Zod walked confidently into the Midnight Hotel.
"Mr. Heath Zod, it's an honor to have you with us," the receptionist said with a polite smile.
"Is the weapon I ordered ready?" Zod asked, getting straight to the point.
"It's with the weapon expert now," the receptionist replied.
The Midnight Hotel provided a wide range of services, from weapon customization to medical assistance and everything in between. Zod took the elevator down to the third basement floor, where a sprawling array of firearms was neatly displayed—pistols, rifles, shotguns, and more.
Several well-dressed men stood around, talking with the hotel's weapon experts, most of whom were either retired military or former defense contractors.
"Mr. Heath Zod, over here," called a woman from across the room, motioning him toward her station.
Zod walked over and, with a smirk, remarked, "Didn't expect my weapons expert to be such a beautiful woman."
"My name is Kyala," she said with a smile, clearly pleased by his compliment, though Zod suspected it had more to do with his appearance than his words.
"Nice to meet you," Zod said, offering his hand. He intended to pull back quickly, but Kyala's grip was firm—almost too strong. After a moment, she released him, giving him a knowing look.
Impressed by her strength, Zod followed her to a sleek, silver suitcase. Kyala opened it to reveal two modified .50 caliber Desert Eagles, their silver bodies gleaming under the lights.
"These are Israel-made .50 Desert Eagles," she explained, "but I have to say, I wouldn't recommend using them. They're too heavy and affect stability. With your marksmanship, you don't need something with such a large caliber."
The bullets for the Desert Eagles were 0.50in, a whopping 12.7mm. Most targets wouldn't be wearing bulletproof helmets, so the firepower was, as Kyala put it, overkill. But Zod had a different motivation. Power was essential for his line of work, especially when going solo.
"You've modified these?" Zod asked, examining the pistols.
"Yes. I extended the cartridge length to increase the charge, but the recoil will be greater. I also added a steel-core pointed warhead for extra penetration," Kyala explained. She pulled out another case with the custom-made bullets.
The magazines had also been extended, bringing the capacity from the standard seven rounds up to nine. Kyala had considered a double-row magazine, but with the gun already modified to weigh about 2.5 kg when empty, a double-row would make it cumbersome to use in the field. For someone like Zod, who valued speed and mobility, that wouldn't do.
Zod ordered 500 rounds of custom ammunition. He knew the tedious task of loading each round was going to consume some of his time, but it was a necessary evil.
"Thank you," Zod said, handing over several of the Midnight Hotel's gold coins as payment.
"Would you like anything else? Perhaps a blade for close-quarters combat?" Kyala suggested, opening another cabinet filled with combat knives and daggers.
"No need. No one gets close enough to me for that," Zod replied, his expression cold.
Next, Zod ordered two custom-tailored, non-reflective black trench coats, equipped with bulletproof linings and cut-resistant fabric. With his business concluded, he returned to Texas to prepare for his next mission.
Zod settled back into his daily routine at the ranch, but now, he had the tedious task of loading the custom rounds into his Desert Eagles.
"Judley," Zod called to his ranch hand, "I want to build a villa on the property. A large one."
Judley, who had been working on the ranch long before Zod had taken over, was shocked. "Boss, labor is expensive here. Even millions might not be enough."
Zod frowned. "Millions? But this isn't a big city. It can't be that much."
Judley chuckled, realizing that his boss had no idea how expensive construction was in the U.S. "Here in America, labor is the most expensive part. To build something like that, especially with reinforced concrete, will cost a fortune."
Zod, who had lived a life of wealth and privilege on Krypton, was unfamiliar with these financial constraints. In his mind, money was never an issue.
"It's fine. Start hiring builders. Money isn't a problem," Zod said casually, already calculating how quickly he could accumulate more wealth from future contracts.
Zod's recent work with the Midnight Hotel had been lucrative. The reason Superman often struggled with money was due to his moral compass. Zod, on the other hand, wasn't bound by such constraints. Twenty years as a Kryptonian warrior had shaped his worldview. He believed in the survival of the fittest and saw nothing wrong with using his abilities to gain wealth, even if it meant killing.
With all his bullets loaded, Zod made a mental note to ask Kyala if she could pre-load them for him next time. Opening his phone, he scrolled through the list of available contracts. Most of the smaller jobs—those paying tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars—didn't interest him. Zod had his sights set on million-dollar contracts, missions that required the kind of skill and power only he possessed.
For most hitmen, jobs of that magnitude required a team, but Zod didn't need anyone. He was a one-man army.
And that meant the money would come fast.