Dylan Daniels was no ordinary gangster.
He wasn't just a product of violence—he was violence incarnate. A man whose soul seemed carved from obsidian, whose smile sent chills down the spines of seasoned criminals. A living demon dressed in tailored suits, he had long abandoned the realm of morality. For Dylan, killing was no longer just a means—it was a pleasure, a language he spoke fluently. If it served his happiness or fulfilled his ambition, not even the innocent were spared.
In just three years, he didn't merely dominate the drug trade—he rewrote the rules. From the blood-soaked alleys of Tokyo to the neon-drenched clubs of Berlin, Dylan built an empire fueled by narcotics, fear, and absolute loyalty. He forged iron-clad alliances with the world's deadliest mafia families—from the cold precision of the Russians to the ruthless efficiency of the Italians. He became a myth in the underworld—a phantom who struck deals with ministers by day and orchestrated assassinations by night.
What made him untouchable wasn't just his power. It was his reach. Dylan had the Ministry of Affairs in his pocket, judges under his payroll, and police chiefs bowing to his will. He turned the nation into a puppet show, pulling strings from a golden throne of blood and cocaine.
But the beginning of his undoing came in the form of a woman—Alice Harrison.
The trap was meticulous.
Officials had grown desperate. Dylan was becoming too bold—using children as drug mules, stuffing schoolbags with heroin and coke, walking into courthouses with a smirk and walking out untouched. The crime rate had soared. People no longer feared the law; they feared Dylan.
The internal rebellion began with a few guilt-ridden officers. Disgusted by Dylan's use of children, they began leaking intel to a special division. Quietly, the state devised a plan—one that went beyond the law.
They recruited Alice Harrison. An ex-intelligence officer with a cold stare and a past soaked in classified black ops, she was their only shot. Her mission was off the books, and the setup was ruthless. She had to go rogue, pretend to act on her own, arrest Dylan without official approval—and once he was in custody, the same corrupt officials would transfer her quietly, erasing her from the equation. It was bait. Dylan, they thought, would never suspect it.
But they underestimated him. Gravely.
Within twelve hours of his arrest, Dylan walked out.
Not through a prison break. Not with violence. He posted bail. Legally. Efficiently. Like a man on vacation, not a monster in chains.
The moment he was free, he made one call—to the Italian mafia.
"They burned my shipments," Dylan said calmly. "But it was all a ruse. They're selling the real product to the Chinese and Koreans. You've been played."
Enraged, the Italians mobilized. Cargo ships loaded with weapons set sail. Hitmen landed in Japan. Entire cities braced for war.
Panic gripped the nation's elite.
In a darkened room filled with cigarette smoke and trembling hands, senior police officers and ministers gathered in silence—until a shout broke the air:
"Didn't I TELL you all?! He's smarter than all of us! He KNOWS everything! We're DEAD! He won't spare us or our families! This is all because of YOU STUBBORN BASTARDS—and that bitch Alice!"
Without hesitation, one of the high-ranking officials, pale with rage and fear, drew his pistol and shot the man in the head. Blood splattered on the wallpaper like modern art.
"Anyone else want to end up like him? HUH?!" he roared.
"We'll talk to Dylan. We'll fix this. We have to."
But Dylan didn't want talks.
He wanted submission.
The negotiation was set in a private bunker. The air inside was thick with dread. Dylan stood alone, wearing a crimson tie, eyes glowing like embers. Ministers sat across from him, drenched in sweat. One of them dared to speak.
"Mr. Daniels... we want peace. We're prepared to make concessions. Just tell us what you want."
Silence.
Then, Dylan leaned forward, placing his ringed hands on the table.
"You unworthy dogs… You really thought you could fool me? You thought some washed-up agent and a fake arrest would bring me down?"
He chuckled—low and cold.
"Not even your Prime Minister dares to look me in the eye… and YOU thought you had a chance?"
"The price you'll pay... will be greater than NASA's entire budget."
He stood up, voice booming.
"Because the worst is yet to come. Not even God, nor the ones who worship Satan, will save you."
"You want to survive?"
"Then give me Alice Harrison—and her whole bloodline."
Laughter echoed off the steel walls.
"This world belongs to wolves. And I am the only one with fangs left."