Dimensional Trader in Marvel

So This Week's Goal,

150 POWERSTONES = 5 Extra Chapters.

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Outside Chicago's Cook County Jail, five luxury cars idled across the street. Among them, in the middle car, Dix leisurely smoked a cigarette, waiting for the prison gates to open.

Today was a special day for him, and for two reasons:

First, it was the release day of his good friend, Goss Minis.

Goss Minis was one of Dix's former gang members and a key figure in their notorious jewelry heist. Following that case, thanks to Josh's arrangements and connections through Sheriff Dietrich, Goss had taken full responsibility for the beating death of Tony Windis. This ensured that Dix and Linden Schneider were either exonerated or granted bail, while Goss was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to five years.

But Dix never forgot his brother.

Through financial maneuvering and legal appeals, Goss's sentence was reduced, and just six months later, he was being released.

As the metal gates of the prison creaked open, a slightly hunched figure emerged, escorted by a guard.

The hunched posture wasn't due to mistreatment—Goss had always been somewhat stooped.

In fact, his six months in prison had been more like a holiday. He had a private cell, special meals, no mandatory labor, and even occasional female visitors arranged by Dix. Life inside had been comfortable, to say the least.

This was the nature of a capitalist society: with money and connections, even a prison sentence could feel luxurious. Only the poor and powerless had to suffer hard labor and grim conditions.

When Dix spotted Goss, he immediately stubbed out his cigarette and stepped out of the car to greet him.

From his side, Goss, upon seeing the imposing figure of Dix, was overjoyed rather than envious.

He wasn't new to prison life and understood well that without Dix's support, his time behind bars would have been far more grueling—let alone his early release. Seeing Dix waiting for him with such grandeur also made him feel that taking the fall had been worth it.

"Haha, welcome back, buddy!" Dix gave Goss a hearty bear hug.

With his small stature and height of less than 5'7", Goss looked almost comical next to Dix's towering 6'5" frame.

"Why all the fanfare? Bet this cost a fortune. Anyone who didn't know better would think some mafia boss was getting out." Goss joked. While he knew Dix now worked for a wealthy boss, he had no idea about the changes in his status and assumed the display was just to celebrate his release.

"Haha, and who else could that boss be? Of course, it's you!" Dix puffed his chest proudly. "Allow me to introduce myself properly—leader of the Irish Blackwater Gang, Dix Handley!"

"Are you drunk?" Goss froze, thinking his old friend was joking. He even leaned in to sniff for alcohol on Dix's breath but found nothing.

"Get outta here! I'm dead serious. Enough talk; it's your big day, and I'm taking you to see something special." Rolling his eyes at Goss's disbelief, Dix threw an arm around his shoulders and led him to the car.

Once inside, Goss began to sense that something was different.

Unlike the four Ford V8 cars flanking them—high-end but relatively affordable—Dix's car was a Cadillac Fleetwood Series 75 limousine.

This was a car fit for presidents, dignitaries, and crime bosses alike. Even across the ocean, prominent leaders used this model. In American movies, like The Godfather, such vehicles were synonymous with power.

Beyond its luxurious interior and imposing size, what really caught Goss's attention was a small fold-out seat near the rear door and a strange object on the floor covered with a tarp.

"Dix, what's going on?" Goss gulped nervously, recognizing the outline beneath the tarp. It was unmistakably a heavy-duty weapon.

"Heh, I told you, I'm broadening your horizons," Dix replied with a sinister grin.

At his signal, the convoy began to move.

Goss sat tensely, his eyes locked on the object under the tarp. It was becoming clear that his old friend was no longer just a petty street thug; Dix had ascended to something much more dangerous.

The convoy traveled for an sometime before stopping in a narrow alley.

Rolling down his window, Dix called over a young lackey stationed nearby.

"What's the situation?" Dix asked.

"They went in about fifteen minutes ago," the lackey reported.

Dix glanced at his watch, nodded, and instructed, "Keep an eye on them."

The lackey nodded and disappeared down the alley. Dix leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to rest.

Meanwhile, Goss sat frozen, afraid to ask questions. But he was starting to put the pieces together. He knew this area well—it was deep within the territory of the Jewish Mob, one of Chicago's most powerful factions.

After about thirty minutes, the young lackey returned, panting.

"Boss, they're about to come out!"

"Let's move!" Dix barked, snapping awake. The convoy started up and repositioned itself two blocks from the entrance of a high-end hotel.

Moments later, a group of well-dressed men emerged from the building.

These were the Jewish Mob's top leaders, fresh from a meeting.

But their instincts, honed by years of living on the edge, immediately sensed something was off when the convoy stopped nearby. They began to retreat and reach for their guns.

It was too late.

The windows of the front and rear cars rolled down, and the muzzles of several Thompson submachine guns poked out, unleashing a fiery barrage.

From the central Cadillac, Dix signaled Goss to open the door.

Dix stepped out and onto the fold-out seat, revealing the heavy weapon beneath the tarp—a Colt M1919A4 heavy machine gun.

In the next moment, its deafening roar filled the street.

Goss instinctively covered his ears as hot shell casings rained down on him, occasionally landing on his clothes and scorching him.

In just half a year, his old partner had transformed into a true crime lord. And Goss, now caught in the whirlwind of this new reality, could only watch in stunned silence.

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