The sound of footsteps and the urgent shuffle of boots against the warehouse floor snapped Kaelan's attention back. He turned just in time to see three gangsters storm into the room, guns raised, their faces twisted in shock and rage as they took in the bloody scene of their boss lying lifeless at Kaelan's feet.
One of them shouted, "Kill him!" and then the room exploded with gunfire.
Kaelan's body reacted instinctively. Years of grueling combat drills, situational awareness, and reflex conditioning flared to life as he threw himself sideways, rolling behind a stack of metal crates just as bullets tore through the air where he had been standing. The crates rattled and sparked as bullets punched through the metal, sending fragments and ricochets everywhere. Kaelan winced as one grazed his arm, leaving a sharp, stinging trail of blood. He clenched his jaw, breathing through the pain. There was no time to dwell on it.
He peeked out from behind the crates, assessing his options. The three gangsters were advancing, fanning out to cut off any escape. The only exit was through them.
In a fluid, practiced motion, Kaelan rose and snatched up a nearby metal pipe, gripping it like an extension of his own arm. The gangsters were still moving, their fingers tight on the triggers as they prepared to unleash another deadly spray. But Kaelan didn't wait. He exploded from behind the cover, launching himself at the nearest thug in a low, serpentine dash that threw off their aim.
As he closed the distance, Kaelan swung the pipe in a swift, brutal arc, aiming for the gangster's weapon. The pipe connected with a metallic clang, knocking the gun from the thug's hand and sending it skidding across the floor. Before the gangster could react, Kaelan pivoted on his heel and drove his elbow into the man's throat with enough force to crush his windpipe. The man crumpled, choking and gasping as he fell.
But the other two weren't idle. They raised their guns, the barrels flaring as they opened fire again. Kaelan twisted his body, using the fallen thug as a temporary shield, feeling the man's body jolt as bullets tore into him. It bought Kaelan just enough time. He dropped low and spun, sweeping the legs out from one of the remaining gangsters, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Kaelan's body moved with deadly precision, a symphony of violence and training. He flipped the pipe in his hand and brought it down on the second thug's head with a sickening crunch, caving in his skull as blood splattered across Kaelan's face. The third gangster fired in panic, a wild shot that clipped Kaelan's side, searing through his flesh and sending a sharp, hot pain radiating through his torso. He gritted his teeth, staggering but refusing to fall. The pain was real, grounding him, igniting his fury rather than weakening him.
With a guttural snarl, Kaelan lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the barrel of the last thug's gun. He wrenched it upward, bending the thug's wrist painfully in the process. The man screamed as Kaelan disarmed him, twisting his arm until the gun clattered uselessly to the floor. Without hesitation, Kaelan spun and delivered a savage knee to the thug's stomach, doubling him over, before bringing the pipe down in a swift strike to the back of his head.
The final thug dropped, unconscious or worse, his body twitching as he slumped against the floor. Kaelan straightened, breathing heavily, his body alive with adrenaline and throbbing pain from the fresh bullet wound. He glanced down at the carnage around him, the bodies sprawled across the warehouse floor, and allowed himself a brief moment of grim satisfaction.
But there was no time to rest. Blood was seeping through his shirt from the wound in his side, and the gunfire would no doubt have attracted more of the gang's attention. He needed to finish this quickly.
With a determined grimace, Kaelan made his way to the safe, limping slightly as he braced himself, ignoring the agony tearing through his side.
Kaelen pushed past the throbbing pain in his side, his vision narrowing in on the safe in front of him. Blood from his wound trickled down, staining his shirt a deeper crimson, but he couldn't let himself focus on that. Not now. He gripped the crowbar tightly, wedging it into the small gap around the safe's door, gritting his teeth as he applied pressure. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain lancing through his side, but he didn't have time to worry about that. Not when he was this close.
As he pried the door open bit by bit, the adrenaline started to wear off, and with it, memories flooded back, unbidden and unwelcome.
***
He was fifteen, standing in the rain-soaked courtyard of the facility. A young girl, barely older than him, stood opposite, her eyes wide with terror as she clutched her stomach where blood pooled from a deep gash. She was a trainee, just like him, but tonight, she was his target. Orders were orders, the trainers had told him, and in their world, mercy was weakness.
"Do it, Kaelen," barked one of the facility's overseers, his voice a cold and sharp edge in the dark. "She's failed the test. Show us what you're made of."
Kaelen remembered how his hands had trembled as he raised the knife, his own eyes mirrored in hers – the eyes of a child, terrified and lost. But hesitation was met with punishment, and he had learned early on that disobedience came with consequences. He did what they wanted. He always did.
As the life faded from her eyes, he felt the overseer's approving hand on his shoulder. "Good. You're learning," the man had said, his voice oozing with satisfaction. But all Kaelen felt was a hollow pit in his chest, a pit that only seemed to grow deeper with each mission, each kill.
***
A loud clang brought him back to the present, and Kaelen realized the safe door was finally open. He leaned forward, breathing heavily as he peered inside. Stacks of cash were piled neatly, along with a few scattered Cosmic Krystals glinting faintly in the dim light. Jackpot. He reached in, stuffing the cash and the Krystals into his bag. Each Krystal was invaluable, capable of fetching a small fortune on the black market, but he knew their real worth went far beyond money.
A sudden noise behind him snapped him back to full alertness. He froze, hand instinctively reaching for the pipe he had discarded by his feet. His muscles tensed as he turned, expecting another gang member or even a squad sent to handle him.
But no, this was something else.
A flash of a sinister smile greeted him, and a low, rumbling chuckle filled the room. It was the voice – his voice, or rather, the voice of his deepest, darkest desires.
"Well done, Kaelen," the voice purred, filling his head with twisted satisfaction. "Look at the mess you've made. Feels good, doesn't it?"
Kaelen clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath. "I did what was necessary."
"Oh, of course. Always so noble, so efficient," the voice taunted, dripping with mockery. "And yet… I know how much you enjoy it, how much you relish each kill, each victory. Just like they taught you."
"Shut up," he whispered harshly, forcing himself to ignore the laughter echoing in his mind. He didn't need this now, not with the gang on high alert.
But the voice continued, relentless. "Your mother would be proud, wouldn't she? A perfect little weapon, forged in blood and obedience. But remember… she left you more than just her blood, Kaelen. She left you with purpose."
Kaelen's grip tightened on the bag of loot, his knuckles white as he resisted the urge to scream. His mother – a woman he barely remembered, yet who haunted his every thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching him from somewhere, waiting, judging.
Another memory surged forward, as though in response to the voice's taunt.
***
He was seventeen, standing in the facility's sterile, white-walled training room. A group of trainees had been lined up for a test, and one by one, they were failing. Kaelen watched as the overseer approached a young boy, his hand resting casually on the handle of a flamethrower.
The overseer looked at Kaelen, his eyes cold and calculating. "Observe closely, Kaelen. This is what happens to failures."
And then, with a flick of the trigger, flames erupted, engulfing the boy. Kaelen stood there, forced to watch, his body rigid as the overseer's gaze bore into him, making sure he absorbed every second of it. The screams echoed long after the flames died, searing themselves into Kaelen's memory.
***
The sound of footsteps jolted him back again. This time, Kaelen's senses were on high alert. He knew he didn't have much time. With a final glance at the empty safe, he tightened his grip on the bag, slinging it over his shoulder and clutching the pipe once more.
It was time to get out.