbs: "Speaker, Eugene sent back the latest briefing from New York. Kroon's operation last night was very successful."
He paused, tapping his fingertips on the tablet, and then Kroon said arrogantly - "The underground world of New York has only one name - Kroon!"
"Hahaha!" Ribs laughed and replied, "This guy really has some courage."
"Yes, indeed." Alfred agreed and continued, "Last night, Kruen's targets were completely wiped out. But the briefing shows that Kruen...hidden large amounts of cash and high-value contraband without any procedures. And during the execution, there were numerous acts that exceeded security duties, blatantly violated procedures, and fabricated evidence. Most importantly—"
Alfred's voice remained steady. "Eugene assesses that Mr. Kroon's core purpose in this action isn't to consolidate the legitimate business of the Black Rabbit Security New York Branch. It's to break away from Chicago and challenge you, even seeking to overwhelm you in New York. He sees New York as a base under his complete control, a base from which to oppose your authority. His ambitions... have exceeded the threshold of control."
The briefing and photos lay quietly on the tablet. Alfred stood upright beside the table, waiting for Ribs's reaction.
The expected outburst of rage did not occur. Reeves leaned back in the large leather chair, and the office fell into a brief silence.
A few seconds later, the corners of Ribbs' mouth slowly curved up.
"Heh..." A playful hum broke the silence. "This Kruen..."
There was no emotion in Ribbs's tone, it was eerily calm: "He's quite quick. His ambition... is big too. Not bad, very good." He seemed to be commenting on an ordinary matter, even with a hint of appreciation for his opponent who finally made a decent move.
He slowly stood up and walked to the huge French window. His gaze seemed to penetrate thousands of mountains and rivers and lock onto the city that never sleeps on the East Coast.
"Alright," Reeves turned around, "Since Kroon wants to be the 'King of the New York Underground,' then as the owner of 'Black Rabbit Security,' I have to go and 'visit' him to congratulate him in person on his grand opening, and by the way... have a good talk with him."
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