From Bullets To Billions

Chapter 150: Who Is He?

After finally explaining everything he needed to, Max was relieved, no, grateful, that Aron had left.

Without wasting another second, he changed out of his flashy Billion Bloodline merch and into some normal gym wear. Nothing fancy. Just plain, forgettable clothes. Then he bolted out the door and headed straight for the meeting point.

I'm lucky Aron's the kind of guy who can be… persuaded, Max thought as he jogged down the street. And yeah, I know he'll throw himself into this mission like it's a full-blown blockbuster, but that's exactly what worries me. I just hope he makes it out okay.

Far on the outskirts of the city, past the last row of crumbling fences and half-dead streetlamps, was a wide, cracked field. Dusty. Forgotten. The kind of place you'd avoid unless you had business that preferred silence.

Several vehicles had pulled up on the brittle asphalt, their tires crunching against loose gravel. Aron stepped out of his car, his boots hitting the ground with purpose.

Around him, men emerged from the other cars, tall, broad, and geared up. Body armor. Batons. Black sunglasses that made them look more like a cinematic hit squad than anything official. They weren't government. Not even close. This was a hand-picked mercenary team. Private. Expensive. Dangerous.

"Alright, listen up!" Aron shouted, clapping his hands for attention. "You've all been briefed. You know who we're looking for."

One of the men raised a hand, frowning. "Uh, sir? Are we sure these descriptions are... reliable? Because, no offense, but some of them sound like bad fanfiction."

"There's no confirmed photo of the man," Aron replied, not missing a beat. "This is all the intel we've got. We work with what we have."

Another operative swiped through the info packet on a tablet, raising an eyebrow as he read aloud. "Built like a mountain, with the charm of a Greek god and the hair of a shampoo commercial?"

"Are we tracking a fugitive or a mythological thirst trap?" another guy muttered.

"That's nothing," someone else chimed in. "Ours says he once punched a bear... to save the bear from itself."

There was a long pause.

"…What does that even mean?"

The laughter was low but contagious. Another operative joined in, holding up his screen. "Here's ours: he's supposedly six-foot-seven, muscles on muscles, voice like thunder, eyes like twin suns, and he smells like courage."

"So basically, a cologne ad," someone snorted. "We're looking for a cologne ad, not a suspect."

"Enough!" Aron barked, his voice slicing through the noise. "This is what we've got. And we've got a sighting, suspected to be him, in the mountains. We are going to use every resource available to find him. Understood?"

There were nods, quiet affirmations, and the mood shifted. Still skeptical. Still confused. But focused now. Ready to move.

As Aron turned around, he broke into a sprint, and the rest of the squads followed close behind. Together, they rushed toward three relatively large helicopters waiting with rotors already whining to life. Within moments, the blades were spinning fast, cutting through the air, and the aircraft lifted off the ground like giant metal birds.

As they flew over the city, people on the streets stopped what they were doing to watch. One helicopter wasn't unusual. Two was noteworthy. But three, flying low and tight in formation? That got attention. Phones came out. Fingers pointed skyward. Some guessed it was a movie shoot. Others thought maybe a high-stakes rescue team was headed into the mountains. Either way, it wasn't something you saw every day.

Up in the mountains, the lead helicopter reached the designated

They circled around the body. The bear was massive, motionless, sprawled across the forest floor like a fallen titan. But its body had barely any damage, just one area wrecked.

"The only wounds are on its face," another observed. "It looks mangled. Like something just pounded it straight in."

"Wait… do you think the bear punched itself?" one of the younger guys asked, totally serious.

Everyone turned and stared at him.

"No, seriously, remember the intel packet? 'Punched a bear… to save the bear from itself'? It means the rumors were true!"

"Sir," someone asked dryly, "can I hit this idiot?"

"Permission granted," Aron said without looking up. "But only after the mission."

Just then, a burst of static crackled from the walkie-talkies strapped to their belts. One of the other teams was checking in.

"Following a sighting from the helicopter, we picked up a heat source farther up the mountain. We managed to locate a cabin!" a voice reported. "Requesting permission to enter, or awaiting further orders."

Aron's eyes narrowed. "What sector are they in?"

There was a pause.

"…What the—?" the voice cut off. "No. No! No!" A scream pierced the channel, and then, silence. The radio went dead.

Nobody moved.

"It's him," Aron said under his breath. "It's Hercules. I know it."