Chapter Eight: A New Player in the Game
Quinn Parker leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as he watched Ara work. Her movements were precise, her hands gliding effortlessly across the keyboard as she set up the webpage for their newest endeavor. The dim glow of the monitor cast sharp shadows across the room, giving it a clandestine feel that suited their task.
"Everything's ready, Master," Ara said, her eyes focused on the screen. "The website is live on the dark web, and I've made sure it appears on the front page of every relevant marketplace. With my technology, it will attract only those seeking exactly what we offer—advanced weaponry without questions."
Quinn allowed a cold smile to spread across his face. The arms industry was his next move, but he wasn't going to go headfirst into major deals just yet. It was smarter to start small, get a feel for the market, and then let the bigger players come to him. Ara's work on the dark web would ensure that his weapons would attract the right kind of buyers—those who operated in the shadows, just like him.
"Good," he said, his voice low, deliberate. "Let's wait for the fish to start biting."
---
Meanwhile, in Tijuana, Mexico
The heat was unbearable, but inside the opulent mansion that Ross Garcia called home, the air was thick with tension, not just the humidity. The lavish estate sat on the outskirts of Tijuana, surrounded by armed guards, high walls, and cameras. To the outside world, Ross Garcia was a legitimate businessman with ties to real estate and agriculture. But in the underworld, his name was synonymous with brutality, power, and death.
Garcia had worked his way up from nothing. A poor kid from the slums, he had clawed, killed, and schemed his way to the top of one of the most dangerous drug cartels in Mexico. His rise had been a blood-soaked journey, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake—rivals, traitors, even some of his own men who had gotten too ambitious or too sloppy. Now, as the boss of the Garcia cartel, Ross had everything—money, power, and fear. But tonight, he was agitated.
Ross paced across the grand room, the marble floors reflecting the soft glow of chandeliers overhead. His men sat around the large table in front of him, their expressions grim. The mood was heavy with anxiety, but none of them dared speak. Ross was in one of his moods, and when Ross got agitated, people died.
He slammed his fist on the table, causing one of the men to flinch. His eyes narrowed as he stared them down.
"Where the hell is our shipment?" he growled, his voice like gravel. "It's been weeks since we placed the order. We're sitting ducks here!"
One of his lieutenants, a man named Marco, cleared his throat nervously before speaking. "Boss, we've tried contacting Lopez's people, but...there's been no response. We think—"
Ross cut him off with a sharp glare. "You think? I don't pay you to think, Marco. I pay you to get shit done." He paused, letting the silence drag out before continuing in a dangerously low voice. "Lopez is dead, isn't he?"
Marco hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, boss. His head was found outside one of the safehouses this morning. It's all over the streets. The Sanchez cartel—they're making moves, trying to push us out."
Ross felt the heat rise in his chest, but this wasn't just anger; it was cold, calculated rage. The Sanchez cartel had always been pests, nipping at his heels. But killing Lopez, his primary weapons supplier, was an act of war. And without Lopez's steady supply of guns, ammunition, and explosives, Ross's operation was in serious jeopardy. They had stockpiled enough to hold their ground for now, but if they didn't find a new supplier soon, his enemies would exploit the weakness and come for his territory.
"They think we're weak," Ross said, his voice chillingly calm now. "They think they can choke us out by cutting off our weapons supply." He looked up at Marco, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. "But they're wrong. We don't need Lopez."
The room was silent as his men waited for his next move. Ross was not the type to lose his cool—he was methodical, patient. But when the time came, he struck with vicious precision.
"We'll find another supplier," Ross said, his tone decisive. "And when we do, I want you to double our stockpile. I want to be prepared for everything."
Marco nodded quickly, but Ross wasn't finished.
"And when the time comes," he added, his eyes cold, "we'll give the Sanchez cartel a taste of what happens when you cross the Garcia family."
Ross turned toward the large windows that looked out over his estate. His mansion might be safe for now, but he knew better than to rely on walls and guards. His power came from fear, and fear came from having more guns than anyone else. Without his supply, the empire he had built would crumble, and Ross Garcia wasn't about to let that happen.
He needed a new source—someone who could deliver, and fast. His mind churned through possibilities, but the arms market was treacherous. Lopez had been reliable, a man of his word, but finding another like him in such a short time was nearly impossible.
"Boss," one of the men said quietly, "there's a new player on the dark web."
Ross turned his head slightly, intrigued. "Go on."
"Word is, someone's offering high-end thermal weapons—stuff that no one's seen before. It could be worth looking into."
Ross frowned. The dark web was a cesspool of scammers and amateurs trying to make a quick buck. But every now and then, a real player emerged—someone who had access to the kind of firepower that could change the balance of power.
"Find out more," Ross ordered. "I want to know who they are, what they're selling, and if they can deliver. We don't have time to waste."
His mind was already working through the possibilities. If this new supplier had what they needed, Ross could turn the tide in his favor. He could use the Sanchez cartel's audacity against them, striking back with weapons far superior to what anyone in Mexico had access to. And once he had the upper hand, there would be no mercy. The streets of Tijuana would run red with blood, and the Sanchez cartel would be wiped out like the pests they were.
---
Back at his factory in New York, Quinn was unaware that his webpage had already caught the attention of one of the most dangerous men in Mexico. His focus was on the orders that were slowly trickling in, smaller clients testing the waters with small requests for arms. Ara's advanced tech had ensured the page's visibility, and now it was a waiting game.
But the real prize would come soon enough. Quinn knew that the underworld had a way of finding the best deals, and when they did, they wouldn't hesitate to reach out. All he had to do was wait—and prepare for the moment when his weapons would fuel not just small-time skirmishes, but wars.
Ara stood by his side, her gaze fixed on the monitor as the first few orders rolled in. "The webpage is functioning perfectly, Master," she said calmly. "We will have significant inquiries within the next 24 hours."
Quinn smiled coldly, leaning back in his chair. "Good. Let's see who bites first."
What he didn't realize was that across the border, in the heat of Tijuana, Ross Garcia was already sharpening his knives. The moment their paths crossed, a storm of violence and ambition would be unleashed. And Quinn, with his AI, his advanced weapons, and his ruthless hunger for power, would be right in the center of it all.