From Bullets To Billions Chapter 644: The Prison (Fixed)

Max had a very precise, deliberate motive for selecting Blitsber and this specific correctional facility. In Notting Hill City, the Gilt Rats syndicate held absolute sway; as the preeminent organization, their influence permeated the local government, police, and judicial systems. Despite Max and his crew systematically dismantling every asset they believed Ramon possessed, Max remained a pragmatist. He understood it was entirely possible, even likely, that a man as meticulous as Ramon would retain certain undisclosed favors or secret connections, ready for an unforeseen crisis.

Mancuar City was completely dominated by the White Tiger group, and other major urban centers each had their own entrenched gangs controlling the distribution of power. To ensure Ramon's security, Max required a neutral territory. This location needed to be a place where the Billion Bloodline's burgeoning influence could provide ample leverage without interference from the established powers of the Underworld. Blitsber fit this requirement perfectly. It was the kind of insignificant town that larger organizations overlooked, a forgotten spot on the map where a substantial infusion of capital could easily secure absolute cooperation.

By directly engaging with the local council and pledging to finance several prominent projects for the mayor, Max successfully acquired all the necessary connections. In essence, he purchased the town's compliance, reaching a status where his organization could act with virtual impunity, even within the confines of the local detention centers.

Situated on the town's remote outskirts, occupying a space that had once been a bustling retail park in more prosperous times, stood the prison's imposing structure. A formidable concrete wall encircled the premises, guarded by armed personnel and reinforced with multiple watchtower stations. It was undeniably not a place of comfort. Max recognized that if a rival syndicate were determined to breach the facility, they likely could eventually, but he also understood the practical realities of the Underworld: why expend the effort? Attacking a remote prison offered no tangible gains, and to the wider world, the Gilt Rats were already a concluded chapter.

Gaining entry into the prison was remarkably smooth. The chief warden himself appeared at the main gates to personally welcome Max and his security contingent. It felt akin to receiving a private escort through a perilous realm. They were guided through a series of heavy, secured gates and activated electronic barriers, ultimately reaching a high-security, isolated section of the facility. This area was entirely unoccupied by other inmates; it had been cleared specifically to accommodate the Billion Bloodline's 'guests.'

"Everything was prepared precisely as you instructed, and he appears quite content with the arrangements," the warden stated, pausing before a substantial, reinforced blue door.

"It's under constant surveillance, isn't it?" Max inquired, his gaze sweeping the corridor. "And you've implemented the remote monitoring, ensuring that any attempted breach or unusual activity triggers an immediate alert to our encrypted channel."

"Naturally, Mr. Stern," the warden replied, offering a slight bow before stepping aside. "I shall leave you now for your private discussion."

Max opened the door and entered. It was clearly not a standard prison cell. The space was exceptionally large and open, resembling more of a sophisticated industrial workshop than a place of confinement. There were no windows, preventing Ramon from determining his location by celestial bodies or the surrounding terrain, yet the area was brightly illuminated by powerful overhead lighting. The floor was occupied by an array of advanced diagnostic equipment and mechanical tools.

"I see they managed to relocate the equipment from your main laboratory," Max commented, his voice resonating in the austere room as he observed Ramon.

Ramon was engrossed at a workbench, his hands moving with practiced dexterity. "Yes. My team and I possess all the necessary tools for productivity, so I suppose I owe you some gratitude for that. We are currently engaged in repairing the damaged exoskeleton units as you requested, but as you are well aware, our funding for acquiring high-quality replacement components is critically insufficient."

"That is acceptable," Max declared, a subtle, knowing smile playing on his lips. "After all, if we supplied you with all the necessary parts at once, you might contrive a way to assemble your own exoskeleton and escape this place at your leisure."

"Indeed. And I am certain you have numerous undisclosed safeguards in place should we ever contemplate such an endeavor," Ramon retorted, his attention shifting upwards towards the several high-definition security cameras mounted in the ceiling's corners.

Ramon acknowledged that he and his chosen researchers were being afforded preferential treatment. While he wasn't entirely discontent with his current standing, having shelter and the ongoing pursuit of his life's work, it had only been a short duration since his defeat. The lingering, acrid taste of failure, though still present, was something Max knew would eventually subside. This prospect, the fading of the battle's sting and the potential resurgence of Ramon's ambition, was Max's greatest apprehension.

Driven by this very fear, Max was meticulously implementing every conceivable fail-safe. His objective was to reach a state where betrayal from Ramon would cease to be a concern, allowing them instead to leverage his unique genius for maximum advantage from their partnership.

"I have a specific task I wish for you to undertake," Max stated, reaching into his suit jacket and presenting a small, folded piece of paper.

Ramon accepted the note and began to read. As the information registered, his eyes darted across the page with remarkable speed, his brow knitting in apparent astonishment.

"Is this what you wish for me to research?" Ramon inquired, his gaze meeting Max's with a look of skepticism. "We inhabit a world governed by stark realities, Max, not a whimsical fairy tale for children."

"You are personally aware of the existence of Superhumans," Max countered. "You have experienced their formidable strength and witnessed their capabilities firsthand. So, what makes the request on this paper seem so outlandish to you?"

Ramon's lips parted, ready to deliver a sharp, scientific rebuttal, but he discovered he lacked a logically sound argument. The demarcation between scientific understanding and the realm of the impossible had been irrevocably blurred some time ago.

"Trust me, there is a compelling rationale behind my directive for you to investigate this particular area," Max asserted.

"Very well," Ramon finally conceded, carefully tucking the paper into his pocket. "Should you manage to procure a live Superhuman for my study, I can likely fulfill this request. Alternatively, if you're feeling particularly audacious, you could always offer one of your own inner circle for experimentation."

A subtle, dark smile played on Ramon's lips, as if he were entirely serious. Perhaps he was; Ramon's profound animosity towards Superhumans was undeniably evident. He perceived them as mere biological aberrations, a mockery of his own intricate mechanical creations.

"But enough of that for the present," Ramon declared, his tone shifting to one of gravity. "Did you follow through with my request? Did you investigate Randy Stern?"