Chapter 926 - 925: Devils Fall Like Rain, Dodged One by One

Inside a Private Clinic.

"We move the day after tomorrow!"

An old man in a white coat turned to a younger guy. "Old Five, did you track down that Route 85 Ghost likesomehow?"

"Boss, it's not that easy," the twenty-something kid replied, spreading his hands. "We're talking about the Route 85 Ghost here—the guy who's got the CPD flooring it at 130 on the highway, no headlights, no brake lights, weaving through overpasses and leaving Chicago cops spinning every time. He's been dodging them for years. Finding him on short notice? Good luck with that!"

"That's exactly why we need him," the old man in the white coat said with a grin. "Your big brother finally has a shot at getting out—this is his last chance, and we've got to bust him loose."

"Do we really have to?" another cocky young guy piped up, leaning back carelessly. "Big Bro's been rotting in prison for 11 years. Maybe he's done. We go through all this hassle to spring him, and he might not even thank us!

Boss, you're not exactly short on kids. Sure, there's only 18 of us here, but you've got 514 more out there waiting for a family reunion. And even if you're too old to keep making more, we've got you covered. Give the word, and we'll follow your lead—drop a 'gold' deposit every day. Our family'll hit a thousand, ten thousand in no time…"

"Shut it, Old Eleven!" the old man snapped, his eyes narrowing. "We're family—lumberjacks through and through! No one gets left behind. If you got nabbed, we'd come for you too!"

"I'm not getting caught…" Old Eleven started to argue, but he clammed up fast when he caught the glares from the two hulking, mean-looking guys flanking the old man.

Those two—Old Two and Old Four—were the old man's enforcers, the muscle holding this伐木累 (lumberjack family) together. Big, brutal, and not too bright, they'd rip anyone apart—literally—at the old man's say-so, no hesitation.

The old man smirked, reaching out to pat the heads of his two loyal brutes. They grinned like they were loving it.

"Boss, Old Eleven's not totally off," another guy chimed in. "If you'd done this sooner, our family could've taken over New York's underworld by now. Look at Chicago—numbers mean power, and you've got resources like nobody else."

"It's quality over quantity," the old man said with a smug chuckle. "You lot are my hand-picked elite, carrying my top-tier genes—works of art. No comparison to cannon fodder."

The room buzzed with approving grins.

"Old Five, you've got to hustle," the old man pressed. "Find that Route 85 Ghost, get him to New York for some fun. With him, we'll slip away clean."

"And if I can't find him?" another kid asked.

"If it comes to that, we go in hard," the old man said, his eyes glinting. "I've trained you all for years—small-time stuff so far. It's about time we carved out a legend of our own."

"Oh, yeah!"

"I'm in!"

"Legend! Legend!"

"Screw the NYPD!"

The room erupted in hyped-up cheers, everyone brimming with reckless energy. The old man looked over his 18 kids—full of fight—and couldn't help but smile, satisfied.

BOOM!

The door blasted open.

"FBI! Hands up!"

A swarm of armed agents stormed in. The old man grabbed his two enforcers and bolted for the back.

"Haha, looks like the party's starting early!" the rest of the crew laughed. These bloodthirsty punks, already amped up, didn't flinch at the FBI busting in—they grabbed their gear, ready to throw down.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…

The room lit up with the classic Chicago typewriter symphony—gunfire that just wouldn't quit. It's a TV drama staple: in a shootout, everyone unloads their clips first, no questions asked.

The Next Day. Medical Center.

"Hiss."

The news on TV had everyone sucking in cold air like it was a group bonding exercise.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Christina cursed three times on behalf of her bestie, letting the shock spill out.

"The fertility industry's toast after this," Dr. Shepherd muttered.

"Good riddance!" Christina shot back. "Stuff like this needs strict rules from the jump—at least two docs working together, keeping each other in check.

You leave it to one guy? All it takes is a quick swap—ditch the couple's chosen 'gold' for whatever's on hand. Without solid procedures, you're banking on the guy's conscience.

And how many freaks are out there in this world? God only knows!"

"Looks like Death Row Dude might not die after all," Adam said, strolling over. "His lawyer's petitioning the court, claiming his dad's the real devil pulling the strings."

"What happened to his dad?" Meredith asked.

"Locked up," Adam said. "Him and his two dimwit sons. The rest of his criminal kids who fought back? They got turned into Swiss cheese by the FBI in the shootout."

"Two dimwit sons?" Meredith winced, her face softening.

"That's not unusual," Adam said, giving her a heads-up. "You didn't think every test-tube kid comes out perfect, did you?"

Just as predicted, the fallout was massive—way worse than that Golden Light Nursing Home mess. Old folks versus kids? In TV drama land, kids win the sympathy vote every time, even if it's just for show.

This scandal dragged hundreds, maybe thousands of kids into it—and in that way. You can imagine how horrifying it hit.

Over the next few days, similar stories popped up elsewhere. Not always some super-criminal mastermind, though—sometimes it was just about cash.

One guy, alias "Starbucks," raked in $24,255 over 33 months with 693 donations—$35 a pop. His stuff was so good, success rates off the charts, that the clinic pushed him everywhere.

In under three years, he matched Hamburger's 30-year haul: 533 kids.

But in this drama world, Hamburger and Starbucks were just the big fish. Plenty more swam below. Then came the chaos—files catching fire, suicides, lovers' pacts, psych wards overflowing, class-action lawsuits for child support flooding the courts. The news wouldn't shut up.

When Monica heard, she freaked, clutching little Adam and kissing him nonstop, thanking God and big Adam over and over.

Back in the day, she'd almost gone the "pick some gold and have a kid" route herself—at Hamburger's clinic, no less. She'd even eyed Joey's sample once.

Looking back, getting Joey's would've been a lucky break. At least she knew the guy—dumb as a rock, ate like a horse, but hot and good-hearted.

"Monica, you've got to be kissed by Lady Luck," Phoebe said at a Friends hangout, marveling at it all. "First the devil town, now Devil Hamburger—and you dodged them both!"

"Yeah!" everyone nodded.

(End of Chapter)