Smoke curled from Jack's lips as he crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe.
East Harbor waited.
The convoy moved like a silent procession of predators. The Maybach Exelero led, its engine humming low, restrained, lethal. The Dartz Black Shark followed close behind, flanked by shadow vehicles that slipped through the city streets without urgency—because urgency was for the weak.
Jack sat in the back seat, eyes half-lidded, mind razor-sharp.
Warehouse Seventeen.
The name echoed inside his mind like a warning bell. Something old stirred—memories clawing at locked doors. He didn't remember the details, but his body did. His fingers flexed unconsciously, resting upon the pistol on his thigh.
Kevin noticed his uneasiness and asked, "You feel this place familiar, don't you ??"
Jack didn't answer. He didn't need to actually.
East Harbor rose from the fog like a carcass—rusted cranes, skeletal docks, water black as oil. Sodium lamps flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows that crawled along the asphalt. The air smelled of salt, fuel, and rot.
Warehouse Seventeen stood at the edge of the harbor like a fortress carved from concrete and sin. High robust walls. Reinforced gates. Watchtowers at each corner. Surveillance cameras swept the perimeter in slow, mechanical arcs—blind spots calculated.
Armed men patrolled in disciplined military formations. They weren't street thugs. They were trained professionals equipped with heavy firepower.
Peter leaned against the hood of the Maybach, eyes narrowing. "Looks like someone spent a fortune building this grave."
Jack stepped out of the car.
The moment his boots touched the ground, something shifted.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
A flicker of pain stabbed behind his eyes—sharp, sudden. Memories bled through the cracks.
Men kneeling.
Guns raised.
Voice echoing Master Jack.
Jack clenched his jaw until the sensation passed.
"How many?", Jack asked.
Peter checked his earpiece. "Thermal scans show at least twelve hundred inside. Heavily armed. Snipers on rotation."
Kevin let out a soft laugh, "Show-off".
"No, it's fear", Jack said calmly.
He took a step forward.
Immediately, floodlights snapped on.
The darkness evaporated.
A voice boomed from hidden speakers. "UNIDENTIFIED PERSONNEL. THIS IS A RESTRICTED ZONE. TURN BACK IMMEDIATELY."
Jack didn't stop walking.
He took another step and a third one too.
The gates trembled as internal locks disengaged. Slowly, the massive doors slid open.
A man emerged.
Tall, Thin and Immaculate suit. Gloves too clean for a place like this. Eyes full of malice.
"The Broker sends his regards, Master Jack" the man said smoothly.
That word landed like a gunshot.
Kevin stiffened. Peter's expression darkened.
Jack tilted his head, "You know who I am."
The man bowed slightly, "Everyone who matters does."
Jack raised his pistol—not at the man's head, but at his chest.
"Then you know this, anyone standing between me and my answer...Dies", Jack said.
The man smiled, "Rules can be changed."
He snapped his fingers.
Guns erupted from the warehouse roof, spitting fire. Bullets tore through the night, shredding concrete, sparks screaming off steel. Peter's men moved instantly, disciplined and surgical, returning fire with brutal precision.
Kevin dragged Jack behind a concrete barrier as bullets tore through the air where his head had been a second earlier.
"Looks like negotiations failed," Kevin muttered.
Jack leaned out, calm amidst chaos, and fired.
One shot.
A sniper's head exploded in the tower.
Another shot.
One more dead.
Jack moved smoothly like it was natural to him. Every step accurate. Every bullet final. He didn't rush nor hesitated. It was as if the violence remembered him.
Inside the warehouse, alarms screamed.
Men poured out in waves, black-clad and well-trained. They advanced with military coordination, but coordination meant nothing against inevitability.
Peter walked forward through gunfire, reloading without breaking stride.
"Kevin, Clear left wing", Peter uttered coldly.
Kevin grinned, blood on his knuckles, "With pleasure."
Jack stepped over bodies, his boots slick with red.
The trio, Jack—Kevin—Peter, charged at their enemies like ferocious beasts.
The man in the suit tried to retreat.
Jack was faster.
He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against a shipping container hard enough to dent steel.
"You said the Broker sent you", Jack said softly.
The man gagged, hands clawing uselessly, "Y-You don't understand—"
Jack tightened his grip and replied, "Oh, I understand perfectly. You are just another Pawn."
The man's eyes widened in realization.
"Where is he?", Jack asked coldly.
The man laughed weakly, "You won't reach him. He planned this. You were never supposed to survive."
Jack's eyes flickered.
A girl.
Peach dress.
Blood-soaked bandages.
Jack's grip tightened.
"Wrong answer."
He snapped the man's neck.
The body hit the ground with a dull thud.
Silence slowly crept back as the last gunshots faded. Smoke hung heavy in the air. The warehouse burned in pockets, flames licking at secrets that would never be told.
Kevin wiped blood from his cheek, "So… no Broker??"
Jack stared at the flames, expression unreadable.
"No, but this is not the end", he said quietly.
He turned toward the warehouse and declared, "This was a message."
Peter followed his gaze. "For whom?"
Jack's lips curved—not into a smile, but something inhumane.
"For everyone who thought my disappearance was permission."
He stepped forward into the burning warehouse.
"Let them know, THE HUNT IS ON." Jack said, voice calm and merciless.