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In the distance, at the corner of the street, the figure of a large Black man could be seen, motionless in the shadows. He wore a long black trench coat and stood in absolute silence.
Even from that far away, the anger radiating from him was palpable.
It was strange. The assassins they had encountered before showed only bloodlust and a desire for combat. No one radiated such raw fury as that man.
—You don't need to follow me.
Nola hesitated for a moment, then steadied herself.
—I'm just watching your back. I won't interfere.
She turned toward Ethan with a tight smile.
She rose onto her tiptoes.
A brief kiss, warm and soft.
—Don't let them kill me. You still owe me a vacation.
Then she turned and walked firmly into the darkness.
Ethan let out a sigh, took his hand off the gun handle, and went back into the café with Job.
—What is it?!
—Interesting news —Job's voice carried obvious concern.— I just saw them on screen. Nola is facing a guy named Harlow. More and more people are placing bets; apparently he's very popular with them. He could be dangerous. Aren't you going to help your girlfriend?
—No, she can handle it… but if she can't, blow him up. —Ethan shrugged, keeping his eyes on the street.
—Alright… I'll handle it. —Job sighed, leaning back in his chair in front of the monitor filled with lines of code and satellite maps.
A brief silence.
The woman's image appeared on the screen.
—You know… out of all of them, she's the one I like the most.
Ethan slowly looked up.
—What do you mean, all of them?
—Idiot —Job snorted.— Of course, your lovers. I've got all my chips on her.
—Fuck you.
—Oh, come on —Job grinned.— I know all your little flings. The petite officer in Banshee, the young college student… ah, and let's not forget that blonde detective who works with you. I investigate them all, you know… I saw a photo of the two of you on social media. You make a good couple.
Job glanced at him sideways.
—Nola is different from them. She's wild, honest, and lives by her own rules. —Ethan's voice dropped slightly.— She knows me well, and she still chooses to stay.
Job studied his expression for a few seconds, then turned back to the screen.
—That's exactly why I like her more.
Ethan grabbed his jacket.
—I'm going to get her.
—I knew you'd say that.
—If something goes wrong…
—I'll blow him up —Job finished, now serious.—
In the middle of the forest—
Bang! Bang!
The gunshots didn't slow him down; on the contrary, they made him move faster.
The forest was poorly lit. Only faint moonlight filtered through the branches.
Nola advanced cautiously, making sure every step was as silent as possible. She was in her element. A skilled tracker, her years in the tribe had given her a sixth sense in the woods.
The silence was absolute. Not even insects were chirping.
Avoiding dry leaves, Nola pressed herself against the trunk of a thick oak that completely concealed her figure. With her index finger on the trigger, she quickly peeked out.
That fleeting glance revealed a clue.
Less than ten meters away, behind a thick tree, there was a faint shoe print.
Given Harlow's height and build, certain things were inevitable. Nola immediately pivoted and aimed. A lateral movement, a flash of clothing in her peripheral vision.
Two shots.
—Pfft! Pfft!
Bark exploded as the bullets embedded themselves into the trunk.
Behind it hung only a light coat.
No one was there.
—Shit!
Nola's internal alarms blared.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She spun sharply.
—Bang!
A rush of wind came from behind. A leg struck her wrist.
The gun flew from her hand, landing several meters away among the dry leaves. Before she could react, a brutal punch slammed into her abdomen.
The pain was so intense it felt as if her body had split in two.
Nola staggered backward and dropped to her knees.
For several seconds, she couldn't breathe.
—You shouldn't have come alone, girl.
The anger-laced voice echoed through the darkness.
Harlow's massive body blocked the moonlight, wrapping Nola in shadow.
He holstered a silver M500 revolver at his belt and drew a massive machete.
—Whoosh!
The blade came free violently.
Moonlight reflected across Nola's face.
—I'll cut you into pieces, girl. Nothing personal. I just need to kill you to get to the host —Harlow growled.— No forgiveness. No mercy.
—Clang!
Nola caught her breath and drew her twin eagle-claw knives from her waist.
She rolled forward, swinging her arms. The sharp tips carved two arcs toward Harlow's calf.
But he stepped back with speed disproportionate to his size.
The machete came down instantly.
Nola saw the cold flash and rolled aside.
—Thud!
The blade sank deep into the ground.
The attacks came like lightning. One mistake would mean broken bones or severed limbs.
—Crack!
Nola blocked the most dangerous strike with one of her knives, but a lock of black hair fell to the ground.
Her blades were knocked from her hands, embedding into the trunk of a nearby tree, vibrating with a metallic hum.
The machete descended straight toward her face.
The blade reflected in her pupils.
It was just a gesture—quick, almost imperceptible. The man didn't notice. He kept advancing, confident, weapon low, eyes fixed on her.
At the last second, Nola arched her body backward in a clean, almost acrobatic motion, like a reversed cartwheel. Her hands touched the ground for only an instant as her torso slipped out of the blade's path.
The machete sliced through the air where her neck had been, whistling violently. The attacker, surprised by the emptiness, lost his balance for a fraction of a second.
That was all she needed.
Using the momentum of the arc, Nola kicked upward and spun as she rose. The sole struck with brutal precision. A sharp mechanism answered instantly: from her boot emerged a thin, razor-sharp blade.
Click.
The steel cut through the air in a straight line and embedded itself in the man's throat, stopping him cold.
He dropped the machete. His hands went to his neck. He staggered back a step… and fell to his knees, unable to comprehend when the prey had become the executioner.
It was over before his body hit the ground.
Ethan wasted no time. He advanced immediately, securing the perimeter, weapon raised.
Nola was already moving again. She retrieved the blade with a clean, almost elegant pull as the body finished collapsing.
—Are you okay?
—Yeah… thanks for trusting me. I haven't felt this alive in months. —she replied without looking at him, walking toward the corpse.
She crouched beside the body and searched it quickly. From inside the jacket, she pulled out a silver revolver that gleamed in the dim light.
—Here. I know you like keeping trophies… this one's from me.
Ethan looked at the weapon with open fascination. He took it, weighed it in his hand, and checked the chamber: two bullets intact.
A barely perceptible smile crossed his face before disappearing.
He tucked the revolver into the small of his back.
—One less —he murmured.
The night closed in around them again, dense and silent, as if nothing had happened.
On the giant screen, only two points of light remained.
No images.
No sound.
The bettors began to grow restless.
Soon after, the dots split.
One to the left.
Two to the right.
The cameras picked up two bloodied figures, visibly wounded.
No explanation was needed.
—Next time install more cameras.
—It's a shame we missed that fight.
—Host, what the hell happened?!
—We came to see blood!
The bettors pounded the tables in frustration.
Slade wiped sweat from his forehead and took the microphone.
—Ladies and gentlemen, our apologies.
—We will make the necessary adjustments.
—The next fight will be even more exciting.
After calming the crowd, he pressed his earpiece.
—Bring me Harlow.
—Next time I want full footage.
—He owes me that.
Ethan and Nola disappeared into the alley and only slowed once they were far away.
They contacted Job and synchronized the last participant's signal.
Both he and Nola removed their trackers. Job would send false signals while they moved, as if they were still following each other.
After a quick change of appearance, the two of them and Job headed separately toward the agreed points.
At the bottom of a bathroom trash can, two tracking devices emitted a faint glow.
Near the small church where the battle had taken place earlier that day, on a secluded street, a woman in a hoodie walked slowly toward the meeting point.
She approached a black Ford F-150 and stopped.
No one was around.
She pulled a small tool from her clothing.
—Beep, beep.
After pressing it several times, the truck responded immediately.
A second later, the engine began to hum softly.
The person in the driver's seat was Nola.
As planned, she had reached the meeting point first, stolen the vehicle, and waited for the others.
She started the engine and tapped the steering wheel impatiently as she scanned her surroundings.
We need to move fast.
Soon after, Job arrived, having changed clothes. He took the passenger seat.
Finally, Ethan appeared.
He carried a long rectangular package strapped to his back.
He approached the truck, opened the door, lowered the brim of his cap, set the bundle on the ground, crouched briefly, and climbed inside.
—Let's go.
Job pointed out a direction to Nola and then lowered both sun visors to prevent possible exposure.
As the truck began to move—
—Job, what's the situation now? —Ethan said in a dry voice—
Job lifted the laptop from his lap.
He had been monitoring the situation from across the street even before getting into the vehicle.
The images shifted on the screen. Every move the organizers made was under his watch.
That damn snake had even had the nerve to tell him he owed him a favor.
—I counted approximately… more than thirty armed guards inside and outside the house —Job said, closing the laptop.— Most of them are carrying long guns.
He only carried electronic devices. No weapons.
Nola held the steering wheel with one hand and pulled a pistol from her body with the other.
Soon after, she placed three pistols and several spare magazines in the center cup holder.
There was no need to bring blades.
Besides, others wouldn't know how to use them.
Each participant had chosen a different type of weapon.
Each assassin had their own style, and their gear was designed to enhance their abilities.
Of course, with certain limitations.
—Don't tell me you only brought a pistol? —Job looked at Ethan.— I'm not going to die with you idiots.
Ethan opened the duffel bag and calmly pulled out an AR-15.
—How about this?
—Now you're speaking my language, sweetheart.
Job hadn't expected him to find an automatic rifle. Of course, it didn't belong to any of the participants—he had taken it from his dimensional space. He would never be caught off guard again.
He placed the laptop at his feet, took the rifle and two magazines, inspecting them carefully.
Car lights flickered in the distance, dimly illuminating the dark barrel.
The weapon was new. Impeccable.
Ethan pulled out two Uzis and weighed them in his hands.
—Oh, look at those beauties! —Nola said quickly, glancing in the rearview mirror.— They're perfect for me.
Ethan then took out a Benelli M4 Super 90, his favorite, the one used by John Wick in the catacombs in the second movie. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure if John or the High Table existed in this world. Next time he went to New York, he would look for the Continental.
Before he could say anything else, Ethan began loading a series of shells, placing additional ones in reserve slots.
When Ethan pulled out six grenades, Job couldn't hold back anymore.
—Come on… tell me the truth. Where the hell did you get all that, bastard?
Not just him.
Nola's look was pure intrigue.
—I never leave home without them. You never know. —Ethan replied as he pulled another AR-15 from the trunk and dropped several magazines beside it.— And I wasn't wrong.
He adjusted the rifle strap naturally, as if preparing camping gear rather than a small arsenal.
—Do you usually carry all that on vacation? —Nola asked, weighing the Uzi in her hands. The compact weight made her frown—
Ethan checked the chamber with a quick, sharp motion.
—You never know when you'll need some extra entertainment in the snow.
Job let out an incredulous laugh.
—Remind me not to accept your ski invitations.
—That's what you say now —he replied, slamming the magazine in firmly.— Wait until you see the view.
Job knew very well that Ethan had gotten involved by accident. In other words… those weapons were things he already carried in his dimensional space. As long as no one saw him pull them from there, he could make up any excuse.
Ethan calmly racked the bolt.
—Last time I went on a trip, I got attacked by a group of cannibal hillbillies. I'm not getting caught off guard again. I almost died.
Remembering what he had lived through in California, Job said nothing more.
Ethan bumped his fist with him and both smiled.
Nola shook her head but said nothing.
The metallic sounds continued inside the vehicle as they made their final preparations.
They were veterans.
Under Nola's steady control, the wheels spun hard.
The Ford F-150 left town quickly and disappeared into the darkness.
Later, on a dirt road, watching the mansion's lights at the end of the path in the distance, Nola turned the wheel and pressed the brake gently.
When the vehicle came to a complete stop, Ethan pulled out the soft rubber masks he had prepared, along with the tactical gloves he kept stored, and handed them out.
Compared to the weapons they had just received, those small items gave them an unexpected sense of reassurance.
—I'm set on my end.
Job looked at the computer screen and drummed his fingers.
—Right now, all the mansion's surveillance cameras are looping a video I captured earlier —Job explained without taking his eyes off the laptop.— To anyone watching, everything looks calm.
On the monitor, the hallways appeared empty, and outside only the same guards could be seen.
—But this will only cover their tracks for a while —he added, typing quickly.— The system has too many flaws. It wasn't designed for a proper internal breach.
Ethan crossed his arms, studying the digital map of the mansion.
—How much time do we have?
—Depends on how incompetent they are —Job replied with a half-smile.— The moment someone grabs a walkie-talkie and reports their position, the monitoring staff will know something's wrong. And when they compare the real audio with the looped video…
He clicked his tongue.
—The magic's over.
Nola looked toward the dark corridor stretching ahead of them.
—Then we need to be fast.
Ethan loaded his weapon with a sharp click.
—Alright. Let's finish them.
He pulled on the silicone mask; his voice came out muffled behind it.
—That's more than enough time.
According to the original plan, Job would continue in his usual role. He would stay in the car, providing intelligence support.
—Be careful. I don't want to have to go in and rescue your asses. —Job said, handing each of them their communication devices.