Cold rain poured in heavy sheets over Cargo Zone Nine, a decaying industrial dockland on the edge of Valmoria. In the center of the yard stood a massive, rotting warehouse with broken windows and rusty corrugated steel doors. Outside, six men in heavy raincoats stood guard, armed with shotguns and cheap handguns. They laughed while smoking cigarettes.Thomas Green walked out of the darkness like a ghost born from the rain. He wore his plain black coat, drenched in water. His face was cold, hard, and devoid of any human warmth.He did not hide. He did not crawl behind crates. He walked straight down the gravel path, his eyes locked onto the steel doors of the warehouse."Hey! Who the hell are you?" one of the guards shouted, throwing his cigarette into a puddle and leveling his shotgun at Thomas’s chest. "This is private property, pal. Turn around and scram before I put a hole in your guts."Thomas did not slow down his pace. His heavy boots crunched against the wet gravel in a s

"Call the police and tell them a lunatic ex-con is trying to ruin my sister’s wedding reception." Edward roared, his face flushing as he pointed a trembling finger at Thomas standing at the entrance of the Grand Valmoria Hotel.The two bodyguards stationed by the glass doors instantly stepped forward, pulling thick iron batons from their waistbands with sinister grins. "You heard Mr. Johnson, boy. You picked the wrong night to play a tragic hero in front of high society."Thomas did not even blink. He took a single, slow step forward, his heavy leather boots crushing the wet gravel as he stepped directly onto the stairs leading into the lobby."I told you your time was coming, Edward," Thomas said, his voice quiet, steady, cold, and cutting through the damp night air like a razor.The guard on the right swung his iron baton with full, brutal force, aiming directly for Thomas’s temple to put him down instantly. Thomas did not dodge backward or flinch. He stepped straight into the s

"Open your eyes, Jack. Twenty-six years is a long time to live on borrowed breath," a quiet, bone-chilling voice cut through the stillness of the study.Jack Hill froze, his hand stopping midway toward the crystal glass of aged scotch resting on his desk.The private estate of Jack Hill stood at the highest ridge of the eastern hill.It was surrounded by electric iron fences, motion-sensor floodlights and armed private patrols. To the city of Valmoria, Jack Hill was a respected philanthropist, a retired business tycoon, and a pillar of high society.To Thomas Green, the mansion was a monument built on stolen blood, echoing with the ghosts of his murdered family.Minutes earlier, two perimeter guards in vests had walked their patrol route along the western gravel path, carrying automatic rifles and talking quietly about the weather.Before either man could blink, a dark shadow had dropped silently from the low-hanging branches of a tree directly behind them.Thomas had moved with the

"Are you certain both hooks have been swallowed completely, Ethan?" Thomas asked, his voice low and calm as he stared through the tinted window of the safehouse at the sprawling skyline of Valmoria fading into twilight.Commander Ethan stood beside the high-tech tactical console, his fingers flying across the glowing keyboard as streams of data scrolled down multiple monitors. He paused, turning his head with a sharp, respectful nod."Positive, General," Ethan replied, his voice steady. "Our digital intercepts confirm that both independent factions have taken the bait. They are moving faster than we anticipated, completely unaware that they are running into the exact same trap."High up in his luxurious mountaintop fortress, Jack Hill sat in his leather armchair, swirling a fresh glass of scotch while staring coldly at his private desk phone. The failure of his mountain hit squad had stung his pride, but Jack was a master of statecraft and shadow politics; he knew that raw muscle was