Invincible:Detonate

I kept walking, hands in my pockets, head low. The city was full of money, full of people who had more than they knew what to do with. Finding the right one was the trick.

Not some drunk stumbling out of a bar. Too sloppy, too unpredictable. Not a dealer or a thug, either—I wasn't looking to start a war over a few hundred bucks.

No, I needed someone comfortable. Someone who thought they were safe.

And then I saw him.

Business suit, loosened tie, expensive watch. Mid-forties, maybe. A little drunk, but not enough to be an issue. He walked with the kind of confidence only money could buy, heading toward a parking garage down the block. Alone.

Perfect.

I crossed the street, keeping my pace even, casual. Too fast and I'd spook him. Too slow and I'd lose the window.

The parking garage was quiet. Dimly lit. A handful of cars, but no one else around.

I moved in.

"Hey, man, got a light?"

He barely looked at me. "Don't smoke."

I stepped closer. "Shame."

And then I grabbed his wrist.

He barely had time to react before I pressed a single bolt into his palm and squeezed.

Not an explosion—just a pulse. A shockwave that numbed his arm and sent him stumbling against a car. His eyes went wide.

"What the hell—"

"Wallet." My voice was calm. Steady. "Now."

He hesitated. I clenched my fist, letting another small charge crackle in my palm. Just enough to make my point.

He didn't argue after that.

The wallet hit the pavement. I snatched it up, flipping through. Cards, IDs—useless. I grabbed the cash, a couple hundred, and tossed the rest back at him.

"Pleasure doing business." I said with a innocent smile on my face.

He was too busy holding his arm to answer.I was gone before he could think to yell. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Now I just had to figure out what came next.

I didn't go straight back to the hideout. That was a rookie move—get a score, run home, lead the trail right to your front door. No thanks.

Instead, I kept walking, weaving through alleys, doubling back a few times just in case anyone had gotten curious. Paranoia? Maybe. But paranoia kept you alive.

The cash was decent, but not enough. I needed more. More money, more resources, more control. Petty muggings weren't going to cut it.

I needed something bigger.

Something smarter.

My feet carried me toward a different part of town—nicer, cleaner, the kind of place where people really thought they were untouchable. Rich idiots with too much in their pockets and not enough awareness.

I could work with that.

A bar sat on the corner, upscale but not exclusive. Just nice enough to attract the right kind of target. I loitered near the entrance, scanning the people coming and going. A few suits, a few girls in designer dresses, laughter spilling out into the night air.

And then I saw him.

Late twenties, expensive jacket, expensive shoes, expensive watch. Drunk, laughing, leaning against a wall while he fumbled with his phone. His buddy had already stumbled off in a different direction, leaving him alone.

I walked up like I belonged there.

"Hey, man, you got the time?"

He squinted at me, swaying a little. "Huh?"

I pointed at his wrist. "Your watch. What time is it?"

He chuckled, holding up his arm like he was showing off. "Oh, this? Rolex, bro. Set me back six grand."

Idiot.

I nodded, pretending to be impressed. "Yeah? Let me see."

He lifted it closer. I grabbed his wrist.

Boom.

A tiny charge—enough to make his fingers spasm, his whole arm go weak. Before he could process what was happening, I slipped the watch off and stepped back.

His drunken brain took a second to catch up.

"Wait—what—"

By the time he started yelling, I was already gone.

Back in my hideout, I turned the watch over in my hand. It was real. Heavy. Expensive.

I could pawn it. That was the easy move.

But easy wasn't always smart.

Pawning something this high-end left a trail. Better to find a buyer directly. Someone who didn't ask questions.

Which meant I needed connections.

Which meant I needed to start climbing the ladder.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

This city was full of opportunities.

And I was just getting started.

Selling the watch wasn't the problem. Finding someone to buy it without trying to screw me over? That was the tricky part.

I didn't have a fence—no trusted criminal buddies, no black-market contacts. But I knew where to start.

Pawn shops were out. Too many cameras, too many questions. But there were always people looking to buy luxury goods at a discount. The kind of people who didn't give a damn about where it came from.

And I knew exactly where to find them.

"The underground" (very creative name) was a club in a basement beneath a restaurant—one of those places where the music was too loud, the drinks were overpriced, and the people were exactly the type I needed.

I pushed through the crowd, scanning the room. A mix of trust-fund kids slumming it for the night and actual criminals trying not to look like criminals.

Perfect.

I spotted a guy near the bar—late thirties, slicked-back hair, way too much gold on his fingers. He had that look. The kind of guy who made his money off desperate people.

I slid in next to him, holding up the Rolex. "You buy?"

He barely glanced at me. "Not interested."

I leaned in. "I don't think you heard me."

This time, I didn't wait for a response. I flicked the watch onto the counter, just enough force to make it clink against his glass. Just enough charge to make him feel it.

His eyes snapped to me. A flicker of interest.

He picked up the watch, turning it over in his hands. "Where'd you get this?"

I smiled. "That's not important."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Come with me."

He led me to a back room—small, dimly lit, cluttered with old furniture. He sat on a couch, gesturing for me to do the same.

I didn't.

He pulled out a stack of bills, thumbing through them lazily. "You know how this works, right? I don't pay full price for stolen goods."

"I know."

"How much you want?"

"Two grand."

He snorted. "For a six-thousand-dollar watch?"

I shrugged. "You'll flip it for five. I'm giving you a deal."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Cocky kid."

Then he tossed me a wad of cash.

I caught it, counted. Fifteen hundred.

I looked up. He was smirking.

I sighed. "You know, I really hate when people shortchange me."

He spread his hands. "That's the game."

I rolled the watch in my fingers. "Yeah? Well, I really hate the game."

And then I detonated it.(hehe)

Not enough to kill him—just enough to send a shockwave through his hand, make his fingers snap back, send the cash scattering.

He yelled, grabbing his wrist, his eyes wide with panic.

I stepped forward, calm. "We're gonna try that again. And this time, you're gonna give me the full amount."

He swallowed hard. "You crazy or something?"

"Something."

I held out my hand.

After a long moment, he cursed under his breath, then pulled out another five hundred.

I took it, tucking the cash into my jacket.

Then I leaned in. "Pleasure doing business. And if you ever try to short me again?"

I let a tiny spark crackle between my fingers. Just enough to make the message clear.

He nodded quickly. "Got it."

I grinned. "Good talk."

Then I walked out.

Outside, I took a breath.

Two grand in my pocket. Not bad for a night's work.

But this was just step one.

I needed more than money.

I needed power. Connections. Influence.

And I had a feeling this city was full of people just waiting to be exploited.

I cracked my knuckles.

Time to get to work.