World of the Apocalypse: Kane’s Evolution System

Chapter 10 Taking Down the Major Drug Lord (Part 1)

With the outside threat temporarily contained, Kane threw all his energy into the interrogation.

For six straight hours, Pierce and Blade stonewalled every question, refusing to confess a single thing. Black dragged them down to the basement with no surveillance cameras and resorted to harsh tactics, yet still failed to extract any useful intelligence.

With no other options left, Kane resolved to break through the two low-level underlings instead.

Inside the interrogation room, Kane took a drag from his vape and pressed them impatiently. “Spit out something valuable, don’t ramble on about trivial nonsense.”

The underling tensed up all over, begging desperately. “Sir, ever since we got locked up, we stashed all our supply sources and manpower away. All the old leads are useless now!”

Kane’s gaze turned cold. He stood up, feigning to call Black in. “If you’re gonna be uncooperative, I’ll send Black in to deal with you.”

“No! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” The underling panicked completely. He wracked his brain for a moment before suddenly lifting his head. “I’ve got a lead! Right before Pierce got arrested, he took a phone call I overheard by chance. A top-tier drug supplier kingpin is coming to Novara specially soon!”

Kane’s eyes lit up instantly as he fixed his stare on the man, verifying whether the lead was genuine.

Meanwhile, deep in Novara’s slums.

A scruffy man whispered into his phone. “Has word spread yet? We’ve got a stockpile of narcotics that needs moving fast.”

On the other end of the line, Old Man Duke fell silent for a long while before replying in a gravelly tone. “We’ll meet to discuss this in person.”

A far bigger storm of underground drug deals was already brewing beneath the surface.

While Kane poured all his focus into cracking the major narcotics case, Holt could not bring himself to care about police work at all. An extremely pragmatic officer, every thought in his head revolved around the promotion opening for Second-Class Constable.

Outside Team One’s office, Holt clutched a bag of prepared gifts and knocked nervously, asking to speak with Captain Lane. Lane was a foreign mid-level supervisor, overweight and ruthlessly practical. He cut straight to the chase, saying he had no time for small talk and telling Holt to state his business.

Holt handed over the gifts without hesitation and pleaded sincerely. He claimed he met all the requirements for promotion in seniority and case performance; all he needed was a recommendation from a superior. He badly needed the raise to support his family and cover medical bills for his sick mother.

Captain Lane’s tone turned cold as he laid bare the brutal unwritten rule outright. One of the ten available promotion slots had been snatched up by Dusk from Team Four for his brother-in-law, who had only been on the force for five months. Connections trumped seniority—that was the unspoken code of the precinct, and neither he nor Wade had the power to change it.

Holt burned with resentment and begged repeatedly, only to be brushed off with Lane’s half-hearted responses. Lane flipped through the gifts casually, his face full of disdain. He bluntly stated that cheap beef jerky and steaks were nowhere near enough to buy a rank promotion, mocking Holt for failing to grasp the unspoken quid pro quo of workplace politics, and told him to take the gifts back and wait for the next round of openings.

Holt completely humbled himself. Before leaving, he volunteered to handle all menial chores, offering to wash Lane’s dirty laundry and polish his shoes free of charge, currying favor in every way possible. Yet the second he stepped out, Lane tossed the gifts Holt had brought over to a subordinate without a second thought, sneering that the goods were shoddy and beneath him.

In the laundry room, Holt knelt submissively polishing shoes as he secretly made a phone call. In a hushed voice, he finalized a monthly drug deal, willing to take the huge risk to cover his family’s medical bills. Beneath his timid, cowardly exterior crushed by the weight of harsh reality, he had long prepared a shady escape route for himself.

Meanwhile, inside Team Three’s office.

Kane finalized plans for an urgent raid and ordered all staff to stand by, no one allowed to leave before eight o’clock, with everyone to draw firearms and tactical gear. Dusk, who carried an old leg injury, tried to use it as an excuse to skip the operation, but Kane directly assigned him to drive the vehicle and ruled out any absence.

Once everyone had collected their gear and stood waiting, Holt laid eyes on the M464 automatic rifles laid out on the table and realized this was a high-stakes operation. He immediately fabricated an excuse to request leave, hoping to avoid frontline arrest duty.

When Kane pressed him for an explanation, Holt told him the truth: his mother was critically ill and his younger sister blind, and he had to take her to a follow-up medical appointment that day with no one else at home to look after her.

Kane softened at his predicament and allowed him to leave, reminding him to be on call and return to the station at once if summoned mid-operation.

Night was falling, just past seven o’clock, and undercurrents stirred within the slums of Black Street.

Wrapped tight in a military overcoat, Old Man Duke slipped discreetly into the narrow, foul-smelling alleyways. Lookouts hidden in the shadows challenged him; after verifying his identity, they conducted a routine body search and let him pass.

Deep inside the house, Jett—the kingpin at the top of the supply chain—sat casually on the edge of a bed, twirling a grenade between his fingers as he waited for their meeting. A new round of underground narcotics deals was about to be sealed.

Elsewhere, Wade picked up a private call in his office. After listening to the orders on the other end, his expression hardened. He gave a brief reply and prepared to leave immediately for the rendezvous.

Multiple factions had slipped into position in secret. The late-night raid targeting the upper echelons of the drug ring was all but ready to launch.

In the dormitory, Kane polished his service pistol while casually asking Black about his origins.

Black spoke in a calm tone, laying out the shared fate of the underclass in Sector 7. After the global catastrophe, the Unified Government marked out six secured zones. Spots for residency were hoarded by elites, and the exorbitant entry fees left ordinary poor people with nowhere to go.

Countless refugees flooded the border of Sectors 5 and 6, until all residency slots were filled. Millions of displaced people were trapped in a desperate dead end, sparking waves of riots. It was this chaos that forced authorities to turn a blind eye and let self-governing Sector 7 take shape. Lawless and disorderly as it was, it was the only shelter the underprivileged had fought tooth and nail to claim.

When the conversation turned to family, a shadow swept across Black’s eyes. His mother and younger brother had perished in the early street wars, and his father, one of the first generation of officers, had died in the line of duty. Yet he had long since made peace with his losses. Steady and upbeat by nature, he was Team Three’s most reliable backbone—tough, hardworking, and unflinching in combat.

Kane was about to open up about his own past when the shrill ring of the police radio cut through the quiet.

“Team Lead, Old Man Duke has entered Third Ring Alley alone. He’s likely meeting the top supplier.” Reece’s voice was sharp and urgent. “Two to four lookouts posted around the alley perimeter. Three of the old man’s henchmen are standing by off the street, and the suspects are almost certainly packing heavy firepower.”

“Hold your position and stay hidden. We’re en route right now.” Kane ended the call decisively, shot to his feet and issued orders for the whole team to gear up for the raid.

The situation was critical. He called Wade at once to request backup. “We’ve located the hideout of a suspected major drug lord. Around ten hostiles armed with heavy weapons. Team Three’s manpower is stretched thin—we need reinforcements immediately.”

Wade’s manpower was stretched thin. After weighing his options, he settled on a plan: dispatch Cruz to lead a reinforcement unit. A weight lifted off Kane’s chest—he and Cruz shared tight personal rapport, and their coordinated operations never hit snags.

Five minutes later, Cruz arrived with twenty fully armed SWAT officers. All donned tactical uniforms, equipped with riot shields and Mossberg M464 lever-action rifles, kitted out with full combat gear.

“I’m only doing this for you. Anyone else, I’d have turned them down flat,” Cruz laid his favor on the table bluntly, speaking crisply. “I’ve brought the men. You have full command from start to finish.”

“Get in the vehicles. We’ll go over tactics en route.” Kane wasted no more words. The whole team boarded four patrol cruisers and one tactical police van, racing at full speed toward Third Ring Alley.

Meanwhile, inside the dim, damp drug den tucked away in the alley, Jett—the top supplier—ate meat and drank liquor while pressuring Old Man Duke.

“I’m giving you exactly one week to sort out this anti-narcotics crackdown,” Jett stated firmly. “If this drags on and the warehouse gets compromised, we stand to lose everything. I’ll simply switch to new partners.”

Old Man Duke agreed on the spot, promising to settle the unrest within seven days. Before taking his leave, a question gnawed at him. He pressed Jett for an explanation—why he kept prices artificially low when rival cartels charged double, leaving a mountain of untapped profit on the table.

Jett brushed it off casually, unconcerned, only chasing steady, reliable gains rather than exorbitant windfalls.

Old Man Duke said nothing further and turned to exit the den.

Barely three minutes passed before Reece called in with an urgent update. “Team Lead, Old Man Duke has pulled out! The target’s still inside the house—no signs of relocation.”

Kane’s eyes narrowed, instantly slipping into combat readiness.

At the Third Ring intersection, the four patrol cruisers split off to set up perimeter cordons. The tactical van dropped off its officers then peeled away rapidly.