Jason already had a three million dollar bounty on his head from Kingpin.
Now the Department of Justice had added another ten million.
Thirteen million dollars was an astronomical sum, more than enough to make every gangster and hitman in New York lose their minds and come charging after his head without a thought for their own lives.
A chill ran through Jason.
I’m going to have to be a hell of a lot more careful whenever I go outside from now on.
Everything had its advantages and disadvantages.
As the shocking news spread rapidly across the United States, more and more people learned about Jason’s crimes, and many of them began to fear him.
His Notoriety started climbing.
[Notoriety has reached 100. You have gained one Accomplice Recruitment Opportunity.]
Jason was ecstatic.
With thirteen million dollars hanging over his head, even someone as capable as him couldn’t fight off an endless stream of enemies alone.
An Accomplice showing up now was exactly what he needed.
Jason opened the system and selected Recruit Accomplice.
[Accomplice “Franklin Clinton” activated.]
[Character Source: Grand Theft Auto V.]
[Host, please locate and recruit him personally.]
In an instant, memories buried deep within Jason’s mind began surfacing.
Unfortunately, too much time had passed, and those memories had become blurry.
He only remembered that Grand Theft Auto V had been an enormously popular game around the world, and Franklin Clinton was one of its protagonists.
What was his special ability again?
Jason couldn’t remember.
What gave him an even bigger headache, however, was the fact that New York was enormous.
Where the hell was he supposed to find Franklin?
He couldn’t exactly plaster missing-person posters all over the city.
[Friendly Reminder: Franklin Clinton is an obsessive fan of the Host and frequently posts related comments on Facebook.]
Jason raised an eyebrow.
That wasn’t a hint.
That was practically the system pointing a giant neon arrow at the answer.
Jason had a Facebook account, and he had quite a lot of followers.
He frequently posted pictures of guns, beautiful women, luxury cars, mansions, and similar things.
No matter what world you were in, rich people always attracted huge followings online.
Unfortunately, Jason was now wanted across the entire United States.
The government’s cyber-surveillance departments were undoubtedly watching his account around the clock.
The moment he logged in, the FBI would probably come crashing through his door.
So Jason opened Facebook, created a brand new account, then searched for the name Franklin Clinton.
He filtered the results to male users living in New York.
There were more than five hundred men named Franklin Clinton in the city.
Jason had no choice but to use the dumbest method possible.
The system had said Franklin was one of his obsessive fans, so there had to be something related to Jason somewhere on his page.
Jason spent more than three hours hunched over his phone until his neck had gone stiff.
Finally, he found a profile that matched.
The profile picture showed a young Black man.
His face was ordinary and even a little rough around the edges.
His hair was buzzed down to about three millimeters.
One look at that miserable face and Jason could practically tell the guy lived near the bottom rung of society.
Then Jason opened Franklin’s Facebook page.
He was stunned.
More than half of everything on it was about him.
The system hadn’t been exaggerating when it called Franklin an obsessive fan.
[Jason took down more than twenty mobsters by himself. Is this guy God?]
[Those idiots at CNN don’t know shit. The great Jason Walter can’t be defeated.]
[OH MY GOD! Jason took down the entire Russian mob by himself! Jesus Christ, this is fucking insane!]
Half an hour earlier, Franklin had posted his latest update.
[$10 MILLION BOUNTY! Jason is so fucking cool! One day he’s going to surpass Bin ** and become this shitty government’s eternal nightmare.]
Jason’s face actually grew hot as he read one embarrassingly edgy post after another.
Ah, to be young again.
Franklin’s open support for Jason had naturally attracted a huge crowd of self-proclaimed righteous citizens eager to condemn him.
The replies were filled with insults and profanity, practically drowning him in abuse.
But Franklin was no pushover either.
He fought back against every single one of them.
One man against hundreds, and somehow he still wasn’t losing.
Jason had to admit, the kid had talent when it came to talking shit.
Jason sent him a private message.
“Hey. I’m Jason Walter.”
One minute later, Franklin replied.
“Yeah? Well, I’m your daddy.”
Jason frowned.
Are kids these days always this fucking rude?
He typed another message.
“I really am Jason Walter. Aren’t you supposed to be a fan? I think we should meet.”
Franklin replied instantly.
“Bullshit! I get dozens of messages like this every day. If you’re really Jason, take a selfie with your phone and send it.”
Jason wrote back, “You saw the news. There’s a ten million dollar federal bounty on me now. If I send you a photo, the system will geolocate me immediately and then… you get the idea.”
“We can meet in person. You’ll know whether I’m real when you see me.”
“You fucking scammer! You’re just trying to lure me somewhere and stand me up, aren’t you? Damn it, this shit has happened to me way too many times already.”
Jason stared at the screen helplessly.
What the hell has this poor kid been through?
“Relax. You can choose the meeting place. Pick the Starbucks downstairs from your apartment for all I care. Even if I stand you up, you won’t lose anything.”
Franklin didn’t reply immediately.
He was probably considering whether the idea was workable.
More than ten minutes later, a message finally arrived.
“Tonight, nine o’clock. **** Club on XX Street in Queens. I’ll wait there for one hour.”
“Fine. I’ll be there at nine.”
Jason logged out of Facebook and checked the time on the screen.
There were still five hours before their meeting.
He decided to use the time to put on a disguise.
Jason pulled a driver’s license from his bag.
The man on the license was named Henry Ward, a white man in his thirties.
Jason memorized his appearance, took out his disguise kit, and got to work in front of the mirror.
Three hours later, the transformation was complete.
Jason now looked nearly ninety percent identical to Henry Ward’s photograph.
Even if Kingpin himself were standing right in front of him, Jason doubted the man would recognize him.
Satisfied, Jason nodded at his reflection.
He tucked a fully loaded handgun into the back of his waistband, left the safe house, and walked three blocks before hailing a taxi.
The driver was a white man in his forties.
“Good evening, sir. Where to?”
“Queens.”
“Specific address?”
“Any large shopping mall is fine.”
“No problem, sir.” The taxi slowly pulled away and headed toward Queens.
About fifteen minutes later, it came to another stop.
The driver slapped the steering wheel.
“Goddamn it. These idiot cops are pulling this shit again.”
Jason leaned forward and looked outside.
The police had closed the road and set up a checkpoint.
Manhattan had suffered several explosions in rapid succession, with more than fifty people dead.
With both the federal government and the public demanding answers, the pressure on the NYPD was easy to imagine.
So the cops had been forced to take action.
Checkpoints had been established along major roads throughout Manhattan, and every vehicle passing through was being carefully inspected.
For ordinary civilians, that was probably reassuring.
For taxi drivers, though, police checkpoints all over the city were practically strangling their livelihood.