Chapter 43: The Beginning and the End

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"Let's begin!" Link glanced at his cards. Based on the dealer's sequence, it was clear he had a strong hand, and there was no chance for Old Antonio to cheat.

Ending this with the first round wouldn't be bad at all. Old Antonio put down a billion dollars in cash, while Link bet with Stark Industries stock, currently valued at over 900 million dollars, and added his cash to make it an even billion.

Both sides were playing for real money. One round to end it all, securing their winnings.

Link didn't even bother looking at his cards. It seemed like everyone was relying on luck. The outcome of this round, involving two billion dollars, was beyond imagination.

As it turned out, Link won with a pair of twos. Old Antonio had nothing.

Link grinned, "Looks like luck's on my side tonight. I guess that means I'll be the one walking away in the end."

He turned to Gramonet, asking, "What's the decision?"

"We agree. If you make it out alive, everything will end. We will compensate you ten billion dollars," Gramonet said, surprising the twelve council members. Why such a large amount?

Link nodded slightly. "Not bad. Your elders are wise. If I win, you'll lose at least 300 of your elite soldiers, likely your best-armed and trained men. If you fail, the High Table will be significantly weakened. You'll have to fend off your rivals. If I decide to strike again, you could be finished for good."

"But I don't like complications. This result works. You can transfer the ten billion through the casino, along with tonight's winnings—eleven billion in total."

Link turned to the casino manager, who immediately responded, "Of course, sir. We're more than happy to assist."

"Alright then. Let's wait," Link said as he leaned back, taking a sip of his drink and lighting a cigar. His feet rested on the table, swinging leisurely as the minutes ticked by.

Time passed slowly, but Gramonet had already dispatched helicopters and teams to scour the desert for any potential ambushes. There was no sign of anything unusual.

Gramonet stepped outside the VIP lounge, waiting anxiously for word from the search teams. Every direction came back clear. No signs of ambush. Feeling somewhat at ease, he was still baffled—how could Link possibly win?

…

As midnight approached, Link stood up, grabbed his backpack, and headed out. "Prepare a fully fueled off-road vehicle for me."

"Right away, Mr. Link!" A hotel SUV was promptly parked at the front entrance, and the keys were handed over as Link stepped outside.

He loaded his backpack into the passenger seat, checked the vehicle, and started the engine.

Lowering the window, he stuck out his left hand and waved before stepping on the gas.

He drove along the highway toward the outskirts of the city. Once out of town, he turned on his hazard lights and floored the accelerator.

Behind him, a long convoy of over a hundred vehicles followed closely, with a helicopter overhead.

As Link drove, he suddenly veered off the road into the desert, heading deeper into the dunes.

The convoy followed, forming a long string of headlights in the darkness. The helicopter stayed low, as the desert was pitch black. If Link turned off his lights, they'd lose him instantly.

Driving up and down the sandy terrain, Link knew that reaching the ten-kilometer mark wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary.

As he approached the tallest dune, his target, he pressed the gas pedal harder, cresting the dune before switching off all his lights. Instantly, he seemed to disappear. He opened the door, grabbed his backpack, and jumped out.

Landing softly in the sand, he took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully toward the dune.

A strong gust of wind kicked up, sending a wave of sand toward the trailing convoy. The helicopter, caught in the sudden turbulence, spiraled out of control and crashed.

With lightning speed, Link charged forward under the cover of the sandstorm. He had strapped the large backpack onto his back and pulled out a submachine gun—one of the many weapons he had secured from S.H.I.E.L.D.

By the time Link had taken out the entire convoy, he still had enough time to return to his SUV. He took hold of the steering wheel, the vehicle still under control, and began driving leisurely in circles.

Returning immediately would be too shocking. The sandstorm had masked his use of superhuman abilities. No one, not even the satellites, would have seen what truly happened.

Ever cautious, Link drove to a sheltered spot, lay down, and fell asleep.

He woke up only when his internal clock roused him. Starting the car again, he made his way back to the city. By the time he reentered Las Vegas, the entire city was buzzing with excitement.

In true Las Vegas fashion, bets had been placed on the outcome of the night's events. Hundreds of thousands had wagered on whether Link would make it back alive. Of course, most people bet on his death, assuming it was easy money.

When Link returned, people were dumbfounded. The High Table council members, especially, were in shock. Gramonet had been calling for updates all night, with the last message being that the convoy was approaching the ten-kilometer mark.

Then, radio silence.

Gramonet hadn't sent search teams into the desert, as the casino forbade it. Even the High Table had to respect the local rules.

Link pulled into the hotel, but seeing the crowd at the entrance, he made a quick U-turn into the underground garage. The hotel staff immediately understood, dispatching security to keep anyone from bothering him.

…

The next day, Link was back in New York, now a true billionaire. While there had been some risk of exposure, he had taken precautions. The sandstorm he created had obscured everything.

Upon his return, he received a call from Phil Coulson. "Link, you sure know how to make an impression!"

"Nothing surprising about it. Just a small conflict," Link replied, unable to suppress a smile. "So, do I finally get my own title?"

"Of course. They're calling you the Grim Reaper now," Coulson said. "But why didn't you come to me about this?"

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