Driven by fear, Ethan Bishop drove to his safe house, located on the outskirts of Pantheon Valley.
"Sir, who was your assailant?" Ethan Bishop's right-hand man in charge of the safe house asked.
"I have no idea," Ethan replied.
"It's probably a hitman or a mercenary. Do you know who would want to take you out so badly they'd hire one?"
"Which of them wouldn't? I've made so many enemies, I've lost track of the count. But I do know this: whoever or whatever that was, he's not done. He just gave us a head start, and that, my friend, was a big mistake."
Ethan Bishop's safe house was a three-story building armed with at least twenty guards at all times. Each of the rooms and floors could only be accessed by specific people, depending on their security clearance level. Ethan Bishop's safe room was an underground bunker accessible only via an elevator from the highest room in the building.
As Ethan looked around his safe house, his mind flashed through the sequence of the earlier occurrence, and his body ran cold with terror.
"Double the security," he ordered.
"Right away, sir."
"Hold on, make the guard fifty," he added.
"Sir, fifty men for a single assailant?" His right-hand man was curious.
The face of his assailant flashed through Ethan Bishop's mind—the cold, soulless stare that spoke of a thousand murders. Ethan Bishop could feel the air grow thin just at the thought of his presence.
"Make it a hundred! But no guns. I want to finish that bastard myself," he commanded.
…
An hour and a half had passed, and his assailant was still not in sight. One and a half hours was more than enough time for Ethan Bishop to prepare. Some of the guards were starting to think the attack was a ghost story or an empty threat, but not Ethan Bishop. He ordered them to stay vigilant.
Another thirty minutes later, and his resolve was starting to falter. Suddenly, a radio call came in.
"Sir, we have spotted someone suspicious by the safe house garage."
"What are you waiting for? TAKE HIM DOWN!"
"We already tried, sir."
"AND!?"
"He took fifteen of our men down in an instant."
"No," Ethan Bishop staggered backward in fear until he jerked and fell to the ground.
…
At the garage, surrounded by fifteen knocked-out guards, he stood. This mystery fellow under the mask was none other than ALEXANDER CHASE.
He walked to the car he had attacked on the highway and pulled out his stick. Alexander looked to the top of the safe house, almost as if he could see Ethan Bishop staring back at him from the top.
"HE MUST PAY," Alexander echoed to himself.
He broke into the first floor through a window.
Alexander moved with the precision and speed of a well-trained assassin. He immediately encountered a group of guards, about twenty of them. Using a fire extinguisher he had sighted, he sprayed them, causing confusion and blinding their vision. In the next moment, he used the metal body of the extinguisher as a weapon, swinging it with force and knocking out two guards.
Another guard lunged at him, but Alexander was quick. He dodged and grabbed a metal rod lying nearby, using it to block the guard's attacks. With a swift movement, he disarmed the guard and took him down with a series of well-placed hits.
More guards poured in, but Alexander was ready. He fought them off with a mix of hand-to-hand combat and his escrima sticks. A broom handle became a staff in his hands, whirling and striking with precision. He was outnumbered, but he moved with such fluidity and skill that it seemed effortless.
Alexander drew his escrima sticks and twirled them with expert skill. He used them to block and strike, taking down two guards with sharp, precise blows. He disarmed a guard wielding a metal pipe and used his escrima sticks to subdue him.
A particularly large guard came at him with a knife. Alexander dodged the blade, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it, forcing him to drop the weapon. A sharp elbow to the face and a knee to the stomach took the guard down.
Alexander continued his advance through the first floor. He faced a group of five guards. They attacked simultaneously, but Alexander used their numbers against them. He maneuvered so that they got in each other's way, taking them out one by one with devastating efficiency. His escrima sticks became extensions of his arms, blocking and striking with deadly precision.
In the hallway, another guard charged at him with a baton. Alexander grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it, and used the momentum to flip him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.
Finally, Alexander reached the last wave of guards on the first floor. He fought like a man possessed, every move calculated, every strike precise. He disarmed a guard wielding a metal pipe and used it to take down two more. A swift kick sent another guard crashing through a door.
The last guard standing hesitated, fear evident in his eyes. Alexander advanced on him, his expression cold and determined. With a single, powerful punch, he knocked the guard out.
Breathing heavily but composed, Alexander stood infront of an elevator. He looked up at the CCTV camera, knowing Ethan was watching. At that moment, Ethan's phone buzzed with a text message.
….