AN: Late today. Hope you saved some PS for me. Oh, think of it as an interlude chapter.
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[Midnight – Docks Warehouse]
The guards surrounded the place, keeping it clear. Inside, the Japanese syndicate assassins were on their knees, tied up, blindfolded, mouths gagged.
Rachel dragged a chair from the side and set it down in front of them. She sat, legs crossed. She looked at John and gave a little nod.
John walked over, grabbed the leader by the arm, and pulled him forward. He yanked off the blindfold and gag. The man squinted under the warehouse lights.
Rachel leaned forward slightly. "Who hired you to attack Alex Wilson?"
The man stayed silent.
She waited five seconds. "Why target him?"
No answer.
Her voice dropped. "How many other organizations are involved?"
Still nothing.
Rachel tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Did someone use a Marker to sanction this hit? Or is someone from the High Table pulling the strings?"
The man kept his mouth shut, breathing heavy.
"No one shall go after Alex Wilson. That was the order from someone above the High Table. Yet, here we are. Sad," She said with a cold glare.
She stood, walked behind one of the other assassins, and drew a knife from the strap around her thighs.
She grabbed the man's head, tilted it back, and ran the blade across his throat in one slow, steady motion. The metal sank into his flesh. His body convulsed, blood spilling out across the floor, but thanks to the restains, he couldn't scream or resist... Just his body jerked violently. She pulled his head back as blood sprayed out from his sliced veins.
When he stopped moving, she wiped the knife on his sleeve and walked back to her chair.
Rachel took a deep breath as she calmed herself. She then threw the knife at the second assassin. The knife flew right by his ear, cutting it off like a freaking tofu, and stuck on the wooden wall behind him. The guy fell to the floor, wriggling in pain as blood gushed out of his severed ear.
She looked at John and extended her hand, "Gun." He took out his gun and handed it to her.
"Now," Rachel looked into the eyes of the leader. "Where were we?"
The man swallowed hard, then finally spoke. "We are just contract killers. We work outside the table. They said Alex Wilson broke the balance. That he's getting too powerful. And his refusal to work with them made many unsatisfied. Not to mention the hotel he bought in Tokyo made them even more angry since they couldn't conduct their usual business there anymore. But since the rules said they can not touch Alex Wilson, they hired us to kidnap him through a third party. So, even if we get caught, no one will know the real mastermind. We are just expendable pawns."
Rachel leaned back, studying his face. "Name."
The man hesitated. "We only got orders through an intermediary. Codename 'Shiro'. No face, no voice. Everything came in writing."
She gave John a nod.
John took out his phone and texted a number with the codename. Within a few seconds, the confirmation came. He looked at Rachel and gave a nod.
"Hummm..." Rachel just sat there for a moment, looking at the leader's face as if she were reading his mind. But that wasn't the case. She was studying his expression, pupils dilations, throat movement. "You know, I made a promise that I'd find the ones who attacked him and skin them alive. So, do enjoy the pain." She clapped her hands twice.
The main door opened, and four burly guys entered the warehouse. They were wearing butcher's clothes and were carrying two giant suitcases filled with certain tools.
"Just shoot me and end this," The leader begged.
Rachel stood up from her chair and shot the guy in both thighs.
"Gaahahh! Fuck!" He screamed in pain.
"Skin him alive. Make it as painful as possible," Rachel said before she walked out with John behind her. On her way, she took out her phone and called a number.
"Operator," A woman's voice came from the other side. "How may I direct your call?"
"Accounts payable."
"One moment please."
The call got transferred.
"Accounts payable. How may I help you?" Another woman's voice came.
"I'd like to open an account," Rachel replied while walking toward her SUV.
"Name on the account," The operator asked.
"Shiro..."
"Verification..."
"Code: 0. GHOST," Rachel replied as she opened the door and slid in.
"State contract..."
"Open..."
John took the driver's seat and drove away from the warehouse.
"Denomination..."
Rachel leaned back and closed her eyes, "10 million."
"Processing, please hold."
Within a few minutes, all the assassins received a text. And they were on the move.
Over the next week, the world's underbelly shifted.
Los Angeles went quiet first. The usual street corners once held by gangs were empty. Tattooed men who used to roam in black SUVs vanished. The ones who tried to fight back didn't make it past the second night. Word spread fast—someone was cleaning house.
New York followed. Warehouses burned. Bodies showed up hanging under bridges. Every major crew lost its leadership within forty-eight hours. Some ran to the cops. Some ran to airports. None made it out.
Tokyo was hit hardest. Entire syndicates disappeared. Restaurants that doubled as fronts for the underworld stayed closed. Police found dozens of bodies dumped near Tokyo Bay, each one stripped of any mark of identity. Every name connected to Shiro was crossed out, erased from every ledger.
No one could find the link. Every camera feed went dark minutes before the hits. Every trace of digital movement was scrubbed. Even the networks that traded in secrets whispered the same thing—someone paid for total silence.
By Friday, the U.S. and Japanese police departments were flooded with reports. Too many dead and missing. The inter-agency task forces began pulling files, but the next morning, they all received the same internal message:
"Cease investigation. All cases classified."
And just like that, everything stopped.
The city lights glowed as if nothing had happened. The headlines moved on to celebrities, markets, and perfume launches. The world above kept turning.
But those who knew the streets knew better.
Something powerful had moved through the system and wiped the slate clean.
Oh, what happened to Shiro, you ask?
Shiro didn't last long.
He had been running for a week, changing cars, hotels, and names. Every border crossing he tried was already flagged. Every call he made was traced before he hung up. He thought he was invisible, but the Tracker had his scent from the moment Rachel opened the account.
The Tracker found him in a private hangar outside Kyoto, stuffing a duffel bag with cash and fake passports. Shiro froze when he heard the footsteps. The Tracker stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand, calm and unhurried.
"You're hard to find," the Tracker said.
Shiro reached for the bag slowly. "How much did they pay you?"
"Enough," the Tracker replied as he shot the fucker with a tranquilizer dart.
The next time Shiro opened his eyes, he was tied to a steel chair inside a helicopter. They were flying over an ocean and it was night time. Rachel sat across from him, checking the wires on a small vest wrapped around his torso.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked.
Shiro's voice trembled. "What are you doing? Please… Please. Don't do this. Don't kill me."
Rachel tightened the final clasp. "You love to play with explosives, don't you? So many died because of you. There were kids... They couldn't even recover some of their bodies."
"Give me a chance," Shiro begged.
She stood and nodded to the pilot. The side door opened, cold air rushing through. The sound of the rotors grew louder. Shiro screamed as Rachel pushed him toward the edge. She held him there for a moment, looking straight into his eyes.
"Choices and consequences..."
Then she let go.
Shiro fell fast, spinning through the air. The vest blinked red, then lit up bright.
He exploded in midair, a flash above the dark ocean. Nothing was left but fragments scattered over the waves.
Rachel watched from the open door, her hair whipping in the wind. She didn't smile. She just closed the door and told the pilot, "Take us home."
The Tracker waited at the landing zone, leaning on his car. She tossed him a key. He gave a single nod before driving away.
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