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Double-crossed
Carl, still crouched at the edge of the rooftop, slowly lowered his rifle after squeezing the trigger—his final shot lodging a bullet cleanly into the mayor’s skull. Without a trace of hesitation, he turned, slung the rifle into a sleek black duffel bag, zipped it up in one smooth motion, and picked it off the ground. Without looking back, he strode away.He descended the steel staircase with steady urgency, his polished shoes clicking against the cold metal steps. At the base, he emerged into a quiet hallway lined with modern lights. It was eerily sterile—walls blank, floor polished to a near mirror finish. Carl quickened his pace, each step deliberate and calculated. When he reached the elevator, he pushed the button, then glanced over his shoulder calmly before stepping inside.The elevator hummed softly as it carried him downward. Not a bead of sweat touched Carl's forehead. His tailored navy-blue suit, paired with a silk black tie and a pristine white shirt beneath, made him look
One Shot, One Mayor
"Who are you?! What business do you have here? And who were you trying to assassinate?!" the security guard demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. His pistol remained raised, its muzzle pointed directly at Carl’s head, his finger trembling lightly on the trigger.Carl stood a few meters away, motionless. His hands were lifted calmly above his head in surrender, and his eyes betrayed no fear."Since you've already caught me," Carl said with a calm, confident bellow, "I see no reason to lie."He raised his chin slightly and continued, his voice now laced with a strange sense of detachment."I came here because this building is the tallest in the area—and the perfect vantage point for my operation."The guard narrowed his eyes. "And who exactly were you here to assassinate?"Carl's lips curled faintly, almost as if he were amused. "I came here to kill the Mayor. He's currently giving a speech at the market square. From this height, I have a perfect line of sight. If I shoot him from up he
Something Fishy
Carl walked through the massive glass doors of the towering building, his right hand gripping a long black bag, his expression calm and composed. He was dressed in a crisp black suit that hugged his athletic frame perfectly, and a shiny golden wristwatch gleamed on his left wrist with each step he took.The lobby he entered was nothing short of opulent—marble floors gleamed under the warm chandelier lights, golden trimmings lined the walls, and expensive paintings hung in elegant frames. Wealthy men and women moved through the space, laughing softly, clinking glasses, and greeting each other with air kisses and firm handshakes.Carl scanned the place for a few moments, his eyes sharp beneath slightly lowered brows. Then he caught sight of the elevator a few meters ahead and started toward it. But just before he could reach it, a voice rang out from behind him.“Excuse me. Who are you?”The deep, firm voice made Carl halt in his tracks.He remained still for a few seconds before slowly
The speech
A convoy of shiny, luxurious cars cruised through the bustling streets of the city. The sleek exteriors of the vehicles gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, their polished surfaces catching the light so brilliantly that pedestrians had to avert their eyes. The heavy growl of engines blended with the murmur of the city’s life, creating a symphony of authority and anticipation.Seated in the backseat of the lead vehicle was Mayor Williams, his back leaned stiffly against the plush leather seat, arms folded tightly across his chest. His heart pounded with increasing intensity as the convoy neared Market Square, where he was expected to give a public speech.With a heavy breath, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. His fingers hesitated briefly before dialing the number of the vice mayor. The line rang several times before it was finally answered.“Vice Mayor Campbell. How are you doing?” Williams spoke immediately, his voice a forced calm.“I’m going good, sir,” came
Assassination day
Back in Spain…Diamond EstateInside the bedroom of an opulent mansion, a man stood in front of a large, gold-framed mirror. The man appeared to be in his late forties, dressed in an elegant black suit. He was currently adjusting his tie with slow, meticulous hands, his eyes fixated on his reflection with a gaze that blended dread and determination.Once he was satisfied with the placement of his tie, he turned away from the mirror and picked up his black leather briefcase resting on the polished oak dresser. With a quiet breath, he walked out of his room.A muscular man dressed in a crisp black uniform was already standing beside the door. As soon as the suited man stepped out, the bodyguard gave a subtle bow, reached for the briefcase without a word, and followed as they made their way down the grand staircase.Upon arriving at the vast, marble-floored living room—bathed in golden sunlight filtering through enormous crystal windows—the man caught sight of his wife seated gracefully
End of the Vendetta
Scott stared long and hard at the bazooka resting silently in the trunk of the car. His expression was cold—menacing even—as memories surged through his mind. This wasn’t just any weapon. This was the bazooka he had used back in China, the same one that reduced an entire hall to rubble during the violent confrontation against Spider’s men. A single blast had been enough to bring the entire structure crumbling down in flames.It was a devastating weapon—one reserved only for the most dire of circumstances.Originally, Scott hadn’t intended to use it against Mohammed and his men. He had only brought it along in case things went south—if things took a turn he couldn't recover from. But standing here now, shoulder bleeding from a gunshot wound, rage bubbling under his calm facade… he saw no reason to hold back any longer.He had given Mohammed a chance—a real chance—to walk away with his men alive and unharmed. But Mohammed had spat on that offer. Not only had he refused, but he had also
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