Ochieng stood on the rooftop, the sniper rifle still warm in his hands.
The city stretched beneath him, an ocean of lights and secrets.
But tonight, none of it mattered.
Someone had just declared war on him.
And he would respond.
Not with words.
With action.
He reloaded the rifle and aimed at the distant skyscraper—the heart of his enemy's operations.
Through the scope, he saw men in suits, moving like shadows inside the building.
They thought they were untouchable.
They thought they could control everything from behind the scenes.
They were wrong.
Ochieng pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The glass window of the 25th floor shattered.
Panic erupted inside.
Another shot.
A body dropped.
Ochieng wasn't here to kill everyone.
Just to send a message.
I see you.
And I'm coming.
---
The next morning, the entire underworld was talking.
A sniper attack on The Black Tower?
Unheard of.
The building belonged to the Wanjala Group—a powerful family that controlled half the city's underground economy.
No one had ever dared touch them.
Until now.
The eldest son, Nathan Wanjala, slammed his fist on the table.
"Who did this?!"
His men exchanged nervous glances.
"Sir… it was Ochieng."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Nathan leaned back, swirling his whiskey.
"Ochieng, huh? The so-called ghost?"
The room was filled with powerful men, all waiting for Nathan's command.
"Then let's exorcise the ghost."
He snapped his fingers.
A man stepped forward.
Scarred. Muscular. Eyes as cold as death.
Gabriel 'The Butcher.'
Nathan smirked.
"Find him. Kill him. Slowly."
---
Ochieng already knew they would come.
That was the plan.
He wanted them to.
He had chosen the perfect battleground—a deserted warehouse near the docks.
The place reeked of rust and old memories.
It used to be a hub for illegal shipments.
Now, it would be a graveyard.
Ochieng waited in the shadows, counting footsteps.
Five men entered. Armed. Alert.
But not alert enough.
In a blur of movement, Ochieng struck.
The first man didn't even see the blade before it slit his throat.
The second turned—only to meet a bullet between his eyes.
By the time the third reacted, Ochieng had already snapped his neck.
The fourth tried to run.
Ochieng's knife found his spine.
Only one remained.
The Butcher.
A slow, knowing clap echoed through the warehouse.
"Not bad," Gabriel said, stepping into the dim light. "But you should've brought an army."
Ochieng cracked his knuckles.
"I don't need one."
The fight was about to begin.
---