The six thugs lay sprawled on the pavement, groaning and retching in agony. Ethan's fury had been absolute terrifying; he hadn't held back in the slightest. Every blow had been delivered with malice, calculated to cause maximum damage, to maim, and to punish.

The men had shattered bones and torn muscles. Ethan's bloodlust was overwhelming; they could all feel their imminent death radiating from the figure standing over them.

Seeing them completely destroyed, Ethan faltered. He couldn't reconcile the savage devastation with his former self. A fierce internal struggle raged: two distinct personalities fighting for control of his body. He was terrified that the completely wild, merciless persona would conquer his mind. Despite the fear, a cold, hard logic asserted itself: these men had hurt old Alfred and tried to take his beloved Lilly. They had to pay the price in blood.

The murderous, vengeful personality slowly gained control. The look of pain on Ethan's face dissolved into a chilling smile. He looked down at the six subjects and asked, his voice calm, yet deadly: "Who the hell sent you? And you better not lie to me if you want to avoid more pain."

The six men were terrified by Ethan's shifting attitude; it was like watching a disturbed psychopath in action. They didn't dare hold anything back. They weren't brave enough, or stupid enough, to defy a lunatic.

One of them managed to gasp out a shaky answer. "A man in a suit... he gave us this card to call him as soon as we were done. He gave us five thousand dollars to destroy the place."

"Five thousand each?" Ethan asked, his eyebrow arching. "That's quite a bit."

They lowered their heads. "Five thousand in total, sir. Don't joke. Who would pay five thousand each to destroy a simple shop?"

As the thug spoke, he instantly regretted the words. Ethan's face changed again, not into one of satisfaction, but into pure, focused fury. The idea that his family had been attacked for such a pittance—that their dignity and safety were worth less than a luxury handbag—infuriated him.

Ethan delivered a savage kick to the jaw of the man who had just spoken, eliciting a sickening CRUNCH and a howl of pain. "You will tell me the name of the man in the suit now!"

He reached into his Inventory and pulled out a black pistol, pressing the cold barrel hard against the temple of the nearest thug. "Talk, or you die right now! I'm done playing games!"

The thug, paralyzed by fear, screamed. "He didn't give us a name! Just a guy named Aaron Jenkins paid us the five thousand!"

"Who is Aaron Jenkins?" Ethan pressed, delivering a brutal knee to the ribs of another man, cracking more bones.

They insisted they didn't know, only that Aaron Jenkins was the contact for the money. The thug with the gun barrel pressed to his head, desperate to save his life, whimpered out the final truth.

"Please! The man who hired Jenkins... the man in the suit, he said the job was for... Olympus! He said to call him when the shop was burned down!"

Ethan froze. The name confirmed his worst suspicions. He knew their identity was real; they had no way of knowing he had a history with Olympus, or that they were his current rival. He did not know Aaron Jenkins, but he was certain he would find out soon.

Ethan's eyes were locked on the terrified thug who had revealed the name Olympus.

"Give me the number," Ethan commanded.

The thugs looked at each other. "They gave us a disposable burner phone, sir," one of them whimpered. "That was the only way to communicate with them."

Ethan snatched the phone, but he hesitated to call. He stared down at the six figures writhing in agony, their blood staining the asphalt. He had 12 rounds left in his magazine—more than enough to dispose of the bodies.

[Blow their heads off, Champion. And send their corpses to the garbage dump. Easy, fast, and efficient. No witnesses, no loose ends.] the System advised, its voice casual.

Ethan genuinely wanted to follow the advice and unleash the final act of violence, but he couldn't. The problem was the location. There was too much blood, too much visible carnage. He couldn't risk Lilly's family being involved in a multiple murder investigation. He had no choice but to call Jason.

Jason answered immediately.

"Jason, I have a problem, and I need a cleanup crew immediately," Ethan said, his voice flat. "I ran into some vultures who decided to vandalize the pizzeria. They're incapacitated, but there are six of them here, and I don't want the family involved."

Jason chuckled on the other end. "Six pieces of trash? Consider it done, boss. It works out well; we were just wrapping up our operations."

"What operations?" Ethan asked, curious about his subordinate's progress.

"We successfully secured North End just a little while ago," Jason reported efficiently. "We're currently cleaning up the area and preparing the scene for the press to gain leverage in the final housing price discussions. It was an easy operation, mainly because of our new members."

"New members?" Ethan questioned.

"Yes," Jason confirmed. "We brought twelve other gangs under the banner of the Dorchester Dukes. They totaled close to 250 members who surrendered and swore allegiance to our organization. We now control the entire North End."

"And the security measure?" Ethan pressed.

Jason chuckled darkly. "We have solid evidence of their previous crimes—photos, names, IDs, everything. We documented every error and felony. If any of those 250 new recruits step out of line, we destroy their lives. They are completely screwed if they rebel." Jason added, sounding completely satisfied.

Ethan congratulated him. "Good work Jason. Now, focus on the trash here. I need them gone, now."

"I'll be there immediately, Boss" Jason assured him. He gave a signal to Falcon 1 and 2, and the three SUVs sped toward the pizzeria.

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