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Broadway was no longer a street.
It was a battlefield.
The morning air—once filled with the scent of roasted coffee and traffic fumes—was now thick with burning rubber, smoke, and the metallic bite of gunpowder. Sirens screamed in every direction. Helicopter blades chopped violently through the sky. Civilians fled in chaotic waves, abandoning cars, briefcases, entire lives mid-motion.
And at the center of it all—
A green supercar tore down the avenue like a streak of living lightning.
Its engine roared with mechanical arrogance, weaving between abandoned taxis and shattered traffic barriers. Behind it, more than thirty police vehicles pursued in tight formation, sirens wailing like predators howling in frustration. And the number was increasing by the minute.
This was no ordinary chase.
Nearly the entire armed division of New York had mobilized.
Because the man inside that vehicle—if the reports were correct—was perhaps the greatest war criminal in human history.
Jack.
Gunfire cracked across the air.
Bullets sparked against asphalt.
Brakes screeched.
Broadway would not know peace today.
From loudspeakers mounted atop police cruisers came a distorted command:
"The vehicle ahead, pull over immediately! You are surrounded! Pull over and submit to inspection!"
Ada glanced into the rearview mirror. Police lights stretched endlessly behind them, red and blue flickering like a river of fury.
"There are really a lot of them," she murmured.
Jack leaned back calmly in his seat, almost relaxed. "Crosshairs," he said lightly, "however you do it—clear the way."
The car's speakers crackled.
"Old boss, watch carefully."
Suddenly, a stream of slick lubricating oil sprayed from the rear of the supercar, spreading rapidly across the asphalt.
The lead police cruiser hit the oil first.
Its tires lost traction instantly.
The vehicle fishtailed violently.
The driver tried to correct—
Too late.
It slammed sideways into another cruiser accelerating from the left.
Bang!
Metal twisted.
Glass exploded.
Both cars flipped, crashing into a streetlight and rolling like crushed soda cans.
The oil spread further.
More police vehicles skidded uncontrollably, colliding in a domino cascade of destruction.
Explosions erupted.
Smoke mushroomed upward.
At least ten cruisers were instantly disabled.
Ada allowed herself a small smile. "Well done, Crosshairs."
"Thank you, mistress. The performance has only begun."
A shadow swept overhead.
Then—
Boom!
A missile struck the street behind them, tearing open a crater and sending chunks of pavement flying.
Ada looked up sharply.
"Helicopters. Four of them."
"Four?" Crosshairs scoffed through the speakers. "Do they think I'm a toy?"
Two small missile launchers extended subtly from the wheel wells of the supercar.
They fired.
The missiles streaked upward, white trails cutting through the sky.
The helicopters attempted evasive maneuvers, banking sharply.
But Crosshairs' missiles tracked relentlessly.
Two detonations bloomed in midair.
Fireballs swallowed the helicopters.
Burning wreckage spiraled down, crashing into nearby buildings.
Concrete shattered.
Windows exploded.
"Crosshairs," Jack said calmly, "open the roof."
The roof panels slid apart.
Jack launched upward in a blur.
The car sealed again as he vanished into the sky.
He landed directly atop a helicopter's nose.
The pilot barely had time to scream before Jack's fist smashed through the windshield. Glass shattered inward in a storm of fragments.
Jack grabbed the pilot by the collar.
And threw him out into open air.
The co-pilot drew his pistol, hands trembling wildly, firing at near point-blank range.
Jack stepped inside the cockpit and struck once.
The co-pilot flew backward, smashing through the rear door and vanishing.
The final helicopter turned, attempting to line up a missile shot.
Jack didn't give it the chance.
He seized control of the mounted launcher and fired.
The missile detonated against the helicopter's fuselage.
It exploded mid-turn, raining fire upon the city.
Below, Jack aimed downward.
One by one, missiles screamed toward the remaining police vehicles.
Explosions chained across Broadway.
Cars flipped.
Flames roared.
Screams echoed between skyscrapers.
---
Inside the green supercar, Alice narrowed her eyes.
"They've deployed tanks."
Ahead, Broadway was blocked by rows of armored military vehicles.
Cannon barrels pivoted.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Shells blasted toward the supercar.
Crosshairs swerved at impossible angles, dodging with mechanical precision.
The front grille split open.
Three missiles launched.
Each struck perfectly.
Three tanks erupted into pillars of flame.
"Open the roof," Alice said.
"Mistress, this is dangerous. If you are harmed, old boss will dismantle me."
"I'm not fragile," she snapped. "Open it."
The roof slid open again.
Alice leapt upward, landing atop the moving vehicle with effortless balance.
She faced the remaining tanks.
Her pupils shifted.
Turning triangular.
Power surged through her.
A pulse wave erupted forward with the force of a collapsing mountain.
The row of tanks lifted entirely off the ground as though gravity had abandoned them.
They crashed back down, metal rupturing violently.
Crosshairs' voice trembled with admiration. "Mistress, I did not expect such fierceness."
Alice dropped back into the car.
"It's nothing compared to Jack."
"Old boss is not human," Crosshairs replied solemnly.
The supercar sped through the destroyed blockade.
At the next intersection, three armored all-terrain vehicles barreled toward them from different directions, attempting a pincer attack.
Crosshairs laughed.
"You underestimate me."
The front of the vehicle transformed.
A massive rotating power saw extended outward.
Screeching metal filled the air.
Sparks erupted in violent cascades.
The green supercar sliced cleanly through the armored vehicles, cutting them in half and driving straight through the center.
Behind them—
Boom!
The helicopter Jack had seized detonated in midair, struck by a missile from somewhere above.
The sky roared.
Ten F-22 fighter jets streaked overhead, their engines shrieking like mechanical beasts.
Missiles fired downward.
Jack stood calmly atop a damaged rooftop nearby, watching.
"America truly respects me," he muttered. "Sending so much."
A missile struck the rooftop where he stood.
He vanished.
The building lost one-third of its structure in the blast.
He reappeared—
Inside the cockpit of a fighter jet mid-flight.
The pilot turned his head.
Saw Jack.
And screamed.
Jack's fist shattered the cockpit canopy.
Wind roared violently.
He grabbed the pilot and flung him out into the rushing sky.
The man's scream was swallowed instantly by the gale.
Jack seated himself.
And began firing.
Missiles streaked downward indiscriminately.
Buildings along Broadway became targets.
Broadway Grand Theatre.
St. James Theatre.
Historic facades erupted into fire and rubble.
Flames consumed banners.
Stone crumbled.
Glass rained like deadly rain.
Below, the city burned.
Above, Jack smiled faintly.
Chaos unfolded exactly as he pleased.