A man stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, a long coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. He stared out at the city as his radio crackled to life with a series of cold, clinical reports.
"Team A in position. Infiltrating Madison's apartment now."
"Team B reporting. We have a visual on Mr. Henry. We're tailing him until he hits a dead zone."
"Sir, this is Team C. We're holding at Ethan's perimeter."
"Team D here. Sophia is on route to school. We're waiting for a secluded spot to move in."
"Proceed," the man said, his voice flat.
"Sir, Team C again," the radio buzzed. "We've been idling too long. Why don't we just breach the house and end Ethan now?"
"Wait for him," the man snapped. "Kill them when they step outside. I don't care who sees or who gets in the way. Just finish it."
He tossed the radio onto the leather sofa with a sneer. "What a foolish brat Enzo is, making such a fuss over schoolyard grudges. Pathetic. These kids have no idea what real power looks like."
Elsewhere, Mr. Henry studied his reflection in the polished brass of the elevator doors. He tightened the knot of his silk tie and took a slow, grounding breath. When the doors slid open, he stepped into the lobby and walked toward the street with a measured pace.
The morning air... there's nothing like it, he thought, inhaling deeply.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted them: a cluster of men dressed like vagrants. But they were too clean, and their backpacks were far too sturdy for the homeless. They wore disposable surgical masks—a poor attempt at anonymity.
Mr. Henry didn't flinch. He knew the type. He turned the corner toward the school, his gait steady. Behind him, the "beggars" traded looks and slipped into a black van that hissed as it accelerated, circling around to cut him off in the shadows of an upcoming alley.
The team lead whispered into his comms: "We're trailing Henry. He's heading straight into the trap. It's like he's asking for it."
Meanwhile, Ethan stepped out of his apartment, Daisy following close behind. His eyes immediately caught a glint of glass in the trees—a drone, its lens fixed on his front door. He shifted his stance, subtly shielding Daisy with his body as they moved toward the elevator.
So, I'm the primary target, Ethan realized, his mind racing. I need to get Daisy clear.
The elevator arrived. As the doors slid open, it was already occupied by a group of hulking men. They wore tactical gloves, earpieces, and those same disposable masks. The air in the small space turned heavy with the scent of cheap tobacco and impending violence.
Ethan turned to Daisy, his voice calm. "Daisy, I forgot my phone on the charger. Go grab it for me?"
Daisy hesitated, glancing at the grim men in the lift, but she saw the steel in Ethan's eyes and nodded. She turned back toward the apartment.
Ethan stepped into the elevator alone. It was a freight-sized lift, built for hospital beds and heavy furniture. Now, it was a cage. The men surrounded him, their glares burning into the back of his head.
"Kid, you've got guts, I'll give you that," one of them growled as the doors hissed shut. "But you crossed the wrong person. Mr. Enzo wants you erased."
"Any last words?" another asked, stepping forward.
Ethan looked him dead in the eye, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips. "All the CCTVs in this building have been disabled, right?"
The man blinked, surprised. "Hacked and looped. No one's coming to save you."
"Good," Ethan whispered. "That saves me a lot of trouble."
The lead man lunged, a massive fist whistling toward Ethan's temple. Ethan shifted an inch—a blur of perfect footwork—and counter-punched. His fist caught the man square on the chin. The sound of a shattering jaw echoed like a gunshot. The force was so immense it sent the man flying back into his teammates, the impact breaking a second man's nose.
The others froze. Is this kid a monster?
Knives were drawn. They surged forward in a frantic wave. Ethan moved like liquid, dodging blades by fractions of an inch. He leapt, spinning in mid-air, his lead leg whipping across their faces in a devastating arc.
Only the leader remained—a giant of a man. He roared, throwing a desperate haymaker. Ethan slipped the punch and buried a fist into the man's solar plexus, followed by a rising upper-cut. The elevator shuddered. The giant was launched backward with such velocity that he smashed through the reinforced doors, plummeting five stories down. He landed with a sickening crunch on the roof of the hitmen's own van below.
The elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened to a scene of absolute wreckage. Ethan stepped out, adjusting his collar.
"Brother! You forgot your bag!" Daisy shouted from the landing above.
"Bring it down for me, would you?" Ethan called back.
A moment later, Daisy hurried down the stairs and handed it to him, oblivious to the carnage inside the metal box behind him. Together, they walked out into the sun.
On the other side of town, Sophia adjusted her glasses, her heart hammering against her ribs. The street was empty—too empty.
"That's her. Sophia," a voice hissed from the shadows. "Take her out."
Three men sprinted toward her, blades bared. Sophia froze, terror paralyzing her limbs. The lead assassin lunged for her throat, but he never reached her.
A blur intercepted him. A heavy boot connected with the man's face, sending him tumbling across the pavement. A boy stood between Sophia and her attackers. He held his backpack strap with one hand; the other was shoved nonchalantly in his pocket. A helmet concealed his face.
The men came out, they were more than eighty.
It took exactly fifty seconds.
There was no wasted movement. Just the rhythmic sound of breaking bone and heavy thuds. When it was over, the hitmen lay in a tangled heap, unable to crawl, let alone kill.
"Thank you," Sophia whispered, her voice trembling.
The boy didn't turn around. He didn't even check his work. He simply adjusted his bag and sat on his motorcycle nearby and continued toward the school as if nothing had happened at all.