Marvel Saiyans - Chapter 9
“Who are they?”
Broly asked, watching the plane fly away.
“They are a group that serves assassins. They’re from the Continental Hotel,” Alejandro said.
“The Continental Hotel?”
This immediately piqued Broly’s interest.
“The Continental Hotel is an institution set up by the underworld to regulate the underworld’s rules. They provide various services for assassins—weapons, target information, accommodations, you name it. And no one is allowed to kill anyone within the Continental Hotel.”
Driven by his desire for revenge, he became an assassin and mingled at the Continental Hotel for a while. During a mission, he met SHIELD agent Matt and became his informant before gradually distancing himself from the Continental Hotel.
(After the cleanup, did you guess from the old man in the last chapter that this is from the assassin organization in the ‘John Wick’ series?)
“After we deal with the Reyes Group, get me one too.”
Broly said as he got into the van. He was disappointed, destroying the Reyes Group’s drug factory without gaining revival points.
Alejandro shrugged and started the van.
The old van bumped along the dirt road, leaving the garage behind.
…
…
“Who is it? Is it someone from the Mata Group?”
With his mutton chops and slightly tan skin, Carlos Reyes had a large head like a male lion. At this moment, he was enraged, his eyebrows and hair trembling, his face reddened from congestion. The dangerous aura he emitted silenced everyone in the room.
Everyone knew what the consequences of offending Carlos were.
After enduring the most painful torture, it was common for the Reyes Group to hang bodies from lampposts. He had once chopped people into pieces and packed them in freezers to send to his enemies.
“We’re still confirming. Almost no one saw them act. They perfectly avoided all the cameras.”
Bolton’s expression was grim. He controlled the Reyes Group’s armed forces, brutally striking the group’s enemies and internal traitors.
“But they still left clues. This is from our friend in the police station.”
The durability of Diaz’s armored car exceeded Alejandro’s expectations; the engine compartment survived the grenade damage without being destroyed.
From an inside source at the police station, a photo came: a piece of the car’s hood, sealed in a plastic bag. Despite severe fire damage and deformation, a distinct heel mark was still visible.
“Mutants?”
Carlos’s expression turned solemn.
“Could it be someone from the Brotherhood of Mutants?”
If you asked who the Reyes Group’s most feared enemy was, it wouldn’t be powerful U.S. agencies like the CIA or FBI. Instead, it would be the Brotherhood of Mutants, a ruthless terrorist organization with intricate ties to mutant factories, from which they had bought over a dozen brainwashed mutants to serve as assassins.
“It’s probably not them. If it were the Brotherhood of Mutants, we’d all have been skewered with rebar by now.”
Bolton cracked an unfunny joke.
“It’s likely the Mata Group. They think hiring a mutant assassin is enough to take us on.”
Due to the strained relationship between the U.S. government and mutants, there are no mutants in the CIA or FBI. So they had not suspected them.
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s round up a crew and hit back! I want Barlow Mata to feel the pain!”
Carlos roared like an enraged lion. As a drug cartel, they were most afraid of being seen as weak.
Competitors and associates, like hyenas smelling blood, would tear apart the Reyes Group behemoth and devour it. He took a sip of water and caught his breath.
“Also, have Antonio accompany my daughter. Those beasts in the Mata Group are capable of anything.”
…
…
Nakalpan Carnival Hotel, twenty-seventh floor.
Alejandro was using a massive monocular to observe the school across the street, patting the telescope and saying:
“Swarovski’s finest. The CIA only uses the best.”
The expensive telescope provided clear, sharp images, so clear he could almost see the nostril hairs of the school guard.
“Now we have two options. One is to rush into the school across the street and bring her over. That’s simpler and less likely to have complications. The other is to intercept halfway, which would cause more chaos but is more in line with the methods of a drug cartel.”
Broly, busy with a stack of tortillas, didn’t look up as he asked:
“Which method would result in more casualties?”
Alejandro shrugged.
“The second one. Carlos Reyes has arranged a lot of bodyguards for his daughter.”
Broly grabbed an extensive beer and chugged it down:
“Then we’ll wait here until they finish school. Also, order me thirty more tortillas.”
St. Ignatius Girls’ School was established during Spanish rule in Mexico and is a model of eighteenth-century female education. It remains one of the best schools in Mexico, mainly attended by daughters of high-ranking officials, foreign diplomats, and business magnates.
Before the 1990s, it was unthinkable for a drug trafficker’s daughter to attend this prestigious school.
Isabel Reyes’ school life was not pleasant, as her classmates subtly ostracized her, and the daughters of American diplomats publicly humiliated her on several occasions.
At dismissal time, nearly all of Mexico’s luxury cars appeared at the school gate, with five identical Chevrolet Suburbans particularly conspicuous.
Several black-clad bodyguards escorted Isabel into the middle Suburban.
Isabel picked up the tablet on the seat and listlessly tapped on it.
“Why are there so many people today?”
She said, glancing with some fear at the person sitting beside her. He was a stocky man with a blank expression, his eyes clouded as if covered by a gray veil, showing no spark of life. His rock-hard muscles strained the suit, nearly bursting it at the seams.
Isabel had seen how they killed—cruel, efficient, with no mercy. They looked human, but in reality, they were just engineered killing machines.
“Lately, someone’s been targeting our group. The boss is worried they might go after you,” said the bodyguard in the passenger seat.
Isabel lay back in her seat expressionlessly, continuing to play with her tablet. Suddenly, the cartoon playing on the tablet cut out.
“Motherf***er, no connection!”
The bodyguard in the passenger seat immediately became alert, picking up the radio to contact the other cars. He didn’t simply dismiss the lack of connectivity as a signal issue.
“Check the signal! Check for any disturbances around! Someone might be making a move on us.”
Moments later, the other vehicles’ bodyguards discovered that the convoy had lost signal.
“Hurry! Speed up!”
The bodyguard felt his heart seize as if gripped by an invisible hand. He pulled out a dagger, slit open the seat, and retrieved the rifle hidden inside, loading the magazine and disengaging the safety.
Become a Patron to read chapters ahead of public release and support me 😉
Read up to 30 chapters ahead on p atreon.
