From Bullets To Billions Chapter 640: The End Of the Battle (Part 2)

After the frenzy of the fierce battle died down, the immediate task was capturing the remaining enemy survivors inside the building. They were dealt with through chilling, precise methods, marched to the second-floor demo room, and secured there with bound hands under strict watch.

During the early withdrawal, most ordinary soldiers had slipped away into the darkness, resulting in about forty captives being taken. These were chiefly the heavily wounded who couldn't escape the premises anyway, left moaning on the ground as restraints were applied. Afterward, the Gilt Rats' elite—the top commanders and senior scientists—along with the toppled powerhouses Darius and Jett, were hauled to the grand hall for their reckoning.

On the stage, they stood aligned shoulder to shoulder, a lineup of toppled giants, yet one obvious gap seized Max’s focus right away.

"I’m sorry," Aron stepped up, lowering his head in an uncommon display of regret. "I was certain he couldn’t move from his injuries. I bound him with my own hands, but I should’ve realized better than to doubt his endurance."

Max stared at the vacant spot reserved for their thorniest rival. "He clearly was one hardy foe," Max remarked calmly. "And from your tone, while you’re sincerely apologetic, it sounds like his getaway didn’t shock you at all."

Skull was the one notably absent. While the team locked in their triumph and rushed together up the gym stairs, his previous position stood empty. This snag was anticipated, leaving Aron anxious about the fallout ahead. Freed from Gilt Rats' hold, where would someone like Skull turn? Might his flight spark the very future headaches they had both foreseen?

Max shifted focus back to the stage-bound captives, his thoughts already turning to takeover details.

"We follow the same playbook as last time," Max announced, speaking to his close allies and the vanquished bosses alike. "We’ll swallow the Black Hounds and Gilt Rats’ operations. Control goes to us over all assets, shell companies, and ledgers. No one exits until papers are signed off and transfers wrapped up.

"Your group members get options: join the Billion Bloodline crew on standard terms, or opt out and vanish from this city’s scene. To maintain business flow, Darius and Jett—if you agree, you fold into our structure. Run your setups just like under the Gilt Rats—but with us calling the shots now."

Max halted, eyes moving to the scientists. "Sadly for you folks, that doesn’t apply."

As Max glanced over, his stare locked on Ramon and the other researchers. The hall’s atmosphere turned thick and oppressive.

"You grasp this clearest, Ramon. You headed the Gilt Rats. The larger an organization swells, the tougher one leader’s grip becomes. History’s empires toppled for that reason. You commanded them once; their loyalty to you runs profound. Placing you in authority under me primes the ground for treachery and knives in the back. The smartest, securest move? End you here on the spot."

Sheer, pure dread filled the other researchers’ eyes, their complexions draining white as their fragile fates sank in. Ramon alone kept his composure. Max understood execution offered the surest block against potential rebellion.

"That said," Max pressed on, "my aims echo yours and push beyond this point. Your unique expertise might still serve a purpose. My plan locks you all away. Your deep city links mean no holding here for simple rescues. I’ve got contacts for far tougher containment.

"In captivity, you’ll have enough leeway to keep researching. Funding won’t match your past self-supplies, so maximize scant supplies. It’s your lone alternative. Refuse if you wish, but death follows."

Truth be told, a significant portion of Max had anticipated Ramon opting for death. Those who ascended to the peaks of syndicates and empires rarely bent the knee to another's flag; they'd sooner perish than bow to a competitor. That fierce pride was typically the very force that launched them to such commanding roles from the start.

Yet, while life continued, the opportunity to cling to some remnant persisted. Hope flickered on. Max figured Ramon nursed a particular flame of hope, centered on his fixation with the Invitation's architects.

Ramon glanced upward, his stare locking onto Max's with a burst of fresh resolve. No pleas for pity or release came from him.

"Randy Stern..." Ramon uttered, the name lingering in the atmosphere like a crushing load. "Look into him for me. Do that, and you have a deal."

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