The gym buzzed faintly with background music. The rhythm of fists are hitting bags. Her green tank top sticking to her back with sweat she wiped sweat from her brow, breathing slow and steady.
Scott leaned against a wall. Taking a sip from bottle of Gatorade. "You think Russo's gonna toss us something big next? Something worth not sleeping over?"
Evelyn smirked. "After beating a teenager half to death over a red Porsche? Yeah, we earned some real crime."
Before Scott could reply, the gym doors creaked open.
Two figures stepped inside—both tall, early-to-mid twenties. Identical in the face, but complete opposites in presence.
"Scott!" the one in the button-down shirt and tucked-in Flash tee called out. His hair was neat. His energy calm. Ryan Summers.
Behind him was his twin—shaggy hair, loose Rockstar Games T-shirt with the faded red "R★" logo proudly displayed, sneakers untied. Ben Summers.
Scott perked up. "Look who crawled out of their nerd caves."
"Don't act surprised," Ryan said. "We've been working all week."
"On what?" Scott asked.
Ben grinned. "On replaying GTA IV. Don't judge me, but I think it's still the peak."
Scott squinted. "Wait, Grand Theft Auto?"
Ben nodded proudly. "Yeah, you know—Niko Bellic? Eastern European and American dreams? Chef's kiss."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "We're not here to talk about that, Ben."
Scott motioned between them. "Quinn, meet the Summers Twins. Ryan's the sane one. Ben... is the reason Ryan drinks."
Ben looked at Evelyn and froze for a second. "Whoa. And who's this beautiful creature?"
Evelyn didn't blink. "Detective Quinn."
Ben chuckled. "How about this—you and me, one-on-one in the ring. If I win, we go on a date."
She was already walking toward the mat. "It's not like you'll win."
"Oh. I love her already," Ben whispered to Ryan.
The two stepped into the ring. Ben cracked his knuckles, throwing a few dramatic jabs in the air.
Evelyn stood calm. Composed.
Ben lunged.
She caught his arm and locked her thighs around his neck in a perfect takedown.
"Tap or nap, Summers," she said flatly.
Ben slapped the mat, tapping out while gasping for breath. His face was beet red as he rolled over, wheezing. "Okay. Okay. Damn."
Scott burst into laughter.
Ryan offered Ben a hand. "You really have a talent for losing impressively."
Ben coughed. "Still... totally worth it."
Ben leaned back, rubbing his eyes. Ryan hunched over a folder thick with papers.
"What's caught your eye?" Scott asked, tossing a peanut into his mouth.
Ryan looked up. "This case. The meth empire."
Evelyn leaned closer. "Meth empire?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "Rumoured to be ruthless. They're running things out in New Jersey."
Scott smirked. "New Jersey, huh? That means a flight. Think you're up for it?"
Ryan shrugged. "Maybe. Gotta see what we're dealing with first."
They were on the flight. Ben snacked on chips, fingers tapping away on his Steam Deck. Ryan was buried in Kraven's Last Hunt, Scott flipped through Blood Meridian, and Evelyn watched Memories of Murder on her tablet.
After an hour later, the plane landed in New Jersey. The airport filled with tourists from all over the world.
Outside, they began asking around about the meth empire. But locals—some born and raised—acted clueless.
"Stupid pricks," Scott muttered. "How do they not know about a meth empire in their own backyard? Are they blind?"
"Jeez, Scott," Ben said, shaking his head. "No patience. Still got that short fuse. Some things never change."
Ryan nodded. "Ben's right. We need to be patient. There has to be a lead somewhere."
"We've been waiting forever, Ryan," Evelyn said. "Does this 'empire' even exist?"
Before they could say anything, they spotted a deal going down. A man in his thirties sold his meth product to a thirteen-year-old kid addict.
"That's our target," Scott said grimly.
They tailed the man as he headed for his car.
"Shit," Scott cursed. "We don't have wheels."
Ben grinned. "Relax. See those two motorcycles? Mine."
The chase ended at a sprawling mansion. The man was clearly a henchman.
"I've got a plan," Ben whispered. "Might be dumb, but it's worth a shot."
As the henchman opened the door, Ben stepped forward.
"Delivery!" Ben called, holding up a pizza box. "Pepperoni with extra sauce."
The man blinked. "Uh... thanks? Cash?"
"No need. You paid digitally, right?"
"What?"
"Never mind. You're in the meth empire, right? Mind if I join your squad?"
"No—"
"Yeah!" a gruff voice interrupted. A man in his fifties with graying hair stepped out. "You may."
"But... boss, you—"
"Shut the fuck up, Phil. We need brave men like this kid."
Ben blinked, confused.
"Come on in, young man."
The boss led Ben inside the mansion.
Outside, the henchman muttered quietly to himself, "What the fuck just happened to Jimmy's mind?"
Inside, he smiled warmly. "You'll be treated like family. Welcome, kid. Make yourself at home."
"Thanks, but... I gotta go. I'll start working for you tomorrow."
Ben slipped out, searching for his friends and brother.
He found them, laughing and letting out breathless chuckles.
"Man," Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "How the hell does someone that dumb end up running a crew?"
"I know, right?" Ryan laughed. "That guy made Goku a genius."
The group erupted into laughter.
Now seated at a café, each of them nursed a cup of coffee—steam rising, the afternoon sun breaking through the window.
"You know," Ben said between sips, "when I stepped into that mansion, I was stunned. I thought I was walking into some real operation. Instead, I got that guy. Dude looked like he couldn't run a lemonade stand."
"Agreed," Ryan said, chuckling. "Felt like we walked onto a sitcom set."
"Seems Peg is real now," Ben added with a smirk.
"Peg?" Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
Ben grinned. "The less you know, the better."
Laughter settled into a comfortable silence. They sipped.
Then Ryan turned, playful. "Hey Scott, heard you almost beat a kid half to death. What the hell happened there?"
Scott gives a long sipped of his coffee, then exhaled slowly.
"You remember that red Porsche case?" he said. "Kid swapped the plates. Lied straight to my face. I lost it. Blood on the floor. Eyes swollen shut. Begging me to stop."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "You enjoyed it, don't you?"
Scott stared into his coffee, quiet. No smirk. No denial.
The group fell silent—laughter gone, tension creeping in like a slow shadow.
Evelyn glanced at Scott, but said nothing.
Then Ryan spoke again, softer this time. "You ever think about why?"
Scott didn't answer.
"Phil!" the boss barked. "Put that pizza on the table."
"Sure, boss," the henchman said, hesitating. "Uh… where's Mr. Pink?"
"Business. Took him to seal a deal with the Hernandez family."
The henchman's eyes widening. "What?!"
Mr. Pink rammed through the door, sweat pouring down his face, breathing hard.
"The Hernandez—they chased me through the streets!" he gasped.
Phil cursed under his breath. "Boss, what the hell did you get us into now?"
White flashed a cocky grin. "Don't sweat it. I'm the Jimmy White, we ain't gonna lose this shit."
Gunshots cracked through the mansion. Bullets pinged off walls as Hernandez soldiers poured in.
"We gotta move!" White yelled. "Find somewhere else, fast!"
The crew scrambled to White's car, they fled the the raining bullets behind them.
Burning rubber and screeching tires marked their desperate escape.
As they fled, the Hernandez crew sped behind them, windows down, gun barrels flashing.
"I've got a gift for 'em," Mr. Pink said with a grin. "Eat this, bitch!"
He leaned out, slapped a sticky bomb onto the hood of one of the chasing cars, and detonated.
The explosion rocked the street. Metal flew. Fire danced. A symphony of chaos. Civilians screamed. Some bled. A man ran, engulfed in flame. Another clutched his severed arm.
"We still breathing?" White asked, peering into the rearview mirror. "Good. Now... where's the pizza?"
"Brought it with us, boss," the henchman said, cradling the greasy box like a holy artifact.
"Excellent." White smirked. "Time for a pizza party. We earned it. These pricks try to whack me? They forgot who runs Jersey. This is the White Empire. And with my most loyal man, Phil Ring? We're untouchable."
Phil glanced back at the carnage. "We need to lay low, James. No street deals for a few days."
"That means no money!" White barked.
"What we need," Mr. Pink said, wiping sweat from his brow, "is a front. A legal one. Car wash, maybe a restaurant—hell, even a strip club."
"You two bitch too much," White snapped. "Let me make it simple: my way... or the highway."
Phil didn't back down. "You know what happens without legal cover? The IRS comes knocking. And then it's not the Hernandez we'll be running from—it's the Feds. That's how Ray got nailed."
"You still blaming Ray's arrest on me?" White growled.
"Ray brought in steady cash," Phil shot back. "He kept this empire afloat while you screamed about loyalty. He's a good earner. Now he's rotting in a cell, and you're out here brushing it off like it's nothing."
"I'm with Phil," Pink added. "Ray, Quentin, Tommy, Vic... they're all gone. Dead or inside. We're the last ones standing. I miss those guys."
White's voice dropped low. "We ain't no family. This empire was built for business, not on feelings. You start confusing the two, then you end up dead."
Phil shook his head. "You keep saying that—but every time one of us falls, we constantly lose more money."
Silence fell. The tension was thick, like smoke that wouldn't clear.
Eventually, they pulled into a shady motel on the edge of town.
Phil cleared his throat. "Hey... what about that kid you hired? The one with the pizza?"
White's smirk returned. "Don't worry about him, Phil. I've got plans exactly for that young man over there. Something real classy, real nice."
A few days later.
Ben straightened his tie, adjusting the fancy suit Ryan picked out.
"Um, Ryan," Ben said, glancing at his reflection in the window. "Don't you think this feels like a side mission?"
"Side mission, my ass," Ryan replied, flipping through a folder. "You're doing the main quest, my guy."
Ben sighed. "I mean, do we really need to destroy this crew? They don't exactly scream 'threat to society.'"
"Just do it. I'll buy you pizza afterward."
"That better be the New York slice," Ben muttered, heading toward the mansion.
He knocked on the large front door. It creaked open.
"Boss, it's that pizza guy again," someone called from inside.
A moment later, James White opened the door himself, grinning like a proud uncle. "Oh, you again. Come on in."
He led Ben to his cluttered office. White dropped into his chair, gesturing at the seat opposite. "Take a load off, kid."
"I'm good standing," Ben replied flatly.
White leaned back. "We're in a rough patch. Most of our guys? Dead or rotting in cells. Money's drying up. We need new blood. Someone like you."
Ben crossed his arms. "So… any underboss or consigliere? You know, structure?"
"We ain't the mafia. I don't need all that fancy hierarchy. Got one caporegime—Ray."
"No second-in-command? No one to advise you?"
"Nah. I'm the brains. Ray was good enough, but he's gone for now."
Ben arched a brow. "So promote someone. Don't you have anyone loyal?"
"There's Phil Ring," White said. "Most loyal guy I've got. But he don't want no promotion."
"Sounds like he's smarter than you," Ben muttered under his breath.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
White leaned forward. "Anyway, I need you to hit the Hernandez family. They've been making moves."
"Are they a cartel?"
"No. Crime family. Small. For now."
"Still not smart to pick fights with organized crime," Ben said. "You have, what, three guys left?"
"We'll hire more. Or break our boys out. Doesn't matter. I want you to hit their drug op. Hit 'em hard. Especially this fat bastard named Gonzalez. He's one of the ones behind the hit on us."
Ben turned to leave.
"Oh—and Phil'll drive you there. He knows the spot."
Outside, Phil Ring leaned against the car, arms crossed.
"Come on, pizza boy," he said with a dry smirk. "We got work to do."
They got in and drove toward the Hernandez's drug operation.
They arrived outside the Hernandez drug operation—a rundown warehouse tucked behind an abandoned gas station. Faded graffiti smeared the walls.
Phil parked behind a rusted dumpster. "Before we go in, we need firepower. You know how to shoot?"
Ben nodded. "I do, Phil."
Phil popped the trunk. Inside lay two carbines, sleek and eager for trouble.
"Ooh boy," Phil grinned, grabbing one. "Let's get this baby some food to eat."
He tossed the second to Ben, who caught it with steady hands.
"We either go in quiet," Phil said, checking the mag, "or loud. Don't hesitate. These guys won't."
Ben glanced at his reflection in the car window—face calm, eyes hollow. "I won't."
Phil squinted at him. "You sure you're not just some pizza boy?"
Ben cocked the rifle. "Not anymore."
They hid into the shadows. The air was heavy with tension.
"What's your call, pizza boy?" Phil whispered.
"I'd say we go loud."
Phil smirked. "Of course."
Without warning, Phil kicked open a side door and opened fire. Chaos exploded. Workers screamed. Bullets tore through crates.
"Where the hell's your boss?!" Phil shouted.
Ben flinched, caught off guard by the violence. But then—instinct kicked in. He shot a man aiming at them, then another ducking behind cover.
"Where the fuck is Gonzalez?!" Phil barked, storming forward.
They spotted a staircase. Gonzalez had to be upstairs.
As they moved up, gunmen rushed them. One lunged at Ben with a knife. They fell hard—Ben pinned beneath the man. The blade flashed.
"Shit!" Ben grunted, struggling.
But he fought back, rolled over, grabbed the knife. Now he was on top.
"Eat this, motherfucker!" he screamed, stabbing again and again. Blood sprayed. The attacker twitched, then stilled.
Ben stood, eyes wide—hollow. A strange calm in his breath.
"You okay, pizza boy?" Phil asked from the landing.
Ben didn't blink. "I'm fine. Gonzalez is definitely in the office."
They stormed the room. Inside, Gonzalez was halfway through the window, trying to flee.
"Get back here, you fat fuck!" Phil yelled. "Hey—grab the money from the safe. Code should be around here. I'll handle that fat-ass myself."
Phil threw on his mask, leapt out the window, and chased Gonzalez down the alley. The man's belly bounced as he ran.
"Stop, Gonzalez. Or else."
One bullet. Clean to the skull.
Back in the office, Ben cracked the safe. Grabbed the cash. Mask on, bag in hand, he jumped out the window to rejoin Phil.
"We've got company, Phil! Cops inbound!"
"Calm the fuck down, will you?"
They rushed to the car. Tires screeched, sirens howled behind them—but they made it out.
Back at the White mansion.
"James," Phil said, tossing the bag on the table, "we got about three hundred grand."
He glanced around. "Where's Pink?"
"Booked us a table at some fancy restaurant," White said, lighting a cigar.
"Perfect timing," Ben said. "Good haul. I'm out for the night. See you guys tomorrow."
Midnight.
Phil, Pink, and White dined in luxury. Steak, wine, cigars—like kings on borrowed time.
They headed to the parking lot. A car slowly rolled past.
"This is for Gonzalez!"
Gunfire. White staggered, hit square in the chest.
"Fuck! I'm hit!" he cried, blood soaking his shirt. "I need a hospital—now!"
"Shit," Phil muttered. "You got hit?"
"Is that even a—fuck! Ow!"
"You deserve this," Phil said coldly. "Ray, Vic, Tommy... all arrested or dead because of you."
"What did you just say, you piece of shit?!"
"I've waited for this. Ever since Ray got locked up, this crew's been a joke."
Phil knelt, grabbed the car keys from White's pocket. He and Pink got in and started the engine.
"Wait—" White coughed, "don't leave me like this!"
But they were gone.
A man was found dead in a parking lot overnight. The man identified as James White, is suspected leader of a small-time New Jersey criminal crew, dubbed locally as the 'White Meth Empire'. Witnesses last saw him with two unidentified men, presumed associates. Police say his death remains a mystery. Some suspects that it's inter-gang conflict. Others call it betrayal from within. No arrests have been made.
Joe's Pizza. Morning.
Ryan devoured a slice. "Put your damn phone down and eat the pizza."
Ben scrolled through an article, then muttered, "Remember that meth empire?"
"Why would I forget?"
"Their leader's dead."
Ryan blinked. "What?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "Not our problem anymore. Looks like the side quest's over."
Ryan leaned back, chewing. "Good. That means the main quest's coming soon."