"Jason! Do you copy? Get the girls into the bunker! Secure Sarah, Lena, Alexandria—everyone! This isn’t a skirmish; it’s a decapitation strike!" Ethan said over the comms.
"I’m already on it, Chief, but we have a major problem. As soon as the shots were fired at you, the whole city went into a frenzy. We have reports of small, heavily ard groups appearing in the markets, the plazas, even the residential sectors. They aren’t just targeting us; they’re firing into crowds to draw us out!" Jason said.
On the tactical map, dozens of red dots blossod across North End like a spreading virus. The hard-won peace Ethan had established was disintegrating in minutes. Civilians were screaming, caught in the crossfire of professional hits, and the trust the population had begun to place in Royal was being burned to the ground.
"They’re turning my city into a war zone just to distract my forces," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Chief, I have to deploy the full guard. If I don’t send the Enforcers out now, we lose the territory. But if I do, I’m thinning the defense at the Tower!" Jason said.
"Do it, Jason. Protect the people. I’m five minutes out, and I’ll kill anyone who stands in my path. If Black Skull wants a war, I’ll give them an apocalypse," Ethan said.
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Jason was reviewing the periter feeds when the elevator doors hissed open. A group of three "Royal" janitors stepped out to empty the bins, a routine task they had done for months. But as they passed the security desk, one of them pulled a ceramic blade from a bucket and plunged it into a guard’s throat before he could even scream.
"Intruders in the Nest!" Jason roared.
He didn’t hesitate. He vaulted over the main console, his hand finding the grip of his pistol in a fluid motion. The "janitors" were fast—terrifyingly fast. They moved with the grace of trained dancers, drawing suppressed submachine guns from beneath their coveralls. The command center beca a storm of shattered glass and sparks as lead chewed through the expensive monitors.
Jason dived behind a reinforced pillar, returning fire. He saw one of the attackers leap through the air, performing a mid-air reload. These weren’t just rcenaries; they were ghosts who had lived inside the Tower, waiting for the signal.
"Close the blast doors! Seal the executive floor!" Jason said.
He rushed forward, sliding across the slick floor to tackle the last remaining intruder before the man could pri a thermite charge on the main server. They tumbled across the room, Jason using his superior weight to pin the man’s arms. He delivered a brutal knee to the man’s ribs, then a series of short, punishing hooks that shattered his jaw.
With a roar of effort, Jason dragged the man by his collar and slamd him against the reinforced glass wall overlooking the burning city. The man’s jaw was hanging at an unnatural angle, blood leaking from his mouth, but he started to wheeze—a sound that turned into a chilling, wet laugh.
"Why?! Who sent you?! How long have you been hiding in my staff?!" Jason said.
"Doesn’t matter... everyone is coming. 100k for every civilian we drop to cause a distraction. One million for your little ’Royal’ soldiers. And you? You’re worth 100 million, pretty boy. Sa for the Boss’s won," the hitman said.
Before Jason could punch him again, the man bit down on a cyanide capsule hidden in a molar. His eyes rolled back, and he went limp instantly.
"Damn it! They’re all using suicide triggers!" Jason said.
He looked at the main monitor. A dark-web ticker was live-streaming the bounty. The numbers were staggering. But at the very top, highlighted in a pulsating crimson, was the ultimate prize: ETHAN BLAKE – 10 BILLION DOLLARS (CASH).
The entire underworld had been mobilized. Every small-ti gang, every street-level mafia, and every professional rcenary cell was crawling out of the woodwork. They didn’t need to be skilled; they just needed to be many.
"Falcon Squads 1 through 20, deploy! No more non-lethal. If they are holding a weapon, erase them! I’m heading out. Lena, Alexandria—stay in the inner sanctum!" Jason said.
High above the streets, the sound of rotors cut through the smoke. Royal’s attack helicopters—the Falcons—descended. They began to rain fire on "technical" trucks—handmade armored vehicles filled with gang mbers trying to ram the gates of Royal’s secondary facilities.
In the middle of a burning intersection, Jason was a blur of violence. He moved with a combat knife in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other, carving through a wave of rcenaries. He was no longer a coordinator; he was a reaper.
"You want 100 million? Co and collect it from the dirt!" Jason said.
anwhile, in the Governor’s Mansion, Thompson stared at his phone, his hands shaking. The screen was flooded with ergency notifications from the city, but a second, private line was ringing. It was the Federal Governnt.
"Governor Thompson," the voice on the other end said, cold and bureaucratic. "You are to issue a Stand-Down order imdiately. Withdraw all police units, National Guard, fire departnts, and dical services from North End. This is a Federal containnt protocol. Do not interfere."
Thompson looked out his window at the distant smoke rising from the Royal Tower. He knew what this was. The governnt was clearing the board so that soone or sothing could finish the job.
"If I withdraw, thousands of innocents will die! This is my city!" Thompson said.
"If you don’t withdraw, you will be charged with treason against the Republic before the sun sets. Decide where your loyalty lies, Governor. With a shadow businessman... or with your country," the voice said.
Thompson looked at the silver card Ethan had given him months ago, then at the Federal seal on his desk. He was at a crossroads: betray the man who put him in power, or start a civil war against the Federal governnt.
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