When Shelley King Jadriel learned that Drex Valen had somehow provoked the Scorpion Gang, survived, and returned with ten million dollars in cash...
He found the entire situation profoundly absurd.
He knew exactly how dangerous both the Scorpions and the Skull Gang were.
Normal people didn't extort cartels.
Normal people definitely didn't win.
Drex, however, was not burdened by normality.
"Here," Drex said, gesturing toward the mountain of cash. "Consider this my food budget. Start investing in livestock. Upgrade the farm."
Shelley stared at him.
"Did you just accidentally buy my farm?"
Drex shrugged.
More or less.
Truthfully, the property itself hadn't been worth much before.
Shelley's land totaled over three hundred acres, including orchards, vegetable plots, and large sections of corn and soybean fields. Most of it was low-profit rural land in the middle of nowhere. At one point, Shelley had considered selling it, only to be offered a laughable three hundred thousand dollars.
Remote farmland near the border wasn't exactly prime real estate.
Now?
Things were changing.
Under Drex's direction, the farm began transforming into a ranch.
Corn and soy were repurposed for silage feed.
The land was restructured.
The orchards were restored.
Vegetable production became organized and efficient.
And soon, Shelley found himself less owner and more operational manager.
"Boss," Shelley said dryly, apparently adapting faster than expected, "we don't have enough manpower."
Drex raised an eyebrow.
"Then hire people."
Shelley hesitated.
"Texas labor isn't cheap. I was thinking... Mexican workers."
Drex gave him a blank look.
"Illegal immigrants?"
"This is the border," Shelley said. "There are plenty."
Drex waved the concern away.
"Then hire them."
At this point, immigration law barely registered on his moral radar.
Ten million dollars solved many logistical problems.
Within ten days, large cattle shipments began arriving.
Shelley purchased over a hundred premium Angus cattle from neighboring ranchers, livestock whose meat normally supplied high-end restaurants in New York, Washington, and Los Angeles.
Whether the harsh border climate could maintain that quality remained uncertain.
Still, the transformation was dramatic.
Mexican laborers worked tirelessly, handling construction, land management, and cattle care with impressive efficiency.
Drex noticed their work ethic immediately.
Low wages.
High productivity.
Minimal complaints.
Practical.
Meanwhile, Drex continued his primary priority:
Solar absorption.
His growth remained frustratingly gradual.
Unlike General Zod's militarized Kryptonian physiology, Drex's development was broader, more balanced. He was building a superior foundation, even if immediate gains were slower.
No glaring weaknesses.
No rushed specialization.
Still, patience was irritating.
He understood the process. Kryptonians didn't require Saiyan-style combat training or gravity chambers.
They needed sunlight.
That was it.
So he sunbathed relentlessly.
And when the sun set?
He experimented with moonlight too.
Technically, it was reflected solar radiation.
Weaker, yes.
But Drex respected optimization.
At night, he often lay outside beneath the stars, ignoring the constant swarms of mosquitoes buzzing uselessly around his invulnerable skin.
Then one night...
Visitors arrived.
Five assassins infiltrated the ranch under cover of darkness.
They moved carefully.
Silently.
Armed with firearms and heavy weaponry.
To ordinary humans, they might have seemed impressive.
To Drex?
They may as well have worn neon signs.
His super senses detected them instantly.
X-ray vision confirmed their weapons.
Threat level established.
Before any of them could react, Drex blurred through the darkness.
Five precise strikes.
Five unconscious killers.
The entire encounter ended so quickly that none of them fully understood what had happened.
Drex dragged them inside, tied them up, and began interrogation.
His methods were direct.
Pain remained one of humanity's most universal languages.
After a sufficiently brutal beating, resistance collapsed quickly.
They confessed.
They had simply been hired to kill him.
Drex wasn't surprised.
The Scorpion Gang clearly still resented losing ten million dollars.
But Drex's attention shifted elsewhere.
Assassins.
Now that was interesting.
"How does one become a professional killer?" he asked.
The bound men froze.
This was... not a standard interrogation question.
Still, given Drex's overwhelming capabilities, the idea wasn't entirely unreasonable.
One of them answered quickly.
"If you want to become an assassin, you need the Dark Web's Midnight Hotel."
Drex leaned forward.
"The Dark Web?"
He listened carefully as they explained.
The Dark Web wasn't merely an online black market.
It was, according to rumor, the largest assassination infrastructure on Earth.
Far beyond ordinary criminal syndicates.
Some even suspected major world powers had indirect involvement, given how effectively it operated and how carefully it avoided targeting certain global elites.
For nearly seventy years, the organization had endured.
No one knew exactly who built it.
The Midnight Hotel served as its recruitment and operational hub, where assassins registered, received contracts, and entered the larger professional killing economy.
To Drex, it sounded perfect.
He needed money.
Real money.
Scientific infrastructure, hardware development, and future technological ambitions would eventually demand billions.
Cartel extortion was profitable.
But assassination?
That scaled.
After leaving instructions for Shelley, Drex forced the captured killers to escort him to Washington.
Without legal documentation, interstate travel would have been difficult on his own.
Fortunately, assassins had their own channels.
Their own roads.
Their own invisible doors.
So, under coercive supervision, Drex left Texas behind and headed for Washington's Midnight Hotel.
The Washington branch was more prestigious than New York's, attracting seasoned professionals rather than disposable newcomers.
And despite how badly these five men had failed, they were legitimate killers by Dark Web standards.
Each had passed serious trials to earn their status.
Armed, each could normally handle multiple opponents.
Against Drex?
They were children with weapons.
Their leader swallowed hard.
"We'll sponsor your entry," he said quickly. "We can act as your referrals. Just... don't kill us."
Drex smiled faintly.
"First," he said, "give me all your money."