# Chapter 20
# big dogg 0l #
**Scaffail Avenue**
**10:13 AM**
The sprawling industrial complex at the end of Scaffail Avenue looked abandoned to the untrained eye, but a closer look revealed active, quiet renovations. At first glance, it looked like it was undergoing renovation. Scaffolding clung to sections of the weathered walls, Construction materials, sacks of quick-dry concrete, piles of cement bags and steel beams were scattered across the compound, and several maintenance trucks sat abandoned near the loading docks.
The illusion was convincing.
Too convincing.
Hidden beneath the appearance of construction was a meeting that would never appear on any official schedule.
Inside the central bay of the main factory, three black SUVs formed a defensive triangle around a luxurious black convertible. All four vehicles have their rear bumpers facing the primary entrance and their hoods pointed toward the rear exit.
Ten rough-looking men stood in front of the vehicles.
Five carried compact submachine guns.
Two rested AK rifles casually over their shoulders.
The remaining three appeared unarmed, but the bulges beneath their jackets revealed concealed pistols tucked into their waistbands.
They chatted among themselves while keeping a watchful eye on both entrances.
The low rumble of an approaching engine interrupted the conversation.
Every head turned.
The low hum of a high-end engine echoed through the bay. A black luxury sedan glided in through the secondary entrance, coming to a smooth stop twenty yards from the armored SUVs.
All four doors of the sedan opened simultaneously.
Four men in sharp, charcoal business suits stepped out in synchronized precision. The man exiting the front passenger seat carried an unconventional carbine equipped with a sleek blue LED strip running along its upper receiver.
The man stepping from the rear left has a muscular but lean frame that could easily belong to either a businessman or a professional bodyguard.He wore dark sunglasses and a black fedora tilted slightly forward, carrying a metallic briefcase in one hand while his other remained casually resting inside his trouser pocket.it was Scott the person that was with Bellatrix in the Saver Room,
Scott took a slow step forward, a cold, dry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The three suit-clad operatives fell into place right behind him.
Two of The guard beside him carried an unfamiliar submachine guns. Blue lines pulsed faintly along the weapon's upper receiver, giving it an oddly futuristic appearance.
Without hesitation, the four men walked toward the waiting gang.
"Who's running this circus?" Scott asked, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. "Speak up. My time is far too expensive to waste on a waiting game."
One of the un-armed men stepped forward, spat on the concrete, and sneered. "You've got a lot of nerve keeping us waiting, suit."
Scott glanced at him with unadulterated disdain. "I don't negotiate with low-level muscle.
His tone remained flat.
"Tell your boss to step out of the car."
"Otherwise..."
"The deal is over."
Silence fell.
Then...
A raspy, wet laugh echoed from the back seat of a nearby luxury convertible. "Heh-heh-heh... Scott. Your ego is just as inflated as the rumors say."
One of the guards hurried forward and opened the butterfly door of the luxurious black convertible.A grossly overweight man squeezed his way out of the leather interior.Everything about him screamed excess.He wore a designer silk suit that strained against his midsection.Gold chains—at least five thick links—hung heavily around his neck, matching a solid gold watch,Gold bracelets covered both wrists.Even his teeth flashed gold whenever he smiled.A cigar rested comfortably between his fingers.
pulling a heavy duffel bag from the footwell.He carried the large duffel bag as though it weighed nothing.
Scott frowned.
"...Big Dogg."
The smile disappeared from his face.
Scott's brow furrowed slightly under his sunglasses. Why the hell would Anderson send *you* to handle a high-tier exchange?"
Big Dogg spread his arms dramatically.
"What?"
"You don't think I'm capable of handling business?"
Just so you know.Big Dogg grinned, flash-baring his gold tooth. "I'm a seasoned businessman."
Scott studied him for a few seconds before shrugging.
"I think Anderson should have sent someone more competent."
The men behind Big Dogg immediately tightened their grips on their weapons.
Big Dogg only laughed louder.
"I like you."
"You've got guts."
Scott walked toward an old metal worktable positioned between the two groups and placed his metallic briefcase onto the rusted iron worktable standing between the two factions. With a light flick of his wrist, he slid the briefcase across the metal surface.
Big Dogg signaled his lieutenant—the man who had spoken first. The operative stepped up, popped the dual latches, and opened the briefcase. Inside lay neat, vacuum-sealed bricks of high-purity white powder.
The lieutenant pulled a tactical knife from his boot, sliced a tiny corner of one bag, dipped the tip of the blade, and touched it to his tongue. He paused, closed his eyes for Several long seconds passed.
Then he looked back at Big Dogg and nodded.
"It's pure."
Big Dogg grinned.
Big Dogg tossed the heavy duffel bag across the concrete. It landed at Scott's feet with a dense thud. Scott leaned down, unzipped the bag, and casually flipped through a stack of wrapped hundred-dollar bills. Satisfied, he zipped it back up and handed it off to the driver standing behind him.
The operative carried the duffel to the sedan's trunk, tossed it inside, and slammed the lid shut.
Big Dogg brought a thick cigar, took a long drag, and blew a thick plume of gray smoke into the space between them. "Word on the street says you're testing out a new line of hardware. How about giving me a peek?"
Scott glanced over his shoulder at his driver. "Fetch a P-14."
The driver nodded, walked back to the sedan, and popped the trunk again. He pushed the duffel bag out of the way, pulled up the spare tire floor panel, but Instead of a spare tire...it revealed a custom tactical rack. Neat rows of military-grade firearms, specialized magazines, and smoke canisters rested in dense foam inserts. He pulled out a sleek, compact submachine gun with a matte-black polymer finish and tossed it through the air.
Scott caught the weapon cleanly with one hand.
"This is the P-14," Scott explained, adjusting his grip. "Manufactured under a black-budget contract by Vane Industries. It handles like a standard submachine gun, but..."
Scott racked the charging handle in a fluid motion, leveled the barrel toward a half-inch thick steel plate on a piece of abandoned machinery thirty feet away, and squeezed the trigger.
*Pffft.*
*BAM!*
The shot was virtually silent—a soft, pneumatic hiss—followed immediately by the violent screech of metal being punched clean through.
Big Dogg's guards instantly twitched, their weapons rising a few inches in surprise as they stared at the neat hole punched through the industrial steel plate.
"How much per unit?" Big Dogg asked, his eyes narrowing
"Thirty-four thousand," Scott replied calmly.
"Thirty-four *what*?" Big Dogg barked, cutting him off before he could finish. "Are you out of your mind? Is the price inflated because of the sound suppressor? I'm buying a firearm, Scott, not the vehicle it came in!"
Scott gave a cold, knowing smile and gestured toward the destroyed machine. "Send one of your boys to fire a standard round at the same plate. See what happens."
Big Dogg gestured to his left. An operative holding a high-caliber AK stepped up, aimed at the untouched center of the steel plate, and pulled the trigger.
*BANG!*
*CLANG!*
The loud report echoed violently off the factory walls. The heavy bullet struck the plate, leaving nothing more than a shallow dent before flattening and falling harmlessly to the dusty floor.
Silence settled over the factory. Big Dogg's eyes went wide. His men stared at the steel plate in total disbelief.
"This little baby packs kinetic penetration comparable to a breaching shotgun," Scott explained smoothly, tapping the side of the weapon. "Yet it feeds from a high-capacity SMG magazine and cycles almost completely silent. High armor-penetration, high fire-rate, zero acoustic footprint."
The shock on Big Dogg's face slowly morphed into a dark, naked greed.
"How many of those do you have in stock right now?" Big Dogg asked softly.
Scott shrugged.
"About sixteen."
"Most of them are pistols plus custom ammunition."
"There are also enough magazines to keep your men happy..."
"...assuming you have the money."
Big Dogg slowly smiled.
"The problem is..."
Big Dogg took another drag of his cigar, a slow, sinister smile spreading across his face. "You see... I don't have that kind of cash on me today, Scott.He spread his arms. But I really, *really* want those guns. So you're going to extend me a line of credit."
"You know how we operate," Scott said, his voice dropping an octave. "No credit. Cash upfront. It's impossible."
"Hahaha!" Big Dogg threw his head back, laughing loudly into the empty warehouse. "Scott, my friend... nothing is impossible.
You just need a little..."
"...persuasion."
The instant those words left his mouth—
Three tiny red dots appeared on Scott's chest...
...and two more settled on the foreheads of the men standing behind him.
Laser sights.