The RV was quiet as Zughaib methodically went about his chores, clearing away the waste and cleaning up the interior. The routine tasks were a rare moment of peace in the otherwise chaotic swirl of his life. It was strange, he thought, how something as mundane as tidying up could feel like a luxury. He moved through the small space, wiping down surfaces, emptying trash, and organizing the few possessions he still carried with him. The steady hum of the outside world barely registered—he was too absorbed in his thoughts, trying to piece together the events that had led him here.
As he was finishing up, the familiar buzz of his PDA snapped him out of his trance. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Zaid.
"Come back to the suite. We need to talk."
Zughaib stared at the message for a moment, his expression unreadable. His brother's world seemed so far away from his own now. The idea of returning to the suite, to the life Zaid had built for himself, felt strange, like slipping back into a life that no longer fit. But despite everything, Zaid was still family, and that meant something.
He pocketed the PDA and grabbed his keys, getting the RV ready for the drive back into the heart of the city. As he reversed out of his spot, something caught his eye in the side mirror—a shadowy figure, barely visible, moving along the edge of his vision. Zughaib's hand froze on the gearshift, his eyes narrowing as he glanced again at the mirror.
Nothing.
He shook his head, dismissing the figure as just a trick of the light. He was getting paranoid. There were too many shadows in his life already—no sense in chasing ones that weren't even there. With a sigh, he shifted the RV into drive and pulled onto the road, heading back toward the city.
---
The drive to the suite was uneventful, though the city seemed to press in on him more than usual. The bright lights and towering buildings felt stifling, like they were closing in from all sides. When he finally reached the suite, he parked the RV in the side lot, away from the main entrance. The doorman, a familiar figure by now, greeted him with a nod but didn't make eye contact. It was as if the staff here knew not to get too close, not to ask questions.
Zughaib shrugged it off and made his way inside. As he stepped into the penthouse, the air was thick with the smell of wine and something floral, the scent lingering in the soft evening light filtering through the windows.
Leandra was the only one there, standing by the large window, her silhouette framed against the city skyline. She wore a red silk robe, the material flowing loosely around her as she sipped a glass of wine. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were savoring every moment of her solitude. She didn't turn to greet him, but her voice drifted toward him, calm and elegant.
"Zughaib," she said, not bothering to look his way, "I was wondering when you'd show up."
He stepped further into the room, but kept his distance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes flicked over her figure, noting the casual elegance in her posture. There was always an air of control around Leandra, a grace that hid something much more dangerous beneath the surface.
Leandra finally turned to face him, her dark eyes catching the light. "Zaid's left the house," she said, taking another sip of wine. "He's moved out to the Industry sector. He thinks it's safer there plus his workplace is present over there so it would be an ease for him; despite how the industrial sector has its own underworld..."
Zughaib raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Zaid running off to the industrial wastelands made sense. He had always been good at finding safe havens, places where people wouldn't ask questions. But something about this felt different. Why had Zaid called him here if he wasn't even going to be present?
Leandra, sensing his confusion, moved closer, her voice softening as she approached him. "He left me with your contact connected through his; thus your recipient was him." She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I heard you're good at handling things, aren't you?"
Zughaib didn't respond. He watched her carefully, his instincts telling him there was more to this than she was letting on.
---
Meanwhile, across town in Asiatown, the air inside the community hospital was thick with antiseptic and the faint hum of medical equipment. In one of the back rooms, the Chinese bald doorman lay in bed, his body wrapped in casts and bandages, his eyes glazed over with pain and frustration. His army, the group of thugs who had once followed him loyally, sat nearby, most of them similarly incapacitated.
The nurse attending to them stepped in, her demeanor professional and calm. "You have a visitor," she said, her voice even.
The doorman, barely able to move in his state, grunted in annoyance. "Who the hell is it?"
She didn't answer, simply stepping aside as the door opened to reveal The Cleaner. The room fell silent, and the already tense atmosphere thickened with dread. The Cleaner's cold, calculating eyes swept over the room, his lips curling into a smirk as he took in the sight of the battered and broken men.
"Well," The Cleaner said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "looks like you boys had a rough day."
The doorman cursed under his breath, his voice hoarse from both pain and anger. "What do you want?"
The Cleaner shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets as he approached the bed. "Just thought I'd drop by, see how you were holding up. You know, after that little… incident." He chuckled darkly, but the sound was devoid of any real humor. "It's not every day you get your ass handled by one single man."
The doorman gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists under the covers. "I want reparations for what happened, you talk to me when I'm out of here. This isn't over."
The Cleaner smiled, that unsettling smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure that won't be the case."
Soon after the Cleaner left,the nurse returned shortly after, but when she walked in, her face drained of all color.
The doorman and his army were dead, their bodies lifeless and twisted with joints bent and cracked, and the monitors beside their beds showed nothing but a flatline.
---
Back at the suite, the atmosphere had shifted. Leandra moved to the kitchen, her robe brushing softly against the floor as she set down her glass. She turned to Zughaib, her expression shifting to something more serious, more focused.
"I have a job for you," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "There's a businessman I need you to follow. Cornel Madriv. He runs Madriv Industries, and let's just say he's got a few secrets I'd like to uncover."
Zughaib remained silent, listening as she continued.
"Cornel's not your average corporate suit. He's connected, and I want to know who he's connected to. Your job is to gather information, follow him, track his movements, see who he's meeting with. And when the time is right..." She paused, her dark eyes locking onto his, "...you're going to kidnap him."
She stepped closer, her eyes flicking down to the pistol holstered at his side. With surprising grace, she slipped the gun from his holster, the movement so fluid that Zughaib didn't even realize she had done it until he saw the weapon in her hand. She turned it over, inspecting it, a faint smile playing at her lips.
"You've used this before," she said, more a statement than a question. "Good. You'll need it."
Zughaib's gaze followed her movements, his eyes narrowing as she examined the pistol with the practiced eye of someone who knew how to handle one.
With a sigh, Leandra walked over to a nearby drawer and pulled out a custom suppressor, fitting it onto the barrel of the pistol with a soft click. "This," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "will make sure you don't attract too much attention when you're... handling things." She placed the gun back in his hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his as she did so.
"Don't hesitate," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "Anyone who sees what they're not supposed to—give them a nice nap."
Zughaib remained unfazed, his expression unreadable as she handed him the weapon. She turned away, gathering a stack of documents from the countertop and placing them in front of him.
"Everything you need is here. Addresses, meeting times, schedules. I expect results."
Before leaving, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, a lipstick mark on Zughaib's skin and the leftover scent of her perfume lingering in the air as she disappeared into her private quarters.
Zughaib stood there, staring at the stack of documents. The weight of the task ahead pressed down on him, but he felt nothing. No fear, no hesitation. He had done worse, and this was just another job.
As the light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the penthouse, Zughaib began to study the documents, his mind already working through whatever steps he would need to take.
The game was changing, but he was ready for it.