The 6-Tier System: The Adventures of Shawn Rossacks

Chapter 5 - Crossroads between Vito and Bruce

"Attack!" Bruce ordered. 

"Attack!" Host ordered too.

The air crackled with tension as chaos erupted in the Mane District. Gunshots echoed through the narrow streets, intertwining with the shouts and screams of combatants who fell to the floor and winced on the verge of death. 

In the brief lull that followed, the forces of the Mane District swiftly manoeuvred into position, familiar with the intricate pathways surrounding the mansion. They took cover behind sturdy barricades, bulletproof cars as they know them and unleashed a relentless barrage of bullets upon their adversaries, while the Yaaz hustle struggled to find adequate shelter amidst the chaos.

Bruce and Arturo, perched atop the mansion, rained down fire upon the attackers. Arturo briefly departed, disappearing into the confines of Bruce's room, only to return moments later with a sniper rifle in hand. Passing the weapon to Bruce, they locked eyes, their determination unwavering. Memories of the rifle were that it had taken out many mafia heads and Bruce knew what it was for. He should find the Host and take him down. 

Bruce, now armed with a newfound advantage, targeted the foes lurking within blind spots, swiftly eliminating them with calculated precision while looking for Host. 

However, amidst the whirling bullets and the pained cries of the fallen, Host, the elusive leader of the Yaaz hustle, remained elusive. Bruce's eyes scanned the battlefield, his mind focused on the single target, yet Host seemed to have vanished into thin air.

As the dust settled, the first wave of the Yaaz hustle lay decimated, and an eerie silence descended upon the district. Bruce, his senses sharp, knew better than to let his guard down. Suddenly, Host's voice reverberated through the stillness, a chilling reminder that the battle was far from over.

"Don't think it's over, Vito," Host's words sliced through the air, seething with a mixture of menace and determination. Bruce, undeterred, responded swiftly, rallying his remaining men with a surge of adrenaline-fueled charge.

"For the Mane District!" Bruce's voice thundered, echoing through the desolate streets. His comrades roared in unison, their battle cry a testament to their unwavering loyalty and indomitable spirit.

"I want to go and check on the boys. They need to be reassured," Arturo said and was about to leave after Bruce gave him a nod when the sounds of cars were heard. Together, Arturo and Bruce raised their head to see. 

As Bruce watched the relentless waves of the Yaaz hustle pouring in through the gate, a sense of realization washed over him. The odds of winning this battle seemed to dwindle with each passing moment. The Yaaz hustle was a formidable organization, and the sheer magnitude of their forces became increasingly apparent. Bruce knew that this couldn't be the end; there were likely ten more waves waiting in the wings, ready to strike.

"This is not my war," Bruce said silently to himself. He was at a crossroads and there was no word from the system. However, he could decide to leave and die peacefully than be shredded bullets in a war in which he had no part. Director Ben was his target but somehow Vito's target too. 

Deep within his tactical mind, a new plan began to take shape. His target was no longer Host, the leader of the Yaaz Hustle. Instead, Bruce recognized that his true adversary lay in the person who had hired Host, the puppeteer behind this elaborate operation. The same man who killed him and Vito. With determination etched across his face, Bruce made a decision. He handed his sniper rifle to his trusted ally, Arturo.

"Hold the fort, my friend," Bruce said, his voice resolute yet tinged with urgency. "I will go and fight this war from the inside."

Arturo looked into Bruce's eyes, concern etched on his face. He understood the gravity of the situation and the risks involved. He knew the chances of victory were slim, and the impending waves threatened to overwhelm them. 

"Boss, we need you in this battle," Arturo protested. "When the alpha of a pack is gone, there is no rule, there is no lead, the pack becomes scattered."

Bruce met Arturo's gaze and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern, Arturo, but my plan will work. I have to take this fight to the source. You must hold the fort, keep them at bay until I return. Trust me, my friend."

Reluctantly, Arturo nodded, a mixture of worry and determination crossing his features. He understood that Bruce's strategic mind had a plan, a hidden card to play. Resolute, he accepted the responsibility thrust upon him and gripped the rifle tightly.

"Go, Boss," Arturo said, his voice unwavering. "Do what you have to do. We'll be here, holding the line."

Bruce nodded, grateful for Arturo's unwavering support. He turned away, striding purposefully through the chaos-ridden hallways until he reached his office. As he stepped into the familiar space, his mind focused, and a quiet determination settled over him.

He locked the door and allowed the silence to creep into his head. He confirmed that this was how he could get the system to speak. 

After a while, the cranking happened in his head and he signed in relief.

SYSTEM: Hello, Bruce. You are at a crossroads eh?

"I am," Bruce answered immediately. He knew there was little time. 

SYSTEM: It is not a crossroad. It is what you have to face. However, you have made the right decision. Hit the source and stop the uproar from the depth. Nabbing Ben would stop Host, vindicate Bruce Wayne, and set Mane District on a newer field. It's the right decision. Just don't die before you do all these. 

Bruce nodded as he picked up his phone from the drawer. The fate of their world hung in the balance, and Bruce was determined to tip the scales in their favour, no matter the cost.

As he turned towards the door, the door opened and a figure stood by the doorposts, it was Host. Bruce's heart raced as he stared into Host's cold, determined eyes. The unsheathed sword gleamed ominously in Host's hand, ready to strike. Without wasting a moment, Bruce's survival instincts kicked in, and he scanned the room for anything that could aid him in this life-or-death struggle.

"Vito, I will behead you," Host said. "I will show it to your men, they will surrender and I'll take control of the Mane District."

"Take the Mane District for Director Ben," Bruce answered and sashayed behind the table, scanning through and finding something to fight with. "You could be bought as big as you are. I won't kill you that is why I'm leaving. I'm going after Director Ben. I'll deal with him and have him call you off."

With a surge of anger, Host lunged forward with a swift swing of his sword, Bruce swiftly ducked, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. Thinking on his feet, Bruce seized a nearby chair and swung it at Host, hoping to buy himself some time. The chair crashed against Host's arm, causing him to momentarily falter. It was a small victory, but Bruce knew he had to capitalize on every opportunity.

"Is this the best you've got, Host?" Bruce taunted, his voice laced with defiance. "You talk about honour, but I've heard even the most honourable men can be bought."

Enraged by the remark, Host charged at Bruce once more, his sword slashing through the air with vicious intent. Bruce sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the lethal blade, but not without consequence. The sword grazed his hand, leaving a deep gash that sent pain coursing through his body. Determined not to let it hinder him, Bruce pushed through the pain, adrenaline fueling his every move.

Using his surroundings as makeshift weapons, Bruce fought back with unyielding determination. He grabbed a nearby table leg, swinging it with all his might, striking Host in the side. Host stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow. It was the opening Bruce needed.

Seizing the opportunity, Bruce lunged forward, grappling with Host, both men locked in a desperate struggle. Their bodies collided, crashing against furniture and walls, the room becoming a chaotic battlefield. Bruce's back bore the brunt of a powerful blow, causing him to wince in pain, but he refused to relent.

With sheer willpower, Bruce managed to wrestle the sword from Host's grip. The tides had turned. Host's eyes widened in disbelief as Bruce raised the sword, his grip unsteady from his injuries. In one swift motion, Bruce thrust the blade forward, piercing Host's heart. The room fell silent as Host's lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Bruce clutched his wounds, feeling the warmth of his own blood seep through his fingers. Despite his injuries, he stood tall, his resolve unwavering. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he bandaged his wounds as best and as fast as he could, his hands trembling with the effort.

Bruce's reflection in the mirror revealed a battered and bloodied warrior, but his determination burned brighter than ever. Ignoring the pain, he made his way towards the basement, where a bike and a railroad awaited him. With each painful step, he pushed himself forward, determined to reach the outskirts of town.

Mounting the bike, Bruce rode with fierce determination towards the city, where the Goldfield canopy awaited him. The wind whipped through his hair as he embarked on the next chapter of his journey, his eyes set on the horizon, his heart aflame with the desire to see justice served.

As he rode on the bike, Bruce failed to realize the cranking In his head as the mechanical sparks of the motorcycle barred his senses. 

SYSTEM: Bruce, hurry up. You'll die soon. 

"What?" Bruce interjected in surprise.