The city never truly slept. Underneath its shimmering skyline and neon lit streets, darkness festered in the alleys, in the abandoned factories, and within the dens of criminals who operated beyond the reach of law and order.
One such place was The Dragon's Den.
A fortress of steel and blood, The Dragon's Den was more than just a hideout it was a symbol of dominance, a declaration of power. It stood in the heart of the industrial district, surrounded by old shipping yards, towering warehouses, and streets that the police dared not patrol.
This was the home of Dragon Skin, the crime lord whose very name was spoken in hushed tones.
He controlled the city's underworld with an iron grip drug trafficking, human smuggling, weapons dealing, and an empire of corruption that stretched far beyond what most could comprehend. His fortress was a nightmare made real, a place where only those he allowed to leave ever walked out. The others? Their bodies were left to hang at the gates as a grim warning.
Many had tried to take him down. Elite assassins, rival crime lords, mercenaries, even entire task forces.
None had survived.
Tonight, however, one man was walking straight into the belly of the beast.
Aidan Kade.
---
Aidan stood across the street from the compound, a shadow against the cold city lights. The main gates were reinforced steel, flanked by armed guards dressed in tactical gear, their assault rifles ready to cut down anything that approached without permission. Surveillance cameras swept the perimeter, and snipers lurked on the rooftop, their scopes trained on every possible entry point.
To any normal person, this was a death trap.
To Aidan, it was just another job.
He adjusted the straps of his tactical vest, his movements precise, methodical. His black attire blended into the darkness, his weapons secured in a way that allowed for quick, seamless access. A silenced pistol sat holstered at his side, a combat knife strapped to his thigh, and a compact submachine gun slung across his back. He carried no unnecessary weight, no distractions.
He had studied this fortress for days, learning its patrol routes, security rotations, and weak points. The Den was a fortress, but no fortress was truly impenetrable.
And Aidan had already found his way in.
---
The first kill was silent.
A guard stood near the perimeter fence, smoking a cigarette, unaware of the shadow creeping up behind him. Aidan moved like a ghost, swift and efficient. One hand clamped over the guard's mouth, the other drove his knife into the base of the man's skull.
No struggle. No sound.
He lowered the body gently, retrieving the key card clipped to the man's vest.
The fence's electronic lock blinked red. Aidan swiped the key card. It turned green.
He slipped inside.
--
The interior of The Dragon's Den was a world of its own.
Dimly lit hallways stretched ahead, the scent of gun oil, sweat, and blood lingering in the air. The walls were lined with steel-reinforced plating, adorned with mounted animal skulls and framed photographs of Dragon Skin's past victories dead rivals, executed traitors, and images of himself standing over corpses.
Aidan barely spared them a glance as he moved deeper into the compound.
He stayed in the shadows, avoiding patrols, moving with the precision of a predator.
A lone guard rounded the corner. Before he could react, Aidan struck. A single suppressed shot to the head, and the man crumpled to the ground.
Aidan dragged the body into a side room.
A security monitor displayed live feeds of the entire compound.
Aidan's eyes flicked over the screens. The main hall was heavily guarded. Armed men lingered near stairwells, patrolling with trained precision. The lower levels where Dragon Skin likely resided were even more fortified.
A direct assault was suicide.
He needed to go lower, fast.
---
Aidan moved through the corridors like a phantom, eliminating guards with precise headshots and swift knife strikes. He left no bodies in open sight, dragging each one into the shadows.
Every step took him deeper into the heart of the fortress.
Finally, he reached the grand hall.
It was massive lined with towering pillars and bathed in the glow of crimson chandeliers. At the far end sat a throne, a grotesque thing made of welded steel, bones, and blood-red velvet.
And upon it sat Dragon Skin.
The crime lord was a beast of a man, his bald head tattooed with intricate serpentine designs. His muscular frame was draped in a silk robe, his thick fingers adorned with rings, each one worth a fortune. A deep scar ran down his cheek, a relic of a battle long past.
Surrounding him were his enforcers mercenaries armed to the teeth, their eyes scanning the hall with lethal focus.
Aidan remained hidden in the shadows, watching.
This was where things got interesting.