The warehouse district was a labyrinth of abandoned buildings and forgotten industry. Building seven loomed at the far end, separated from its neighbors by a stretch of empty concrete that offered no cover. A perfect killing field if someone was watching from above.
Larry killed the engine a block away.
"We approach separately from here. Radio silence unless absolutely necessary. Sync watches—it's 11:42. We enter at midnight exactly."
Junes checked his watch, his heart pounding in his chest. Eighteen minutes to go.
"Remember," Raxa said, her voice steady, "Jack is a performer. He wants an audience. He'll try to separate us, to create his stage. Don't let him dictate the terms."
They exited the van and split up, each taking a different route toward the warehouse. Junes moved through the shadows, each step deliberate, every sense heightened. The weight of the gun against his ribs was reassuring, but the garrote wire in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric.
As he approached his entry point—a loading dock door on the east side—Junes checked his watch. 11:57. Three minutes.
He pressed his back against the wall, controlling his breathing. In the distance, he could make out a faint light flickering through the grimy windows of the warehouse's upper floor.
Someone was home.
The seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness. Junes used the time to center himself, to push away the fear and doubt. He wasn't just a sniper anymore. Today's training had shown him that.
He could adapt.
Soon his watch vibrated.
Midnight.
Junes slipped through the door, entering the darkness of Warehouse 7, where Jack the Sipper waited to turn their confrontation into his next masterpiece of horror.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click that seemed to echo in the vast emptiness.
Junes paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The air was thick with the smell of rust and something else—something metallic and familiar that made his stomach turn.
Blood.
This was it.
There was no turning back now.
The eerie silence stretched across the warehouse, broken only by the pungent scent of blood thick in the air. Junes took a southpaw stance, shielding his vitals, his breathing steady but sharp. His senses screamed at him, and before he could react, three knives shot toward him with terrifying speed.
Instinct kicked in.
Before the blades could find their mark, a strong grip yanked him away from the strike zone. Junes stumbled back, his eyes locking onto the figure that had saved him—Larry. He exhaled a breath of relief.
"Thanks, big bro."
But Larry—if he even was Larry—threw his head back and laughed. The sound wasn't one of reassurance, but something far more sinister. It echoed through the warehouse like a distorted hymn of madness.
Junes stiffened, his gut twisting. "Why are you laughing like that?"
Larry tilted his head, and in a tone dripping with amusement, he asked, "You still don't get it, do you?"
A cold chill crawled up Junes' spine. "Get what!?"
Then, with slow deliberation, the imposter reached up and peeled the mask away. The face beneath it was unfamiliar, a twisted smirk stretching across his pale skin. Junes' gaze snapped to the real Larry—lying on the ground, unconscious, his arms pierced by the very knives meant for him. Blood seeped from his wounds, pooling beneath him.
Panic surged through Junes' veins. "Where's Raxa?"
Jack the Sipper—his true identity now revealed—clicked his tongue. "Might be somewhere nearby. But who cares? You're dead."
Junes gritted his teeth and pushed against Jack with all his strength. His arms strained as he twisted, using the momentum to launch a kick toward Jack's groin. "Raxa! He's here with me!"
Jack blocked the kick with unnatural ease, his grip tightening around Junes' arm. And then, with a single leap, he shot upward, dragging Junes along with him. The air shifted violently as they moved. Junes struggled, his free hand clawing at Jack's iron grip.
"Let go, you freak!"
Meanwhile, Raxa had heard the shout. He stormed into the space but found only empty air. His sharp gaze darted around until it landed on Larry's motionless form. Kneeling beside him, Raxa shook his friend with urgency. "Wake up!"
Larry's eyelids fluttered. Then, with a sudden jolt, he gasped. "No!"
Raxa pressed him down. "Calm down. Junes was just here. I'll find him."
There was only one exit. If Jack had taken Junes, he was still somewhere close.
Drawing a deep breath, Raxa activated his magic. In an instant, the warehouse flooded with brilliant light, casting away every lurking shadow. The space shifted from oppressive darkness to an unsettling clarity, revealing everything—Including Jack the Sipper.
The sight of him sent a ripple of unease through Raxa. The man was a living nightmare. Cloaked in shadows, his long silver hair spilled from beneath a hat that crackled with eerie red energy. His wide grin revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth, each one gleaming in the light. But it was his eyes—twin slits of crimson that burned like dying embers—that sent an involuntary shiver down Raxa's spine.
Jack tilted his head, amusement curling his lips. "Tally ho."
His voice slithered through the silence, each syllable laced with madness.
Raxa didn't hesitate. "Come closer, you maniac."
Jack moved, his body gliding as if the very air bent to his will. With every step, reality seemed to warp. The air thickened, charged with the stench of old blood and something far older, far worse. It was as if Jack wasn't just a man but something else entirely—a walking omen of destruction.
Then, without warning, he was inches away. His grin widened. "You can't kill me," he whispered, voice dripping with certainty. "I've got bigger hands covering me."
Raxa smirked. "Big or small, all hands are beneath me."
Jack's eyes gleamed. "I love your attitude. But your friend Zilant over there knows what I'm talking about."
Raxa tensed and turned, his sharp gaze locking onto a new presence. Zilant.
Before Raxa could demand answers, Larry spoke up. His voice was strained but resolute. "I told him to come. Only an assassin can kill another assassin."
Jack chuckled. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out four blood bags and began drinking them greedily. The sight turned Raxa's stomach. The others flinched, watching in disgust as Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then, without warning, he seized Junes and bound him to a pillar with thick rope before turning toward Zilant.
Zilant didn't hesitate. He charged, his movements honed by years of lethal precision.
The clash that followed was brutal. Jack was stronger—undeniably so. But Zilant held his ground, dodging blows that would have shattered lesser men. Uppercuts, calf kicks, wild swings—each one narrowly avoided, countered by swift, efficient strikes of his own.
Raxa, meanwhile, knelt beside Larry, pulling the knives from his arms. Blood trickled from the wounds. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon."
But then—Zilant was sent flying. He slammed into the wall, a trail of crimson marking his path.
Jack sneered. "What are you gonna do now? You're nobodies. Your boss is finished. You lot will die today."
Junes, despite his restraints, smiled. "That's what I thought. But it's not the truth. He's the real boss." He tilted his head toward Raxa.
Jack snorted. "Him? He seems weak as hell."
Raxa cracked his knuckles. "Come at me, then."
Jack grinned, raising another blood bag to his lips. But the second he drank, his body twisted in agony. He collapsed to the floor, writhing, eyes wide in confusion.
"What… what did you do to me!?"
Raxa crossed his arms. "Oh, you can tell! As I thought. Your power is blood enhancement. It's below mine."
Jack gasped, clutching his stomach. "You… you didn't do anything. So why am I—"
Raxa smirked. "As I said, your power is blood enhancement. On the other hand, mine is Antitheusar: Creation power. All I did was imagine you drinking my blood. And once you drank the blood from the blood bags, the pain I envisioned embedded itself in the blood that you unwittingly drank. And the rest followed."
Jack coughed, his breath ragged. "Smart guy… but you still can't kill me."
Raxa scoffed. "Why? Your mom said that?"
Before Jack could retort, Zilant spoke. His voice was tight. "He's right. If you kill him, Infernum will come. The biggest gang in Earth's history."
Raxa's eyes gleamed with interest. "Then let's kill him to taste the power of Infernum."
But before he could land the final blow—
Zilant struck first.
A single, swift motion. The knife sank deep into Jack's heart. His body tensed, then fell slack while a smile was covering his face.
Raxa narrowed his eyes. "You stole my kill."
Zilant exhaled, his voice a whisper before he collapsed. "You'll understand later."
And then—silence.