A strike at the docks sets the city ablaze.
John woke to the sound of Alex's voice echoing through the training hall.
"You did well," Alex said, his sharp eyes locked on John. "But one kill is only a raindrop in an ocean. Tonight, you wade deeper."
Victor tossed a file onto the table. Inside were photos of warehouses, shipping crates, and armed men guarding docks.
"Your uncle's empire thrives on imports," Victor explained. "Drugs, weapons, counterfeit goods—it all moves through Dock 17. Daniel Okafor was just a handler. The man we want tonight is bigger—Emeka Ogbonna, your uncle's right hand for overseas shipments."
John studied the photo of Emeka, a heavyset man with sharp eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
"Not just kill," Alex said. "Destroy. Make a message so loud even your brother will feel the tremor."
John nodded slowly. A cold fire burned inside him. This wasn't just revenge anymore. This was war.
That night, the docks were alive with activity. Cranes moved crates in the distance, guards patrolled with rifles slung over their shoulders, and trucks rumbled across the lot.
John and Victor crouched behind a stack of containers.
"Your task is simple," Victor whispered. "Plant the charges, cut off their escape, and take down Emeka. I'll cover you."
John slipped into the shadows. Every step reminded him of the years stolen from him. The jeers in prison. His brother's mocking face. His uncle's betrayal.
When a guard passed too close, John struck fast—knife to throat, then dragged the body out of sight. His movements were precise now. Efficient.
Within minutes, explosives were strapped to fuel tanks across the dock.
Then he saw him—Emeka Ogbonna, barking orders at men loading crates into a truck.
John's pulse quickened. He moved closer, staying low. Just a few steps more—
"Who's there?!" a guard shouted.
John froze.
Alarms erupted. Guns were raised. Chaos exploded.
Victor's rifle barked from the shadows, dropping two men instantly. "Go, John! Don't stop now!"
John broke cover, sprinting toward Emeka. Bullets zipped past, ricocheting off metal. He tackled Emeka to the ground, knife pressed to his throat.
"Who sent you?! Who—" Emeka choked as John's blade cut across his windpipe.
The explosives detonated.
A thunderous roar tore through the night, flames engulfing trucks and crates. Men screamed, running in every direction as fire lit the sky.
John stood in the inferno, chest heaving, and watching Emeka's lifeless body burn.
Another step. Another piece of his uncle's empire reduced to ash.
Across the city, Sophia was in her office, studying files spread across her desk. Each death connected to the Mark family felt less like chance and more like design. Her colleague, Esther, leaned against the doorframe. "You're obsessed, Sophia. Why care about a bunch of criminals killing each other?"
"Because something isn't right," Sophia replied. Her voice was firm, though her heart was heavy. "Someone is dismantling them one by one. And if I don't find out who… I'll regret it."
She paused, her gaze lingering on a file photo of Dock 17—now listed as a "mysterious fire incident."
Unknowingly, her path and John's burned brighter and closer with each passing night.
At the compound, Alex poured John a glass of whiskey.
"You're learning fast," Alex said with pride. "But don't fool yourself. Each step makes you stronger, yes—but it also makes you harder to recognize."
John stared into the glass, his reflection rippling.
"I don't need recognition," he muttered. "I need revenge."
Alex's lips curved into a thin smile. "Good. Then you're ready for the next name on the list."