Mobtop ❲Direct ⚡❳

Yuri called back, laughing. “Sponge. The sky is yours. Name your price.”

Lev Tarasov didn’t need a gun. He had gravity. mobtop

Within six minutes, seventeen drones from five families swarmed Viktor’s rooftop. The ghost drone, confused, dropped its payload through Viktor’s skylight—a brick of C4 wrapped in a flag. Yuri called back, laughing

From his penthouse, Lev watched three drones blink across his screen. Green for the Volkovs, red for the Bratvas, blue for the new Turks. Every gang had a drone these days. They ran drugs, scouted hits, jammed police scanners. But above 400 feet, the sky was Lev’s territory. He “absorbed” the chaos—hence the nickname. He rerouted signals, spoofed GPS, and for a 20% cut, made sure no two drones ever collided over a heist. Name your price

With three keystrokes, he told the ghost drone that the gold depository was actually the basement of Viktor’s own mansion. Then he told every other drone in the sky that Viktor’s mansion was dropping 50 kilos of uncut heroin.