GANGSTA - LEVEL UP : THE HUSTLER’S BLUEPRINT

Chapter 9 — Goodbye, Old Friend (Part 2)

Three years later.

The shopping centre was chaos.

Alarms wailed from every direction, sharp and relentless, echoing off glass storefronts and metal shutters. Shoppers screamed as security drones hovered erratically overhead, red lights flashing as they tried to lock onto targets that refused to stay still.

Levan burst out through a shattered entrance first, clutching a bag stuffed with stolen watches and electronics. Three others followed close behind him, breath ragged, shoes skidding across the polished floor.

“Move!” someone shouted behind them.

Security guards poured out after them, weapons raised, shouting orders no one intended to follow.

They split into the parking lot, dodging cars and leaping over barriers as taser rounds crackled past them. One of the crew stumbled, barely catching himself before hitting the ground.

That was when the van came screaming in.

The side door slid open.

“Get in!” LeRoy shouted from behind the wheel.

They didn’t hesitate.

One by one, they dove into the van, bags and bodies piling on top of each other. LeRoy slammed the door shut and floored the accelerator.

The van lurched forward, tires screaming as it tore out of the lot just as security fire slammed into the pavement behind them.

Sirens faded into the distance.

They were gone.

Inside the van, laughter broke out almost immediately.

“Hah!” Levan leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, grin wide despite the sweat and grime on his face. “I knew I could count on you, like always, LeRoy.”

LeRoy kept his eyes on the road, hands tight on the steering wheel.

Levan reached into the bag, pulled out a thick band of cash, and tossed it forward. “Here. Your cut.”

LeRoy caught it without looking.

“This is the third time,” he said quietly. “The third time I’ve had to pull you guys out of a mess like this.”

Levan waved him off. “And every time you do it perfectly.”

“Every time you get closer to being caught,” LeRoy shot back. “One of these days, I won’t be there.”

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Levan laughed and stretched his arms. “Relax. Besides, we’ve got the best driver in Sector 10.”

LeRoy didn’t respond.

Levan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Come on. Today’s my twentieth birthday. Don’t ruin it with worry.”

LeRoy said nothing.

But the knot in his chest didn’t loosen.

Months passed.

Jobs continued. Small ones. Risky ones. Close calls that left LeRoy staring at his reflection late at night, wondering how long luck lasted in their line of work.

Then Levan dropped the news.

“I’m getting chipped,” he said casually one night.

LeRoy froze. “What?”

“A QUANTUM chip,” Levan repeated. “Low-tier. I’ve thought it through.”

“No,” LeRoy said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Levan frowned. “Hear me out.”

“I don’t need to,” LeRoy snapped. “You know what those things do. You know the risks.”

“I also know what they pay,” Levan replied. “This system pays more than any heist we’ll ever pull. I level up, I get stronger, richer. We stop running from guards every other week.”

“You could turn feral,” LeRoy said. “You could die.”

Levan shrugged. “Or I could finally get ahead.”

LeRoy stepped closer, voice dropping. “The police hunt chip users. High-level gangs hunt them too. You think you’ll just slide through that world?”

Levan met his gaze. “I’m tired of scraping by.”

“Then we find another way,” LeRoy said. “Together.”

Levan shook his head. “This is my way.”

LeRoy begged him not to go through with it.

Levan went anyway.

The next day.

A year passed without a word.

No calls. No sightings. Nothing.

Then Levan came back.

Richer than LeRoy had ever seen him.

New clothes. New confidence. Money flowing like it meant nothing. He laughed louder, drank harder, and paid for everything without hesitation.

LeRoy didn’t care about the money.

He was just glad his friend was alive.

They spent months together after that. Parties. Long nights. Easy days. Levan swore he wasn’t taking system jobs anymore. Said he was done with the dangerous stuff.

“I’ll stick to low-end work,” he promised. “Just like before.”

They were close again.

Closer than ever.

Now Levan lay dead at LeRoy’s feet.

The present crashed down on him like a wave.

LeRoy knelt there, hands shaking, chest tight as he stared at the body in front of him. Blood soaked into the dirt beneath Levan, dark and final.

“No…” LeRoy whispered.

His breath hitched.

Energy surged into his palm, instinct screaming for violence. His HUD flashed warnings, energy reserves nearly empty, but he didn’t care. Blue light gathered anyway.

Genma stood across the battlefield, watching calmly.

LeRoy raised his hand.

Then Yelena stepped between them.

“I can’t allow that,” she said calmly.

LeRoy’s vision tunneled. “Move.”

“You fought under the rules,” Yelena continued. “This was a one-on-one battle for survival. Your friend lost.”

She met his eyes. “Respect the rules.”

LeRoy’s arm trembled.

He wanted to scream. To kill. To tear the world apart.

But his body was done.

His mind was worse.

The energy in his palm fizzled out.

The Tech Husk gang withdrew soon after, disappearing into the night as efficiently as they had arrived. The hillside fell quiet again, broken only by wind and the low groans of the few survivors from Levan’s group.

LeRoy stayed where he was.

Alone.

With the weight of a goodbye he never wanted to say.

Hours passed.

The hillside no longer felt like a battlefield. Smoke had thinned. Blood had dried dark against the dirt. The wind moved slowly now, as if even it was tired.

LeRoy sat where he’d been left, back against a broken slab of stone, staring at nothing. Ashton stood a short distance away, silent, arms crossed, his injuries half-treated and ignored.

Headlights finally cut through the dark.

Two cars climbed the road toward them, then another behind it. Engines slowed. Doors opened.

Five people stepped out.

They moved fast the moment they saw the bodies.

“Oh shit—Levan!”

One of them ran forward, dropping to his knees beside the lifeless form on the ground. He grabbed Levan’s shoulders, shaking him once, then again, harder, like denial alone might wake him.

“Levan! Come on, man. Get up. Get up!”

Nothing.

The man’s breath broke. He bowed his head, fists clenched so tight his hands shook.

LeRoy recognized him immediately.

Marc.

They’d crossed paths years ago. Not close, but familiar. Same streets. Same circles. Same kind of tired eyes.

Marc looked up, rage flashing across his face. “Who did this?” he demanded, voice cracking. “Where are those bastards?”

“They’re gone,” LeRoy said quietly.

Marc froze. “Gone?”

“It was the Tech Husk,” LeRoy continued. Saying the name felt like forcing glass down his throat.

Marc cursed and slammed his fist into the dirt. “Shit! How the hell did Levan get mixed up with people like that?”

LeRoy swallowed. His chest tightened.

“He didn’t know,” he said. “He didn’t know they were hired as backup.”

The words barely made it out.

Marc stared at the ground for a long moment, jaw clenched so hard it trembled. Then he shook his head slowly, like he refused to accept what he was seeing.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “He always said he’d keep it small. In and out jobs. Nothing flashy.”

LeRoy didn’t respond.

What was there to say?

Marc pushed himself to his feet and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “We came as fast as we could,” he said hoarsely. “He messaged us earlier. Said things were getting messy.”

His voice broke on the last word.

“We should’ve been here sooner.”

LeRoy finally looked up at him. His eyes were red, hollow. “Even if you were,” he said quietly, “it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Marc clenched his fists again, breathing hard through his nose. Anger tried to take shape, but it collapsed under the weight of reality.

Around them, the others moved in silence. No shouting. No questions. Just quiet understanding as they checked the bodies, confirming what they already knew.

One by one, they covered the fallen with jackets and tarps pulled from the car. Every movement was careful. Respectful.

Levan was handled last.

Marc hesitated before kneeling beside him again. He adjusted Levan’s coat, straightened his collar, then rested his hand briefly on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

No one interrupted.

When it was done, they lifted the bodies into the vehicles. The engines started low, subdued, as if even the machines understood the moment.

LeRoy stood back and watched.

He didn’t help.

He didn’t speak.

He just stood there as the doors closed and the cars pulled away, headlights fading into the distance until the road swallowed them whole.

The hideout was quiet when they returned.

Too quiet.

Levan and the others were laid out properly. Cleaned as best as they could. Covered. No music. No ceremony. Just people who had grown up together doing what had to be done.

LeRoy stayed at the edge of the room.

He didn’t step closer.

Didn’t need to.

That night, he didn’t sleep.

He sat alone, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while the hours crawled past. Every sound made him flinch. Every shadow reminded him of something he’d lost.

Thirteen years old. An alley. A stranger stepping in when no one else would.

A hand pulling him up.

A voice telling him to run.

Now that voice is gone.

By morning, LeRoy felt empty.

Not angry.

Not numb.

Just tired.

Tired of running. Tired of dodging consequences. Tired of watching people disappear while the streets stayed the same.

For the first time in years, he wondered how long this life had been killing him too.

And whether walking away was still an option.