People inside the casino jolted at the sudden gunshot, and several screams echoed through the hall. The blonde woman staggered and fell heavily backward.
Ethan fired without hesitation. They had dug their own graves by forcing him to participate. He didn't care about the death game, and he was ready to end it once and for all.
That shot was like a starting pistol.
Several nearby men stormed into the casino, and Ethan followed them in.
—Bang, bang, bang!
After taking down the few remaining armed guards, the room fell silent.
Everyone held their breath.
They had enjoyed watching the thrilling spectacle, but that didn't mean they wanted to be in danger themselves.
—Gentlemen.
Once the situation was under control, Ethan slung the AR-15 over his shoulder and gave an elegant bow.
—Ladies.
—I'm terribly sorry, but it's time to rob you.
He straightened and looked around.
More than twenty players from around the world sat around a long table.
Some appeared calm and composed; others were clearly terrified.
All the waitresses were crouched in a corner, staring fearfully at the unexpected guests.
The game continued to play on the giant screen behind them.
On one side, a highlight reel showed action-packed deaths that spiked the adrenaline.
The scene shifted, and his own face appeared on the screen.
—I don't know who you are.
Standing atop the long table, the man in the suit, his back to the giant screen, spoke with a grim expression.
—And I have no interest in finding out. You can take all the money here. I only have one request: please don't harm my clients.
For the players' safety, no one was allowed to carry weapons in that area.
Many of the people there held grudges or conflicts against one another.
For that reason, they weren't allowed to bring bodyguards, and all security was handled by the event organizers.
That meant once the external defenses were broken, those inside were completely defenseless.
—I suppose you must be the host.
Ethan stepped forward and spoke quietly.
Slade's eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists.
—You're just a nobody, so take the money and get out, and maybe we'll let you live one more day to enjoy it.
The strange accent in his voice made Ethan pause and narrow his eyes as he turned his gaze to the side.
He wore a kimono and stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
He looked at Ethan with open contempt.
—Excuse me, and who the hell are you?
Ethan blinked.
—I am an executive of the North American branch of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
The man in the kimono lifted his chin proudly.
—Watanabe Ichiro.
Ethan stepped forward and, without ceremony, shot him in the head, leaving nothing but an unrecognizable hole.
—Bang!
The man collapsed to the floor, disbelief frozen in his eyes.
—Ah…
Ethan let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, still holding the gun.
The sight was so horrific that those nearby lowered their heads, trembling.
—Does anyone else have something to say? Feel free to speak. I'll humbly accept any suggestions.
He spread his hands.
—I don't think you'd dare kill us all.
A man dressed like a cowboy slammed his hand on the table while holding a cigar.
—Bang!
Blood bloomed once more.
Ethan blew gently across the muzzle of the gun.
—Who's next?
The casino fell into absolute silence.
No one dared speak again.
—Ah, right… about the earlier question.
Ethan looked at the host.
—So, did I win?
His completely unhinged behavior terrified them.
Slade obeyed without protest, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a document, which he handed over with trembling hands.
—It's a bearer promissory note from a Swiss bank. If you go to the bank within the indicated time frame, you can collect ten million dollars.
Ethan took it and flipped through it without understanding a word.
He turned, flicked his wrist, and the document spun through the air before landing in Job's hands. Without hesitation, Job slipped the note into his pocket and patted his chest, satisfied.
—Good, you have the money.
Slade gritted his teeth.
—Can you leave now?
This incident had been a devastating blow to the Assassin Tournament. He was furious, determined to take revenge on these people no matter where they hid.
—Alright, now all that's left is for everyone here to pay a small ransom for their lives… You ruined my vacation and tried to kill me. I think you owe me a little compensation for the inconvenience… How about twenty million dollars each? —he said with a smile, sweeping his gaze over them—. It's a small price for your life, don't you think?
The silence that followed was thick, unreal.
Then chaos erupted.
—You're insane!
—That's extortion!
—You can't do this!
—It's illegal!
—We won't pay a cent!
Some stepped back; others started shouting all at once. Several argued among themselves, gesturing wildly, pointing at Ethan as if their outrage could disarm him.
—You can't extort us! —Slade roared, his face twisted—. You have no authority here!
Ethan draped an arm over the host's shoulders with almost friendly ease.
—Of course I can —he murmured.
—Bang! Bang!
Ethan pulled the trigger of his Glock. Slade stumbled and dropped to his knees, struggling to breathe as his suit began to stain with blood. Two precise shots to the chest ended his life.
Two of the gamblers, emboldened by the noise and collective hysteria, stepped forward. One tried to pull a gun from inside his jacket. The other barely raised his hand to point at him.
They didn't finish the motion.
Two sharp shots cut through the air.
—Bang!
—Bang!
The bodies fell almost simultaneously, one backward, the other to the side. The echo bounced off the walls and then… nothing.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Blood spread slowly across the polished floor. Ethan didn't even blink. He lowered his weapon calmly, as if he had just corrected a minor mistake.
—I was saying… —he continued in the same relaxed tone— twenty million each. Now it's thirty million.
No one shouted this time.
A man swallowed hard. Another looked away from the corpses, pale. A woman dropped the purse she had been clutching; the thud was the only sound.
Slade, still on the floor, lifted his gaze toward the bodies and then toward Ethan. He understood something in that instant: there was no rage in him, no adrenaline, no loss of control. Only resolve.
One by one, those present began to nod.
—I'll pay… —someone whispered.
—I'll transfer it right now.
—Me too…
Ethan watched as they pulled out their phones with trembling hands.
He smiled faintly.
—Excellent. I'm glad we've reached a reasonable agreement. Job, can you assist our friends?
Job nodded with a crooked grin and began walking among them with a wide smile. Sixteen men and women. Nearly five hundred million dollars. He had never in his life imagined seeing that much money together.
—No tricks. You'll transfer the funds to this account —Job warned calmly, showing them a string of numbers on his phone.
Once they authorized the transfers, the funds wouldn't move in a single straight line. They would immediately fragment into hundreds of financial movements, dispersing across different jurisdictions almost simultaneously. Each segment would pass through different correspondent banks, alternative financial platforms, and regulatory systems that didn't share information in real time.
There would be no clear "final destination." Only a growing chain of overlapping transactions.
Later, the fragments would regroup into a single account in the Cayman Islands. Ethan said nothing more. He turned and walked down the side corridor.
The soundproof door to the technical server room vibrated when he kicked it.
—Boom!
The frame gave way, and the door slammed open against the wall.
Inside, two men jolted in front of the monitors. One wore headphones; the other had his hands on a keyboard filled with code and surveillance windows. The screens displayed multiple angles of the building, including the main hall.
—Don't shoot!
—We're just technicians!
Ethan studied them for a second. His eyes swept over the screens, the connections, the hard drives stacked in racks lit by blinking green lights.
—Hello, you two.
The technicians stared at him in terror, waving their hands.
—We didn't do anything!
—Bang!
—Bang!
Ethan put his mask back on, stood up, and walked out.
—Sir… we've already paid the ransom. We'll leave and forget everything that happened here. Is that acceptable?
—You're an intelligent person.
Ethan grabbed a bundle of cash, climbed onto the gaming table, and inhaled deeply.
—I like intelligent people.
He patted himself with the money, tossed it onto the table, and looked at the so-called elite.
—If you enjoy playing with human lives so much, it would be a shame if you didn't participate yourself.
—Wow.
He slung the AR-15 to the front and gripped it firmly.
—This game is called The Great Escape.
He walked slowly across the table covered in money and pointed at the open door.
—The rules are simple: whoever escapes, lives.
—Click!
He disengaged the safety and aimed at the elegant lady.
—Do you like this game?
—You can't do this!
She turned pale; a wet sound came from beneath her skirt.
—I'm British…
—Bang, bang, bang.
The shots tore through her chest.
—Oh my God!
—Are you insane?!
—Do you know who my father is?
The screams filled the casino.
Chaos exploded.
Job, who thrived in disorder, burst into laughter and opened fire with his rifle.
—Da-da-da!
Nola didn't hold back; her Uzi flashed.
The sound of shell casings hitting the floor was strangely pleasant. Ethan had never enjoyed killing so much.
Crushing monsters wearing human skin gave him a euphoric thrill.
Blood splattered everywhere.
Their faces were filled with terror. When they found themselves in the slaughterhouse, these people were worse than children.
If they treated others like ants, Ethan had no problem crushing them.
—Bang!
When the last bullet was fired, silence returned.
Ethan stood on the table, one foot resting on a pile of dollars.
On the Persian carpet lay more than twenty elegantly dressed corpses.
Their frozen faces showed regret, hatred, and resentment.
There are no innocents.
—Jesus, fuck!
Job set the assault rifle aside and exhaled heavily.
—Every time I'm with you, everything ends in a disaster.
He jumped down from the gaming table and walked toward a corner of the hall.
More than thirty girls were huddled there, their bodies trembling at the sound of approaching footsteps.
—Don't move. Don't do anything stupid.
Ethan looked at them calmly.
—Nod if you understand.
Dozens of heads moved frantically.
After that, it was time to clean up the mess.
With so many wealthy people involved in the game, it was impossible that they had brought only the six million dollars in cash left at the door.
In a nearby corner were numerous suitcases and travel bags, organized by different areas.
Ethan left Nola guarding the waitresses while he and Job quickly moved to a corner.
Most of the belongings had already been emptied.
He pushed aside several empty bags and picked up a duffel; as soon as he lifted it, he felt its weight.
He opened it.
Green bills, bright and packed to the brim.
In a short time, they found three bags full of cash.
There was also a considerable amount on the gaming table; at a glance, at least a million.
Ethan grabbed another empty bag and began stuffing most of the money into it.
He stopped when about three hundred thousand remained and set it aside.
He left Nola guarding the scene while he and Job carried out the money. He made two more trips before loading all the loot into the truck.
On the final trip, he returned with a large gasoline can.
Ethan set it on the floor and clapped his hands.
—Everyone, stand up.
The girls, still crouched in the corner, rose fearfully.
—There's more than three hundred thousand dollars here. It's payment for your silence. Leave and never speak to anyone about this, or I'll hunt each of you down and kill you. Understood?
At first, none of them dared move.
Impatient, Ethan grabbed the remaining money and threw it onto the table.
—Take the money and go.
At that moment, Job opened the can and began pouring gasoline across the floor.
The acrid smell changed everything. The girls understood immediately and ran, grabbing the bills.
Soon, only Ethan and Job remained in the vast hall.
Corpses everywhere. On the giant screen, images of a fierce battle were still playing.
There were still ten people left in the rankings.
—What about the remaining assassins?
Job came out of the technical room and tossed the metal bucket aside.
—I can blow it all up. Wipe it clean.
—No.
Ethan shook his head.
—I don't need it clean. I'm going to muddy the waters.
—After this, a lot of people will investigate. The assassins will be our scapegoats.
—So what do we do?
Job scratched his bald head.
—Turn off all the trackers.
Ethan draped an arm over his shoulder as they walked toward the exit.
—Deactivate the locators too.
—Not our problem.
—And the cameras?
—Don't worry.
Job smiled.
—They connected the entire city's surveillance to their system. They made it easy for me. I'll erase the records from the last seventy-two hours.
—Click.
Ethan flicked the lighter; a flame appeared.
—I knew you wouldn't fail.
With a flick of his finger, he tossed the lighter behind him.
The fire spread quickly.
After evacuating everyone upstairs, Ethan returned to the Ford F-150.
The house was already burning.
—Let's go, let's go, let's go!
Job slapped the seat excitedly as he looked at the stuffed bags in the back.
Just over sixteen million dollars in cash, nearly five hundred million in offshore accounts—damn, his life had just been solved. After this, he would never have to work again.
Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror, flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, and a spark ignited the gasoline. Flames spread toward the parking area as the Ford roared away.
Later, they abandoned the F-150 and switched to Ethan's Subaru. On their way out of the city, Job finished wiping all the records.
He closed the laptop.
—So, where are we going now? I assume we're not heading to Skyar, right? —Nola asked.
—I don't think so, darling. Maybe next time.
—Well, to be honest, I had more fun today than I have in months. For me, this was a vacation.
—Then back to Chicago.
Ethan tapped the steering wheel and glanced at the phone's GPS.
Job shrugged, looking at the bags in the back seat.
—Let's hope we don't run into the police.
There were weapons and money both in the back and in the trunk.
An encounter would be fatal.
—Is that what you think?
Ethan pulled a silver five-pointed star from his pocket and squeezed it in his hand.
—Exactly.
Job slapped his forehead.
—I forgot… you're a cop.
Ethan smiled slightly.
—Drive carefully, —Job said, looking in the rearview mirror.—If we run into some stupid state trooper, that badge won't help.
—I know.