My Milf System

Chapter 400: 400. The drop

It was midday, but inside the subterranean sanctuary, time didn’t exist. This was a chamber buried so deeply that no ordinary civilian could ever stumble into it and if they did, their lifespan was measured in seconds.

Around a massive, monolith-like table of polished black obsidian, a handful of men and women sat in deceptive silence. Behind them, tactical enforcers clad in slate-gray combat gear and featureless ballistic helmets stood like statues, assault rifles held at low-ready.

These were the Senior Commanders of the Shinigami syndicate. The apex predators of the underworld.

At the head of the obsidian table sat the Founder. He didn’t use a standard executive chair; he sat upon a high-backed, throne-like seat, his face completely obscured behind a porcelain skeletal mask. A silver-crested cane rested against his knee. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, immaculate and radiating a wealth that made the other commanders look like street thugs.

In front of him lay three oversized carbon-fiber briefcases, unlatched to reveal dense bricks of crisp USD one-hundred-dollar bills.

The Founder ran a black-gloved finger across the edge of the cash, a low, distorted chuckle echoing from behind his mask.

"Another flawless cycle. Splendid work, Chucky."

To his right, Akira’s jaw tightened. He sat there, adjusting his tie with a deep, gravelly sigh. "I’m fulfilling my end of the contract to secure my percentage, Founder. Nothing more, nothing less." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And drop the ’Chucky’ garbage. My designation is Mr. Two."

The Founder’s shoulders shifted as he laughed a cold, dry sound. "But ’Chucky’ captures your essence so much better, Mr. Two. Bold, unsightly, and entirely unrefined. It suits a man of your... unique talents."

Before Akira could snap back, a female commander across the table swiveled her wine glass, her voice dripping with venom. "The Founder is right. The name fits. Especially for someone who lacks even a shred of elegance in his cruelty."

Akira sneered, leaning back. "Cruelty? Please, Madam. This coming from the woman who caught an autumn heartbreak and burned her lover’s estate to ash? You didn’t stop there either. You hunted his parents, his bloodline, and even put a bullet through his six-year-old sibling."

"I granted them a clean, systematic termination," she replied smoothly, taking a slow sip. "They felt nothing. It was mercy. In our line of work, an efficient executioner is far less evil than a pathetic manipulator who plays with human chess pieces. You are working that miserable woman at Sad Mart straight into the grave with false hope, promising her medicine for her little pet project while using her name to sign off on your own black-market exports. She lives every single second in absolute terror, waiting for the axe to fall. That isn’t business, Chucky. That’s just sadistic."

Akira scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Tsk. As if this entire table isn’t feeding off that ’sadism.’ You all benefit from the arrangement. Without that desperate bitch covering our missing margins, our monthly ledger wouldn’t look this clean, would it?"

"You speak like a true king," Mr. Zero murmured from the shadows near the end of the table, his voice flat, completely unreadable. "But a tyrant king always forgets how slippery his own throne is. Be careful of the drop, Mr. Two."

Akira’s eyes flashed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Zero?"

Mr. Zero didn’t look up, offering nothing but a cold silence.

While the table bickered, Josh sat rigid in his leather seat, his eyes locked onto the glowing screen of his phone. His knuckles were white, his grip so fierce the glass casing groaned under the pressure. Inside his hidden earpiece, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of his toy wife’s infidelity played on a loop. Every moan from Loona was a razor blade to his fragile, monstrous pride.

One of the adjacent commanders glanced over, noticing the subtle tremor in Josh’s jaw. "Something wrong, Josh?"

Josh abruptly stood up, the legs of his heavy chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. "Excuse me. I have an urgent operational matter to sanitize."

The rage radiating off him was palpable, a suffocating heat.

"More urgent than processing your division’s payroll?" the Founder’s voice cut through the room, dropping the playful tone entirely. The skeletal mask turned slowly toward Josh. "Your squadron has a quota of human test subjects to deliver to the Shinigami labs by tomorrow night. Sit down. We are not finished."

Josh’s chest heaved. Sitting there among his peers felt like swallowing glass. That worthless, lowborn toy he kept on a leash had the absolute audacity to degrade his name with a total nobody, a pathetic security guard who survived on pennies. A brat who got hired even without a CV, a boy who isnt even worth the dirt on Josh’s boots.

’I will skin them both alive,’ Josh thought, his mind fracturing into violent images. ’I’ll tear them apart piece by piece.’

But he knew the rules. The Founder was reasonable when his ledger was balanced, but if crossed, he became an unmitigated monster. Josh couldn’t afford to lose his standing now.

"Grant me ten seconds to instruct one of my officers, sir," Josh said, his voice tightly controlled, though a vein throbbed violently in his temple. "One of my domestic assets has slipped its leash. I need to contain it before it tarnishes my public standing."

Across the table, Wednesday, a commander of Division 5 who looked pretty young and playful began to softly hum a nursery rhyme, his fingers tapping the obsidian wood. "London Bridge is falling down... falling down... falling down..."

Josh ground his teeth together until they clicked. In the Shinigami, reputation was everything. Power was maintained through absolute, untouchable terror. If a video of his wife taking another man leaked to the lower ranks, he would look weak. Compromised. Unfit to lead.

"Make it brief," the Founder permitted.

Josh’s thumbs flew across his screen, typing a frantic, lethal command to his personal security detail:

`Abduct Loona immediately. Bring her to the sub-level safehouse. Do not let her scream.`

He locked his phone, slipped it back into his breast pocket, and smoothed down his suit jacket. Exhaling slowly, he sank back into his chair, his face instantly melting into a mask of perfect, chilling composure.

"My apologies, sir," Josh said, looking directly at the skeletal mask. "We may proceed."

To be continued