The Atlantic mist hung heavy over the dark waters three miles off the coast of Long Island. Illuminated against the black horizon, the Sovereign’s Ledger glowed like a floating palace of neon gold and polished mahogany, its multi-tiered decks humming with jazz music, clinking champagne flutes, and the quiet rustle of high-stakes gambling.
At the main gangway, two mammoth ex-Spetsnaz guards in tailored dark suits checked biometric invitations with handheld scanners.
Suddenly, a sleek, jet-black speedboat pulled up alongside the boarding pontoon.
Stepping off the tender came a trio that instantly drew every eye on the deck.
Jack looked exceptionally dangerous in a bespoke, jet-black Tom Ford tuxedo with a dark lavender silk pocket square. His chalk-white face was meticulously powder-set, his dark eye makeup blended into an intimidating, smoky editorial look, and his crimson lipstick stretched into a sharp, polite, aristocratic smile.
On his right arm, Natasha Romanoff was an absolute vision in a backless, emerald-green silk evening gown with a thigh-high slit, her dark red hair swept into flawless Hollywood waves. On his left, Felicia Hardy glittered in a liquid-silver floor-length dress that clung like a second skin, her platinum hair cascading down her shoulders.
Through [The Royal Flush Command], the subtle neural link thrummed silently between the three of them—a shared wavelength of pure tactical focus disguised as effortless high-society glamour.
"Biometric scanner at two o'clock," Natasha’s thought passed smoothly into Jack’s mind without her lips moving a millimeter. "Felicia, swap the RFID chip in the guard's pocket."
"Already done, Red," Felicia transmitted back with a cat-like smirk, casually brushing past the head guard and sliding a cloned press pass into his coat pocket while lifting his master keycard in a single, fluid motion.
BEEP-GREEN.
"Welcome aboard, Lord and Ladies Harrington," the guard grunted, stepping aside.
Jack offered a smooth, theatrical bow, his raspy voice dropping into a rich, faux-British purr. "Charmed, my good man. Do point us toward the high-limit roulette... I feel extraordinarily lucky tonight."
The main casino hall was a sprawling cathedral of velvet, crystal chandeliers, and mahogany. Corrupt politicians, international arms dealers, and Wall Street executives sat at private baccarat and blackjack tables, surrounded by armed guards holding silenced submachine guns under dark blazers.
At the centerpiece of the high-limit floor sat the golden roulette wheel, presided over by Wilson Fisk’s personal pit boss—a burly man with scars across his knuckles.
Jack, Natasha, and Felicia stepped up to the table, instantly drawing a crowd.
"Fifty-thousand on Black Seventeen," Jack purred smoothly, tossing a heavy stack of stolen Fisk bearer bonds onto the felt.
The pit boss eyed the bonds, then gave Jack a long, suspicious look before spinning the wheel and tossing the ivory ball into the wooden track.
RATTLE-RATTLE-RATTLE...
"Jack," Natasha’s voice hummed in his head as she leaned gracefully against his shoulder, sipping a dry martini, "the wheel is rigged. Electro-magnet beneath the Red 21 pocket."
"Rigged?!" Jack broadcasted back into their shared link, his bloodshot eyes sparkling under the chandelier light. "Oh, Moscow... I LOVE rigged games! That means we get to break the physics!"
Jack casually rested his gloved hand on the polished brass rim of the table, activating [Joker’s Reality Distortion] blended with [Joker’s Anarchy Ledger]!
BZZZZT!
A localized, micro-quantum pulse radiated through the table's internal wiring! The hidden electro-magnet beneath the felt surged violently, reversing its magnetic polarity!
CLICK-CLACK-SPIN!
The ivory ball didn't just land on Black Seventeen—it hit the pocket so hard it shot straight out of the wheel, bounced off the pit boss's forehead with a loud THWACK, ricocheted off a champagne fountain, and landed perfectly inside a corrupt senator's martini glass!
SPLASH!
"WHAT THE—" the senator gasped, soaking his tuxedo in gin.
"JACKPOT!" Jack shrieked in his natural, raspy voice, dropping his polite aristocratic accent entirely!
He slammed both hands onto the table, leaping right onto the green felt in his handmade leather shoes, scattering hundreds of thousands of dollars in high-denomination chips into the air like confetti!
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Jack bellowed, his voice carrying across the entire casino as he pulled his brass microphone from his tuxedo jacket. "THE HOUSE DOESN'T ALWAYS WIN! SOMETIMES... THE HOUSE GETS ROBBED! SHOWTIME, GIRLS! HAHAHAHA!"
Chaos erupted instantly!
Guards reached under their blazers for their weapons, but Natasha was already in motion. With terrifying elegance, her emerald gown swirling around her legs, she swept the pit boss's legs out from under him, disarmed two mercenaries in a fraction of a second, and used their own stun-batons to clear the entire high-limit security ring!
Meanwhile, Felicia vaulted off Jack's shoulders, grabbing the crystal chandelier above, using her momentum to swing straight into the private VIP security office door, slicing the lock with her claws before disappearing inside to empty Fisk's central vault!
"SECURITY! CODE RED! IT'S THE CLOWN!" the head guard roared into his radio before Jack tapped him on the nose with a champagne bottle.
POP!
"RUDE!" Jack cackled, spraying vintage Dom Pérignon all over the guard's face before sliding across the craps table like a rock star. "WE HAVEN'T EVEN PLAYED POKER YET! HAHAHAHA!"
Current Status:
Synchronization Level: 50.0%
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