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MTV Chapter 100
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 02:45:22 +0000 UTCA/N:- I made a mistake previously in translation, the amount stored in Stark's vault is 1 billion.
Christine and her crew cleaned out the vault, hauling bulging bags of cash back to the bank’s main hall.
Outside, a dozen police cars were parked haphazardly, blocking the road. Scores of cops crouched behind them, guns drawn, surrounding the bank.
A police captain bellowed through a megaphone, “Listen up, you bastards inside! You’re surrounded. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up!”
A moment passed. The bank was dead silent.
“Those goddamn robbers!” The captain snarled, ready to order a breach.
Then, a muffled thud echoed from inside.
An RPG rocket, trailing a fiery streak, blasted out through the gap in the bank’s front door.
BOOM!
The rocket slammed into a police car, sending it flipping several meters into the air, erupting into a blazing fireball before crashing back to the ground.
CRASH!
Searing flames and shockwaves, mixed with flying glass shards, tore through the air, knocking nearby cops flat and leaving them bloodied and shredded.
The black-clad crew seized the moment, charging out of the bank, automatic rifles blazing at the downed officers.
Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat!
A swarm of bullets buzzed like angry hornets, pinning the cops down.
Christine shouldered her rifle, covering the team. Any cop trying to sneak a shot from cover was picked off with her level-10 marksmanship, every shot a headshot.
The black-clad crew’s ferocious assault left over half the cops dead or wounded.
The survivors cowered under cars, trembling, too scared to make a sound.
'These fuckers have RPGs? That’s goddamn terrifying. These aren’t robbers—they’re fucking terrorists!'
They’d signed up to be cops for a paycheck, not to eat bullets.
…
Besides Union Savings Bank in the east, unidentified robbers hit two other major banks in L.A.'s north and south districts at the same time.
The robbers were numerous, well-trained, and packing heavy weapons.
The first wave of responding cops, caught off-guard by bad intel, got mowed down in seconds.
L.A.’s police dispatch lines were blowing up with emergency calls and cries for help.
The precinct’s top brass got the report and immediately concluded that the three attacks were likely the work of the same crew.
Their uncanny marksmanship and ballsy tactics pointed to one name: Jason Walter.
The realization hit the police chief like a gut punch.
Could it be? Was Jason’s attack on Stark Bank just a decoy to draw the government and military’s attention while he hit weaker banks?
The more the chief thought about it, the more it made sense. He scrambled to call the military bigwig overseeing the operation.
…
Meanwhile, the military honcho was cozying up to a model on a rooftop balcony, sipping wine and soaking in L.A. 's night skyline.
One of his subordinates rushed over, whispering the police report in his ear.
“What the fuck did you say?” The general snapped, his face darkening.
The subordinate, grimacing, repeated the intel.
The general’s half-drunken buzz evaporated, replaced by cold dread.
If Jason’s target wasn’t Stark Bank, he’d been played like a damn fiddle for days.
If Jason pulled this off and waltzed away, how the hell was he supposed to face the Justice Department and military higher-ups?
“General, what’s wrong? Bad wine or not enough pretty girls?” Tony sauntered over, a starlet on each arm, grinning like an asshole.
The general’s face was a storm cloud. “Just got word from the precinct. Three groups of robbers hit major banks in L.A.’s east, north, and south. The cops think it’s Jason’s Joker Organization.”
Tony didn’t flinch. Instead, he laughed, turning to the starlets. “Told you, didn’t I? Jason’s just a gutless rat. You didn’t believe me, but look who’s right.”
The starlets rolled their eyes, unimpressed.
Tony kept on, smug as hell. “I’m Tony fucking Stark. Scum like Jason wouldn’t dare show his face around me. He’s only got the balls to pick on unarmed shopkeepers.”
He sipped his wine, mood sky-high.
Whether Jason hit Stark Bank or not didn’t matter much to him.
If Jason showed up, he was a dead man.
Tony’s name would blow up online again, Stark Industries’ rep would soar, and the stock price would get a nice bump.
If Jason chickened out, it’d prove he was scared of Stark, boosting the company’s and Tony’s clout anyway.
Either way, Stark was coming out on top—no risk, all reward.
The general, sweating bullets, said, “Stark, the cops are outmatched. They can’t handle Jason. I’m pulling all my troops out.” He paused, then added, “And since Jason’s not targeting your bank, those three hundred Iron Warriors are just sitting there. Let me borrow them.”
Tony downed his glass, smiling faintly. “Sure thing. But I’m worried Jason’s playing a feint. Could be a diversion to pull us away from the bank. You can take half the Iron Warriors.”
A diversion?
The general mulled it over. “Possible, but unlikely. Jason’s Joker Organization is spread thin. Those three bank hits already involve nearly a hundred robbers. Even if he’s got more men, it’s probably fifty at most. That’s nowhere near enough to take on Stark Bank—they’d be walking into a slaughter.”
Tony nodded. “Fair point, but even a one-percent chance is too much. This isn’t just about the billion in the vault—it’s about Stark Industries’ reputation.”
The general relented. “Fine. I’ll take two hundred Iron Warriors. I’ll leave five hundred troops behind. They’re not much for fighting, but they’re damn good at locking down streets to keep Jason from slipping away.”
Tony grinned. “Deal.”
He pulled out his phone and called the security chief.
Stark had total faith in the Iron Armors. Lending out half to the general was a calculated move—partly to make the general owe him one for future arms deals.
Plus, if the Iron Warriors mopped up the robbers, it’d be the perfect pitch to sell the military these three hundred near-obsolete suits for a few hundred million bucks.
Thanks to Jason, Tony saw fresh potential in the Iron Armors’ battlefield dominance.
He was already planning to restart the Iron Armor program at the company. These old prototypes from three years ago were outdated anyway—better to cash them out now.
The general thanked Tony, then rounded up his partying officers and hauled ass.
Comments
Infernus
Yes but it was equally my fault.
Axiom_Sovereign
There is "always" a problem in translation when dealing with big numbers in chinese.
