The phone rang at 11:12 p.m.
Pocho didn't look at the screen.
He already knew.
"Yes."
"You're at the dismantling site," the killer said calmly.
"Yes."
"Not inside yet."
"No."
"You brought them."
Silence.
"Two units north gate. One west road. Sniper on the water tower."
Pocho didn't turn around.
He didn't react.
"You think I don't see patterns?" the killer continued. "You're not subtle."
"What do you want?" Pocho asked.
"Send them away."
"No."
A short pause.
"Then one of them dies first."
Pocho didn't speak.
"You don't get to watch unless you follow instructions," the killer added.
"How do I know they're alive?" Pocho asked.
"You don't."
Silence.
"Five minutes," the killer said. "Clear it."
Click.
---
Morrison stood beside Pocho.
"You heard that?" Morrison asked.
"Yes."
"He's bluffing."
"Maybe."
"You're not clearing the perimeter."
Pocho stared at the dismantling yard.
Massive metal structures. Crushers. Rail tracks. Dark machinery.
"He knows placement," Pocho said.
"Doesn't mean he sees everything."
"He anticipated it."
Morrison exhaled.
"You don't go in alone."
Pocho didn't answer immediately.
He turned to Harris.
"Walk with me," he said quietly.
They stepped aside.
"What are you doing?" Harris asked.
"He wants me visible."
"Yes."
"So I'll be visible."
"That's not a plan."
Pocho looked at him.
"You're staying."
Harris blinked.
"What?"
"You're the only one."
"What does that mean?"
"Everyone else pulls back out of sight."
"And I stay?"
"Out of visual range. Radio silent. If I say a specific word, you move."
"That's insane."
"No," Pocho said calmly. "It's controlled."
Harris stared at him.
"You trust me that much?"
"Yes."
"And if he spots me?"
"Then we adjust."
"That's not comforting."
"It's enough."
Harris hesitated.
"You're not doing this because you want to be alone, right?"
Pocho held his gaze.
"No."
That was true.
He wasn't chasing drama anymore.
He was calculating exposure.
---
Morrison didn't like it.
But he allowed partial withdrawal.
Units pulled back past visual range.
Lights off.
Engines killed.
Only Harris remained, positioned behind heavy machinery with a clear line of sight to the main structure.
Radio earpiece in.
Muted.
Pocho removed his jacket.
Left it on the hood of his car.
Visible.
He walked toward the dismantling yard alone.
Phone in pocket.
Gun holstered.
Hands empty.
The gravel crunched under his boots.
He didn't rush.
He didn't slow.
Just steady steps.
His phone buzzed again.
"Yes."
"Better," the killer said.
"You watching?" Pocho asked.
"Yes."
"Where are they?"
"You'll see."
"Alive?"
"For now."
Pocho stepped inside the main structure.
Large metal beams overhead. Shadows. Hanging chains. Industrial smell.
He stopped in the center.
"I'm here," he said.
Silence.
Then a faint metallic sound somewhere deeper inside.
Dragging.
He didn't move.
"You brought one," the killer said softly through the phone.
Pocho's eyes didn't shift.
"Yes."
"You're learning."
"I adapt."
A small pause.
"That's disappointing," the killer replied.
Pocho didn't respond.
"Walk forward," the killer instructed.
He did.
Ten steps.
Fifteen.
Then he saw them.
Two men tied to vertical metal frames.
Alive.
Bruised.
One unconscious.
One barely holding his head up.
No crushers active.
No machinery running.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
"I told you," the killer said quietly. "Final stop."
Pocho stood still.
"Release them," he said.
"No."
"What do you want?"
Silence.
Then:
"I want to see what you've become."
The voice didn't come from the phone this time.
It came from the darkness to his left.
And for the first time, Pocho turned.
The killer stepped into partial light.
Tall. Broad. Calm.
Not frantic.
Not smiling.
Just watching.
And Pocho didn't explode.
He didn't shout.
He didn't rush.
He just looked at him.
Because this wasn't about reaction anymore.
It was about ending.