Chapter 3: Contract Killers Don't Miss
The rain hasn't stopped.
Kael moves across the rooftops of Nocturne, boots silent against wet concrete. His mask reflects the city lights in broken fragments. Somewhere below, sirens wail—background noise in a city that's already dead.
His comm crackles.
Static.
Then a whisper.
"You should've stayed buried, Wraith."
Kael freezes.
He drops—just as the rooftop behind him explodes in sparks.
A sniper round punches through concrete where his head was a second ago.
Kael rolls, disappearing behind a ventilation unit.
Professional.
Not a gang shooter.
Across the street, inside an unfinished high-rise, the assassin lowers his rifle.
Name: Silas Kane
Alias: Deadline
Crowe's favorite problem solver.
Silas reloads with smooth efficiency, expression calm, almost bored. His suit is tailored, his movements precise. He speaks into his comm.
"Target confirmed. Former military. Very former."
Crowe's voice responds, amused.
"Bring me proof."
Silas smiles faintly.
"Always do."
Kael scans the skyline.
No muzzle flash. No sound delay.
Long-range. Suppressed.
He pulls a small disc from his belt and flicks it into the air.
POP.
The disc bursts into a cloud of metallic dust, interfering with optics.
Another shot rings out—off target.
Kael runs.
Silas watches through thermal vision as the heat signature vanishes mid-sprint.
"Clever," he mutters.
He slings the rifle and moves, descending stairwells two steps at a time. This isn't a hunt.
It's a duel.
Kael crashes through a fire door into darkness.
The building is hollow—bare concrete, exposed wiring, echoing footsteps. He slows his breathing, letting the city noise fade.
Footsteps above.
Kael pulls a pistol—no attachments, no markings. He counts.
Three seconds.
Two.
One—
Silas drops from the ceiling.
They collide mid-air.
Gunshots thunder.
Both miss.
They hit the ground hard, rolling apart.
Silas draws a combat knife.
Kael doesn't.
They stare at each other.
Silas speaks first.
"You move like someone who wants to die."
Kael answers calmly.
"No. Like someone who already did."
They clash.
The fight is brutal.
No wasted motion. No dramatic pauses.
Silas strikes fast—knife aiming for arteries, joints, throat.
Kael counters with elbows, knees, pressure points. He disarms the knife but takes a cut across the arm.
Blood drips.
Silas grins.
"Good. You bleed."
Kael headbutts him.
Silas stumbles back, laughing.
"This city really did break you," Silas says. "Crowe was right."
Kael freezes.
"What did you say?"
Silas shrugs.
"He said you'd come for him eventually. Said killing your family was the cleanest way."
Rage surges.
And that's the opening.
Silas fires.
Kael twists—but the bullet clips his shoulder.
He falls.
Silas raises his gun.
"Contract says I end you here."
A shadow moves behind Silas.
A baton wraps around his wrist.
CRACK.
Silas screams as the gun falls.
Kael rises, eyes cold.
"You talk too much."
They fight again—harder now.
Kael drives Silas into a wall, choking him.
Silas gasps, smiling even as he fades.
"You won't win. Crowe owns this city."
Kael tightens his grip.
"I don't need to win."
He knocks Silas out cold.
Police sirens grow closer.
Kael drags Silas to the edge of the building.
He leaves him tied to a crane, dangling in plain sight.
On Silas's chest, Kael pins a device flashing a single message:
CONTRACT TERMINATED
From a dark office, Darius Crowe watches live footage of Silas being arrested.
His smile is gone.
"So," Crowe murmurs, "you can bleed."
He leans forward.
"Good."
Kael disappears into the rain, clutching his wounded shoulder.
For the first time since the mask, he smiles.
The city just sent its best.
And he's still standing.
END OF CHAPTER 3